Daddy’s Little Girl

In light of Father's Day this week, I was thinking about dad's and their little girls. It's interesting to me how I can spend the entire day with our sweet baby—changing her, feeding her every 3 hours on the dot, giving her baths when the blow outs amount to the “Are You For Real” magnitude (see previous post), and wearing her on my chest from sun up until bedtime. I don’t want to embarrass her, but little Lucy has kind of been packing on the pounds lately, so carrying her almost 20 lbs. of love all day is quite the sacrifice for mom.

Regardless of how many books I read to her, how many times we practice rolling over on the living room floor, or how many daily outfits we both go through due to barf and drool, as soon as dad walks in the door with his typical greeting of “Hi, Bug!” little Lucy’s face lights up. Her dimple gets so deep you could lose your whole finger in it! She coos, throws her head back and laughs and giggles like I have never seen. I try the same thing and get the “oh, is that you again? Can you please get out of the way so I can look at dad…” reaction.

Daddy’s girl. Hmmm. So, this is what they mean when they say that motherhood is a thankless job. I get it. I really have no room to complain, though, because it's no secret that I'm a true blue daddy's girl too.

I will admit that seeing my 2 favorite babies laughing together is definitely a sweet, sweet payoff. I'm sure a lucky mama.







p.s. i took these photos when lucy was only 3 days old…she was starting to get jaundice and needed some sunlight, but we had been in a heavy snowstorm since her birth. on the third day, almost like a miracle, the clouds broke and the sun peeked through our windows for about 30 minutes. russ hurriedly undressed the baby and stood with her for the whole 30 minutes in front of the window, which is all our sweet babe needed. isn't this the most beautiful sight ever?

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

Winter this year started late and went a little longer that I think it was technically allowed. No one ever called me to ask if it was ok, so I tried my hardest to make the best of it.

Thankfully, my dear friend Kieffer is always game for a good adventure. She’s usually the one who calls me to make sure I get out of the house every once in a while.

Kieffer and I actually met back in the big city of Rexburg, ID our freshman year of college when pterodactyls still roamed the earth. She lived a couple of doors down from me, but I really hadn’t met her yet. One night where the overwhelming load of homework topped with homesickness was about to do me in, I heard a knock at my door. There stood Kieffer, dressed like a beggar in tattered clothing, blacked out front teeth, ratted out hair with leaves in it, and black charcoal smeared all over her face. She was holding a swaddled Cabbage Patch doll and a tin can as she said in her best British accent, “A penny for the little one?” What? A penny for the…who are you? It was so hard to tell if she was being serious or not because she never broke character. Even when I noticed the doll and started laughing out loud, she stood there with that blasted can and kept repeating “A penny for the little one?” I grabbed some spare change to get her off my doorstep, but had a good laugh when I learned that she ordered pizza with all the money she raised with that stunt. Kieffer and I soon became fast friends, playing pranks on roommates that still make me cry, we were that funny.

Kieffer also shares my love of snowshoeing. We snowshoed all last season, even packing around our friend Karen's twins while I was 3 months pregnant. Something interesting about me is that there are few things I love more than snowshoeing. I think it is the only reason winter was invented. It is so much fun, I even bought a pair of "top of the line" snowshoes for my husband, when I was as single as they come. It was part of my visualizing that one day I would actually have a husband and together we would go snowshoeing. Pretty hefty expectations, I know. Well, I did get me a good husband, but the snowshoeing part wasn't exactly as I saw it in my head. Either there was too much work to be done or maybe I just wore him down after a year of asking…who knows.

Russ was a good sport to accompany Kieffer and I for Lucy’s first snowshoeing expedition. We zipped our little 2 month old snow bunny in her purple snowsuit, strapped her in the Bjorn, wrapped a blanket around her and then tried to zip her inside my coat. Yeah, she was plenty warm.


We had a nice time enjoying the snow in such beautiful surroundings, just 15 minutes from our house. We are so lucky.

We built Lucy’s first snowman and I realized that on days like this, I guess winter isn’t all that bad...

Thunder Thighs---Bringing Them Back!

Sometimes I have to set Lucy down and slowly back away, counting to 10, because I feel like I’m going to kiss her too hard. I mean, when did thighs like this ever stop being the most scrumptiously beautifully yummiest things on earth?! I’ve been trying to bring back the notion that big thighs are beautiful, but Lucy totally beat me to it.

Are You For Real?

I first uttered that phrase as a sort of knee-jerk reflex a few years ago at work. We had just spent a sizeable amount of charitable cash to get a feel-good rendition of “America the Beautiful” into movie theatres across the US in a post-911 response to the fact that America was still about brotherhood. In haste, we threw together a popular music version that was donated to us on the fly as well as some beautiful stock images that spoke of America the Beautiful. It was, in my opinion, a brilliant way to “react” to what had happened to our great country.

So many people helped us on that project…it happened virtually overnight and was on screens across the land of the free before we could even order our buttered popcorn. Our first phone call was from one of the theatre owners in California. Of course, we smiled, kicked our feet up on the desk, and expected to hear stories of how her patrons loved our spot and how it was the perfect answer to such a troubled time in our nation.

