Wanderlust

Christmas with the Weidas

Just a taste of Christmas morning at our house this year. I assembled these clips after I realized that the last time anybody on the site saw Owen on video, he had just learned to walk. He's pretty different these days!

Owen's Xmas 2007 from geokaz on Vimeo.

Christmas 2007

It was snowing heavily when Christmas Eve fell last evening. We were all curled in front of the fire, watching Christmas movies and munching on cookies and hot chocolate. We'd just barely finished off some Monte Cristo Sandwiches, thick with Dijon mustard, Guyere cheese and black forest ham. Owen went to bed, oblivious of the impending festivities the next morning. George and I played a double dose of Scrabble, finished off "It's a Wonderful Life" and then hit the hay.

Owen, with some persuasion, slept until 7am and spent some time cuddling in our bed, watching Robots while we dozed. We opened our eyes to a dazzlingly white Christmas, with a robin's egg blue sky and the trees heavy with snow. After coffee, we all gathered in the living room and launched into stocking stuffers. Miles was thrilled with his new hedgehog, which grunts when squeezed. He also got a new Kong Frisbee after he and his partner in crime had decimated several of the neighbor's dollar store discs. Timber was less than impressed with his booty, except for the large bag of multi colored treats. We had purchased him a treat ball- one of those puzzle games for canines. I should have realized that Timber does not care for anything that requires actual work. Why try so hard for a few treats when I can follow around the small human and pick up crumbs like a vacuum cleaner? So much easier. George got some much needed socks and I got a copy of Jenny Owen Youngs new album downloaded straight to the ipod. Owen was thrilled with his new batch of matchbox cars, which I scored as a set at a yard sale last summer and saved until now. He also loved his new books from Grandma and Grandpa Jones, shaped like an airplane and a dump truck.

I whipped up some gingerbread waffles for breakfast and we sat together at the table, sipping orange juice and listening to Christmas carols. Shortly after we launched into the real mayhem and began opening presents. Owen got a collection of items for his kitchen, including real metal pots and pans and food, as well as dishes and utensils. Most of Owen's gifts, in fact, were in a large part thanks to Grandma, who is certainly keeping Amazon's toy department profitable. This kept him enthralled for awhile and so George and I exchanged our gifts. George scored a much needed Craftsman toolbox and I got some pajamas, a book about trees, and a tool set of my own. Owen was beginning to get the hang of opening packages at this point and was eager to launch into more. We opened his playhut tunnel set next, a maze of collapsible tunnels and tents complete with basketball hoop and ball pit. Seriously, this thing is mammoth and expands into a structure that takes up our entire living room, then folds into two small bags as light as a feather. George and I had also bought Owen a small red, rocking chair from Ikea which required some minor assembly. The last present was the one I knew Owen would be the most fascinated with, a Radio Flyer classic tricycle. This is the real thing, metal with the original bell and tassels on the handlebars. While he wasn't big enough to reach the pedals yet, he spent some time cruising around the house with Daddy on the back step.

After a quick clean up inside, we head outside to clean up the driveway itself. Nearly five or six inches of powder dry snow had fallen since yesterday, topping off the other six inches or so we'd received earlier in the week. After snowblowing, Owen got to tromp around the yard and Dad even hauled him for awhile out back in his sled. After lunch, we packed him off for a nap and while there were some tears about having to say goodnight to his new cars, he's sleeping soundly now.

This evening we plan to cap the night off with a dinner at our friend's, Lauren and Scott. After putting the little man to bed we'll probably stay up far too late, drinking wine, playing games, watching movies and laughing. A fabulous, idyllic day that I spent entirely in my pajamas. That's what I call a perfect Christmas.

Festival of Lights

Yesterday, after dinner, we ventured into the heart of downtown Ogden to stir up a little Christmas cheer. Snuggled in hats, mittens and boots we walked around Historic 25th Street's Christmas Village, a yearly installation of lights and miniature holiday scenes in tiny houses. Christmas music unrolls from the park's amphitheater, and the lights along the concert hall pulse in rhythm to it. There are clusters of nearly fifty little houses, all lit up and surrounded by crowds of children pressing their faces against the windows. Scenes of model trains under Christmas trees and thousands of variations on the theme abound. There's even a large house, the heart of the village, that houses a real live Santa whose knee you can sit on if you are Mormon.

