Why Can't She Eat Tomatoes?

When I was a child, my mother was so worried about my eating habits, that she thought I might be anorexic. On one (and the only) family trip to Disney World, I frustrated my parents beyond belief by refusing to eat anything but chicken nuggets. Yes, the Japanese man throwing knives who fixed our food in front of us might be interesting, but there certainly weren't any chicken nuggets when it came time to eat. Even as a teenager, I was scared of dating because of the possibility of going out to eat where hamburgers might not be served. And a mission? Completely out of the question. What if they sent me to Mexico?

Brandon, on the other hand, always wanted to go to foreign lands on his mission to taste all of the exotic foods. His favorite thing when querying return missionaries was about the food they had eaten. When taken to an Asian restaurant as a child, he was disappointed to discover that the child's meal he ordered was a hamburger.

Thankfully for our marriage, time eventually gave me tastebuds, and Brandon and I now enjoy any ethnic food we can find. And apparently so does Kathleen.

Taking advantage of still only having one child who is more amenable to late hours than previously, Brandon and I went out for sushi Monday night, on a whim. Thankfully, the restaurant was nearly deserted, so Kathleen's occasional self-entertaining yells weren't so obnoxious. Knowing, however, that she wouldn't be entertained for long by talking to her self quietly, Brandon and I started giving her our food. Better Japanese baby there never was, as Kathleen greedily gobbled down every tasty morsel we put in front of her, and even consented to be fed by chopstick. Attempting to be good parents (and selfish, because we didn't want to share), we gave her no sushi, but certainly gave her some of everything else. Hopefully with an early intervention plan, we can prevent her from turning out like I did.

Unexplained Mysteries

Saturday night, Brandon and I grilled bratwurst and squash for dinner. There are two types of people in this world: those who adore bratwurst, and those that think bratwurst is disgusting. As for Brandon and me, we are in the former category. Perhaps it's my memories of the best street hotdogs in the world in Prague (that probably should have killed me), or my secret love for fatty chunks of meat stuffed inside crispy intestine casings, but the marriage of pre-burned wood and pre-chewed meat is one of magical results.

Recently, National Geographic had a small article about the "green" nature of various grilling methods. Not surprisingly, charcoal was hailed as the end of all civilization as not only does it emit greenhouse gases 1. when you burn it (and don't forget the silent killer: lighter fluid!) and 2. when it is produced. Of course any sensible citizen would eschew such an environmentally damaging source of pleasure for its much cleaner and guilt-free distant cousin: the solar grill.

But then, where would be the joy of tending a smoking fire in the cool of the evening in one's own backyard? The smell of smoke that drifts over the neighborhood, broadcasting the smell of good food to come? And the most important, that never-duplicated, mysteriously delicious, blessing to all meat - smoke flavor? Many malign man for his destructive impact on our world. But he did something right when the first Cro-Magnon pulled that flaming torch from the nearby forest fire, looked at it, and thought, "meat, fire, good."

Pearls Before Swine

Yesterday we were in the backyard and I picked some grapes for Kathleen. She loves grapes, or perhaps it is better to say that she loved grapes the day before yesterday. One after another, she put a grape in her mouth, spit it out, and then put the next one in, only to spit it out before inserting the next victim. Perhaps she thought the next one might taste better.

After the grapes, she wandered over to my basket being filled with cherry tomatoes. When I came back to put some more in, I discovered four or five spit-covered tomatoes at her feet, with another entering her mouth, soon to join its fellows. With this food behavior, which is often echoed at the table, I was shocked to discover that she is in the 97th percentile for height. Kathleen certainly doesn't get that from me.

Leisure Day

Growing up as the child of an OBGYN, I always thought of ladies screaming and hollering and then popping out a miniature version of themselves when I thought of Labor Day. And as my mother-in-law Bobbie gave birth to Adam on Labor, I suppose I was right to some degree.

This Labor Day, however, involved no screaming or hollering, at least on my and Brandon's part. Kathleen may have complained a little about not being allow to plunge headfirst down the rocky bank into the Provo River. Even if we had allowed her, however, I think that perhaps there would have been even more complaining, and not just from Kathleen.


In keeping with our family tradition of avoiding all responsibility on holidays, Brandon, Kathleen, and I took a picnic up to Bridal Veil park and then visited the falls. Being an immensely curious child, Kathleen immediately set about exploring our surrounding vicinity and could only be bribed to stay put with some food. As soon as the novelty of tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, tortellini, artichoke hearts, and Kalimata olives wore off, however, walks (only holding on to one hand) with Brandon and me were the only thing to keep a busy girl busy. As the weather was perfect, and the path nicely shaded, neither Brandon nor I minded.


