Eight months old

I'm eight months old!

And boy was it a busy month.

First, my Uncle Jesse got home from Austria. Frankly, I didn't even remember I had an Uncle Jesse. He's been gone half my life, you know. But I warmed up to him.

I take big girl baths now. It's easier to play with toys and lay on my back while Daddy slides me up and down and I kick my legs. I can't wait for swimming lessons next month!

You might think my head is big, but I still fit into my newborn hat--so there.

I helped pick out a Christmas tree. I like the spikiest kind.

I played the piano with Grandpa. I'm pretty good if I don't say so myself. I make Grandpa sound better anyway. He just sort of bangs away.

I don't share Mommy's fear of spiders, I guess.

I went to my first concert--the Bar J Wranglers from Jackson Hole. Grandma Jane thought I should wear cowgirl boots, so she got me some.

I like to yell a lot these days. Did you know my voice can go really high?

I also learned to play "pattycake"! I clap along with Mama every time.

I like eating mice--stuffed and otherwise.

I got sick with a cough and a runny nose, but at least my cheeks were nice and rosy.

Back arching comes in handy because there is always something more interesting to look at behind me.

Even though I still don't really like food (though I'll eat some avacado), I do like sitting in my own chair now.

I went sledding and it was fun, but even penguins get cold sometimes.

My hair grew so much that Mommy could put it in a pony tail on the top of my head on Christmas day!

I'm very long now.

Eight months old today!

* * *

This month has been the most fun so far. Zoë is so cute (I didn't know she could get any cuter, but she can!) and so interactive--it's a blast.

Zoë's tricks: She started out the month doing these fast head shakes that were hilarious. We made sure to ask her questions like "do you want to stay up all night?" to which she would emphatically gesture "no." Lots of "talking" this month. She started out doing really soft, high tones. Then she started saying "bla bla bla" (tongue out)--often when Josh and I were in the middle of a conversation. Sometimes she would do "silent blahs," just moving her mouth. Those were Josh's favorite. That evolved to "la la la," then "na na na," "ma ma ma," "da da da," and "teh teh teh." Josh swears that she calls me "na na na," and though I don't entirely believe it, she does often make that noise when I hand her to him and she wants me or when she's hungry. And lately, when Josh comes into a room she often says "da da da." First words? Probably not. But she's definitely getting ready. Pattycake was the most exciting. She just started clapping (one hand closed) along with me on Chirstmas Eve. I didn't think it was on purpose at first, but she does it almost every time now, even if she just hears the words.

Zoë likes: Sitting up! Eating tags--they're more interesting than any toy they're on. The snaps on Mommy's blue sweater; they're so interesting, she has to stop nursing to stare and suck on them. Playing with toys. Reading books with Daddy. "Swimming" in the bathtub. Playing the piano. Biting things--hard. Milk with a side of avacados. Lying on me to nurse (the more cuddling the better). Grandma Jane's dogs. Kicking her left shoe--always the left--off. Jumping.

Zoë doesn't like: Any non-sitting up position. Getting her neck dried after a bath (granted, it does require a lot of excavating to find her neck). Teething (she has four teeth now!). Being held by anyone but me when she first wakes up. Getting her nose plunged (can't blame her). She shows her unhappiness by crinkling up her nose in a very fetching way.

Out of the box

Our new camera came (it was Christmas this year). Straight out of the box, I could tell I was in love.

With it.

And her.

I can't wait to see what it can do when I actually know how to use it.

(Thanks for all the suggestions and tips. I ended up going for the Nikon d40 and a speed flash--it was the right price, I read great reviews, and it's more than plenty of camera for my skill level.)

Flat gifts and Christmas wishes

Our little family's huge obsession with books, music, and movies is never more apparent then when wrapping our flat Christmas presents.


In these tough economic times, we're lucky to have any presents at all and this year has really taught us about the power and importance of giving rather than getting. We've had some opportunities to do service for others and we have seen the kindness and generosity of others in service all around us: efforts at hand-making gifts, giving of time and physical effort, cooking, shoveling, mending clothes, pushing cars out of snow drifts, caring for the sick.

