Wanderlust

The Dog Sitters

When we left for Nevada for Xmas, we were very lucky to have Lauren & Scott dog-sit Miles and Timber. It's been extremely nice to have friends who live close, who like dogs and are willing to watch our dogs. As you may know, we watched Lizzie over T-day, so Lauren & Scott reciprocated by watching our dogs over Xmas. Lauren wrote about her experiences with Miles and Timber in the form of a really funny poem.

The Results Are In...

The Hundred Mile Challenge has officially come to a close and I've tabulated the results. Karin reached her goal on the 24th, logging in at 101.07 miles. Most impressive considering she RAN the whole way. Running is not in my DNA, so I consider this feat alarmingly admirable. Holly finished out with a respectable 47.27 miles and I have a feeling if we had counted skiiing, she would have logged double that. My last few miles were completed at my parents house in Boulder City and I have to say I just coasted in at the last minute on Christmas Day. I had my miles planned out pretty well right up until we all got sick a few weeks ago and I lost several days. So that last week I had to crank out five miles a day to make it in under the wire. But for the first year, I managed to join the hundred mile club. I find myself at a bit of a loss and wishing I had a new goal to strive for. That's what New Year's resolutions are for, I guess. Stay tuned for that.

Merry Christmas...zoom, zoom

As some of you know, we've been having a very strange car year. After we sold the Audi, we realized that we couldn't get the car we wanted. Then we bought another car. Next there was a period of a month where either the truck or the car had some problems. At one point we had no vehicles working. We orginally ordered a Mazda 3 at the end of August. And almost four months later...

Our Christmas came early but not a moment too soon. Less than 24 hours before we were due to depart to Boulder City for Christmas, we signed some papers and got the keys to our brand new 2007 Mazda 3 hatchback. For the record, we don't technically own it yet. That won't be official until the bank and the dealership square away that whole annoying money thing. But for now, we get to enjoy the heady toxins of new car smell and a smooth, stylish ride for 16 hours of highway time.

The trip to Vegas was uneventful and Owen was, thankfully, mellow and good natured for most of the journey. When we arrived, however, the Mazda looked like a dull, dirty white from all the cinders and dirty slush on the roads between SLC and Vegas. So George took it to the car wash on Christmas Eve. He is nothing if not his mother's son.

We celebrated Christmas this morning and we'll have more on that tomorrow. We've received updates on the dogs, who are Home Alone for Christmas and appear to have made something of a nuisance of themselves. Ahem. Behave boys. Coal is not, contrary to it's resemblance to poop, nearly as tasty as it looks.

Memoirs on Mommihood: Part XVIII

YOU'LL NEVER KNOW UNTIL YOUR MOMENT COMES

When I was pregnant I wondered a lot about what sort of Mom I would be. Because I was so disillusioned with the aura of mystique surrounding pregnancy, I think I was concerned motherhood would be similarly anticlimactic and uncomfortable. I can't think of many things I have been that wrong about in my life. Motherhood has certainly never been dull and as for the uncomfortable part of the equation... well, that's a VERY kind way of putting it. It's more like willingly giving your body to science to dissect while you're still breathing. A really bad idea if you can avoid it.

Last week, before our entire house was blindsided by the wretchedness of a monstrous flu, I had a revelation. Owen had been awake since five am, vomiting every twenty minutes. He was exhausted but unable to get comfortable enough to sleep and so he simply lay across my chest, mumbling and softly groaning from the dark, deep covers of our bed as Teletubbies marched across the TV screen. These were desperate hours, forcing us to resort not only to the poison of television but to programming that threatened to make me suicidal at any moment. Owen began to make those little gasping and gulping noises and I jumped up from the bed and sprinted towards the bathroom. Halfway across the room, I realized I wasn't going to be making it to anywhere with tile. And so, without a second thought, I held out my hand and let my son throw up. In my hand.

