With Bianca in school all day, I've got two constant companions--Portia, of course, and Tigger, who follows us from room to room. He even tries to sit on my boppy pillow while I'm nursing the baby--up until recently when Portia's been much grabbier. Anyway, I had a couple funny things happen and thought I'd share:
Since I still have a weekly piano assignment, I have to practice daily. I keep a blanket on the floor by the piano and a couple toys for Portia to play with while I practice. She actually enjoys the music sometimes--I can tell by her reaction that she loves the music from Pride and Prejudice and doesn't quite love "Have I done any good today?" Anyway, when Tigger wants to play fetch, he grabs one of his pups (they are those big-nosed stuffed dogs that were in the Happy Meals at McDonalds a couple years back). He's pulled all the eyeballs out of the pups and spends a majority of his days pulling the stuffing and beads out of the them. Nonetheless, these are his favorite fetch toys. Ever since Portia was born, I've noticed that Tigger leaves his pups by Portia's blanket. Probably dismayed that I'm playing the piano and not paying any attention to him, he brings Portia his pups and waits for her to throw them to him. I still find them by this blanket and it always cracks me up.
After I take a shower, I always wrap a towel around my head to dry my hair. Portia's usually about had it by the end of my shower (waiting in her carrier), so I go pick her up with the towel around my head. Any other time when I pick her up, Portia stops crying. However, if I have a towel on my head, she cries even harder and doesn't stop until I take the towel off. I guess she doesn't recognize me or is just scared that I look different. Who knows, but I think it's funny.
I turned on the fireplace during one of the past cold days we've had. I spread a blanket in front of the fire and read a book until Portia woke from her nap. Tigger LOVES the fireplace. Probably because he has so little fur and it keeps him warm. At first when I laid Portia down by Tigger, she kind of pet his fur. But then she found his ear and grabbed. I know it hurts him by the way he yelps (which he also does sometimes when he wants to get away from Bianca and she isn't hurting him; he's quite the actor, but this time I admit that it probably did hurt). Anyway, it was so funny, Tigger couldn't decide which was worse--sitting by Portia or not being by the warm fire. He kept getting up, undecidedly, and then moving each time she rolled a centimeter toward him.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
Poopie or not poopie?
This summer while I was in St. Louis with my family and our kids were running around together playing, the word poopie was thrown out a lot. It was started by Elissa, my sister Betsy's daughter who is three. Now, I realized pretty early on that at three, there are very few things that are more insulting than being called poopie. Probably because they were just removed from diapers when they were often literally poopie.
In fact, Bianca would come tell me, "Mom, Elissa (or Aidan) called me poopie."
Well, at the time, my sister Susannah and I were reading this book called The Four Agreements about people only saying mean things when they're dealing with their own issues of inadequacy, so I responded, "Don't worry. He (or she) is dealing with his/her own issues of feeling poopie." She shrugged, ran off playing again. It didn't bother her that much--she's not three. And I sit back and laugh about it now, but at the time I never wanted to hear that silly word again.
Fast forward three months ahead, Bianca's carpool just started up again. So, she heads out the door around 7:30 a.m. (Eric usually takes her to school), so carpooling leaves Eric extra time to linger lazily in bed. Yesterday morning, he was listening to the radio in bed. It was the manly morning show on 1280 The Zone, a specific thing they do called "Gay or not gay." I guess people email in things they're not sure are acceptable for manly men and Eric thinks it's hilarious. I admit, it is pretty funny. It has this really funny song that goes along with it--gay or not gay.
Yesterday, Eric emailed in something--about a certain Brother-in-Law who had free movie tickets and brought along a friend. This friend said he would buy the snacks, then brought in a soda with two straws. Eric is so pleased with himself for thinking to send this in. We'll see if his story gets on the radio next Thursday.