To our horror, she mentioned the scores of people who were boycotting her theatres because of our spot. She talked of hate mail, threats, you name it…her patrons were up in arms because of our so-called message of hope. My boss, Gary, had the look of “I’m sorry, your house burned down and you lost everything…oh, and you didn’t have insurance? Yeah, that’s too bad, sir.” He was pale and began pacing back and forth in his office. I knew we were toast. But what happened? For crying out loud, it was AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL, people!! All she said was “Everyone is just angry because how on earth could you leave God out at a time like this?” What? Left God out? Really?

Gary and I ran to the closest VCR (remember those?) to replay the spot that we had watched at least 10,000 times before we shipped it out. Guilty as charged. In trying to edit the spot down to 30 seconds, one of our editors cut the line “God shed His grace on Thee” and went straight to “…and crown Thy good with brotherhood” which was also a very timely message. We missed it. Indeed.

It was never our intent to “leave God out” at such a difficult time, so we re-cut the spot, spent way too much money to re-do the whole thing, and had to show up with our tail between our legs to our chairman to apologize.

We waited. No calls meant that we had done a good thing and we could, at last, celebrate our attempt to make America great.

When the phone rang and the “President of the Atheists Organization of America” was on the other end of the line, I was sort of in disbelief. He told me how great it was to go to the theatre and finally connect with an organization that left God out of things. It was the best thing he had seen in years and he was thrilled to support anything we did. Then he went back to the movies a couple days later…and there it was. God was back. He was calling to tell me we should have left it alone the first time. I wanted to start laughing because I was SURE this was my dad disguising his voice or someone playing a twisted prank on me after hearing the turmoil we had just endured. I didn’t know what to say. In my desperate search for the right thing, all that popped out of my mouth, unfiltered, was “Are You For Real?” I’ll never live that down. It echoed through the office at the perfect time when no one was speaking, but everyone was listening. Yes, I said it out loud…and now it’s secretly being made into bumper stickers in China. I’m sure of it.

So the long introduction to this latest post is that I had a similar moment a short while ago. Sweet little Lucy, always a dimpled smile, created such a powerful explosion that when I tried to undress her, it was the only phrase that echoed out of my mouth as I stood there in disbelief. Are You For Real?



Oh, and yes. She was.

Wan Tan Baby

So today was my first run with the new baby jogging stroller. His name is Bob and he and I became fast friends this evening as we hit the pavement together. Aside from the fact that I felt like I accidentally ate cement for breakfast in this new post-baby phase, it was a relatively good jog overall.

Lucy and I decided to literally "run" to Fed Ex to get a package out tonight before the 6pm pick- up. It was perfect weather outside and Bob even had a sun shade to protect the little Love Bug from the afternoon rays.

I pretty much felt like a star with my new stroller and sweet Lucy looked like a Princess in her blue and chocolate chariot of fire. Too bad I had to be the fire.

The journey to Fed Ex was primarily downhill. It was so easy to push the Princess down the sidewalks, not minding the cracks or uneven pavement thanks to Bob's hefty off-road tires. The breeze was blowing through our hair and I couldn't think of a more perfect outing with my little Bundle. She was calmly lulled to sleep by the sounds of oncoming traffic, rowdy teenagers, barking neighborhood dogs, and the occasional "show off" motorcycle punk. Aah, the delightful sounds of Salt Lake City.

The package was delivered with ease, but the way back was a totally different story. For some reason I forgot my 8th grade lesson of Mr. Newton and his brilliant discovery that what comes down also must go up. The first part of the return wasn't too bad. We made it up the small first hill and although my jog was pretty slow, I felt proud to still be jogging.

The second hill was a little worse. When Mr. Chinese walker in "way-too-short-little-white- shorts" passed us, I realized my jog was paralyzingly too slow. There was no shame in walking the hills, I thought. I mean, I just had a baby and I'm barely back on the road. Right? Sure. So...we walked. I started to get a little warm at this point. Not because I was out of shape. Never. The, uh, shade obviously shifted and I was surely in the direct line of the solarized ozone beam or something equally as treacherous.

I wiped the bead of perspiration (not sweat, of course) from my brow and shortly resumed my pace, passing Mr. Short Shorts like he was a spelling test in the third grade. Cake.

Then I saw it. The final hill around Sugarhouse Park. The beast! I knew, even in my best visualization and positive self-affirmation, I couldn't run it if I tried. I gulped and wondered if we would all even make it to the summit. I focused on the goal, took a deep breath, and began the ascent.

All of a sudden, I felt like I was in slow motion. In a flicker of reality, I caught a glimpse of the sticker on Bob's back that said "weight: 23.6 lbs." With a deep breath my eyes darted to and fro, only to notice the sticker on the car seat "weight: 7.24 lbs." Now, sweet Lucy wouldn't want me to say this out loud, but all she really does is eat all day... Doing the math in my head, it started to dawn on me why I was trekking so slowly up this 42 lb. hill! To make matters worse, Mr. Chinese waddled past me with a little "hmph" in his sweet and sour step.

