Twin Pigs!

I thought an update is in order, since I'm due in less than two weeks and I most definitely will not be posting before then or immediately after.

I really do deserve credit for posting this picture. For Halloween (yes, two months ago), Josh was a zookeeper, Rip was a monkey, and yes, I was a pig. It seemed like such a good idea, until I went to one house and the person handing out treats was ecstatic to point out that their dog was also costumed as a pig for Halloween. I was only mildly humiliated. I have very little pride at this point and so someone telling me that my twin was an overweight bulldog has little or no impact on my self-esteem.

This is a picture of Rip 'eating' in his high chair. Rip does more throwing of food than eating, but we're currently trying to stop that. What I mean is, I tell Rip 'No, no throwing food' and he holds his arm cocked back, fist clenched around something edible, and stares me down until we hold eye contact for a minute, and then he launches whatever he was holding. He keeps eye contact throughout, curious and eager to see my reaction. Fantastic. Mealtimes are such a joy. To add insult to injury, Rip is sure to throw food on your back the second you bend down to pick up his previously discarded food. Look how happy he is about it! Bad seed.

And this picture is the two boys eating popcorn together, watching a little tv. Twins!

So I'll probably have this baby January 3rd. I don't know why I think that, but I do (I'm due Jan 1st). But I like to keep Josh on his toes so I usually call him a couple times a day and claim to have had the baby. Our conversation goes like this:

Phone Ringing...

Josh: "Hey."

Me: "Hey. Guess what? I had the baby! At the grocery store. He's so chubby!"

Josh: "Oh yeah?"

Me: "Yeah! And he told me he loves me, unlike Rip who has made it pretty clear with most of his facial expressions that he sees me only as an obstacle to keep him from having fun (i.e. tearing off tree ornaments, jumping out of the shopping cart, etc.)."

The conversations vary, but I usually pretend to have had the baby at least 3 times a day. Sometimes when we go to bed and I'm in bed reading and he's brushing his teeth, I shout out, "Agh! I had the baby! He's in our bed snuggling with me!"

The News and the Weather

I think I'm a blog failure. I only update once a month, and usually there are no pictures in which to ogle at. Yes, that definitely identifies me as a failure as a blogger. I hate blog failures. Why even keep a blog if you aren't going to update it with all the many exciting events in your life that make your life seem way more action-packed than most everyone else you know (that is the point of a blog, btw)? So I'm a hypocrite. I've been called worse. Seriously. Probably by you, the person reading this.

I think this month's blog topic is going to call attention to an issue much in need of such attention. The weather. Not the weather itself, but the weather being broadcasted 6 billion times a day on the news.

First off, I love the news. More specifically, I love the Fox evening News. Probably because I love Hope and Bob, and even Sandy who is looking a little more like a drug-addict than a news reporter. I accept Arrika, even though her name is spelled ridiculously and I have a hard time respecting someone who didn't take the initiative to legally change the spelling of such a horribly derailed attempt of an 'original name.' It's disgusting, really. But I digress.

I digress because I'm missing a key player in the Fox evening news. Brett Benson. The meteorologist. I like Brett. I like that he can laugh at himself and he takes the teasing of the anchors in stride. I like that he played 'college ball' and that I can use phrases like 'college ball.' I like the way he looks, the way he talks, and I like the way he does his hair. He seems like a good guy. The problem I have is not with him as a person, but what he does. And same goes for Jodi, Kevin, and the other local meteorologists for news stations.

See, I cannot stand, I repeat, cannot stand the amount of weather they shove down our throats during the evening news. And aside from it being repetitive, it's minutes upon minutes of satellite radar blurps of wind speeds and forecasts on pressure and humidity. No one cares, no one understands it, and no one wants to spend half their night praying Hope or Bob signs Brett out with, "Thanks Brett. That sounds like a bunch of crap I couldn't care less about. Next time, start and end with the seven day forecast and leave it at that. Let's not get fancy with something no one but God himself can predict." That would be refreshing.

So while I'm trying to find out how to avoid bed bugs aside from never going out in public again, I'm being informed through swishes of color and cycling clouds of mist just what the dewpoint is going to be for that night. Its outrageous! I feel like calling the station and giving them a piece of my mind. And after spending an entire day with a one year old who ultimately has decided to embark on a permanent fast, I have a lot of mind to give (literally, the boy maybe eats 300 calories a day. I'm dumbfounded how he's lasted this long). I just want to watch the news without the endless updates of highs and lows and just keep it to a simple, "Tomorrow is going to be cold. The next day not so cold. See you tomorrow."

Nice genetics!

Someone should have told me. Yes, definitely. Someone should have told me that whatever bugs you most about your spouse, your kids will inevitably inherit those same aggravating traits.

Take Josh for instance. He has a horrible gag reflex when anything (i.e. toothbrush) goes too far into his mouth. This, like many of Josh's 'cute' peculiarities, irritates me to no end. So naturally, Rip inherited this. Rip barfs regularly and for no other apparent reason than he stuck his fat little fingers in his mouth. He has an impressive two teeth and he likes to feel them on occasion. This inevitably leads to a vomit attack. Awesome. Spontaneous vomit. Many a night I go into Rippy's room to check on him before I go to bed, only to be greeted by the ranking smell of puke. Josh thinks it's child abuse, but I usually just let him sleep in it until morning. Hey. It doesn't bother him, it doesn't bother me... until I have to clean up dried up puke in the morning. Then it bothers me a lot.

