Into the corner

I'm tired of being tired. And I'm tired of Rip jamming his tiny head into the corner of his crib, wailing and waiting to be rescued. Seriously. He refuses to even consider sleeping through the night. He used to demand to be fed and now that I'm letting him cry it out at night, he has opted for plan B, which consists of him scooting himself into the nether part of his crib with his head crammed into the corner. I can't just let him cry because he just keeps jamming his wee body harder and harder into the corner, testing my motherly limits of compassion. I inevitably get up, drag him back to the starting line, plug the binky back in his mouth and wait for 3 hours later where I will undoubtedly do it all over again. He might be lazy, but he's pretty clever.

"Think you're just going to let me cry all night? We'll see. We'll see..."

He's so small and yet so evil. It's hard to do anything but be impressed by his sheer spite. He really is doing it out of spite, I'm sure. He's teaching me a lesson and I'm learning quick. I'm trying to determine if it would be better just to feed him at these merciless hours. Would he stop doing the head jamming thing?

Rip- "Nobody sleeps a solid 6 hours in this house! Nobody!"
Me- "No, of course not, your liege. Of course not. We would never. Pulling your small body from the perils of the corner of the crib at 3 in the morning is our greatest accomplishment! We desire more of it! Never sleep at night again, your wickedness."

Anyway, I think I'm just really tired and really hateful of all the idiots who have babies who willingly sleep through the night. Rip has done it a total of 4 times and that was months ago. And if you start volunteering advice, be prepared to find an evil package on your doorstep at 4 in the morning. And it will be wailing. And not rolling over.

Snow? Why?

We moved back to Utah. For an explanation, please find loaded gun and shoot, either me or yourself, since I can't bare explaining why we moved for the 9 billionth time.

I haven't updated for a long time, being somewhat busy with moving, trying to find a house to buy, and just wanting to do other things besides inform the 5 people who read this of what they already know. So here is the update. We moved, we're still trying to find a house, and Rip still ceases to amaze me with his sheer laziness. He won't roll over because instead of getting frustrated and trying to move his big body, he lays his head down and begins wailing. Fine. When he's 17 years old and I'm still carrying him around in my arms, please do the polite thing and avert your eyes.

We went to our Springville ward (where we're currently renting while we look for a house in the more north, more normal parts of Utah), and let's just say there were some differences from our San Diego ward. If you know what FFA stands for, you're better off than we are. Not knowing that almost got us kicked out. **Please see Future Farmers of America for any questions** I'm not complaining I'm just saying that it's all very different and I'm trying to adjust by saying things like 'folks' and 'rootin' tootin' (no one has said that yet, but I'm pretty sure they're all thinking it...). Anyway, I might just be mad because I tried to take Rip in the baby jogger and suddenly realized that baby joggers are not meant for 3 feet of snow with ice packed on top. In fact, nothing is meant for 3 feet of snow with ice packed on top. Not me, not Rip, not the baby jogger, not nuthin.'

Family Pictures 09

I thought everyone might want to stare at pictures of my family. I'm pretty sure I thought right. If you're wondering about my hair, know that it was sort of windy last Sunday when we took these, so my hair has a wind-blown effect. If you're wondering about Josh's hair, the wind blew it off.

I like this picture because Rip looks cross-eyed and somewhat handicapped.And this is where we had to climb a mountain to get back to our car. It was wild. Rip was in the stroller screaming; it was difficult not to 'accidentally' let the stroller go. Just kidding?
We haven't edited them to fix all the shadows and stuff, but we're on it (probably not). We just wanted a family picture at the beach and we are too cheap to pay for a real photographer (no offense Laura; we greatly appreciate the pics and I consider anyone who can focus a camera, all the while squealing loudly in order to get the attention of a 3 month old, a photographer).It was really hard to get Rip to look at the camera, so the first two pics are pretty much the only ones where he was looking at Laura. The rest, he's lazily drooping his head or screaming his face off. Case in point. Either he's really tired or he just hates his parents. Hard to say...

Rip van Stink

There are a million more, but these are two of the 5 million pictures that I have actually downloaded from the disc. These are from Rip's photo shoot when he was 2 weeks old. He doesn't actually look anything like that now (his hair is getting lighter and lesser), but who can really keep track of these things? Apparently I'm supposed to get photos of him every week of his life. I do not plan on doing that. I plan on not doing that, in fact.

This is what he looks like now, though, at 3 months. And yes, he's wearing a CALLE shirt in the first picture, and no, CALLE doesn't make baby clothes. A friend made it for us, so you can all stop trying to purchase one. You can borrow Rip's, but only if you're slightly overweight, since he is too.

