for my sister, on her birthday

Today my youngest sister, Chelsea, turns 14. When I moved away from home to go to school, she was a short, adorable, playful 6-year-old. When I got married and moved to the Midwest, she was a cute and growing taller 9-year-old. When I saw her last month at Christmas, she'd suddenly blossomed into a beautiful young woman. I wish I could have been around more to see the latter half of her growing up years, but I've loved every second of the times that I have been able to spend with her and am so pleased at how well she's turned out.

Chelsea is one of the sweetest, happiest, smiliest girls you will ever meet. She is kind and genuine and just gullible enough to have a fantastic time with.

Happy birthday, Chelsea!

day at the museum

So far as we're aware, the animals and figures do not come to life at night like they did in the movie. Of course, we were there in the safety of daytime, so I suppose we're not a good authority on what happens after hours. Either way, though, a visit to see the American Museum of Natural History is well worth the excursion.

(Sorry about the handful of blurry pictures...it would seem that maybe those animals might get antsy after all since I apparently had such a hard time getting some of them to hold still for the camera.)

ex libris: my own confessions

Or, Anne Fadiman and I Sure Seem to Have a Lot in Common

I recently read the book Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader by Anne Fadiman and really, REALLY enjoyed it. The book is a collection of essays on reading and each time I started a new one I found myself almost audibly thinking, “No way! Me too!!” If Ms. Fadiman and I could sit down and chat about a handful of her essays over lunch in New York coffee shop, this might be what I’d tell her:

“Marrying Libraries”

I remember when Blake and I married our two independently large book collections into one massive library. We, too, were hesitant to do so and quibbled over the best way to organize it. Do we organize by topic? By author? And how do we reconcile the fact that I like books to appear “looked at” (or messy, as Blake would say) while he likes books to be perfectly aligned and pristine (or unloved, as I would say). Lack of space keeps us from the Ideal Arrangement, which is probably categorized a little like the Library of Congress and a little like a used bookstore, so right now it’s a little bit of both. But someday, someday…

“Scorn Not the Sonnet”

Do you think that all great writers have to pass through a murky veil of bad poetry writing? Part of me hopes so because if that’s truly the case, judging by the poetry I’ve written in my lifetime, I’m well on my way to becoming a great writer.

“Never Do That to a Book”

I think I fall somewhere between a courtly lover of books and a carnal lover of books. The division would probably fall 70/30 in favor of carnal love. I like the spines and pages of the books I read to prove the fact that I read – and loved – them. But even though I find the idea terribly romantic, I don’t yet feel good about scribbling my thoughts in the margins of my books. Blake, on the other hand, is strictly a courtly lover, which sometimes makes me afraid to pick up and thumb through his collection.

“Words on a Flyleaf”

One of my favorite flyleaf inscriptions was in my mother’s copy of Charlotte’s Web. It was written by her roommate who, somewhere along the way (whether it was before or after the book was given, I’m not sure) became her sister-in-law. I wish I could remember exactly what it said, but all that my memory affords me is that it was as cleverly written as Charlotte’s web messages for Wilbur were. Blake once spent a long time trying to write the perfect inscription in a copy of Pablo Neruda’s poetry that he gave me for my birthday a few months before we were married. “And it was at that age…I found you, the poetry of my life,” he wrote. A little cheesy, yes, but given the circumstances of twitterpated engagement, it couldn’t have been anything less.

“You Are There”

I love it when life allows me the opportunity to read a book in the location it was written, inspired by, or set in. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn has been my favorite book since I was about thirteen, and each time I read it I craved to be Francie, reading my well-worn copy on a fire escape in Brooklyn as I occasionally gazed up through the branches of a cement-blossomed Tree of Heaven. Now that I’ve suddenly found myself a resident of Brooklyn, with a fire escape to boot, I think another re-reading of this favorite is definitely in order.

r/ “Inse^t a Carrot” e/

Though I very certainly make grammar mistakes of my own, I, too, can’t help but find myself automatically proofreading every book, newspaper, menu, flier, or letter that I happen to read. It’s like some sort of unstoppable tick. Have you seen the blog called The “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks? I have a feeling you’d get a kick out of it.

