A Little Bit of Lately... And Oh Happy Day!

Hyde Park in the summer is a magical place. It's amazing what a stark difference the weather makes in this neighborhood. The winter rips through, killing all of the ivy on the buildings and leaves and flowers and turns it into a mangey, desolate wasteland. Saying I was ready to give winter 2009/2010 the boot would be an understatement. I was ready to beat winter 2009/2010 to a bloody pulp, actually. With a rusty mallet. Laced with anthrax. And smallpox.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that we've been having loads o' fun since it warmed up here. And I've been feeling happy as a clam and quite rejuvenated.

First off, I have to give a shout out to my lovely husband who got me this beauty of the Mount Timpanogos temple, where we were married, for my birthday:

My sister has a similar painting of the Salt Lake temple that I have been coveting for some time so Sam really came through big time! The picture doesn't even do this baby justice. And it's HUGE! Like 4 feet across. And every time I look at it I get all giddy and swooney. And I love it. And I love Sam. And I love all of you.

We had a little joint birthday party to celebrate all of the summer birthdays that we're going to miss out on while away for summer internships. It turned out to be quite the fiesta.

Turns out Matt and Mimi are baking ninjas and showed up with this mind-blowing Mario Bros cake in tow. They just threw it together before the party. No big deal.

Sam loves to have his picture taken.

Paparazzi

I would have to say the highlight of the night for me was Leah's fascination with the boys' football game. I couldn't keep her away.

Setting up the play...

Clothes-lining Matt... completing the play.

Walking it off...

Just look how gleeful these boys are. They really love to play together. And it was so cute how they would hug hug hug and give a niiice tushy squeeze after each play... just to show there was no hard feelings.

Wiped out after a day of partying... she didn't quite make it through her book.

Leah doing a little meditation at the beach... channeling her inner dolphin spirit...

Then the freezing water ascended and sent her scrambling. Little did we know she was merely transforming that handful of sand into a delicious dorito...

Leah and "Cookie" (Leah's version of Brooklyn) soaking up some rays...

A few teenage boys made this little "sand city" and the munchkins were occupied for hours stomping around wrecking all of their labors.

*Thanks to Carina for most of these excellent pics! (Amber, we missed you!)

Somebody thought she was better than the sun and too cool for sunscreen even though her pasty skin hasn't been exposed for any significant amount of time for a good 3 years. I'm seriously an idiot. I feel like I have to learn this lesson at the start of every summer.

Leah has been climbing up on me all morning, under the guise of wanting to snuggle, and then full on slapping my sunburn and saying "Owie! Owie!" like it's hurting her. I think she may be possessed. She's nearly been punted out the window several times.

This was the only "appropriate" crispy-skin picture Sam gave me permission to post. But you can view the others at www.nudie-sunburns.com.

Just kidding. That's not a real site. Just something I made up just now. But I did embed a tracker on it to see which of you actually tried to click on it.

Just kidding again.

And finally... one of the perks of living in Hyde Park is our somewhat unorthodox sacrament meetings. Our bishop really caters to the local crowd, which results in rather lively musical numbers, unlike what you'd find in your typical, more reverent LDS services.

That being said, this last Sunday our ward choir sang "Oh, Happy Day" and I was delighted (terrified) to be the song's soloist. Don't think for one second I wasn't pretending I was singing in the finale of American Idol the whole time. Cause I was. Which is why I rushed the mic right afterward and starting shouting "thank yous!" and "I love yous!" and blowing kisses and crying. And, while I debated posting this clip at all (feeling a little sheepish, and a lot heffer-ish for doing so) I decided to throw caution to the wind and be brave.

Thanks so much to Carina and Lincoln for recording this on the down low (hence there being no picture, just sound.)

Oh, and listen closely at about 2 min 10 seconds. You'll hear a spirited fellow choir member bust out, "Sing it! Sing it! Sing it!" It was definitely the high point of the song.

When did this happen? *UPDATED*

So little did I know the Turkey Sub knows her letters. I haven't taught her any of them---so I was a little surprised to discover she knows 19 of 26 letters perfectly. Anyway, my phone ran out of space before we could finish, so you don't get to hear her calling the "W" a "double-vee!" Plus, this was like the 500th time I'd made her say them so she wasn't being as cooperative. BUT, here's a little clip for the grandmas and aunties!

