Frozen Bananas

Not My Daughter...

Megan — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 04:22:00 GMT

Tumbling came to an end yesterday evening. It was an intense six weeks in which Little H came in only knowing how to do a somersault, quickly learned that she was doing it wrong, lost confidence in her ability to do a somersault, became unable to do a somersault without someone coaching her through it, and eventually re-learned how to do a somersault on her own. And also she now knows how to do a donkey-kick really well. So when the summer olympics start looking for yet another useless sport to throw into the mix in order to stretch the media coverage just that much longer, I'm nominating the donkey-kick.

Now for my moral dilemma. After class, she came running over to Dan and I with a popsicle and a paper. The paper said something like, "Thanks for enrolling your kid in our tumbling class. Now you should put her/him in our cheerleading class that starts next month because if you don't then you probably don't really love her/him."

Thankfully Little H can't read. If she could, she would be begging us to be in the cheerleading class. Now I'm all for the exercise, but I don't want my daughter to be a cheerleader. Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against all cheerleaders. I have a very nice sister-in-law and soon-to-be sister-in-law who used to be cheerleaders. I mostly just don't want to be a cheerleader's mom. It's too much drama, and it's too crazy, and I don't want to end up like that lady who tried to take out a hit on the girl who beat her kid in try-outs. Also I'm trying to force her to play soccer, and girls' soccer and football are in the same season so it just wouldn't work. What to do, what to do?

Calfornia Dreaming

Megan — Sun, 11 Jul 2010 05:56:00 GMT

A couple weeks ago, Dan's brother and his family drove out here for the weekend for a family reunion. We liked having them here so much that we turned around and followed them back to California the next weekend. It was opportune because we also got to see this little cutie be blessed on the 4th of July.

Although we weren't there for long, we crammed as much family time in as we possibly could. We were able to see Papa and Grandma Meldrum, too, for the first time in a few months. John and Kelsi, always such gracious hosts, were nice enough to have us for dinner, take us to the beach, and then have us for dinner again (along with a lot of other people after the blessing). Little H really loves her cousins aunts and uncles and grandparents, and leaving is always so sad for all of us, but I'm glad we got to see them as much as we did over the last couple weeks. This was the first time Buster actually played with the cousins so that was fun to see. It's also great to see how he seems to be recognizing his grandparents now, even going a month or two without seeing them. And I swear, there were times he just couldn't care less if Dan or I were even there, as long as grandma or Uncle John were holding him.

Gymnastics

Megan — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 04:19:39 GMT

Little H started gymnastics last week. We didn't take pictures that day because, well, we didn't have a camera at the time. I finally gave up hope that some Good Samaritan is going to miraculously show up on my doorstep with our camera, and we broke down and bought a new one. (Based on the pictures, you can tell I still haven't taken the time to read the instruction manual.)

Little H loves to tell people she's in gymnastics. She's learned all sorts of things, like the pizza stretch, somersaulting through a hula hoop, and hopping on one foot with her hands up in the air. She hasn't quite mastered the army crawl, though, yet. She started out alright, but once her teacher turned back to help the next kid in line she ran to the other side of the mat. I'm not sure if there's a national championship in our future, but at least she's having fun. Buster just likes going because he can climb up and down the bleachers.

And Dan just likes going because..., well I'm not sure. Maybe because the basketball hoops are the perfect size for dunking.

Name Brand Woes

Megan — Sun, 06 Jun 2010 04:11:00 GMT

Little H is an advertiser's dream come true. She is perfectly happy to just watch the commercials and completely ignore whatever show is on. Dan likes to mute the commercials, but that's completely impossible when Little H is in the room. In fact, whenever she sees a Cymbalta commercial, she will run to me and tell me that I "should get that". (I wish I could see myself through her eyes, sometimes.)