And what about Rip's disinterest in food. I mean, the kid can't be mine since he is most definitely not motivated by food. He likes a snack here and there, but he really is not a great eater and has no real passion for eating. Neither does Josh. Josh is a good eater and eats most everything, but the guy forgets to eat sometimes. Really? I never knew that was possible until I married him. I plan my schedule around mealtimes and even go so far as to plan what that mealtime will entail (yes, I'm disgusting). It drives me absolutely insane when Josh doesn't get excited for good food. He eats quite a bit, but there isn't that intensity and passion that true eaters have. I have it. Rip does not. Josh has failed me. Sometimes I get excited for Rip to try something truly spectacular, only to have him push it out of his mouth, throw it on the floor, and look at me expectantly like, "What else? Got any goldfish crackers?"

But Josh isn't the only one to blame for crappy genetics. I have man child hands (small like a child and masculine like a man, hence, man child hands). My fingers are double jointed as well and so when I point with my pointer finger (index finger?), it sort of bends down. Rip's does the same thing. And his fingers are sausagy like mine. Really. Nice genetics. It doesn't help that Rip is a caveman and rather than trying to use real words he points to everything. He points with his sausage finger and I retrieve what he points at. We have a system.

Ultimately, I think someone should be out there informing the masses that you really need to consider your spouses 'quirks,' because you will be dealing with them in multiples. I know if someone had told me I'm going to have a family of barfies, I might really have reconsidered. Probably not since not many guys would find double-jointed man child hands attractive. I'm not sure Josh does either, but it's a trade off for me putting up with his getting queasy every time he brushes his teeth.

New shoes

Remember when I mentioned the Asay weirdness and that Rip is definitely afflicted with it? Well, he is. And today was further evidence of that fact.

Rip only wears those Robeez shoes. You know, the soft-soled ones that are kind of like slipperish things? Well, anyway, since he walks now and the weather is going to start getting cold, I decided to spend my birthday gift card on some new shoes for the little cretin. So off we went with my mom in tow, to the real happiest place on earth (Disneyland is definitely not that place) -

Nordstrom.

With so many ridiculously cute shoes, I had a hard time picking some but settled on some lime green pumas. Let's just say, they're probably the cutest shoes I've ever seen and I would easily have no problem wearing them myself. Anyway, I find this amazing shoes and put them on Rip. I wasn't too surprised he refused to stand in them, let alone walk. He was used to a moccasin-like shoe, so anything with real soles would naturally be confusing. We all laughed a little, looking how adorable he looked in his cute shoes. But after 10 minutes or so of Rip buckling his fat little legs underneath him and flat out refusing to stand on the incredible shoes, I started to lose patience.

"Seriously? I mean, seriously? Are you suddenly paralyzed? You forget how to walk?" I was so mad 20 minutes later when he was still plopped down on the ground like a 4 month old. He wouldn't even crawl. Both my mom and the sales lady assured me he would inevitably get used to the new shoes and walk again. I'm not so sure.

I brought psycho baby home and tried to get Josh to coax him to walk. Nope. I made Josh show him while he put his own shoes. Nothing. I even tried to lure him with treats, chocolate milk, a balloon, etc. etc. etc. Zip. After screaming, "What is wrong with you?!!" 17 times, Rip managed to cry. He pulled at the Velcro desperately, sure that the shoes were breaking his legs. No Rip. The only thing likely to break your legs is me if you don't start walking in those awesome shoes. I told him that, and yet he still refused to walk.

A whole day later, the kid is still not walking in his shoes. And yes, I made him wear them the entire day, sure he would eventually give up and walk. Nope. Here is a picture depicting what he did most of the day. Nothing. Lots of crying and whining with a whole lot of sitting.

I'm pretty sure he's doing it to drive me crazy. I initially thought he was concerned about the feel of the shoes. Now I know he's doing it out of will and spite. I'm starting to admire his determination, until I look at those green shoes sitting on his useless legs, and then I get mad all over again.

Twice as nice

I know. Nothing for months and then two posts right in a row? You're just that lucky. Anyway, this is a picture post, because my sister told me I was lame for never posting pictures. Well, Meg, I think you're lame, but obviously sort of right since I'm posting pictures now. I hate peer pressure.

Here are some pics from Rip's very first birthday. Rippy really hated the hat. And he had no real interest in the cake really either. Basically, he protested the entire celebration. And yes, his little cake was a tombstone with R.I.P. on it. The other picture is demonstrating my belly. No, I do not typically take belly pictures so this is as close as it is getting.

This group of pictures are from the national sheepdog competition in Midway. It was pretty incredible, and here are just some pics of some of the people there. Rip eventually passed out. I guess seeing dogs herding sheep was just too much excitement for him.These pictures are just random pics of when my sister and I took the kids to a Highland water park place (aka free place with water). I love this picture with Rip and his most favorite cousin, Dax. He really does love Dax best of all.And this is very possibly my most favorite picture ever. Remember how I said Rip has an obsession with pushing every visible object? Well, here he is mowing the lawn with Josh. This was taken just tonight and I have not stopped laughing about the entire thing. See how Rip is helping mow the lawn?

