I didn't come from a family who went camping a lot. My mom seems to remember more times than I do, mostly because they happened while I was still fairly young. And she can also remember, quite vividly in fact, why she stopped going. It had something to do with us playing with the dead fish at Bayhorse and then driving for hours to a hotel while she sat in the backseat of the van, fashioning "facilities" out of a cooler and a bucket for two sick three year olds. Kind of put the kabosh on the whole camping experience for a long time.
So anyways, I married a man who enjoys camping. I'm learning to. I've had to unlearn the lessons taught by my mom--camping is hard, dirty and more work than fun--and just go with the flow. I really enjoy being outside in the fresh air. I don't particularly like getting ready or unpacking when we get home, but it goes with the territory.
This weekend we kicked off the official start of camping season with an overnighter to Soapstone. Neither one of us had camped in this particular campground in the Uintas. We invited some friends who also have a three year old along.
Wade and I arrived at the campground at 3:30 and started scouting out potential good spots. We got lucky and nabbed a great spot that was booked Saturday night thru Wednesday, so it was perfect for our little getaway. It should be noted that we did have to wrestle it from the one legged man and his wife, but you have to do what you have to do in Utah's outdoors.
Our friends arrived at about 5:30. They aren't big outdoors people, but were much more prepared than we were for our little outing. Good thing as we would have been hungry, dirty, sticky people by 8:30 without their assistance.
Josh loved being outside with us. We've been practicing for a couple of weeks. Wade took him to Fathers and Sons last weekend and a few weekends before, we set up the tent in the backyard and slept outside (well, most of us...). He was caked in dirt within the first 30 minutes and stayed that way until we got home.
I bought Wade a tent for his birthday. We've been using a two-man backpacking tent since the year after we got married. Last time we went camping with Josh, we found that it is indeed a two-man tent and not a two-and-a-half man tent. There was no way I was going to go through that again. So, I found the biggest tent I could. Eight man. I figured it would see us through many a family campout. What I didn't count on was how cold an eight man tent is when there are only 2 3/4 people in it. However, next year, it will comfortably sit a playpen for the baby. And Wade pointed out that if we were out camping and it started to rain, we could set up a card table in there and play games. Nice.
As with every year, there are a lot of warnings about bears. It's best to pack away all your food in the car before retiring to bed. We made sure that everything was packed away before hitting the tent. When I woke up in the morning, I was relieved to find that we were all still there as I had completely forgotten that Josh had packed himself a roast beef sandwich and put it in his little backpack that I was using--unsuccessfully--as a pillow.
At my last dr appointment, I was given the go ahead to use Tylenol PM to combat my insomnia. I don't think I've ever slept that well on a camping trip. Not so for our friends, who's little boy did not adjust well to sleeping in a tent. He woke up at 3 am demanding to go to Grandpa's and didn't give up until 5 am. It was a long night for them. We slept great until Josh woke up at 5:30 am shivering from the cold and climbed into Wade's sleeping bag. After Wade told him he could not fit Josh, himself and Josh's backpack--with the imaginary birdie--in his sleeping bag, Josh got out and promptly laid on my head. I ignored him, hoping he'd go back to bed and at last he did. We slept until almost 8:30.
We spent the day at Mirror Lake. We roasted hotdogs for lunch and played a few games. Mostly, we just sat and watched the boys run around with toy guns, shooting "monsters". It was a fabulous, restful weekend. On the way home, I vowed I was going to create a camping box that I would fill with the necessities for camping. And then maybe we'll do it again in the near future.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Book Review Friday, June 27, 2008
Okay, so technically it's Sunday. Sue me.
Book: Before I Wake
Author: Robert J. Wiersema
Pages: 310
Initially, I thought this was going to be a open and shut book. After reading the inside cover, I had the entire story mapped out in my mind and it was just a matter of how it was going to get there. I was wrong.
It starts out with the horrific hit-and-run that puts 3 year old Sherry into a coma. The story is told from the viewpoints of her parents, her dad's mistress, the guy who hit Sherry and a nurse.
As Sherry lies in a hospital bed, the very life that she left behind is crumbling. Her dad, seeing someone on the side, is riddled with guilt, while her mom can't cope with losing her only child--one they hoped and prayed for for so long.
Meanwhile, the man who hit her tries to commit suicide only to find himself in between worlds where only a handful of downtrodden men can see him and he must grapple with the intense guilt he feels, desperately seeking out a way to atone for his sin.
It's discovered that Sherry is harboring miracle healing powers within her comatose body and as the word spreads, her parents must now reunite to determine the best way to shelter Sherry from those seeking to take her out.
Enter in a crazy plot twist and there you have it. The story in a nutshell.
I really enjoyed the format of the book--the different viewpoints offered into the scenario. Towards the middle of the book I started to hate the book, but as it progressed and I abandoned the notion that it wasn't going to turn out how I had invisioned, I really liked it. I wasn't prepared for how much religion played a part in the plot, and my catholicism knowledge is a little lacking so I think some things went right over my head, but after discussing the book with a neighbor, I think that was the intention of the author. Though not as tough on Catholicism as Dan Brown, Wiersema seems to have his own dealings with the church he needs working out.
All in all, I'd recommend this as a good read. I finished it in a day and it kept me on my toes for the most part.
Book: Before I Wake
Author: Robert J. Wiersema
Pages: 310
Initially, I thought this was going to be a open and shut book. After reading the inside cover, I had the entire story mapped out in my mind and it was just a matter of how it was going to get there. I was wrong.
It starts out with the horrific hit-and-run that puts 3 year old Sherry into a coma. The story is told from the viewpoints of her parents, her dad's mistress, the guy who hit Sherry and a nurse.
As Sherry lies in a hospital bed, the very life that she left behind is crumbling. Her dad, seeing someone on the side, is riddled with guilt, while her mom can't cope with losing her only child--one they hoped and prayed for for so long.
Meanwhile, the man who hit her tries to commit suicide only to find himself in between worlds where only a handful of downtrodden men can see him and he must grapple with the intense guilt he feels, desperately seeking out a way to atone for his sin.
It's discovered that Sherry is harboring miracle healing powers within her comatose body and as the word spreads, her parents must now reunite to determine the best way to shelter Sherry from those seeking to take her out.
Enter in a crazy plot twist and there you have it. The story in a nutshell.
