The Birth Story

So this is how birth with Baby June went down.

On Saturday, April 2, I went up to Salt Lake City to watch the morning session of General Conference with my siblings. It was a lot of fun, but on the way home, I was feeling WIPED OUT and really felt like I needed to nap. So I went down for a big, long, luxurious nap and when I woke up, I was feeling a little crampy, which I hoped meant something! (I didn't go into labor with Gulliver, so I didn't really know what to expect.)

I went downstairs, and we soon realized that I was getting contractions if I sat for a while and then stood up. So my mom and I kept experimenting with this to see how long I needed to sit before standing to bring on a contraction. (For example, at the beginning, if I was sitting for 20 minutes and stood up, I'd have a contraction. If I was sitting for 10 minutes and stood up, I wouldn't have a contraction.) This part was actually very fun, and the contractions weren't horrible. It was pretty fun to feel them climb and get more painful, and then fade away. As they got a little more intense, I'd just close my eyes and breathe, and then as they faded out, I'd announce, "I think that was a 6 on the pain scale!!" Since they weren't happening on their own, we sent Murray off to Priesthood session and dinner, and just told him to keep his phone on him.

While he was gone, my mom and I continued to bring on contractions by resting and moving. Gulliver was with Murray's mom, so I was free to just labor. And labor was FUN! In fact, we even went out to get some frozen yogurt, and during that trip, the contractions started to come on their own. Still, it was all very manageable, and definitely fun.

When Murray came home from Priesthood, we put on a movie. Since I was in labor, I got to choose what to watch, so I chose Morning Glory. When one is in labor, one wants to watch frivolous, meaningless, funny, girly movies. Or at least I do. Again, I kept standing up during the movie if contractions didn't come on their own. By the time the movie was done, it was about midnight, and contractions still weren't regular. But we all knew that I wouldn't be sleeping, either. Bummer.

We sent my mom to bed, and then Murray and I tried to get some sleep while still timing the contractions. We used the iPhone's stopwatch, which has a "lap" function. So I was able to press "lap" each time I had a contraction, and it automatically kept a list of the timing between contractions. Brilliant! While I was lying down in bed, they were still irregular, but I felt like they were getting a little more intense, and I felt like if I were up, they'd be more frequent. So I told Murray that we should just go to the hospital. We woke up my mom and took off. This was about 2:00 a.m.

There was a storm that night (that put a lot of women into labor... the hospital was pretty busy when we were there) and it started to get bad as we were driving to the hospital. The rain was turning into snow, and it was pretty messy. But I told everyone that there was no hurry, so we drove calmly to the hospital. (Murray drove calmly. My mom hit a pylon.) It was during the car ride, and during a contraction, that Murray asked me a question. After the contraction, I politely told him that probably he should not ask questions when he can see that I'm in the middle of a contraction.

At the hospital, as we were walking in, I started having a contraction, so I just stopped walking to wait through the contraction. My mom started saying something, and Murray told her, "Cicada needs ABSOLUTE SILENCE during contractions." And then I started laughing in the middle of my contraction. Good times at the hospital!

To be honest, labor up until now was all pretty fun, even though I did prefer not to be asked questions during contractions. AFTER contractions, conversation could totally resume as normal. We did a lot of joking and laughing. We got checked in no problem. I didn't request the jacuzzi room because I didn't really see myself using the jacuzzi anyway. I didn't have to have an IV since I wasn't getting an epidural, but they did do a hep-lock, which was totally fine.

I didn't really use any special laboring positions because I didn't really feel like I needed them. I spent a lot of time in the bed because I was tired and because I was comfortable there, but I did get up and walk around the room a little, and sit in the glider chair in the room. The contractions were still all bearable anyway, so I didn't really see any need to try out any special positions.



At about 5:30, the doctor came in and offered to break my water. She explained that if she did that, things would get really intense, pretty fast. She said that it would be as intense as it would get anyway, but that it would be more intense sooner. So that sounded like a good option. After Murray and I discussed it (because I was just a little bit chicken about the whole "getting intense" part), we decided to have her do it.

She broke my water, and guess what? Things started getting a lot more intense, pretty quickly. While I had been kindof humming through my contractions previously, now my humming got a little more intense. Maybe kindof groaning. A nurse showed Murray how to put counter pressure on my knees, though, and that was a HUGE HELP. As in, I couldn't have done it without him!! And he was working pretty hard, too. I was the one saying, "Push! Push!"

I know because my mom was there that this more intense part was an hour and a half, but it felt more like 30 minutes or 45 at the most. The contractions were right on top of one another, and poor Murray's arms were shaking as he was pushing on my knees.

At least I can say that there was no point that I even considered asking for the epidural. So that I think is a major win for me.

Towards the end, I started to lose it. The doctor was there. They were saying that I was mostly all the way dilated, but that there was a little lip still, that possibly the baby would be able to push past. They were telling me that I could push when I felt the urge, but I wasn't feeling the urge yet. But just for good measure, I started pushing anyway, because I was feeling DONE. I was really worried that for some reason, things would just STALL right there, and I'd be stuck feeling this way for HOURS. And I think maybe when that thought crossed my mind was the first time that I yelled. It was, I thought, uncontrollable, but when the doctor told me, "Stop yelling and focus on your breathing," then I WAS able to stop yelling and I felt like I could control it. Until, of course, the next contraction, and then I was yelling again. Ha. It really felt like I wasn't myself, and I was definitely a little embarrassed, because I was hoping that magically I'd be able to do the whole thing perfectly.

BUT. It was only about 5 minutes of hollering (again, I'm going on my mom's word on this, because if you asked me, I'd tell you that I only yelled twice, and the total duration of yelling was probably just 2 minutes), suddenly I HAD A BABY. It was crazy. I could feel her move down, and then all of a sudden she was out, head first and then shoulders! And then they put her on my chest, and there was my baby!!

I continued making a lot of noise, apparently (thanks, Mom, for letting me know these details) because all I could say was, "Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow!" Over and over again. This was at 7:45 in the morning.

Now, I've always heard about the amazing rush, like drugs, that you supposedly get after natural childbirth. Maybe that rush was the Wow Wow Wow part. Because IMMEDIATELY after, there was the CRASH. The I-Haven't-Slept-All-Night-and-I-Just-Had-a-Baby crash. It was during this crash (and while the doctor was sewing up my very little tear, I might add) that my mom took this choice photo.



Thank you, Mom.

When it was all over, I told Murray and my mom that I didn't know if I'd be able to do that again.

Two hours later, when my maternity nurse came to get me, she told me, "I heard you when you were delivering! I thought, oh! That must be the natural mom that I'm getting today!" I told her that even after just two hours, I was already starting to forget just how bad it was, and I was already starting to think, I might be able to do this.

Now, an entire month later, I can tell you, I LOVED it, and I would do it again. Even if it would cost the same (ultimately, between the anesthesiologist and the extra day at the hospital, the epidural would have cost me about $3000), I would choose to go natural. The reason is that I did bounce back very quickly (although I got the shakes, which everyone always said was an epidural side effect, but the doctor explained is just a normal reaction to child birth), and recovered very very well. It's hard to say exactly what was a benefit of going natural or not. I can't say that everything good about this experience was due to natural childbirth, and everything bad about the last experience was due to the epidural. (And for the record, my last experience was a very positive experience. I did have more recovery, but I don't know how much of that was because it was a first baby, and how much of that was because I had an epidural.) But overall, I figure that if what we're really talking about is an hour and a half of pain, I'm happy to forego the epidural. (I TOTALLY would get it if I knew that I'd be experiencing the more intense pain for an extended period of time!!)

