Merry Christmas from, well, wherever we are...

4:10 p.m.

Me: “Honey, it’s 4:10. We are running out of light. We were supposed to be there by 4:00.”

The Dad: “I thought Leesh was coming over here.” “Where are we going?”

Me, as if it was obvious: “Will Bigby’s farm.” (where else would we go?)

The Dad: “Will Bigby’s farm? How would I even know that?” “Why would we go there?”

Continuing frantic putting on of clothes, doing hair, putting on makeup, and chasing of George.

4:23 p.m. Made it to Will Bigby’s barn.

The Dad: “Did you ask Will if we could take pictures here?”

Me: “No.”

The Dad: “Did Leesh?”

Me: “I don’t think so—when they took their picture here, they just came and did it.”

The Dad, with not a small amount of exasperation, starts hunting in his phone for the Bigby’s number.

Leesh pulls up, and we pile out of the car.

Me: “Did you get a hold of Will?”

The Dad: “He says, ‘well, if you are already here…’ No, I talked to Ellen. She said it was fine.”

The Dad, to Leesh: why we would want to take our photos at Will Bigby’s?

Leesh: “Because they have all this cool old stuff!” (of course)

The Dad, with his very logical mind, does not get it, but thankfully, he is patient with his wife and her ideas.

We make our way down the slippery hill to the barn.

And we take some shots by the cute, rustic window.

Me (and Leesh): Ooooh! Let’s take some by the fence!

The Dad, holding George, moves to another window, kind of by the fence.

Me: “No, Honey, over here.” He doesn’t move. “Over by the fence.” “Honey, over by the fence.” (see how I nag.)

The Dad, moving slowly and reluctantly to the fence (patience of wife’s ideas wearing thin): “To me, this says: “here we are, living on our pig farm.”

Fast forward to later that night, as I’m staring at photograph after photograph, trying to figure out how I’m going to have to:

a. switch three heads, if I use that one, because…why are they making those faces?

b. change the color of Chewy’s leash, if I use this one, because it is red, and we have a blue motif.

c. move Goose over, if I use that one, so it doesn’t look like my bottom is in the crook of her neck.

d. remove the vein poking out on my head if I use this one, because…why am I becoming a person that has veins poking out on her head?

e. move The Dad’s smile from a different picture if I use this one, because he is doing his square “grin.”

f. etc, etc.

Because, you know, we want this to be realistic. Like how we are EVERY DAY—happy, without wrinkles or poking-out veins, no weird faces, and combed, cereal-free hair. Getting up at the crack of dawn as a family on our pig farm, wearing lovely sweaters in coordinating colors with our old jeans, so that we can feed the pigs and mend fences and stuff. And though it is snowy, we don’t wear coats. Or gloves. Well, a couple of us throw on cute hats and scarves--we aren’t CRAZY. But mostly we have our love of one another to keep us warm...because that is how it is EVERY DAY, on our pig farm.

The Dad, coming up behind me, and pulling me out of my thoughts: “What are all of those structures in the background? Can we Photoshop those out, or fuzz the background or something?”

Me: “How about we just tell people we live in a Hooverville?”

This world--full of avatars, photo editing, plastic surgery, and entitlement teaches us that “perfection” is attainable here, now, immediately. But is this perfection or an illusion?

I’m inclined to believe that this quest for beauty, riches, and lack of want or pain, isn’t the type of “perfection” Christ speaks of when he says “be ye therefore perfect even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”

I strongly suspect it is Satan’s counterfeit of this commandment. Satan is all about twisting the important, and making it seem like something else. He is the master of illusion.

The "pig farm." The family photo. An excellent opportunity for me to be reminded of what is really important...

and it isn't worldly "perfection."

What is really important is for me to use faith and obedience and repentance to come to Jesus Christ, so that through the Atonement, someday I may be perfected in Him.

It is Godly Perfection.

And it won't happen through anything I do, but through what He Has Done. Boy, do I have such a long way to go.

So, so grateful for the Atonement. And for Hope.

Praying that each of you feel the love of the Prince of Peace, whose birth we celebrate this time of year.

Merry Christmas!

Loving the Baby Jesus



This reminded me of a post I wrote about 3 years ago, when The Dad looked like this. (I remember that particular time being somewhat brutal...)

But I digress. I thought the nativity post was worth a revisit, since I now have a two-year old that loves the baby Jesus.

I wish I had captured the interaction George was having with the nativity before I grabbed the camera. It was really, really cute. He was so excited to find the baby Jesus...

Brian Regan = The Dad?

Today George and I were watching the clip about refrigerators from my last post. Better to sit around and watch clips about the problem, rather than work on it right?

Anyway, George laughed obligatorily whenever he heard the audience laugh. It is important when you are two not to let on that you have no idea what someone is talking about. Just laugh right along with them, and no one will know.

Suddenly, the light of recognition filled his little face. He knew who that guy was! He stared yelling "Dad, Daddy, Dad!" over and over, while pointing at the video clip.