I really enjoyed the format of the book--the different viewpoints offered into the scenario. Towards the middle of the book I started to hate the book, but as it progressed and I abandoned the notion that it wasn't going to turn out how I had invisioned, I really liked it. I wasn't prepared for how much religion played a part in the plot, and my catholicism knowledge is a little lacking so I think some things went right over my head, but after discussing the book with a neighbor, I think that was the intention of the author. Though not as tough on Catholicism as Dan Brown, Wiersema seems to have his own dealings with the church he needs working out.
All in all, I'd recommend this as a good read. I finished it in a day and it kept me on my toes for the most part.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
I'm a Big, Ole Lazy Chump
I was asked to be a volunteer for the Wasatch Back Relay that was held this weekend. Last year, both Wade and I participated in this relay race from Logan to Park City. Half of our team reunited this year and I--in the delicate position I am in--opted not to run. My good buddy from college, who was also on the team last year, was 5 months pregnant when she did it, but I am not that diehard. Besides, I haven't been running in something like 7 or 8 weeks. And it's really hot out there. However, every team has to supply 3 volunteers for the race. I agreed, along with my buddy from college and my mom, to be a volunteer for the team.
As luck would have it, we were stationed at the end of the leg that I did last year. For a little background on the race, each team has 12 members. The course is split up into 36 legs, so each person takes 3 of those legs, ranging in length from 3 miles to 7 miles. It's a cool way to run long distance without running all at one time. And it's a lot of fun. For most teams, it takes over 24 hours to do it. You have about 8 hours between each of your legs that you get to cheer on your teammates. My final leg last year was six miles. I thought it'd be just your normal six miles with a few hills here and there, but no. The last three miles were basically all uphill. At the end of 24 hours, when you haven't slept and your food intake has been questionable, those six miles might as well be straight uphill. It was extricuiating. I had originally thought I'd do it in under an hour, but it was closer to 2 hours when I finally got to the finish. I cursed myself--about 4 miles worth--for having ever embarked on such a stupid endeavor. I distinctly remember telling my mom, who was there to see me come in at the end, that this was the stupidest thing I had ever done and to never let me do it again.
Since there were no other teams around me by the time I got to the end, I thought I was the only one who felt this way. That somehow it was my fault--I hadn't trained hard enough, I wasn't strong enough, etc. The memory of the last leg I did has haunted me for a year. Behold! Yesterday, after watching nearly 450 teams come across at the exact point I did, I'm relieved to know that I am not the only one who felt that way. Nearly every single person crossing looked as though they had spent the last 3 miles cursing their decision to run a relay race from Logan to Park City--many even looked as though they cursed themselves for nearly the entire leg. It was reassuring to know that it wasn't just me. It was everyone.
Volunteering for this event was no walk in the park. It was hard work. I was in charge of making sure that the next runner was ready to go for each team. Someone down the road a bit would radio up who the runner was and then I would frantically search for the team where I was standing. You would think that by this stage in the game--four stations before the finish line--the teams would be ready to go. But no. That was not the case. On more than a few instances I was sprinting down to the cars looking for a team member. I know from past experience that your legs do not carry you any further than the finish chute and you will start fuming if you're team member is not there to relieve you. I was surprised by the number of teams who were so shocked that their team member was already coming up to the finish. There were those who were sprinting from the toilets to catch up with their team member, never a good way to start up Guardsman Pass, the toughest climb of the race.
Of course, all of this was done in the sun. It was probably 95 degrees out there and no shade whatsoever. My mom was at a different station nearby and she got the shade tent we had packed up. She doesn't do well in the heat, so she deserved it. But she didn't get nearly the excitement we did, being right in the middle of the hubbub.
On more than one occassion, I found myself wishing I was doing the race instead of watching it. I know that it would've been nearly impossible--possibly even suicidal--to do it in the condition I'm in right now, but I still missed it. More importantly though it gave me a good motivation to start running again. I'm hoping to do it next year if I can work out a good schedule with nursing a baby and losing all that baby weight (and with the support of a great husband...). But that means I can't take the next 6 months off running. I've got to start back up so I'm not starting all over come January.
One thing this did show me is that I think I'm finally out of that yucky first trimester stage. I slept maybe for 3 hours, got up, went all day and didn't even take a nap. I made it all the way until 10:30 before crashing. YAY! I'm finally getting back some energy.
As luck would have it, we were stationed at the end of the leg that I did last year. For a little background on the race, each team has 12 members. The course is split up into 36 legs, so each person takes 3 of those legs, ranging in length from 3 miles to 7 miles. It's a cool way to run long distance without running all at one time. And it's a lot of fun. For most teams, it takes over 24 hours to do it. You have about 8 hours between each of your legs that you get to cheer on your teammates. My final leg last year was six miles. I thought it'd be just your normal six miles with a few hills here and there, but no. The last three miles were basically all uphill. At the end of 24 hours, when you haven't slept and your food intake has been questionable, those six miles might as well be straight uphill. It was extricuiating. I had originally thought I'd do it in under an hour, but it was closer to 2 hours when I finally got to the finish. I cursed myself--about 4 miles worth--for having ever embarked on such a stupid endeavor. I distinctly remember telling my mom, who was there to see me come in at the end, that this was the stupidest thing I had ever done and to never let me do it again.
Since there were no other teams around me by the time I got to the end, I thought I was the only one who felt this way. That somehow it was my fault--I hadn't trained hard enough, I wasn't strong enough, etc. The memory of the last leg I did has haunted me for a year. Behold! Yesterday, after watching nearly 450 teams come across at the exact point I did, I'm relieved to know that I am not the only one who felt that way. Nearly every single person crossing looked as though they had spent the last 3 miles cursing their decision to run a relay race from Logan to Park City--many even looked as though they cursed themselves for nearly the entire leg. It was reassuring to know that it wasn't just me. It was everyone.
Volunteering for this event was no walk in the park. It was hard work. I was in charge of making sure that the next runner was ready to go for each team. Someone down the road a bit would radio up who the runner was and then I would frantically search for the team where I was standing. You would think that by this stage in the game--four stations before the finish line--the teams would be ready to go. But no. That was not the case. On more than a few instances I was sprinting down to the cars looking for a team member. I know from past experience that your legs do not carry you any further than the finish chute and you will start fuming if you're team member is not there to relieve you. I was surprised by the number of teams who were so shocked that their team member was already coming up to the finish. There were those who were sprinting from the toilets to catch up with their team member, never a good way to start up Guardsman Pass, the toughest climb of the race.
Of course, all of this was done in the sun. It was probably 95 degrees out there and no shade whatsoever. My mom was at a different station nearby and she got the shade tent we had packed up. She doesn't do well in the heat, so she deserved it. But she didn't get nearly the excitement we did, being right in the middle of the hubbub.
