Recipe For One Hell of a Year

It has finally occurred to me that the new year is quickly approaching.  When I realized this, the first thing I thought was that I am so glad this year is over.  This year brought me my biggest joy, The Tyke.  

However, because of that seemingly small addition, this year has also been tough on me.  Not just "getting grass stains out of jeans" tough, either.  It was "sitting through an entire episode of The O'Reilly Factor without rolling your eyes" tough.  

First, The Tyke decided to come 8 weeks early, which brought 2008 in with a bang (and an epidural).   Next, we found out that Riley would definitely be separated from the Army.  Then, we spent the next few months dealing with paperwork.  After that, we bought a house in Utah County.  Then, we moved away from Colorado Springs for good.  Finally, this December, The Tyke got croup, recovered, relapsed, and started teething again (and this time he's taking no prisoners).  Add into the mix a good dose from me of craziness, irrational behavior, and sheer panic stemming from the immense responsibility of raising a child.  Combine that with a husband who is having trouble adjusting to the idea that he will have to start over in deciding what he wants to be when he grows up, now that 'soldier' has been added to the list of rejects alongside 'professional golfer' and 'Davy Crockett'.  Throw in a dash of one Boxer suffering from a mild case of sibling rivalry and mix well.  The end result should resemble a family trying to deal with what Life has decided to throw its way this year.  

It's not much to look at, but it sure has a nice, nutty flavor to it.

Always Room For One More

We get to doggy-sit my sister Heather's dog, Ronin, this week.  Dixie spends her time chasing him around the house trying to get him to play. He spends his time following me around, hoping that he will be able to snuggle up by me if I sit down somewhere. I spend my time following The Tyke around, trying to keep him out of the dogs' water bowl.



This picture looks like a sweet little moment where Riley is snuggled up with the dogs. But do you see the 6 inches of bed left over on the far right? That's my spot. It's all I could negotiate out of a very sleepy (and therefore, 90 pounds of dead weight) Ronin.  Despite the canine coup d'etat of my bed, I feel the worst for Riley, who probably didn't expect to wake up to a french kiss from our house guest.  

Picture Perfect

I wish this post was going to be about all the fun activities I've been doing so far this holiday season. I had dreams of our little family frolicking in the snow together, singing carols, and seeing all the Holiday sights like Christmas lights and exasperated mothers dragging screaming children from the store. These opportunities to do all of this never materialized once I realized that Riley has a little thing called a job that interferes with stuff like that. So instead of tales of our nonexistent seasonal adventures, I figured I'd just post pictures of what The Tyke has been doing this season.

Crawling over, under, and through whatever may be in his path...


Discovering a new, more effective way to get Dixie to pay attention to him...


Finding out that crawling is hard work, so it helps to take a break and rest your head, even if it's on the floor...


and just being an adorable little dude.


Oh, and he's also filling his role as blog fodder quite nicely these days. He's so helpful.

The 12 Pains of Costco

I was at Costco the other day and I remembered all of the annoying things about shopping there during the holidays (no parking, long lines, people blocking the aisles in order to get samples, runaway shopping carts in the parking lot, people stopping in the middle of the aisle, 5000 kids running around, and wading through miles of Christmas gift baskets just to get to the Diet Dr. Pepper). As I found myself facing off in a game of "Chicken" against a middle aged man with a shopping cart full of weight loss shakes, batteries, and steaks, my frustration reached a boiling point. What I really wanted to do was ram him, but the thought of potentially damaging a bunch of delicious Costco steaks stopped me. I made it out without seriously hurting anyone, but the situation reminded me of the best Christmas song ever:



Merry $&!%#*@ Christmas!

Longest Years of My Life

Tomorrow is my 6 year wedding anniversary. To say that I am shocked that Riley has put up with me for 6 years is definitely an understatement.   When we hit the 5 year mark last year, it didn't seem like such a big deal, but for some reason 6 seems huge. Probably because this last year of our marriage and the addition of The Tyke has felt like 10.

Although there are days when I feel like I am tied to a chair being water boarded by marriage, I've reached a point where I am pretty sure I have Riley figured out. For instance, I know exactly what he will want to eat for breakfast each day and no matter how many times I suggest I make pancakes, he will never want any of them. I know which route he will take as he paces through the house while talking on his cell phone. I know that he brings up Sean Hannity just to tick me off. I know which buttons of his I can push to make him so angry even his ears go red. I know how I'll feel later if I push them. I know that he can't pronounce the word "proverbial" correctly. I know he loves my son. I know he makes a joke any time I give him a compliment because it makes him uncomfortable. I know he likes to hear them anyway. I know he will always put things on the wrong shelf in the pantry. I know he will always carry the heavy items in from the car, not because I can't, but because he wants to make things easier for me. I know he will always want to go to bed by 9:30 p.m. I know he walks with a slight limp since he busted his knee. I know he will never open his mouth to smile in pictures.

I know I'm lucky to have him around.

Getting Pushy

Last night, Riley and I saw the Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas Concert. Since Mama Jean sings in the choir, we are lucky enough to get tickets from her every year and it is always an incredible performance.

Even though the concert didn't start until 8 p.m., we decided to go up to Salt Lake early yesterday afternoon so we could shop, eat, and hang out in an atmosphere where the air isn't completely saturated by scentsy fragrances (however pleasant) and where we weren't likely to run into someone's friend's boyfriend's cousin's acquaintance who knows Riley and/or his family from way back when. My sister-in-law was naive kind enough to take The Tyke for us, we dropped Dixie off at doggy daycare, and we had a nice, relaxing day being grown-ups, if only for a few hours.