Owen was at first completely enthralled with the parking lot. All of these cars- in one place! He was fairly impressed with a nearby display of a metal train, strung with lights. We wandered around the sidewalks, ducking to dodge the gnarled strands of people. Owen was fixated on walking HIMSELF and very soon made it clear that holding hands was unacceptable. When it was safe to do so, we allowed him his independence. The speakers were playing the theme from Charlie Brown and I watched him, his red hat bobbing as he ran in rhythm to it through the pathways. For the first time, I worried that he was fast enough that I might not be able to catch him.

Half an hour and one missing mitten later, we were back in the car, sipping hot chocolate and listening to the cries of protest from the back seat. Ah, Christmas cheer! There's a reason it comes but once a year...

Letters to the O

Twenty-Three Months

Would you be insulted if I confessed that this month I've seriously considered standing out in front of Walmart and seeing if I could trade you for something really cool, like a Wii? Because for the last few weeks you have given new meaning to the phrase "incredibly large pain in my ass."

When you first began to talk it was wonderful. Then we moved into the stage of cacophony, when I could locate anywhere in the house by the hum of the noise bubble that seemed to constantly surround you. Now. Now you are belligerent. And repetition and volume are your weapons. When on a walk recently we were passed by the wonder of all wonders, the god of the road, the one and only plow truck. For the remainder of the walk you forlornly screamed "Truck!! Truck!!" at me as if by the sheer force of your will you could make me conjure up the truck. It was somewhat flattering once I understood that you thought I was so totally awesome that I controlled every element of your world, including the snowplow. Hate to break it to you kid. I'm cool. But I'm not THAT cool.

Everything is a drama. That small piece of rice that is stuck to your matchbox car. An absolute disaster. You scream "Oh, no!" and began to run in circles, eventually falling to the ground in a puddle of boy. Your recent version of a tantrum has been to begin to walk backwards, away from whatever is offending you, until you stumble across something and it sends you sprawling to the ground. The reaction to this- outrage and utter amazement. How dare that wall be in your way!

Those people that go places with toddlers and always seem at their wits end, barely under control. That feeling? Totally normal. I've learned that if I have to drag you out of a store, completely limp and petulantly crying, I can simply explain-"He's two." "Ah, yes." I get nods of sympathy, averted eyes. Two. Yeah, that sucks.

You are still, however, enormously charming to strangers. And basically anyone else who isn't responsible for feeding, clothing and loving you. Just today we were at the grocery store and anticipating a tantrum when I removed you from the truck shaped shopping cart (and by the way, whoever thought those things up- brilliant!). So I carried you as quickly as I could to the counter and put you as close as possible to the cashier, who was a woman. You immediately stopped fussing, leaned over with your brightest smile and said "Hello! How are you?" A sucker for tits. Isn't that always the way?

Christmas is just beginning to make sense to you. Trees indoors? Massive amounts of twinkling lights and the constant presence of cookies? What's not to love about that? And we haven't even gotten to the presents part yet. All this past week it's snowed nearly every day and this very event has filled you with joy. If only because your nanny is so extraordinarily wonderful that she takes you out to make snowmen and drags you around out back in your sled.

I think this past month the most frustrating thing for me has been that your language has taken such leaps and bounds that you practically speak in full sentences. But you are ten times more likely to melt into a messy tantrum than to actually tell me what you want. If I had a dollar for every time your Dad or I said, through clenched teeth, "Please use your words!" we could probably go on a vacation far, far away from here and come back when you were like, I don't know- 5?

But I know I would miss the fun stuff. Like when you put on my sweater yourself and wore it all day around the house, letting it trail behind you. Or the way you grab my hand and drag me into living room to play, patting the floor and saying "Sit down, mama." You talk to Daddy for hours on the phone on his way home, launching into epilogues about your day. This is the good stuff and while I know you can't separate the two... god, wouldn't it be great if we could?

Sad but true...

Take a look at this article. It may also interest you that Utah has the highest rate of prescription drug use in the nation as well as being one of the "meth capitals" of the world. Proof positive that drugs and/or religion aren't necessarily the answer for what ails you.

How depressed is your state?