So there you have it. My natural childbirth experience! I recommend it, if you're curious! As far as hypnobirthing goes, I think the two big things I got out of it were 1) I didn't go into labor afraid of the pain, so I know that I didn't bring any of that tension into the experience, and 2) the breathing techniques did give me something to focus on during the contractions and definitely helped me to be calm and have an enjoyable labor.

And now for a few photos of the baby at 2 weeks, taken by Nicole Hill Gerulat!

Some Thoughts on This Pregnancy...

Right now, I am 39 weeks pregnant. My due date is Monday, March 28. So I figured I should do a recap of this whole pregnancy, more for my sake than for yours, but feel free to read and maybe even enjoy it!

So this pregnancy started off a little differently than Gulliver's. I did throw up (once!) with Gulliver, and I haven't thrown up at all with this pregnancy. But I did feel like my stomach would get twisted in knots early on in this pregnancy. It was hard for me to eat much without feeling sick afterwards, and unfortunately it was all the healthiest foods (that I was craving because it was summer!) that were the worst offenders, like fruits and vegetables. I could manage grapes without getting sick. Otherwise, I'd have a lot of plain foods and carbs like breads.

That cleared up at about 12-14 weeks, which was nice. The middle of my pregnancy progressed without much interesting to report---quick doctor's visits, no problems eating, the assumption that I'd have gestational diabetes during the last third, and very little overall discomfort. I even began to wonder just when it was that I got so sore last time that I couldn't roll over in bed without Murray's help.

Oh, I did have sciatic nerve pain (not so much that it really interferes with anything I need to do, but it made things like sitting on the floor, bending over, and cleaning Gulliver's toys up a little more challenging). But it actually cleared up for the most part at a certain point. In future pregnancies, when I read back on this, I'll wish I made a note of when it started and when it ended, but I can't remember anymore!

A pretty common theme with both my pregnancies so far is that I don't tend to look as pregnant as I am. I'll be honest---a lot of that is probably weight. But I've also seen women who are about my same weight, and they CAN look a lot more pregnant than I look. I chalk it up to the fact that I have a long torso and short legs.

When I entered my third trimester, I was surprised by two things. First, I was surprised to find out that I did NOT have gestational diabetes, and I wasn't even borderline. That was a big shock. I'd been planning recipes and meals to eat during that time AND I was slightly looking forward to it because it would mean that I'd be really really good about my eating. (To prepare for this, however, I ate a cupcake from my favorite cupcake place, Cupcake Chic almost every day.)

Second, I was surprised that I still didn't need Murray to turn me over in bed, and wondered if I just made that up the first time.

But by about week 32, I think I suddenly had to always have a pillow between my knees when sleeping, and it's gotten worse and worse. I'm not complaining, but I am saying that definitely the last couple of months of pregnancy is when the discomfort starts kicking in for me.

Around that same time, all of a sudden EVERYTHING was harder. Bending down, picking up Gulliver, I felt like I could hardly do anything, and that I was going to be like that for the rest of my pregnancy. But then it kindof stopped, and things got easier for me again, so I assume that the baby was just in a weird position for a few days.

Still, right now, I'm at the point where it really really is a big help if Murray will put on my pants for me.

At week 35/36, I had my gallbladder attacks and spent a little time in the hospital. And so while I didn't have to follow a gestational diabetes diet, I was put on a low fat diet (25 gr a day) instead. Which, I must say, I am enjoying for the sense of control that it gives me and for the fact that it will help me avoid putting on unnecessary weight at the end of my pregnancy (although I don't regret enjoying every single one of those cupcakes now that I can't... I knew I was preparing for SOMETHING). Also? The low fat diet saves me from MINI EGG SEASON, which is the WORST. Since I have to continue eating low fat until my gallbladder can come out 6 weeks after I have the baby, I'm looking forward to the diet helping me to lose weight AFTER the baby and while I'm nursing. Fingers crossed on that one!

Right now, I feel like I'm eating the SAME THINGS EVERY DAY. I'm working like a maniac trying to get all my projects done before the baby comes, so that doesn't leave too much time to cook. So to be totally honest, we haven't been having proper meals around here very much. I'll just make myself soup or pasta, have some yogurt and fruit, and call it a meal. I can't WAIT till my mom gets here on Monday and can start doing meals for us!! I welcome her creativity!

So I guess that basically summarizes most of the physical aspects of this pregnancy. At my first cervical check (guys can stop reading here if they'd prefer), I was about 2.5 cm dilated and 70% effaced. I'm now about 3 cm and 80%. My doctor figures that the baby will come pretty quickly once my water breaks. But since she said that, I have all these dreams about my water breaking. I was talking about water breaking with my mother-in-law and how you don't actually hear about it happening in public THAT often. She said that she always heard that if you're in the grocery store when it happens, just grab a jar of pickles and drop it. Then everyone will just think that all the mess is from the pickles. I told her that I should BUY a jar of pickles and just bring it everywhere with me. So if my water breaks in the middle of church, I can just drop my pickles and say, "Oh no! I dropped my jar of pickles!! Well.... gotta go!!"

I'm VERY glad that this baby has stayed put so far. I'm getting to the point where I feel like I'm wrapping up most of my work projects, and that everything will be manageable (there's only one project that should go beyond the baby's birth, but it's my favorite project of the year, and Murray will actually be helping out with it quite a bit). And my mom comes out on the due date. So as long as I don't go into labor in the next few days, then my mom will be able to be here and to help. And we MIGHT even have a couple of days for activities like bowling, manicures, and a trip to the dinosaur museum, all of which we did in trying to get Gulliver to come (and none of which worked, by the way).

On the whole, I actually love being pregnant. Even with the discomforts I'm feeling now. I look forward to doing this a couple more times!!

A Heart Breaking Work of Staggering Genius...

... is what I would have titled my book but some shmo already took it. Tonight, I printed a draft of my book at Kinkos. To hold this manuscript in my hands... well... it's topped by only two things in my life: the moment I met Murray, and the moment I held Gulliver for the first time.

Basically Murray and I have been in crisis mode since October. And we're technically still in crisis mode (I have a couple projects I'll need to address but I'll have them done by the beginning of next week) but the end is really, really, really in sight.

And so I present to you a video of me presenting my book to you. I couldn't narrate the video for some reason, so I had to do it all silent. But I'm showing you my disheveled, unshowered hair, my no-makeupness, the bags under my eyes, and my manuscript. My precious, precious manuscript!



UPDATE: Here I am, four hours after writing this post, at 1:00 a.m., after having done an edit on my heartbreaking work of staggering genius. I think that my video says it all. (Note: I use paperclips to mark the pages that have edits.) Please note the more disheveled hair, the deeper bags under my eyes, and the unexplainable red splotch on my forehead. Also, notice my general will not to live. Also notice that the shoulder angels are back, both of whom are now telling me to go to bed. (Realistically, I can breeze through implementing all of these edits in less than 2 hours. It's not the end of the world.)

Toothy

My mom said recently that she sees it as a personal failure that only 2 of her 5 children made it out of her home with their front adult teeth intact. I don't remember what happened to Captain Fabuloso's front tooth. I know that I chipped Richie's by swinging my lunchbox in his face somewhere around the third grade. As for mine, when I was about 9, my dad needed to do some work up at the church one night while my mom was busy, so he took all us kids with him. The church was deserted and the five of us decided to play tag in the dark of the cultural hall (gym). I was "it" and I was sure I was hot on Captain Fabuloso's trail, so I was laughing. And running. In the pitch dark. With my mouth agape. (Note: Laughing loudly is probably not the best strategy when you're "it" during dark tag.) Instead of getting Fabuloso, I ended up running right into a wall, front tooth first.