On more than one occassion, I found myself wishing I was doing the race instead of watching it. I know that it would've been nearly impossible--possibly even suicidal--to do it in the condition I'm in right now, but I still missed it. More importantly though it gave me a good motivation to start running again. I'm hoping to do it next year if I can work out a good schedule with nursing a baby and losing all that baby weight (and with the support of a great husband...). But that means I can't take the next 6 months off running. I've got to start back up so I'm not starting all over come January.
One thing this did show me is that I think I'm finally out of that yucky first trimester stage. I slept maybe for 3 hours, got up, went all day and didn't even take a nap. I made it all the way until 10:30 before crashing. YAY! I'm finally getting back some energy.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Dialogue with a Three Year Old
Scene 1: Mom is cleaning the house, like she does every Monday. She can hear an odd array of noise coming from her bedroom where Three Year Old (TYO) is enjoying yet another round of Barney. Mom enters bedroom to find TYO sitting on the bed--in the laundry basket--with a dinosaur bank given to him by grandma, his yellow blankie, and an imaginary birdie who is sleeping.
Mom: What are you doing?
TYO: Watching Barney
Mom: What was that noise?
TYO: There was a monster. I shoot him down. BAM! BAM!
Scene 2: Mom is sitting outside with TYO awaiting the long anticipated arrival of Dad from work. It's hovering somewhere between 400 and 450 degrees on the sidewalk. Amazingly, this doesn't seem to bother the TYO at all, even if mom's insides are smoldering. TYO has removed his bath toys--foam letters--from the bathtime drawer and is spreading them out on the pavement.
Mom: Whatcha doing?
TYO: Building words
Mom: What does it say?
TYO: Rocket
(Note to reader: It actually reads something like JFRTS4VXY. No need to panic and call the MENSA board quite yet.)
Scene 3: Mom is in the bedroom putting away laundry. Dad is sitting at the computer. Both are waiting for the pizza man to come to the door. TYO walks to the front room and comes running back. Mom is amusing Dad with a story about grandma and TYO's shoes.
TYO: Mommy, open door.
Mom: Hold on bug. Let me just hang up these shirts.
TYO: No, mommy. Come on. Open door (queue unintelligible Klingon speak).
Mom: I'll be there in just a second. I'm almost done.
TYO (whining): Come on Mommy (queue unintelligible Klingon speak again).
Mom: Just a sec sweetie. Do your feet hurt?
TYO: No.
Mom: See. My mom is crazy.
TYO: Open door mommy.
Mom: Maybe Daddy can take you to open the door. (Thought enters mom's brain--about a minute too late.)
Mom: Is there someone at the door?
TYO: Yes
Mom rushes out to the living room to find the pizza man standing there with dinner. Apparently, he'd been out there for about 2 minutes listening to the conversation going on in the back of the house. Who knew that sasdbusd dkfidsngb sdfyobjeoyio means "someone's at the door" in Klingon.
Scene 4: Mom, Dad and TYO are just sitting down to the table to eat dinner. It's TYO's turn to say the prayer.
TYO: Heavenly Father, day, food, kitties, play, amen.
Short and to the point. Perfect!
Mom: What are you doing?
TYO: Watching Barney
Mom: What was that noise?
TYO: There was a monster. I shoot him down. BAM! BAM!
Scene 2: Mom is sitting outside with TYO awaiting the long anticipated arrival of Dad from work. It's hovering somewhere between 400 and 450 degrees on the sidewalk. Amazingly, this doesn't seem to bother the TYO at all, even if mom's insides are smoldering. TYO has removed his bath toys--foam letters--from the bathtime drawer and is spreading them out on the pavement.
Mom: Whatcha doing?
TYO: Building words
Mom: What does it say?
TYO: Rocket
(Note to reader: It actually reads something like JFRTS4VXY. No need to panic and call the MENSA board quite yet.)
Scene 3: Mom is in the bedroom putting away laundry. Dad is sitting at the computer. Both are waiting for the pizza man to come to the door. TYO walks to the front room and comes running back. Mom is amusing Dad with a story about grandma and TYO's shoes.
TYO: Mommy, open door.
Mom: Hold on bug. Let me just hang up these shirts.
TYO: No, mommy. Come on. Open door (queue unintelligible Klingon speak).
Mom: I'll be there in just a second. I'm almost done.
TYO (whining): Come on Mommy (queue unintelligible Klingon speak again).
Mom: Just a sec sweetie. Do your feet hurt?
TYO: No.
Mom: See. My mom is crazy.
TYO: Open door mommy.
Mom: Maybe Daddy can take you to open the door. (Thought enters mom's brain--about a minute too late.)
Mom: Is there someone at the door?
TYO: Yes
Mom rushes out to the living room to find the pizza man standing there with dinner. Apparently, he'd been out there for about 2 minutes listening to the conversation going on in the back of the house. Who knew that sasdbusd dkfidsngb sdfyobjeoyio means "someone's at the door" in Klingon.
Scene 4: Mom, Dad and TYO are just sitting down to the table to eat dinner. It's TYO's turn to say the prayer.
TYO: Heavenly Father, day, food, kitties, play, amen.
Short and to the point. Perfect!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Happy Anniversary!
Today is our 7th Anniversary--fitting that's it's on Father's Day as well. So a mushy tribute to Wade that will make him mad at me for putting this out there for all the world to see.
Wade is one of the smartest people I know. I don't say this because he's my husband. I really do think he is ranked up at--or near--the top of the list. What he doesn't know he researches it until he's fluent in that topic. He retains information like a sponge. A lot of people in the neighborhood comment on how he seems to know everything, from sprinklers to garages and grass. Aside from that, he can mentally figure out almost every problem thrown his way.
I met Wade nearly 8(!) years ago down in Price. I was immediately drawn to his smile and his seeming outward personality. He can talk to anybody about most anything. Our first date, he came over to my parents house to pick me up. He ended up talking to my dad for nearly 45 minutes--a feat never seen before by any guy I'd brought home before. It was then I knew it was going to be hard getting rid of him. In December, he called my dad at his work and invited him to lunch to ask for my hand in marriage. We knew two weeks after meeting that we wanted to get married but I--and my father--were duly impressed that he went the traditional way of asking for my hand. As I can imagine, both guys were very nervous and my dad sprung for a nice lunch at a steak diner instead of the Arby's Wade's paycheck allowed. We spent the entire school year commuting back and forth on weekends. I lived in Price and he lived in Salt Lake. He spent many weekdays looking for the perfect apartment for us so we wouldn't have to waste our weekends looking.
