Before and After: the Car Seat
A seat fit for three boys!
To Whom it May Concern,
Apparently you didn’t appreciate my husband’s sense of reduce, re-use, recycle. Or maybe you just knew that I had asked my husband for a new car seat because I thought 3 kids per car seat was enough. You knew my husband’s response was something along the lines of, “Plastic doesn’t go bad.” Or maybe you thought that the blue circus theme wasn’t appropriate for our new little girl.
Whatever your reasons, I was very pleasantly surprised to arrive home from a date with my husband to see this on the front step:
We asked the babysitter if she saw who dropped it off, but she said whoever it was ran really, really fast. Doug wondered what was inside (appearances can be deceiving!). Then he wondered who would do such a thing. Who thought our car seat wasn’t good enough?! His first thought was my dad, but I told him that my dad hadn’t commented on the car seat, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t him. I asked around on Facebook, and someone suggested that it might have been Greg, but that didn’t ring true either! I thought it was a particular friend. Doug decided to do some detective work the next day at church. Who would look at us funny for not bringing the new car seat with us (it was very late, and church starts very early)?!
When we got to church Doug agreed with my original hypothesis. All I can say is, thank you so much for being so thoughtful. We love the new seat, and even though I know plastic doesn’t go bad, I think the baby is all the safer for being in the new seat.
Love,
Me
Afton's new ride!
Seeing the Glass Half Full
I don’t think that I’m going to have too much more to write about the whole ordeal with Doug’s back, but I wanted to share one of the perks that we have enjoyed throughout this process:
It doesn't expire until October!
That’s right, my husband qualified for handicapped parking! That of course meant that I had to drag him with me everywhere so that I could have close parking. The best was at the movie theater! Even though the pass is good until October, Doug doesn’t think it’s right to use it anymore, since he’s feeling recovered. Curse that integrity; I like parking close!
Neverending Surprises
Sometimes I think there’s nothing my husband can do to surprise me, that I’ve heard every story possible (in the case of the Navajo Taco story, too many times!). I know all about his childhood. We’ve driven by his old house, his old school, where he stood up to the kids who wanted to beat him up, and the path he used to follow to get from his house to his grandmother’s house. I’d like to think I know a fair bit about the father of my children.
I know, for example, that he will leave the room if I turn on certain television shows. Also, bringing up certain political figures is guaranteed to elicit predictable responses. Not that this ever happens, but if I hypothetically wanted to toy with my husband, I might say something like, “That Al Gore sure is a genius when it comes to the environment. Can you believe he also invented the internet?” (I do this very sincerely, or else it doesn’t have the desired effect!)
So, imagine my surprise when, while fast forwarding through an old episode of the Gilmore Girls last night I experience the following dialogue:
image from fanpop.com
(show)
Luke: Jess is gone.
Lorelai: Do you know where?
Luke: Yeah, I think I know where
Doug: Didn’t Jess go to California to see his Dad?
Alright, I paraphrased the dialogue a little bit, but not Doug’s contribution from the sofa (while he was in the middle of programming his video game, by the way! Such the multi tasker!)
And you think you know someone!
Attack at Dawn
Hard at work!
5 words that never mean what you think when they’re coming from Doug:
Do you know what’s interesting?
Now the answer is yes, I know what’s interesting. I don’t know if Doug actually knows what’s “interesting!”
This question came while Doug was working on the computer. What was he working on? Well, what would you be working on? Encryption of course! Doug has a few books on encryption, you know, for light reading! And hey, what better way to spend an evening than to encrypt random phrases. Now, maybe you think that’s the pinnacle of excitement at our house. Well, you’re wrong. We don’t stop at encryption, sometimes we advance to double encryption! That’s right, I know how jealous you all are, but that’s how we roll here!
I have no words!
*****Alrighty, maybe Doug didn’t enjoy that as much as me! Hopefully you got to see it while you had the chance!**********
Some of you know my husband to be a serious fellow. I seriously debated posting this clip, because once it’s public, I can’t blackmail him later. Oh well, I say share the love! I would also add that this performance had the dubious honor of causing Doug’s parents to leave the talent show/karaoke. Enjoy!!
Like Father, Like Son
I don’t know what just happened, but I figure maybe the blogging gods were trying to tell me something. I just wrote this whole huge long blog about Doug and my in-laws. Nothing bad, just a funny little slice of life from their visit yesterday. Anyway, when I went to post it the only thing that showed up was the title. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise!