I chipped the tooth and we never did find the missing piece. I remember going through what seemed like days with half of a front tooth, which even in 4th grade is pretty humiliating. When I got into the dentist, he was able to put a cap on it. I was told not to do things like eat corn on the cob.

I wasn't told not to chase after El Senor up a slide, playing park tag. After a few months of a successful tooth cap, that's what I found myself doing. Laughing again. That is until I slipped and fell tooth-first into the slide. And out popped my cap.

The next time I lost my cap was ridiculous. Remember that "no corn on the cob" thing? Well, I was served corn on the cob, and like an obedient little girl, I cut all the corn off of the cob. Then, I put my first fork full into my mouth and... the cap just fell off! How insulting!

This all eventually led to a root canal, and for the past two decades of my life, I have lived with half of a dead front tooth. It hasn't bothered me at all, except that I started noticing it in pictures and wondering if other people noticed it, too. It was just one of those things about myself that I took for granted and therefore never actually noticed when I looked in the mirror. But recently I started wondering if this is what people noticed when they looked at me. To that end, I have created a poll on my blog and I would love for you to participate! It's totally anonymous, and I guarantee you that my feelings are not wrapped up in this at all. I really do want to know how much people have noticed my tooth over the past few years. Because, you see, I just paid for a crown!

Now, don't judge. The crown is not coming from a superficial standpoint at all. If it were up to me, I'd just go through life with the half-tooth showing because sometimes I have to show people that I'm not all perfect. And when people look at me and my perfect husband, child, and my perfect life, it probably helps to show them that I don't have everything. I don't have two front teeth! But dentists over the years have kept telling me that it was time to put a crown on it, which insurance would pay for, because it needed to be strengthened. And if I didn't put a crown on it, the tooth would eventually just fall out, or something awful like that. But I've been really afraid to do this because the known evil was much better than the unknown evil. What if they shaved down what was left of my real tooth and then replaced it with a bubble tooth that was way more obvious?

Currently I have a temporary crown, and I have to say, even the temporary one is better than what I had. So I guess this isn't all bad. In a couple weeks, I'll get my real crown and this will be the end of my front tooth woes.

Or will it? Check back in two more decades to find out!

(Seriously, respond to the poll! I'm dying to know!)

Interaction!

Today marks a milestone in Gulliver's development. Gulliver is learning to play with others!

It first happened when I was feeding him. A lot of the time when I'm breastfeeding, Gulliver will flail his arms and hit me in the head. I, in turn, try to get his fingers in my mouth and then I bite them and he laughs. This has been going on for a while, but today, when I nibbled on his fingers, he laughed and then pulled his hand away. Then, he put his hand back in my mouth so that I could nibble again. Then he'd laugh and pull his hand out again. Good times!

You'd think that big step would be enough for one evening, but later I put his pajamas on, and we were sitting on the floor together. Gulliver loves to scream when he's happy. So he would scream, hold his arms out to the sides, and then slap the ground. So I did the same, and slapped my hands down on his. To my surprise, he repeated! And this went on and on to our mutual amusement. Murray even joined the game a little bit later. I tried to get some shots of it, but the iPhone is so slow, so all you really get is a blur that shows there was motion going on. Anyway. I was just thinking earlier today how much I love being this boy's mother, but he just made it even better.




In unrelated news, today was cast-off day. Hooray! Now both my feet are done and they both just have to continue healing, but I'm done with surgeries (hopefully) forever! In case you're sick and disgusting and want to see what both my feet looked like when the casts were removed, you may click on this teeny thumbnail. But you probably don't want to. Don't say I didn't warn you.

My Big Cheat

I am pretty sure that everyone out there reading my blog thinks that I'm perfect, and they would not be far off. But today, I'd like to talk about a moment when I was not perfect. I cheated.

Last night, Murray and I went out for our date night dinner. With gestational diabetes, finding restaurants is not always the easiest thing. I mean, you can pretty much rule out any Italian place, for starters. So we've even opted to eat in for a few of our date nights. But last night I wanted to try Spark, a new restaurant/lounge that I've seen downtown Provo. When I first saw it, I was a little hesitant to try it because although it looked hip and cool from the outside, the sign said, "Restaurant/Lounge" and I haven't been to a lounge before and I really didn't know what to expect. But recently a friend recommended the restaurant to us, so we decided to go.

Stepping into Spark feels a little like stepping out of Provo. In a really good way. Although we showed up at prime time on a Friday night, we were seated immediately. (This is something that I would like to see change since it makes me scared that now we've discovered this place, not enough people will be enjoying it to keep it in business.)

Our hostess who seated us explained the menu a little. They offer "small plates" or appetizers and she recommended ordering three or four small plates as the ideal way to dine there. Then she directed our attention to the bar menu, which I didn't pay much attention to because 1) alcohol and 2) fruit juice (forbidden to me while gestating). When our waitress came by shortly afterward, she said, "I'm sure that our hostess explained our non-alcoholic bar to you." Suddenly that menu became much more interesting to me. The drinks look really delicious and creative and I am excited to go back after the baby comes and try something out. She told us that the Shirley Temple comes topped with cotton candy, which I thought was a little bizarre until I actually saw someone's. Then I wanted one immediately. BUT this isn't where I cheat. So rest assured, I'm still waiting a while to try their drink menu.

Murray and I ordered some fries with aioli garlic dip, braised beef with cabbage, and crispy pork on polenta. Since I had no idea how many carbs to expect with this combination, I told Murray that we might even consider dessert (so that I could have one bite) depending on how the food was prepared.

The presentation of the food was fabulous. We were served our fries first. They were very thin, shoe-string fries cooked to perfection. While we were eating the fries, a waitress brought out a taste from the kitchen---an apple cream soup---for us to try out. What a taste experience! Our soup came in tiny pots with tiny spoons. And it tasted like creamy apple bacon. Soooooo good and such a pleasant surprise from the kitchen! Next came our braised beef and cabbage and our crispy pork on polenta. The braised beef and cabbage may not have seemed as gourmet to me because it was a lot like cabbage rolls that I had regularly while growing up because of Eastern European immigrants to Canada. But it was certainly delicious. (I've never been known to say no to a cabbage roll!) The crispy pork on polenta was definitely my favorite. It was topped with perfectly sweet grapefruit.

The portions were small, which is the sort of thing that you respect about a place like this. It means that you can enjoy the food experience without feeling stuffed and overdone. It also means that there's room for dessert.

And this is where the cheating comes in. On the menu was fried chocolate pudding. And darn it, I have been wanting a real dessert for what seems like an eternity now. And this sounded too good to pass up. Small portions of chocolate pudding are coated in an almond flour and then briefly fried to crisp the shell. It is served with orange ice cream to complement the chocolate.

And here is my paragraph of justification: My doctor said she was part of a control group for gestational diabetes where she didn't have it, but she had to test her blood at certain times during the day. One day, she ate a lot of carbs without really realizing it and when she tested her blood, it was in the 160s. I'm never allowed to go over 130, and I typically don't (when I do, it's never even as high as 140). So I figured that if, like my doctor, I didn't have GDS, sometimes my blood sugar would naturally be higher because of the food choices that I make, then with GDS, it wouldn't hurt to go over just once. And later, my sister-in-law pointed out that when women don't manage their GDS properly, they get put on insulin, but it takes a couple of weeks of improperly eating before they're switched to insulin. Anyway, at the restaurant, I also reasoned that exercise is like a shot of insulin, so Murray and I could go swimming in our club house pool after dinner so that I could help my insulin deliver the glucose to my cells.

