great orem condo

Looking to relocate to or within Utah County? Because, if so, I know of a great condo going up for sale. I'm sure my brother and his wife would hang onto this gem longer, but they feel (and I don't blame them) that the commute to an out-of-state job would be just too much. If you're interested, check it out.

GreatOremCondo.com

words

While it's usually always filled with excitement, Garrett's speaking, as it turns out, isn't always indecipherable.

He says "hello" like it's going out of style -- to strangers upon our or their arrival at the bus stop, to imaginary companions on the phone, and to get someone's attention. Unfortunately, most people can't quite hear it like I can, but I promise you it's there.

He has other words, too: "dog," which is called out in excitement whenever he sees one, followed quickly by "arf arf"; "baby," especially to his little friend, Elizabeth; "night-night," when we tuck him in; "again" when he wants more of something; "all done" and "all gone," which typically mean the same thing to him; and I think I've heard him say something akin to "I love you." He also has a special prayer word, a throaty "nnn-guh," repeated many times in succession. I have no idea what it means, but he only says it during meal time and family prayers when his arms are folded.

Yesterday I was sorting through some old wedding photos and as I did so, Garrett would excitedly point to Blake and say "dad, dad." However, when I pointed to myself in those same photos and asked who this girl was, he acted pretty clueless. This was disheartening, but I managed to get over it by the evening, when, as I was grating cheese for dinner, Garrett came poking his nose into the kitchen begging "shee shee shee."

"Are you asking for cheese, Garrett?" I asked him. He nodded his head in a very affirmative yes and reached his hand out to sneak some.

So apparently, and overnight, it seems, my little boy is using words to communicate. I knew this day would eventually come, but it still has caught me by surprise. My Garrett? Talking? Of course, as I watch him hang from the refrigerator door whining for something he doesn't know the word for inside of it, I realize that we still have a long way to go. But that makes me no less impressed by his abilities today.

Last night, as we were heading to bed, I told Blake about Garrett's sudden vocabulary boom, making sure to throw in the fact that he eagerly says "dad," while side swiping "mama" because I felt I deserved a bit of sympathy.

"I'm sure he says 'mama,'" Blake reassured me. "He just doesn't say it when you're around.

Right, I thought as I turned out the light. Maybe I need to be around him a little less often.

A few hours later, Garrett woke up hysterical, apparently from a bad dream. I went into his room to calm him and tuck him back in, then headed back to bed myself. Not more than an hour later, he woke up again. He sounded very upset, but I was tired, so I poked Blake and told him it was his turn to go calm him down. I heard Blake shuffle to Garrett's crib, and then I heard Garrett's cries get louder. "Mamamamamama," I heard him distinctly say.

Mama? Was he calling for me? Really? I rushed into his room, and took over calming duty from Blake. Immediately Garrett quieted down as I soothed him back to sleep.

"Did you hear that, Blake?" I said as I crawled back into bed. "He was calling for 'mama.' He wanted me to tuck him back in."

"See?" Blake smiled, "I told you he could say 'mama.'"

do the cocomotion

For Christmas, my brother gave Blake a hot chocolate maker. I'll be honest: we weren't immediately sold on the rumored wonders of the Cocomotion. Part of our resistance stemmed from the fact that we don't have a lot of room to store appliances. Also, for whatever bizarre reason, I cannot for the life of me find hot chocolate here sold in canisters. The only way it comes is in those individual enveloped packages, which, we discovered, aren't so conducive to this particular hot chocolate maker. (Watery hot chocolate? I don't think so.) We'd heard from too many people about how our lives would be changed forever by this little machine, so we were equally as hesitant to abandon it altogether. We found a home for it and continued our search for better hot chocolate.

Late yesterday afternoon, my birthday package from Provo belatedly arrived. The heavy box contained not one, not two, but three canisters of powdery hot chocolate, one of which was mint flavored. As soon as Blake arrived home from work, we pulled out the Cocomotion to see what the hype was all about. Five minutes later we were sold. And there will be no going back.

Oh my sweet whipped frothy goodness, people!

The winter storm that has been stretching across the country reached us last night and this morning we woke up to a world draped in white. Of course, it only looked serene for about thirty minutes before the ice rain started to pelt the ground, turning all the pretty snow into slippery slush. It's cold and it's yucky outside. Perfect weather for a mug of frothy hot chocolate.