Anyway, this morning, carpool again left Eric with a lot of spare time. He kept singing that "gay or not gay" song. Portia woke up, so I brought her into bed and smelled her bottom. You know, to see if she was "poopie or not poopie." Well, she wasn't poopie which meant we didn't have to change her diaper right away, so the result of a lot of spare time mixed with a jingle that Eric just couldn't get out of his head turned into "poopie or not poopie." And we came up with this great idea for a talk show on some kids radio channel:
Poopie or Not Poopie?
Co-hosts 3-year-olds Elissa and Aidan
Story: "My brother took my toy car from me. Poopie or Not Poopie?"
Concensus: Definitely Poopie
We laughed talking about the idea. Then figured the show would end every time with Elissa and Aidan arguing:
You're poopie.
No, you're poopie.
No I'm not. You're poopie.
I'm telling.
No, I'm telling.
Ahhh, I miss my 3-year-old neice and nephew. Miranda was their age. And I can't help but wonder where she would have fit into the poopie arguments. In my head, she's a perfect angel and would have been the peacemaker saying that neither was poopie. But let's face it, she would have been three, meaning that poopie would have been an extreme insult to her and she probably would have thrown out a few poopies of her own.
In fact, Bianca would come tell me, "Mom, Elissa (or Aidan) called me poopie."
Well, at the time, my sister Susannah and I were reading this book called The Four Agreements about people only saying mean things when they're dealing with their own issues of inadequacy, so I responded, "Don't worry. He (or she) is dealing with his/her own issues of feeling poopie." She shrugged, ran off playing again. It didn't bother her that much--she's not three. And I sit back and laugh about it now, but at the time I never wanted to hear that silly word again.
Fast forward three months ahead, Bianca's carpool just started up again. So, she heads out the door around 7:30 a.m. (Eric usually takes her to school), so carpooling leaves Eric extra time to linger lazily in bed. Yesterday morning, he was listening to the radio in bed. It was the manly morning show on 1280 The Zone, a specific thing they do called "Gay or not gay." I guess people email in things they're not sure are acceptable for manly men and Eric thinks it's hilarious. I admit, it is pretty funny. It has this really funny song that goes along with it--gay or not gay.
Yesterday, Eric emailed in something--about a certain Brother-in-Law who had free movie tickets and brought along a friend. This friend said he would buy the snacks, then brought in a soda with two straws. Eric is so pleased with himself for thinking to send this in. We'll see if his story gets on the radio next Thursday.
Anyway, this morning, carpool again left Eric with a lot of spare time. He kept singing that "gay or not gay" song. Portia woke up, so I brought her into bed and smelled her bottom. You know, to see if she was "poopie or not poopie." Well, she wasn't poopie which meant we didn't have to change her diaper right away, so the result of a lot of spare time mixed with a jingle that Eric just couldn't get out of his head turned into "poopie or not poopie." And we came up with this great idea for a talk show on some kids radio channel:
Poopie or Not Poopie?
Co-hosts 3-year-olds Elissa and Aidan
Story: "My brother took my toy car from me. Poopie or Not Poopie?"
Concensus: Definitely Poopie
We laughed talking about the idea. Then figured the show would end every time with Elissa and Aidan arguing:
You're poopie.
No, you're poopie.
No I'm not. You're poopie.
I'm telling.
No, I'm telling.
Ahhh, I miss my 3-year-old neice and nephew. Miranda was their age. And I can't help but wonder where she would have fit into the poopie arguments. In my head, she's a perfect angel and would have been the peacemaker saying that neither was poopie. But let's face it, she would have been three, meaning that poopie would have been an extreme insult to her and she probably would have thrown out a few poopies of her own.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Why I don't trust dentists
I don't know why I'm writing this now. The only reason I've even thought about dentists in the last two months is because my friend Christie called and was looking for a trustworthy dentist in the area and Eric's cousin just moved away to the east coast to go to dental school, only to be another dentist among a sea of dentists in the world (it seems like there's a practice on every corner nowadays). But here it is, the reason I don't trust dentists.
Over two years ago, I saw an advertisement saying that you could get a free teeth whitening if you go to this particular dentist (a $500 value!). Sure, my previous dentist, Uncle George--who is actually Eric's boss' uncle--is all the way over in Sugarhouse and I was tired of driving that far. So, I thought: Okay, it's time to switch to something closer.