After lunch, shopping, dinner at the Little America Coffee Shop, and a chilly walk around Temple Square to see the Christmas Lights, we still got to the Conference Center at 6. By 6:30, the Center's Gestapo, volunteer ushers all over the age of 65, yet terrifying figures to those who would dare to mess with them, had opened the doors. As I was going through the doors, holding my bag out for the ushers to search and prepared to be patted down by Mother Goose if she decided I looked suspicious, I thought that this whole process was going pretty smoothly this year. I had my ticket out and was waiting for it to be scanned when the old man behind me decided, for whatever reason, that I was being too slow and therefore he needed to push me. Apparently, he thought arriving at the venue an hour and a half early was insufficient time to get to his seat.

Lucky for me, this wasn't my first time at one of these shindigs. Relying on all the things I learned from Christmas concerts past, I planted my feet, turned back to him, and after a very stern "Don't push me," from me, my assailant backed down. That's the thing about these kinds of gatherings. People think that if a line isn't moving, they should start shoving their way through from behind. And if someone happens to take exception to having their personal space invaded, the way these people handle it is to pretend they didn't notice they were leaning their 180 pound frame with full force into your scapulas.

We managed to make it safely to our seats with no other near altercations and were able to enjoy the concert. However, we did have another shoving incident as we were exiting our row when the man behind Riley decided to attempt to push him out into the aisle where the crowds of people were so thick that no one was moving. He must have been in a hurry to get out there so he could stand and wait.

All I have to say after last night is this: please, people...let's observe one of the first rules we learned in preschool after we were told not to pick our noses. Keep your hands to yourself. Otherwise, I may have to take matters into my own hands and smack somebody with them. It's ok, though. I'd just pretend that I didn't realize I was doing it.

A Holiday for the Rest of Us

I knew it wouldn't officially be the Christmas season until one of us got sick. Since it has become a tradition for me to lose my voice every winter, I wasn't surprised when I spent the week of Thanksgiving with no voice and a hacking cough. Unfortunately for Riley, who I have discovered prefers my coughing to requests for help with poopy diapers, I had recovered by the next weekend. The Tyke was not so lucky. He got sick last week with Croup and after a breathing treatment and a shot, he is well on his way to recovery. And by that I mean he no longer sounds like a donkey who swallowed a seal that smokes 2 packs a day. And even though he was hardly able to breathe Friday night, he was still as happy as ever and had a lot of fun playing with Riley while we were waiting in the doctor's office.


Taking into account that I am also still getting used to The Tyke's newfound joy in crawling all over the place like a maniac, to say that it's been a rough week is pretty accurate. But maybe I'm lucky he got sick at this particular time; until I get better at tracking The Tyke's movements, I can always follow the trail of snot he leaves through the house to find him.



Despite a rocky beginning, I am finally getting geared up for Christmas. The lights are up on the house, which is a major benefit of being a homeowner. Forget equity, being able to outdo the Joneses in both execution and style has got to be the very best part of owning a home. Period.


I've also been listening to the nonstop Christmas music on the radio. I do this with a certain amount of caution, though, because if I have to hear "Mary, Did You Know?" or "The Christmas Shoes" this year, I will give up on Christmas completely and only celebrate Festivus. To be fair, even in Christmas songs that don't make me feel hostile, there are some parts that I just don't get. Like "Do You Hear What I Hear?" I love that song, but have you ever listened to the verse where the shepherd boy tells the mighty king about the child that shivers in the cold? They then say, "Let us bring him silver and gold." Um, really? I say skip the silver and gold and get the kid a damn blanket!

I will admit, though, my main goal this year is to set at least a little bit of my usual cynicism aside and just enjoy the holidays. Now that would be a real Festivus miracle!

Room To Roam

It's been five days since Thanksgiving and life at my house is finally normal again. And by 'normal' I mean that I am back to a regular daily schedule where I spend my hours at home with The Tyke alternating between walking into the kitchen and opening and closing the refrigerator door (you never know, one of these times I just might open it to find an IV bag full of Diet Dr. Pepper that I can inject directly into my veins) and trying to convince The Tyke to play with his toys instead of Dixie's toys. I guess a plastic cookie jar that sings can't compare to a slimey, smelly rawhide.

Thanksgiving itself was, as always, full of fun, family, and way too much food. We spent Thursday with the Bakers and then make the trek up to Syracuse to stay at The Compound for a couple days. Yes, from now on, I will be referring to my parents' new house as The Compound. Because it has enough rooms for all of us siblings to successfully avoid each other for an extended amount of time. Because it sits on a completely fenced in 1/2 acre lot. Because it has its own observatory and telescope for my dad to sit in at night and watch the stars. Or keep an eye out for enemy combatants like the neighborhood cat, or worse, its 8 year old, slingshot-wielding owner. Because it has enough space for food storage to last through the next 4 years if you really wanted to bunker down. Considering my parents are Republicans, that might be just what they'll do until the next election.

Admittance to The Compound is not too difficult to obtain, but you definitely increase your odds if you bring a grandchild with you. Once inside, the imposing monolith somehow manages to become 'home' again. If you manage not to get lost on the way to the kitchen, you'll find all the same smells from your childhood in there. All the same furniture is in the living room and the same toys are in the playroom that is still located under the stairs. I'm glad to know that The Tyke will be able to spend his childhood enjoying the same things I did growing up. Even though this time around, it's been super-sized.