Anyone want to do the Cocomotion with me?

proclaiming it from the landing

Garrett has something important he'd like to say...

I cannot tell you what he just said, but I can tell you that he did eventually make it down the stairs. In fact, I can even show you:

And, yes, he is wearing his squeaking shoes. Aren't they fun? They sure make trips down the stairwell to pick up the mail more entertaining.

celebration

First of all, a big thank you for all of the kind birthday wishes sent my way -- the comments, cards, gifts, emails, phone calls, and Facebook messages. Really, I feel so loved!

I had a wonderful day: Garrett gave me the best present a toddler son could give his mother -- he took a nearly 4-hour-long nap. It was unprecedented, and oh-so wonderful. Blake came home on time from work bearing a beautiful long stem rose. As a family we scarfed down chocolate cake and ice cream, after Garrett, displaying his latest talent, helped me blow out the candles.


Blake top secretly arranged for babysitters on Saturday, then whisked me off to Manhattan for a date. We had a delicious dinner at a hip little cafe called Penelope (the spinach artichoke dip? So, so incredible), then stepped in a few of my favorite stores (Fishs Eddy and Anthropolgie) where I managed to part with a little birthday money. On Sunday, my visiting teachers, who are Ukrainian and Russian, told me I couldn't have a truly happy birthday unless I had a box of real Ukrainian chocolates to celebrate with. And oh, my... I think they were right.

It was a weekend of celebrating, and it was grand. But now I'm worn out, so please excuse me while I go put my feet up.

one-two-three

January 23rd. One-two-three. Just like that, today I am 27.

I used to think it'd be pretty awesome to have been born in 1945. My birthday then would have been 1/23/45 -- one-two-three-four-five. But if I had been born in 1945, today I would be 64. I think that today I'll take the number 27, thank you very much.

After all, as Blake reminded me last night, the number 27 is a pretty great age to be, mathematically speaking. A month ago, he graduated from the age of 27, so he ought to know, right? Twenty-seven is three cubed, he said, and it's only once in your life that you are three cubed. Apparently that, along with a few other equations which I can't remember at the moment, makes the number 27 pretty magical.

A lot of people have already passed along happy birthday wishes (thank you, Facebook!). They have all hoped that my day is a good, happy one. I hope that it is, too. I hope that Garrett keeps his whining to a minimum. I hope that Blake is able to come home from work on time tonight. I hope that the weatherman keeps his promise and the predicted tropical mid-40s tempertures really do surface because this Below Zero business we've been dealing with lately is getting pretty old.

And you know what else would make me happy? Comments on my blog. (Really, who doesn't like comments on their blog?) I hope that today I hear from all those of you who read what I write. I love knowing who my audience is. I love knowing why you keep coming back. So, if you're reading this, please drop a note to say hello. It's as easy as one-two-three.

his tree grows in brooklyn

Blake has recently grown interested in the art of bonsai. For his birthday I gave him the funds necessary for him get started with his new hobby. Over the weekend we visited the Brooklyn Botanic Garden so he could pick out his tree and supplies. He is now the proud owner of a Chinese Elm tree.


Without the meticulous pruning and training of branches and roots required to keep bonsai trees small, this teeny tiny elm tree has the potential to grow to fifty feet tall. But you know? I think the little version is pretty charming.

inauguration day

New York's governor, David Patterson, in an impromptu interview during NBC's Inauguration Day coverage described well my feelings of this historic transition of leadership. He said something to the effect of how impressed he was with Americans today, Americans who have been able to put racial and political differences aside to recognize what a momentous day this really is. We might not all agree with his policies, he said, we certainly all did not vote for him on Election Day, and we might not all support his reelection, but it is clear to every one of us just what Barack Obama's inauguration as our 44th president means to this country. Obama was not my first pick to lead the United States, and I'm anxious for the changes he has promised, but I am nonetheless very proud today to be an American.

a healthy pair of lungs

This afternoon Garrett proved to all the world that he has indeed evolved into a toddler. He was due for his 18-month well check up, and, unfortunately, we had to wake him up early from his nap to get him there on time. This did not bode well.

