Christmas Memories

Happy Holidays!

Sigh (of relief and sadness). Christmas is over. I managed to finish my annual Christmas project. Guidelines for this project include: 1. Waiting until 2 weeks before Christmas 2. Using a sewing machine that only sees use once a year 3. Attempting things that I have no experience with. 4.Thinking it will only take a few hours to complete.
This year I chose to do quiet books for my niece and nephew.
It always starts with an innocent desire to create something fabulous and to save a little money. By the time the dust settles I have usually spent way more money than I intended plus acquired a lot of supplies like fabric, eyelets, special tools and ribbons that I will probably never use again.
My sewing machine (on loan from my mom), was actually pretty friendly this year. Dare I say that I enjoyed sewing this year? I only ended up with one unpicking scissor stab wound, and it didn't bleed all over either.
The books turned out well! I found my patterns (on sale) at ldsquietbooks.com
They are so cute! I will make one for Mckenzie for her birthday. I'm going to have a party, because the lady who makes the patterns lives in West Jordan and that way I won't have to drive down there to get them or mail in an order form.
Christmas was so fun! The swingset was a hit (despite the foot of snow sitting on top of it), and Mckenzie pretended that she hadn't seen it back there yet. Hannah loved her wrapping paper and some of the other things she got. Mike was pleased with his new clothes and Xbox. Mike always buys me exactly what I want! Keyless entry to the car, which might take a few days (literally) to install, running clothes, which might get some use, and a new band for my wedding ring! How sweet. I have to say that he definitely out-presented me this year.
My brother Jared is visiting from Nebraska and it was really fun to have him there on Christmas morning. It was also nice to have someone else taking pictures. I definitely recommend hiring a photographer to be there Christmas morning. :)
I think Mckenzie's favorite thing was a shirt from Uncle Jared-- "Mom, I am so happy I got a new shirt!" She also really loved Hannah's toys. Go figure. It was a good day and we were more than spoiled! We love our family and were glad that we got to see most of them! (see slideshow coming soon)

Preschool Santas

We had our Christmas party on Tuesday, and once again my photography skills dominated.

Not really, but look at these cute kids. They may not all be looking, but at least they are all in the picture. I've posted most the pictures I took, not because they are particularly fabulous, but so everyone's mom can see them.

We decorated sugar cookies, made a little craft and exchanged presents. Mckenzie is delighted with her new chef hat. She likes to wear it while we make cookies. Mmm. . . cookies.

Cuteness at last, or something like it anyway

I did it! I changed the background without deleting things, thanks to Holly's fabulous and easy to use instructions!
Hooray! Thanks Holly.

Non-cuteness

I am not smart enough to figure out how to get a cute background with a cute header on this blog. I never was good at crafting cute tangible things and now it spills over into the electronic world. Sigh. I am doomed to be non-cute.
In my effort to be cute I deleted my quotes and my slideshow and my friends list and my counter. Farewell to them. I will repost them soon, but I feel so demoralized. I always feel like that when I delete something.
It could be worse. We are all at least feeling a little bit less snotty. Mike's superior immune system has triumphed once again (you'll have to ask him about his superiority in matters of disease), and he defied my prediction of becoming ill. Mckenzie is feeling better-- well enough to tell me that it is fruit that hurts her tummy and she needs to eat more candy canes and cookies to help her feel better, and Hannah is doing much better too. I debated taking her to the doctor, but it always seems so futile. Whenever I take one of the girls to the doctor it seems as if they are just on the verge of getting sick (read: not sick enough for the doctor to do anything yet) or almost better. I can't seem to hit the window of sickness. So there goes a co-pay (and at least 2 hours of my time).
Anyway, Hannah seems to be just fine now, despite the fact that she is trying to get a first tooth. I think teething is a design flaw in babies. If I make it to Heaven, this will be on my list of discussions to have with God. (Not to mention the special women-only design flaws and mosquito bites)
Onward and upward. Christmas is coming! Mike is at the store right now buying Worcestshire Sauce (I can't spell things I can't pronounce) so we can make Chex mix for our neighbor presents. I had a grand vision of making fudge and caramel for them too, but now I will probably end up just making it for myself and eating it all by myself in one day because I am lazy and hungry. This is a bad combination.
Here is my debate about chex mix and the labels we put on our little gifts. As funny as it is I have thought about this awhile. Can I say, "Merry Chex-mas" or will I be sending the wrong impression? You know, the whole "taking the Christ out of Christmas" debate. These are the sorts of thoughts that occupy my mind.

I think I will just not put any sort of tag. I will just hand it to them and say, "Merry Christmas," this will simplify my life in many ways. (This reminds me of a Jack Handy deep thought, "Instead of a bicycle built for two, what about no kinds of bicycles at all for anybody anymore? There, are you happy now?")

Tis the season to be sick

Poor little family. Everyone is sick to one degree or another. My prediction is that Mike will get the worst of it due to his two all-nighters this week, but Hannah is pretty croupy right now. Croup scares me very much with little Hannah. Kenzie and I have a touch of it, but we can clear our throats or cough violently and disgustingly. Hannah just cries when she coughs, and they're these sad, pitiful non-productive coughs. My parents bought a humidifier for her room and last night I ran the hot water until the bathroom was a steam room. It didn't seem to help much. During the day she is still happy though. Such a happy child.