The spirit of Christmas has been especially strong for us this year. A large part of that for us was the addition of our Santa's Little Helper to share the season with, but seeing people reach outside themselves and having the warm feelings from helping those we can has really made the difference in our minds. As President Monson said in this month's First Presidency message, "To catch the real meaning of the 'Spirtit of Christmas,' we need only drop the last syllable, and see the 'Spirit of Christ.' One line of holy writ contains a tribut to our Lord and Savior of whom it was said, 'He went about doing good, for God was with him' (Acts10:38). My prayer is that at this Christmas season and all the Christmastimes to come, we may follow in His footsteps."


Merry Christmas, everybody!

Mush

In my house, the hot stuff we ate in the morning (whether Oatmeal, Malt-O-Meal, or something else) was called "mush."

"Mush" seems like a perfectly normal and acceptable word to me, but I get made fun of everytime I use it with anyone outside of my family.

And when I say "family," that doesn't include Josh. He refuses to make me anything called "mush" and is trying to train me to call such sustinence by its brand name (talk about commercialism during the Christmas season).

His objection is that it sounds like something out of the 18th century. I don't think he really knows what food was eaten during the 18th century or what it was called.

Also, Josh once said that the only acceptable use of "mush" is in reference to a dog-sled team. I couldn't have disagreed more. I thought it was finally my turn to mock someone else's use of "mush."

When I did so to an office of editors, I found out how insufficient my 18th-century knowledge of the word was.

Go ahead and mock me. I'm used to it.

New releases

I am now officially an Amazon Woman.


That's right, you can now buy me--or at least a reconfigured version of one of my thesis chapters--on Amazon . . . not that you'd want to (nor do I want you to--I don't benefit monetarily in any way).

But if you did, you would open up the front cover and see this scintillating title attached to my name:


(I'll save you the need to enlarge it. It's a classic academic title, colon and all. "When Mexico Looks Like Mexico: The Hyperrealization of Race and the Pursuit of the Authentic." I'll also save you the trouble of reading the chapter--if you say the title 10 times fast, you basically get the same idea.

Here's a more serious summary. In my essay, I dissect the way in which Jack Kerouac (the most famous of the Beats) uses Mexico in his book On the Road. According to the book's editor, "Ligairi reveals how Sal Paradise's perceptions of what is real and what is only simulated determine his response to the unfamiliar people and places he encounters on his journeys in the United States and especially Mexico." There. That was easier than writing my own summary.

I have to say that I giggled when I saw my name on the back cover:


I realize that unless you're a Kerouac scholar that list of names won't mean much to you, but it includes some of the "big names" in the field, and it's fun to be listed with some of the people I read and cited in my thesis.

In fact, being published is just plain fun overall. I can see how it could get addicting. I might try it again in the near-ish future.

I'm kind of nervous about one thing though. Do you ever go back and read a paper you wrote in college or high school--a paper you thought was really smart and eloquent at the time--and realize it's actually total crap? It seems like the downside of having work published is the public nature of that inevitable "this is crap" realization.

* * *

Hi, this is Josh taking over the rest of the blog post. I also have three new releases that I don't recommend. Okay, I recommend them with serious qualifications. Just like Rachel, I think it is fun to see something that you worked on in the store, on Amazon, or on a billboard.


The first is that sister missionary movie that we shot in Austria last summer, The Errand of Angels. It played in theaters this fall is now out on DVD. It is a decent family movie if you are LDS. It's pretty low key and the first 20 minutes kind of suck, but the film rises above the general expectations of a Mormon movie after it gets going. I would not be surprised or offended in any way if you don't like this film. The most common response I get to this flick is, "Wow, that was better than I thought." If you could stomach movies like Saints and Soldiers or The Best Two Years, this is on that level. The story and bad script aside, I am pretty proud of the work I did on the film (as Production Designer) designing sets, props, and wardrobe as well as shooting the behind-the-scenes that are on the DVD. As you can see by the photo, you could buy it at WalMart if you wanted to, but I'd advise against that. If you are the kind of person that would buy this DVD, you might as well support the home team and buy it at Deseret Book. Should be available online as well.