He did relatively well making the transition from crib to coat to doctor's office. But as soon as we sat down in the waiting room, he lost it. And it only got worse once we were called back. He screamed for the nurse, he screamed for the doctor, he screamed when we tried to calm him down. And, of course, he screamed for the shots (but I whispered in his ear that I was okay if he wanted to scream during that part.) He was not -- I repeat, not -- a happy camper.

Luckily, despite the tantrum, his doctor was able to give him a thorough check up. He is perfectly healthy and seems to be right on target developmentally. (I had to laugh when the doctor asked if he periodically threw toddler-like irrational fits. Um, hello?!) Here are his stats:

Length: 33 3/4 inches (75th percentile)
Weight: 24 lbs (25th percentile)

Still long and lean, just like we like 'em. I was pleased, though, when the doctor commented happily at his weight gain over the last three months (he's up over a pound and a half) because have you seen my child eat lately? Or, I suppose I should say, not eat. I'm surprised he's actually gained any weight at all, considering how adept he's become at playing with and picking at his food. Apparently something is, in fact, making it to his stomach.

Anyway, we got out of that office as fast as we possibly could. Did I learn anything from this afternoon's writhing scream-fest? I did indeed: never, ever, under any circumstances, schedule a doctors visit for the middle of nap time. Seriously.

i (heart) new yorkers

First, a little riddle:

Q: A plane crash lands on the Hudson River border of New York and New Jersey. On which side where were the survivors buried?

A: Nowhere! They were survivors!

Okay, that was lame, I know. But I couldn't help myself.

***

As it's plastered all over the news, I'm sure you've heard about the commercial US Airways flight that made an emergency crash landing on the Hudson River only minutes after takeoff. (If not, you can read up on it here.) People have been calling it nothing short of a miracle, and while it was indeed incredible, I like to believe there was more skill and heart involved than luck. An experienced pilot, a trained flight crew, and quick civilian and uniformed first responders all contributed to the complete success of the rescue.

While the pilot should rightly be hailed as an incredibly skilled hero, I am just as equally impressed with the first responders, the majority of whom were nothing more than witnesses who happened to be in a position to help. Before even the first 911 call was placed, Hudson River ferry boats were on the scene pulling passengers out of the plane. They were soon followed by NYPD-commandeered Circle Line tour boats, the Coast Guard, the FDNY and trained divers. I've no doubt that witnesses along the riverfront and watching from the windows of their high-rise office buildings feared this was another terrorist attack. And yet, by all accounts, they calmly alerted authorities and stayed nearby to offer an extra hand of help.

People can whine all day about how cold-hearted New Yorkers can be, and yes, we all have our bad days. But I'll tell you what: I have never been so impressed by how eager they are to help perfect strangers, whether those strangers have just gone down in an engine-failed plane, or whether they, like me, are often just lost in the city and need directions. Or need help lifting my stroller up subway stairs. Or help holding a heavy door open. These busy, hurried, city dwellers could easily pass these people by without a second thought. But more often than not they don't. They pick up the slack and keep things moving, even if it puts them behind schedule. And, you know, I'm really glad that they do. They make the burden of urban life lighter and remind me that the majority of humanity really are instinctively good.

orange muffins

I got a mini-muffin tin for Christmas, and this morning I took it for a test run with a recipe for Orange Muffins that I found a while back over at Cafe Johnsonia. Oh my, were they heavenly! I'm going to have to make another batch soon because apparently I have a new addiction to feed.




Orange Muffins

1 cup sugar
juice of one orange, about 1/2 cup
8 tbsp (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature (I never have real butter at home, so I used margarine; they turned out fine)
1 cup sugar
1 tsp finely grated orange zest
3/4 cup sour cream
2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 375. Grease or line muffin pans. Mix 1 cup sugar with orange juice. (To juice the orange, I used my awesome newish melamine reamer.) Set aside.

Place 1 cup sugar in a mixing bowl. Add the orange zest and rub it between your fingers until it is sandy and wet. (If this doesn't make you feel like a professional chef, I don't know what will.) Add the butter. Beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.

Sift or whisk the dry ingredients together. Add 1/3 of dry ingredients to the creamed mixture and beat, followed by half of the sour cream. Add another 1/3 of the flour mixture, beat, and add the remaining sour cream. Add the last of the flour mixture and beat. The batter will be very stiff.