Here though, was the inspiration behind the title:
Mon mari, le gourmand/ Jam Brulee
I have written before about my husband’s lack of exaggerated compliments. Sometimes it works out well for me. For example, the first time I made the plum pie he was very impressed. Sometimes however, it does not work out so well.
Case in point: Spaghetti. I make spaghetti fairly often. I make a big batch and I stick it in the freezer so that we can have easy meals when I don’t want to cook. A couple of years ago I made a batch and Doug got a weird look on his face. I couldn’t taste anything wrong, so I asked him what he was thinking (I should know better!). He said, “Oh, it’s fine, but do you think you could get your father’s recipe?”
Now, I’m not pretending to be a better cook than my dad, but I know for a fact that, in my family, we all use the same recipe. “No,” Doug assures me, “your dad’s is better.” At this point I am new wife, and am easily taken to being insulted, but whatever, I just keep on making my sauce. When my dad was here last week though, he offered to make spaghetti one day. So, I pull out all of my ingredients and I take notes. What is it that he does differently? He uses everything I give him, and does it the way I do it, so what is going on? And then he leaves! He heads off to the store for some extra ingredients. Aha … this is it! I will finally know the secret. I’m on my way to finally satisfying my husband’s spaghetti sauce needs. What, you ask, does my father bring home from the store? Some Italian seasoning, or maybe it was Oregano (clearly I should be taking better notes!), and some Ragu! Apparently my Wal-Mart brand seasoning wasn’t cutting it (I think my dad mentioned something about being frugal), and the Ragu was just for adding volume. So, for all intents and purposes I feel the sauce was the same, and yet when we sat down to dinner that night, Doug knew that the sauce wasn’t mine! Grrr!
Case in Point #2: Jam. I have, on a few occasions attempted to make freezer jam. For the most part I think it’s usually turned out well. I use it in a lot of cooking, plus for sandwiches. However, Doug is no fan of the freezer jam. I don’t know what experience in his youth made him bitter against the freezer but he has made very clear that he doesn’t like the jam.
So, after berry picking on Saturday I decide to make some actual cooked jam. I go over many recipes and finally settle on one that has many good reviews, and that requires no extra ingredients. I pull out my candy thermometer and my big pot and I get set to go. I put three plates in the freezer so that I can check the consistency. All is going well. The jam is boiling, and the thermometer is reading 210. I know that I have to go to 220, so I stand at the pot and I stir. I know from the comments with the recipe that it takes a long time to go from 210 to 220, so I’m not worried. I’m heating up my jars, and I wait. The mixture hits 220 and I start arranging my jars. Here is where I encountered my first problem. I should have just turned the stove off, because in the time it took to arrange the jars, the temperature of the jam sky-rocketed to 230!
I should have just left well enough alone. I should have cut my losses, but I decided to continue with the canning process. I bottled all of those slightly caramelized jars of jam. Everything sealed up nicely. Then I went upstairs.
Doug wasn’t home for any of this. I heard him come in and make his way over to the little bowl of extra that I set out. Then I hear him come up the stairs. What do you think his first words to me were? I’ll tell you, “Sarah, you let that jam get to soft ball.” That’s right, soft ball. He’s killing me with candy making terminology! Worst of all, he was right. I made strawberry candy that I couldn’t get out of the jar!
The next night Doug tried to fix the problem by re-doing all the jam. It turns out that my candy thermometer was way off, so I don’t feel too bad. Doug used three thermometers to properly calibrate! After a couple of hours, Doug got everything to the proper texture, but there was no getting rid of the slight burnt sugar taste of the first night.
Ah, what will I experiment with next. I have to find what I’m passionate about and good at soon!
It’s Game Day … Pray for me!
I am Canadian. We are not generally known for our football enthusiasm. I went to one high school football game when I was a senior, and I went to one game when I was at BYU. I’m still trying to figure out the rules.
I am however, married to a football freak! It’s not all football, it’s just LSU football. The first time I saw Doug watch an LSU game, was after we got married. I had no idea! He ran around our apartment yelling and slamming doors, and I think they won that game! I quickly learned that saying “calm down, it’s just a game” is in no way an appropriate response to anything affiliated with LSU football! And don’t even think abbout saying that LSU and USC were co-national champions in 2003.