Let me preface this by saying I've never had a cavity in my entire life. Never. I always attributed it to the flouride in the water where I grew up (although we had well water at my house, maybe I got enough of it at the drinking fountain at school). Anyhoo, I never had one. But when I went to see this dentist he told me I had not one cavity, not two, but EIGHT!!!! Eight cavities and I'd never had one before.
They drew out how much it was all going to cost, how much my dental insurance would cover, what I'd have to pay. I can't remember now, but it was something like $500 out of my own pocket. Then the dentist told me how vital it was that I get this work done immediately, then smiled his sparkling big-white-teeth smile (the guy knew he was goodlooking, I'll give him that, he was).
Even worst, the free teeth whitening was only available if I did a certain preventative process--that my insurance didn't cover, by the way. So, I didn't get the teeth whitening after all.
Well, I was going to get the work done. I really was, but then the accident happened and teeth were the least of my worries. About six months after that, I decided to make the trek all the way to Sugarhouse and see Uncle George before I had the work done.
Turns out, I didn't have any cavities. I was furious. I called Get Gephardt, then the Better Business Bureau. Whatever. They called me said they'd heard of this happening all the time, but knew how it was going to go--the dentist will insist he has a new, ultra-modern tool that shows cavities that most other dentists can't see. Still, he was going to pay the dentist a visit, but it would probably be to no avail. They were right.
I'm sorry, but if a dentist can't detect a cavity without this great little tool, I'd rather wait. And I'm still waiting. And still have had no problems with my teeth.
Uncle George has since gotten sick and doesn't practice anymore. I'm afraid to go anywhere else. I don't want to happen upon one where they DO carry this nifty little cavity-detection-before-the-cavity-even-exists tool. Maybe I'll brush really well and just wait the four years until Eric's cousin gets back here from dental school and starts his own practice, maybe it'll be on my corner. I'll be sure to warn him against investing in that little tool.
Over two years ago, I saw an advertisement saying that you could get a free teeth whitening if you go to this particular dentist (a $500 value!). Sure, my previous dentist, Uncle George--who is actually Eric's boss' uncle--is all the way over in Sugarhouse and I was tired of driving that far. So, I thought: Okay, it's time to switch to something closer.
Let me preface this by saying I've never had a cavity in my entire life. Never. I always attributed it to the flouride in the water where I grew up (although we had well water at my house, maybe I got enough of it at the drinking fountain at school). Anyhoo, I never had one. But when I went to see this dentist he told me I had not one cavity, not two, but EIGHT!!!! Eight cavities and I'd never had one before.
They drew out how much it was all going to cost, how much my dental insurance would cover, what I'd have to pay. I can't remember now, but it was something like $500 out of my own pocket. Then the dentist told me how vital it was that I get this work done immediately, then smiled his sparkling big-white-teeth smile (the guy knew he was goodlooking, I'll give him that, he was).
Even worst, the free teeth whitening was only available if I did a certain preventative process--that my insurance didn't cover, by the way. So, I didn't get the teeth whitening after all.
Well, I was going to get the work done. I really was, but then the accident happened and teeth were the least of my worries. About six months after that, I decided to make the trek all the way to Sugarhouse and see Uncle George before I had the work done.
Turns out, I didn't have any cavities. I was furious. I called Get Gephardt, then the Better Business Bureau. Whatever. They called me said they'd heard of this happening all the time, but knew how it was going to go--the dentist will insist he has a new, ultra-modern tool that shows cavities that most other dentists can't see. Still, he was going to pay the dentist a visit, but it would probably be to no avail. They were right.
I'm sorry, but if a dentist can't detect a cavity without this great little tool, I'd rather wait. And I'm still waiting. And still have had no problems with my teeth.
