Sadness

It is interesting to note the trials people are asked to go through, and to wonder what mine look like to someone on the outside.

Stephanie Nielson was severely burned in a plane crash. She was a physically beautiful young woman. She will never look the same again. Her face was burned and they had to rebuild her nose and ears from cartilage from other parts of her body. She is now undergoing skin grafts in an attempt to recover her body. You can't tell me that physical beauty isn't important. People will stare at her wherever she goes because of the way she will look. This bothers me more than anything else. Her children will not recognize her when they finally get to see her. This is a tragedy. Are there parts of this accident that should bother me more than this? I don't know. I think that we (I) identify ourselves so much by the way we look that, were it to happen to me, I don't know how I would react to not seeing myself in the mirror. How would I react to my daughter expressing fear at the way I look? Would I be able to find myself in this new face? I want so much for her to be okay, and to look normal. I hope she will.

My friend Christian Adams died last week from heart failure, completely unexpectedly. He was 34. He leaves behind a wife and 2 little girls and a third on the way. He was a wonderful man. Unfailingly kind, sweet and happy. He had his trials, this I know, but he overcame the major ones. His lovely wife, she has had her trials as well. Big ones. And she overcame them. And now this...I can't imagine how she must feel right now. He was away from home when he died, wanting nothing more than to finish his business trip and get back home to his girls. I am comforted in my sorrow for his family with the knowledge that he is watching out for them from wherever he is. I know he loved them more than anything. What I don't know is why he had to go.

These things make my heart hurt.

Delish

So, I haven't done much of the bloggety-blog on the crafty crap, it seems The Small One has been occupying all the bandwidth here, so I shall shift her to the side for a mo' and update the maybe one person who cares what I am working on.

I have just recently (almost) finished a delightful sweater based on a pattern I knit for the Ravelympics and which is posted somewhere on this blog. I don't yet have pics, as it isn't quite done. You see, it was knitted on some rather cheap size 8 circs, and being rather cheap, they have a stiffish cable, which is not at all useful for the magic looping. I tried to knit my sleeves on it, to no avail, I ended up with the most dreadful laddering, so I gave up. However, in transit to me, from the delightful shop known as Knitpicks, are the lovely Options interchangeable circs, which, I have been assured have a lovely not stiffish cable, but one that is nice and flexible with little memory, such as I desire and need for magic looping. I have also been assured by one in the know, that these needles do indeed rival Addi Turbos. Now, Addis being my most favorite needle in the world, I take that with a grain of salt. But, if they are even somewhat close to being as good as Addis, I shall be happy. This sweater is a thing of good report and praiseworthy and I am quite pleased with how it has turned out. Among other things, I look HOT ( in a good way) whilst wearing it.

As I am still waiting the arrival of said Options circs, I decided to go ahead and start my next sweater, which is a thing of beauty and a joy forever. Or it will be when I finish it. Last night, when I ought to have been doing myriad other things, I decided to dye some yarn for it. So, I skeined all my naked wool, put it in a pot and dumped some dye in varying shades of orange and brown on it. Lovely, lovely. I got a delightful semi solid in a nice rusty tone, pretty nearly exactly what I was going for. The only thing I would change? I wish I had made the dye a little more concentrated so the color was a touch darker. But, it is pretty! And, the thing I love about Kool-Aid/cake color dyeing? Completely non-toxic,which means I don't have to track down my dye pot or use non-food utensils, cause Kool-Aid is a food. Right? Also, not dangerous to the small one.

Now that I know I can actually knit a sweater in a decent amount of time, my head is teeming with ideas. What fun. All those Anthropologie sweaters I can't afford, I can just make! Damn, it is fun to be handy.

Small Steps

Small news to the world, but big news to us, The Small One is potty training for real!
She has been aware for some time (like a year) of her bodily functions and able to hold them when she chooses. Lately, she has become even more cognizant of said functions and decided that perhaps she can fully control them. (plus, she likes the little underwear!)
So, yesterday, we decided to give it a try for real. Gramma made The Small One some tiny unders, as said Small One's bum is extremely tiny. And for some reason, underwear doesn't come smaller than a 2T. Her blessed little bum is nowhere near a 2T. Gramma brought the underwear over, but I didn't put it on baby right away. I left the room to do something, and whilst gone heard grunts and groans and sounds of frustration. Returning to the front room, I found The Small One trying to put on the new unders (they were striped) over her pants and shoes. I asked if she would like to wear her new unders. Emphatic nods. So, I stripped her down and asked if she would like to go potty. Once again, emphatic nods and off she runs to the bathroom. She plants her Blues Clues potty seat on the toilet and lets me put her up and went potty. She always applauds herself after going. Awesome.
So, she got to wear her stripey unders, of which she is very proud, for the whole afternoon. Toward the evening, she did have one accident, but ONLY one. Yeay for The Small One!

In other news, it appears we have a budding artist on our hands. Oh yes, it's true. Yesterday, we lunched at JCW's burger place with Gramma, Papa and Uncle Jamie. The Small One had a corn dog (of course!) While we were all involved in eating lunch and talking politics, The Small One decided to be artistic at the window. I glanced over to see her painting the window with the fry sauce on the end of her corn dog. At least it wasn't my fault as she wasn't sitting next to me. Gramma grabbed the corn dog and we all giggled surreptitiously. Jamie glanced over at a nearby table where two guys had apparently been watching The Small One for quite some time and were laughing their heads off. Lovely. I think I will get her an easel for Christmas.

We lunch at JCW's rather too often. They have a killer chef salad that I am quite addicted to. The caramel cashew shake is nothing to shake your head at either! Apparently, The Small One is very friendly. After we sat down yesterday, a gentleman came up to tell me that The Small One had waved at him on another day and then waved again yesterday. He was very pleased that she recognized him. I think she is a little flirt. Takes after her dad, that way.