Mike is taking a nap along with the girls right now. I don't think an earthquake could wake him. We are sooooooo happy finals are over. Mike really did spend the night at the school last night. It was awful, and to keep from angry outburts that's all I'm going to say about it.

We celebrated him being done with a sleepy lunch of our favorite sandwiches, subs with Laughing Cow cheese spread. If you haven't had Laughing Cow cheese on a sandwich, you should try it. Mmmmm. Mike will go back to work on Monday, and I will continue to work 24/7 because being a mom never ends. I should stop writing before I go into some feminist rant about the discrepancies in our culture. Okay. I'm done.

I'll end with these cute pictures of Hannah helping me do the laundry (yeah, my bed is not made) and learning to be a dentist, and of Kenzie playing with her best friend and cousin, Kandelyn.

Lost and Found at The Black Box Slot Canyon

I have never been lost before. Disoriented, purposeless, confused, but this dark wandering feeling is new to me.

A million stars smock their light across the sky, but the light is lost before it reaches us, into an infinite darkness. Shapes loom--cliffs, rocks, jutting sandstone darker than the dark enveloping us. Fourteen of us are wandering, hoping that we will find our car.

We are lost in the San Rafael Swell- a beautiful and desolate desert. Far away from anything, I cling to Mike’s eternal, indefatigable optimism.

I am relatively dry and warm compared to others in our group. We emerged four hours ago cheerful, although somewhat weary, at dusk from the river bottom of the Black Box. Now, with the sunset and still-wet clothes, many of us are shivering and cold.

Two small lights dance in our group of fourteen. Mike’s headlamp and Trevor’s dying headlamp. One light moves ahead while we wait with the other one, and then it beckons us forward on the walkie talkie.

*********************

I laughed when Mike packed that headlamp. It was midnight the night before we drove to this remote hike. He asked me if I thought he should bring the big backpack. I probably snorted as I stuffed one more granola bar (food is always a necessity) into my minimalist Camelback pack--two liters of water and some granola bars, maybe an extra shirt, but that was debatable.

“What are you packing all that for?” I said “We’re not even camping. It’s a three hour hike. What do you think we’re going to do?” I asked my boyscout husband, somewhat derisively.

He deferred from the larger backpack, but ignored my snorts and continued to pack his large Camelback with a first aid kit, headlamp, water purifying pump, matches, a few small blankets and an extra shirt for each of us.

“You just want to take the pump because we’ve never got to use it before. You’re crazy. It’s a three hour hike,” I said.

He smiled to himself and ignored me.

**********************

Now, here I am in the dark, my hope tethered by a headlamp. Without the headlamps we would have to sit down and camp, completely unprepared. I can barely make out the shape of the ground we are disjointedly scrambling over, avoiding drop offs and cacti by staying together as much as possible.

I want to go home. Chelsea, a friendly, industrious and cheerful girl is huddled closely to her husband, no longer speaking. The three little boys are silent. Two are huddled close to their dad, holding his hands. The third, walks in silent submission next to his grandpa. It is silent, and the quiet and the dark are pressing in.

I sing, and keep a silent prayer from whispering through my lips. Please, let us find the car. I need to go home and feed my baby.

***********

At home my two-year-old and a two-month-old are theoretically asleep at their Grandma’s. My mom offered to take the girls so I could go on this hike. I was torn, but in the end decided that a three hour hike could be done in a day trip, and the girls could live without me for one day, even with Hannah still breastfeeding.

Mike and I woke up at 3:00 a.m. that June morning to drive the four hours to the group campsite where everyone else had slept over. I pumped before we left, and I pumped when we got there at 7:00 a.m. The plan was to pump once more right before we left and then when we got back. Three hours was a perfect interval—the interval at which Hannah ate.

Mike and I were going on three hours of sleep, but it was the magic number. We met Trevor at their campsite and flew his miniature airplane in the quickly lightening desert sky. It was a small buzz in the silence around us. Down by the river we met the rest of the hiking party—14 of us, including three young boys.

The boys were going on the hike, and I remember feeling slightly uneasy about this arrangement. Not my hike though. I was just along for the ride. With some delay in getting the campsite down, we left at 11:00 for the trail head on winding, bumpy dirt roads.

I was pleasantly disoriented, bumping along next to Mike in Trevor’s truck. Tyler and Chelsie, Trevor’s cousin and wife were pleasant and friendly company in the backseat.

************
In the dark Chelsie is silent and huddled into Tyler. I am still singing quietly. Kaye, Trevor’s mom, is wrapped in a shiny emergency blanket, pulled from Mike’s pack. She talks quietly with Donna and her daughter Julie. I subdue my mounting panic by thinking ironically about who will be the first to break down. Maybe it is me. I am the one who is singing tremulously. In the distance the headlamp bobs. Jerry, Trevor’s dad and the trip leader, is searching, but no word. Where is the car?
**********

The sun is hot at noon, our foolish start time. Wearing life jackets and carrying ski-pole walking sticks our group heads down to the river. The hike down is no small task with bouldering and some drops that require ropes. With inexperienced hikers, which most of us are, and the three boys, the three hour hike quickly turns into a shadeless water-draining ordeal.

