When I Met You in the Summer

This is going to be a different summer than I've ever had. I'm looking forward to it. 

Growing up, my family spent summers on what my sister affectionately called "field trips." Having a historian as a father meant that we would spend a week or two at various LDS Church History sites, battlegrounds from the Civil War, national museums, national parks, and various Krispy Kreme locations throughout the country (man do I have a Krispy Kreme story that will kill the appetite for donuts in seconds). My mom would manage to schedule in a day or two we all referred to as "fun days" amidst the tours, fact-sharing, and picture taking. We would hit up a theme park or spend an afternoon at the beach. While we joked about rather being in summer school than reading one more plaque about how the Native Americans sewed their own clothes, they were always filled with laughing, sunburns, and memory-making moments that we still share around the dinner table. Even though we individually went to various summer camps, hung out at pool parties, and even went camping in the mountains a handful of times, the memories that seem to be the longest lasting are the ones we spent as a family, driving in an 18-passenger van, headed to the Sacred Grove, the Nauvoo temple site, or the Newel K. Whitney store. Summer is really about spending time with the family.

Summer also meant summer jobs. I worked various summer jobs including picking up poop at an animal hospital, waiting tables, working in a library, selling TV services at Walmart and county fairs, and interning at Mass Mutual for a day or two. I think of all the jobs I had, I liked selling TV services for the now extinct USDTV the best. My friend Shelly and I would heckle shoppers at various Walmarts asking them if they paid too much for cable/satellite. If we got someone to stop, we then tried selling them on a TV system that to be honest, I'm not even sure how it works or was different than what they had, except we guaranteed them it was cheaper. If we were able to make a sale and sign someone up, we celebrated at Sonic with tatertots and lemonades. Shelly was a bit older than I was, and so we joked that we had a sort of Demi and Aston thing going on (although to be clear, we never actually did anything of that sort...). 

But summers with kiddos are different. There's something undeniably exciting about summer when you have kids. Maybe we're transformed back to the time where summer meant more than just sweating in a shirt and tie. We remember what it was like relaxing for days at the pool, eating hotdogs with way too much ketchup, not having to worry about homework or quizzes or Mrs. Barns (my third grade teacher who ruptured my eardrum picking me up out of my seat by the ear). Ya, summer was pretty sweet when we were kids. 

This summer I won't get to go on field trips with my family, and the summer job I've got lined up is studying to take the Utah Bar. To be honest, I didn't think I'd be spending my summers alternating weekends with my kids. No one really sees that coming. But that's where I'm at, and it's not a bad place to be in. I love how someone said, "Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending." #truth. That's pretty dang encouraging. While this summer will be different from any of the summers I've had before, this one is going to be just as great, if not better. Why? Because I get to spend them with these two nuggets.

Oliver: pensively contemplating color combinations. 

Lottie: way too busy to have time to look at the camera.

Here's to a really great summer! I'm looking forward to watermelon, water slides, and epic water-balloon fights. It will be a summer full of reading, relaxing, and running after my kiddos. I'm not sure I would trade it for anything. Nope, I just checked with myself and I wouldn't. Boom! Summer 2014- it's going to be EPIC.

Oh, and why is it that pictures of my daughter reading a Book of Mormon story book on the toilet makes me laugh like a five year old? 

Lottieisms

Words for the Nugget

I always marvel at how beautiful and eloquent others can pen what seems like my exact feelings and thoughts. Sometimes the message is combined with music, almost transcending literary expression. Other times it's a line from a movie, where an actor has wonderfully conveyed these sentiments with just a minor change to their expression. Either way, I wanted to pass on two wonderful messages for our little nugget. The first comes from a favorite band's new album, The Fray's "Be Still." The second from The Help, which I watched while the wife and baby were on vacation. I spent the good portion of two hours cutting my man-card into pieces with tears and soft sobs. 

Be still and know, that I'm with you.

Be still and know that I am here.

Be still and know that I'm with you.

Be still, be still, and know.

When darkness comes upon you,

And covers you fear and shame.

Be still and know that I'm with you.

And I will say your name.

If terror falls upon your bed,

And sleep no longer comes.

Remember all the words I've said.

Be still, be still, and know.

And when you go through the valley,

And Shadows comes down from the hill.

If morning never comes to be.

Be still, be still, be still.

If you forget the way to go,

And loose where you came from.

If no one is standing besides you,

Be still, and know I am.

Be still and know, that I'm with you.

Be still, and know I am.

- The Fray "Be Still"

You is smart.

You is kind.

You is important.

- Kathryn Stockett "The Help"

Crib.

When I brought the nugget home from the hospital I was pretty panicked. I asked the nurse if she would at least check to make sure I did the dang carseat right but she just laughed and put her hands in her obnoxious smiley-face scrub pockets and gave a kinda 'you have no idea what the heck you're in for' smile. Who the heck makes those dang scrubs anyway? I'm at a hospital... there isn't anything really to be that smiley about! I can understand that maybe your skin tone doesn't work with the traditional green attire but someone really needs to just burn those scrubs. (And since when do the smiley-faced people wear biker regalia?!?) I really had no idea what I was doing. I think my only saving grace was that babies are kinda hard to ruin when they sleep 22 hours a day (that and my mom flew in two hours after being told we were at the hospital- so she basically kept nugget and us alive). 