Transfer the batter to prepared muffin pan. For regular muffins you will use almost exactly 1/4 cup of batter. Mini-muffins will take 1-2 tsp of batter.

Bake at 375 for about 25 minutes (9-11 minutes for mini-muffins), until inserted toothpick comes out clean. Muffins will be lightly golden. Allow muffins to cool before removing from pan.

If desired, dip the tops of the muffins in the OJ/sugar mixture. (Desire it: seriously, this sweet glaze is the icing on the cake...or muffin. Whatever, but it's oh-so tasty.)

Yields: 12 regular, 36 mini

***

In other, totally unrelated news...did you know that New Yorkers are a prime target audience for the Utah ski industry? I would have never thought, but judging by the 5,000 commercials advertising powdery snow and a hopping night scene on the Park City slopes that I've seen over the last few days, they must be. But I suppose, like the commercials inform me, there are 48 daily flights from NYC to SLC, six of which arrive before noon, so apparently it's not as far away as one might initially think. I've never skied before in my life (yes, I am a Provo girl, born and raised), but these 30-second snippets sure have a way of making me homesick. We need a tax return so I can sneak away for a visit.

mama's turn

Lindsay, November 1983

Garrett, December 2008

There's no denying that Garrett inherited my blond hair and my fair skin, but the general consensus at our house usually is that he looks much more like his dad than his mama. Even Peggy, the Chinese owner of the laundromat I use, often exclaims how much he looks like his dad -- "Except for his hair, of course," she throws in for good measure.

When we first started assigning Garrett's features out to his parents, we decided that from the nose down he was all Blake and from the nose up he was all Lindsay. Generally we still consider this to be the case, although snippets of both of us sneak into the other half on occasion. For example, the shape of Garrett's eyes come from me (well, from my family, anyway: there are moments when he looks exactly like my mom when she was little and when he's being mischievous, he gets the same gleam in his eyes that my brother, Riley, got in his eyes right before he'd get in trouble). His eye color, however, is certainly not my light blue. Instead it is identical to Blake's sister, Brittany, as we learned when we matched the two of them up over Christmas. Also, the fact that his tongue is forever dangling out is definitely a habit I passed down.

Honestly, though, as I look through my small stash of baby photos, I think Garrett looks more like his dad than he does like me. There's no doubt that I passed certain features onto my son, but, aside from that hair, I'm of the opinion that his more dominant traits (round cheeks, wide mouth, and cleft chin, to name a few) came from Blake.

Lindsay, Nov. 1983, from the nose up

like father, like son

Blake, 1981

Garrett, April 2008

Please tell me I'm not the only one who sees a definite resemblance here.

garrett for president

In a city of millions, you wouldn't think it possible to repeatedly run into the same people. But we all have our routines, I suppose, which forces many of us to cross paths on a regular basis. For example, I have boarded the same bus nearly every Sunday since we came here with one particular older Slavic woman. She was there at the corner again this morning as we waited in the ice and snow for the bus to arrive, her fur-lined parka hood wrapped tightly around her face. Despite the bitter cold, Garrett was incredibly amiable, and he struck up a chatty conversation with her. She smiled and listened to him intently, even though he spoke neither Russian or English, and commented to me about how much he'd grown since we first started coming to the bus stop and what a sweet boy she thought he'd become.

"He makes great speeches," she said, her English thickly accented. "He should grow up to be President."

"Wouldn't that be something," I responded.

"Da da da da da," said Garrett, followed by a well-timed conversational laugh.

The bus approached, but before we took our separate seats aboard it, this sweet woman turned to me and said, "I wish him good health, happiness, and that someday he will be the President. It is an old woman's wish," she added with a nod.

So you hear that, Garrett? You've got some pretty high expectations to live up to.

he loves me!

When we were new parents and desperately needed sleep, we'd often take Garrett into bed with us to finish out the night. Invariably, Garrett would always cuddle right into Blake's arms. It was as if that little nook between Blake's shoulder and elbow was meant just for his infant son. They always looked so comfortable sleeping together. I, on the other hand, was the parent with whom Garrett never snuggled with at night. Instead, he took to using my abdomen as a punching bag as he squirmed in his sleep. This made me a little sad (not to mention a little sore), but ultimately I learned to just be grateful that I didn't wake up with a dead arm.