*UPDATE* OK, Mom, I finally got her to cooperate with the rest of it. But it cut off the Y and Z for some reason.... anyway, here you go!

*Note: for those of you who don't know, the reason this is such a celebration in our house is because the Turkey Sub has been a late bloomer in the speech department--which brings along with it all sorts of other developmental concerns. She's gotten to a point where there is now little concern, but any leaps in the right direction make us pee our pants...

Loser

This post isn't going to be about anything in particular. Just some ramblings. Oh, and the titled loser is me.

In the past week I have left my apartment a total of 3 (THREE!) times. And not even for cool things. The store, church, and the doctor have been my destinations. I have a good excuse for being such a loser, though. Last Tuesday, this little lover....

...came down with a lovely case of hand, foot and mouth disease. If you don't know about it, it's a really weird virus that causes babes to get a fever, sore throat and weird, blister-like sores on/in the mouth and on the soles of their hands and feet. And the little bastage is super contagious, too. Pretty much waiting in pouncing position to leap onto unsuspecting little dears with plans to make their lives miserable for 10 days.

The real downer was that Leah got sick the day before her birthday, thus forcing us to cancel her little shin-dig. We would reschedule but it's MY birthday this week. So, sorry, Leah. There can only be ONE belle of the ball at a time.

Just kidding. But seriously.

No really, just kidding. We might reschedule. But prolly not.

Truthfully I haven't hated being quarantined this week. Whenever I can blame someone else for my laziness I feel quite liberated. And we've been watching lots of movies and eating lots of popsicles.

In other news, I went to the doctor yesterday and saw our little 12-week-old acrobat in motion. There is nothing so glorious and bizarre as witnessing the complete fiesta going on inside of your tum. Our little meatball sub was back-bending, steamrolling, and bicycling all over the place. And I had a very lively ultrasound tech who screamed out loud every time baby moved. I loved her a lot.

The doctor I've been seeing is a recurrent miscarriage specialist, so I've been getting all of the "high risk" VIP treatment for the last 6 weeks. At our first appointment she gave me a little container to collect tissue in should this pregnancy result in miscarriage (sorry for being a little graphic and gross). So yesterday, when I walked into her office, she looked at me all red-faced and gleeful and asked, "Do you have that container I gave you?" I said I did and fished it out of my purse. She snatched it from my hand and proceeded to stand up and slam dunk it into her waste basket, shouting, "Looks like you won't be needing it after all!" And then she high-fived me... complete with the leg-lift-behind-you-high-five-follow-through that only occurs after the most enthusiastic of high-fives. Then she gave me the boot. Because healthy pregnancies don't interest her. It was a glorious moment, indeed.

Can I make an abrupt change of subject and ask what the crap is with psycho pregnancy dreams? I've been cheating on Sam every night for a week. And when I'm not cheating, he is. Or something else equally preposterous that leaves me in a dream-funk for the first half of my day. In fact, some of you have done some pretty crappy things to me in my dreams lately. Pissed.

No, but really. My dreams are stressing me out. And the worst part about it is that Sam couldn't be less interested in hearing about them. And he never remembers his, which is especially annoying because I can never throw, "But I listen to YOUR stupid dreams all the time!" in his face. So I'm forced to call one or both of my sisters and tell them all about my make-out sesh with our hugely obese dry-cleaning man. Seriously, no one knows my struggle.

And that's all I have to say about that. Now I've got to get back to trying to get Leah to like, "Miss Spider's Sunny Patch," cause I secretly love it.

P.S. Those pictures of Leah were taken directly after she repeatedly pointed to the little Snow White picture on the plates she's gripping and said, "Mama? Mama!" I thought she deserved a photo shoot for buttering me up.

I Have a Two Year Old TODAY! *Serious Leah Enthusiasts Only, Por Favor*

To Little Miss Leah Mae "Turkey Sub" Palmer,

Today you are two years old! I realize this is a big step for you... what with your highly anticipated "Terrible Two's" finally being legit and all...