The next, Pirates of the Great Salt Lake, is the strangest and hardest to recommend. People have been asking about this movie for years and frankly, I wasn't sure it would ever come out. Then, all of the sudden, it was bought up by The Weinstein Company (the guys who started Miramax) early this year. It had a limited release in New York and LA and is now on DVD as a "Blockbuster Exclusive." I'm not exactly sure what that means, but as you can see from my photos it is available for rent at Blockbuster and apparently for sale at Amazon. I was the prop master, locations manager, and second unit director for this film. I also shot a behind-the-scenes featurette that is available to view online. That said, you are probably not going to like this movie. This is a dumb comedy that the Weinstein's are marketing as "wacky" and is often compared to Napoleon Dynamite. Also, despite the title and Kirby Heyborne, this is not a Mormon movie in any way. In fact, it's a little dirty. It is beautifully shot in some gorgeous Utah locations, but it is also just plain silly. Beware the pirates!


This last flick is easy to recommend to a very small audience. The Up Beat is about the ska explosion of the 90's, specifically in Utah. If you were around those days, like I was, and ever went out to the local ska or punk rock shows, you'll probably love this documentary. Otherwise, you'll be bored out of your mind. I love it and would advise you to either pick it up (hahaha get it) online at the official website (TheUpBeatMovie.com) or see it at a film or music festival near you.

Please know that I am not offended if you hate these movies. For now it is just a job. When we start getting into movies I've directed I will take it personally. For now, I could care less. I'd also like to mention that Rachel is just being modest above. Her article is really good and an interesting read. You just have to be familiar with On the Road and academic writing or it is a little inaccessible. Also, remind me to explain to Rachel the difference between becoming a published author whose work is available on Amazon.com as apposed to an Amazon Woman. Pretty sure there is a big distinction there.

Held

Dear Meishka,

Tonight we had a lovely evening. We decorated great-grandma and grandpa's Christmas tree with the beautiful glass bulbs great-grandma wraps so carefully in paper each year and stores in even trays. Old-time Christmas music played in the background and great-grandpa and I sang along. Daddy showed me the Santa Claus's he remembered from his childhood. You entertained everyone with your "bla-bla-bla's" (tongue out, of course), your smiles, and your excited kicks. We ate a yummy dinner and you stayed up way past your bed time.

On the way home, you were tired and didn't know what to do with yourself. You cried your eyes out in the backseat. Meanwhile, I was feeling grumpy and mean in the front seat for no good reason. I was angry with daddy and wasn't being very nice. When I took you into bed to get you quieted down, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.

You settled down right away as soon as you started nursing, your little body giving a slight shake in between each swallow as you became more calm. It helped me calm down too. I started to notice the warm glow of moonlight and Christmas lights on your sweet face and the sounds of Christmas lullabies from the next room filtering in.

I curled myself around you. You're getting so big, but you still fit perfectly between my chin and bent legs. I remembered what it was like to have you closer still last Christmas. I smoothed your hair--it's getting so long--and kissed your head while I felt your regular breaths and the contented movement of your cheeks. I sprinkled you with tears of mama love.

Then I remembered a story about another baby I'd heard today that was so sad it broke my heart. And then I started crying in sympathy for that little one, who didn't have the right people around to give him love and protection. And I wished that I could hold all the babies in the whole world who were in his situation, hold them like I was holding you. Love them like I was loving you.

And right when my heart was so swollen with all the love I felt for you and all the sorrow I felt for those poor babies, I thought of the baby who we are celebrating this month, and I realized that he loves you--and me--just that much, even more. And he loves all those other babies too. And even though I can't hold them and sometimes no one else can either, he holds them in his way. He holds all of us.

I hope you can feel that too, especially when you've outgrown or outtraveled or outlived my arms. I hope you will always feel held.

Love,

Mommy

Passport-ed

Zoë's passport has been applied for. For the next five years, whenever she travels internationally, her full-cheeked 7-month-old face will greet airport security personnel. Hopefully her eyes stay blue because her stated height of 2'3" is not going to remain correct for long.