As soon as Garrett was old enough to know how to take advantage of this sleep arrangement, at about 10 months of age, we worked hard to kick him of the habit. No more would we put up with "cry-in-the-middle-of-the-night-and-they'll-come-rescue-me" behavior. Occasionally, however, we'll relent, though typically only because of illness or absolute desperation. The other night was one of those times.

After repeatedly and unsuccessfully trying to urge Garrett back to sleep on his own in the crib, Blake brought him into bed with us. As usual, Garrett snuggled right into the crook of Blake's arms, and, in an effort to save my abdomen, I rolled to my other side.

This position suited all of us quite well until a short time later when, just as I was on the verge of falling back asleep, I was jostled to my senses by my son trying to climb up over me. I jumped to catch him before he crawled right off the bed, and as I did so, he shifted his little body in order to nestle comfortably in the crook of my arm.

My arm! He had climbed over my back because he wanted to cuddle with me! What a sweet, tender novelty! And you know what? He stayed that way until, an hour or so later, Blake took him back to his crib to finish out the night.

I could get used to this. Only I won't. Because even though my quiet times with Garrett are becoming more few and far between, I still prefer him to sleep in his own bed.

resolves

I've been thinking about my goals for 2009 since Thanksgiving, and I've narrowed my ambitions down to the following:

1. Build a three-month food and water supply. This will have to be kept incredibly basic in large part because we don't have much space to store the hoard. It will also have to be creatively collected. We don't own a wheat grinder and, living in the city like we do, we don't have easy access to you-pick farms, let alone a garden of our own, so canning my own fruits and vegetables realistically probably won't happen. I haven't nailed down details yet, but I imagine this 3-month supply will consist of back-up ingredients of those I use on a regular basis -- the kind of food I'd keep on hand if I had a pantry to keep it in. And because finances are ever-tight, I'm giving myself 12 months to get this together. I can't afford to build it all in a few weeks, but I can tack on a couple extra items to my weekly grocery lists.

2. Practice the piano daily. This is partly to make up for all that time I should have been practicing (but honestly wasn't) when I was taking piano lessons, as well as because I sincerely want to improve my skills. I'm not going to assign my self a daily time limit. If I can only squeeze five minutes in one day, fine. If I can do more, even better. I'd especially like to improve my ability to sight read music (even when there are daunting sharps and flats), as well as my confidence and ability in playing accompaniment.

3. Reduce unnecessary excess. This means:

• Reducing excess stuff in my home. I have a natural tendency to hang on to things, either because I think I'll need it later, or I've attached sentimental value to it. In reality, though, there's a lot I can just toss. And don't hate me, book lovers, but a lot of the things in my home that need to go are books. Don't worry, though. I'm not rash. I'm keeping quite of few of them -- those that I really, truly love and would absolutely read again. I am, however, planning to read through a good number of them to decide whether or not they should be sent to a home where they would be loved more.
  
• Reducing the amount of time I spend at the computer. So much of my life revolves around the computer: maintaining our finances, organizing our photos, keeping in touch with family and friends, blogging, etc. And while it's a wonderful tool, I don't like to be consumed by it. So I'm going to keep my time spent at it to a minimum wherever possible. This will likely mean fewer and/or shorter blog posts, among other things. Don't fret, though. I won't disappear completely. This also will, I think, be an excellent excuse for me to occasionally forgo the email in favor of digging out my pretty stationery, felt-tip pens, and postage stamps for some good, old-fashioned letter writing. And who doesn't like receiving letters -- real letters -- in the mail?
  
• Reducing the number of demands on my time. I think I tried to take on too many projects last year. And it wore me out. This doesn't mean that I'll be spending my year lazily lounging on my couch. No, there's still plenty to see and do. I'm just going to try to be more realistic on what I have the energy to do. And I'll try very hard to go easy on myself when I'm not "doing it all." The idea this year is to simplify.

deep in the heart of texas

Because I don't want to spend all of 2009 reporting on the last few days of 2008, I'm going to wrap up the rest of our Texas adventures in one last post.