Don't get me wrong- there was an entire thought process behind this action. I looked at our new carpet gleaming in it's beige majesty at my feet. I thought about how long it might take me to scrub vomit out of the fibers and how Owen only stopped crying when comforted by the context of closeness to my skin. There was only one choice to be made here and I made it without regret. Hands are easy to rinse and can be washed with a baby on one hip. Carpet? Not so much. This decidedly gross reaction was not solely based on practicality though. I have to admit some level of motherly instinct here, an honest desire to provide whatever assistance I could in Owen's hour of need.

If you had asked me if someday I would ever willingly hold out my hand for someone else to throw up in, I'm pretty sure I would have emphatically said "No," probably accompanied by something along the lines of "Are you f**ing crazy?" But there I was, with a handful of yellowish, baby vomit and not a single regret or an ounce of squeamishness. When you're someone's Mommy, getting grossed out by bodily fluids is a luxury time does not afford you. I guess you're never sure what kind of mother you'll be until your moment comes. And then you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Spit on your kid's face in the checkout line to remove a chocolate stain or hold his soggy, mucus filled tissues in your jacket pocket? Yeah. That's me.

The Month in Pictures

We've managed to post the photos of Owen from the last month in a timely fashion- a Christmas miracle! They are rated PG for baby nudity and silliness so use your discretion. We'll probably be doing another post of video and/or pictures shortly after Christmas so stay tuned.

Letters to the O

Eleven Months

I feel like a sailor preparing for a storm on the high seas every time I set you on the floor- "Batten down the hatches!" Over Thanksgiving weekend it seems your mobility exploded and you began not only to stand and pull up on everything, but to cruise from object to object around the house. Your coordination has also developed nicely and you have become a professional crawler. This means that when I leave you playing in one room and sneak away to do some mundane household chore, you've decided it's easiest to simply follow me. I can trace the path of your travels through the house by the trail of destruction you leave behind. Scattered toys, odd socks, wooden bowls, tennis balls strewn across the living room and hallway in your wake.

You have recently decided that "No," must mean,"Can you do that again? I didn't see it the first time." The dog's bowls, and more recently the pantry, hold infinite wonder for you and you've spent hours trying to figure out how to circumnavigate my watchful gaze and get yourself a handful of kibble or cheerios before I swoop in and relocate you to the other end of the house. You also think standing in the bath is a way cool idea, despite the fact that cracking your head open is a likely outcome, and I spend entire bath times plopping you back down on your bottom while you giggle breathlessly.

Those two large, gleaming white teeth in your upper gum that have been causing us so much anguish at night have dropped down and started to make themselves useful. I began to give you finger foods at the beginning of December and you've discovered what all children have known since the dawn of time. Cheerios are their own food group for a very good reason. And since then, you don't want to ingest anything that isn't shaped like a cheerio. This is going to turn out to be something of a problem unless you'd like to be cop. You've also realized that if you don't like something that I deposit in your mouth, you can simply spit it out. I wish it had taken you a little longer to catch onto that one. I have learned, however, that you really like fish. Seriously. Fish. Pan fried with a little Old Bay and olive oil. What kind of kid are you?

You would think all this movement would be exhausting, but I'm afraid I may be the only one who feels that way. You've begun to indicate that your morning nap may no longer be necessary and occasionally pass entire nap times standing in your crib, holding onto the rails and surveying your room. Your nighttime wakings became a little less frequent right up until the last two weeks, when you began to cut two or three more of those little pearly whites. Now we're back to fussing and restless tossing every hour or two. When I look old and haggard by 35, I'll know exactly who to blame.

Just last week the entire household came down with a disastrously disabling flu. You awoke at 5 am and threw up your morning feeding all over the crib. You continued to vomit and dry heave off and on for the next six to eight hours, but you never cried once. Just clung to me, your feverish head burrowing into my chest, for hours and hours. It was nearly a week before you seemed back to your old self, mischievously disassembling the humidifier while I showered or attempting to crawl off your changing table to reach a discarded tube of toothpaste. And as hellish as a puking, pooping, sick baby can be, I had a few seconds where I missed those few days. When the laundry and the dishes and the errands could wait and the only thing that was important was to hold you.