Okay. Justification done. Now let's move on to gratification. This dessert was AMAZING. "Pudding" does not describe what was in these crispy almond-flour shells. It's more like a rich chocolate not unlike pots de creme (which my mom would make growing up and it still seems gourmet... except for when we'd bastardize it by eating it with marshmallow peeps and call it pots de peep...). The ice cream (which Murray expected to be a bright orange sherbet and wasn't very excited about it) was a perfectly creamy orange. The whole experience was wonderful---so wonderful! Of course, the problem was that there were three little puddings and only two of us. But then Murray said that if I wanted to have a second one, I could have it all to myself. And then I almost broke down in tears in the middle of the restaurant.

I highly recommend this restaurant to anyone in the area. It was a fun experience and we'll definitely be going back. The prices were extremely reasonable (our bill came to $28, which is what we paid recently for a meal at Bajio) and the experience is far beyond run-of-the-mill Utah dining.

(And in case you're still wondering about my blood sugar... we got home and got our bathing suits on and headed over to the clubhouse, only to discover that the entire pool had been taken over by a singles ward activity where they were playing an organized sport, so slipping into the pool would have been like stepping onto a basketball court during someone else's game. I am not allowed to do hot tubs as a pregnant woman, lest I cook my fetus. So basically Murray and I dangled our legs in the hot tub for 40 minutes, hoping that the awful singles activity would eventually end, and dodging the football whenever it came hurling at our faces. But I kicked my legs for all of those 40 minutes. It ultimately didn't help too much. My blood sugar was 160. Little baby Leland, I'm very sorry for any fat cells that you might have put on due to my indulgence. And a note to the singles who monopolized the pool even though they don't pay for it and we do: When Murray and I went home, we *****[censored]*****. So there.)

Count your blessings...

So, in case you haven't heard, I have gestational diabetes. Have I mentioned that already? Well, in case I have, today I'm going to give you the cold hard truth. How I really feel about gestational diabetes.

It's pretty easy to complain about the limited diet and the finger pricking. But to be honest, I mostly have a positive attitude about this. The benefits to having (and managing properly) gestational diabetes far outweigh the cons. Here's why I see gestational diabetes as a handful of blessings rather than a punishment.

I have poor eating habits. There have been times in my life when I've been able to clean them up a little, but I sink back into bad habits. Because poor eating habits with gestational diabetes would have negative consequences for my baby, it's much easier to adhere to all the rules. I'm not just doing it for me. I'm doing it for someone else. This gives me the discipline to follow my diet exactly and not cheat because I'm not just cheating myself.

I have three full months where I have to follow these new and improved eating habits, which is more than enough time to establish real, lasting changes.

My poor eating habits didn't just include eating all the wrong things, but they also included going long periods of time without eating, then eating large meals. I have always known that it's healthiest to eat smaller meals throughout the day, but I've never been able to apply that. Now that I have to, I find that it's much more easy and manageable than I'd thought.

Murray and I also got into the habit of eating out a LOT. Especially while I was working in Salt Lake City, it seemed impossible to put together a homemade meal. Those habits that we established carried over even after I started working from home. I've always wanted to be better about making meals at home, but until now, I haven't been able to achieve that goal. Now it's much easier for me to make my own meals rather than eat out because I'm in complete control of the ingredients, so I know what I'm eating and how much of it I can eat. We are eating food that is higher quality, more healthy, and lots less expensive!

I am not good at eating breakfast. Now I have to. Every day before Murray goes to work, I throw together a little breakfast for the two of us. It's not anything spectacular. Lately it's just been a whole wheat ego waffle with peanut butter and a yogurt. But it's nice to have that time to sit and visit with Murray before he goes off to work.

I am the type of person who has a hard time controlling portions. If I make a batch of cookies, and they're all sitting in the house, I don't limit myself to just one a day. I will easily eat ten a day. I usually help myself to seconds at dinner. Now I'm learning discipline and portion control and learning that it really is okay to have just one cookie. In fact, El Senor made me these absolutely delicious cookies. He gave me two. I had one one day and saved the other for the next because I knew there would be no way for me to eat them both without spiking my blood sugar. I think I enjoyed the cookies more because now I'm not used to having sweets at every meal. So now I'm thinking that I'll need to make a batch of that cookie recipe and just freeze it all. Then, I can just make four cookies at a time (two for me, spread out over two days, and two for Murray).

I'm making time to go for walks and get in exercise. It's nice to get outside when I'm indoors all day long! Murray and I have been able to enjoy several walks together. It's nice to stroll along in the evening holding hands.

I'm learning that my happiness does not depend on food. Although I love helping myself to lots of ice cream or lots of molten lava chocolate cake or lots of cookies, I'm learning now that having more sweets does not increase my overall happiness. Right now, I feel just as fulfilled and just as happy as I did before my diagnosis when I could eat anything I wanted. I am enjoying the same quality of life. The pleasure that I get from eating food is gone as soon as the food has been devoured. And the lasting effects of those food choices actually have a negative impact on my overall health and well being (and weight!). So I'm learning now that I don't have to indulge every craving to be happy, and in fact, I will be happier and healthier if I don't indulge every craving.

Finally, having gestational diabetes for three months teaches me what life could be like for me if I don't make permanent changes now. I can lower my chances of developing Type II diabetes now by applying these positive changes. And then I don't have to deal with pricking my finger and testing my blood every day for the rest of my life. So this experience is giving me the confidence to make the right decisions for me and my health.

So how's THAT for the glass being half full? You're probably all jealous of my condition now. Also, I need to make sure that I read this post AFTER the baby arrives and I have my eating freedom back. No sense in forgetting all the good lessons I'm learning and slipping back into bad habits!

The Monkey Paw

There's this ghost/horror story that I heard in my childhood that my mom called to remind me of this morning. It's about a monkey paw. Have you heard this one?

A man somehow acquires a monkey paw that you can wish upon. Whatever you wish on the monkey paw, it comes true. But everyone warns the man: Don't wish on the monkey paw. He doesn't heed their warning and wishes on the monkey paw anyway. Whatever he wishes, his wish is granted, but something goes wrong in order to grant that wish. Finally, he wishes for $500,000. As soon as he's finished wishing, the phone rings and he and his wife are informed that their son has died. But they are the beneficiaries of his life insurance policy and will be receiving $500,000. Obviously the man and wife are distraught. Later, while still mourning the death of their son, the wife finds the monkey paw and wishes to have her son back. The story ends as the son rises from the grave and comes after his parents zombie-style.

(I got the details a little wrong, but here's the actual story.)

So why did my mom call me to remind me about this story this morning? Well, yesterday I was officially diagnosed with gestational diabetes. And because my mom only bought a one-way ticket to come out for Christmas this year (the baby is due January 4th), she's been wishing and wishing that I won't go past my due date (she said she went 2 weeks over with all but one of us). And she just read on the internet that they don't allow women with gestational diabetes to go past their due date because there's a risk that the baby will grow too big.

I hope my mom doesn't wish for me to get lots of good rest, because for sure something else will go wrong and I'll end up on bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy!

San Diego trip 2008

This past weekend, Murray and I headed to San Diego for our annual vacation with Switchback. It's too bad that we didn't time it right with Nemesis's honeymoon, because it would have been totally fun to hang out with the Nemeses in San Diego, too.