(And the outrageous $15 we spent getting her photo taken at the post office for convenience's sake--and because the guidelines for photographing babies were fuzzy--was almost worth it. It was a classic reversal of surly, unhelpful mail clerk donning all sorts of ridiculous faces to try to get Zoë to smile, while she stared at him with a decidedly unamused expression.)

Christmas movies (and murder)

I am not a big fan of repeat movie viewings (unless you count Newsies when I was 8, in which case I like watching the same movie every day while not only singing along but reciting every line). So every year, when Josh is hard-pressed to find a Christmas classic I'll watch (no It's a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, or Charlie Brown Christmas for me if I can avoid it) he ends up renting the latest Christmas offering from Tinseltown instead. If there is one thing Josh likes to do in December, it's watch Christmas movies--almost as good as scary movies in October for him.

Why are these movies so bad? The only movie in this genre that's good is The Ref--and it's from 1994. I guess they're bad because the studios know that suckers like me and Josh will rent them.

Well, this year we've already watched one of the better and one of the worst Christmas offerings in a while:As long as you must watch a Christmas movie, you won't hate yourself, everyone else, and Christmas after watching this one. How's that for a ringing endorsement? (And this movie was good compared to most in the genre). But really, I enjoyed both Vince Vaughn and Paul Giamatti in their roles. And Kevin Spacey is never a bad thing. And the conflict was somewhat believable. And I cried when they showed the kids at the end, but I think that had more to do with thinking about Zoë's first Christmas than anything else.

This, on the other hand, was beyond boring:
You know how sometimes people will describe movies as a hybrid of two other movies that "meet" each other?

(Josh regularly does this with lists of 5 of 6 movies: It's Goonies meets The Godfather meets The Sound of Music meets Rushmore meets Clockwork Orange.)*

Well, you could say that 12 Days of Christmas Eve is Groundhog Day meets The Central Lesson of Every Christmas Movie Ever Made except that would imply that 12 Days brings something more to the table than those two things. It doesn't. It literally is Groundhog Day with the main character learning . . . wait for it . . . that family is more important than material possessions. It's made worse by the fact that you know in advance you're going to have to get through 12 of these movie days. I was literally counting down (between begging Josh to fastforward, which is not something we ever do).

However. The reason we didn't just turn the stupid thing off was this. The English subtitles (we're addicts, especially with a baby sleeping) were absolutely hilarious. These subtitles were so far off I thought one of those voice-recognition software programs had written them at first. We finally settled on a European with not-so-hot English instead (the 24-hour clock times--e.g. 13:00--gave it away). A few gems: "hard case" (repeated often in the movie for some reason) became the perhaps more appropriate "heart case," "let her rip" was "clear rib," and "nobody's perfect" became "irregardless, it's perfect." In other words, don't recommend this movie to a deaf person unless you want them to think that the main character has a case around his heart, which is located next to his see-through rib in an otherwise perfect body.

While offering the only source of entertainment, the subtitles also vindicated me as a sometimes copy editor of movie subtitles. A certain director decided to override my suggestion to change "alright" to the more standard "all right" in his movie's subtitles and ever since I have only seen that word written in movies as "all right" until 12 Days, where "alright" is all over the place. And now that I think of it, that director was European . . .

Wow, that got technical and boring. If you've made it this far, enjoy this crazy news article. It is literally a plot from our favorite TV detective show, Monk. They both are about an actor who unknowingly uses a real weapon rather than a prop to "kill" himself and is seriously injured. If it was foul play, do you think the perpetrator got the idea from Monk? Because out of all the unblievable plots on Monk, this one is about the most unbelievable of all. I would never have chosen it as my model.

*If you can think of a movie that fits such a description, you and Josh would really, really get along. In fact, you should maybe have married him instead of me.

Say what?

Yesterday was the day our friends blessed their darling baby girl. Yesterday was also Pearl Harbor Day. The combination of these facts meant that we got to hear an elderly member of our friends' ward recount the day the "Japs" bombed Pearl Harbor over the pulpit. (What would testimony meeting be without those non-testimonies that are at least as common? Boring, that's what. Uplifting, but boring.)

