Merry Christmas! Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving, by the way...

Finally, some pictures from Thanksgiving! I wish I could use the crazy holiday season as my excuse for being so far behind, but you all know the truth...

This past Thanksgiving we flew out to Arizona to attend the Stout family reunion (my mom's side). The timing couldn't have been better because Erik finished his last rotation for this year on November 21 and didn't have any residency interviews scheduled until early December. Erik and Abigail had never met any of my mom's family, and we weren't sure when else we'd have the opportunity to go visit them. I especially wanted them to meet my grandparents.

We left on the 22nd, a few days earlier than anyone else in my family, so we got to spend some nice time with my mom's parents in Mesa before we all headed up to Heber, where the reunion actually took place. It was a good thing we checked the weather forecast before we left Atlanta; otherwise we might have packed for typical Arizona weather. Heber, however, is in northern Arizona, so we had to kiss our visions of a warm, sunny Christmas goodbye and pack our suitcase full of sweaters. And heavy wool coats. And scarfs. And thermal underwear. And packs of Swiss Miss. Ok, just kidding. We had to leave the thermal underwear and hot chocolate at home since those darn airlines decided to start charging for a second bag!! (And did you hear? Now they're charging for one bag too! Sheesh people!)

So let me tell you a little bit about the reunion. There were 77 of us, 10 being under the age of two. One cabin. Seven bedrooms. (And "bedroom" might be stretching it a little bit. Some of them were about the size of a large closet.) Three toilets. Two showers. I repeat: three toilets, two showers. And it was snowing outside, meaning every sane body wanted to stay indoors (mind you, we do have some crazies in the family who preferred to be out rolling in the snow). So....I haven't left much to the imagination. It was crowded.

Really crowded.

It took some amazing acrobatic feats to get from one side of the living room to the other, which you had to do to get to the bathrooms or the kitchen. If you weren't extraordinarily coordinated, you usually stepped on someone's baby or one or more of the 20 people sprawled out playing cards.

Mealtimes were especially fun. Thank goodness someone remembered to bring the sharpee. Otherwise, I might've been sharing my red cup with all kinds of folks.

Yes, those are my pajamas. You think there would've been any cream cheese left for my bagel if I got showered and dressed before I ate?
I didn't feel quite as threatened as my nephew Lincoln did, though. He had to bring his sword to the table to make sure no one ate his bagel.

Now let me tell you about my room. First of all, I was thankful even to get a room. Since I fit into the category of "married, with a young child" I was blessed with a bed and a semi-private room during that week. The unfortunate couples who couldn't claim a young child were consigned to beds in the most public room of the cabin--the living room, where people were constantly coming and going. (When my grandpa found out he was assigned to sleep in the living room, he threatened to steal my baby!) And heaven help you if you were single! It was your lot to sleep upstairs in the loft, where your bare mattress was touching other bare mattresses on all four sides. (Not everybody slept in their assigned quarters, however. Some people just fell asleep wherever they pleased.)
When we got to the cabin, I quickly began touring, hoping to stake out a good room for my family before they were all taken. However, I quickly discovered that the rooms were not going on a first-come-first-serve basis. Uncle Dave, the oldest in my mom's family and the one who planned the reunion, had already taped signs on all the doors indicating who was sleeping where. I finally found the sign for the Heisses. We were sharing a "semi-private" room upstairs with my brother Caleb and his wife, Shannyn and their son Clark. (What is a semi-private room, you ask? It's a room without a door. Any person or wandering toddler who had a mind to climb the stairs would be in my room. There were also two adjoining closets --I mean, bedrooms--in the back, so the people in those rooms had to go through my room to get into and out of theirs.) Fun times. So I'll give you the breakdown:

Closet #1 slept Clark, Abigail and Adam in their pack-n-plays (if you saw the size of this room, you wouldn't believe we managed to squeeze in that many) and my noble parents. We put the three youngsters down early, all at the same time, and later my parents would sneak in as quietly as they could and somehow get into their pajamas in the pitch blackness.

Closet #2 slept my brother David, his wife, Char, and their 4 children.