As was mentioned previously, New Year's Eve was spent in Fredericksburg. The stake activity wasn't scheduled to begin until dinner time, but because we all wanted to wander around town beforehand, we got there earlier in the day. Aside from boasting some beautiful wildflower farms on the outskirts of town and a proud German ancestry, Fredericksburg is home to a main street filled with small curiosity shops, boutiques, and restaurants which are fun to wander in and out of.

One highlight of the afternoon was a ride for Garrett on a mechanical horse, courtesy of Grandma Joyce and Grandpa Gary.



Earlier in the week we visited the Mexican Market in downtown San Antonio. Like Fredericksburg, the thing to do here is wander in and around the various shops, admiring the brightly colored Mexican-made clay pots, maracas, and linen sundresses. My cousin, Julie, who lives in Austin with her husband and baby girl, was able to join us for the excursion. I cannot tell you how great it was to see her and to finally meet her daughter Sofia.



On New Year's Day, with the whole entire clan in tow, we descended on San Antonio's famed River Walk. We took a boat tour on the river where we learned some history of both the city and the river's signficance to it. Then, once the sun set, we wandered along the narrow paths it to see the Christmas lights twinkling in the trees.

So there you have it: our holiday trip to San Antonio. We did more than I reported on, I assure you, but I'm sure you're as tired of reading about other people's holiday activities as much as I'm tired of writing about ours. But in case you're not too good at reading between the lines, we had a wonderful time and are excited for the next time we get to visit.

party hardy

What's the holiday season without a few good parties, right? With family, food, and fun, we sure celebrated good and hard.

First there was Christmas, of course. Because of flight delays, we didn't pull into the driveway in San Antonio until 4:00 Christmas morning. We were exhausted, and collapsed straightaway. Unfortunately Garrett did not want anyone to sleep in for too long as he was rearing and ready to go at 8:00. And so we dragged ourselves out of bed, joined up with the rest of the family in the upstairs family room, and trickled downstairs to the tree.


By this time, Garrett had had a bit of practice with regards to Presents And What He Should Do With Them. He picked one out from under the tree addressed to Blake from my brother, Riley, and pushed it around and fidgeted with it until we gave in and let him rip the penguin paper off.

Garrett walked away from Christmas this year pretty much victorious. He now has more toys than most toddlers would know what to do with, but in the days since he has somehow managed to arrange his schedule in order to devote time to all of them.

Two days after Christmas, Blake's sister, Kimberly, and her husband, David, joined us in Texas and, with the exception of Eric's girlfriend, Kiersten, who joined us a few days later, the family was complete. This meant but one thing: we could now have the Walk Around Dinner. A walk around dinner, for those of you unacquainted with the tradition, is simply this: a meal consisting entirely of appetizers, snacks, and holiday treats. The food is displayed on counters and tables for everyone to walk around and take their picks from to fill their plates. It is, in my opinion, the epitomy of delicious holiday traditions. I am a BIG fan of the Walk Around Dinner. This year Blake was put in charge of arranging the tiered dessert plates, and he did a fabulous job. He was pretty proud of his delicately displayed handiwork:


On December 30th Blake turned 28. All of the endowed members of the family attended a session and performed sealings in the San Antonio temple in the early evening, then convened back at the homebase for a birthday party. Garrett, not wanting to miss out on any of the fun, helped his dad open presents and blow out candles in his pumpkin pie.

New Year's Eve was spent at a Stake activity in Fredericksburg, a small German-settled town about an hour away from San Antonio. A true Texas barbeque was served, complete with some pretty tasty brisket (mmm...brisket...), followed by dancing. Everyone took to the floor at least once, though Garrett's energies were pretty well spent before too long.


The activity was over by nine (they told us we were ringing in the new year with Saints in Paraguay or Greenland or something) and, once home, we killed time playing games and lounging in the living room until it was the Central Time Zone's turn to call it good on 2008. Then we pulled out the cascarones, or confetti-filled eggs, from the Mexican Market and tromped out into the street where we smashed the eggs on each other's heads. Good, not-so-clean (try pulling shreds of confetti out of your hair) fun that was over in about 3 minutes.