Here is a glimpse of you very first thing this morning, enjoying a little toast and banana delight:

Right now, as I type this, you are watching your favorite (for the moment) show, "Backyardigans: Mission to Mars," and you just bull rushed me and tried to slam my lap top closed. I had to straight arm you and banish you to your rug. I'm sorry for the straight-arming.

You've had a beef with my lap top lately. I'm currently waiting for my "Z" key to show up in your diaper. I'm pretty sure you ate it. Just to show it who's boss. But that's beside the point. The point of this post is that you are the birthday girl! And for fear of forgetting exactly how you are right now, a thought that makes me feel panicky and grief-stricken all at once, I wanted to share a few of the favorite (and not so favorite) things that make you the love of my life.

You wake up in the morning and start jabbering away at me straight away. I like to think your dreams are just so preposterous and glorious that you've been waiting ALL NIGHT to tell me about them. It makes me feel special.

Your awakening from naptime is a completely different story. You require NO LESS than one half hour of snuggling while you make your way out of your sleep funk. You are very tender and sappy during this time... complete with loving gazes into my eyes and cheek caresses galore. But your cheek caresses can turn to face slaps on a dime. Immediate-post-nap-sleep-funk is a fragile and unstable time for you.

Whenever the lullaby, "Hush, Hush" from the "Backyardigans" comes on, you become very somber and shed no less than three tears by the song's end. There is no ugly-face crying or hullabaloo... simply a quivering chin, a reach for my arm, and a few drops rolling down your cheeks. This phenomenon has prompted your father to play the song for you every night for months.

You charge me with the remote high above your head, in bludgeoning position, shouting, "Schow? Schow?" whenever you want to watch a little tube.

You are obsessed with various beverages, and when given a frosty brew, you gulp it to the point of desperation, followed by a gasp for breath and an "ahhhh!" People witnessing this for the first time become very uncomfortable, and then very impressed.

If I ever dare fall asleep on the couch while you are on the prowl, I WILL be awakened by you trying to shove a goldfish cracker between my lips.

As soon as I have finished doing your hair for the day you, without fail, run into our bedroom to check yourself out in the mirror. Then you search the apartment for dad to show him your do.

You close the door to your bedroom when, and only when, you have somehow gotten your mitts on my purse and are seeking a little privacy while you spread its contents out all over the floor. You know you are not allowed to do this, and will someday become wise to your door-closing-dead-give-away. I'll be very sad when that day comes. For now, I find great delight in barging in on you and causing you to fill your drawers on the spot.

You have an extraordinary fake giggle. You walk around our apartment all day long with your head thrown back, force-giggling up a storm. And when your giggle is fake, it has an alarmingly low-pitch. Like Ursula.

You collect small toys and shove them in my lap or under my legs. Once you have collected a satisfactory amount you come and sit on them, like a roosting hen.

The slightest hint of a beat or music of any kinds makes you feverishly cut a rug. And you frequently bust out startlingly complex dance moves.

The entire time I am in the shower, your fat little hand darts in and out of the curtain. And with each pass of your hand, a captive toy or gadget is tossed into the water. I never see your face. Just that fat little hand over and over again. Coupled with an occasional Ursula giggle.

You respond to every question I ask you with a contemplative "ummm..." followed by a sharp, "no." No matter what I ask you.

Each morning you come into bed with your dad and me at 6:30AM. And then you proceed to body slam me until 7:20AM. Which is when I finally give up and get up. And you slide off the side off the bed, elated and victorious.

No matter who I am on the phone with, you pester me until I let you talk. And the moment you get the phone from my hands you put it to your ear, put your other hand on your hip, and walk away from me, jabbering up a storm, as if I had been interrupting YOUR very important conversation the whole time. When you are finished, you hand the phone back to me, only to become overcome with giver's remorse. And then we hand fight over the phone until I get up and lock you out of my bedroom.

I know as soon as I pick you up I will feel your little hand start working its way up my sleeve to the back of my upper arm. Which is super toned. And that's why you like it. You like to squeeze my toned, muscley arm...