Owen's First Words

It's official. George has won the battle. But, as always, I'll have the last word.

It's less like feeling under the weather and more like being kicked in the crotch when you're already down...

Owen woke up at 5am Monday morning and threw up the entire contents of his morning feeding all over his bed. The day rapidly deteriorated from there. He spent most of the time moaning softly, unable to sleep and throwing up every half hour. By the end of the day, he was able to hold down a feeding but his low grade fever continued and he developed the worst bouts of diarrhea. While he only slept fitfully during the day, it was possibly worse at night when he awoke every twenty to forty minutes, crying and uncomfortable. We're working on day three of this nasty flu bug now, with continued fever and diarrhea.

But then, just to make it really interesting, I began vomiting at 11 pm last night. At one point last night, after swallowing some water in order to provoke my body to produce enough milk to feed Owen, I had to set him down on the floor shrieking and run to the bathroom. Fun stuff. It's time like these that you know it's enough to just make it to tomorrow. Dishes pile, laundry waits, and in the meantime I feel certain God really hates me. It's enough to make you want to curl up on the floor and cry for your mommy. The only problem is... I'm the mommy here.

George Edit: Now I'm home from work sick. It worked for two hours this morning, and now I am home. I haven't yacked yet, but as the minutes pass, I feel it coming closer. This house is like a disaster nightmare...

Owen Update: Owen seemed to be feeling pretty good this morning but I was wary as he seemed better yesterday as well and then deteriorated in the afternoon. Sure enough, he's continuing to run a low fever and threw up around 2pm, so we're going to haul him into the doctor's office this afternoon to make sure there's nothing more we need to do to make him comfortable. (And when I say "we," I guess I mean "I" as George is currently whimpering in bed.) I'm concerned he might have an ear infection as well because he's pulling at his ears and refusing to nurse at times. We'll let you know.

Owen Update #2: Pediatrician says no ear infections or any other complications. Owen is well hydrated despite his ordeal the past few days. Clear liquids for 24 hours followed by BRAT diet should take care of the vomiting and diarrhea. Now if only we could get a prescription for how to make him SLEEP again. Now that would be useful!

Nobody told me this here was gonna be a hoedown!

George's annual Christmas party was this past Saturday and I was especially stoked to go because:

1: I get to buy and subsequently wear a cocktail dress. And the occasions in my adult life that have warranted this glorious excess are sadly few and far between.

2: It's free and on top of that, they give away FREE stuff. At our first party three years ago, we had the good fortune of winning a Clay Aiken holiday CD. Seriously. They give away some primo crap at these shindigs.

3: I get to see George gossip like an adolescent girl at the prom. Most people spend far too much time at these things whispering behind their hands at each other. I doubt they're discussing the food.

So we got all decked out, hustled a babysitter, and joined the crowd at Little America. I had my token glass of wine and sat through a three course dinner that was terribly predictable. Shrimp cocktail, ham, stuffing, rolls, cheesecake, blah blah blah blah blah. I really pissed the waiter off but continuing to drink decaf coffee all night so that he had to repeatedly duck back to the kitchen to refill my tiny teacup. Both times I got cups that were dirty around the rims, which I doubt was a coincidence.

Our night after that went from mediocre to comical. For the second year in a row, we didn't win any door prizes. That's actually pretty hard to do- they give away a lot of useless shit at these things, including several Ipods and a plasma TV this year. With our luck I figured we might snag a bobsled or a salt and pepper shaker set, but alas there was no love for the Weidas in the room.

After the goodies had been dispersed, the band strolled in to take the stage. The lead singer was wearing a cowboy hat. If you know anything about George and I, then you know that this means mutiny. My swingy, little black party dress literally wilted off me with disappointment. We made it through a few twangy Christmas classics before we hightailed it home to go rustle up some grub. And as I drifted off to sleep at 12:30, I reminded myself that NOBODY could not win a door prize THREE years in a row. Now, if only I could figure out what to wear next year.