Uncle George has since gotten sick and doesn't practice anymore. I'm afraid to go anywhere else. I don't want to happen upon one where they DO carry this nifty little cavity-detection-before-the-cavity-even-exists tool. Maybe I'll brush really well and just wait the four years until Eric's cousin gets back here from dental school and starts his own practice, maybe it'll be on my corner. I'll be sure to warn him against investing in that little tool.
We got it!
Okay, so on Monday, we made an offer on a house and four counter-offers later, we've sealed the deal (well, of course with houses there's always a way to back out, but we're not planning on it unless absolutely necessary).
Anyway, it's a fourplex downtown Salt Lake--it has two one-bedroom apartments and two studios.
They're all rented out. Yeah, I'm a little worried that I'm taking on a new job with this. I hope it doesn't drive me crazy, but at least I know what I'm getting myself into.
Anyway, it's a fourplex downtown Salt Lake--it has two one-bedroom apartments and two studios.
They're all rented out. Yeah, I'm a little worried that I'm taking on a new job with this. I hope it doesn't drive me crazy, but at least I know what I'm getting myself into.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Not your typical working mom
No, typically work-out-of-the-home moms have daycare. And rightly so. But there's me, who thinks I can take Portia with me and work at the same time. Well, I have to admit, I did try to find someone to watch her, but it didn't work out, so I figured I could just take her along.
I had to go to this check-award ceremony where Dannon (you know its yogurt) gave a $30,000 grant to Utah Food Bank to help out low-income children in the community. A great cause, huh? I thought so too. This just so happened that it was on a work-day and since most of the other reporters work full-time jobs, they couldn't do it, but I could.
I decided I could just put Portia in the Snugli and pack her along with me. (I thought maybe if I'm not pushing a stroller or holding a carseat, then it's more like she's attached to me. Come on, I'm only five months removed from just being a pregnant lady.) Well, since I hadn't used the Snugli since I left St. Louis, Portia didn't like how close it was to me, and she kept struggling to get away from me. Too close. She was fussing and making quite a bit of noise. At first it wasn't a big deal, because it was just me and two cameramen--one from Fox 13 News and ABC. And we were sitting around stuffing our faces with muffins and fruit and--what else?--yogurt. But after the Senators and Mayors and other VIPs came in, I started to feel a little uncomfortable.
One woman from Dannon even commented to me, "Wow, you sure look calm." I responded that I'm glad it appeared that way. But that's when I knew everyone was probably wondering what this amateur person was doing, bringing her baby along. Maybe if it had just been a Utah thing it would have been fine; after all, all women in Utah have a baby all the time (or so it seems). But most of the suits from Dannon traveled here from New York.
After everyone took their seats, thank goodness, a woman from Dannon offered to hold my cute baby while I took some pictures. I tried not to notice Portia's white-knuckled grip on her perfectly done hair. Oops. Oh well, I had photos to focus on. I forgot to pull out my recorder and press play and it was right there, in my bag, but I was so flustered that I didn't even think. I took pictures. The lady passed Portia off to the man sitting next to her, disentangling Portia's fingers from her hair, and of course Portia smiled back at me where I was standing--ready with my camera--right before she stuffed the guy's tie in her mouth.
The ceremony part was finally over and all the suits shuffled out of the room, the cameramen were packing up their equipment, and I was met by Dannon's P.R. guy from NY. I commented, "I'm a working mom." To which he replied, "And I'm a working dad." We talked for a while about Utah Food Bank and Dannon's grant award, while I even thought about pulling out my recorder but at this time had no extra hands to do so.
I got to take a cooler stuffed full of Yogurt and yogurt drinks home.
As I was leaving, the ABC cameraman pulled me aside and said, "Don't worry about the baby thing. I think it was great to have her here. Hopefully it reminded everyone why they were all here--for the children." Thank goodness for kind people in stressful situations.
I'd never been so relieved to be in my car. I drove home, trying to get there before 11 when Fox 13's news came on. I ran downstairs and started the Tivo. For you see, without a recording and no hands to write down anything anyone said, I was missing an integral part of my article--quotes. Fortunately, I got one from Fox 13's broadcast. Unfortunately, that was all.
