Honey, did you brick the baby?

Jacob has been sleeping through the night since early August- the secret was putting him down on his tummy. Hallelujah.

A few weeks ago he learned to roll over to his back and started doing it 3-4 times a night. Being unable to get back to sleep, he cried and wake me, I'd go in and turn him back over...again...and again...and again....it was like dying a slow death. EVERY NIGHT. I am now thoroughly convinced of the effectiveness of sleep-deprivation as a torture technique. I would've told my deepest darkest secrets for the chance to sleep through the night again.

I hoped he'd get over it. He didn't. I tried to fix it. I couldn't. I tried to figure out which way he was turning and lay him up against the side of his bed so he couldn't do it anymore. I even stuck him in between two little padded things- the ones that are designed to keep a newborn on it's back. No good. He rolled over all of them and I'd always find him a la cockroach- kicking his legs and waving his arms and not able to right himself.

Sooo- desperation IS the mother of invention. Sometimes, it is the mother of unusual invention. Like this.




He doesn't roll over in the middle of the night anymore. I haven't outlawed rolling over during the day.

How I accidently shaved off 1/3 of my left eyebrow or, Santa, I need Laser Hair Removal...

This post is for my sisters; they are the only ones who will really feel my pain. And Rebecca too- she understands having hair where isn't not supposed to be.

Bybee girls have all had to develop special relationships with tweezers over the years- we're just that hairy. It's our dad's fault. There are a few lucky sisters that have ventured into the world of laser-hair removal, but I'm not that lucky. So, I'm tweezing my eyebrows, late for a dentist appt. Late is not that out of the ordinary; what IS out of the ordinary is the amount of hair proliferating on TOP of my eyebrows- as if my eyebrows were invading my forehead and headed for my hairline.

I just don't get it. For me, have a baby= more hair. WHY??? WHY WHY WHY???? Stretch marks, ok. Extra weight, ok. But forehead HAIR?? It just doesn't seem fair. That rhymes.

NO NO NO. I'm NOT going to just sit by and let that happen. And, I need to fix it NOW. I picture the dentist, his face THISCLOSE to my face, suddenly distracted by my hairy forehead, and then he drills a hole in my cheek or something. NO!

I check the time- I should've been gone 5 minutes ago. So now I'm panicked and late- not a good combination for me. It tends to make me lose my mind a little but and do things I would NEVER do if I had all my mind.

I holler at kids to get in the car-I can hear a game of tag going on, so no one hears me. Tweezers are slow going and I can see the minutes ticking by. One more holler "IN THE CAR PLEASE!!" and I get an idea. (Mind is lost at this point) I grab a little trimmer that I use around the boy's ears when I cut their hair- I'll shave them off! Brilliant! I'm in total hair-removal-concentration-mode as I move closer to my face with the trimmer and somewhere in the background of my consciousness I hear Adam yell "Mom is base!" but I fail to realize the implications. I am base.

Can you see the events playing out in slow motion? Me, trimmer in hand, getting slammed from behind by two boys who have outrun their sister and are safe on "base," and bbbbzzzzztttttttt... 1/3 of my left eyebrow is gone. I just stare at myself in disbelief. Speechless. Momentarily I go into hyper-panic mode and begin frantically rubbing what is left of my eyebrow, like I can somehow spread it out to cover what is now oh-so-noticeably missing. Alas, hair doesn't spread.

I can't even laugh or cry or do anything but put the trimmers down in total defeat and turn to face the kids who have all frozen mid-tag game and are just staring at me. Staring at the 2/3 of my eyebrow that is left.

Now, the dentist really has something to look at.

P.S. Since I started this post, all the hair has grown back. That is the one plus about being hairy, I guess- it doesn't take long to recover from a serious shaving incident.

Overheard: Rachel on a roll

Rachel: Mom, first grade and a little bit of second grade homeschool is too hard for me. Wait...first grade plus second grade is THIRD grade! No wonder it's too hard for me!

Rachel, to our 13 year old baby sitter.

Rachel: "Who are you voting for?"
Morgan: "What?"
Rachel, exasperated: "VOTING..you know when you choose the president of the USA?"
Morgan, humoring her: "Oh, ummm, I don't know."
Rachel: "I'm voting for McCain. He's not that great, but he doesn't want to take our money. Obama will take a lot more of our money."
Morgan: "Ok, I'll vote for McCain too."
Rachel: "Good."