Another boy?

First off, it's been a long time. I have been protesting the internet altogether, for no real reason. I love pointless protests.

Second off, we're having another boy, and boy, am I relieved. Although, when the fake doctor (this guy was a DO, not a MD, really a complete fake, sort of like a chiropractor. Oh, does that offend you? Show me proof that chiropractors are at all legitimate) showed us the ultrasound and we saw the distinguishing marks that make a boy a boy, I was momentarily disappointed. Yeah, figure that one out. Anyway, I'm back on the 'boys are better for people like me' bandwagon, so no worries.

I really have been out of the loop. I guess I should update the world as to Rip's latest developments (if you're shouting 'NOOOOOO!!!!!! Please NOOOOOOOO!!!!' don't worry, I'll keep it to a 17 paragraph minimum and only include 5000000 pictures of Rip doing nothing of real interest). Let us begin.

• Rip walks. True, sort of like a dog does on his hind legs, but he walks and he thinks he's pretty awesome because of it.
• Rip has digressed into a 2 month old with colic. He has decided that crying is now his only means of communication and uses a lot of communication meanwhile hanging onto my legs.
• Rip is 13 months and has only a half of a tooth. This half tooth has been in the works now for something like 4 months. At this rate, Rip will be teething until he's 16.
• Rip generally dislikes most foods. He eats only toast and crackers and is thinking of coming out with a new diet book revealing his findings.
• Rip, like his mom, has no interest in the general population. He truly wants nothing to do with any person aside from me and Josh. It is aggravating, but I must say that I relate. Strangers in the grocery store have no business smiling at us. It's unnerving and if it was at all acceptable to give severely dirty looks at the smiling checkout lady trying to make me laugh, I would too. Until then, I leave it up to Rippy.
• Rip loves books and is constantly bringing me books and trying to climb into my lap. Only problem aside from not allotting my entire day to reading 'That's not my Dinosaur!', I can't stand reading the same 25 books over and over again. It sort of makes me want to blow my brains out.
• Oh, Rip hates his new brother. I only know this because he is obsessed with pulling my shirt up and hitting my bare belly. I would say this is strange behavior, but as Rip's true personality begins to emerge, the weird Asay genes emerge as well. The kid is weird (for anyone out of the loop, my side of the family has some serious weirdness).
• Last off, Rip has an obsession with pushing things. He screams to push the grocery cart, he disrupts sunday school because he's trying to push the metal chairs around, he pushes his high chair through the house, he has even taken to getting behind me and pushing my legs. Yeah. He's a freak.

So there you have it. I can't make any promises to update more often, mostly because I am almost 7 months pregnant and my day is typically not that monumental.

July

Alright. It's time for a massive update. Massive because the month of July was basically the busiest month to hit Normandy (I realize that doesn't actually make sense but I'm banking on at least one other person who reads this to actually be dumber than me. Not likely, but possible).

Anyway, this update will not be including a single picture. Nope. Not one. Why? Because I didn't take any. Why? Because I was raised by Vicky and anyone who knows Vicky knows that taking pictures is for other people's mothers. Every picture from my childhood comes from the single source of Carla, my best friend's mom. She happens to be the exact opposite in regards to photography as my mother, but we'll save that for a separate, more meaningless update.

So no pictures and lots of words equals lots of skimming over most everything. I'm okay with that. In fact, I prefer it.

1. My parents got back from their mission. Holy crap that was a long 3 years. Felt more like 10, but hey. They're home.
   
2. Next was Josh's family's vacation to Southern California. We went to Disneyland (never take any child under the age of 3), went to the beach (Rip worshipped the sand and seagulls), and visited old friends in San Diego. It really was a blast so thank you Barb and Dave!
3. This was my grandma's viewing and funeral. Loved the woman tremendously and am so happy that she is finally back with her family. I knew she was getting ready to go when she stopped referring to people as 'jackasses.' I plan on picking up where she left off.
4. The Beez gets married. That's my sister. She actually goes by the name Beezer Bug Face, but Beez for short. Her hair and makeup were incredible. I wish my hair had looked half as good for my own, but considering I had a huge stye in one of my eyes and it was basically half-shut the entire day, hair was the least of my problems.
   
5. Family pictures. Rip did not behave. I would say that I'm surprised, except that I'm not. He has started the terrible twos a year early. He throws tantrums people. He flings himself on to the floor onto his stomach, puts his head down and starts kicking his fat little legs. II really can't help but laugh. His little fits of rage are so futile. "Ohhh! You're mad? Okay then. I'll let you jump into the 6 ft pool by yourself. What was I thinking?"
   
6. The Asay family reunion. This was also a lot of fun, and would have been even more fun without a certain 11 month old. Rip did not like all the kids in his face, smiling and holding his hands. In fact, he usually tried to bite them, only he doesn't have any teeth so it looked more like an open mouthed kiss. Like a cat without claws, his natural instincts are still intact.
   

