Sick and Disgusting

I have pink eye. There's an infection in the spider bite I scratched to death and my throat has decided it hates me. In a nut shell, I'm disgusting. My eye has swollen nearly shut and my leg oozes pus. I wouldn't be telling you this, except that I've decided to spread the diseases to one and all.

Consider yourself warned.

I'm going to touch every single shopping cart, touch and handle each piece of fruit in the grocery store, and wipe my eye sauces on all the children I can see and find. And I look forward to it. Immensely.

See, it all happened when my sister put her 2 year old in charge of spreading pink eye far and wide. I'm not really sure how far or how wide she spread it, but far enough to reach me. I was initially very upset by my gunky eye and the fact that my eye kept sealing itself shut with oozy drippy matter, but I now see it as an incredible opportunity for vengeance. I can finally take care of all those unresolved grudges I've been holding.

To the twin boy who lived 2 houses down from me, be prepared to never see clearly out of your right eye again. It will be seeping gunk for the next 2 days. Never again tell me to 'shut up' when we're 12 years old. Big mistake twin. Big mistake.

To my arch nemesis whose boyfriend I kissed and she had the nerve to dislike me ever since, don't be surprised when you find yourself unable to breath because your throat inevitably decided to close its doors to your oxygen supply. It isn't pleasant and there's only so much that orange juice can do.

To the bagger at Walmart named Kyle who took an extraordinarily long time putting my 4 items in the bag, I just dislike you and will probably just slash your tires or something. No disease for you. I have only so much illness to spread around.

And finally, to the ladies who look like men at the indoor facility, charging $600 to play in 5 games is not an honest price. I owe you the greatest amount of sickness and plan on licking each and every single one of your steering wheels, but not before I wipe my leg infection on you. Suffer!!!

But I plan on posting some pictures of Rip since he will inevitably catch the sicknesses. I wish it weren't so, since the only grudge I have against him is his decision to demand binkies at 4 in the morning. Other that that, we're cool. So I really am sorry that he will undoubtedly catch the pink eye (which really should be renamed to 'most unbearable swollen eye'), and probably a little of my head cold, and maybe possibly some of the infection in my leg. Poor little creature.

Poop Face

It always happens when I decide to be productive. Something bad, that is.

It started when I decided to clean house. I had just gotten back from Walmart (try going at 8:00 am; the quality of people is surprisingly less than troll-like and more human-friendly. Well, not really. But maybe since I was more tired I was less inclined to notice the 400 lb woman wearing biking shorts...). I was going to vacuum, mop floors, wipe counters, and eat oreos. You know, basic house-wife crap, and Rip was going to watch. Rip was sitting in his bumbo on the counter, chewing and trying to inhale my grocery list via slobber, to which I decided that you can always make a new grocery list and you cannot always eat oreos uninterrupted. So I was chewing and Rip was chewing and we were both fairly content. Well, there's only so long a baby can enjoy a grocery list before he decides that eating the words 'milk, cereal, bread...' does not actually constitute eating the real thing, and so Rip started to cry and whine. I ignored it for a while, but really, it started to get louder and the oreos lesser. So I picked up baby and headed to the bedroom to put baby down for a nap. I smelled poop and so I bent my head down, and without looking, put my face up to his bum to smell and see if what I was smelling was indeed poop. It certainly was. And there was certainly so much poop, that my face now was covered in poop, along with my hands, and everything else making contact with baby, including my grocery list. The baby had basically just pooped on my face. This was kind of like the last straw, except that it really wasn't, since he will undoubtedly poop on my face again, and I still am not allowed to spank him (I guess he's too little or something? I dunno, the logic confuses me too).

As I sat down later and contemplated the events of the day, I started getting confused. When did this happen to me? When did my face start getting pooped on? When did I start going to Walmart at 8 am and start considering buying clothes there? And most importantly, when did I start eating oreos at 9 am? I'm like an alcoholic. I'm disgusting. No wonder the baby decided to poop on my face. My life is definitely different than what I had imagined as an 8 year old. What happened to owning my own zoo and letting all the animals out of their cages for walks? And what about turning into an Indian so I could live in a tepee and ride horses all day (inspired by Dances with Wolves)? Nope. I'm getting pooped on and going to Walmart instead. At least I still have half a bag of oreos left...

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.