We Are Going To Grandma's House

Well, we already went, actually.Gavin and I got to spend a fantastic week in October hanging out with Grandpa and Grandma in Sparks. Aside from the fact that my two-and-a-half-year-old started acting his age on this trip and hasn't let up since, we had a wonderful time and were spoiled rotten. It was wonderful to see our family, especially since this is the last time Gavin can be spoiled all by himself. The next time we see Grandpa and Grandma, Gavin will have a baby sister to share the limelight with! Following are a few highlights from our trip (not included: the phone call I got from our alarm company stating our security alarm at home was going off. Casey was in Dallas that day and I was obviously not home. Good times. All is well, thanks to Border Patrol neighbor with big guns...oh, and strong muscles, too!) I am so sorry to the family members who we didn't capture on camera - I was good at taking pictures some of the time. Marissa, if you have any pictures of you and Gav, please let me know! He says "Aladdin fork!" on a daily basis!

Thanks for taking the time to see us and making sure our visit was just spiffy, Family! WE LOVE AND MISS YOU!

Gav and Grandpa in the backyard

Makin' sugar cookies

Tastin' pumpkin seeds (uncooked. Clearly enjoyed.)

Playin' soccer with hilarious Uncle Reed

Visitin' Grandpa and Grandma Great

Kissin' all the ladies

Lest Ye Think It Is All Fun And Games...

In the last post, I touted potty training as an angelic experience that anyone would do well to learn eternal truths from. Well, let's not exaggerate, people - that was yesterday. Okay, that was about half of yesterday. The second half of yesterday went downhill quickly after two poops on the kitchen floor caused me to realize that I am projecting my perfectionist tendencies onto my child as I wonder why he isn't perfect the first time at potty training. After being mad at myself for this realization and then surging right on into a hormonal pregnancy mood change, I was as pleasant as a barrel cactus to be around last night. I am glad I wrote that last post, however, because I meant every word of it, and when I start to slide into pathetic self-pity I will come back and read it to gain the perspective I raved about before. In the meantime, I'll look at this cute face and wonder how I can ever be such a scrooge in the first place.

Line Upon Line

My life is filled with cleaning up pee and poo. And I love it.

I love rejoicing in the triumphs of a not-quite 2 1/2-year-old. I love screaming and dancing and running around the house with a half-naked toddler who runs back into my arms for a big hug after a successful go at the loo.

I love calling "Super Grover" (aka my dad) to discuss this latest triumph and watching the expression on Gavin's face as he says nonchalantly, "Hi Super Grover. I pooped in the potty." The proud, self-satisfied expression on his little face is priceless to me.

I love watching Gavin suddenly assume a sumo-like walk as he waddles to the potty and I know it is time for #2.

I love to sing, "This is the way we wash our hands, wash our hands, wash our hands; this is the way we wash our hands, after we go potty!" every time we wash hands post-pottying. With such a little bladder, the average number of hand-washing trips is about 3 times an hour.

I love to put lotion on my cracking and dry hands from so much washing. I love to watch a little body run around in Elmo, Super Grover and/or camouflage underwear and want to wear a new pair a couple of times a day even if he hasn't soiled the pair he is wearing.

In short, I love that the triumphs I used to rejoice in - graduations, my wedding, the birth of my first child - have been replaced by the small and simple every-day situations that are no less important in our development.

I love to think that this is the way the Lord designed our lives, for truly, "by small and simple means" does He accomplish His work. I know that He is just as excited for Gavin as I am, and that He is proud of the steps I am making towards becoming more patient and kind. I would hate to think that He only cared about the accomplishments that the world sees are important, like the big homes, the fancy cars, the degrees from fancy colleges, fitting in with hairstyles and clothing, etc. If we know that this isn't true of the way Heavenly Father feels about us, then why do we sometimes place so much importance on these things?

I am grateful for an infinite number of things about my son, but one of those I feel strongly about is that he has given me perspective and continues to teach me important eternal truths. No matter how small, the progress we make in doing the will of God and reaching our divine potential is what matters to Heavenly Father. I thank a potty-training toddler for reminding me of this.

Just 2

Two of today's thousand instances where I thought I couldn't love my child any more:

1) We tried out celery and peanut butter today for lunch. Didn't go well. Celery was basically a delivery device for the PB. At one point Gavin looked at me and assumed a very thoughtful facial expression, complete with scrunched eyes and tilted head. His comment on the meal? "This is kinda like chocolate...and fish."