Mike, Trevor and Jerry have done the hike before. The three hour estimate is based on their experience. One hour to hike down to the 60 foot rappel into the river bottom, then two hours for the river hike.

When we reach the rappel it has been three hours already. My camelback is dry. I am out of water, as is most of our group. Also, I can feel my milk coming in and I am hungry. I hide in a crevice and hand pump onto the rocks, while the others prepare for the rappel.

The 60 foot rappel is daunting. For the boys, it is impossible. There is no way they can make it alone. Jerry asks their dad if they really want to go down to the river. Their dad commits them. He takes one of them down hooked to his harness. Mike takes another, and Trevor the last. Don’t try this at home kids. After a blister-inducing rappel where I bang my legs and manage to look more graceful than an elephant, Mike and I discuss the proper allowable age for wilderness hikes that involve rappelling.

Once everyone is down, Mike breaks out the water pump. Everyone gets to refill and the boys take off with their dad, to beat us down the river.

The walls soar up to the sky, and walking in the river my shoes fill with silt and sand. I worry about my milk supply, but what’s done is done. The river walk is easy and relaxed; we fall back and move forward to walk with different people. Bill, Donna, Faye, Julie, Jerry, Trevor, Tyler and Chelsie, and Brandon. They’re all related, and Mike and I are the interlopers, crashing the family party. This is a cheerful and speak-no-ill family. Jerry reminds me of a southern gentleman.

We hurry, but don’t rush. The daylight is creeping slowly away, but if we reach the get- out point before dark we will be fine.

At dusk we drip from the river, where the boys are waiting. We take our time cleaning our shoes out and getting ready for the dry hike to the car, which is only a few minutes away. We are warm from the river still, but the sun is setting. Mike and I move away from the group for minute to change into our dry shirts. The darkness starts to settle around us.
****************************

It is midnight. It has been twelve hours since we started. I hold Mike’s arm. Tyler asks Mike if he has a flare in his bag. Mike has had almost everything else, so I am surprised when his Mary Poppins-like bag doesn’t produce one.

We have to get out of here. We can’t camp here. I need to feed Hannah. I want to go home. I have to get home tonight, so I can be home in the morning. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. Why isn’t Jerry finding the car? Where is Trevor going without a headlamp? Who is in charge? I want to be home.

“We’ll find it. They’re searching. No problem. We’ll get home Steph.” Mike is unrelentingly cheerful. I am surprised he doesn’t start whistling. Bill starts a rousing rendition of “She’ll be Comin’ Round the Mountain.” I join in, and feel some cheer, but just as we get to the chorus, we are silenced by the group.

“Shhhh! Shhhh! Be Quiet! They’re trying to communicate.” The walkie talkie is unintelligible and I have a hard time deciphering Trevor’s message. “Steph, how do you want your sandwich?” he asks me.

I think this means they have found the truck, the truck that has our food waiting in a cooler in the trunk, the truck that is our only link out here to society, but I’m not sure I believe them.

But as we follow the headlamps, and pull ourselves up over a rise, the truck glows in the darkness, a surreal white.

We start a fire next to the truck and slowly the warmth seeps back into our bodies. Rootbeer has never tasted so good, and a fire has never felt so friendly. I feel so tired. Beyond tired. I lean my head against Mike’s warm shoulder and think about crying.

We had this adventure in June 2007.

Before the hike. We got too late of a start and had too many novice hikers with us. It was about 11 a.m. when we got going.

The start of the hike into the lower Black Box.

Hiking down into the canyon.

One of the many obstacles before the major rappel that took a lot of time.

The view down to the river. We rappelled 60' down this to get into the Lower Black Box.

Mike holding one of the boys on the rappel. 

Finally we made it to the river.

Looking up what we rappelled down.

Some people think it's funny, but it's snot

Hannah has been experiencing Niagra falls through her poor little nose these last few days. I will spare you an actual picture, but I'm sure your imagination can do the trick.

This is the first time in her life she has been sick. Poor girl. Since it's been awhile since I've had a sick baby, I pulled out my biblical-sized "What To Expect the First Year" book and looked up helpful remedies and suggestions for what to do.

Here is a picture from my book. The blindly optimistic text underneath it reads, "For a baby who's having trouble breathing through a stuffy nose, saline drops to soften the mucus and aspiration to suction it out will bring welcome relief."

I like this book. I think it is very helpful, and I like the idea of bringing "welcome relief" to my child, so I decided to try aspirating Hannah's nose.

If I were drawing pictures for this book the baby would be flailing, bright red and screaming, while a bulb-sucky-thing (that's what we call them around here) is accidentally jabbing her cheek or even an eye.

The book failed to mention that suctioning a baby's nose causes them to cry even harder, producing more snot than you managed to suck out, if you managed to find her nose, so it's pretty much futile. I don't remember Kenzie hating it so much. Wait, maybe I've just suppressed those memories.

Poor Hannah.