Then Caleb and Shannyn and Erik and I shared the "semi-private" room. (Room, mind you, not the bed!) Now, being upstairs, the side walls of all our rooms were angled sharply inward by the roof. So if the rooms weren't already small and crowded enough, this definitely tipped the scale toward claustraphobia. Not only that, but I somehow lucked out each night and got to sleep on the side of the bed next to the wall/ceiling, so if I ever sat up in bed during the night (like, for example, the night all four of David's kids telepathically decided to start screaming at the exact same time!), I would smack my head on it. It happened more than once.

With all that said, you probably think this reunion was torturous! Well....it was...for some people. But not for us! Erik, Abigail and I had a blast! The experience, from start to finish, was a memory-building one that we will remember for the rest of our days. I always love experiences that supply me with good stories to tell later on.

So here were some of the highlights for me:

-Being surrounded by my family: It was definitely fun to visit grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins that I rarely get to see, but the family I'm really referring to is my own immediate one--my parents and siblings. Can I take a minute to brag? I can't talk about them without sounding cheezy, but so be it. They are the coolest people on Earth! The older I get, the more amazed I am by each one of them and the more I relish spending time with them. My parents--I could spend the rest of the night writing about them, and I still wouldn't be able to fully convey the warmth of their smiling faces, the depth of their wisdom and understanding, the clarity of their perspective, the pure goodness that radiates from them. They inspire me. They lift me. They love me. And they love my husband and my little girl. And let me tell you, it's a great feeling to be loved by your heroes. (Hey, I warned you I was waxing sentimental here!)

I love hanging out with my siblings too. I think the feelings are mutual....but not because I'm as cool as they are. It's for the simple reason that they can make me laugh. Everyone likes to have someone around who laughs at all your jokes, right? And I am a pushover! Ask my brother Michael. Or David. Or Caleb. Or Joseph. Or Hyrum. I can't help it. I seriously think my brothers are hilarious. I about split a gut every time we get together. Especially when they start telling stories about each other. Oh, good times! But what I love most is the wholesomeness (is that a word?) of their humor. Our fun is always good fun. Fun you can have and think back on without feeling guilt or regrets. That's what I love about being with my family. It feels so good! I feel good when I'm with them, and when we part ways, I still feel like I'm glowing. What's more, I always leave their presence wanting to be a better person--to be kinder, to be more honest and sincere, to work harder, to learn more.....and to spend more time with them.

One of the most enjoyable experiences of the whole reunion for me was sitting with my parents and siblings and their spouses in our "semi-private" room one night, everyone sprawled out on the floor and mattresses, and listening to David wax eloquent with his impressive Harvard-law-grad vocabulary and oratory skills about the great benefits of reading. Caleb has never been the avid reader David has, so David was trying to pursuade him to "see the light" and recognize that reading is the most effective means of gaining knowledge. Caleb really held his own against the newly employed attourney, however. The two went back and forth, with occassional comments and insights from the rest of us, and it turned into a very stimulating debate. As much as I enjoyed the content, though, I had a lot more fun just watching the two interact--both so different, but so respectful and open-minded and intelligent. I wish political debates were more like that....

-Watching this....

That's my mom, known affectionately by her family as "Sis," with her two brothers. They are the three oldest in the family and were really close growing up. I can count on less than one hand the number of times I've seen them together. That's one of the sacrifices my mom has had to make all these years, not being able to visit her family out West very often. So this was a magical moment for me to see--the three of them standing in the middle of the kitchen with their arms wrapped around each other, talking and laughing together as if nothing has changed in thirty years. Maybe nothing really has.

-Driving home with my family in a whale-sized RV that averaged 40 mph!!
Believe it or not, Erik and I agree that the trip home--slow and wobbly and full to the brim with vomit as it was (for details, keep reading)--was worth the whole trip, and we'd do it again just for that. Erik said that was the highlight of the trip for him. I can't tell you how it thrills me to hear my husband say that.

Here are some of the memories from the ride home that I'll savor for the rest of my life:

-Waking up in the middle of the night and seeing Erik completely engrossed in conversation with my parents. My mom was driving; Dad was in the passenger seat, and Erik was sitting on a cooler behind them, leaning forward so his head was right between them. Despite the lateness of the hour, Erik's voice was alive with energy and enthusiasm. I found out the next morning that he stayed up and talked with them until 6 am. I still don't know all the things they talked about that night, but it made a big impression on Erik. He wrote about it in his journal. So did my mom.