After finishing the picnic with peaches and angel food cake, both of which Kathleen found highly delicious, we visited Bridal Veil falls. Brandon wasn't very excited about wading in the snow-melt, and it turned out, neither was Kathleen, so our visit was short before heading home for nap time.


As we had the rest of the afternoon to enjoy ourselves, Brandon and I decided to go to a movie, Pirates of the Caribbean. This decision came after much debating Kathleen's stamina and attention span, and was finally resolved with the help of some dice, but was rendered null after we drove to the theater, only to find the movie sold out. So instead, we put Kathleen to bed, and watched a movie, fuss free. And we didn't have to pay for popcorn.

The Sound of Silence

Today, I turned on my dryer, which in itself is a miracle. After reassembling the dryer Saturday, which took at 45 minutes, Brandon plugged in the cord, and we turned it on. Nothing. The light on the dryer worked, but the drum didn't turn. Thankfully only one of the leads in the door had become unplugged, which made our teflon slide situation a snap.

After turning on the dryer, I listened, and heard nothing; well, nothing out of the ordinary. No squeaking. No groaning. No sound of small mice being slowly murdered.

And then I went into the bathroom. Again, nothing. No drips, no splashes, no sound of very gently runnnig water. My favorite part of this silence, however, is the price: $6. After all of the fuss, it's six dollars I'm more than willing to pay.

Milestones

In every person's life, there are milestones of maturing and achieving adulthood. The first kiss. Driver's license. One's first apartment. Marriage. Children. The first appliance repair.

Being young, and scarce of resources, Brandon and I purchased our first dryer used, for $20. It didn't come with a cord, and you had to time the cycles because it would catch the clothes on fire (theoretically) before it turned off of its own volition, but it worked. As my sister Laura says, dryers don't leak like washers do, so spend your money on a washer. Recently, however, it has started squealing every time we would turn it on.

Despite our advanced ages, neither Brandon nor I have been the sole proprietors of an appliance. Previously, someone else has always seen to essential maintenance, and so someone else was concerned if the dryer was squealing. So, we let it squeal for awhile; after all, laundry is only done once a week, and Brandon isn't home to hear the squealing. Problems always seem much less urgent when one doesn't hear the agony of the dryer oneself.


Finally, however, we remembered about the squealing when the dryer wasn't actually running. After disassembling the dryer, thanks to a very helpful website (who knew that the dryer had to be taken apart from the front), we reached the essential parts needing grease. Simple. Easy. Quick. So I thought. Beware the seeker of further knowledge.

Reading further, I noticed mention of a problem I had been having with black marks on my clothing. Oh, it turned out, we needed a felt belt, which cost $30. Calling around to various repair places, we discovered none are open on the Saturday before Labor day. And online, our problem was only compounded by delayed shipping time also caused by Labor day. Labor day? More like Leisure Day.

After more inspection of the dryer during my cursing of the local repair places, Brandon discovered that our problem was not the grease, not the felt, but a third (and hopefully final) problem: teflon sliders. Four of them, at $10 apiece.

Now we have a disassembled dryer with no sliders and no hope of sliders until Tuesday. And a leaky bathroom faucet. Perhaps the faucet will just have to slowly drain the reservoirs until we leave and it's some other tenant's problem.

Teething Terror

Kathleen has reached that point in her life, where, alas, she is growing teeth. She has had two top teeth since she was six month old, and the two bottom showed up three months later, but none other decided to make an appearance until we were on vacation for three weeks. As we were on vacation, her increased fusiness and clinging wasn't completely unusul, just incredibly wearing. I didn't realize the cause of her anxiety until we were riding home from the beach and my cousin Melodie pointed out that she had a fully erupted molar in the back. When I got around to inspecting her gums at home, I discovered four more teeth on the way, including two molars, on her upper jaw.

Now, two and a half weeks later, she is still teething, and I discovered today that she now has teeth threatening to make an appearance on her lover jaw. Both Brandon and I try to keep her regularly dosed with Tylenol, but there's nothing we can do when she refuses to eat and won't drink her bottle. At first I was pleased about her newly growing teeth, but now we're both ready to put her in a box with some puppies outside of Wal-Mart with a sign announcing "Free Baby - Car Seat Included."

Beware the Quiet Child

After running every morning with Kathleen, I shower. And as Kathleen can't be trusted with the run of the house, I put her in her room. Sometimes she plays with her toys, or pulls things out of her closet, or bangs on the door, and sometimes she complains about her confinement. However, as I am in the shower and the mom, there's nothing she can do about it.