I saw a man unicycling around town the other day (this was before I took my leave of absence from society; I haven't left the house in 5 days and I don't plan on leaving any time soon. I kid not.), and I told Josh about the guy on the unicycle, to which he replied, "That guy is lucky I didn't punch him in the face." I wanted to point out that I was the one who saw the unicycler and not Josh, thereby making it impossible for Josh to punch him in the face, but I opted against that and decided rather to nod my head along in agreement. And either Josh has a strong dislike for those who ride unicycles (all 2 of them), or I've completely rubbed off on him. It's a toss up. Either way, I like it. Anyone who randomly wants to punch others in the face has my support.

Halloween

So you might be wondering what we were for Halloween... you might not be. We're obviously Utah mormons. You can't really tell in the picture, but I've stuffed my stomach to look like I'm pregnant, ratted my hair, putting the 'Bump-it' to shame, and I have a baby taped to my leg. Josh has a BYU hat on, socks with sandles, and jean shorts on. Needless to say, our California ward got a kick out of the 'costumes.' We get sick of hearing about 'Utah mormons' and such, and so we decided to go with it and make a joke of it. They loved it. And Rip is obviously a ghost. A scary one.

The other pictures are from a week ago when we watched some friends' kids. I'm trying really hard to take more pictures and look like a good mom. So far I'm 0 for 2.

You might be wondering how old Rip is. He's 2 1/2 months old. If you feel like he's been 2 1/2 months old for at least 2 years, you're not alone. D0esn't it seem like he should be older than that? Doesn't it seem like time is standing still? Doesn't it seem like Rip shouldn't be able to open his eyes that wide? Well, he can. And he does it often. In fact, this seems to be his expression of choice. As my sister, Meg, put it, "His eyes are taller than they are wide." I'm sort of concerned.

Spit up

I keep meaning to update with pictures and videos, but I've opted to spare you, or rather, spare myself. I hate updating. I probably hate it because my fingers are sore and tired from the constant removal process of spit-up. Seriously. Rip doesn't just spit-up either, he pours sour milk from his mouth like a fountain... the entire day. Spit-up sounds kind of cute and innocent. What Rip does is neither cute nor innocent. It's a vicious assault of my person and my decency. It's an act of terrorism and it needs to be stopped. I'm pretty sure it cannot be stopped. This baby was designed to try me and milk upheaval tries me.

There are so few breaks in between the constant upheaval of milk, that I've resorted to wearing t-shirts all day every day. This might not seem low, but considering I firmly believe the t-shirt to be an article only worn to exercise or sleep, this is a huge development. I loathe myself for stooping so low, but even my resolve to dress like you aren't going to bed has dissolved. My will has dissolved. Life, as I know it, has dissolved. I love the word 'dissolve.' Dissolve.

And to top it all off, the baby just puked on my bedspread.

I'll post pictures tomorrow/later/probably never.

My life is better than yours

I'm furious. I just wrote an entire post and was just adding a title when somehow I deleted the entire thing. Honest to goodness, if this computer was a living thing it would be shriveled on the ground weeping, for fear of the harsh expletives that fell out of my mouth.

To sum up what the would-be post said, I noted that I didn't have much of anything to write, being that I sit at home with a baby all day and realistically, babies do not make for very interesting companions (anyone denying this is welcome to come and sit with me and Rip and see all the wild adventures we get into; it's both magical and wild and I'm lying. We get bored staring at each other all day, so he screams on the floor and I watch 'What Not to Wear' at subhuman volumes). I mentioned that I left the house the other day with a shirt covered in a film of spit-up and someone pointed it out to me, asking, "Is that spit-up?" Without the slightest measure of embarrassment, I said, "Uh huh. Want some?"

I also noted that I tried to shave Rip's head today but was foiled by Josh, who was horrified by the idea. I pointed out that Rip is currently sporting a comb-over and would be utterly humiliated by it, if he was at all self-aware and not completely focused on milk and the consumption thereof. Josh stood his ground, but has left for work for the day. I'm not sure where he put the clippers but it's only a matter of time. I give it 40 minutes until I crack and shave all the dark fuzzy goodness away.

Last, I mentioned in the deleted post about looking worse than I did 2 weeks ago. Sad, but true. I guess that can be expected with a diet rich in brownies and chocolate chips. I plan to start running my big post-pregnant body, but am slightly concerned about dying along the way. I haven't exercised for a long time, and I'm pretty sure my body is going to remind me of that when I'm trying to haul all of it up a horse trail, and it's trying to haul itself to the refrigerator. We'll see. I'll keep you updated on my love-handles.