Wade is one of the hardest working guys I've ever met. I've never worried about him going without a job. While some people have a hard time keeping a job, employers fight over keeping Wade, outbidding each other until one has to fold or Wade's made up his mind which way to go. Even in an uncertain field such as computers, I'm confident that he will always be able to find a job. However, I know he'd deliver pizzas to keep his family from going hungry.
Another attribute I love about Wade is his ability to budget and foresee the financial needs of our family. While I'm the one who does the majority of the household finances, I never worry about him going off to spend money on a new toy. Every purchase is carefully thought out, researched, and planned. He has reigned me in quite a bit, probably not as much as he'd want to, but I'm now starting to see his vision. We have a great emergency fund set up that will carry us for a few months if he does lose his job and the economy is in a downspiral. We have financial goals that have us completely (including the house) out of debt in just a few, wallet-tightening, years so we're freer to do things that we want.
Wade has an incredible ability to buy presents and surprise me. As mentioned before, he retains information like a sponge. If I mention something that I want, he files it away until it's time to buy a present and there it is. Sometimes I even forget that I've mentioned the gift before.
Josh loves spending time with his daddy. Saturdays are the days when "daddy's home" and they do a lot outside together. Josh helps Wade mow the lawn and Wade helps Josh "catch" birdies. Wade is a great father!
I'm grateful for every day of the last seven years I've spent with Wade. He's truly a blessing in my life and the life of our little family and I hope for many more happy years here on Earth.
I love you!
Wade is one of the smartest people I know. I don't say this because he's my husband. I really do think he is ranked up at--or near--the top of the list. What he doesn't know he researches it until he's fluent in that topic. He retains information like a sponge. A lot of people in the neighborhood comment on how he seems to know everything, from sprinklers to garages and grass. Aside from that, he can mentally figure out almost every problem thrown his way.
I met Wade nearly 8(!) years ago down in Price. I was immediately drawn to his smile and his seeming outward personality. He can talk to anybody about most anything. Our first date, he came over to my parents house to pick me up. He ended up talking to my dad for nearly 45 minutes--a feat never seen before by any guy I'd brought home before. It was then I knew it was going to be hard getting rid of him. In December, he called my dad at his work and invited him to lunch to ask for my hand in marriage. We knew two weeks after meeting that we wanted to get married but I--and my father--were duly impressed that he went the traditional way of asking for my hand. As I can imagine, both guys were very nervous and my dad sprung for a nice lunch at a steak diner instead of the Arby's Wade's paycheck allowed. We spent the entire school year commuting back and forth on weekends. I lived in Price and he lived in Salt Lake. He spent many weekdays looking for the perfect apartment for us so we wouldn't have to waste our weekends looking.
Wade is one of the hardest working guys I've ever met. I've never worried about him going without a job. While some people have a hard time keeping a job, employers fight over keeping Wade, outbidding each other until one has to fold or Wade's made up his mind which way to go. Even in an uncertain field such as computers, I'm confident that he will always be able to find a job. However, I know he'd deliver pizzas to keep his family from going hungry.
Another attribute I love about Wade is his ability to budget and foresee the financial needs of our family. While I'm the one who does the majority of the household finances, I never worry about him going off to spend money on a new toy. Every purchase is carefully thought out, researched, and planned. He has reigned me in quite a bit, probably not as much as he'd want to, but I'm now starting to see his vision. We have a great emergency fund set up that will carry us for a few months if he does lose his job and the economy is in a downspiral. We have financial goals that have us completely (including the house) out of debt in just a few, wallet-tightening, years so we're freer to do things that we want.
Wade has an incredible ability to buy presents and surprise me. As mentioned before, he retains information like a sponge. If I mention something that I want, he files it away until it's time to buy a present and there it is. Sometimes I even forget that I've mentioned the gift before.
Josh loves spending time with his daddy. Saturdays are the days when "daddy's home" and they do a lot outside together. Josh helps Wade mow the lawn and Wade helps Josh "catch" birdies. Wade is a great father!
I'm grateful for every day of the last seven years I've spent with Wade. He's truly a blessing in my life and the life of our little family and I hope for many more happy years here on Earth.
I love you!
Good News Minute
Friday I had an appointment with the College of Mathematics Dean at the University of Utah. I called the meeting to lodge my complaint against the GRE test. I figured that he would thank me for my concerns and shove me out the door and on my way.
However, he didn't. He gave me the option of taking another(!) math class to fulfill this requirement. He said that I'm not the first one to come in with this complaint and so they are working on a different set of graduation requirements that don't dock those of us who passed our classes but can't seem to pass the stupid GRE test.
This is good news...and bad. The good news is that in December I will finally be able to say that I have my bachelor's degree. The bad news is that I have to attend class through the latter stages of my pregnancy. There are about 100 different places I'd rather be than sitting in a classroom (most likely on a separate chair with no adjoining desk because of the hugeness of my belly) while I'm 9 months pregnant. But I guess, it's just retribution for not passing the test the first four times. I could wait another semester, but then I'd have to find a babysitter for two kids, so I think I'm just going to ante up the money and do it this semester. Hopefully, I'll get a professor who is a little more kind to the female population and will understand my plight--namely, there's no guarantee I will be at the final, so can I take it after the baby's born? Here's hoping that I make it the whole 9 months and then some--my due date is the week of finals. Nice.
However, he didn't. He gave me the option of taking another(!) math class to fulfill this requirement. He said that I'm not the first one to come in with this complaint and so they are working on a different set of graduation requirements that don't dock those of us who passed our classes but can't seem to pass the stupid GRE test.
This is good news...and bad. The good news is that in December I will finally be able to say that I have my bachelor's degree. The bad news is that I have to attend class through the latter stages of my pregnancy. There are about 100 different places I'd rather be than sitting in a classroom (most likely on a separate chair with no adjoining desk because of the hugeness of my belly) while I'm 9 months pregnant. But I guess, it's just retribution for not passing the test the first four times. I could wait another semester, but then I'd have to find a babysitter for two kids, so I think I'm just going to ante up the money and do it this semester. Hopefully, I'll get a professor who is a little more kind to the female population and will understand my plight--namely, there's no guarantee I will be at the final, so can I take it after the baby's born? Here's hoping that I make it the whole 9 months and then some--my due date is the week of finals. Nice.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Book Review Friday June 13, 2008
Book: Austenland
Author: Shannon Hales
Pages: 208
There is a group of women--I've met a few--who love Pride and Prejudice. I am not one of these women. I've tried. I really have. And granted it's been a few years, so maybe it's worth another shot. But a book that can then be made into a six hour movie where I can fall asleep three times, wake up and still know what's going on? Come on. But, I harbor no ill feelings toward these people. I can (kinda) understand the attraction.
