Friday, February 19, 2010

A gap in the smile

Mark and I are each a little sad when our children change, because it means they are growing up. While we want them to grow and are happy that they are, it's hard not to mourn a little for that time of their life, since childhood is already so fleeting. Mark dislikes when the babies get teeth, because it sort of marks the end of the infant look. My lament is when they lose their first teeth, in particular the two front teeth. I think it's because they lose the little kid look forever- no longer the innocent Peter Pan stage of life (even though they're really still innocent).

When Katrina told me that her front teeth were loose, I had to take a picture, even though it was a rushed one before we had a chance to do something with the Bed Head Affliction we face each morning:

Our Little Girl, still looking like one.

She was excited to lose her teeth, and it didn't take long. One Sunday night she came down so excited to be missing one; suddenly having a hard time with the letter S.

Snaggletoothed Bean, albeit with leftover cold sores from a particularly difficult week.

She lost the second of the pair about ten days after the first, and was delighted to be symmetrical again. They came out with little fuss and we forget sometimes that she's missing them. I guess it's better than my arrangement: I was in 3rd grade and had loose teeth for a very long time, which were stubbornly refusing to come out. Many offered to pull them for me, but I declined until the siren song of floral scented scratch 'n sniff stickers were put up in exchange for the thrill of the pull (with pliers!!). I agreed, since the Puller was my older sister and I'd been coveting those stickers for awhile. I guess it must not have been quite the right time though; it was months before the new ones grew in. I sure heard "All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth" a lot that winter. In any case, I definitely was NOT as cute as this little girl is:

Jack O' Katrina at her class Valentine's Party

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Snow Day

We recently had a couple of snow days. I grumble about more than one because one is a welcome break, two is enough already. Not to mention I hate making up the days. I would have no complaints if we didn't have to make them up. Usually Texas schools err on the side of caution and I scoff at their wimpiness, but storm was for real. It was an all-time record breaking snowstorm and wiped out several trees, bushes, and fences that are not used to such weight that comes with moisture-laden snow. We were glad that we kept our electricity. Others in the area (and across the country that week) were not as fortunate.

The fun thing about the storm was that one of the days, Mark worked from home. It was great to have him around and take the kids out to play in the stuff for one of their outings. I enjoy snow most from a distance or if I'm properly equipped, but my wardrobe is becoming more limited these days and I just really don't like the cold/wet combination. I'll take cold, I'll take wet, but I just don't want them together. The kids are impervious for the first hour or so, and then it's a tramp through the house looking for fresh gear, or to change completely, only to go out again an hour later.

All these pictures were only about a third the way through the storm. I really should have taken a picture of our smashed bushes in the front. Thankfully, they rose from their near-grave; many neighbors' foliage did not fare as well.

Besides, I couldn't go out. I was busy making these, not-very-fabulous-looking-yet-wonderful-tasting treats:

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Pondering my writing

I've always thought writing about writing seems a little surreal, kind of like lessons in RS about the Relief Society or mystery shows about mystery shows. You know, like a picture on the cover of a book with a person holding that very same book, and you can see that person and the book growing smaller and smaller...

Writing for me has been a good outlet; something I've felt a need to do, almost like a desire to make music, to exercise , or to talk. It's not quite the same as talking, because I can sort myself out and make sense to myself and to others in different (and usually less offensive) ways. It is also a way of recording events in my life, keeping track of what's happening with my own little family, and reporting to my extended family. There are four basic ways I write:
  • In my journal, which I do once or twice (supposed to be 4 times) a week
  • In a weekly email, which most of my siblings skim (if read at all), but I send it out to all "immediate" family members nevertheless to let them know what's going on in my life
  • In emails or chats: personal or quick notes to family or friends, things I can't put out there for the general public, but still need/want to communicate
  • On this blog, which hopefully will be made into a book for our family history one day
Lately, I've been a horrible writer when it comes to blogging. I have several reasons for this, but the main ones are:
  • I'm tired
  • I'm unmotivated to do anything these days
  • Everything I want to say seems to have a negative slant to it
Not to worry, I'm not depressed- just pregnant. But I'm getting to a better stage in my pregnancy when I have a little more energy and not quite as grumpy. However, I must apologize to any who are still out there who read this blog and wondering why I dropped off the end of the earth, only to pop up with absolutely ancient and stale posts of boring events. The recording family history events are actually the most tedious to me (and to you), but I do it for my children and also for the pictures, so loved ones can see pictures of my children growing up hundreds of miles away.

But I'm hoping to do better, and on this heavily snowing day when everything has been canceled, I'm officially caught up with the history. I can't promise funny, because that's not the kind of writer I am- if I happen to be funny, it's usually coincidental. But like it or not, I'm going to keep writing because it's an important part of my life.