Here are my vacation highlights:

Lots of travel time in the car with Murray. I love spending time with him and we don't actually get bored with talking to each other in the car for hours on end. Some of our discussions during the trip were... questionable and insightful. We'll leave it at that. We both love that we're married to someone who we can discuss absolutely any taboo subject with. We didn't actually listen to much music; we listened to a lot of The Ricky Gervais Show podcasts, which were great. A few of our discussions centered around whether Karl Pilkington was really for real (Murray insisted that he was and I insisted that he couldn't be) but we eventually reached a mutual understanding that some of the show absolutely is set up, but in general, the ideas and thoughts that Karl Pilkington shares are genuine.

Spending time on the beach. Murray and I got to the beach a little late on Saturday but we enjoyed meandering over there and taking our time. Once we were on the beach, we were able to enjoy ourselves quite a bit. We had assumed that we'd have one more beach visit during the trip, but we didn't, so I'm glad that we made the first one count. And as a pregnant woman, it was nice (really nice) not to have to worry about sucking in my gut the whole time we were there. Phew! My gut is my pride and glory right now!! I let it all hang out. I started rubbing my tummy during the vacation, and I think that helped it to grow some. It also helped other people to know that it was a pregnant gut, not a fat gut.

Spending an evening in Little Italy with Murray and Switchback. We went to an art gallery where both Switchback and Murray impressed the owner with their knowledge (Murray with his art history, and Switchback with her history-history, which gave insight into one of the pieces). We ate at a good restaurant and enjoyed one another's company. Afterwards, Switchback took us to the pier where we looked at street art and almost got run over by rickshaw bicycles. Several times. Switchback is the greatest hostess and tour guide. Unfortunately on this trip, she didn't ever bust out her metal pointer. Next year? Also, I got a restaurant to let us use their bathroom even though we weren't paying customers because I stuck out my tummy, rubbed it, and waddled into the lobby. Perks! Perks!

(I complained that the menu of the restaurant where we ate used Papyrus as its font. After the restaurant, we passed this unique plant that we really liked and seems to be a common graphic design inspiration lately. When we were wondering out loud what it was, a passerby told us it was Papyrus. Who knew?)

Going to the single's ward with Switchback. It was the quietest church I've been to since November 2007. So lovely! But of course then I was reminded, when they announced the FHE wiffleball tournament that silence in Sacrament meeting comes with a very, very high price.

Going to a big band concert in a park where we got to spend more time visiting with Switchback, Switchback's sister and brother-in-law, and Kelly Roxanne. Switchback made a great salad and peach pie for dessert. I took a second piece of pie because I'm pregnant. Perks! Perks! Murray was still in his church clothes because we didn't have time between church, our afternoon activities, and the concert to go home to change. Except I remembered to ask Switchback to bring me some pants, but forgot to have her grab clothes for Murray. So everyone who met us will have just assumed that Murray is a really really righteous person.

Going to Sea World. I kept calling it Marine Land and the Marine Land jingle was in my head all day long. I can get behind a theme park based on aquatic life. I got to feed and pet sting rays and dolphins. It was absolutely worth every penny. Then I had to question whether I made the right decision to become a graphic designer and not a marine biologist, but I wouldn't have found Murray if I'd become a marine biologist, so I know I made the right choice. Marine Land was a great place to go (see? I didn't actually call it Marine Land on purpose just then---proof that advertising works, because the only place I ever heard of as a kid in lots and lots of commercials was Marine Land) as far as theme parks are concerned because I got to sit a lot. We did lots of shows, and the weather was ideal except for during the dolphin show when the sun scorched one side of my neck. Switchback joined us in the evening in time for the sea lion and otter show that makes fun of the other shows. It was really funny and entertaining, and when the otter came running across the stage pushing a cart, acting like a human, I actually had tears well up in my eyes because I could not handle the cuteness. I might be tearing up again just thinking about it.



I could go on and on about Sea World. Lots of it was cheesy, and it's a good thing that I was with Murray who could join me in making fun of all the cheesiness. For the final show, there was no one sitting beside me or Murray on our whole bench. Then a family of a culture that has different personal space perceptions came to sit beside us and the mother literally sat with her whole arm and shoulder pressed up against me. I inched over, and she inched over. So I moved a couple feet over and put my purse on the bench next to me. And then Murray and I laughed a lot.

(This guy was lurking right behind Murray's head and he turned around and jumped---Murray, not the fish.)

Also, Murray and I did something really smart. You know when you agonize over a decision, and in the end you make the wrong decision and then you just keep being bothered by the fact that you made the wrong decision? Well, on Monday Murray and I made the RIGHT decision. Sea World was offering Meal Passes, where you can eat for "free" all day at select Sea World restaurants if you pay $28. I knew that the food prices were going to be high, so we kept debating if this was what we should do. We carefully read the rules of the pass, and it stated that the wrist-band wearer would get one meal for every time he or she went through the line. There was no other limitations. So we bought one meal pass that Murray used. Then we shared every meal that we bought. And it was plenty of food for both of us. So for $28, we ate three meals at an amusement park. It's more expensive than sneaking in your own sandwiches, but I figure we made out pretty well for an amusement park. Plus, we got to split this Shamu cookie.



All in all, it was a great trip, like it always is. And Switchback is the greatest hostess. Of course, having her married, pregnant friend and husband come to stay with her for several days in a house that she shares with roommates could definitely... push her roommates' patience. Next year, we realize that with a baby we definitely can't do the same thing. So we'll go to San Francisco instead and stay with Switchback's mom, Truth. Mothers always love babies, so I'm sure that we'll be welcome when we invite ourselves.

(She's pregnant, too.)

Life and Death

Well, we've been talking a lot about new life here on my blog lately. Let's switch it up a little. Let's get morbid.

Sometime after Murray and I got married, we got onto the subject of dying and funerals. And this has sparked a great debate and conversation between us. At times we agree with one another, and at times we don't quite see eye to eye. So let's talk death a little.

What bugs me about the whole dying thing is that a funeral costs a heck of a lot of money. It sounds to me like a heck of a lot more money might be spent on my funeral than was spent on my wedding. And that doesn't really sit right with me.

Now as I go into the details a little bit about money and dying, please remember that really, I'm mostly talking about me dying. I'm not talking about my loved ones. I'm talking about how I would like to be treated when I have died. These are my wishes. If my loved ones have different wishes, I am absolutely happy to accommodate them. But as far as my funeral is concerned, well...

When it comes right down to it, I'd rather be cremated than buried. My religion discourages (but doesn't forbid) cremation, and I'm not quite sure I understand why. I figure that if God can successfully resurrect someone who's been devoured by a shark and pooped out, and then the poop has been devoured by other fish and so on, then He's got to be capable of resurrecting a burn victim, too. And really... is a bunch of ashes that much more difficult than a full skeleton and decomposed flesh? Murray doesn't like the idea of a body burning. I don't think it's any worse than worms, maggots, fungus, etc. (Or sharks.)

In our discussions, however, I have agreed that I can forgo cremation and be buried. BUT, if I'm buried, I don't want a several thousand dollar casket!! What's the point?? The casket can communicate to others how much you love/value the deceased. But should my family have to spend several thousand dollars on something that's going to be buried in the ground just to prove to our neighbors that they loved me? What if at my viewing, they displayed me in a pine box with my dead little hands clutching $5000? Would that have the same effect? Would people know that my family loved me because that's how much money they buried me with?