“Eternal Ink”

When I was an adolescent I wanted nothing more than be an Austen-esque fountain pen owner. Now that I’m married to a husband who is so devoted to the world of antiqued writing that he owns four and uses them all interchangeably, I’ve realized I don’t really harbor any special affections for fountain pens. The pens I prefer typically are accidentally stolen store pens with business logos printed along the sides because, for reasons I still don’t understand, it is always those pens that work better than the package of Bics I pick up occasionally from the office supply store.

“The Catalogical Imperative”

I read books, newspapers, magazines, blogs, emails, and letters. And I also read catalogs (while meantime wondering how the heck we ended up on their mailing list), cereal boxes, shampoo bottles, phone books, and instruction manuals. What can I say? It’s addictive, this reading habit.

“My Ancestral Castles”

While I didn’t actually build castles with books, I did discover at a very early age that books held down the corners of our blanket forts incredibly well. Those same massive volumes, I learned later, were college textbooks belonging to my parents. Whenever I’m afforded a chance to visit the shelves I grew up with, I love to gaze at them and pick apart the people who purchased the books sitting lovingly on them. And I’m always pleasantly surprised by what I uncover about those two people, who taught me that loving to read was vital to my well-being, when I pull a volume off the shelf and thumb through it.

“Sharing the Mayhem”

Most of my childhood memories of reading take place either on the couch or my parent’s bed as I sit snuggled next to my mother while she read out loud to my brothers and I. When the certificates from the summer reading programs we participated in at our local library say that we read 96 books, it actually means that mom read 96 books, out loud, to us. When we were very young (and even as we grew older) it was picture books: Caps for Sale, The Story About Ping, Make Way for Ducklings, Ferdinand. And once we no longer required pictures to entertain us we dabbled in chapter books: Mr. Popper’s Penguins, The Story of Holly and Ivy, and My Father’s Dragon. I only hope that I can read out loud to my children with as much enthusiasm and voice as mama did when she read out loud to us.

“The P.M.’s Empire of Books”

If you ever track down another copy of On Books and the Housing of Them, let me know. Or maybe I should just see if the BYU library has it on the rolling shelves that were apparently inspired by Mr. Gladstone’s organizational ideas.

“Secondhand Prose”

As my kindred spirit and fellow reader, Emily, can also attest, there is nothing quite like wandering the aisles (if you can even call them that) of that hole-in-the-wall used bookstore in Provo, Pioneer Books. I’m not sure if it’s the musty smell or the fact that the owner can locate just about anything in that mess of a shop, but there’s something incredibly alluring about that place. As I thumb through the editions and volumes stacked on the shelves (if you can even call them that), I am simultaneously amazed that people actually wanted to get rid of these and consumed with a feeling of overwhelming good luck that for a bit of loose change, they could be mine.

that baby

Something in my gut tells me that we have a lot of family out there (as well as, I'm guessing, a few friends) who are suffering from Post-Christmas Live-Action Garrett Withdrawals. And so especially for you folks, today we took some live-action footage. Here is That Baby showcasing his ever-developing talent to sit (mostly) by himself. The video also highlights his newly acquired affinity for plush duck bills.

secret recipe no more

About five and a half years ago, shortly after I moved into my new apartment complex at the beginning of my junior year at BYU, an apartment of boys, in an obvious attempt to make themselves known to the girls, knocked on our door to borrow a baking sheet so that they could make some cookies. (I imagine that they had nothing for said cookies except an oven and the flirtatious idea to beg the other necessary tools and ingredients from the apartments of just-moved-in girls in exchange for a taste of their freshly baked goods.)

A few hours after we lent out our cookie sheet, the boys came back to return it and to pay us with the fruits of their baking labors. The cookies they made were surprisingly delicious: a simple looking chocolate cookie on the outside with warm, melted caramel on the inside. We complimented them on a job well done and asked if they'd share the recipe. Flirtatious as ever, we were told, nope, it was a secret recipe.