That being said, kids shows advertise Skechers a lot. A lot, a lot. She always wants to get Skechers. I, however, have a hard time dropping $40 on a pair of shoes she's going to outgrow in two months. So, when we bought a pair of pink velcro shoes for her from Target a couple months ago, she thought they were Skechers, and I thought 'why not?' One day when I picked her up from preschool, she told me that some kids told her that her shoes aren't Skechers because they don't have an 'S' on them. Really? Three-year olds? How annoying that kids are so brainwashed at so early an age. Thankfully Little H's teacher told the kids that not all Skecher's shoes have an 'S' on them. Bless her.

This all brought back a memory from kindergarten that is somewhat similar. Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage when I was in kindergarten. I wanted one so bad, but all the stores were sold out before Christmas. (Think Zhu Zhu Pets 2009.) My grandma was able actually make a doll that looked exactly like a Cabbage Patch Doll and I was none the wiser. I had an evil little friend who told me that my doll wasn't a real Cabbage Patch Doll because she didn't have the stamp on her butt. I talked with my mom about that, and she let me know that my doll was magical because it wasn't made in a factory like all the other dolls. I knew she was speaking the truth because I slept with that doll every night, and no matter where she was when I went to bed, she had always moved to a different place on the bed by the time I woke up. She must have been up and walking around while I was sleeping. I loved that doll so much, and I can love and appreciate my mom and grandma even more now that I'm a mom myself. Right now I have to figure out which kids are messing with my daughter so I can figure out a way to set them straight.

Visiting Daddy's Poppa and Grandma

Megan — Wed, 19 May 2010 03:27:00 GMT

Well, really we visited Dan's parents, but Little H has referred to them as Daddy's Poppa and Grandma since she was able to speak. Dan had to work up in the Northwest last week, so we decided to make a trip out of it. We crammed as much as we could into our time up there, and George and Judith completely wore us out. It was a great week, topped off with a trip to the beach. We could barely tear Little H away from the water. We had to promise her that we'd go to the ocean again when we visit her cousins in L.A. this summer.

The only thing that could have made it better is if I hadn't lost the camera. I lost the camera! I can't believe I lost the camera! I hadn't even downloaded the pictures from Buster's birthday, yet! (That might have been for the best just so Buster doesn't see how lame his birthday actually was--the recreation will be much grander.) I can't believe I lost the camera! I have no idea what is wrong with me. I told Dan that I don't understand just how he puts up with me. I really must be missing some necessary brain gears. I have lost/ruined/run over/spilled grease or acid on/misplaced pretty much everything of value we've ever owned. Except the kids. That's not true...I've probably ruined the kids but that remains to be seen. But the camera...with the memory card. Ugh. Don't talk or ask me about it, though because it still makes me so mad. The camera? Really, Megan?

Oh, also Buster got yet another ear infection which really stunk, and we had to find somewhere that would take out insurance. He gets tubes tomorrow, though, and I hear that they're magical.

Anyway, these pictures are courtesy of George and Judith. Thank you guys so much!!!!

Through the storm, I think...

Megan — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 02:16:00 GMT

It's been an excruciating month jam packed with sickness and disease and Dr. visits and medicine allergies, and Dan traveling, and visitors, and Easter, and family functions, and a funeral with my uncle's unexpected passing (something I need to write about more when I get the chance). The kids just won't stop getting sick. The worst was whatever stomach flu Little H brought home last week that brought three out of four of us down to our knees. Dan somehow managed to escape it due to his "superior genes" (his words, not mine) that he didn't bother to pass on to either of his children. Buster threw up at least 15 times, and only one of those times was I not holding him. I wouldn't have minded so much if I hadn't gotten sick myself.