A Pleasant Morning

When The Small One rises in the morning, her day begins at regular speed. Which is fast. There is only one time when she goes at slow speed, and that is...you guessed it, when I want her to hurry.

She is like a small fly, buzzing around the place, alighting here and there for a brief moment, before going merrily on her way again. To be sure, she is somewhat less annoying than a fly, as she doesn't actually buzz. She does sometimes alight on me, though.

The Small One is like a mini-tornado, she can wreak havoc wherever she goes, moving from place to place and causing trouble before you even know what has hit you.

But...once in a while, oh yes, once in a while, she slows down very pleasantly. This most often happens on mornings where she wakes up a wee too early. I am sitting at my computer, earlyish in the morning, when I hear, Mamma! Mamma! Instistent and sweet, her little voice calls me away from my email, or surfing, or what have you. If I don't answer immediately, the little voice takes on a pathetic questioning tone. Mamma? This, I cannot resist. I go into the room and say Good Morning! Did you have good sleeps? She puts out her little lip in a pout and holds out the skinny arms to be picked up. And, of course, I do just that. She lays her little head in the crook of my neck and pats me on the back and I take her out to the front room.

As is usally the case, I set her down and off she goes. But a few seconds later, she is at the couch, imploring me with her wide little eyes and her skinny arms, I pick her up again. Again, into the crook of my neck goes her head and she pats my back.

I am tired myself from getting up a little too early after not sleeping well. I lay down on the couch, with The Small One in my arms. She scoots around a bit to find a comfortable position, lays her little hands down and places her head gently on them. Every once in a while, she reaches up and pats my face, as if to reassure herself that mamma is paying attention to her, and only her (she is jealous, is The Small One), I kiss her and let her know that she is my sole concern right now.

I know we should be getting up. Lilly has an appointment for pictures this morning, but the cuddly, still baby is so rare anymore, that I can't give up the time. We lay there for a while, me being reminded of when she was new and used to lay on my chest like this while I slept. Adding to this illusion is the fact that daddy used the same lotion on her after tubby that she used to wear as a newborn. I love that smell.

But, she is a big girl, now, so after about 10 minutes, up she gets, and off she goes.

Stephanie Nielsen

For those of you who may not have heard, my friend Christopher's little sister and her husband were involved in a private plane crash. Stephanie was burned over 83% of her body, but survived. Her husband was burned over 33% and is doing very well, all things considered. Their four small children are living here in Utah Valley with a sister.
If you are interested in learning more or in contributing to the recovery fund, please go to www.cjanerun.blogspot.com

The Small One

The Small One is 17 months old now. Well, 17 months and some change. But not according to her. In her mind she is at least 2 and a half. She has officially decided that she is a big kid, and therefore must be allowed to do the things big kids do. That means that she must walk, not be carried. Unless, of course she is tired. Everyone knows that big kids need a break, too.



That means no sitting in high chairs, after all, how many big kids do you know that sit in high chairs? Oh, no. It must be a booster.



She says Hello, not Hi, because of course, big kids use bigger words. And let me tell you, the little tongue poking out of her mouth to say her "L" is adorable.



She seems to have decided to potty train, at least part way. She loves to go sit on the big toilet to go to the bathroom. Sometimes it isn't successful, but what can you do?



Big kids choose their own clothing, mama does not choose it for them. Fortunately for all concerned, the Small One has excellent taste.



Since she is a big kid, she will kneel and fold her OWN arms for prayer, thank you very much. She doesn't need your help.



Also, she is growing up quite tech savvy. Daddy and the Small One like to text from time to time.





Ah, but don't worry. There is still plenty of baby left. She still likes to lay on Daddy's shoulder when she is sleepy. Binky is her best friend at bedtime. Cuddles and kisses are nearly always welcome. And of course, she is still very wee.

Birthday

I turned 34 today. Very strange. I remember being a teenager and thinking 34 was quite old. To be sure. When my mom was 34, I was 12. Now I am 34 and Lilly is...17 months. Bit of a difference there. I don't feel 34 and I don't feel old. But I do feel a bit introspective, so here we go.

Back in the day (high school) I was very ambitious as far as my career goes. For as long I as I can remember I wanted to be a doctor. By my sophomore year I knew the specialty I wanted to study, neonatology. I was fascinated by science, especially biology, and tolerably good at math. I wanted to go to BYU, although I applied to and was accepted at a few top tier schools, I wasn't good enough for a scholarship at any but BYU. My final year of high school was, well, we'll call it unpleasant and leave it at that. High school wasn't unpleasant, but everything else was.

By the time I got to college, I was tired. Tired of taking care of things it wasn't my job to take care of, but which seemed to land square in my lap. I got my first semester schedule, loaded with science classes and sighed. This is what I wanted, right? I made it through the first semester, then looked ahead to the twelve long years that would be required for me to actually be a neonatologist. And I gave up. I switched to fashion design, then to costume design, had a fabulous time in college and graduated in 3 years with a good job waiting for me. I had big plans. I would be a famous costume designer. Or better yet, a famous makeup artist. Or even better yet, I could make a career out of a side job I had had since high school. I would be a wedding gown designer. The next Vera Wang. I worked towards it, built up a pretty good name for myself, had ads in local bridal magazines. A few years later, I got married, to a wonderful guy who fully supported me in my career ambitions.

And then, a number of years later, I created my masterpiece. As I beheld it, all of my ambition to be Vera Wang dissipated, melted away. I could create nothing better than this, the pinnacle of my existence. You see, what I had created, was this...