So, I was a little hesitant to pick up Austenland at the library. But I was being pulled out the door by a three year old in search of the ice cream cone I promised if he'd behave and the book was sitting right there on the Readers Choice shelf, so I grabbed it. It was rated number one. More people enjoyed this book than any other book on the list (I'm not sure what else was on there, so I guess I can't judge based on that criteria).
And I did read it remarkably fast. Mostly because I found the whole premise of the book bizarre. Jane, a self-penned Pride and Prejudice obsessor (especially over Mr. Darcy), is sent to live out these wild dreams at an Austen-like "resort" in England when her great-aunt dies. At the door she surrenders all her modern conveniences and clothes and goes back in time to the Regent period for three weeks, where certain rules are expected to be followed.
Fellow guests include another American who tries to adopt a fake English accent and introduces herself as 20--though she's closer to 50 and another repeat client who has perfected the roleplaying to a tee. The place is crawling with actors to fill the different roles, including a "Mr. Darcy" himself.
Jane never does fully grasp the concept of the retreat and spends a lot of time wondering what exactly she's doing there. She does come to realize that the lifestyle is a lot more restricting than she prefers. The ending was a little melodramatic for me and I actually rolled my eyes the final few chapters. But it's what makes a good chic lit.
I thought overall the book was good, if not a little bizarre. Each chapter begins with a run down of an ex-boyfriend and what went wrong. You can see why Jane feels hopeless at this stage in her life. While I'm not really into Jane Austen, I think any Jane Austen fan would pick up a lot more out of the book then I did. I did recommend it to my mom because I wanted to get her opinion on it.
Author: Shannon Hales
Pages: 208
There is a group of women--I've met a few--who love Pride and Prejudice. I am not one of these women. I've tried. I really have. And granted it's been a few years, so maybe it's worth another shot. But a book that can then be made into a six hour movie where I can fall asleep three times, wake up and still know what's going on? Come on. But, I harbor no ill feelings toward these people. I can (kinda) understand the attraction.
So, I was a little hesitant to pick up Austenland at the library. But I was being pulled out the door by a three year old in search of the ice cream cone I promised if he'd behave and the book was sitting right there on the Readers Choice shelf, so I grabbed it. It was rated number one. More people enjoyed this book than any other book on the list (I'm not sure what else was on there, so I guess I can't judge based on that criteria).
And I did read it remarkably fast. Mostly because I found the whole premise of the book bizarre. Jane, a self-penned Pride and Prejudice obsessor (especially over Mr. Darcy), is sent to live out these wild dreams at an Austen-like "resort" in England when her great-aunt dies. At the door she surrenders all her modern conveniences and clothes and goes back in time to the Regent period for three weeks, where certain rules are expected to be followed.
Fellow guests include another American who tries to adopt a fake English accent and introduces herself as 20--though she's closer to 50 and another repeat client who has perfected the roleplaying to a tee. The place is crawling with actors to fill the different roles, including a "Mr. Darcy" himself.
Jane never does fully grasp the concept of the retreat and spends a lot of time wondering what exactly she's doing there. She does come to realize that the lifestyle is a lot more restricting than she prefers. The ending was a little melodramatic for me and I actually rolled my eyes the final few chapters. But it's what makes a good chic lit.
I thought overall the book was good, if not a little bizarre. Each chapter begins with a run down of an ex-boyfriend and what went wrong. You can see why Jane feels hopeless at this stage in her life. While I'm not really into Jane Austen, I think any Jane Austen fan would pick up a lot more out of the book then I did. I did recommend it to my mom because I wanted to get her opinion on it.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Feeling a Little Resentful
I admit. I'm not perfect. I know, shocking. But I'm not even as close as I would sometimes like to think I am. Take yesterday for example.
Wade returns from work at 5:45ish, his usual time. It had been a particularly long day for some reason. I didn't feel like doing anything. Josh spent way too much time in front of the television. I spent way too much time idling by. You know, one of those days.
At 6:00, Wade gets his running clothes on and steps outside to "run up the hill". I have little idea of what this means, but he might as well have said that he was going to run around the block or run to Home Depot. I could feel a seed of resentment building in my chest nonetheless. I wish him well and go back to what I'd done all day--nothing. As the minutes tick by, I grow increasingly resentful. Not at Wade. He's just taking care of his body by exercising and this was the time he could best put it in his schedule for the day. I was growing resentful at myself, wallowing in my own self pity if you'd like.
It's been precisely six weeks since I've really gotten out and exercised. And it wasn't until yesterday that I realized why I exercised so religiously before that. It wasn't for the number on the scale--it hadn't really budged since the seven (7!) pounds I put on during our cruise in January (January!). It certainly wasn't because I enjoyed getting up at 5:45 in the morning. I fanatically exercised because it made me feel good. It gave me an hour a day just for myself, where I only concentrated on what I was doing at the moment. That hour of "me-time" carried me throughout the day, lifting me out of self-pity, keeping depression at bay. My house was cleaned by 9:00 am instead of 4:30 pm--if ever. I was showered and ready to tackle the rest of the day. I was more patient with Josh. I was more patient with Wade. I was more patient with myself. Tasks didn't pile up. It was a lovely time.
There's another (well, technically there's about 25 in the neighborhood) pregnant lady that lives nearby. She's about 2 months ahead of me. Three or four days a week she runs 5 miles at 6 am. She's been doing this for years--through all 4 of her pregnancies. I promised myself that I was going to be like her. I was going to fight the fatigue and exercise religiously like I've been doing for the last two years. When I was seven weeks pregnant, I hung up the running shoes and said it's too hard. 6:00 am aerobic classes continue without my (cheery) presence. Instead, I sleep in until 10 am. I mosey around, sometimes not even showering. I've become lazy. And depressed. And wallowing in self pity. Dreams of having nicely sculpted arms and legs and a nice toned butt when I show up to give birth in December--the nurses commenting on my muscle tone, the neighbors jealous because I'm the cutest pregnant lady they've ever seen, my prepregnancy pants fitting nicely as I leave the hospital with my new bundle of joy--are becoming mere fairy tales I'll tell my own daughter one day.