In the years since I've thought back fondly on those cookies because, to be honest, they were heavenly. After some conversations with friends, as well as a few online searches of my own, I am most pleased to report that their recipe is a secret no longer. I found a recipe that seemed pretty close the other night, and this afternoon, after altering it slightly, I successfully baked (and now you can, too)...

Rolo Cookies
(or, as it was in my case, Leftover Christmas Caramel-Filled Hershey's Kisses Cookies)

2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1 cup softened butter
2 tsp vanilla
2 eggs
48 Rolos (or another caramel-filled milk chocolate candy), unwrapped

Heat oven to 375 degrees. Lightly spoon flour into measuring cup and level off. In a small bowl, combine flour, cocoa, and baking soda; blend well. In a large bowl, cream sugar, brown sugar, and butter. Add vanilla and eggs; beat well. Add flour mixture; blend well. With lightly floured hands, shape about 1 tablespoon of dough around 1 Rolo, covering completely; repeat for each cookie. Bake at 375 degrees for 7-10 minutes, or until set and slightly cracked. Cool 2 minutes, then remove from cookie sheet to cool on wire rack.

Yum yum....sweet chocolately caramely goodness.

calling the shots

For six beautiful months, Garrett has reigned supreme. But it's high time for someone else to be calling the shots around here. And so today marks the beginning of my official attempt to put Garrett on a schedule.

Our day, more or less, has gone pretty much like this:

• got up, got dressed, ate
• out the door by 8:15 to get grocery shopping done before morning nap time
• first nap at roughly 10:00 - he slept for nearly 2 hours!
• a bottle for lunch
• because it's, like, 60 degrees outside (I know - in January!!), we went for a walk to the park and to the library
• back at home, time for a solid food snack
• practiced sitting, was tickled, and played with toys on the living room floor
• down for the afternoon nap at about 3:00

Which is where we're at now. So far, with the exception of the rather dramatic crying episode for about 25 minutes before the afternoon nap was settled in to, things have gone pretty good. I expect the rest of the day to look a little something like this:

• wake up from nap; eat bottle, somewhere between 4:00 and 5:00
  
• play
• eat solids (around 6:00) so we'll have a happy baby to deal with while I work on dinner
  
• take a bath
• play
• bottle (8:30ish)
  
• bed (9:00ish)

This whole scheduling thing really isn't too dramatically different from what we've been doing for the last few months. It's just, well, monitored better, I guess. Because for some time now we've been testing the "I'm- gonna- leave- you- in- your- crib- for- your- nap- so- get- used- to- the- idea" waters, getting him to sleep at the approximate times I'd like him to hasn't been too bad. What's been the real challenge is keeping him awake (so he WILL take a crib nap) while I'm toting him around in the Snugli or the stroller while out on errands. I've taken a vow to get myself up and ready earlier, especially on grocery shopping and laundry days (because there is NO WAY I'll EVER be in the mood to fight the afternoon crowds for these errands) so I can get them done before the morning nap. And, to the best of my ability, I'm going to keep that baby awake while I get them done. So if that means risking humiliation by talking and cooing with him in the aisles of the grocery store or setting up a mini play station at the laundromat, then so be it. Because, by golly, he needs those crib naps. Or, really, I need those crib naps. Those precious hours are as much my time as they are his, and I'd rather not have them compromised.

I think the better-monitored schedule is so far doing us both a bit of good. I can manage my time and tasks better, with pleasantly productive results, and Garrett, whether he's aware of it or not, is definitely benefiting. He LOVED our little adventure on the park swings:


Which isn't to say he didn't enjoy the swings last time, but, see, we've turned over a new, scheduled leaf, which makes all of us happier.

spending my pennies

I have finally been able to save enough pennies (nearly 10,000 of them to be almost exact) and it's time to invest in my much coveted new baby carrier. But I'm stumped as to what color to choose. Maybe you can help me decide:

black with green lining,

blue with green lining, or

cranberry.