-Watching my little girl melt the macho-hearts of my younger brothers

Come on, doesn't she melt your heart too?

-Sitting in a circle one night with Bethany, Joseph, Hyrum and Melody, our heads bent together as we took turns telling stories about our most embarrassing moments growing up...and laughing our heads off. We were literally holding our sides in pain. For those who don't know my family, the aforementioned siblings are younger than I am. Bethany is a senior (18), Joseph just turned sweet 16 in November, Hyrum is almost 14, and Melody, the baby of the family, is 10. I can't believe how much they've all grown and matured since I left the house. Joseph and Hyrum are growing like weeds. They are all such good kids. I would be incredibly happy if my kids turn out like they have.

Just a side note here: the night described above was our first night driving back to Atlanta from Arizona. Like I said, it was a night that'll be preserved for the rest of my life in the category of "warmest and fuzziest memories." We all hugged and kissed goodnight and told each other how much fun we'd had, and then we separated to our various sleeping places.

The next morning I woke up, refreshed from a very nice sleep in the comfortable, queen-sized bed in the back of the RV, to find that Joseph and Dad had been puking their guts out all night long....among other things equally as charming. Before too long, Bethany was bent over a bucket as well. The poor thing practically camped out in the bathroom that whole day. And afterwards she and Joseph slept like rocks for about 24 hours. The nasty bug caught up with Erik one day also, and he spent a good part of one day in bed.

So....with the delightful sounds and smells of influenza ringing in our ears and hovering around our noses, we continued our cross-country journey with a little less umph than when we had commenced it. Not that I could complain. For one thing, I didn't get sick (well, not until the following week when we were in Charleston...), and for another thing, my sweet little daughter was likely the vector....

We also made a stop at the Snowflake, AZ temple on our way home. That was the first day on the road, when everyone was still happy and healthy.

This picture just cracks me up. Didn't I tell you Joseph is growing like a weed?

I think Uncle Dave's family summed up the reunion best. They had t-shirts made for this thing. The fronts read "Stout Family Reunion, 2008." On the back were the words "I survived." Here are two brief, funny clips that capture some of the delightful chaos of the Stout Family Reunion 2008. I've entitled them "Breaking Fire Code" and "Stuck in the Bathroom." In order to appreciate the second one, I have to provide a little background info. The door of the main bathroom in the cabin consistently refused to open without someone on the outside slamming his full body weight against it, so it became a regular occurrence to hear some poor stranded soul in the bathroom banging on the door, calling for help. If you listen carefully, that's what's happening in the background of the second video. Enjoy!

Road trips

I've had several posts-in-progress of late that I've been trying to finish, and I'm finally going to start unloading them. Now that Christmas has come and gone, I figure it's about time I published something about Thanksgiving and our recent family reunion in Arizona. Erik and I decided to fly out early and then ride back with my family. As the reunion date got closer, I started thinking about what it was like to travel cross-country with my family. It had been a while since I'd done it. One night I started reminiscing about some good times we had on family road trips in old Big Red. So here's a heavy dose of stream-of-consciousness for you. (Our Thanksgiving Reunion post is coming soon so stay tuned!)

I love trips. I still haven't outgrown the giddy anticipation feeling I always got the night before when I was little. In fact, I think that was half the fun--the anticipation. Tabitha and I had a tradition of staying up all night right before we left on a family vacation. Our excuse was "packing," but that didn't take very long. We just liked staying up. The later it got, the more excited we became.

It wasn't just the vacation itself that we looked forward to, either. We loved the road trip itself. At least I did. Family road trips were special occasions--welcome departures from our daily routines. No school. No evening chores. No scheduled bedtime. And lots of yummy snacks we didn't usually get to eat. The only part of our normal daily routine that Mom and Dad still adhered to was morning devotional, in which we'd sing, pray, and take turns reading from the scriptures. And usually, we were too excited about the trip to offer much resistance.

Family road trips meant getting up extra early in the morning to finish packing and load the car. My parents always had high expectations of being on the road by 6 am, but that never happened, no matter how early we got up. Never. We teased my parents that if we added about 6 hours to their departure time goal, we were usually right on the money. That was pretty much true. But now I wish I had helped more and teased less....because it takes Erik and me FOR-EV-ER to get out the door when we go on trips. When we go anywhere, actually. And we just have one kid. When I multiply that by 10, it doesn't look good. I think my merciless teasing will come back to haunt me. Maybe the key is not to have great expectations??