Basically, it was a crazy month. We find out in 3 weeks what gender this next baby will be, but I have a sickening feeling it's a girl. Don't want girls. Not yet at least. They seem to have too many feelings. So we'll probably be having a girl, and on top of trantrums, we'll have pouting hurt feelings. Blah. I hate feelings.

Also, Rip has started walking. It isn't too impressive, but he seems to get a little more courageous each day. He does look more like Frankenstein than an actual person, but I'm assuimg that will work itself out.

The devil?

I don't think this is a big surprise to most people, since most people are on facebook (I am among the elite few who consider themselves too cool for facebook), but I'm pregnant. I'm due January 1st, making me about 13 weeks. This was a huge surprise to us, but we're happy about it and will be even happier once baby #2 is no longer a newborn. Have I mentioned I dislike newborns? I know, I know. I'm guaranteed a spot in hell for saying that, and my house will probably be egged for the next few weeks (people still do that right? Sad world if they don't...), but I cannot honestly say otherwise. So take it or leave it.

But I'm finding out more and more the type of opinion people have of me (people who don't really know me) and I guess it needs to be said that I am not the devil himself. Apparently there is some confusion about that. I should clarify. I am mostly joking and am actually a well-adjusted person. I don't really hate the entire human race and I do in fact, love my husband and baby. If you lack what I consider a sense of humor and usually find yourself offended by the end of one of my blog entries, I suggest you stop reading my blog and hope and pray we never meet. I'll probably offend you some more. And probably with my fists.

My friend once told me that her friends read my blog and are always aghast at what I'm writing. I don't understand it. If you don't like it, why read it? I have stopped reading many blogs that I find nauseating and repellent. It's very simple. I just make a conscious effort to not go to their blog site. Self-control people, self-control.

Anyway, enough of that. I mostly want to talk about how if anyone knows anyone else who is also due the beginning of January or end of December, please have them contact me. I want to have the first baby of the year (year's supply of free diapers and like prizes involved), and I need to weed out the competition. I'm thinking of busing them all over to Mexico or something around the delivery time, just so they aren't in the state of Utah when it's time. After all, I undoubtedly deserve this more than anyone else. Naturally. I have to put up with all sorts of hardships and a year's worth of free diapers just might make it all worth it. Please have them email me ASAP. I already hate them.

Look at our girl!

Alright, it's decided. I'm pretty sure Rip would make an ugly girl. This picture proves it. Maybe it's best we never have girls, because it doesn't look too promising for any future girl kids of ours.

Motherish

Okay, so for the most part, Rip isn't very photogenic (an inherited disorder, I think). I can't stop laughing at this pose. Rip looks like one of those high school wrestlers who tries to look really tough by making his neck look huge. We tried to take some mother's day pictures, ya know, since I'm a mother? Ish? Well, no matter. He did better with Josh. No wonder, considering he is completely a daddy's boy. Totally prefers his dad. Guess what, Rip? The feeling is mutual.

But the real question is, what to do with Rip's hair. He actually has some (you can't tell, but it's back there; I promise). He has developed the classic 9 month old mullet, and I am torn as to what to do with it. Cut it so he looks absolutely bald, or maintain the flowy back region so he looks like he belongs in an 80's sitcom? What to do, what to do...

Also, Rip loves to play under our bed (our bed is tall; yeah, we're rockstars). He has only just put two and two together. Get mom's phone from off the nightstand, and hide under the bed with it. Mom is less willing to crawl under the bed to retrieve it from you there. He has started stealing things he knows I won't let him have and sprints (more like a sprint crawl of sorts) as fast as his chubby legs will carry him to the most center part of the bed. Sometimes I think the kid is a genius. And then I watch him chase a ball around, and I figure otherwise.

Baby or Kentucky bluegrass?

As mentioned in an earlier post, we are currently in combat with our lawn/weed forest. We've been going back and forth about killing everything alive and laying sod, or keeping up the vigilant weeding and watering program that only seems to encourage more crab grass and other unwanted weedy things.

We ultimately arrived at our decision to sod when Josh asked his mother to come by and give us her best impression of the weed situation of 2010. I watched the Barb drive up, get out, and received my answer only seconds later as I watched her laughing to herself about the state of our weed farm. Since Barb found the dandelion haven to be more funny than anything else, we put on our brave faces and have decided that ripping it all out and laying sod is the only non-funny solution to this weed epidemic. I'm only sort of sad about it. If I really try to be honest about the whole situation, I never believed we could revive Carlos' yard. Not like Josh did, anyway. Every day he would look at the yard and would come inside with the same conclusion. "Seriously, I think there's grass growing!" Josh's optimism was helping him see dandelion heads and sprouts of strangler vines as infant grasslings. If only.

But it shouldn't be too bad, only too expensive. It really is a difficult decision, especially since we've taken a chunk out of our savings to buy a house, and we were planning on buying another baby at the end of the summer (remember how we have to do fertility stuff to get pregnant? I do.). I guess we'll just buy a lawn instead. It makes sense if you really don't think about it.