A Valuable Lesson

Awhile back I mentioned that we had dogsat our friend's dog, Lizzie, over the Thanksgiving weekend. We've actually watched her a few times for shorter durations and she's come over for several play dates over the last few months. Lizzie is a very energetic heeler mix, whose is generally easygoing, obedient and submissive with other dogs. She does, however, really enjoy attention and is happiest in close proximity to people and canines. And when I say close, I mean in your lap or inches from your face kind of close.

When Miles first met Lizzie, it was love at first sight. I think what attracted Miles so much to Lizzie was that she was... well... a girl. I mean for him, that's really the criteria. He spent a large amount of their initial play dates attempting to mount her. Lizzie took this in stride and because she was quick, she usually managed to escape Miles enamored embraces. To Miles's consternation, she was in fact too agile for him and he spent more time dodging her constant nipping at his heels than anything else. But that doesn't stop a dog from trying. Timber's reaction to Lizzie was not nearly as enthusiastic, but over time he tolerated her presence and growled at her only when she got near his pirate booty. Arrgh.

Then Thanksgiving weekend rolled around. After one or two play sessions outside, I noticed that when the other dogs asked to go out, Miles would hide his head into my lap or sulk on his bed. Later the first evening, when Lizzie muscled her way into the small space next to Miles and tried to cuddle with him, he gave her an unmistakable growled warning. For the rest of the weekend, Miles avoided being anywhere Lizzie was and her attempts to garner his approval and attention were met with bored disdain. Timber stepped into the void and seemed to enjoy having a playmate who lived to go outside as much as he did. But he's not much of a humper and was really only interested in one thing- can she help me tease the neighbor's dog? When she would try to chase him, he just wouldn't run. And when she realized the game wasn't much fun if no one was playing, Lizzie would give up and happily trot around the yard with Timber, smelling poop and trees and eating god knows what.

George and I have surmised that Miles learned a valuable lesson that weekend. Girls are great, but girlfriends are a pain in the ass. It's best to hump and move on, especially when you're a dog.

Twins!

It's cool to own a house.

Some of our friends are looking for a house and seem to have some trouble. Buying a house is such a huge decision, and I feel for our friends. I am glad we've already gone through the pain of it. It took us about 1-2 weeks from deciding to buy a house, to actually putting an offer on a house. Probably quicker than most of you could stand, but we already knew what we wanted, and this house is less than ideal. The main point was to not pay rent and to try to build some equity in a cheap but nice house we would at least rent. This house we own, is a perfect match for those requirements.

So today, on the front page of the Salt Lake Tribune, there is an article talking about home prices in Utah rising 17.4% in the third quarter of this year from last year. Sweet! This is great news because we got in at a good time. We have an awesome interest rate, a low monthly mortgage, and now a possible gain in value. This is great, but it doesn't mean we will make profit, just because the value is higher, doesn't mean someone will actually buy it in a reasonable time. And that is just the Utah average, not necessarily our local situation. But I did look up our value on Zillow.com, it is shows a huge value increase. Although I don't trust that it represents reality.

I am glad we bought a house when we did. Home ownership is a huge responsibility, and a huge decision. Even though we have bought a lot of stuff for the house, updated it, and fixed a bunch of stuff, it's still been worth it. It's nice to know that this is yours, and you can do anything you want to it. Plus it's nice to have a two car garage to do garage stuff in (Ken & Rob, I'm talking to you).

There's been a lot of talk in the news about the housing market, and I can't help but think of our situation, and our friends looking for a house. When we bought a house, the market wasn't so questionable, and we were able to get a good deal. That is another good thing about Utah is the housing market being so stable compared to the rest of the country. I hope you guys can find a house you like and can actually afford because it's pretty cool having a house you can call your home.