Family road trips meant Mom's homemade trail mix, which she only made for road trips. I always ate mine in a strict order, from least to greatest on the scale of deliciousness: peanuts first, then the raisins, followed by the chex cereal, and then, after putting it off as long as I could......I'd savor the M&M's, one by one. Sometimes, when I was feeling generous, I'd share some of my peanuts and raisins with Caleb, who always devoured his portion within minutes of receiving it.

Family road trips meant unlimited pleasure-reading time. I always packed at least two or three books to read in the car. My favorite time to indulge myself was when everyone else was asleep. This usually happened a few hours into the trip, when the initial excitement and sugar-high started to wear off. For some reason, I took secret delight in being the only one awake (except for Dad, of course). It made me feel like I was getting ahead or something. Ahead in what, I don't know. My book, perhaps. But somehow, I felt like it was a great treat no one else seemed to know about. And I liked that. (Hmmm...Middle-child syndrome symptoms?) Sometimes my mom would wake up and start talking with my dad. If I were sitting up front, I liked to listen to them. Even if I didn't join in the conversation, I still felt like I had them all to myself, and that was definitely a treat. But if I did become part of the conversation, I counted that as another special privilege.

Family road trips meant endless rounds of B.S., my favorite card game. When I asked one of my older brothers what it meant, he told me "bologna sandwhich" which I believed for many years. For those of you who have never had the privilege of playing the game, I'll quickly summarize. The more players, the merrier in this one. All the cards are dealt, and whoever has the Ace of Spades begins by placing the card face down in the middle and saying, "One Ace." The next player is supposed to put down one or more two's, and the succeeding player one or more three's, and so on. Whoever gets rid of his cards the fastest is the winner. However, as the name suggests, this is a bluffing game. So if it's your turn and you're on "three" and don't have one, you put down a different card, still saying, "One three" as you lay it down. If you manage to fool your fellow players, you pat yourself on the back, and the game moves right along. (or, if you're like my brothers, as soon as the next player puts his card down, you start shouting and laughing obnoxiously about how smooth you are and how dumb everyone else is) BUT if there are discerning eyes (and/or obnoxious brothers) in the group, someone might call out, "B.S.!" and then, to your horror, half a dozen hands scramble at once to flip over the last card and reveal its true identity. If you have bluffed, you get to add all the cards currently on the "table" to your own hand, while enduring the laughing and mocking from said obnoxious brothers. No big deal if the pile is small...but usually you're not that lucky. I well remember, with a shudder, the sinking feeling of imminent doom that came over me whenever the pile had grown to gynormous proportions and I realized I didn't have the right card I needed for my next turn. I tried all kinds of different tactics over the years to conceal the rising panic in my chest at those moments, but inevitably, one of my older brothers would see right through my false bravado. I could never look on the bright side of owning three-quarters of the deck, unlike my brother David. He's a good bluffer (yes, the recent Harvard law grad, that's the one), but occasionally he'd get caught and have to add the stack on the table to his hand. Whenever this happened, he managed to turn the situation to his advantage. He would immediately begin making piles of each individual card he had, in ascending order. Whenever anyone laid a card down after that he'd shout, "Wait! Don't go yet!" to the person next in line, and we'd all have to wait impatiently while he went through all his cards to make sure he didn't already have four of that particular one. He often did, or he'd have at least three of them so he'd call out "B.S.!" either way. The game quickly became a drag until David's hand slimmed down.

Did I say this was going to be a brief summary?

So card games were always a fun part of the trip. Can you picture all of us kids trying to play cards together as we sit on four different benches within our 15-seater Ford clubwagon? We were definitely stretching the seat belt law. We were always buckled, but I'm not sure a seat belt does any good when you're sitting on your ankles facing the rear of the car. Or when you're hanging over the bench in front of you for a better view of the game, with your bum out of the seat entirely. Fortunately we never got in any accidents.

Family road trips meant singing till our voices gave out or some unfortunate soul in the back who was trying to fall asleep begged us to quit. Mom was a big advocate of this tradition. She was usually the one who started it. She'd say, "Let's sing!" Then starting with the oldest on down to the youngest, we'd each pick a song for everyone to sing together. With a few exceptions, none of us are great singers, but it sure was fun. There were always one or two of the boys who'd complain at first, but almost inevitably they'd join in after a while, and a few songs later, they were grinning with the rest of us. That always made me happy.