I think my absolute low point was the day I stayed home with both of the kids. Little H was feeling better, but Buster and I were still in the full swing of things. I had been up the night before, my stomach hurt, and my back was killing me. We were all on my bed, and I had just gotten done with a game of Memory with Little H that took forever because she insisted on using all the cards and they kept getting mixed up on the not-so-solid surface of our comforter. I turned on the cartoons, leaned back on the heating pad and essentially passed out at 11:30 a.m. I mean, I was sort of in and out of consciousness and could see Little H jumping around and Buster trying to join in while laughing at his sister's antics. Once in a while someone would land on me, which would normally make me at least yelp, but in my haze, I don't think I reacted at all. Flash forward to 12:15 when I finally came to. I glance over to see Buster sound asleep on the pillow next to me. I lift my head a tad and see Little H laying down on the foot of the bed, engrossed in Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Ah, peace at last. But what's that smell? I raise my head a little further to get a better look and that's when I see the puddle of vomit right in the center of my stomach. Was I really so out of it that I didn't notice one of my kids puked on me? At that point the sensitivity has worn off, and it just feels a little ironic, so I slide my sweatshirt off over my head and toss it toward the closet hamper. No sense in missing out on a chance to continue this nap, or whatever it is.

At this point, we're all feeling lots better, but probably still tired, yet. I snapped this picture of Buster tonight after he gave in to sleep while I was changing his diaper. I can't help but think it captures how we're all feeling.

He's Back!

Megan — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 12:40:00 GMT

...And he's not too happy about me taking his picture right here. (Doesn't matter much, though, because I outrank him.)
Welcome home from Spain, Drew! We can't wait 'til Ana joins you.

Or is it just me?

Megan — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 03:46:00 GMT

Have you ever stepped onto an elevator and it smells really bad like strong cologne or body odor or something else really offensive? And then you realize you are the only one in this cart so you feel sorry for yourself that you have to ride down however many floors with no one to complain to, and you've already had a bad day and now it's just going to be worse because you just know you're not going to be able to get this smell out of your clothes and hair until you can shower and change. And then after only a couple floors the cart stops and one or two people get on, and you just know that they think you stunk up the elevator but are too polite to say anything. And you know this person / people, but not very well, and you want to tell them that the smell is not your fault, but that would just make you look even more guilty. So no one acknowledges the smell because you are too embarrassed and they are too polite but probably not polite enough to not mention it to the people they work with the next day. And probably the people they work with are people you kind of know, too. And then what is usually the most uneventful 30 seconds of your day suddenly becomes the most significant. And then you think about it too much. So much that you have to get onto your personal blog and vindicate yourself even though the people who need to know the truth would never read it because they don't know you have a personal blog and wouldn't read it even if they knew. Also, you don't know the person's / people's name(s) or else you may be tempted to add them as a friend on Facebook because there is a chance they would look at your personal contact information and see you have a blog and connect to it and recognize your story that they played such a key role in. And as you're writing this you feel a little crazy, but you just know that you will post the story anyway because there is no cure for crazy.

Sigh.

Ear Infections and Other News

Megan — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 04:39:00 GMT

Both kids have had colds and subsequently ear infections over the last couple weeks. Buster was the first to fall victim, but Little H followed rather quickly. Last weekend I was able to join Dan for the last part of his Las Vegas business trip. It was our post-Valentine's, pre-anniversary trip, and it was so nice. We went and saw Phantom of the Opera. I've never seen the show before, but I must say, that it was excellent. (Have I mentioned how lucky we are to have two sets of grandparents who are great about watching our kids?)

Anyway, while my dad was waiting for us at our meeting point to get the kids, Little H woke up and started crying that her ear hurt. My dad thought she must have slept on it wrong, and asked her if that was why it hurt. She responded, "No, Papa it's not my fault. And also, my sense of smell hurts." ??? When we got to the parking lot, my dad apologized that he was returning our little girl to us with only three of her five senses in proper working order.

During Buster's doctor visit we found out that he's actually lost weight. It makes me a little sad. He's moving like crazy, though, so it was bound to happen. His favorite thing right now is the tub. He slips and falls and climbs up and starts over again.



He spends a lot of time there, for obvious reasons.