Carlos

Warning, if you do not care about my house, please stop now. I will now proceed to post 5 billion pictures of nearly every room in my house. Be glad it isn't a huge house. I am. Oh, and if you're concerned about the bare walls, just know that Josh is too. He keeps nagging me to hang stuff up, and I keep nagging him to stop nagging me. I've only just decided to try and see who goes insane first from all the nagging.

I'd like to start out with this picture, since it is the reason for living, according to me. This is a picture of my closet. My very own closet. In my room. I don't have to share with Josh. He has his own, too. And we put built-ins in. I love them. Sometimes, I just open the closet and admire it. Needless to say, Josh's closet is a lot neater. Kudos to him and his OCD.

This is our master bath. Yes, we're sick of the color scheme as well. We've had it for 5 1/2 years. Shoot me, please.
I am no good at taking pictures. This the master bedroom. Unlike this picture, the bedroom is actually quite large. There are two closets (if you missed the importance of that, please see above).

This is Rip's bathroom that he doesn't use since it's only a shower and he is unwilling to take showers at this point (so lame). There is a sink and vanity straight across. Imagine it. It's wonderful, I'm sure.

This is Rip's room. He also has a closet, but quite a bit less magnificent than ours. No built-ins, ya see.

Here is the kitchen. Nothing to write home about, but nothing needing dramatic cosmetic overhaul, therefore, exactly something to write home about. I correct myself.

Here is the living room. Not a great picture or angle, but Josh didn't send me the other pictures I took, so here is what you get. You're missing the best part, though. A black console table that has become the apple of my eye.

To the basement!

The basement living room. Bare, yes? Unfortunately, our basement will remain bare. We have no desire (money) to change this fact. We are currently investing any extra dollar into the plague that is our yard.
Downstairs hallway. Large, spacious, and a complete waste of space. Sounds like someone I know.
Basement bathroom that only gets used every other millennium. That being said, we really need to put in the shower curtain, towel bars, etc. etc. etc. Or maybe invest in some blinds. Nah. It's a nice little surprise for anyone brave enough to peek down there.

The laundry room, or lack thereof really. More like the laundry closet. Oh well. This infuriates Josh. Considering he does a good chunk of the laundry, I tolerate his contempt for the laundry facilities.

Basement bedroom #1 / laundry room.

Basement bedroom #2 / Josh's office that he never works in but works on the kitchen table instead, claiming that he likes to be close to Rip and me. I'm suspicious he just likes to be around when I'm making food so he can bum some lunch from me.

Basement bedroom #3 / Rip's playroom that doesn't actually have more than 5 toys.
There. You've met Carlos (the name of our house). Someday, I will post a picture of the outside, but probably not for a long while since we're in the process of destroying the entire plant life. I'll let you know how it goes.

Assault

I've been staring at this picture for the last 30 minutes, and laughing my head off. Thanks Dayna, for sending these to me. The reason it's so funny is twofold. One, Rip is going to punch her unless she starts kissing him back, and two, she is absolutely horrified by the assault. You can see her tiny fist trying to fend off the beastly boy, but really, when Rip wants something he typically gets it. Poor Jayne. She never stood a chance. He really does love her, though. She, on the other hand, finds him to be overbearing (wonder why...) and slightly overweight. Needless to say, she is not impressed by his aggressive love act. I can't say that I'm too surprised though. There's very little gentle snuggling going on in our home. We show love by throwing him 50 feet in the air and then smooching his face all over. So, really, this is Jayne's fault.

And here is a picture of all the babies of the mom lunch group. I wish Rip would have participated willingly, but after we plied him off of Jayne, he made a conscious decision to not cooperate.

SCR -Stomach Content Removal

Several things have been on my mind as of late. Nothing spiritual or awe-inspiring, just the feeble reflections of a simple-minded soul.

First, Rip has taken to throwing up right after he drinks a bottle. No, this isn't spit up. This is throw up. I know this because of the amount of the throw up, the content of the throw up (chunks, anyone?), and the hose-like force of the throw up. It doesn't seem to bother him, he just drinks a bottle, waits a few seconds, and then starts coughing, which if you live in our house, is a clear warning sign of stomach content removal, or SCR, if you will. He is fine before, during, and after, so we figure this is just one of his adorable little quirks (I'm trying to be more positive after going to a party of sorts and realizing that being myself (snarky and sarcastic), wasn't winning me any friends; in fact, I'm pretty sure I was the subject of later discussions, but this will be addressed next).

Next, as mentioned before, I went to a party some time ago and was quickly informed through telling looks and glances, that my attitude is not appreciated everywhere and by everyone. This isn't a huge shock to me, just a gentle reminder that people, particularly the female kind, don't like blunt honesty disguised by sarcasm. After telling some girls about my own experience with having a new baby, I recognized the tell tale signs of shock and horror (so I wanted to get hit by a car? Big deal. Who didn't? And I didn't exactly feel kindly towards the little monster demanding to be nursed every 2 hours? That sound like a lullaby to anyone?). So I made the mistake of opening up too much too soon to those with little or no personality. My mistake.