Especially warm and fuzzy are the memories of listening to my mother sing at night, as most of us were drifting off to sleep after a long, hard day of eating snacks and playing cards. (We never stopped at hotels on our trips; we always drove straight through. Back when I was a young whippersnapper, I didn't have any trouble curling up against a cold window pane or leaning against the warm body of another sibling and sleeping peacefully through the night. If I tried that now, I don't think I could get up in the morning.) My mom's singing voice is very soothing to me. I remember I'd lie awake and listen to her and feel like everything was right in the world. I felt safe and perfectly content with life. She would sing songs from her childhood that I never heard anywhere else. They were songs she only sang on road trips. I don't know why. Maybe they're part of her special collection of "family road trip" memories. They all sounded like country songs to me, and I don't mean Garth Brooks country. I mean Laura Ingalls Wilder country songs--songs that seemed to belong to a different era, a different people. Songs that would be sung around a prairie campfire, accompanied by fiddles and little girls dancing in long cotton dresses. There was something so wholesome and refreshing about them; I felt like I belonged to that time and to those people. My mother's voice as she sang those songs seemed to unlock doors in my mind and reveal places and things there that I'd never visited, and I'd just close my eyes and let myself wander, let thoughts and feelings take shape and drift away as they pleased. If there's a place between wakefulness and dreams, I think I found it on those nights.

Mmmm....I love family road trips.

Still Alive

Ok, I know I haven't written anything for over a month and some form of excuse or explanation or apology (or perhaps even an update!) could be reasonably expected by my readers.....but I hope you'll forgive me for putting off the excuse/explanation/apology/update till tomorrow (or....another day...in the near distant future....I hope...) and just telling a funny story from my day.

I was on the phone with my mom this afternoon when Abigail came into the kitchen moaning and began tugging at my pant leg. When I asked her what was wrong, she promptly stuck her finger up her nose and said, "Uva!"

Here's your Spanish lesson for the day. Any guesses for what "uva" means? Booger? Nope. Snot? Nope. Good guesses, though. "Uva" is the word for "grape." Abigail also refers to raisins as "uvas." She is crazy about raisins and would eat them all day long if I let her, but I can't handle the diapers so I set a limit.

I'm an awful multi-tasker, so Abigail's odd behavior didn't quite register. I patted her on the head and continued talking with my mom. A second later, Abigail was whimpering again, pointing at her nose and saying, "Uva!"

Hearing Abigail whining in the background, my mom asked if I needed to go. "No, no," I chuckled into the phone, "She's fine. I'm not sure what's wrong with her. She's pointing at her nose and saying, "Raisin!" I finished the last half of my sentence in slow motion. I stared at Abigail. "Do you have an uva in your nose?" "Yeah!" she said energetically. I started laughing. "Mom, there's no way she could have gotten a raisin up her nose! Her nostrils are as small as mine!" (For those of you who've never had the fortune of looking up my nose, I will go ahead and tell you that I have pathetically puny nostrils. I was often teased about it growing up, although to this day I don't understand why people find so much amusement in the fact. An older brother who shall remain nameless once offered me a dollar to prove to him that I could pick my nose. He wouldn't believe it until he saw it........Yes, I can pick my nose.) My mom reminded me of a time when one of my nieces, as a baby, got a popcorn kernel stuck up her nose somehow, and it wasn't discovered for quite some time...not until after it had taken root! (no, not kidding!) However, the clue came in the form of rank breath, not protruding popcorn roots.

"Oh, no!" I told my mom. "Abigail's had really bad breath today!" My mom grunted. "Better check her nose!"

When I hung up with her, I ran and got a flashlight and coaxed Abigail onto my lap. Shining the light up her nose, I immediately saw, to my amazement, what was unmistakeably a raisin in her left nostril. Laughing, I fetched a pair of tweezers and tried to get it out. Abigail didn't appreciate having tweezers shoved up her nose for some reason, so she resisted, and I decided after a couple tries that I'd wait for Erik to come home. I didn't want to push the raisin up any further.