She get's it from Dan :)

catching up

I asked Adam what shape pancake he wanted for breakfast and he said "An alien."


Dan taking the kids to "hike" the "mountain" near our home. The quote marks should clue you in on the fact that it's really a big hill, and that what they call hiking really means loading up their backpacks with yummy snacks and stopping on the trail to eat every 5 minutes.


One of my favorite things that happens nearly every morning is one or more kids getting in my bed to snuggle. Yes, I know I should be up before them so I can read my scriptures, exercise, bake bread and welcome them after they get up with a warm breakfast...but I just can't seem to give up morning snuggles.


Seriously now, could you give this up? For baking bread? Definitely for the scriptures- but I will get that in later. Jonathan (pictured here with Jake) has already banned me kissing him in front of his other kindergarten friends (snif snif) so something tells me I'd better hang on to morning snuggles as long as I can.


My sister-in-law Laura took this of Jake and I just love it. Maybe I love it because he has one of my hairs in his hand- probably ripped out of the really tender spot at the back of my neck where he gets his best death-grip. Mostly I love his rolls- he is my chubbiest baby yet. Why I consider that an accomplishment, I don't know. There is just something kind of sad to me about skinny babies.


The boys are 6!! Birthday presents this year were all about Star Wars.





Seriously, I am a Jedi. Don't make me use my light saber on you.


Conned the boys into going to "Sweet Tomatoes" for their birthday dinner (free b-day dinner for kids). Unlike Rachel who would eat salad all day, they said "Is there anything else except lettuce here?"


When I'm not a Jedi, I'm a dollar-store-helmet wearing really cool guy!

snowballs chance

One of my favorite sayings about the odds of something happening has always been "that's about as likely as a snowballs chance in h-e-double-toothpicks" (this is a G-rated blog people) which I've abbreviated to "snowballs chance."

In every day usage, this is what it looks like: Is Sara going to really make good on her promise to give up eating sugar? "Snowballs chance." What are the chances that no one is going to get hurt when I see my boys on the trampoline wearing helmets and carrying baseball bats? "Snowballs chance." See what I mean? Very handy- short and to the point.

That was before I lived in Arizona.

Now, I've not been to h-e-double-toothpicks, but I have a hard time believing it could be hotter than here. Fire and brimstone have NOTHING on Arizona in the summertime. When I'm outside it feels like I'm someone's entree parked under that heat lamp, waiting to be served. I can actually feel my brain simmering. So I've modified my little saying- "Snowball's chance- in Arizona."

Now that the heat has finally broken for the "Fall" (if you can call 90 degree weather Fall) I'm starting to love living here again- cactus and all. The best months are Nov-Dec-Jan- when a snowball's chances dramatically improve.

Overheard

Rachel, talking to no one in particular while holding Jacob, who had just spit up on her shoulder. "Taking care of babies is sometimes hard. And gross."

Amen, sister.

Be gone from my life

Dear Chocolate Chip Banana Bread,

Had I known it was going to end this way, I would've never invited you to share so much of the past few days with me. I don't know what to say- I feel like you've taken advantage of me. I thought you were one thing, and you've become another. You started as a snack and have become entire meals. I know you say "But, you made me! How could it be my fault?" I know. I added the chocolate chips because I felt good about using whole wheat flour and replacing some of the oil with applesauce. But, had I known the danger that one added ingredient would pose I would've never done it. Had I known that a "batch" was 8 mini-loaves, I would've thought twice. But, in my zeal to not let my brown bananas end up in some landfill, they are now ending up in my tummy.

You're just not who I thought you were. You started out as just plain old banana bread, but now you are all the more sweetly accompanied by chocolate chips, which, has been proven in numerous scientific studies, I am powerless to resist. I haven't even given my other snacks a second thought. All the carrot sticks and cauliflower that I so carefully cut and prepared sit idly by in the fridge as the spell you have cast over me brings be back to you again and again. It doesn't matter that I've given you away to friends and neighbors, too much of you remains in this house. You are a distraction, and it must end. You must be gone from my life- you have until the end of the day. If you are not gone by then, it's the freezer for you. I am sorry that it has come to this; I hope we can meet again in the future under more pleasant circumstances.

Sincerely,

Sara