The third thing going on in my house is Rip being almost 8 months. I've realized I absolutely love this age. From 6 months and on, Rip has been ridiculously fun. A naughty nightmare at times, but fun. He has a personality. Imagine! He moves around like a miniature person (mostly aggravating, but incredibly entertaining as well), and he has a wide range of emotions, versus the cry, smile, sleep cycle he used to be fond of. So really, I've really been enjoying him. It seems easier to take him places, since he's more interested in his surroundings, and I'm not such a slave to his eating/sleeping schedules. Awesome. Maybe if I tell those girls that, they will like me? Probably not since I still don't believe in skinny jeans, and I still won't deny wanting to get hit by a car when Rip was born. Never!

The last thing on my mind, is how I sometimes assume that so long as Rip isn't hanging on my leg and whining, I don't care what he's doing. Not true. After finding him happily chewing on the rag I used to sop up most of his puke, I quickly realized that even I have boundaries. Chewing puke-drenched rags is not okay in my book and neither is Melissa from Biggest Loser. I loath her.

Lenny

Someone I know did this on her blog, and I find it to be quite brilliant. Instead of writing paragraph after paragraph of gibberish nonsense, I can use bullet points to summarize my gibberish nonsense. Well done, Marcia. Well done.

• Rip has begun pulling himself up on stuff, including his crib. He now has decided he would much rather pull himself up on the crib to a stand and watch the door, waiting to be rescued rather than sleep. Goodbye naps (what little there was to begin with...). Your 30 minute holiness will sorely be missed.
  
• I'm training for a marathon; yes, I'm a fool. Every morning I get up and pack up chunky Rip and we go running. Well, I go running and he sits in the baby jogger and stares at cars passing, and sometimes tries to touch things we run past. Ahh, little Lenny.
  
• Josh is still in Hawaii, having fun, not wanting to punch his own face off (?) listening to Rip not sleeping in the room next door.
• My upstairs is just about put together. Did I ever mention that we bought a house? Well, we did and the upstairs is about put together. Did I ever mention that we bought a house? Well, we did and the upstairs is about put together. Did I ever mention that we bought a house...
• Rip has been crawling for 2 months now and his wounded soldier look has become even more exaggerated. As my brother-in-law described it, "He looks like a blown-up soldier climbing out of his foxhole." Well put, Eli. But ever say anything like that about my child again, and I'll rip your face off. Only I can be rude about Lenny.
• I sometimes call Rip 'Lenny' from the book 'Mice and Men.' In fact, right now he's banging his fat little hand on the wall and laughing. Okay...
• I have had a bowl of ice cream every night that Josh has been out of town.
  
• Since Lenny likes to pull his fat little body up on stuff, especially the bar stools, he has started to collect the battle wounds of babyhood. Bruises, welts, and bleeding mouths, walking is going to be a nightmare.
  
• Lenny still crawls after me and clings to my legs, whining. I still resist the urge to drop kick him somewhere else.
  
• Lenny is 7 1/2 months old.
• I'm officially changing Rip's name to Lenny.
• Once Josh gets back, I've decided to take a few weeks off myself. I'm taking my ice cream-saturated body to a beach somewhere, and I'm going to sleep entire nights without having to get up in the middle of the night to push Rip back down, only to have him laugh and crawl back to the side to pull himself back up.
• Lenny needs a nap. So do I.
  

Pictures -Do you care?

Because I'm such a good mom, Rip had his real first pictures taken. Yes. He's nearly 7 months. I dare you to judge me!

Nothing fancy or artsy, just me, Rip, Target, and the girl with a neon-green thong. Yup. While Rip stared at the picture lady doing her best to make him smile, I had to stare directly at her neon thong covering very little of her tan-even-though-it's-winter-and-it's-your-bum-and-it-should-probably-never-see-actual-light rear end. Anyway, it went fine, other than the fact that Rip was less than smitten by neon thong girl. I mean, this baby generally likes everybody and he spent the first 15 minutes just staring at her like her head was behind the banister at our house (Rip is deathly afraid of the banister that leads to the basement. We don't know why, we just know that when Josh puts his face behind the banister, Rip starts freaking out. This provides the amusement on slow nights). He was completely confused by her neon green thong, I guess. I know I was.

This was his expression most of the time (the only time he would smile was when I would jump out from behind her; I don't think it was a genuine smile, but sheer relief that I hadn't abandoned him to the woman wearing such provocative underwear while shooting pictures of children). It pretty much says it all. Now picture me with the same expression. This is how we were both looking at the woman wearing a neon green thong hanging 2 feet above her pants. *sigh* I do wish the baby had more hair, but considering I probably didn't have hair until I was 10 years old, he's managing quite well. He's going to lose it when he's 25 anyway, so I figure he might as well not get too attached to having hair.

And if I must be honest, I find myself really enjoying this baby. Josh and I always talk about how sorry we feel for our next baby, because we couldn't possibly love another baby as much as we do Rip. Poor next baby.

The Jolley Robbins

This is our coed indoor soccer team. The name, Jolley Robbins, means exactly what it says. This team has Jolleys and it has Robbins. Three of Josh's sisters play on it, with two of their husbands, and then a couple of brother-in-law's brothers. It was really fun, only I would leave each and every game completely humiliated by my behavior.