This morning, Kathleen wasn't very happy and banged on her door while complaining, and as usual, nothing changed. After awhile she gave up, and I finished showering, and then dressed without the aid of Kathleen clinging to my legs after I let her out. Emerging from the bathroom, I went to let Kathleen out. As I opened the door, she turned and looked at me with a smile of great delight and pride, having just demonstrated that often a quiet baby is one who is getting into trouble - this time with diaper cream.

Summer Break

Recently, Kathleen, Brandon, and I returned from a trip. I hesitate to say vacation, because anything involving a 1 year-old, very active child doesn't quite qualify as a vacation, or a date, or an outing, or really anything that has to do with leisure. We all drove out together to Brandon's parents' house in southwestern Missouri, with the 19-hour drive going miraculously smoothly, even without having to resort to Benadryl. Kathleen very much liked her grandparents' house that had the unimagined delights of cows (only if they are more than 3 feet away), a dog (the closer the better), cats, a light-up singing play gym (that will NEVER be purchased for home), and a gravel driveway.


After a week with her grandparents, uncles Brett and Adam, and an increasing number of cousins that eventually turned into a dull roar, Kathleen and I left Brandon in Kansas City, and flew further east to North Carolina (which did involve Benadryl) while Brandon returned home to Utah to work so he could pay for our plane ticket. After spending a few days at the other grandparents' house, which contained the unimaginable wonders of stairs, a deck, and a goldfish pond, we went down to the beach to meet up with more cousins. The beach had the best wonders of all: sand, more stairs, and the ocean. After two weeks of playing without Brandon, Kathleen and I headed home.



After having traveled for three weeks, two of them without my husband, I have realized several things about traveling with a child:

1. Regression. Despite eating the bulk of her nutrition in solid foods, Kathleen quit eating anything but a token amount, and so we were forced to supplement with (expensive) formula. Whoever designed babyfood in those neat glass jars obviously never designed them for babies that have only eaten table food. Despite all of the warnings against it, we had to add at least a teaspoon of salt to the squash before she would do anything but spit it out. As soon as we got home, of course, food was tasty again.

2. Solitude. Many parents enjoy keeping their children in their room. We do not. Upon waking in the middle of the night, Kathleen discovered that she didn't just have her teddy bear to keep her company - she had her favorite friends - Mom and Dad! A vacation is not a vacation when no matter how late one stays up to spend time with relatives, one's child is still the first up. In the entire house.

3. Attachement. After so much time with just Kathleen and me, I was looking forward to having other people to share my entertainment burden. However, the more people around who would absolutely love to play with her, the more Kathleen wants to play with Mom.

4. Bravery. More bravery than brains. Kathleen's favorite activity at the beach was to sit in the waves, letting the water wash over her until a wave knocked her down. Then she would crawl down further so the water was even deeper.

5. Single parenting. All of the problems above are only made worse by being the only parent around. I've also realized that the nicer your surroundings are without your spouse, the more you miss them. On the upside, however, when I finally arrived home after more than two weeks of absence, Brandon was possibly more excited see me than I was to see him. He had even made me dinner. And for the next week, he kept exclaiming how wonderful it was to have someone who knew how to run the household; perhaps every wife and mother should take a few weeks off to show everyone just exactly what they're missing. For this right now, however, I'm glad to be home.

I guess I could have used the exercise anyway

Every morning (that Brandon is working), Kathleen and I go running. I say Kathleen and I because Kathleen comes along in her stroller; she certainly isn't doing any running. As the mornings are a little chilly, I put her blanket in her stoller to keep her warm. So off we both go, me pushing and Kathleen sitting like a little princess in her chariot, calmly sucking her thumb and watching as the scenery (slowly) passes by. Our run is almost four miles, long enough to tire me out fairly well. Kathleen, as well as I, know when the run is almost done and giggles and claps as we approach home.

This morning we were almost done; Kathleen was giggling and I was crossing the street for the last uphill block before home, when I glanced down at her. No blanket. I looked behind. No blanket. And for good measure, I looked underneath. No blanket. I considered briefly; Brandon wouldn't be home with the car until this afternoon, and by that time the blanket would most likely be gone. Kathleen has quite a few blankets, but I didn't like losing one of her favorites. One never knows if they'll take to the next one quite as well.

So, with some annoyance, I turned the jogging stroller around. And Kathleen started howling - loud, jagged cries that I was sure the whole neighborhood would hear and wonder what I was doing to my child. As there was nothing to do for it, and it was her own fault for tossing her blanket overboard, I kept running. I kept running as people gave me shocked stares, kept running as it started to rain, and kept running as there was no blanket in sight. Finally, a third of the way back, I saw it - pink, fluffly, and sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. As to how she managed to drop it without me noticing as I ran over her blanket, I'll never know.