Generally speaking, I'm not much for the color black, but for a non-gender-specific baby carrier, it is versatile. Blue is my favorite color. But that cranberry one is pretty nice, too.

So help! I can't decide!

belonging

It hit me pretty strongly while I was there for the holidays that I no longer belong in Provo. Macey's is no longer my grocery store, I no longer belong on the campus of BYU (or Provo High, or Dixon Middle, or Grandview Elementary either, for that matter), and, though I'll probably always know how to wind my way around the back roads through town, it is no longer a place I can say I belong at. For 23 years it was a great place to call home, and, for as long as I've got family and friends living there, it will be a place that I love to visit. But Provo is no longer home for me.

As much as I enjoyed the two years we spent there for graduate school, it only makes sense that, now that Blake has graduated, I no longer belong in Muncie. I will forever treasure the friendships that were formed there, I loved the opportunities we took to explore the green and farm-filled Midwest, and I loved the feeling of purpose I got through the support I gave to Blake, through the job I daily worked at, and through the positions I held at church. But Muncie is no longer my home.

It only seems right that, since Brooklyn is my home now, that I should feel like I belong here. But I don't yet.

I don't feel like I am aggressive enough to fit in with my native Brooklyn neighbors, nor am I an immigrant from an exotically foreign country. I don't have a out-of-the-home job that introduces me to new people, and either because they work long hours in Manhattan or don't understand English, the only people in my building who I know are the Polish supers. I am a rare breed in this relatively well-off neighborhood in that the child I tote around with me on errands is not one that I have been hired as a nanny to take of, but is, rather, my own, and because I stay home to raise him, there is no need for me to get in with the daycare crowd.

For a variety of reasons, including the fact that I was whisked to away to a lovely, yet hidden, calling as nursery leader, the weak communication between the Primary and Relief Society organizations in our ward that has kept me from knowing what my visiting teaching route is, the language barriers that have made it difficult for me find who I'm supposed to talk to to remedy that, and also because I have not yet had the courage and energy to put forth the necessary effort, I do not yet feel like I belong to my Brooklyn ward. Though the people in the ward are indescribably nice, we all live relatively far apart and lead very different lives, and I'm still lacking a similarly situated close friend who can help fill my quiet days with the conversations my six-month-old can't have with me.

I have, in short, had a bit of trouble finding my niche here, a place to fit in, that feeling of belonging.

But I realized yesterday that, while feeling like I belong in my ward and getting to know the other people in my building are things that I still desire, I have perhaps forgotten to focus on the reality that there are, in fact, a few places here in Brooklyn where I do belong.

I belong at the laundromat. Every Tuesday morning when I haul our dirty clothes the few blocks to wash them, I am accompanied by the same two other women also there to wash their family's pile of laundry. And even though we don't know each other's names, we do know each other's faces, and while our clothes churn in the washers and toss in the dryers and get folded on the counters, we engage in pleasant conversations. They tell me about their children, most of whom are grown, and I let them coo over Garrett, who, to the surprise and wonderment of them, as well as the Chinese lady who owns the laundromat, usually sleeps peacefully and adorably in the Snugli while I go about my work. "God bless," they tell me each week as I bid them goodbye. "We'll see you next week."

I also belong at my local Rite Aid. A healthy handful of employees, including the security guard, the cashier, one of the pharmacy techs, and a friendly floor employee, recognize me as the regular which I've become and Garrett as the teddy bear he turned into this winter. As with the laundromat, we know faces and not names, but I can't help but feel like I belong when the gruff security guard exclaims as I walk through the door, "Cute, cute baby! Here - I'll hold him while you shop," or when the heavily Brooklyn-accented cashier sighs for the umpteenth time over that sweet baby I always have with me. And it made me all kinds of happy when, yesterday, as I ran in to buy a package of batteries, the floor employee, who, several months ago, was a part of the conversation at the pharmacy counter where I explained the reason why my prescription came from an Indiana doctor rather than a Brooklyn one, stopped me in my tracks to say, "Hey, I wanted to ask you - what do you think of a New York New Year's compared with a Midwestern one? I'll bet it's a lot louder here."

