Little Toot

Did you ever see this show when you were little?

If you haven't it is really wonderful. My brother and I use to watch this show ad nausm when we were younger. We loved it.

I'd almost forgotten about it until I found a copy of "Melody Time" at the library and checked it out for Asher to watch. It is a collection of a bunch of little stories-- Johnny Appleseed, Pecos Bill, the Flight of the Bumble Bee, Little Toot-- all strung together with great music. Asher absolutely loved it, especially the "Little Toot" story. We watched it over and over and over again.

I took the movie back to the library months ago but Asher still loves to sing the Little Toot song and lately has been building little toots out of his blocks.

Can you see how he put a little block on top of the other to make the smoke stack?
You have to use your imagination a little.

One night he made a whole fleet of them.

Then a few weeks later he drew Little Toots all over the back patio with sidewalk chalk.

At first I couldn't tell what he was drawing. They just looked like circles with sticks in them to me. But then he expalined they were his Little Toots and the I could see that they were really ships with smoke stacks coming out the top.



Do you see it?

What a goof.

Leprosy

I didn't have a single pimple until I was senior in High School. All those years of Jr. High and High School I counted my lucky stars and inwardly gloated at all the other adolescents whose faces broke out like patches of raspberries. Yet I guess I got punished for my teenage cockiness because I started to get bad acne when I was a sophomore in college. Over the last several years my face has gone through various stages of better, almost better, semi-horrible, and time to wear a paper bag over your head horrible. Currently I'm approaching the bag over my head stage and I have "leprosy" all over my face. It is painful, blotchy, red and ugly and I hate it.

I've really been struggling with this lately and sometimes it wears on my soul. I know that I shouldn't let it bother me as much as it does, but I can't help but notice other women's beautiful, clear, even colored skin. It makes me want to scream when I hear them complaining about having one or two zits. I wish sometimes they could understand how lucky they are...that they don't have days when they can't kiss their children because their face is too painful or won't use public restrooms because it means they'd have to look at themselves in the large, brightly lit mirror. I would trade them in a heart beat.

I think what is hardest about my "leprosy" is that I am embarrassed to have it at this stage of my life. Acne is something for Jr. High kids and teenagers, not adult women who have two children and a husband. I'm sure it bothers me more than anyone else and I know Jon doesn't care. Once, when we were dating, I asked him if my acne bothered him or if he was embarrassed by it. He looked at me with a confused look and asked, "What acne?". I could tell he wasn't pretending. He honestly had never noticed, even though it was really bad at the time, and didn't know what I was making a big deal about. He told me that even if I really did get leprosy (the real type) one day and my face was covered in boils and my nose fell off, he would still think I was beautiful. I knew then that I could love him forever.

I guess in a way my "leprosy" has also been a bit of a blessing because it has really humbled me and given my sympathy for other people. I have to admit that I was quite the vain teenager and was really judgmental about other people's looks. Now I am quite the opposite. Whenever I see anyone with some sort of physical defect or malady, whether it be acne, scars, extra weight, facial hair, or whatever... instead of judging I feel sympathy. I know what it feels like to cringe when you look in the mirror....to meet someone new and feel like the only thing that they notice about you is your flaws.... and to have those days when you wish that it was realistic for you to wear a paper bag over your head and not crash your car.

I realize that there are LOTS of people who have to deal with much worse things... but still I struggle with it. I've tried lots of different methods and nothing has really helped. Large doses of daily antibiotics seem to make some dent in it, but they do awful things to the rest of my body so I want to avoid that. I'd really like to find some sort of diet change, herbal or natural remedy that would work, so if you know of anything I am getting sort of desperate.

Sometimes when I start of feel bad about my face I just remember NieNie and her strength. This video made me cry, if you haven't seen it is worthwhile. I especially love the part when she says, " I am not my body." I need to remember that what my face looks like doesn't determine the quality of my soul. Gee... why is that hard to remember sometimes?

9th Grade Memory

Lately I've really been reflecting on experiences from my past, and unfortunately there are some of them I would rather just forget. Don't get me wrong, there isn't anything super "bad" or delinquent, but mostly I just regret how I treated certain people, or how I shouldn't have said something I did, or how I should have said something but didn't. One of these experiences that I've been thinking about lately happened when I was in the 9th grade and my English class read the book Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.

I don't remember especially liking the book very much, but I do remember the assignment our teacher gave us after we read it. Part on the story is that in the future all the books are burned but certain people take it upon themselves to memorize whole books so that they can preserve them, therefore "becoming" the book. The assignment that my teacher gave us was to choose a book that we thought was important enough to us to memorize, and then present to the class the book that we could "become". I stewed over this assignment for a long time, because the only book I could think of important enough to memorize was the Book of Mormon or the Bible.