So here's my resolution. I'm going to start today. I'm going to do an hour of exercise every day, no matter how tired or sick or lazy I'm feeling. Some days, it may be just walking. Other days, I'd like to fit in a run and some weight lifting. Maybe still others, a hike or swimming. And I found the most motivating factor when I was training for my marathon was to keep a blog. I'm not sure that a lot of people read it--probably just one or two--but it was nice to have it out there so I could reference back as well as keep myself accountable.
So as not to bore the rest of everyone else, I've started a new blog at www.pregodiaries.blogspot.com where I will be chronicaling my exercising during pregnancy. It will be frank and honest--a look at how exercise really shapes my life, during pregnancy and postpartum.
Wade returns from work at 5:45ish, his usual time. It had been a particularly long day for some reason. I didn't feel like doing anything. Josh spent way too much time in front of the television. I spent way too much time idling by. You know, one of those days.
At 6:00, Wade gets his running clothes on and steps outside to "run up the hill". I have little idea of what this means, but he might as well have said that he was going to run around the block or run to Home Depot. I could feel a seed of resentment building in my chest nonetheless. I wish him well and go back to what I'd done all day--nothing. As the minutes tick by, I grow increasingly resentful. Not at Wade. He's just taking care of his body by exercising and this was the time he could best put it in his schedule for the day. I was growing resentful at myself, wallowing in my own self pity if you'd like.
It's been precisely six weeks since I've really gotten out and exercised. And it wasn't until yesterday that I realized why I exercised so religiously before that. It wasn't for the number on the scale--it hadn't really budged since the seven (7!) pounds I put on during our cruise in January (January!). It certainly wasn't because I enjoyed getting up at 5:45 in the morning. I fanatically exercised because it made me feel good. It gave me an hour a day just for myself, where I only concentrated on what I was doing at the moment. That hour of "me-time" carried me throughout the day, lifting me out of self-pity, keeping depression at bay. My house was cleaned by 9:00 am instead of 4:30 pm--if ever. I was showered and ready to tackle the rest of the day. I was more patient with Josh. I was more patient with Wade. I was more patient with myself. Tasks didn't pile up. It was a lovely time.
There's another (well, technically there's about 25 in the neighborhood) pregnant lady that lives nearby. She's about 2 months ahead of me. Three or four days a week she runs 5 miles at 6 am. She's been doing this for years--through all 4 of her pregnancies. I promised myself that I was going to be like her. I was going to fight the fatigue and exercise religiously like I've been doing for the last two years. When I was seven weeks pregnant, I hung up the running shoes and said it's too hard. 6:00 am aerobic classes continue without my (cheery) presence. Instead, I sleep in until 10 am. I mosey around, sometimes not even showering. I've become lazy. And depressed. And wallowing in self pity. Dreams of having nicely sculpted arms and legs and a nice toned butt when I show up to give birth in December--the nurses commenting on my muscle tone, the neighbors jealous because I'm the cutest pregnant lady they've ever seen, my prepregnancy pants fitting nicely as I leave the hospital with my new bundle of joy--are becoming mere fairy tales I'll tell my own daughter one day.
So here's my resolution. I'm going to start today. I'm going to do an hour of exercise every day, no matter how tired or sick or lazy I'm feeling. Some days, it may be just walking. Other days, I'd like to fit in a run and some weight lifting. Maybe still others, a hike or swimming. And I found the most motivating factor when I was training for my marathon was to keep a blog. I'm not sure that a lot of people read it--probably just one or two--but it was nice to have it out there so I could reference back as well as keep myself accountable.
So as not to bore the rest of everyone else, I've started a new blog at www.pregodiaries.blogspot.com where I will be chronicaling my exercising during pregnancy. It will be frank and honest--a look at how exercise really shapes my life, during pregnancy and postpartum.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Book Review Friday June 6, 2008
Book: Marley and Me
Author: John Grogan
Pages: 290
Rarely do I read a book twice. I have my favorite books, but I like to read them and move on, reflecting back on the lessons I learn. However, I made an exception for this book.
I first "read" this book last year, about this time of the year when I was training for a marathon. It was a grueling task that I had a hard time escaping from using music so I took to downloading books on my ipod and listening while I was out on my long runs. I had a system; they had to be nonfiction books easy to float in and out of. Marley and Me was a perfect fit. Even now, having just read it for real, I still relive those moments last summer when it was just me, my sneakers, and my ipod out on the road.
I was amazed at how much I don't remember of the book. I guess I zoned in and out a lot more than I realized. So really, it was very much like reading it for the first time...maybe a sequel where bits and pieces you remember from the book before.
What begins as a story of a man and his dog is really outlining the journey we all take in life. Grogan and his new bride, set off to add a puppy to their household. A big puppy. One that will grow to be big and sweet and cuddly. And they find all these characteristics--and more--in Marley, a Labrador Retriever.
Soon, Marley has taken over their home, their time, their resources, and their lives. He's grown enormous and has a terrible time in thunderstorms. When the Grogans encounter a particularly unhappy period of time, Marley is there to lick their wounds. He's fiercely loyal, uncharacteristically happy, the epitome of what all dogs--and humans for that matter--should be like.
I instantly fell for Marley because of the dog I had growing up, Baron. Baron was a Golden Retriever with giantism. To say he was huge would be an understatement. He was enormous. And the best friend any gal could ever have. He was the sweetest, most gentle, kindest soul to ever grace this Earth, man or creature. He never snapped, he never bit, he never even so much as growled in your direction. He was perpetually happy and lazy and loyal, living out his days in the sun off the back porch. The two dogs--Marley and Baron--were alike in so many ways, I couldn't help but spend time reliving those years with Baron.
There is no shocking suprise when it's determined that it's Marley's time to go. The way Grogan describes this experience chokes me up still. I remember, quite vividly, the day we had to put Baron down nearly 15 years ago. It's hard to say goodbye to a member of your family, even if it's just a dog. They become a part of who you are and what you become.
I love Grogan's writing style. It's smart without being pretentious and the way he wraps words together is purely magical. I was as entranced with the book reading it as I was listening to it on my ipod. I would definitely recommend this to all dog lovers as a must read. I hear there's even a movie in the making. I'll be first in line when that comes out.
Author: John Grogan
Pages: 290
Rarely do I read a book twice. I have my favorite books, but I like to read them and move on, reflecting back on the lessons I learn. However, I made an exception for this book.
