Granna & LiLi

LiLi & I spent the day with Granna. We looked at a photography exhibit, ate oatmeal cookies & sipped soda pop under the sun. LiLi showed Granna all of the cool things that she could do, like click her tongue. The last time we saw Granna was Christmas, so there was a lot to show and tell.

My mom always has a way of summing up things. Today she said it all when she looked at LiLi and said,

"we're going to be great friends."

Thanks for the great day Mom.

Ashley "Hot Lips"

Have I told you how much I love Ashley?? Well, I do. I took this picture last Thursday of my spastic sis and it just makes me so. darn. happy. When you have a little bundle of joy waking you up at one, and then again at five, you need that.

Zumba with Aunt Kyla

With the beginning of the New Year came some resolutions. One of which was to work out. Original, I know. Luckily my Christmas gift from Don went hand-in-hand with it: a membership to the Bountiful Rec Center for a year. A few weeks ago I went to my first official Zumba class.

"What's Zumba?" my mother asked after I began telling her about my experience.
"Zumba is a mix of Latin Dancing and Aerobics."
"It sounds carnal."
"It is."

Maybe too carnal to me. I find myself willing that small 1/8th part of Filipino to show itself during the classes. It's the closest thing I have to Latina blood. Maybe it is considered Latina. But if it's even trying to come out, it's being crushed by that dang 7/8ths of Caucasian. I don't know if my hips work like that. I try, oh do I ever try. I used to dance in high school, but they didn't teach us anything like that. Maybe I took all the wrong classes. But I'm pretty sure that Richfield High didn't even have hip-hop. Nope. Now that I think about it, my dance instructor was stuck in the 80's. Even her car and bangs were 80's. She had the closest thing to the 80's claw that I had seen in at least a decade. So a lot of good all my dancing does me now. That and I'm rusty. I feel like the girl on Dirty Dancing, the part where she's just barely beginning to dance and can't get her feet and legs to get in sync. That's me. It's a nice contrast from my Zumba instructor who's tied ribbons to the back of her pants to accentuate how well she can move her hips. Show off.
In my agony I look over and see a woman who seems to have figured it out. I look harder, and stop. It's my Aunt Kyla! And she's better than me! No wonder all of her daughters can dance. Not that that seems to make a difference, as a lot of the steps we're doing in our class my mother seems to have done naturally all of her life. The pony, for example, is one that's practically my mother's trademark, and it's taken me these twenty-something years to master. So, on that note, I'll end with a plea: Dear Mom, please come with me to Zumba so you can teach me how to do it. But, please refrain from joining forces with Aunt Kyla and showing me up. The sooner the better. Thank you.

Two Half-Pints

I have very few pictures of LiLi and I, so I decided to have Don take some. I edited, and I think they turned out. We're two peas in a pod, she and I. Or as Ashley likes to say, "two half-pints".



People used to try and explain to me what being a parent was like. My favorite analogy is from Aubrey, "It's like having your heart in another person. You just don't realize how much you can love someone." I remember the first time I heard LiLi's hurt cry. It was high pitched, shrill, and went through my entire body like a bolt of lightening. No, I had no idea what motherhood would be like.

Judges Wanted

I'm taking a photography class. I figured since I have this great camera that I should figure out how to use it. So, I made it a New Year's Resolution to learn about the basics. Can you keep a secret? I don't think that I've ever kept a New Year's Resolution, so be super excited for me, okay?
Anyway, I've been taking pictures like crazy, and I need you to help me decide which pictures I'm going to showcase for my class. In this case I can't decide between some of LiLi's, and since I can't have all of my pictures be of her, I need to narrow it down to one. So let me know your vote in the form of a comment and why you like it best (i.e. composition, light, or just plain "because" will do). I have until next Wednesday to decide. Thanks for your help!!

Option #1:


Option #2:

Option #3:

Life With Don. Warning: Not for the faint of heart...or stomach

Grandma Goodwin, you might want to skip this post.

Last night Don let out a burp that would have wilted lilacs. After four and a half years of marriage, and a lifetime with two brothers I'm no stranger to the fact that guys think bodily functions are pretty much a ten on the "hilarious scale." My brothers educated me at a young age to their fine skills of gleeking and buttercups. You can pity me now if you'd like. But what didn't kill me made me stronger. Really. And, heaven help me, it might have even made me an enabler. And so, the following conversations ensued:

"Nice one. I bet you could burp the whole ABC's," I mused.
"Nope. I can't burp that long."
"You don't have to do the whole thing with one burp."
"A girl I knew could. She would take a swig of root beer and do it."
He demonstrated, using a fake burp, since he hadn't honed his skills to do it for real yet,
"a-b-c-d-e-f-g-h-i-j-k-l-m-n-o-p-q-r," (fake gasp) "s-t-u-v-w-x-y-z."
"Wow. That's talent. Most people I've seen do it take breaths in between the letters."
I probably shouldn't have said that last one. I could see the wheels in his head turning before he decided to give it a go.
I could hardly hear his attempt at the letter "a", but he grew stronger. By "g" I was officially grossed out. But by "L" I was kind-of laughing. Okay. I was laughing. I'll admit it. He was getting tired.
"This is hard," he panted in between burps; he had gotten to "q".
By "w" I had tears running down my face. He had gotten stuck on "w" and had to try three times. So gross. That one's tricky, especially after going through the whole alphabet. He ended with gusto on "z". That's my man.

Five minutes later we were having the following conversation:

"Guess what? LiLi doesn't have to use her baby bath anymore. She can just sit in the bottom of the shower."
"What??" This time I really am mortified, "You pee in the shower!!"
"Just in the drain. It's great: I just put some toys in the bottom of the bath and let her chew on them."
"She's going to get some weird disease because you let her chew on toys that have been contaminated with your pee."
"She's not going to get a disease from my pee. Besides," he amended, "I don't pee in the toilet very often."
I slap my forehead with my palm. D'oh!
"I-I mean the bathtub very often."
I'm shaking my head and trying not to smile in spite of myself, because I knew full well what he had tried to say, but his last statement causes a series of thoughts to run through my head:

1- I should wash out the tub more often.
2-Why do I even try to keep this house, and baby so clean when it's clearly a losing battle?
3-What argument can I come up with that will seal the deal to make Don wash the tub from now on, as in forever??
4-It's a good thing I'm the one who gives LiLi the majority of her baths.
5-I utter a silent prayer of thanks that she has a mother.

Now don't get me wrong, these conversations might give you the impression that Don is...is...maybe I'll let you come up with the adjectives. The point is, is that's not what I'm trying to say. And in my husband’s defense, that's not what he is. He's just a guy. And I'd have to admit I probably wouldn't want him any other way. Especially if it meant that he'd start going to a tanning booth and vainly glancing in the mirror, or wearing cherry lip gloss. (I don't know why I threw that last one in.)
What a pair we make.

*a special thanks to Don for relenting, and letting me publish this post. Love you, baby.