2) Our bedtime ritual includes the following exchange between Gavin and his dad:

Casey: See ya tomorrow!
Gavin: See ya tomorow!
(Casey walks out of the room and shuts the door at this point.)
Gavin, from bedroom: See ya tomorrow!
Casey, from hallway, slowly walking into living room: See ya tomorrow!
Gavin, a little louder: See ya tomorrow!
Casey: See ya tomorrow!
Gavin: See ya tomorrow!
(Casey pauses without saying anything)
Gavin: SEE YA TOMORROW!
Casey: SEE YA TOMORROW, GAVIN! GOODNIGHT BUDDY!

And all is quiet. Apparently all Gavin needs is that last "See ya tomorrow!" nice and loud, and he's down for the count. Love.

Soapbox Time

This post may not be the "lighter" post I promised, but I have high hopes that it will make the wallets of a few misguided idiots...I mean, people...a whole lot lighter after reading this.

I have no illusions about the number of people who read this blog (thanks, Mom - you rock!), but my hope is that the few who do will pass on the following sentiments to others in their immediate circles. My topic for the day concerns wants vs. needs and who gets to pick up the slack when someone decides that they want something but don't actually want to pay for the whole thing: in short, tipping - how much should one tip at a restaurant, and can you actually afford to go out to eat?

Lest I seem to have stepped outside my area of expertise (whatever that is, if I even possess one), let me say that I believe it comes down to one simple and profound principle: generosity.

Recently, my mother-in-law, a long-time employee of a certain chain restaurant we'll just call "Snapplefleas," informed me that she had recently been told by a patron that the state of the economy allowed for a decrease in the regular tipping percentage - they only had to pay 10%. Yes, you read that right - this person decided that they had enough money for a fairly good meal, but not enough for a generous tip. Does this sound right to you??

Because I could go on and on about this, I'll keep it brief: if one does not have enough money to pay for both a meal and a 20% (yes, a 20% - NOT 15%) tip, one does not have enough money to go out to eat at that particular establishment. The "state of the economy" does not allow for people to continue to stuff their faces and short the service that brought such stuff to them in the first place. If a sacrifice is to be made, it should NOT be at the expense of someone else's livelihood. Determining that the belt must be tightened as long as it isn't your belt is one of the cheapest, most odious and ludicrous things I have heard in the past 10 minutes.

Maybe that wasn't so brief.

Nation, there are several facts we must take into account when determining whether or not we can afford to go out to a restaurant in which tipping is expected, and foremost among these reasons is the question of whether or not the tip can ALSO be afforded. If not, you just don't have enough money to go out and eat at that restaurant! It's like determining that you have enough money to pay only so much for a product and then asking the retailer if he will swallow the rest of the cost just so you can have the privilege of owning something you didn't really need in the first place. Sound stupid? IT IS!!

Lest I continue to digress in a cynical fashion, let me put forth a thought: since the "state of the economy" has been called into question, shouldn't we take every opportunity we can to help other people? A few lesser-known facts concerning the restaurant business might be useful here.

First, the wait staff at a restaurant does not get paid minimum wage. Since tips are part of their regular income and not just an added bonus, it would be much more kind to consider giving a generous tip as the rule and not the exception.

Second, one should remember for what you are tipping: a percentage of the check, yes, but also for service. A likely scenario that we may all have been guilty at one time or another: you and a group of friends decide to go out for dessert. Although your friends order desserts, you decide that you don't have all that much money and so you order a Coke. You and said friends stay at the restaurant for a couple of hours, and in that time the waiter refills your drink 3-4 times. When the bill comes, should you pay only 15% of the cost of the drink (say $1.75) or should you take into account that someone refilled it several different times for you? Better yet, what if you just ordered water but it was refilled the same number of times? Some things to think about.

Last: although some might short a waiter (sorry for the constant use of the masculine term - please consider all waitresses as also being implied herein) for what they determined was bad service, that is not really for us to decide. Etiquette dictates that a full tip should be paid but the manager should be sought out and spoken to about the issue. After all, we all have bad days. Maybe you happened to get the waiter who is the single mom trying to make ends meet who just received a 10% tip from her previous patron. That might make me a little less happy and a bit more preoccupied, too.

The lesson here, I think, is clear: please remember to be generous, people. It's okay to stay home and eat or patronize the nearest Burger King (a tip-less establishment) if you can't afford the whole experience of dining out. And if you can afford it, making someone else's life a little better that night has rewards that far outweigh the slight hit your wallet might take.