Ah, HA! So that is why The Dad goes out of town periodically. Also why he refuses to go to a "Brian Regan" live show with me.

It's a little like Superman, I guess. Mild mannered Cisco Systems Manager 3 by day, Brian Regan by night and when he is out of town.

Hmmm...I wonder why he isn't funnier around the house?

$10,000..."keeps all your food cold"...

The current situation at our house:



The cute people who owned the house before us had a built-in cabinet made for a special type and size of refrigerator...a Subzero, which, to it's credit, lasted 20 years.

Unfortunately, time going by=higher prices for a less superior product.

So the title of this post? Seriously accurate. $10,000. For something to keep our food cold. If we go with the new Subzero refrigerator that fits in the cabinet.

Trying to find other options--which, I'm discovering, aren't many.

Sigh.

NOT. PAYING. $10,000. FOR. A. FRIDGE.

Office Assistant

Our Dad works from home. He has a great set up. His own office off the garage. Most of his interaction with co-workers happens via email, phone or Telepresence (if he goes to the office in Salt Lake).

Here is an email conversation from this morning between the Dad and one of his colleagues:

"On Aug 1, 2011, at 9:01 AM, kgholsto wrote:

I got a call from George (I think). He didn’t bother to introduce himself. It was a brief, but pleasant conversation. Please give him my regards.

Regards,

K

PC to K:

Sorry about that.

The basement flooded this morning and while I was dealing with that, it appears that I left my office door open. I returned to find George (21 months) sitting on top of my desk pushing buttons on the phone. I appreciate you taking the time to speak to George.

I am just glad I don't have SJ on speed dial....or a home Telepresence room....

PC"

Perhaps working from home isn't always what it is cracked up to be.

Update:

Apparently, K wasn't the only one who received a call from George. Unable to reach him directly, George went ahead and left a voice mail message for the Dad's manager, J, who saved it, and plans to play it during various conference calls, as needed.

Poor the Dad. He tries so hard to keep people at work from knowing that his family lives with him.

A guest post from the Eldest of the Children (since I never post anymore):

No Fear.

We’ve been doing some swimming this summer and George loves it! Gooseberry and I have helped George learn about jumping in from the steps, the side, another person etc. Well he is very good at it and doesn’t mind getting his face wet, the problem is that he also doesn’t mind if someone is watching. I don’t know if he just has a sense of trust that either Gooseberry or I will always catch him or if he figures he can always just swim to us. But multiple times now he has gone ahead and jumped in without warning, luckily someone has always been close enough to hurry and grab him.

Here are some pictures:

WARNING: the baby in this clip is wearing no pants due to the fact that he jumped in the water without being dressed in proper swimming attire.

A Stage Review...

...in the Deseret News including the furry amongst us.

The Drowning
of the Little People

This seemed a little morbid for first thing in
the morning...

For those of you who don't get up at the crack of dawn to watch Good Day Utah, here is some of the "Annie" promo experience with your friend and mine, Big Budah.

Goosie and Chewy are performing at Centerpoint Theater for the next few weeks. Goose is playing "Pepper" and Chewy is playing "Sandy."

Hard Knock Life

This show has been fun for Goose because her cousin Lemyli is also performing. One of the best songs in the show is this:

Say it isn't so, Ethel.

Many of you remember how I came to have an iphone 4. If you don't, please click here.

And now, many of you will remember for a long time how I lost my iphone 4.

Sigh.
also,
SERIOUSLY?!?!

1. The battery ran out.
2. I plugged it in next to my bed to charge.
3. I went into the kitchen for a minute--maybe two.
4. I heard the tell tale "splash" of George dropping something into the toilet.
5. I forgot that he knows how to unplug my iphone 4...

George, in the Bathroom, with the Toilet

Yes. The adventures continue. Just let me know when you get tired of these stories.

This morning I could hear splashing (as usual--why can't we keep the doors to the bathrooms shut?) coming from the bathroom. I walked in to see George, trying to shove an inflated balloon into the toilet. It was hilarious, because, obviously, it wasn't sinking like everything else he throws in, and he was getting frustrated. He just kept pushing harder and harder, and the balloon kept popping up. I started laughing, which made him jump in the way that he does when he gets caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. (Then he usually does this little run in place and in circles move, like he is trying to run away but is so flustered because he got caught, he can't actually move forward to get anywhere--he looks like a cartoon character.)

I removed the balloon from the toilet, to find his favorite book about Jesus floating in the water--ruined. Sad, sad, sad.

And here is a video from last week. At the beginning, you will see him splashing around, and then he quickly stands up straight for a minute--if you look close, you can tell he is drinking water off the object he has dipped in the toilet. It was the sound of slurping that alerted me to the fact that he was in the toilet again.