See, I've become that girl. The girl who loses her temper and is screaming at guys twice her size. I have even punched a guy in the back... after the game, when we were shaking hands. I've told many a refs that they are nightmares. I've been honestly ready and willing to get in multiple fights with any number of male opponents. I have no filter and absolutely no control over what I say and who I say it to.

So why should last night be any different? Well, it wasn't. I always start a game making promises to myself that I'm going to remain human and not fly off the handle. No such luck. I didn't just 'fly off the handle.' I ran at a full sprint away from it, never to return.

Idiot defender guy: "Oh give me a break. Tell that girl to relax" (referring to my sister-in-law, Karen)

Idiot Goal Keeper: "Seriously. She's out of control!"

Me: "Why don't you both just shut your freaking mouths?"

Idiot defender guy: "Oooohhhh..."

Booty Shorts (girl wearing exceptionally small shorts): "Okay, everyone, it's just a game. Relax."

Me: "Save it Booty Shorts"

Idiot Goal Keeper: "What did she call you?"

Booty Shorts: "Booty shorts"

After the game was over and we're shaking hands....

Booty shorts: "Next time don't comment on what people are wearing"

Me: "Next time, wear clothes that fit you."

And this girl was just some random peacemaking type, who probably hadn't played a lot of soccer and honestly didn't have a pair of soccer shorts, so she opted for the next best thing -shorts that look like underwear. In her defense, she did have pretty amazing legs. Not the point. The point is I told a ref to go back to Mexico, I screamed a number of times at people to shut up, and ultimately, I was hoping beyond hoping that someone would just get in my face so I would have an excuse to punch him or her in the face. The rage that engulfs me during games terrifies me later.

Josh and I were discussing it after the game on our way home. I expressed that I hated the type of player I had become. I never used to lose it like that. I never used to (there may have been a time or two) argue with refs, get in fights with players, or completely forgo any self-respect I might have had and act like a complete lunatic. Josh summed it up perfectly.

"When you used to play to a certain ability, and you never had to say anything because you just let your play and skills speak for you, and you don't necessarily play at that same level you once were capable of, you improvise."

I guess that's what I'm doing. I'm improvising for all those missed passes, crappy shots, and failed one-on-ones. Sad. I wish I could still just be decent instead of having to fight every single person on the field. I don't think my mother-in-law is too impressed.

The Daily Grind

I realize I haven't posted an entry with pictures in a great while, but that would require taking pictures, and being that Josh has commandeered the camera indefinitely, posting with pictures will continue to be difficult (I guess he likes to take pictures of his CALLE events? Why, I'm not sure. I've looked through those pictures and believe me, they're pretty pointless). According to Dayna, posting entries without pictures is lame. Well Dayna, you're lame.

But who needs pictures? I mean, I can tell you exactly what's going on and who looks like what. Rip is a 6 month old baby who clings to my legs all day, whining and begging to be picked up so he can 'jump' in my lap (his jumping is more of a straight-legged bounce). He squeals with delight while I remember that some babies bend their legs when they jump. Not mine. He's a genius, that one.

I am a mom who wears sweats all day and considers being dressed up as wearing a normal bra, rather than a sports bra. Yeah. I know. I'm hot. Josh is a lucky man. So is Rip. I'm sure Rip is going to be confused when he starts school (assuming he ever lets go of my leg, that is), and realizes that the other moms are wearing some alien material called denim. He'll probably be even more confused when the other kids are bending their legs while they jump, too. He's got a lot ahead of him.

But we typically stick to the same routine every day. Me in sweats, Rip in sweats (the glory of having a boy; sweats are considered an 'outfit'). He eats, then I eat. I eat while Rip clings to my leg, but he's well rested and well-fed, and so he forgoes the whining momentarily, and instead opts to play with my toes in my socks. Then I do the good mother deed and wrestle around with him. Let me just say, this is no tickle session. I am way rougher than Josh would ever dream of being, but since Rip appears to enjoy it, and I enjoy the aggressive play, it works for us. Again, Rip will be likely be confused when he goes to a playmate and starts trying to throw them around, and the playmate is confused by the abuse. We'll let the teachers sort it out.

The next hour or so usually involves me picking things up, putting dishes in the dishwasher, folding laundry, all with a chubby baby in my arms or lap. Please. That baby does not touch the ground. And I'd rather burn the calories than hear him whine. Plus, I'm trying to delay his gross motor skills. He's been crawling since 5 1/2 months and he's found a particular liking to walking (me holding his arms while he run/leap/walks). So, I don't really want him to be able to move too much more, at least not for a while. Yes. I'm debilitating.

Eventually, he goes down for a nap. This is the time I live for. Although Rip doesn't take the longest naps, he naps long enough for me to take a shower hot enough to turn my entire skin pink. I literally look like a piglet (chub and all). But we basically recycle that routine every two hours for the rest of day. It's exciting and you're probably jealous of me. I'm not surprised.