Weighty Matter

I am unusually emotional today. Okay, maybe that's not so unusual for this pregnancy, but since I miscarried a few months before I became pregnant again, I find that certain things affect me more than they used to. I have a much more cautious outlook and find it a daily struggle to maintain faith over fear that whatever happens with this pregnancy, with Gavin, and my family in general is for the best, and all these things are in the Lord's hands.

A few days ago, a childhood friend of my family lost her firstborn son, 8 weeks old, to SIDS. He simply went to sleep at night and did not wake up the next day. I just found out about it today, and it has made me not only ache for her but really think about my greatest fear: losing my child...or children. I understand the principles of the gospel and the incredible comfort it is to know that these children are not lost and we can be with them forever, but to not see Gavin's little face every day and to hear him "read" Monster Mess and Love You Forever to me...I can't think about it.

I felt like I had to write something, anything, as a sort of cathartic way to help me deal with these feelings today, so I apologize for the heaviness of this post. As a parting comment, please go kiss your babies. When mine wakes up from his nap, we're going to read Monster Mess together until I never forget how his little voice sounds. And then I'm going to start thinking of a much lighter post!

Ode To A Hair Stylist, A Sister, A Friend

It may be said, above all things,
That engineers are cheap.
Give them the option and you will find
At a freebie they will leap.

The wife of such an ambitious sort
Will try to take cuts where she can,
But to "cut" the hair of her inamorato
Might make him look like less of a man.

Try as she might, those scissors are sharp!
And her eyesight? Dismal at best.
With no training and no natural talent...
Well, you can picture the rest.

So when Courtnee, beloved sister she is,
Entered cosmetology school -
Her brother, my husband, closed up his wallet
And laid to rest my hair-cutting tools.

"Oh ho!" quoth he, with a gladsome laugh,
"Free haircuts for life, no doubt!"
And yet I was hesitant to jump on that bandwagon,
Because I don't think handouts are what families should be about.

Sure, the occasional haircut is nice and thoughtful,
But to cut a whole family's head for free?
Now that went against my principles,
Even if she would refuse a fee.

With her studio in Colorado and us in the Southwest
I thought my dilemma moot.
But then, a family reunion was in sight,
And I knew there would be mischief afoot.

Knowing full well that haircuts would take place,
I deigned to participate myself.
But as the fated day drew near,
I realized I was starting to look like an elf.

My hair so flat and ears so large -
There was no way I could make it another week.
I realized the best thing to do was at hand:
For Courtnee's expertise I would seek.

We called her before to humbly beg her services
And with graciousness did she accept.
Still, in the back of my mind was recompense -
How to repay! And oh, how ill I slept.

The reunion came, we played and we laughed
And Casey begged his turn.
The campsite froze, all eyes turned to her,
For from a master we were all about to learn.

Her tools acquired, we looked on in awe
As her apron she deftly tied.
Her scissors she checked, her comb and spray bottle -
To Casey a cape was applied.

With a snip of her wrist and a flash of the comb
Curly hair to the ground did fall.
A handsome face began to emerge
And Courtnee's hands never once did stall.

Finished, the haircut was a textbook case
Of the way attractive males could look
When handed over to a master stylist
Who practically wrote the book.

Gavin, the ever-busy child he is,
Sat and let his haircut take shape.
He must have loved chewing on the combs
And the specially-for-kids small cape.

At length, the men were done and Courtnee offered
To take care of my own hair-cutting needs.
But to partake would, for me, be akin to stealing!
How could I add to her altruistic deeds?

Yet seeing the looks I was getting from the crowd
That screamed a haircut was long overdue,
I decided to swallow my pride and allow
The free application of a trim hair 'do.

With complete and utter trust, I washed my hair
And sat on the cushion provided.
As she began, my gratitude grew
While my trepidation subsided.

"Voila! I did the best that I can,
But really - there's little that can be done
On long hair like yours, with the shape of your face,
You'll just have to look like a nun."

Okay, so Courtnee didn't say that at all,
But in my head I was sure that's what she was thinking.
When she did finish, my hair felt so light and refreshed
That at my reflection I couldn't stop blinking.

The three of us now had haircuts that even
The gods would envy of us.
We were groomed! We were clean! Oh, happy day!
I was ashamed for making such a fuss.

We knew that Courtnee would accept no fee,
No payment and no remuneration.
Yet I knew I had to do something to proclaim
Her deeds and talent to an ignorant nation.

Courtnee, your haircuts are simply amazing!
Your philanthropy is to be admired.
We SO appreciate all you do for us,
Especially when this pregnant body gets so tired.

We want you to know we love and appreciate
All you do for us.
We only hope that in the future
Over YOU we can make a fuss!

THANK YOU!!!