When Erik came home, I held Abigail down while he inserted the tweezers and removed the raisin--the gigantic raisin, I might add. I had assumed it had to be only part of one because I couldn't wrap my brain around how she could fit an entire one up that little nose of hers.

Abigail's left nostril, which had been running for a good part of the morning, magically stopped after her little operation. However, the bad breath still lingers....???

Award-winning photos here!

Just wanted to post these incredible shots I took at my brother Joseph's state cross-country meet yesterday. For all those who are wondering how on earth I managed to "capture the moment" so skillfully while balancing an overloaded diaper bag and squirming baby on my hip (and when I couldn't even see my camera screen!), I'd be happy to share my secrets. Just give me a call some time. 1-800-IMA-CLUTZ or visit my website at www.crappysnapshots.com.

We're going in ascending order of quality here to save the best for last. I mean, obviously this shot isn't great. That little orange speck on the far left is Joseph, the intended focus of the photo. I was trying to get him right as he passed, but I must've clicked too early. But don't worry! I get my act together as the race progresses.

Ahh, see there, now! It's clear that the blurry orange guy is the focus of this picture.

Now here I pull out a really complicated and advanced camera move. I won't dizzy you with the details, but do you really think you could have timed your shot at precisely the moment Joseph decided to jump out of sight behind Red Shorts? I mean, it's like I had a sixth sense or something.

I'm not even gonna try to explain this one. I don't expect any of you to appreciate the genius.

Meet the amazing photographer! (no, not the girl on the left)

That's one cool mohawk, dude.

Joseph with his Parkview teammates and their matching mohawks.

I'll just take a minute here to brag about my little bro. Joseph is a sophomore and has had an incredible season. A mere few months ago, he cracked his kidney in a water-tubing accident and had to take it easy for a while. As mind-boggling as it sounds to most of us, several weeks of being forced to put his feet up and relax while other siblings did his chores and cute girls from church brought him cookies was pure torture for Joseph. He literally ached to run. (I wish my body ached before I ran, instead of after...)

When his doctor did finally give him permission to start running again, he endured another several weeks of torture not being able to run as fast as he wanted to and was used to. BUT, despite all that, he not only recovered from his injury but he also set new personal records for himself--including at the region meet last week, where he finished in the top ten with a time of 16:30!

Joseph didn't do as well in the state meet as he had hoped (Abigail and I were still impressed, though!), but we are so proud of his hard work and incredible progress this season. I know he learned some valuable lessons about patience and perspective during his recuperation time, and I'm proud of the young man he has become.

All I can say is......watch out next year, GA 5A boys!

These videos are mainly for the viewing pleasure of my older brother Caleb who likes to relive the glory of his high school CC days vicariously through Joseph. The first video is of the boys at the starting lineup. Unfortunately, the megaphone man kinda drones on for a bit, but it's pretty cool when they finally shoot the gun. The boys just look like a swarm of ants going up the hill. There were a lot of boys.

The second one I have named "Legs." I don't know why I decided to drop the camera halfway through and chop off all the boys heads.....but I did. At least you get to see Joseph for a few seconds at the very end, though. (didn't I mention that I couldn't see my camera screen?) I guess I could always blame it on Abigail....

Residency Interview #1!

Erik had his first interview for residency yesterday in Augusta at the Medical College of Georgia. We drove down Sunday after church and stayed with my brother Michael and his wife, Brittany. (Michael is doing his orthodontic residency at MCG right now.) They are always terrific hosts, and we had a wonderful visit with them. Unfortunately, Abigail had a fever the whole time we were there (I know, aren't we such considerate guests? We kick them out of their bed for a night AND try to infect their daughter!), but she had a great time playing with cousin Clara as long as the Motrin was working.

Erik had a great experience at MCG. He enjoyed interacting with the staff and residents and was very favorably impressed with their family-friendly attitude. Enough of that boring stuff, though. Abigail and I had much more fun hanging out with Brittany and Clara the whole day!

I had been really looking forward to this trip. My sister-in-law ranks at the top of my list of Impressive-People-I-Want-to-Become-Like-Someday. I was hoping to learn all her secrets to getting so much done and being so well-balanced, but it was too much to learn in one day! I had a great time talking with her, though, and picking her brain about all kinds of things. She even taught me some cool things I can do on our blog, and as a result, I have now subjected all my readers to some of my favorite music! Thanks, Brittany!