Mom Friends

I'm not like the other moms my age. I'm snarky and sarcastic and I think infant massages are ridiculous. I don't care about themed nurseries, I microwave bottles, my baby wears sweats every day all day, and I let him sleep on his tummy. I don't make my own baby food, I haven't bought a single baby toy, and I can't remember the first time I heard his heart beat. I get mad at him when he doesn't sleep and I don't enjoy nursing. Yes. I should be kicked out of Utah, or at least the little lunch group that I've been invited to, soon to be disinvited to (all young moms, all fans of infant massages). I'm pretty sure the moms there are all a little terrified of me, or at least by the fact that I joke about not liking my child (I do).

Anyway, I'm starting to whittle away at the moms I can be friends with, and the moms I can hardly stand. Listen. If you take yourself and your baby a little too seriously, we cannot be friends and you should probably not read this blog. Stop now. I've put together a list that will determine if we can or cannot be mom friends. Chances are, we cannot. I detest most new moms and so the likelihood that you don't irritate me are slim to none.

• If your baby doesn't sleep through the night and you don't say, "I'm going to shoot my brains out" at least 12 times a day.
• You assume other people think your baby is the smartest, cutest, most talented baby ever. This drives me CRAZY!!!! Chances are, your baby in unattractive, slow, and without the least bit of potential, so don't bother.
  
• If you love nursing so much, you have to tell me you love nursing so much. Sick.
  
• If you can't jokingly say anything non-positive about your baby. Listen. It doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you a tolerable person.
  
• You won't admit that it bothers you when other people's babies roll over, sit up, or do anything before yours does. If you haven't ever thought, "Could he/she be slow?" then you definitely cannot be my mom friend.
• If you leave your shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot (this doesn't have so much to do with being a mom as it just bugs me. My fluffy-haired mom does it so I should be a bit more forgiving, but I'm not. Stop doing it mom!). I seriously think there should be a steep fine or penalty of sorts. You people are criminals.
  
• If you do not wear sweats when you're at home all day. This is unforgivable.
  
• If your baby never spit up; this is also unforgivable.
• If you forfeited any bit of personality you had, and opted instead for the generic new mom personality.
  
• Lastly, if in the first month of being a new mom you didn't pray for a car to hit you and used words to describe the experience as 'fantastic, wonderful, magical,' or anything other than frightening, than we cannot be mom friends.

My guess is, after reading this, you don't want to be mom friends anyway. Good. You've saved me the experience of having to pretend to think your kid is cute. But let me also be clear about things. I love Rip. I love him more than anything else. In fact, when people aren't watching, and the blinds are closed and I'm positive no one is coming over, I even kiss and hug him. At home, I love holding him and there's nothing more satisfying than when he lays his small head on my shoulder and sucks away on his binky. I love when he wakes up in the morning and gets so excited to see another life form. I love when he army crawls onto my lap and I love when he finds something that makes me laugh and does it over and over again. But don't tell. I might not be able stand myself.

BYU Parking Police

BYU Parking Police.

Did you get scared reading that? Enraged? Both?

I've had more than my fair share with run-ins with these soulless beings, and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that there is a special place in hell for such persons. Sinister, evil, and full of misery, these shadowy life forms are the very essence of darkness. I only know this because I was able to catch a glimpse of the miserable creatures' faces on my way home the other day, and I swear to you, it was sheer bleakness.

I was driving along, feeling hopeful about The Bachelor (who wouldn't? It's amazing and pointless! Double bonus!), when a sudden wave of despair crossed over me. I couldn't see Walmart, so I assumed it was just the remembrance of having a 5 month old who decided taking naps was for the birds and quite lame and would no longer be participating. I pushed through it, and was starting to feel better when it hit me even harder. A coldness, unlike any natural coldness felt by either snow or ice, I was instantly frozen with dread and gloom and other bad things that go along with gloom and dread, plus more gloom and dread. I forced myself to face the direction the coldness was coming from, and that's when I saw them. The BYU Parking Police in their little jeep-like cars cruising down the road like their sole purpose in life wasn't to destroy and humiliate all happiness. I'll be honest. I was scared. More scared than when I colored my hair a light brown. Yeah. More scared than that.

See, Josh and I have discussed the parking police throughout our marriage. We've always gotten parking tickets (I was even booted off campus, unable to ever show my little Honda Civic face on campus again), and always on the worst possible day in the worst possible situation. We've always wondered at what point people realized they were without souls and decided to take a career wrecking the lives of others.

Josh: "Can you really even be considered a member of the church if you're a parking police? I mean, what drives someone that far, that they would even consider being a parking police?"
Me: "Not sure. Maybe Walmart?"

Is it a gradual development, or more like an instantaneous burst of evil decision-making? Either way, I've always wanted to meet or see one of the villainous beasts up close. Just to compare it to one of the Lord of the Rings' wraiths. Now I have. Both are faceless, both are black, and both would like nothing more than to stab someone. If only the parking police had blood dripping from their tires like the wraiths do from their horses, then they really would be one in the same. I wonder if Rip is considering being a BYU parking police...

WAIT!

I just thought people might like staring at pictures of our family (I'm the one that is 2 feet tall). We went and saw the lights on Christmas Eve and we bundled up the Rip so he would not die. We're good parents like that. Here he is before we saw the lights.And here he is after. Apparently we thought he was hot so we debundled him. And yes, he has that bewildered expression most of his life.

We do love his chubby baby bum. Baby bums are the best.