I also wanted to post this picture of Little H. I bought her a summer dress a little prematurely, and she wears it all the time around the house. I have to hide it from her when she takes a bath or else we'd never get it washed. One lazy weekend I think she wore it day and night for at least 48 hours. In this picture, I told her to pose and I'd take her picture. Doesn't it just scream trouble?

She's On To Us...

Megan — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 04:09:00 GMT

On our way to Costco the other day, out of nowhere, this is what we hear from the backseat:

Little H: We are not supposed to eat poison, huh, Mom and Dad?
Me: No we are not.
Little H: Good thing we don't have any poison in our house, huh?
Dan (wisely picking up on a teaching moment): Well, we have some things in our house that are poison. We have to be careful not to eat them.
Little H: Like what?
Me: Like the things that we clean the kitchen and the bathrooms. If you eat them they can make you really, really sick.
Little H: Soap is poison?
Me: Some soap is poison.
Dan: Eating any soap can make you sick.
Little H: Then why do you guys always tell me that I have to eat soap after I get out of time-out?

Well, she got us there. Tricky little girl, fooling us with her logic.

And for the record, we have yet to follow through and actually make her eat soap. Not that I'm against it. Heaven knows it didn't kill me.

Stretched to the Limit

Megan — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 04:36:00 GMT

Little H has pretty much quit taking naps altogether. I'm torn on whether to be happy or sad. I guess it all depends on if you ask me at 1:00 p.m. when she would usually be asleep but is running crazy instead, or if you ask me at 7:30 p.m. when she's fallen asleep an hour before bedtime in my lap. This has created a bit of a problem, though, because she always wants to fall asleep in the car on the way home from the babysitter's house. If she crashes, then we're screwed for the night because any nap that lasts longer than 15 minutes will result in an extra hour trying to get her to sleep. We used to just poke and prod her to keep her awake, but that resulted in a lot of screaming because when she gets upset, Buster follows suit. Nothing will make him cry like hearing his sister crying. It's a nightmarish 10 minute drive with two screaming loons in the backseat.

Our next ingenious idea was to tell Little H stories on the way home. It works really well to get her imagination going and is noticeably less noisy. Our stories always have to be about something that happened at work (i.e. the building was completely flooded with water, or an elephant was loose in the lobby, or King Kong tried to kidnap our receptionist), and most of the time we are saved by Little H in the form of a super hero. Dan introduced a new villain a couple weeks ago named Frank the Monkey, a mean little primate who is always trying to throw one of us off the building until Super Little H comes to our rescue. This is Little H's favorite storyline. The only problem with this routine, is that lately, we are both feeling like our imaginations are completely tapped out.

Enter our new "car" book. I found this cute book at the scary used bookstore down the street from my work. This way, we can read to her on the way home and we all end up a little happier. We've only gotten through one story so far (and I have to admit that I prefer Disney's version of The Little Mermaid way better than the original in this book), but I do feel a little bit better that Frank the Monkey has somehow not managed to escape the zoo for a record four days.

Tiny Green Men

Megan — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 04:16:00 GMT

Buster's fourth tooth finally broke through all the way on Friday, and we've had three good nights of sleep. I'm so glad. I was getting desperate. My grandma always says the best way to get the teeth to break through is to rub the gums with your wedding ring. I didn't go quite that far, but was rubbing the top of my fingernail over that tooth several times a day toward the end. He's so much happier now. We are all so much happier now. I'm actually feeling rested enough to get this post up tonight.

One evening a couple weeks ago, Little H and I were driving home from the store. I was singing "Mary had a Little Lamb" in order to keep her entertained. She interrupted me half way through the 27th time I was singing it (thank goodness) and said:
"Mom, when I get to be an explorer like Dora, can I have a lamb?"
"I'm sure you can have whatever you want as an animal sidekick, but doesn't Dora have a monkey?"
"Well, I think I can handle all kinds of animals when I'm an explorer."
"Like what?"
"Like lambs, and monkeys, and giraffes, and crocodiles, and leprechauns..."
"Wait--did you say leprechauns?"
"Yeah, like the kind we saw when I went to the zoo with Daddy's grandma and grandpa when me and Daddy went to see them!"