For the last two days, I've been trying to scrape together as much "official" stuff as possible. I pulled quotes from the press release, which I know I'm not normally supposed to do but I quoted it as such. I'm mainly worried about what the editor will think. What would he think if he had seen me in action on Wednesday?
Well, I have to have the article in by close of business today. It's my worst by far, I know it. I have learned a lesson here, though, and it's that I cannot take any more stories that require me to be there in the day when I don't have a sitter for Portia.
Even today, with the article nearly finished and being in the comfort of my home, I'm still cringing at the thought of what I looked like with my struggling baby, trying to be professional, trying to blend in.
This morning, as Eric was leaving for work, he grabbed one of the Dannon yogurt drinks to have on the drive. "Thanks to the fruits of my labor," I reminded him. After all, although I like free things, I actually don't like yogurt.
He gestured toward the house, "to the fruits of my labor," (which I hate when he does that).
I then held up Portia, "to the fruits of my labor."
And you know what? Despite my frustration over this article in the past week, I'd take Portia over dignity or any job in the world.
I had to go to this check-award ceremony where Dannon (you know its yogurt) gave a $30,000 grant to Utah Food Bank to help out low-income children in the community. A great cause, huh? I thought so too. This just so happened that it was on a work-day and since most of the other reporters work full-time jobs, they couldn't do it, but I could.
I decided I could just put Portia in the Snugli and pack her along with me. (I thought maybe if I'm not pushing a stroller or holding a carseat, then it's more like she's attached to me. Come on, I'm only five months removed from just being a pregnant lady.) Well, since I hadn't used the Snugli since I left St. Louis, Portia didn't like how close it was to me, and she kept struggling to get away from me. Too close. She was fussing and making quite a bit of noise. At first it wasn't a big deal, because it was just me and two cameramen--one from Fox 13 News and ABC. And we were sitting around stuffing our faces with muffins and fruit and--what else?--yogurt. But after the Senators and Mayors and other VIPs came in, I started to feel a little uncomfortable.
One woman from Dannon even commented to me, "Wow, you sure look calm." I responded that I'm glad it appeared that way. But that's when I knew everyone was probably wondering what this amateur person was doing, bringing her baby along. Maybe if it had just been a Utah thing it would have been fine; after all, all women in Utah have a baby all the time (or so it seems). But most of the suits from Dannon traveled here from New York.
After everyone took their seats, thank goodness, a woman from Dannon offered to hold my cute baby while I took some pictures. I tried not to notice Portia's white-knuckled grip on her perfectly done hair. Oops. Oh well, I had photos to focus on. I forgot to pull out my recorder and press play and it was right there, in my bag, but I was so flustered that I didn't even think. I took pictures. The lady passed Portia off to the man sitting next to her, disentangling Portia's fingers from her hair, and of course Portia smiled back at me where I was standing--ready with my camera--right before she stuffed the guy's tie in her mouth.
The ceremony part was finally over and all the suits shuffled out of the room, the cameramen were packing up their equipment, and I was met by Dannon's P.R. guy from NY. I commented, "I'm a working mom." To which he replied, "And I'm a working dad." We talked for a while about Utah Food Bank and Dannon's grant award, while I even thought about pulling out my recorder but at this time had no extra hands to do so.
I got to take a cooler stuffed full of Yogurt and yogurt drinks home.
As I was leaving, the ABC cameraman pulled me aside and said, "Don't worry about the baby thing. I think it was great to have her here. Hopefully it reminded everyone why they were all here--for the children." Thank goodness for kind people in stressful situations.
I'd never been so relieved to be in my car. I drove home, trying to get there before 11 when Fox 13's news came on. I ran downstairs and started the Tivo. For you see, without a recording and no hands to write down anything anyone said, I was missing an integral part of my article--quotes. Fortunately, I got one from Fox 13's broadcast. Unfortunately, that was all.