And finally, you are, without a doubt, the most snugly, tender-hearted, little munchkin I have ever encountered. You would spend every waking moment in my arms if I let you. And for now, that's how we spend a lot of our time together. Because we can. I love it.

I have a million more 2-year-old Leah-isms on a list that I will save just for you.

You are the light of my life, little girl. Sometimes I feel like the only reason I was sent to this earth was to be your mother. But I get a little nervous as you get older... I feel like I've started a countdown to when you will be old enough to actually pay attention to what I say and do and that I'll disappoint you sometimes. Hopefully that's what motherhood is all about, having a reason to be better. Happy, happy birthday, my little love.

Love,

Yermummy

A Post About Mothers Named Nancy Who Gave Birth to Me.

There is no one on earth quite like my mother. Those of you who know her, even just a little bit, know this to be true. She is a unique and special soul. I've tried my whole life to "sum up" my mom. People in my adult life have often asked me, "So what's your mom like?" And my reaction is always the same. I say "well..." a lot. And look up and around at different spots on the ceiling thinking about her, trying to think about what I could possibly say to describe her. And then I laugh a bit, and will usually say something like, "My mom is crazy. But in a good way." And then I stammer around some more and maybe tell a few stories about her. But in the end, there's just really no summing up Nancy Lee Hatch Collard. And those of you who know her, know exactly what I'm talking about.

I will say that I still feel a small tinge of fear every time I have to close my eyes to rinse in the shower. This may or may not be the result of my mom's sheer and utter delight at striking terror into the hearts of her children by holding disturbing halloween masks up and over the top of the shower curtain when we were growing up. There is nothing so shrill as a blood curdling scream echoing between the walls of a shower/tub combo. And nothing so joyous as my mom's laughter directly following.

I've often considered my mom to be a bit of a magician. I remember when she, on a whim, decided she was going to hold a fundraiser for a local food bank when I was in high school. Everyone watched in astonishment as she scurried around, organizing and planning, and two weeks later delivered a benefit concert food drive at the Idaho Falls's Civic Auditorium. She had single handedly rallied up the performers for a two hour set, featuring the Idaho State step team, a popular band from BYU-I and various other local and semi-local music acts. The auditorium was packed and the concert was a major hit.

The crowning jewel of the night was when a local news anchor, who was MCing the night, welcomed my mom out on stage to accept the funds she had raised in the form of a check. My mom made her entrance on stage, with her hands up in the air, raising the roof. And the crowd went wild. And my mom's roof raising got faster and more exaggerated. And they got louder. And she may have gotten her legs involved a little.... and dabbled in a little crowd surfing. *

She has been known to start conversations with complete strangers by asking if she knew them in the pre-existence. And becomes unabashedly huffy if she discovers you have altered one of "her" recipes.

She is physically incapable of not lifting her hand up in a last minute peace sign or wave directly as her picture is taken. Which always results in her little hand appearing as a blurry smudge. In every picture.

She has single-handedly kept Deseret Industries in business. I receive no less than three calls a week asking me to look up this or that artist's name. Always looking for hidden treasures among the thrift.

She became a dedicated stage-mommy when I, at the age of 12, insisted I was to be the next Britney Spears. With my mom behind us, my sister and I performed together as a duo called, "Double Platinum." My mom styled us in sweet gear that included matching velvet sweater/skirt combos, and scored us a gig as the opening act for Def Leopard at the Eastern Idaho State Fair. We officially quit the music biz after that performance. We figured there was really no where to go from there, but down.

Double Platinum rest in peace.

I have heard my mom claim on several occasions that she is, indeed, a masseuse. The truth is, she just has a freakishly strong hand grip and can subsequently massage you and any one else's back or feet or whatever without tiring. Ever.

I remember being on the court playing volleyball in eighth grade and double-taking the bench, where I beheld my mom massaging my coach's shoulders.... my coach's head rolled back in ecstasy, paying no attention whatsoever to the game we were playing. As I continued to play, I witnessed my mom proceed to scoot down the line, from coach to assistant coach to player, until every last person on the bench had received a good rub down. I observed this exact same scene at several of my siblings' sporting events throughout the years.