So I'm not sure what kind of weird zoo / tiny prison George and Judith took Little H to when she went to visit last April, but I'm hoping we can find it again next time we visit. I'm always up for a good leprechaun zoo.

And On We Go...

Megan — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 14:04:00 GMT

My brother and his wife had their baby earlier this month. She is so sweet. I forget how tiny they are when they're first born. I always worry when holding other people's newborns that I'm going to hold them too tight or drop them. I thought that feeling would go away after having kids of my own, but it doesn't. Little H was pretty excited to see her new cousin, but she was disappointed that we had to give them back their dog when they came home from the hospital. Apparently Atticus (the dog) is her "best friend that she ever had." Poor puppy was probably so happy to get home. Between Little H chasing him all around the house and his paralyzing fear of Dan, I think we completely wore him out.



The other day I caught Little H in front of the mirror admiring herself and making "snake food", which really just consists of filling the sink with bubbles. When I asked what she was up to, she told me, "Mom, I'm the smartest girl in the whole world."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because, at church, I guessed that right now Jesus lives in heaven and I was right! So that means I'm the smartest girl in the whole world."
We probably feed her ego way too much, but I really think she's amazing. I guess everyone does that with their own kids. Sometimes I really think she is a genius...and then there are other times when I catch her in the beginning stages of trying to fill up the laundry basket with water because she wants a swimming pool in the hall.



And Buster is really getting around now. He can stand up on his own, but he's still not sure about taking that first step without holding onto something. He's nine months old today! We took him to his doctor a couple weeks ago and he's finally withing the charts for height and weight (95 percentile), but his head is still not measuring in line with normal kids. It's huge. The doctor looked at the chart comparison and just sort of glossed over it when he saw how big it was. I'm not too worried, though. Little H always had a big head, too (literally and figuratively as evidenced by the above story). They get it from their dad, who has never been able to comfortably wear baseball caps or find sunglasses that fit. Buster has gotten three teeth and has been working hard on pushing through one more on the top for about three weeks now. I don't think anyone in the house has slept well since the teething started. In the meantime, we've come up with a new nickname for him -- Cletus. The resemblance is uncanny.

The Holidays All Crammed into One Post

Megan — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 05:21:00 GMT

Starting with Thanksgiving, we went to dinner at my Aunt Jana's. It was fun to see everyone, and it will make a good memory looking back now knowing that it was the last one with Grandpa. After that, we went to my grandparents' home on my mom's side and had pie with everyone. That was where I snapped this pic of Little H with her cousin. I'm not sure where she's looking because I'm pretty sure I was the only one with a camera.



That weekend, we went to see the lights on Temple Square with Dan's parents. We went to dinner at Trolley Square where Little H had her first encounter with Santa. She wouldn't talk to him and just stared at the candy cane bucket the entire time. Finally, when he asked what she wanted for Christmas, she just pointed to the candy canes. She was disappointed to find out that they were the "hot" flavor which was pretty much comparable to getting coal. Luckily she would have another chance to talk to Santa later on. The lights were very nice. The kids were not so much. We started out with two well-behaved children, one in the stroller and one walking, and ended up with two little stinkers, Dan and I each carrying one and Dan's mom pushing an empty stroller. Ah, well.

At some point around this time I got this picture of Buster in all his chubby, naked glory. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to bathe him and get in under all those folds and crevices.  My favorite is the fat that hangs over and hides his knee. So cute!