So now you know, in these opening days of 2009, the reason why I'm very, very tired. All these parties can wear a girl out!

likes and dislikes

Garrett exhibited a number of extreme likes and dislikes while we were in Texas. For example, if it had a button he could push (like the button on the dancing monkey), he liked it unequivocally. A few things, though, he approached with more caution. The haircut his Aunt Kimberly gave him, for instance, was not what you would classify as a favorite:


He sure looked handsome afterward, though!

Due to an incident our first evening there, which resulted in an early bedtime for one bigger boy and physical and emotional trauma instilled in one little boy, Garrett was wary of his Uncle Neil. By the end of our visit, however, all issues seemed to have either been resolved or forgotten, and they decided they were quite fond of each other. They even shared some tender goodbye kisses at the airport.

Other things Garrett really liked in Texas included:

Sneaking pretzels from the pantry:

Sharing other people's ice cream:

Blowing bubbles with Grandma Joyce:



Playing ball in the backyard:

And playing with the giant parachute:

dancing

Garrett was deeply intrigued by the treasures to be found in the room of Blake's sister, Brittany. One toy he was especially fond of was a plush monkey which spun and danced to music when a button on its foot was pressed. Garrett pushed that button constantly, and every time the monkey started spinning and dancing, so too would Garrett. We all derived great pleasure from watching this little performance -- that is, until the song, played over and over, started to grate on our nerves. Brittany attempted to hide the monkey from Garrett, but he always found it, and each time he did, he'd repeatedly press that button and start bouncing to the rhythm.

Blake's youngest brother, Neil, also found his dance groove. Neil, for those of you who don't know him, is a few days shy of sixteen and has Down Syndrome. At a stake New Year's celebration in Fredericksburg, Texas, he was asked by a lovely young lady to dance. He initially turned the girl down, but, at his mother's insistance that it would be the polite thing to do to accept, changed his mind. By the end of the song, he was having a blast.

on a mission

a mural of the San Antonio missions displayed at the River Walk

During our trip to San Antonio I garnered a collection of photos massive enough to be worthy of the great state of Texas. And don't even get me started on the enormity of the undocumented adventures we had. Just thinking about reporting on all we did makes me dizzy, so over the next few posts it will be my mission to share with you (though in no particular order) some of our fun in more manageable doses.

And speaking of missions, let's start with those in San Antonio. The day after Christmas we stopped by four of the five early 18th century Spanish missions: Concepcion, San Jose, San Juan, and Espada. On New Year's Day, we visited the fifth: the Mission San Antonio de Valero, more commonly known as The Alamo.

clockwise from top left: Mission Concepcion, Mission San Jose, Mission Espada, The Alamo, and Mission San Juan

They begin with The Alamo in the heart of downtown San Antonio and continue southward, each mission only separated by a few miles. The buildings are in remarkably good condition despite their age, and lovely frescoes have been uncovered on the walls and ceilings of several of them. Judging by the state of the chapels, it appears that regular Sunday meetings are held in all but The Alamo.

Garrett's favorite part of the visit? Games of one...two...three...whee!! doled out by dad, Uncle Eric and Aunt Brittany, of course:

Though, by the end, even he was getting a little tired:

in the nursery

The first Sunday of the new year has a natural tendency in the Church to be somewhat of a red letter day -- especially in the Primary. Today was no exception. When I wasn't running around keeping the new Sunbeams in tow, teaching Sharing Time, or trying to find a substitute Valiant teacher, I was dropping Garrett off for his very first (official*) day of nursery. He did great....for the first hour and a half. Shortly after snack time, though, something in him snapped and he couldn't be consoled. They brought him to me in the Primary room, where I wiped his tears and tried to convince him to try again. He wasn't up to it, though, which was fine. He instead spent the remainder of the block curled up asleep in Blake's lap as he sat in as my substitute Valiant teacher. I guess it's not so much shyness that is Garrett's issue with nursery, but rather his nap schedule. He'll adapt eventually, I'm sure. And in the meantime, we'll keep trying.


*I say "official" only because he spent the first year of his life tagging along to nursery while Blake and I were the leaders. Today, though, it really counted.

back in brooklyn

We're back, we're unpacked, and boy, is it cold here! San Antonio sunshine sure spoiled us. We've had lots of adventures, and consequently I have much to report, but until I get my Brooklyn bearings back (and my pictures uploaded), I'll have to request a little more patience. Stay tuned, though. I'll be back in force before you know it.