But I was SO hesitant to choose one of those books because 1) my teacher wasn't a member of the LDS church (which in my Eastern Idaho High School was kind of a rarity), and 2) because I was afraid that the other members of the church in my class (which was nearly everyone, except for one boy who was Jewish and a few others who were other Christian faiths) would think I was being "self-righteous" by picking to memorize the scriptures. I ended up choosing to "become" Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingles Wilder because it was the first book that I ever read all by myself. It was the book that first opened to me the beautiful world of words and got me hooked on reading. If I remember correctly, which I do, my presentation was very poorly done and kind of pathetic.

After all the class presentations were finished our teacher got up and with a surprised smile on her face told us that we were the first class she had EVER had in all her years of teaching (which let me tell you were MANY) where NO ONE had chosen to "become" the Bible or the Book of Mormon. She didn't say anything else about it and moved on with her lesson, but that remark has stung me to my soul ever since. It has kind of haunted me that out of a class of 20+ church going Christian teenagers, not one of us had the courage or strength to bear testimony of our faith. Perhaps others had different reasons for not speaking out, but I realize now that I let fear and insecurity stop me from bearing witness of Jesus Christ and of the importance of scriptures in my life. After this experience in 9th grade I promised myself that I wouldn't ever let an opportunity to bear my testimony, whether it was to people of my same faith or not, go by without acting upon it.

Lately, I've been thinking about this and remembering how awful it felt to know that I had missed such a wonderful opportunity to testify of my faith. I realize that there are so many opportunities in my life to bear witness of Jesus Christ and of the restored gospel that I just let slip away because I am afraid or insecure. You think that almost 10 years later I'd have learned something more about how to be a witness of God "at all times and in all places"! I don't know why I felt like I needed to write a post about this memory, but I've been thinking about it for some time now. I guess I just needed to remind myself that it is important for people to speak up about what they believe and why they believe it. The world is so full of prejudices and misconceptions and the more we can learn about the beliefs of others, the more we come to love and understand them.

Bitter Sweet

We are moving tomorrow. It is going to be REALLY hard for me to leave. I knew when we moved in a little over a year ago that we wouldn't be here for very long, but I didn't expect my heart to get so attached to people and to places. It has never been so hard for me to say goodbye before. I guess it is because I've made friends with several of the old ladies in our ward and I know that when I say goodbye, it is goodbye for good. That is hard.

It is also going to be hard to leave this apartment, not only because we have great neighbors and friends, but because this is the house where Asher was born. One of my friends who also had a home birth wrote a post entitled "A Baby Was Born Here" and I think she really summed up how I feel about this apartment. It really is a sacred place to me, and sometimes when I am sitting in my front room I get flashbacks (good ones) to me lying in the birth pool staring at the Christmas tree with Jon stroking my hair, me making a figure 8 pacing pattern in the hallway while holding my belly, me sitting on the toilet in my fleece PJs, and me squatting against the bed posts with Jon and the midwife squeezing my hips. Mostly I remember the sacred and peaceful feeling our home had for days after Asher was born, and how I felt like a queen.

I believe that the place where a baby is born does become sacred, because for a few moments the bridge between heaven and earth is WIDE open and life begins. That doesn't happen ANYWHERE else on earth except in the places where babies are born. It is going to be hard to leave this place behind. But I guess I can console myself by realizing that someday I'll be able to bring Asher back and show him where he was born. I could even put my foot on the exact spot.

I hope several more babies will be born at our new house in Logan-- if so maybe I'll have to get a sign to put on my door that says "A Baby Was Born Here". It'd be a good conversation starter :)

A Few Thoughts about Nicknames

When I was pregnant I really liked the name Ezekiel for a boy-- and I wanted to nickname him "Zeke". When I told Jon the first thing he said was "Zeke the Geek!" So that one hit the fan pretty fast. We didn't even try to think of rhyming names for Asher till after he was born, and then we realized that lots of things rhyme with his name. We started making a list and realized that all the things that rhymed with his name were violent or obscene-- Basher, Crasher, Dasher, Flasher, Hasher, Masher, Slasher, Splasher, Trasher (see if you can come up with anymore!). They aren't exactly the type of nicknames that someone trying to make fun of you on the playground would use. It is hard to bully a kid whose nickname is ASHER THE TRASHER BASHER SLASHER. So much for peace education-- I sure hope those names don't go to his head.

Speaking of nicknames, I have the habit of giving strange nicknames to people. I don't ever "think" about them, they just seem to evolve somehow. I've called my little sister Brittney, "Babes" for as long as either one of us can remember. My other sister is "Tick Tock" because it rhymes with "Hilary Dillary Dock... Tick Tock" and Jon's pet name is "Sir". So far Asher has had quite a few nicknames, here are what my subconscious mind has come up with so far...

Bub Bub-- This was a natural derivative of "baby boy" which was too hard for my post-labor brain to say. My favorite phrase to say is "Bub Bub take tub tub with Da Da?" Ha! That makes me laugh every time!

Pash Pash-- Believe it or not, I use this one a lot and I can never explain where it came from. Maybe I should make up a story.