I set up her portable crib in the bedroom next to the bed. It's pink hand has a dust ruffle- if the crib was any more girly it would have some sort of makeup/wax station. It's kinda cute. I grew fond of hearing her jostle around against the netting sides as she was settling in for her night's sleep. She really was a great baby when it came time for sleeping: a little fuss then down for the count. At about five weeks she was sleeping anywhere between 6-8 hours a night. Be really jealous (although her sleep patters were erratic and would swing from good to bad on a whim). She was nighttime gold.

Returning home we decided it was time for her to be in her crib which is in her nursery down the hall from our bedroom. It may as well be in another planet because sitting in bed tonight I feel lightyears away from her. It sucks (mostly because I miss my friend, and also because now the cat can sleep int he bedroom and he likes sleeping on the face.) I miss hearing her jostling around trying to get comfy. I miss her little lips making the motions for her pacifier as she was drifting off to sleep.  I don't want to fall asleep because what if the baby monitor doesn't work and she's up crying in the middle of the night feeling alone and scared and there I am, a blob just sleeping away like my baby is visiting Mars for the weekend. 

I hate it. 

I sense a love/hate relationship forming with my little poop-factory-angel growing up.

Call to Arms

Since when did our kid's cries change from the innocent and nice newborn whimpers into a full fledged baby war-call? When she gets upset I'm half expecting an entire barrage of babies to pummel down our door and rescue our kid from the terror of her crib. I'm thinking this change happened when she began burping like a drunken and disorderly sailor (and other gross gases). Either way, our little nugget has got a nice pair of lungs. Should your baby suddenly awake in the middle of the night, open your window and see if you can hear the bellowing boo of our baby, calling your child to arms.  

Six-Word Story

Have you ever heard of the six-word story?  Okay good, me neither.  Oh, you have? Lame.  Apparently, Earnest Hemmingway won a bet that he could give a reader a story in just six words.  Impossible?  Not for Earnest.  His story? 

For Sale: Baby shoes.

Never worn.

This story took me into several different directions: someone who lost her baby, someone who has to sell their child's shoes for money, someone who got so many shoes at a baby shower she can afford to sell some, and perhaps a comment on how fast life can come and go. Each word, coupled with the coordinating punctuation, has such purpose, and consequently great power. Six word story?  Ya, Earnest can do those. 

However, I'm what they call a "talker".  The notion that I would be limited to tell a story in six words is not a challenge, but more like a punishment.  I'm glad my parents didn't institute this practice while growing up, although I'm sure they would have loved to.  When you mix a mighty mouth with a bit of ADD, you have your self a toxic combination of what my mom lovingly called verbal vomit.  When in my legal writing class we were asked to sum up our first semester of law school in a six word story, I was borderline offended.  

Now that I'm just waiting for the ominous finals that are rapidly approaching, I'm pretty shocked I made it through the first semester of law school in one piece (okay, I admit, I didn't actually think part of me was going to fall off or break into smaller pieces- obviously).  I absolutely, 100 percent, could not have done it without my wife.  She has been incredible.  The perfect combination of beauty and brains, she has really held this crazy world together.  Having a baby the second week of law school and moving away from family can be taxing to say the least, by the Mrs. has been solid, secure, sane, and simply wonderful.  She is a great mom, friend, and wifey-poo.  Thank you Babe-a-lah for being so awesome.  I. Am. Incredibly. Lucky. 

After thinking about my rockstar wife, which drew a smile on my face, I began thinking about the major transitions I've be thrust into: being a law student, and being a father. Two different worlds. Two worlds that require a lot more than I thought I had. Two worlds that are not equal in importance. Two worlds that challenge, and reward.  I am really happy with the choices we made to have a baby and be in law school (yes, I say we because my hottie wife is interested in whether or not former Bachelor contestants could have defamation suits brought against them for comments in the media- she's cool like that).  Life is good.

So after a good hour I came up with this:

Eyes closed. Baby... books... Eyes opened.

Killer Bows

Today at church I heard two things worth noting.  First, one of the nicest downs syndrome ladies in our ward bore her testimony.  She had it all written down, but still struggled reading some of the words.  She was undeniably perfect.  With both hands firmly planted on the pulpit she said, "Heavenly Father and Jesus know each of us, and that we have feelings."  I flashed back to a dear friend, Lori Ellison, who grew up across the street from us.  She was just like my new best friend at church.  She was about twenty years older than me, but I was still tasked with babysitting her every now and then.  One night, she was on the phone with one of her friends and was visibly upset.  I asked her what was wrong and she responded, "My feel-goods are hurt."  Her response stayed with me since, and I was reminded of it while sitting in our pew.  Maybe we all ought to be a bit more concerned with how others are feeling, and to steer away from hurting anyone's feel-goods.

The next quip was not nearly as uplifting.  While putting our little nugget into her carseat before going home, an elderly lady came up to the carseat, and after looking at the bow on her head said, "Mommy's brain-squisher is going to make you retarded."  I'm freaking serious.  She just dropped that bomb and then waltzed away with her slip showing out at the bottom of her skirt.  Can you believe that? Who let's their slip show at the bottom of their skirt?!  We just stood there, jaws on the carpeted-floor.  I took off her little fabric bow because I was completely taken off guard.  Are we hurting our baby in our attempts to beautify her?  Is that why they say beauty is pain?  Hopefully not, because there are three more bows in transit from some shop off Etsy...  Either way, that lady should back the H off.  It's not like we're prancing her around in one of these:

And even if we were, it is certainly none of YOUR STINKIN' BUSINESS!