And so, in a strange sort of way, I am starting to belong here in Brooklyn. I realize that truly belonging anywhere takes time as well as effort and, seeing as I've only been here for a few months, this is only a beginning. I still have names to learn and a close, drop-in-anytime sort of friend to find, but it's more than a little relieving for me to realize that the beginnings of my belonging here are starting to get established.

tags because i'm tired

The last few days have been spent plowing through yet another pile of laundry and ironing (it's apparently never ending), sorting through Garrett's outgrown and next-size clothes (again...he grows too fast!), and taking care of a few other rather uninteresting post-vacation odds and ends (such as cleaning out my email inbox and replacing the mold-spawning shower curtain). I personally see no reason to delve into these boring topics any deeper than I already have. And because last night was rather long and wakeful, what with my stinker-pot baby who decided to lose his binky at midnight, wake up to play at 1:30, talk to himself at 2:00, needed a new diaper at 3:30 and a bottle at 6:30, and somewhere in between all that having to deal with our chirping carbon monoxide detector, which thought the middle of the night was a nice time to remind us to change its batteries, I am consequently a little exhausted. So I think today I'm going to plead uncreative and instead participate in the few tags I've been the recipient of over the last month or so.

From Jessica:

What is his name? Blake
How long have you been married? since April 23, 2005.
How long did you date? longer than most of the other couples in our singles ward...dated for about 10 months, engaged for 6 months.
How old is he? just turned 27.
Who eats more? probably him.
Who is taller? he is, but only by about 3 inches.
Who sings better? I do. But that's not saying much.
Who is smarter? depends on the topic. He's a wiz at all things philosophical and mathematical, and I help him with his grammar.
Whose temper is worse? probably mine. But I'm good at blaming that on the hormones.
Who does the dishes? I wash, he dries. Except for those nights when the dish drainer does the drying.
Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? he does.
Who pays the bills? I do. But these days he's the one bringing home the bacon.
Who mows the lawn? ah, the perks of apartment life.
Who cooks dinner? I do.
Who drives when you are together? the subway conductor and/or bus driver. In our car-owning days, though, he did, usually. I'm not a big fan of driving.
Who is more stubborn? we're both pretty stubborn
Who is the first to admit when they are wrong? neither of us (see above). The arguments usually just fade and are quickly forgotten.
Whose parents do you see the most? seeing as, according to google maps, we live 2,204 miles away from mine and 1,825 miles away from his, we don't see either very often. We try to keep our visits as equal as possible, though.
Who proposed? he did
Who has more siblings? I'm the oldest of six, and he's the oldest of five, so I win this one.
Who wears the pants in the family? I think we both do.


From Kristen:

A- Attached or Single? attached

B- Best Friend? I have been blessed with many and honestly can't choose.

C- Cake or Pie? cake if it's chocolate, pie if it's lemon meringue.

D- Day of Choice? Saturday, but Thursday is a close second.

E- Essential Item? blank paper and a pen.

F- Favorite color? blue. Except for those times when it's red.

G- Gummy Bears or Worms? there's a difference? Though, I have to admit, chocolate covered cinnamon bears are surprisingly tasty.

H- Hometown? Provo, Utah. Really. I didn't just emerge from that city as a BYU alum.

I- Favorite Indulgence? currently, it's lime-flavored tortilla chips.

J- January or July? I can't argue with January as it's my birthday month, but July is so much warmer.

K- Kids? Yes, Garrett: the whitest baby in Brooklyn.

L- Life isn't complete without? people to enjoy it with.

M- Marriage Date? April 23, 2005.

N- Number of Brothers and Sisters? 3 brothers and 2 sisters.

O- Oranges or apples? oranges in the winter, apples in the fall.