Now, I realize that the choice of words describing the ethnicity of those December 7, 1941 bombers could have been worse--just ask Kristin what her grandpa called them--but it did make me and my friend Kip (also in attendance) wonder.

At what point does one stop updating one's vocabulary so as to avoid what are at best offensive terms and at worst flat-out racist ones? Is there a magic age (60? 70? 80?) at which you become immune from the gasps released by younger generations at their mention?

Judging by the terms Josh's grandpa calls our current president-elect, I think it's safe to say that whenever it happens, it's happened by age 82.

This is not to say that I'm calling these older generations racist in spirit (while understanding how living through World War II could negatively affect their perceptions of certain nationalities). Josh's grandpa, for instance, has a heart of gold. It's just that the terms "African American" and "black" have not made their way into his vocabulary.

And so, my fellow under-the-magic-age readers, what will be the term(s) that we will still be saying in our old age? Hazard a guess! There will be unforgettable prizes handed out to the winner on December 7, 2068. (And it has to be a term that isn't considered offensive/racist now. For instance, I believe there is a derogatory term that includes the word "sand" that some soldiers in Iraq currently use. That doesn't count.)

Lunch

This is what I ate for lunch today:

Yum.

Want some?

A conversation

Somehow we ended up with not one decent picture of Thanksgiving--probably because our picture-taking muse was in bed during the actual meal (thank goodness; I could actually eat.) Suffice it to say that we spent a lovely afternoon with Josh's family, which included a long stroll along the river and ate a delicious meal at my Uncle Tim and Aunt Debbie's. Then we had Thanksgiving leftovers the next night with Josh's family--and good thing we did, because even being vegetarian, Thankgiving food is hands-down Josh's favorite and he hadn't yet gotten his fill.

So instead of that post, I'm going to share a conversation between Josh and a neighbor kid to "show rather than tell" you how grateful I am to be married to a guy like this.

Some background:
1. We live on the corner. Therefore, there is a small area where the two sidewalks connect that is without lawn (wasn't worth it). Instead, I bought and lugged white marble chips to fill it up, thinking it would be less hassle than putting pavers or something more permanent down. Bad idea. We're always coming home to find marble chips strewn about the street. They are oh-so-tempting for children. And they're not inexpensive.

2. The worst offender is our neighbor kid (who is henceforth going to be called "kid" for anonymity's sake and because I can't remember his name). Most kids only wreak havoc with the marble chips when they think we're not looking and when caught run away or at least look ashamed. When we got home the other night, the kid informed us that he likes picking the white "rocks" up and throwing them in our gutters (which due to bad design--and possibly marble chip buildup--are perpetually clogged).

3. The kid's statement reveals a lot about him--he's very unsupervised, uncoached, and basically un-parented. When I think about him, I feel extremely sad. When I talk to him, I usually feel extremely annoyed (isn't that often the case with such people?).


Not so for Josh. Rather than . . . well, let me show you:

Josh: Please don't throw rocks in the gutter.

Kid: Why not?

Because remember that I asked you not to?

Okay, I'll just hold them right here then.

Nah--why don't you throw them back in the pile. What do you like to do?

I don't know.

I looks like you like something.

Nah . . .

You like throwing our rocks into the gutter.

[silence]

Well, what else do you like to do for fun?

I like going to the park, but my dad won't even take me.

Do you like going down the slides and stuff?

Yeah.

Do you like playing in the grass?

No.

Why?

It's boring.

Well, that's too bad. We have a lot of grass. What else do you like to do?

I don't know.

Do you like to climb trees?

Yes, but I can't do it.

Why not?

I'm too short to grab the branches.

Well, you don't have to climb all the branches. See that one in your front yard that's kind of sideways? You could just shimmy up the front side.

Huh?

You put your feet and hands on the trunk and just sort of shimmy up.

Well, I always fall down.

Well, you just gotta keep trying to practice things until you get better at them. For instance, you're good at throwing our rocks in the gutter. You got good at that. Maybe if you start trying to climb trees a lot you'll get good at that.

[resigned] I guess I like climbing trees.

I'm not saying you have to like climbing trees. I'm just saying there are a lot of different things you can do. Do you have any friends you can play with?