That's when I realized I could have taken him easily if it was dark and we were alone on that mountain. Just me and Chinese. But not this time. As he whizzed past me in a blur of gym socks pulled up higher than I dared to look, I faked a smile and huffed, "baby weighs wan tan..." Sure, it was an excuse. And a good one at that. He looked at me, then at Bob and the sleeping Princess, and nodded like possibly, just maybe, he might give me another shot. Thank you Danielsan. Next time I stick to catching fry wis chopstick an placticing mo wa-king fasta fasta.

Chestnuts Roasting

Chestnuts Roasting on an open fire...it just so happens to be my very favorite Christmas Song (especially sung by Nat King Cole, of course). I've never actually ever roasted chestnuts myself or even seen it done by professionals. Maybe that would have helped me the other night when I attempted the unthinkable.

With a screaming baby who always needs to be held, my time in the kitchen has been significantly compromised as of late. I still try to attempt a few new recipes each week as we desperately try to find our list of "family favorites" on the vegetarian cuisine scale.

So there we were, Lucy and I in the kitchen. She was frolicking in the Bjorn (front pack) as we chopped vegetables and talked about the economy. The night's special was a fake-chicken stir fry with roasted cashews. Seemed harmless and potentially yummy.

I spread out the raw cashews from Whole Foods onto the new cookie sheet, set the oven to broil, and went about chopping and stirring up the "fry." I started to smell something burning, but the saucepan seemed just fine. I couldn't figure it out. I kept stirring and checking the bottom of the pan, but all seemed well. I even looked in the dishwasher to rule out a possible burning plastic spoon that had fallen to it's death. Nothing of the sort.

When the thick black smoke started to BILLOW out of the oven vent, to my horror, I remembered the roasting cashews. In my best "Speedy Gonazales" I unhooked the baby and practically threw her to Russ before I attempted to survey the damage. I mean, I have burned things before. Probably more than most people, but this was a sight to behold. The cashews were roasted, that was for sure. Fire roasted.

It was the first time in my life that I had actually created real FLAMES in the kitchen, apart from a birthday cake or scented candle to cover up something else I have burned...Yet, "broil" and I have never been good friends...he always seems to get me into hot water...(pun unfortunately intended).

Each one of the cashews was literally on fire with about a 2-inch flame burning brightly. I grabbed the hot pad and charred cookie sheet and started to run about the kitchen. In my panic, I thought I could put out the fire in the kitchen sink, but Russ was yelling and signaling for me to dart outside as he and the screaming bundle scattered to the basement for cover.

I ran as fast as I could, but the cold winter's wind kicked up the flames even more. I looked like I was carrying the Olympic torch on a platter as I darted out the side door to the snow covered back yard. In haste, I chucked the flaming cashews, pan and all, into the pile of snow. The black smoke and loud sizzling hiss assured me there would be no more casualties that night.

I returned inside to the air purifier full blast and every window in the house wide open. I later found Russ and the baby hiding in the basement, covered with a blanket and hovered over another air purifier. I smiled sheepishly, shrugged my shoulders, and simply said, "um...sorry about that." I mean, what was I supposed to say? I practically burned the house down!

We ate dinner in the "bunker" in awkward silence. How were we supposed to make small talk when our eyes and lungs were burning with toxic cashew residue? It wasn't funny yet, and probably wouldn't be for quite a while. I felt like an idiot as I had to put on my winter coat and ski hat to do the dishes in my wind tunnel of a kitchen. You'd think I could have at least set a timer...seriously.

The next day when I saw Russ installing all new smoke detectors and placing a cute white kitchen fire extinguisher under the sink in PLAIN VIEW, I knew it was only because he cared. That, and he's trying to protect his offspring from what he knows won't be the last time I have to apologize for being in the kitchen.

I think I may change my favorite Christmas song after this.

Babies & Blogs

I think this whole blog thing should be credited to little Lucy. I find myself, (as probably most new parents do), wanting to document important days/events in her/our lives so that we can share them one day in the future.

Today, while Kindee was downstairs throwing a load of wash in, I decided to snap a few pictures of Lucy in her little swing. This little pink sanctuary is actually the only place we have discovered she will sleep at night. For whatever reason, the rocking side-to-side motion helps her feel like she can close her eyes and drift off into baby paradise :)

Of course, there are hundreds of swings available online to choose from, so we did as much research as we could to find one that would be the best fit. Kindee and I had fun reminiscing of when we could remember winding up our younger siblings in those old hand-crank swings. Those old swings were for sure full of plastics that would probably be illegal even in Mexico, but hey, they sure had some giddy-up!



I can remember pushing my younger siblings in these swings. Being the "boy" that I was... I would wonder why they couldn't go higher or faster? No doubt, I was responsible for the over-cranking of any swing we owned just to see how high and fast it would really go. Of course, now as a more mature adult, I never do that :)

To see the rest of the pictures of Lucy in her Fisher Price swing, here is the link to all of the photos from this morning. Enjoy! http://russdixon.smugmug.com/gallery/7536025_9SgUT

-Russ