Now, this Tiger craziness has made it’s way to the next generation. Samuel has memorized the LSU Fight song, and he’s been talking football all day. He used to get scared when Doug would scream after the touchdowns, now he just glows with pride.
Please, keep me in your thoughts and prayers. It will be a very long week for me if LSU doesn’t win tonight.
How Much is it Worth?
So, today I’m feeling a little sorry for my newly minted 30 year-old self. In the beginning I was a bit annoyed at Doug because he chose his week to go on a business trip to Alaska. I asked him why he chose this particular week and he responded with, “it was either tha or September 10th.” About an hour later it dawns on him, “Oh, and it’s your birthday.”
For the past few weeks I’ve kind of been harping on the fact that my husband picked my birthday to leave town, and leave me with three kids, essentially housebound because the carseats barely fit in the back of the car. So, I was kind of bitter and joking that he would need to buy me a really great gift, because not only did I just bear him a third son, but it’s also a milestone, the big 3-0. I told him I would like the Cartier Tank watch. The question, can I guilt my husband into a $6000 watch?!
Then this morning, I got a call from the florist. Would I be hime after 2:00pm so that they could make a delivery? Well, toss that watch out the window! My husband actually planned something in advance, and arranged to have flowers delivered because I would be alone on my birthday. (Yes, I’m with my kids, but the party planning ability of a three year old is somewhat limited!) It didn’t even bother me that Doug didn’t call to wish me a happy birthday, because I knew he was just waiting for me to get my present.
Fast forward to the afternoon, the door-bell rings, and there is the delivery man with my birthday basket. It’s all very exciting, and I read the card … it’s from my Mom! Now, don’t get me wrong, I am so grateful to my mother, because she knew hat hers would be the only gift that I opened all day. However, I had been building up this grand romantic gesture all day, and it wasn’t to be.
Then, when I finally got a phone call at 8:30pm it became obvious that Doug had forgotten my day. Then came the dilemma, do I whine, and make it worse, or do I suffer in silence until he gets a clue? I chose the latter (no worries about him finding out here because he doesn’t read the blog!).
Normally, I’m not too hard to please. For my birthday I just want a DQ ice cream cake and some token of affection. I’m easy to please. Also, I like to be wished happy birthday in the morning, otherwise I don’t really get to enjoy the whole “day.” Now however, I’m a little upset. So, I’ve moved on from my Cartier watch,, and I’ve decided that mmy suffering is worth a $64,000 Birkin Bag. Yes, I know tha I could buy a small house for that, but a bag is totally functional and practical. Do I have any support on this?!
Why I Love Having Babies
When I was pregnant with my first child I was worried that I would never want to have another baby, because I so hated being pregnant. I was grumpy and sick and huge. It was the hottest summer ever in Utah and we were living in our first house which had no cooling system except for the mini swamp cooler that Doug made for me (The window unit ac that we bought, didn’t work in the extreme heat).
However, for whatever reason (probably the epidural), I absolutely loved the experience of giving birth. It didn’t hurt, people are constantly telling you what a great job you’re doing, and at the end, someone hands you a baby. What’s not to love?! I remember driving home from the hospital thinking, I could do this again right now.
After baby number two, I wasn’t ready for a third on the drive home, but a couple of weeks later, I was thinking how great the whole birth experience is. Again, I still hate being pregnant, but it’s worth it at the end.
With baby number three, I thought things might be different. This was the first time I had to be induced, and this was my first baby in Texas. I wasn’t sure how different everything would be. I am happy to report, however, that it was still a great experience. The hospital was a little more boring, so I didn’t stay the full two nights, but other than that, I still came out with a great little boy.
Just in case you think that I don’t appreciate all the work that Doug does during these times I thought I’d leave you with some lovely Dougisms:
1. “make sure you’re sensitive to people who don’t love having babies” when writing your blog
2. “why didn’t you pack me some snacks in your hospital bag? just because you can’t eat, doesn’t mean that I can’t eat!”
3. The day after the baby arrived: “I’m so tired. You don’t know what a long day I had yesterday.” (Yes, he was serious)
4. “don’t even pretend like that was hard work. I was there the whole time. You didn’t even push. The baby just popped out.”
Who says my husband isn’t super sensitive?!