I could go on and on about funny, quirky or slightly odd stories about my dear, sweet marme. But all of those things just make her fun(ny) to be around. The truth is, she is the best woman I have ever known. She is a best friend to everyone. She is the greatest mom I could have hoped for myself and the greatest Grammy I could ever hope for my children. She gave me my "little, beady" eyes, my round face, and my wide ribcage. I hope she gave me her magical genetic wrinkle repellant. She single-handedly blessed every one of her children WITHOUT the need for braces (really, with no help from my dad... who we affectionately call "Captain Snaggle-Tooth.")

She taught me what it means to be a true friend, and any of my natural inclinations in that regard come directly from her. She is a leader, a teacher, and shining example of our Savior. In all of the ways I want to be better, she already is.

I love you so much, Marme. I wish I could be with you on this special day. Happy Mother's Day!

*It's a little fuzzy, but I don't think my mom actually did any crowd surfing at that benefit concert. But she definitely could have. The roof raising did, in fact, happen. Including the leg involvement.

Oh, and I had to include the full body shot of this one... to display my dad's awesome platform boots. So hot right now.

My Dirty Little Secret...

Sam and I are so romantic. Seriously, you would be so jealous if you even knew. I was perusing through some of Leah's newborn pictures, of course getting all smitten and baby-drunk, when I was suddenly overcome with the need for another. Even amidst all of the miscarriage hoopla, and regardless of our intent to wait until getting some tests done, I was crazy for it. The whole "baby hungry" phenomenon, I've concluded, is purely Heavenly Father's way of getting us to keep reproducing. Show the heffers a little, crumply faced, bundle of joy and it's like sprinkling us with memory dust. Suddenly the 9-month-really-closer-to-10-month-stretchmarky-pukey-pantpeeing-flabbygut-insomnia inducing-exhaustion-causing coma "wasn't that bad."

Anyway, back to us being disgustingly romantic. In my newborn stupor, I looked up at Sam, and in a tone that came out way witchier and demanding than intended, threw my hands up in the air and shouted, "SAM! You've gotta freaking get me pregnant!" He responded without looking up from his book, cool as a cat, "I'll get you pregnant as soon as you get the laundry done." Then he started giggling and scrambling away from my swiping like a little kid who just told his mom to "shut up." At least that's what happened the ONE (10) time(s) I told my mom to shut up when I was little. For some reason I keep envisioning Ursula crawling across a ship deck after Price Eric and Ariel. Weird.

Anyway, I got the laundry done.

AND...

DING DING DING! This one's sticking, people! And we're thrilled! Thrilled! THRILLED!

Ohhh! The thought of a little Meatball Sub joining our family makes me laugh and cry and shout around all together at the same time. And that's exactly what I'm doing right now as I type....

HOWEVER!!

(cue lightning strike and blood curdling scream).

There is a dark side to this tale....

A side that brings with it great waves of anxiety. Because, what you don't know, is something horrifying is waiting just around the corner. Something very disturbing to all who have witnessed it. Something I've gone to great lengths to keep hidden from the world....

Meet me (Dec. 2009) and my bloated, pregnant twin, Frieda (May 2008):

(Cue blood curdling scream #2)

.............

............

...............

................

................

.............

Here, have another look:

She's swollen.

She's hairier than is socially acceptable for a woman.

She's inexplicably irresistible to my dear, sweet husband. Who should be considered for sainthood for that reason, and that reason alone.

She has spindly, nappy, unmanageable hair...

...and teeny, weeny, beady eyes that peer out menacingly from a vast, beet-red canvas.

She's easily offended.

She's lazy.

And she's violent.

The "Frieda-Effect" begins at about 6 months pregnant and lasts until just about 7 months postpartum. I really love it.

You're the only person in the whole wide world who truly understands me, Princess Fiona.

Curse you, water retention!!! (Shaking fist at the sky while still laughing and crying and shouting around and typing).

She's coming, my friends. She's coming.

*******

BUUUUUT! So is she (or he)! And she (or he) LOVES Frieda. So step off.

P.S. Should any of you feel compelled to tell me Frieda isn't that bad, I shall consider you an insincere friend. So put away your trytomakeVanessafeelbetter compulsions, lest my opinion of you be tarnished forever.