For Christmas we went up to Washington to Dan's folks. We got to spend it with both his brothers and their families. Little H was thrilled to see all her cousins, and Buster loved being surrounded by so many kids. Those kids are like little tornadoes. From what I've heard the house survived, but I'm not sure what the total collateral damage ended up at (sorry, George and Judith). Santa fortunately is a good friend of Grandpa and Grandma and was able to stop by on Christmas Eve. Little H was so happy to see him, unlike year's past, and kept trying to hone in on all the other kids' lap time, even after her turn was over. I tried my best to subdue her, but Mrs. Clause finally intervened and said, "It looks like this little girl has something important to say, Santa. What's your question?" Little H responded, "Why do you have a naughty list?" Santa answered, "Well, sometimes kids don't mind their parents, or sometimes they misbehave." Little H, knowing full well she fell into this category, countered with, "Well I always make my baby brother laugh, and when he cries, I always sing to him." One of the other adults chimed in, "It sounds like she's pleading her case." Which is exactly what she was doing because since Christmas, she's told Dan and I that she doesn't have to be good anymore because she has all the toys she needs. We'll see if she changes her tune next December...



New Year's Eve was fine. Dan and I were going to go to bed early but ended up accidentally staying up until 12:30 watching a movie. We were able to skype with my brother and his wife in Spain earlier that evening. Those crazy kids were still at a party at 5:30 a.m. I don't remember the last time I pulled an all-nighter that didn't involve nursing or bottles or sickness.

Yesterday we had a baby shower for my sister-in-law who is later this month. She and my brother are going to make such great parents, and I can't wait to meet their baby. She might kill me for posting this picture, but I think she looks so beautiful and sweet. Everyone sees it except the person who's actually pregnant, right?

Grandpa

Megan — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 05:19:00 GMT

Dear Grandpa,
I'm so glad I had the opportunity to know you. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to deal with my grief. I feel like I've done everything to put off thinking about your death, but it's like a giant road block in my mind. I've tried going around it, but the only way to really get past it is to push straight through. Anyway, maybe if I deal with it like a civilized human being, I'll stop breaking down at strange times and places over stupid things. So here I am, forcing myself to think about how much I'm going to miss you, and how I wish my kids had gotten to know you better.

The last time we visited, I was surprised at how you came and took Buster from Grandma just because you wanted to hold the baby. I think you were a little shocked by how heavy he actually was when you initially picked him up. I don't remember you being overly affectionate as I was growing up, but you were always very attentive. When the adults were all having their own conversations, you seemed to always be aware of what was going on with the children. And without fail, you would stand up for a hug when it was time for us to leave.

There are so many things about you that are a mystery, but I know a lot about you just by the way you acted. Mostly I know you must have been a great father because my dad is also pretty great, and he has so much respect for you. I know that my dad inherited his strong work ethic from you, and did his best to pass it on to us. I must have gotten my dry (and sometimes inappropriate) sense of humor from you through my dad because I can't really credit it to anyone else, and I'm not sure anyone else would really want to take credit. You weren't too religious by any means, but you had your principles and we all know that you stood for what mattered. You loved family, hunting, the outdoors, and John Wayne, I most recently learned. I'll never forget the handheld poker games you and Grandma played. You guys never acted bothered when we kids wanted to push the buttons and completely ruin you scores.

I know your mind started slipping a little these last few years. It was probably hard for you, and I know it was hard for the rest of us to see you struggle through without being able to offer much help. On the other hand, I also noticed that you lost a lot of your inhibitions and I got to know a new side of you. (Who knows, maybe one day you and I will be able to laugh about the time you ran away to Elko to win the poker tournament you'd been watching on TV.) I feel very strongly, that dementia or no, you were very aware that you were surrounded by so many people who loved you when you passed on. I am honored to have been there for that oh-so-peaceful moment to feel the spirit that we all felt.

People have been telling me how lucky I am to get to my age and only have lost one grandparent. I'm sure they're right, but it doesn't really feel lucky right now. It feels pretty tragic at the moment. However, I'm happy to know that this isn't the end, and I'll be able see you again. I love you very much.

Love,
Megan

Robert (Bob) Clyde Hadley, 78, surrounded by his loving family, peacefully returned to his Heavenly Father Wednesday, December 9, 2009 at McKay-Dee Hospital.