Rather than an expensive casket, what I would love the most is a pine box painted by Murray. I believe that that shows love and has more meaning than money. Of course, if I died before Murray, he'd really be in no mood to paint a casket with everything else that he has to do for my death. So what we ultimately concluded was that we could get the LIDS to our pine boxes and paint them together! During our lifetime! And then, when we die, they'll be ready to be buried with us. That sounds much better to me than the expensive casket. (By the way, it's okay to toss in some nice pillows and bedding, but let's make them colorful, too, okay? None of this pearly white stuff. Give me some flava.)

Murray and I are responsible people. We have life insurance policies. So no, I hope that it's not a financial burden for little Br8'en and his siblings when the time comes. But I'd rather them not spend all my life insurance money on my funeral. What I would prefer the most, is that the family use that money to go on a family vacation, or if that's too much to coordinate (after we have 10 kids and they each have 10, that's a lot of people to vacation with), at least go out for a really really nice dinner together. That's what I'd rather they spend the money on. Spend time together. Don't spend the money on a wooden box for me to rot in.

This is about as far as Murray and I got in our discussions. Soon after our pine box decision, Murray found out that there are laws about the casket and our homemade pine boxes wouldn't cut it. I was pretty sad about that, but yesterday I heard part of Radio West's discussion about the modern funeral industry. Today I listened to the full audio. It's really, really fascinating! And it turns out that there's a guy in Park City who makes pine boxes up to standard! Now to see if he'll sell us a couple lids for now...

So anyway, I started talking about all of this to my mom this morning, and then she told me the darndest thing I have ever heard. She said that you can be cremated and give your ashes to a company who will turn your earthly remains into...

a...

DIAMOND.

Then, of course, she wondered what the surviving children do with the diamond. Who gets to wear Mom? Or do you set the diamond in a Christmas ornament and take it out once a year? Something to consider.

When it comes right down to it, I believe that the choice of how I am buried and honored should be more up to my actual mourners than me. Sure, I've just stated my preferences (not the diamond---the painted pine box and low-budget funeral), but I'll be dead at that point. I don't want to impose my way of mourning on people who would be uncomfortable with it. So what I think I'll do is just describe what I'd like in my last will and testament, explain why, talk about how it's important to me that more money be spent on family time than on what's being put into the ground, and let them know that they can make their own decisions.

And before I end this whole spiel, I'll add that I really think that a funeral can be a great party. Of course, I totally understand that if I go tomorrow, probably no one would be partying. But if I go at a ripe old age and everyone is expecting it, then I hope my survivors can miss me but celebrate me at the same time, and enjoy spending time with one another. My grandma's funeral a year and a half ago was a great event. I loved spending time with family and friends. We had a fantastic time together. We also cried and were sad that Grandma was gone. And that is the way I really feel it should be.

That being said, if I go before my time, and am eaten by a shark, and then pooped out, and my shark-poop remains are eaten by other fish, I really hope that people can see the humor in that, because what a way to go! (And feel free to catch the shark and have it stuffed and mounted on a wall.)

Two Hearts Beat As Two

I think the thing I appreciate most about my baby doctor's office is the complementary apple juice that they have sitting in the bathrooms. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but unfortunately the stuff I drank today had gone bad. And was warm. And "Hillary" was written on the cup.

So this morning Murray and I heard our baby's heartbeat for the first time. Last time we went, we only got to hear mine, which was not as exciting. This time, we heard the heartbeat as soon as the probe touched my soft belly. And then it went away. And then the doctor found it again. And then it went away. And then the doctor found it again. Apparently we have a swimmer.

It was a relief to hear the heartbeat, especially considering that I apparently am really good at being pregnant. I really don't feel pregnant at all, and my pregnancy so far has been a breeze. I honestly half expected the doctor to tell me today that it was all a misunderstanding and that my body only thought it was pregnant. But nope. There's a little heartbeat in my belly.

Also, I have gained one pound in the past month. I am pretty proud of that. Daltongirl told me that this is the only time that I get to go to the doctor's office and be praised for gaining weight, so I should enjoy it. And let me tell you, I'm enjoying it. But I have a theory, and in five or so more months, I'll look back at this post and laugh at my stupidity, but here it is. First I have to start with my missionary theory.

I went on my mission (to Italy, land of pasta, pizza, and gelato on every street corner) and lost weight. Most of the sisters in my mission gained some weight. But before my mission, I exercised never and I ate anything I wanted. While on my mission, I walked everywhere I went and had the damning watch of a companion at all times who could judge me for what I was eating, so I was able to clean up my eating habits a little. (A very little.) And I lost weight. Meanwhile, sisters who were careful about exercise and diet before their missions gained weight because the daily walks were less than their regular routine, and the pasta and gelato and other such treats were more than their caloric intake pre-mission.

So. As an obese person (O! the shame!), I'm only supposed to gain about 15 pounds during my pregnancy. I am a person who hasn't exercised for a long time (O! the shame!) and eats whatever she wants, and indulges pretty much every craving she gets (why am I recording this for posterity?). So how will pregnancy change that? I haven't noticed an increase of food consumption, or a change in cravings. And NOW, I am feeding TWO with the same amount of calories. And those calories are being used making brains, guts, fingernails, and a heart. So I'm hoping to gain only the necessary 15 pounds of baby, fluid, placenta (is it gross that I just said that or is it okay to say placenta?), etc.

We'll see how true my theory holds. Maybe it's just wishful thinking. Or maybe, I will be queen of pregnant women everywhere, with minimal discomfort, minimal weight gain, and a painless delivery. It's at least a worthy goal.

[By the way, Switchback is always keenly interested in how much weight I'm gaining. She said that the most she's heard is 65 pounds. So recently at her sister's baby shower, she started asking all these women who she'd never met how much weight they gained while they were pregnant, and if anyone could beat the fattest pregnant girl ever with more than 65 pounds. After the shower, her sister told her that all her friends got offended. I'd love for you to participate in my new poll, in honor of Switchback.]

My Day

Here's what I was supposed to do today:

-Hear baby's heartbeat
-Do laundry
-Pack
-Clean

Here's what I did:

-Do not hear baby's heartbeat, despite goo. Suspect my protective layer of fat of soundproofing my uterus.
-Get an ambush pap smear.
-Go to lunch with Murray.
-Break permanent retainer. For the THIRD TIME this year.
-Call dentist but no one answers. Leave message.
-Call Canadian orthodontist because I'm going there anyway. Set up an appointment for Monday at 9:30.
-Receive call back from orthodontist's office saying that my orthodontist wouldn't do anything better than the dentists here, so she suggests getting it done by a dentist here. (Then why has the retainer broken THREE TIMES in the past year??)
-Reward myself with gelato because of the pap smear.
-Go back to my car.
-Get ticket for not having correct registration sticker.
-Go to DMV to get new registration sticker.
-Go to courthouse to contest ticket (I was parked half a block away from the DMV... so I told them that I was ticketed while getting my sticker...)
-Got a dismissed ticket.
-Call dentist again. Goes straight to voice mail.
-Call emergency dental hotline, which is dentist's own cell phone. Leave a message.
-Drive to dentist's office to demand service in person. It's been closed all day.
-Go to neighbor dentist and say, "I need someone to cement this NOW."
-Pay less at new dentist than I have at previous dentists...
-Drive home, only to realize that I forgot to check us in at Southwest two hours ago because I wasn't home, except that I was SUPPOSED to be home.
-Go to computer and STILL manage to get us A passes. 45 and 46. Not so bad.

So that's my day. And now I have to try to do some laundry and run to Walmart to get ingredients to do chocolate fondue for cooking club tonight. So much for packing and cleaning. I'm glad that we don't have to leave for the airport until 1:00 tomorrow.

It's a girl!