For the last two days, I've been trying to scrape together as much "official" stuff as possible. I pulled quotes from the press release, which I know I'm not normally supposed to do but I quoted it as such. I'm mainly worried about what the editor will think. What would he think if he had seen me in action on Wednesday?
Well, I have to have the article in by close of business today. It's my worst by far, I know it. I have learned a lesson here, though, and it's that I cannot take any more stories that require me to be there in the day when I don't have a sitter for Portia.
Even today, with the article nearly finished and being in the comfort of my home, I'm still cringing at the thought of what I looked like with my struggling baby, trying to be professional, trying to blend in.
This morning, as Eric was leaving for work, he grabbed one of the Dannon yogurt drinks to have on the drive. "Thanks to the fruits of my labor," I reminded him. After all, although I like free things, I actually don't like yogurt.
He gestured toward the house, "to the fruits of my labor," (which I hate when he does that).
I then held up Portia, "to the fruits of my labor."
And you know what? Despite my frustration over this article in the past week, I'd take Portia over dignity or any job in the world.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
General Conference
A little over a month ago, we had a message left on our voicemail from Cocoa or Kona or Cola from the presiding bishopric's office. Hmmm, I didn't know our stake had a presiding bishopric, I thought, I'll have Eric call them back later. When Eric heard the message, he said, "When did this message come through?" A couple days ago. I couldn't really remember.
"Jeana, the presiding bishropric is over the entire church." Right then, our minds started reeling over why the presiding Bishop (Edgely, it is) would be calling our house. My first thought was, Oh no, Eric's being called as a general authority. (Yeah, go ahead and laugh, but I knew it wasn't for some high calling for me. Eric's definitely more righteous.) No one's getting excommunicated are they? Maybe I didn't properly repent for that stuff in college. . .
When we finally reached Bishop Edgely, we found out the reason for the call. Two summers ago, he got ahold of the Salt Lake Tribune and saw Robert Kirby's column that ran right after the accident. (You know the one, the accident that will forever bisect my life into pre and post.) Who knew that general authorities read Kirby's column?
Anyway, General Conference is coming up (this weekend to be exact), and Bishop Edgely will be speaking in the first session on Saturday morning and I'm guessing talking about compassionate service. I'm not sure if he's using our names (I kind of wish he wouldn't actually) but he'll be talking about my ward in the aftermath of the accident.
I thought I should let everyone know so they won't be shocked to hear our names or read it in the Ensign the next month.
Bishop Edgely sent us family-member tickets to attend (I've actually never attended General Conference before), so we'll be there. I just have this frightening thought that the cameras will span to us when he's talking about our accident the way cameras show family members of football players cheering in the stands. I know they don't do that kind of stuff in General Conference, right?
"Jeana, the presiding bishropric is over the entire church." Right then, our minds started reeling over why the presiding Bishop (Edgely, it is) would be calling our house. My first thought was, Oh no, Eric's being called as a general authority. (Yeah, go ahead and laugh, but I knew it wasn't for some high calling for me. Eric's definitely more righteous.) No one's getting excommunicated are they? Maybe I didn't properly repent for that stuff in college. . .
When we finally reached Bishop Edgely, we found out the reason for the call. Two summers ago, he got ahold of the Salt Lake Tribune and saw Robert Kirby's column that ran right after the accident. (You know the one, the accident that will forever bisect my life into pre and post.) Who knew that general authorities read Kirby's column?
Anyway, General Conference is coming up (this weekend to be exact), and Bishop Edgely will be speaking in the first session on Saturday morning and I'm guessing talking about compassionate service. I'm not sure if he's using our names (I kind of wish he wouldn't actually) but he'll be talking about my ward in the aftermath of the accident.
I thought I should let everyone know so they won't be shocked to hear our names or read it in the Ensign the next month.
Bishop Edgely sent us family-member tickets to attend (I've actually never attended General Conference before), so we'll be there. I just have this frightening thought that the cameras will span to us when he's talking about our accident the way cameras show family members of football players cheering in the stands. I know they don't do that kind of stuff in General Conference, right?
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