Clara showed Abigail all the fun things you can do with playdough! (She did not show her that it can go in your mouth, but Abigail figured that out all by herself. Apparently Brittany's homemade playdough tastes pretty good even after being stored away for two months!)

Here's Michael dancing with the girls. Isn't my big bro such a great dad/uncle?

I can't get enough of Clara's infectious laugh! (Doesn't Abigail look charming without her hair clip in all these pictures?)

Ok, so apparently the picture-taking didn't begin until the guys got home....I guess I was enjoying hanging out with Brittany so much that I didn't think about taking pictures with her! Or maybe Michael's just a camera hog! Sorry Brittany!
Abigail is only cuddly when she has a high fever.

Before we left Monday night, we joined the Weilers for Family Home Evening. Brittany gave a wonderful lesson on expressing gratitude in our prayers. The girls were both very good listeners, and at the end, Brittany let them each take items out of a bag that represented things we can thank Heavenly Father for. Abigail pulled out a Book of Mormon and immediately began turning pages. Then, while the rest of us adjourned to the kitchen for root beer floats, Abigail continued to "read" the book, occasionally lifting it up until her nose was pressed against the pages, an expression of almost painful concentration on her face. She didn't even look up when I got the camera out and started taking pictures, and that is extremely unusual. I love this shot--that little bare foot just gets me.

Thanks again M & B for a wonderful time!

Driving in Atlanta drives me crazy!

Happy Halloween!

Wanna hear my scary Halloween story? (don't worry, it's not that scary)

Erik worked the 3pm - 11pm shift again tonight, so I packed him some dinner and snacks to last him till his midnight snack (he's always hungry when he gets home). However, he left his dinner here, and I didn't realize it until he was already at the hospital. Abigail and I had dinner with my sister-in-law Kris and her family, but we finished up around 6:30 and headed downtown to Crawford Long to deliver Daddy's dinner.

Suffice it to say that I hate driving in downtown Atlanta. No, on second thought, that will not suffice. I need to do some venting. Let me tell you why I hate driving in Atlanta. If it were just the awful traffic, I could deal with it. If it were just the aggressive, reckless drivers, I could handle that. If it were just the pathetic street signs and the stupid roads always changing names, I could live with that too. But what REALLY drives me crazy about driving in Atlanta is the fact that 90 percent of the streets seem to be one-way. I am a seasoned expert at getting lost while driving. I can't go anywhere for the first time without getting lost, and often I get lost the second and third times too. That's why my Dad is #2 on my speed dial. He is a walking, talking map of Atlanta/Georgia/United States. I can give him the names of any two streets, and he can tell me how to get home. Besides that, he is also the sweetest, most patient man alive and never tells me he's too busy to be my personal GPS. The first year I was married, I probably called him 3 times a week because I was lost somewhere in downtown Atlanta on my way to or from school. (It's such a blessing--for both of us!--that we both have Verizon! Otherwise I'd have racked up his phone bill.) The reason for my calls became so predictable that he would just start laughing as soon as I said hello. I tend to get really panicky when I'm lost, but every time I heard my sweet father's voice on the phone, I calmed down and knew everything was going to be all right.

Ok, enough nostalgia. Back to my ranting.

The one-way streets in Atlanta kill me because they make it impossible for me simply to turn around and "retrace my steps" when (when, not if) I miss a turn. Since I do NOT have an internal working map of Atlanta (like Erik and my dad do), I am 100 percent dependent on my mapquest directions. So when I miss a turn and can no longer go by them, I am immediately and hopelessly lost. Oh yeah! I almost forgot another one of my top reasons for hating to drive in Atlanta. I can almost never find a place to pull over! (you know, to press #2 on my speed dial) So that just adds to my panic; not only can I not just turn around and go back, but I can't quickly pull over to determine my bearings (ok--to call my dad to figure out my bearings). So my options are either to keep going straight on the same road until I stumble upon another street name that looks familiar (that happens one out of a hundred times, and invariably I turn the wrong way down the road), or I can make the nearest right hand turn and try to find my way back to the street I missed. Nine and a half times out of ten, the result of either approach is that I become increasingly more lost.

So, with that brief bit of background, let me continue with my story of tonight.