Don't get too excited. We're still a long ways off from finding out the sex of our child. But for various reasons, we suspect the child will be a girl. (I'd go into the studies that say female sperm are stronger and therefore if you have sex a few days before ovulation, you're more likely to have a girl, and male sperm are faster, so if you have sex during ovulation, you're more likely to have a boy, but you probably don't want to think about all that nitty gritty in regards to me and Murray.)

But there is new evidence that we'll be having a girl. Murray's coworker's wife claims that this Chinese birth calendar has been true for everyone she knows. Has it been true for you? Read the instructions carefully.

(By the way, the baby is due a couple weeks after my birthday... so I guess if it comes early, we're having a boy!)

(NOTE: If this Chinese birth calendar works, then the Chinese people could more easily avoid having baby girls... so I'm saying it probably is not too accurate.)

In case you don't know.

By about the sixth grade, people were teasing me about my leg hair. Not that it was worse than your average sixth-grader's leg hair, but all the other sixth-graders were allowed to shave their legs. I had to wait till junior high. It didn't help that one of the worse teasers was El Senor. He even pointed out a couple of "two-inchers" one day. After that, I took a pair of scissors to my legs and tried to shear them without actually breaking my mother's no-shaving rule. It really didn't help much. And I couldn't disobey my mother, because who else would actually teach me how to shave my legs? It's not like I could just do it without a tutorial.

Near the end of the summer, though, I'd had it and I was definitely ready to defy my mother and shave my legs. I couldn't wait another month. And my mom was out of town for a week anyway. So when I was at a friend's house, I asked her how to shave legs. She just handed me a pink lady Bic and told me how. So, sitting on her bed, I shaved my legs for the first time.

Because I didn't mention water, soap, or shaving cream, you're probably cringing right now. And rightly so. I couldn't believe that that sort of pain and discomfort was what women had to go through to look beautiful. My legs turned a bright shade of red and were on fire for hours. And yet, I was still oddly a little proud of my graduation into womanhood.

I've come a long way in the leg shaving department, and what surprises me is that there are still women out there who are using disposable lady Bics to shave their legs! Switchback was one of these women until she came to stay with us for a few days in March. Because I've gone to Switchback's apartment in San Diego for two years running to play on the beach and go to Mexico, and during those minivacations I've used her shower, I couldn't help but notice the lady Bics scattered all over the tub. This didn't make much sense to me at all. How could a grown woman who lived in a beach town and went to the beach on an almost-daily basis not know that there was something better out there?

I believe that it was Nemesis who first introduced me to that Something Better, back in 2000. She announced to all the women at work that if you weren't yet using a Venus razor, you had never truly experienced a proper leg shaving. That, and you'd never go back. And she was absolutely right. To make matters better, Venus keeps improving their razor, so today, they offer a five-blade razor. Venus's five-blade razor is up on my list of life's necessities along with true love and chocolate.

When Switchback visited in March, I lent her my Venus razor just to try it out. She emerged from the bathroom and made a spontaneous testimonial about the whole new shaving experience she enjoyed. (Later, the Easter Bunny brought Switchback her very own Venus razor.)

For all you women who are still using lady Bics, I urge, implore, beg you to go out and buy yourself a Venus razor. It's worth every penny.

This post was not sponsored by Gillette. But I wish it were.

Pro-Creating

Murray and I are creative people. We're always creating. We really support creative endeavors, too. In fact, I might even say that we are pro-creating. Even when we're not planning on being creative, it just . . . happens. We can't help it.


Yep, it's true. Well, I mean, not entirely. I stole this ultrasound from Stanclax. Our baby (just one that we know of) is currently only about this big:

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But it's also supposed to double in size this week, so if you're not reading this post in a timely manner, it might already be this big:

| - - - |

It's early to be telling people, I know. And I would have kept it a secret a little longer, only I told one of my carpoolers why I was leaving our carpool (I don't know how my body's going to behave over the next little while and I don't want to be stranded at work when I should really go home and barf and sleep). And then I went to a work baby shower on Friday and this carpooler's boss made my announcement for me to every single woman in my department. So really, what's the point of keeping it in any longer?

And now, before I leave you to your congratulating of me, I have to say that I've been surprised by the number of people who have cited miscarriage statistics to me when they found out that I'm pregnant. As if I didn't start worrying about miscarriage the moment I found out that some serious cell division was taking place in my uterus. Why do people find it necessary? Is it going to prepare me more? Was I not already aware of the statistics? I may point out that statistically speaking, one is more than twice as likely to get a divorce as one is to have a miscarriage. But you won't find me, next time a friend announces her marriage to me, telling her, "Congratulations! Now, just so that you know, often times, the first one doesn't stick."

It's time for a talk.

I apologize to any who might be offended by this post. But please, read it with an open mind, and look deeply into your soul to determine whether or not you need to change your life. If you feel that you are the exception to the things I am about to say, you are wrong. No one is the exception.

Now I will confess a horrible truth. I have six beard hairs. They come out of the same places. See map.



I wouldn't ever disclose such personal information if I didn't have the hopes that my confession and words today will inspire other women to take proper care of their beard hairs.

Lately I've noticed a few women who have hairs sprouting from their faces---most commonly from a mole---and who choose to do nothing about it. I don't understand. How can you possibly leave the house knowing that you have facial hair? I have a recurring nightmare in which I notice that I have a long, sticky-outy nose hair, or a chin hair, or a cheek hair, but then I forget about it before I leave the house and go out in public. And then at that point I usually wake up in a cold sweat. And yet, I realize that some women know they have wiry, beardy, sticky-outy facial hairs and choose not to eliminate them.

I'm not talking about actual mustaches or beards. Those I'm sure are a bigger, more complicated issue and a woman must decide whether she will bleach, wax, or Nair them away. I'm talking about individual, wiry hairs that are easily plucked out with a pair of tweezers.

There is no excuse for leaving these hairs on your face. It's disgusting and wholly unnecessary. Get in the habit of checking your face every single day, and pluck the hairs out as they appear.

I've said my piece.

I give a hoot about children.

So. I taught the sunbeams yesterday. Both of them. Well, both of them in my class anyway. We live in a new development so we have a very young ward. So there are actually three sunbeams classes with five kids per class. Only two of mine were at church, and they're thinking of just combining my class with another anyway, and pairing me up with the other teacher as team teachers. Which is great that I won't be alone, but not great that Murray will have to go to Sunday School all by himself. Poor thing.

Anyway, on Friday night, I bought myself a long sensible brown skirt. It's just plain but it certainly does the job. I wanted a long skirt so that I am free to sit on the ground with the kids if I want. Or so that I don't have to squeeze my legs together for fear that the kids can see straight up my skirt.

I prepared my lesson on Saturday (the manual says that you must prepare your lesson at least a week in advance, but I only got the manual on Saturday, so I'm sure that I'm absolved of that sin). It said that I could make crowns, which was pretty exciting. Even more exciting was where it said I needed a bean bag. I didn't have a bean bag of course, but needing a bean bag meant that I could haul out my sewing machine and get crafty. I made the bean bag and a bunch of crowns while Murray painted. How productive! All of a sudden, I think that I'm going to really love teaching Sunbeams, if only for all the fun preparation I get to do. I can't wait to see what next week's lesson requires! (I should have also prepared that yesterday or Saturday because now, it is no longer at least a week in advance, so I'm clearly not absolved this time.)

This is the bean bag I made. (Why sew two squares of fabric together when you can make an owl instead?)