We're pregnant! Hooray!

Because I'm Feeling a Little Blue And Philosophical...

I always get SO annoyed when people say they don't have any regrets. I feel like every single celebrity makes a point to say this in every single interview, and I think it's so egotistical and amoral that I feel literal rage when I hear it. I once heard Lindsay Lohan utter these words and I nearly hit the roof. Oh really, Lindsay? You don't regret that one time, wait wait, five times you drove drunk and nearly killed someone? Or those drug binges that nearly killed you? Really?

The sad thing is, people who say it think that they sound all balanced and good self-esteemy. And often follow it up with things like, "everything I've done has made me who I am, and I like who I am." (Equally preposterous!) But regardless. To me, if the words, "Yeah, I really just don't have any regrets," ever come out of your mouth, you sound like a shallow, prideful idiot.

Now don't you worry. This isn't some passive aggressive shout out to any of you. I'm talking about other people. And celebrities. I know you were sweating bullets just now.

On that note, I have lots of regrets. In fact, sometimes I lay in bed at night playing certain things I've done in my life over and over in my head until the pit in my stomach grows so large and daunting I force myself to fall asleep for fear of falling into it. I'm not obsessive about it, and don't get spooked everyone, I haven't committed any (serious) crimes or anything like that. But sometimes I get into a bit of a regret funk. Now I will share some of them with you to make myself feel better and ask for your forgiveness.

I regret not finishing my degree. Not that I can't finish it now, but it's so much harder and less fun than it would have been on campus. And not that I really had the option to finish on campus... what with getting married and moving to San Francisco and everything. But, you know what I mean.

I regret cheating on a science test in 7th grade. Our teacher, Mr. Storms, always had us pass our test to a neighbor to grade and two of my girlfriends and I traded tests one time and gave each other full credit, even if our answers were wrong. I remember thinking we were so clever and giggling about it together. The worst part about it was that Mr. Storms and I had a great relationship. He knew all of my older brothers and sisters and I knew I was one of his favorites. And then he caught us. And he was livid and especially disappointed in me. I can still picture his face to this day.

I regret that one of the last conversations I had with my brother before he died was telling him that he was acting intolerable and that he was going to get fired if he showed up to work acting the way he was. He was on a combination of medications that caused him to act slightly sedated and, on this particular occasion, pretty obnoxious. I was trying to "set him straight" in order to protect and help him, but it was COMPLETELY against my nature and I know he was surprised and hurt by my words. He just kept saying, "Ok, thanks sissy. I'm sorry, sissy." As if he owed me something. I regretted that conversation even as the words rolled off my tongue.

I regret not enjoying high school more. I played the part, and was very involved, but really just wanted to be out of there. This regret includes the petty and catty things I participated in, and the people I hurt along the way. Sometimes I marvel that more of our nation's prison system isn't populated with high school-aged girls. I really feel that this insecure and hormonal age makes for some completely psychotic behavior. And I was not immune. Unfortunately, gossip and slander aren't crimes.

One of the more personal regrets I have is marrying Sam. Just kidding. I just had to make you all pee your pants and get all uncomf and feel embarrassed for me if I really had said something like that in this post. For the record, I 100% DO NOT regret marrying Sam. I yuv him a whole bunch. But I DO regret the actions of those who put things like that on their facebook statuses and stuff. Maybe I'm bringing it up because I might have taken a quick facebook break from writing this post and maybe just read an update that said, "I'm tired of men always treating me like (expletive)!! I'm losin' weight for me and me ONLY!!" And maybe the person who said it is married. And maybe we should all share a moment of silence for her. Just in case she's real. And we're embarrassed.

One thing I DON'T regret is THIS tasty morsel. Enlarge it. You won't regret it.

And now that I've confessed a few of the regrets that have been taunting me on this particular episode of, "Regret Funk: Feel Bad About Yourself in a Flash!" I feel a little better. Luckily I can say without hesitation that the regrets I do have are far outnumbered by my self-pats-on-the-back. And so, with that thought, I will make an end to my writings. As always, thanks for reading.