Yeah.

Why don't you play with them?

They're not outside right now.

You could go knock on their door and see if they want to play.

Okay [exasperated].

I'm not trying to tell you what to do, I'm just saying there are a lot of options. You're more than welcome to come play over here, I just wish you liked to play in the grass because we've got a lot of that. But we don't want you to throw our rocks in the gutter anymore because we have to pay for all of those.

Well, there's like 100,000 of them.

There used to be. Can you see the dirt and plastic through them now? That's cause people keep taking all our rocks. We have to go buy new ones. But we don't have any money to do that, so it's not very fun.

Well, I'm going to put my shoes back on now.

Okay, that's fine.

Please do not step over there, there are sharp needles [referring to bull thorns in the street].

Did you get your socks wet?

Yeah, I was playing in your deep puddles [in the gutter]. That's something else I like to do is play in puddles, and your puddles are always here. Everyone else's go away.

Maybe that's because people keep throwing rocks in our gutter, so the water can't get through. Just kidding.

[Bored.] I'm gonna go home now.

There is something so tragic, sweet, and hilarious about this conversation to me. Rather than yelling at the kid to stop doing that! (the kid is sadly too used to being yelled at, making excuses, and continuing on in his behavior), Josh has this patient fatherly conversation with him that at once reveals the kid to be in a really sad familial situation and to be a pretty normal 6- or 7-year-old boy. I love that Josh ultimately BORES the kid back home. Isn't that how it should be though? I'm glad this guy is the father of my child.

Seven months old

I'm seven months old!

Here's my report of this last month: I wore a hat that makes mommy and daddy call me Russian names like babushka (they obviously don't speak Russian).

This is fun. You should try it.

I played in the leaves with mommy. Aren't my cheeks nice and fat? All the better to make it through the upcoming winter months.

I ate disgusting baby food. Have you ever tried rice cereal? I'd advise against it. None of this stuff can compete with milk, milk, milk!

Speaking of milk, I cuddled with this mama a lot. Oh boy, do I like to cuddle with milk--I mean, mama.

I do like drinks of water though. Or maybe I just like licking the cups.

You would too if you had a tongue like this.

I have a new bedtime routine. It means a bath every night. Don't come over to my house at 7pm unless you want to see me naked. And get splashed.

I can sit up all by myself. It's easy.

I like to sit here. Do you have a seat like this?

I posed with Grandma Jane for her Christmas cards.

And I played "Babies in Space" with grandpa--many times in a row.

Grandma Jane is trying to make a Cougar fan out of me (see my T-shirt?). At least one person in our family would watch football with her then.

I decided I would hug this white dog because it's just like the one in my favorite book, so I just doubled over and put my head on him.

I don't have anything to say about this picture except I love leg warmers on my fat legs.

Do you know what else I love? Paper. But I'm banned from it ever since some made it into my diaper--undigested. Oops. The next time I sneak a taste I better digest it better.

I went to the park for the first time. The slide was okay . . .

. . . but I loved the swing!

I'm really good at helping mama knit. Do you want a sweater made out of me?

I like making my "turtle" face,

and doubling over,

and kicking every which way.

Seven months old today!

* * *

Zoë is officially over the hill and on the downhill slope to one. I can't believe it. How is she getting so big so fast?

Zoë's tricks: Sitting up unassisted--she's practically a pro. Making "th" sounds (as her linguist grandpa calls them, "voiceless fricatives").
Loud yelling (in delight). Lots of laughing. She can take her diaper off now, though I don't think it's intentional. Huge splashes in the tub. Some serious back arching.

Zoë likes: Being an octopus--she grabs anything and everthing, no matter how far away it seems. Getting her hands and body eaten. Snoedel. Songs. Swinging. Getting bundled up for her walks with daddy. Sucking (baby) toothpaste off of daddy's finger. "Typing." Doubling over to eat things. Sucking on cups. Making a turtle face by sucking in her lower lip. Eating paper.

Zoë doesn't like: Vitamins. Solids. Her crib (at all). Not getting her way (I think the fits have begun, but they're still very cute.)