Jiga-Jiga-- This is strangest one and came about because I like to make Asher smile by giggling his legs back and forth when he is lying down and saying 'jiga jiga jiga" and I guess somehow it turned into a nickname.

Ash-- this is the one that makes the most logical sense and the one that Jon and other people use. The other day at church this cute little old man... who is deaf as... well.. an old man... was really confused because he thought I had named my son Ashley. Oh, well... I guess that might be the one nickname he might get made fun of on the playground.

Thank You to the Dads in My Life!

Thank you to:

MY DAD



For teaching me how to love the gospel and Jesus Christ, to work hard, how to serve and how to forgive. I will be FOREVER grateful for this amazing man and his wonderful support! I don't think that there are many dads who when their 14 year-old daughter tells them that she wants to become a falconer and needs to build a mews (a hawk house) says "You pay for it, I'll help you build it" and doesn't complain when a year later when there is a falcon living in her bedroom (and in the mews).
By the way-- this is a picture of Asher with his onesie on backward. We left Grandpa to babysit for a few hours and this is what we came back to!

MY DAD-IN-LAW



I will be eternally grateful to this wonderful man for raising Jon to be the man that I fell in love with. He taught him, especially by example, how to honor the priesthood, how to have a powerful and firm testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, how to treat women well and how to work hard. It has been wonderful to be a part of his family and to watch his example of strength and kindness.

MY BABY'S DAD



I don't want to risk getting too mushy, but I think this picture says it all. He just couldn't be a better father or husband. I thought I was getting a good deal when I married him, but I took him home, opened him up and realized I had won the lottery. He just gets better the more I get to know him. I love you sir.

Things I want to write down

Since I am using this blog as a scrapbook/journal/hey everybody look at me page, I want to write down some of the things I don't want to forget about Asher.

1- I love it when....

• he smiles from behind his pacifier
• he pulls his pacifier out of his own mouth, starts to cry and then looks at me like I did it
• he gets so excited about a toy that he hits himself in the head with it and then starts to cry (not that I like the crying part, but it is kind of funny!)
• he is tired and upset but still tries to laugh through his cries
• he tries to stick his hands in my mouth
• he laughs really hard when I "eat" his tummy
• he gives me unexpected "kisses"-- which consist of him opening his mouth and putting it against my cheek, arm, leg, or whatever is available

2- I am amazed when...

• he bangs a toy on the table or splashes in the water and realizes that he can influence and change the world around him.
  
• he looks at himself in the mirror and realizes that he exists and that he is an individual
  
• he cries when I leave the room because he doesn't know that if he can't see me I still exist
  
• he smiles and laughs when I come back into the room because he was afraid I had disappeared
  
• picking up something is a full body experience, with his arms, legs, head and torso all working equally hard
  
• I can understand his babbles and we have "conversations"
  

3- I hope I never forget...

• how his face lights up when he sees me or someone else smile
• how he flaps his arms and bounces up and down when he is happy
• what if feels like to have him nurse, stop mid gulp and look up at me with huge blue eyes that say "I love you Mom"
• the sound of him squealing, talking, eating, and laughing. Especially the short breathy "heh" laugh he gives when he wants attention.
• the amazing experience of labor and giving birth, especially the moment I felt him leave my body and flow into my arms
  
• the overwhelming love I feel for all babies, children, and mothers
  
• that he is a child of God

Snail Memories

This morning I went for a walk in the rain with Asher. I am taking care of a dog, a cat, and a WHOLE lot of fish, for the the lady I visit teach, and her house is just down the street. It was such a beautiful morning and the smell of the rain was amazing. I was pushing Asher down the sidewalk and saw two huge snails right in the middle of the sidewalk.

Seeing them gave me a sense of nostalgia, and I remembered that when I was younger I use to LOVE snails. We lived in a little townhouse in Murray and I was about 6 years old. I would spend hours searching our backyard and the yards of our neighbors for snails that I put in a big peanut butter jar. I had a big collection and I loved to watch them and poke their little antennae so they would shrivel up. I even tried to make a business out of my snail obsession. The little old lady down the street, who had a beautiful garden, paid me 1 penny for each snail I escorted off her premise in my peanut butter jar. I became the host and announcer for "snail racing", in which my brother and I (and other neighborhood children) would set our snails against each other and make bets on whose snail would cross the chalk line first. I have lots of memories of squatting on the porch for a long time, urging stray snails to go in straight lines. I don't ever remember seeing our snails finish a race.

These memories flashed through my mind this morning when I stumbled across the snails. For just a moment I remembered what it felt like to be a little girl. I remembered the unbound wonder that I felt at the simplest things, and the great joy that a peanut butter can full of snails can bring. I remembered what it felt like to discover something new, and I remembered that the world is remarkably simple. There is beauty, joy and miracles all around me, sometimes it just takes opening my eyes at little bit wider, slowing down a little bit more, and paying attention to the small things in this world. Thank you snails.