I first "read" this book last year, about this time of the year when I was training for a marathon. It was a grueling task that I had a hard time escaping from using music so I took to downloading books on my ipod and listening while I was out on my long runs. I had a system; they had to be nonfiction books easy to float in and out of. Marley and Me was a perfect fit. Even now, having just read it for real, I still relive those moments last summer when it was just me, my sneakers, and my ipod out on the road.
I was amazed at how much I don't remember of the book. I guess I zoned in and out a lot more than I realized. So really, it was very much like reading it for the first time...maybe a sequel where bits and pieces you remember from the book before.
What begins as a story of a man and his dog is really outlining the journey we all take in life. Grogan and his new bride, set off to add a puppy to their household. A big puppy. One that will grow to be big and sweet and cuddly. And they find all these characteristics--and more--in Marley, a Labrador Retriever.
Soon, Marley has taken over their home, their time, their resources, and their lives. He's grown enormous and has a terrible time in thunderstorms. When the Grogans encounter a particularly unhappy period of time, Marley is there to lick their wounds. He's fiercely loyal, uncharacteristically happy, the epitome of what all dogs--and humans for that matter--should be like.
I instantly fell for Marley because of the dog I had growing up, Baron. Baron was a Golden Retriever with giantism. To say he was huge would be an understatement. He was enormous. And the best friend any gal could ever have. He was the sweetest, most gentle, kindest soul to ever grace this Earth, man or creature. He never snapped, he never bit, he never even so much as growled in your direction. He was perpetually happy and lazy and loyal, living out his days in the sun off the back porch. The two dogs--Marley and Baron--were alike in so many ways, I couldn't help but spend time reliving those years with Baron.
There is no shocking suprise when it's determined that it's Marley's time to go. The way Grogan describes this experience chokes me up still. I remember, quite vividly, the day we had to put Baron down nearly 15 years ago. It's hard to say goodbye to a member of your family, even if it's just a dog. They become a part of who you are and what you become.
I love Grogan's writing style. It's smart without being pretentious and the way he wraps words together is purely magical. I was as entranced with the book reading it as I was listening to it on my ipod. I would definitely recommend this to all dog lovers as a must read. I hear there's even a movie in the making. I'll be first in line when that comes out.
Softball Update
As it turns out, I'm really bad at softball. I think part of the problem is that there just isn't enough going on to hold me rapt for the entire time, but yet there's enough going on that I can't just sit out in left field picking my nose either.
Last night was our second game of the season. I finally understand why no one wants to be the person who orchestrates this whole affair. It's a nightmare. People commit to being on the team, then don't show up. One couple, who I talked to a mere 8 hours before the start of the game never even showed. Didn't call, didn't get a substitute, nothing. Just didn't come. Pisses me off. I certainly wouldn't have told the substitutes of another couple to bring their 3 young children because there would always be two people in the dugout if I knew that this other couple wasn't coming. I just don't get it. I understand things come up. But, a phone call? It's the courteous--and adult--thing to do. I knew that this was going to happen with this particular couple and I was hesitant to invite them on the team, but someone else got to them first. Arrrrrgh. Next year, if people want to play softball, they can manage the team themselves.
Back to my original complaint though. I'm no good at softball. I can hardly hit the ball. I can't catch to save my life and my arm is weak. Lack of these three essentials do not render a good softball player. While I enjoy being outside with my husband and friends doing something active, I'm an embarassment to the team. I can actually feel one guy roll his eyes at me.
"I'm sorry." I want to yell at him. "All the girls who played softball at my high school were lesbians. That's why I never tried out." That and the game is somewhat boring. And I'm not very good. But I keep my mouth shut for good reason. His wife played softball in high school.
So last night, we were up 11-2. I thought we were doing pretty good. But the other team managed to sniff out our weak spot--namely the 5 1/2 month pregnant lady in right field--and they scored 11 runs in one inning. We never could rebound and the final inning they scored another 4 to put them at 17. I went to the scorekeepers box to get the final score so we could know how bad we were doing and the lady tried to soothe me over by saying "You guys are really starting to come together and look good." As in we didn't drop the ball nearly as many times towards the end of the game as we did at the beginning.
I tried making pathetic excuses like "it's been two weeks since we played" and "our regulars aren't here today." The reality was that we just didn't play good. We had some good moments, but for the most part we just bumbled the ball and swung at horrible pitches.
Last night was our second game of the season. I finally understand why no one wants to be the person who orchestrates this whole affair. It's a nightmare. People commit to being on the team, then don't show up. One couple, who I talked to a mere 8 hours before the start of the game never even showed. Didn't call, didn't get a substitute, nothing. Just didn't come. Pisses me off. I certainly wouldn't have told the substitutes of another couple to bring their 3 young children because there would always be two people in the dugout if I knew that this other couple wasn't coming. I just don't get it. I understand things come up. But, a phone call? It's the courteous--and adult--thing to do. I knew that this was going to happen with this particular couple and I was hesitant to invite them on the team, but someone else got to them first. Arrrrrgh. Next year, if people want to play softball, they can manage the team themselves.
Back to my original complaint though. I'm no good at softball. I can hardly hit the ball. I can't catch to save my life and my arm is weak. Lack of these three essentials do not render a good softball player. While I enjoy being outside with my husband and friends doing something active, I'm an embarassment to the team. I can actually feel one guy roll his eyes at me.
"I'm sorry." I want to yell at him. "All the girls who played softball at my high school were lesbians. That's why I never tried out." That and the game is somewhat boring. And I'm not very good. But I keep my mouth shut for good reason. His wife played softball in high school.
So last night, we were up 11-2. I thought we were doing pretty good. But the other team managed to sniff out our weak spot--namely the 5 1/2 month pregnant lady in right field--and they scored 11 runs in one inning. We never could rebound and the final inning they scored another 4 to put them at 17. I went to the scorekeepers box to get the final score so we could know how bad we were doing and the lady tried to soothe me over by saying "You guys are really starting to come together and look good." As in we didn't drop the ball nearly as many times towards the end of the game as we did at the beginning.
I tried making pathetic excuses like "it's been two weeks since we played" and "our regulars aren't here today." The reality was that we just didn't play good. We had some good moments, but for the most part we just bumbled the ball and swung at horrible pitches.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Five Reasons I'm "Special"
1. I do the Salt Lake Tribune online crossword puzzle everyday. There's a timer so you can see how fast you complete it. The best part about it is that it will put all incorrect letters in red. This way, you know when a word is wrong. This habit in and of itself is not special. What makes this particular habit special is that for the past three months, I've been tracking my times in an excel spreadsheet. I was hoping that over time I would see that I was consistently getting faster. But, after reviewing my times, I can tell that it's just very random, depending on how hard the puzzle was that day. Also, by reviewing my times, I fully understand what it means to be a geek.