I still get nauseous thinking of how long I just stood there, allowing the "fun" to continue in order to document the whole thing (shudder.):

Cleaning and Calvin Continued...
-written by the Eldest Child

I have declared this day successful. First we cleaned the whole house and then spent the afternoon making these:






I have decided to look into snow sculpting as a potential occupation for when I grow up.
To complete the day, we had dinner from Kneaders and are now watching a movie. I think we should have school off more often.

Quote(s) of the Day

Ah, George. He was doing so well in the meeting, too, until he saw the sacrament trays with the bread--now mind you, the first time we let him have some was last week, but HE REMEMBERED, and started screaming at the deacons, louder and louder, to try to get them to bring him some. I had to take him out, with everybody smiling at me--they know how he is. Anyway, when I brought him back in, he immediately started screeching again, in the hopes that I would take him back out. The Dad handed him to The Eldest, and told her to take him out.

It was a lovely meeting from where we were.

When she came back in after the meeting was over, she handed him to me and said, "Your son is impossible to control," and then she turned around and left. I immediately thought of my friend Dan Patrick's catch phrase:

"You can't stop him, you can only hope to contain him."

Yeah. It's like that. Exactly.

Houston, We Have a Problem

George: 14 months old, kind of a "runt" size-wise (let's just say, he doesn't look big enough to be walking, according to the majority of people who comment about it...when he goes pro, people will think he looks too small to be dunking, too), and, apparently, has Spider-man-type tendencies.

HE CLIMBED OUT OF HIS CRIB!

As you may know, the morning nap is becoming somewhat of a joke. Sometimes he takes it, sometimes he sings, plays, or causes any trouble he can find within the vicinity of the crib walls (or just outside the vicinity, as the case may be).

This morning, I put him down, because he was acting tired...and I made sure there wasn't anything sitting on the dresser or changing table he could reach. He chose to sing and play with his blankets and wander around the crib for 45 minutes, at which time I considered getting him out, but then thought, "No, I will leave him in there while I take my shower because at least I know he can't get hurt in his crib" (unless he's hidden a steak knife under the blankets, which, at this point, would not be surprising).

So I took my shower.

You know how sometimes the Spirit says things to you like, "you'd better get out of the shower because he is climbing out of his crib and you'd better make sure he is ok," and then you think "no, there is no way he can climb out of his crib, he is too young/small--why did I even think that weird idea?" (Anyway, the water in the shower is warm, so you stay in just a bit longer.) And then you hear a "thud" or "slam" and you think, "did The Dad just come in the house?" And then you suddenly feel compelled to get out of the shower because the "he's climbing out of his crib" comes back to your mind? And though you are still thinking, "there is no way," you put a towel around you and run down the hall naked. And as you approach the baby's room, you hear crying and banging that doesn't sound like it is coming from where the crib is in the room? In fact, it sounds like it is coming from RIGHT BEHIND THE DOOR TO THE ROOM? And when you open the door, there is a little, tiny baby in feetie pajamas standing there with a giant "I'm a big guy now, Mom" smile on his face, but also tears in his eyes and on his cheeks because he was crying to get out of the room and, possibly, because the drop to the floor was a bit scarier than anticipated?

You know how that happens sometimes? Well, that is what happened to me this morning.

Listening and promptly obeying the Spirit...I'm still in training, though getting better.

Luckily, we can move the mattress in the crib one more level down. That will be happening today.

P.S. Here is what the crib looked like the other day after "naptime:"

The Perp-evidence in hand:

And here is later that day, when he managed to reach the box of needles, thread and pompoms I had sitting on my dresser:


And earlier that day: demonstrating what he likes to do with clothing. It ranges from tiny socks to large shirts, but most of the time it ends up being Ted's underwear (which we really need a picture of) because Ted's laundry shelf is right at George's level. He wanders around, "wearing" it, as he goes about his other tasks.

I think he thinks he is getting himself dressed, because he knows that when a person gets dressed, he puts things over his head to get them on.

Today's Item:

Part of a toy stacking set...

George's Favorite Watering Hole

I was going to do a post about my baby's relationship with the toilet, but then decided just to make it a growing list on the side of my blog, because no matter how hard we try to remember to close the doors to the bathrooms, somehow he still gets to the toilets.

It's like he has some sort of radar regarding the status of bathroom doors. That and the status of the breezeway door (that's where he can go to eat dog food--and he really likes dog food).

Naptime

I put George down for a nap about an hour ago. After 45 minutes of singing, talking, and mild protest crying, it is finally quiet. I turned on the baby monitor screen, just to confirm that he was asleep.

Um...he is sitting in his bed, pulling tissues, one by one, out of a box (not sure how he reached the box on the dresser--we'll have to look in to that one), and then, for good measure, he is tearing each tissue into tiny pieces.

I don't even know how to begin to score that one...how many tissues are in a box?

Mom: 1 (I got a shower)
Baby: 250 + whatever he tore into pieces?

I will be sure to snap a photo of the state of the crib...