Our Primary starts with Opening Exercises and Singing Time and Sharing Time, so I got to do that first. Of my two boys, one didn't speak at all, and the other only managed to mutter that he wanted his mommy and daddy. So I pulled out Walter the owl and let him play with it, and it was extremely gratifying to see his face light up as he exclaimed: "A owl!" And then for the rest of Sharing Time, I got to try to get him to play with the owl quietly and not chuck it at the other children. (I may include here that I saw the other little Sunbeams of the other classes eying that owl enviously.)

When it was time for class, Murray was waiting for us outside. He had permission to join us to help me. My owl-bribed kid had no problem coming into the class, but the other little boy needed a lot of coaxing. So I finally laid out a crown on the ground for him and promised him that he could choose the first crayon for coloring. And so it was that I just ended up teaching our lesson as we all colored crowns on the floor. I think I could get used to this. (I promise that they were paying attention as much as they could and I even got them to answer questions.)

By the end of class, my silent kid finally said a word (about Walter the owl) and he was happily playing as he waited for his parents to come get him.

So all in all, it wasn't anything to worry about. I didn't have to wipe any butts this week (and I've been promised that I'll never have to) and both children left my classroom undamaged, but filled with the Spirit from the excellent, wonderful, perfect lesson that I taught them. And they wore their crowns with pride.

Now, I might add one more word about church. See, we only live about three blocks away from church, so I think that it's absolutely lazy and wasteful and environment-killing to drive. We made a goal to walk. But it has happened for the past few weeks that the walk to church is fine, but by the time church is over, the weather is raging, and we have to run through frigid winds to get home. Since church moved to 9:00 instead of 11:00, I figured we were safe---clearly the weather only got bad at 2:00.

On our way to church this time, the weather was very mild, but the sidewalks were so slippery that any time there was a slope in the sidewalk, Murray and I would start to slide downwards. It was a treacherous trip to be sure. But by the time church let out, it was snowing horizontally in gigantic snow pellets. And we had to walk directly into the direction of the snow if we wanted to get home. Having no other options (no home teachers have been assigned to us) we grabbed each others' arms and headed out. Outside was even worse than we could have imagined and we screamed and laughed as we tried to get home. We couldn't even lift our heads up to look where we were going, and of course, we knew that under all that snow, the sidewalks were still icy and treacherous. We walked for what seemed like an eternity, and only actually managed to walk from one side of the church building to the other, when a ward member offered us a ride home. And we accepted. When it is snowing like that, the environment deserves to be killed.

In every way try to please Him...

One big problem with being called to the Sunbeams is that I have one long skirt. And if I'm going to be with 3-year-olds for 2 hours each Sunday, I'm going to have to stop wearing my cute, adorable, wonderful, precious knee-length skirts to church. (And I'll start wearing them to work more often.) I'm going to have to buy more long skirts. And wearing long skirts and still looking fashionable is going to be tough. Old Navy currently has nothing. And I don't want to spend more than Old Navy prices on long skirts. So I checked out J. C. Penney. Not promising.
When I mentioned my dilemma to my carpool group, a woman in her 60s said that she had some of her mother's old skirts that she could give me. She assured me that they were youthful and pretty.

She brought them today, which was so kind and sweet of her, and I really do appreciate the thought. But they're not exactly my style. However, I'm sure that on a 90 year old or even a 60 year old, they'd be very youthful.


I think I'm going to need to schedule a shopping trip with my mother-in-law. Only she can help me find age-appropriate, long, and kid-friendly.

Because cool people choose the Provo Temple

Hi, Daltongirl has passed the torch on to me, Miss Nemesis, to dicuss the wedding itself. I will do this for you now.

The Provo Temple, I will admit to you, is not the most popular temple wedding destination. It was built in the 70s, when there was possibly more crack in the water than there is now. The rumor behind the design is that it was inspired by a scripture in Exodus, where the Lord leads the Israelites after they escaped from Egypt:

And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way, and by night in a pillar of fire, to give them light, to go by day and night:

He took not away the pillar of the cloud by day, nor the pillar of fire by night, from before the people. (Exodus 13: 21-22)

So you have this big . . . possibly cloud-looking . . . structure, and then there was this flame-looking gold-colored spire on top. Which, yeah, if you're thinking of the scripture then it's kind of meaningful and cool and makes us think about the temple as a symbol of God's constant presence and guidance.

Only a few years ago I guess they said to heck with the scripture, we need more brides! So they made the spire white and put the Angel Moroni on top. And Daltongirl wants me to add the apocryphal statement by President Hinckley, who allegedly said, "Okay. No more wedding cake temples."

People only seem to get married at the Provo temple if they're incredibly low-key, if there's a family tradition, or if they're cool and funky. Do we even need to ask which camp Cicada and Murray are in? Plus it made more sense since it's close to where all the other events were being held. I applaud their choice.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day, as you can see. I arrived at the temple and found Daltongirl and Daltonboy in the waiting room. We also recognized the elderly couple (relatives of Cicada's) who caught a gun show between the breakfast and the temple. They offered to take Murray and Cicada's dad with them but I believe Cicada's mom nixed that idea. Probably wise. Because I knew I wouldn't see Cicada before the ceremony, I made sure at the wedding breakfast to whisper in her ear the advice my mother gave to my sister Jenny just before her wedding. "Remember. You still have time to change your mind." Somehow I don't think she'll be saying this to me when it's my turn. Cicada accepted my advice gravely, and I rested easy in the knowledge that I'd done my duty.

After everyone arrived we went upstairs to the sealing room, which was beautiful and peaceful. Cicada's sweet aunt handed Daltongirl and I tissues in case we needed them. We both tend to sob loudly at weddings. After a few minutes Cicada and Murray came in together holding hands, dressed in white, and absolutely beaming.

The sweet elderly gentleman who was to perform the wedding came in and introduced himself. I've decided it's probably a good thing that most couples are really too blissed out to remember much of what the officiator says by way of advice. I'm sure he didn't mean for it to be this way, but the most memorable bit of his advice was when he reassured them that even if one's spouse apostatizes in the future, the spouse who stays true to his temple covenants will still be okay. And since he was basically talking to Murray the whole time, it's pretty clear who he thinks is going to be the one to bail. (Sorry, Cicada. I guess it's good that Murray has a heads-up, though.) But seriously: Is that really the best time? Why doesn't he throw in some sage words about what happens if one of them is eaten by a shark in the next couple of years while he's at it?

The ceremony itself was brief and lovely, and then we all stood up and congratulated Murray and Cicada as we filed our way out. Daltongirl and I perhaps filed a bit more quickly than the others because we had Things To Discuss.

We waited outside on the grounds while the wedding party got changed into their tuxes and other finery for the pictures. And while we waited Daltongirl saw something so arresting that she grabbed the top of my head and swiveled my neck over so that I could see it too. A lady walked out of the temple wearing the most extraordinary footwear I have ever before seen in life. She walked over to a bench and sat down, where I hope she pondered the choice she just made to go into the Lord's House dressed like a yeti:


Then Murray and Cicada walked out together, and the villagers rejoiced:

Could they be any cuter? They had a professional photographer, but Daltonboy followed discreetly behind and took pictures as well. He got a lot of the same shots the photographer did, but used different lenses so as to ensure that the pics would not be duplicates. And then before the reception he found time to print and frame one of them to put out on the gift table. Because he's just sweet like that.


I got the following shot for Savvy, who had been all excited to drive over and see Cicada in her pretty dress. (Checking out brides is her favorite.) Only she fell asleep instead and missed the whole thing, which is why being 3 can be a drag sometimes. Cicada and Murray obliged, though, by posing for me.

So. All in all, it was absolutely wonderful.