Blasphemy: Part II

Megan — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 05:31:00 GMT

Last week on the way home I asked Little H if she was excited for Christmas. She responded by saying, "Yes! I wonder what I'll get! I wonder what I'll get! I wonder what I'll get!"

I was more than a little disturbed that my daughter wasn't taking in the true meaning of Christmas, so I asked her, "Do you know how Christmas even began?"

Of course she said, "No."

Using this window, I wisely stated, "Christmas isn't just about getting presents. We celebrate Christmas because it's Jesus' birthday."

Her response: "Oh darn it (pronounced dawn it, and no I don't know why she tags this phrase onto every sentence), is Jesus in Santa's tummy?"

Dan started laughing so hard that I had to just drop the subject for the time being. I guess we'll get another chance when we pull out the nativity set this weekend. Although last year Baby Jesus kept getting stolen from the manger so he could keep Little H's stuffed dog company its fluffy pink carrying case. Wish me luck!

Oopsie...

Megan — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 04:01:00 GMT

I have a two-year-old adrenaline junkie nephew who is constantly testing his limits. He is always climbing on things, balancing on edges and doing just about anything to freak out the adults around him. For a while, for no apparent reason, he would just close his eyes and walk around and over and under whatever he came across. His antics aren't without consequence, though. He gets banged up and bruised often enough, but it doesn't seem to slow him down. This picture I took over the weekend seems to capture his personality perfectly.

Blasphemy

Megan — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 04:10:00 GMT

Last Sunday we were on our way home from visiting relatives, and Dan and I were talking about something or other when Little H pipes up from the back seat:

Little H: I wish I could go trick-or-treating by myself.
Me: Maybe when you're older, but right now you always need a grown-up with you.
Dan: Plus, you wouldn't know the way back to Papa's and Grandma's. (Because we'll be up at my parents' this year.)
Little H: I don't know the way?
Me: No, you don't know the way.
Little H: Only the prophet knows the way?
Me (Long pause until I realize she's been learning Follow the Prophet in nursery, and then I have to sing it in my head until I get to the lyrics, "He knows the waaaayyy."): Right, only the prophet knows the way.
Little H: Oh. Could the prophet take me trick-or-treating?
Me: I'm not sure he can, honey. He's really busy.
Little H (hopefully): But he could dress up like an alligator...
Me: I'm pretty sure he wouldn't dress up like an alligator.
Little H: Why, because he would have to crawl on the ground?
Me: Exactly.

There's really no point in me trying to explain any further. Sometimes the explanations she comes up with on her own are way better than anything I could do. Can you imagine poor President Monson crawling around in an alligator costume? Honestly, child.

My Giant Baby Boy

Megan — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 04:50:00 GMT

Buster is getting so big. And I don't just mean "where has the time gone, I can't believe he's five months old" big, I mean literally so big. At his 4 month appointment he weighed in at 18.1 lbs. He was off the charts for height, weight, and head size--so at least he's proportionately large. When I see him on the floor I just want to pick him up and nuzzle his huge frog neck; however, when I go in for the kill, it's always a shock to the system when I actually try to lift him. He's just growing bigger by the minute.

He rolled for the first time over a month ago (much earlier than Little H), and I thought it would only be a matter of time before he started getting around. But it seems that he's gotten a little lazy as time's gone by. He's rolling less and less, and he even will just cry in his crib at night until Dan or I go in and turn him on his side. That's right, he won't even attempt a 1/4 roll. But the one thing he is not lazy about is eating. He will focus in on a bottle from across the room and make sure everyone around knows what he wants. You may think this is just a cute picture I took of Buster looking at his mommy, but you'd be mistaken. That's hunger in his eyes, and at this point, I have only a few minutes to conjure up a bottle before all hell breaks loose. du, du, du...

Does This Girl Look Familiar to You?

Megan — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 04:21:00 GMT

If not, try scrolling down just a tad...