2. I watch Dateline and 48 Hours with an almost obsessive zeal. I love these shows. My favorite anchor is Keith Morrison. His voice is definitely the best and I actually get little goosebumps when he starts in on the mystery. My obsessive watching causes some panic in my everyday life, however. For instance, I was trying to call a friend, who lives alone and is 64. Twice, her phone picked up and then nothing. So I jumped in the car and drove down to see if everything was okay. I'm not sure what I would've done had I shown up and everything wasn't okay, but I think I'm bordering on paranoid.
3. For the first three months of Josh's life, I ate a six pound bag of gummy bears a week. To this day, I have to physically make myself walk past the gummy bear aisle at the store. I'm not entirely sure what made me stop eating them in bulk, but I still love them.
4. I own a pair of kick-butt red high heels that are totally out of my style comfort level. When I wear them, I always get these double-takes at church because it's totally not what people expect me to wear. I like keeping people on their toes. The shoes are hideously uncomfortable.
5. I have a multitude of theories for different phenomenon in life. For example, I like to ask the question "what age do you see yourself at?" I think that everyone sees themselves at a different age then they really are. My theory is that you see yourself at the age you were when you were the happiest and everything seemed to fall into place. Some people haven't reached that point yet, and they kind of look at me crazy. They'll understand in a few years.
2. I watch Dateline and 48 Hours with an almost obsessive zeal. I love these shows. My favorite anchor is Keith Morrison. His voice is definitely the best and I actually get little goosebumps when he starts in on the mystery. My obsessive watching causes some panic in my everyday life, however. For instance, I was trying to call a friend, who lives alone and is 64. Twice, her phone picked up and then nothing. So I jumped in the car and drove down to see if everything was okay. I'm not sure what I would've done had I shown up and everything wasn't okay, but I think I'm bordering on paranoid.
3. For the first three months of Josh's life, I ate a six pound bag of gummy bears a week. To this day, I have to physically make myself walk past the gummy bear aisle at the store. I'm not entirely sure what made me stop eating them in bulk, but I still love them.
4. I own a pair of kick-butt red high heels that are totally out of my style comfort level. When I wear them, I always get these double-takes at church because it's totally not what people expect me to wear. I like keeping people on their toes. The shoes are hideously uncomfortable.
5. I have a multitude of theories for different phenomenon in life. For example, I like to ask the question "what age do you see yourself at?" I think that everyone sees themselves at a different age then they really are. My theory is that you see yourself at the age you were when you were the happiest and everything seemed to fall into place. Some people haven't reached that point yet, and they kind of look at me crazy. They'll understand in a few years.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Five Reasons My Kid is "Special"
1. He dreams of becoming a bird. Like the cats you see in cartoons, he runs from window to window chasing them. If he's outside he chases them throughout the yard. There's always that look of disappointment on his face when they wisely fly out the grasp of his three year old hands. But he's not detered. He pleads incessantly for us to catch one. I'm not sure where this obsession came from. I think it may have stemmed from when the next door neighbor started keeping homing pigeons in his yard. The other day I caught him opening the sliding door so he could chase the bird inside. That's all I need inside my house. So far, I have yet to meet another bird-obsessed three year old.
2. He doesn't know his colors...but, he does now the name of every Cars car that matches said color. "What color shirt is daddy wearing?" "Lightening McQueen" (red), "What kind of kool-aid should we have for dinner?" "Chick" (green), "What color is the cup?" "Leak Less" (yellow). Where in the movie is Leak Less and how does my three year old know him? I think it's a little bizarre. The doctor thinks it's actually quite smart.
3. He's actually pretty good on Mario Kart for the Wii. He can keep up with the best of them as long as he's not otherwise distracted. I've seen him come in first in a couple of races. Not bad for a kid who can't read.
4. Instead of me reading him a goodnight story, he "reads" me a story. It's the same one every night. I think it might be about a pig and there's some ducks (surprise, surprise) in it. It lasts about 30 seconds and then he kisses me goodnight and tells me to leave his room. Then he proceeds to spend the next 45 minutes reading the same story over and over to himself.
5. We've taught him that he must wear his helmet whenever he rides his bike. He's the only kid in the neighborhood group that wears a helmet consistently. This was, surprisingly, not a difficult thing to teach him. However, once we go outside, say at 11:00 am, he puts on his helmet and wears it until we come back inside, say 5:00 pm. My kid is the one jumping on the tramp, sliding down the slide, swinging on the swings, playing ball, all with his helmet on. I think it kind of makes him look "special". I'm sure the other parents have different terms for it. We'll see who's left laughing when all the other kids have head injuries from falling off the tramp and my kid bounces right back up thanks to his trusty helmet.
2. He doesn't know his colors...but, he does now the name of every Cars car that matches said color. "What color shirt is daddy wearing?" "Lightening McQueen" (red), "What kind of kool-aid should we have for dinner?" "Chick" (green), "What color is the cup?" "Leak Less" (yellow). Where in the movie is Leak Less and how does my three year old know him? I think it's a little bizarre. The doctor thinks it's actually quite smart.
3. He's actually pretty good on Mario Kart for the Wii. He can keep up with the best of them as long as he's not otherwise distracted. I've seen him come in first in a couple of races. Not bad for a kid who can't read.
4. Instead of me reading him a goodnight story, he "reads" me a story. It's the same one every night. I think it might be about a pig and there's some ducks (surprise, surprise) in it. It lasts about 30 seconds and then he kisses me goodnight and tells me to leave his room. Then he proceeds to spend the next 45 minutes reading the same story over and over to himself.
5. We've taught him that he must wear his helmet whenever he rides his bike. He's the only kid in the neighborhood group that wears a helmet consistently. This was, surprisingly, not a difficult thing to teach him. However, once we go outside, say at 11:00 am, he puts on his helmet and wears it until we come back inside, say 5:00 pm. My kid is the one jumping on the tramp, sliding down the slide, swinging on the swings, playing ball, all with his helmet on. I think it kind of makes him look "special". I'm sure the other parents have different terms for it. We'll see who's left laughing when all the other kids have head injuries from falling off the tramp and my kid bounces right back up thanks to his trusty helmet.
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