P- Phobias or fears? the list would be too long, so I'll just name the silliest: Santa Claus.

Q- Quote? "We shall not cease from exploration/And the end of all our exploring/Will be to arrive where we started/And know the place for the first time." - from "Little Gidding" by T. S. Eliot

R- Reason to smile? listening to Garrett's very contagious laugh.

S- Season of choice? I used to say winter, but then I wizened up. Then I said fall, but that can be a disappointment because winter follows too closely. Summer's rather hot, so I guess that leaves me with spring.

T- Tag three friends or family. Um...how about Ashley, Jessica, and Michelle.

U- Unknown fact about me? I'm good at putting things in places too safe for me to find later.

V- Vegetable? carrots

W- Worst habit? currently I'm very guilty of leaving a trail of used tissues in my wake. Hopefully I can kick this cold's trash soon!

X- X-ray or ultrasound? x-rays of my crooked spine or ultrasounds of my developing baby? I think the answer is obvious.

Z- Zodiac sign? aquarius.

a new year in new york

After docking back in Lower Manhattan after our Staten Island Ferry ride, we decided that, heck, we're already halfway there...why not head up to Times Square for the famous New Year's celebrations? The NYPD were expecting nearly a million people to crowd through those Midtown city blocks, so what difference did three more make? And so we hopped on the train, waded through the hoards of directionally challenged and subway-confused tourists and joined the fun...

...Okay, so that's not exactly true. In reality the last thing any of us felt up to doing last night was dealing with the party-hardy intoxicated masses. We actually just went home where we spent the evening nursing head colds and making headway on a pile of ironing while we watched the ball drop from the warm comfort of our living room.

We did cook a small Walk Around dinner, the tradition of eating sweets and appetizers for dinner introduced to our little family by Blake's people. We ate deviled eggs, BBQ'd meatballs, chips and salsa, truffles, and Ritz cracker bruschetta on our festive red square plates.

I borrowed the bruschetta recipe, which was fantastically easy, from the back of the Ritz cracker box. And because it was so delicious (and because I'm going to assume that since Nabisco is making it public, they won't mind if I post it here), I'm going to share it with you all:

Ritz Cracker Bruschetta
1 cup chopped plum tomatoes
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
1/4 cup chopped green onions
1 tbsp house Italian dressing
2 tbsp shredded Parmesan cheese
36 Ritz crackers

Preheat oven to 400 F. Mix tomatoes, cheese, onions, and dressing. Spoon 2 tsp of the tomato mixture onto each cracker; sprinkle with cheese. Place on a baking sheet. Bake 8 -10 minutes or until cheese is melted. Serve warm.

While we waited to see how loud the ringing in of a new year would be in Brooklyn, Blake and I talked briefly about our goals for 2008. We decided that, jointly, our top priority for the year would be to

• spend less so we can save more. Which, seeing as we're already pinching pennies so hard that the dirty, abandoned loose change I see glistening on the streets actually looks tempting, will certainly require a full measure of creativity. But, I'm sure it's nothing we can't handle.
  

I've also come up with a few personal goals. This year I'd like to

• keep less. Which basically translates to toss my remaining pack-rattish tendencies out the window and start using up my rather large collection of travel-sized toiletries because, for crying out loud, we live in a small Brooklyn apartment and have no room for clutter.
  
• just do it. Meaning, that if I think up some project to do, I should just get down and do it instead of spending precious time dawdling and only thinking about doing it. And
• write pieces with the intent to publish. I'd like to say that my goal is to just "get published," but I've made that goal in the past and I've realized that I need a starting point first.

Not an extravagant or lofty list of resolutions, but they'll require that I make a few changes which, isn't that the point of turning over the new year's leaf?

And now it's 2008 (I know - already?!). The Times Square ball dropped, Blake kissed me at the stroke of midnight shortly after we sipped from our glasses of sparkling French pink lemonade, and we went to bed amid the remarkably quiet sounds of celebrations coming from the streets below us. I don't know about you, but I'm certainly looking forward to what the new year has to offer.