Erik had given me directions to Crawford Long, and his directions are always very thorough. (as in he tells me the name of every street I'm going to cross--not just the ones I'm going to turn down--in order and what gas station/restaraunt/hardware store is on every corner of each intersection I'm going through...You thought I was kidding about the map inside his head?) So tonight I knew that I was going to pass three major things going down Peachtree St. before I got to Crawford Long: North Avenue, Lindon St., and the Bank of America building. So I'm going down Peachtree Street, and I cross over North Avenue. Check. Then Lindon Street. Check. Now what was the third thing? I quickly grab my directions and try to read my handwriting in the dark: Bank of America. I look up, trying to find the building ahead of me (it's the tallest one downtown--how could I miss it?), and then.....was that the hospital emergency entrance I just passed? Yes, it was. Ok, stay calm. Stay calm. That's hard to do when your daughter's screaming in the back seat, you just missed your turn, you can't read the names of the street signs in the dark, and even if you could, it wouldn't do any good because you don't know where you're going! Noting the one-way street sign in the upcoming intersection, I decided on the keep-going-down-this-road-until-something-familiar-jumps-out-at-you approach, but after crossing a few streets, I decided to switch tactics, and I quickly made a right-hand turn. Then, seeing a Mellow Mushroom sign and praying that it was somehow accompanied by a parking lot, I made another right-hand turn. No parking lot. What?? So I made another quick right-hand turn and pulled into the only available space off the side of the road--the loading dock of some big building. Abigail started to cry again, and, with tears streaming down my face, I said, "Abigail, please stop crying!" Then I called Erik. No answer. What?? What emergency could he possibly be dealing with that was more important than the one his driving-impaired wife and helpless daughter were in?! I said another prayer (about the tenth one in the last two minutes) and called again. He answered this time, and when I told him the name of the street I was on, he told me it was right behind the hospital! All I had to do was continue down the street, and I'd see the hospital emergency entrance on my right. And, he added, if I missed the turn (he knows me so well!), I just needed to make a right at the nearest light, and that would take me back around to the front of the hospital. How come it all sounds so ridiculously simple when he tells me?

Well, I made it. And Erik was outside within a minute. When he opened the door, I managed a watery smile before bursting into tears again. So he just sat there holding my hand, telling me it was all right, while Abigail began chattering away happily at the sight of her daddy. Fortunately, the way back home was really easy; I only had to make two turns. (I still managed to miss one of them...) Needless to say, I was extremely relieved when we finally got home.

Here are some pictures of my beautiful baby that have nothing to do with this post.

Abigail returning with her spoils from a trunk at our church's recent chili cook-off and "trunk-or-treating" activity. The few pieces of candy she got were quickly confiscated when we got home. I did let her keep a pack of raisins, though. I know, I'm such a mean mommy!

Abigail in her one-year birthday outfit from Great-grandma Heiss (which finally fits her at 19 months). I asked her to smile, and this is what I got. It'll have to do for Great-grandma, though. I couldn't keep Abigail still long enough to get another one.

Sick, sick, sick!

Sorry we've been absent for a while. The last few weeks have been a little crazy and somewhat draining. It seems like Abigail has been sick with one thing or another for the past three weeks. (But as you can tell from the picture, she's been her happy, rambunctious First she had roseola, which was a little scary for me until Erik diagnosed it and told me about the symptoms. Then all last week and into this week she's had a really bad cold which we thought might be RSV, and this week she's also had diarrhea and a really bad rash. I haven't been able to keep up with all her dirty diapers; sometimes she tells me she's poopy, and other times she just goes about as usual with her cheerful play and chatter and I don't find out till much later that she's been sitting in it for hours. So the rash hasn't healed much the last few days, and it has been making her very uncomfortable at night. The last few nights she's woken up around the clock, and Erik and/or I have gone in to change her and reapply the rash cream (yes, sometimes it takes both of us to do that because she kicks and screams in pain--I would too). Not very fun or easy to do at 2 o-clock in the morning when I can hardly get my eyes to open all the way.

So.....Abigail's had a tough time lately. And usually that means I have a tough time too. She generously shared her cold with me (actually, it's probably my own fault since I'm rather reckless about sharing drinking glasses and giving her bites of my breakfast), so we've been draining our Kleenex supply the last few weeks and trying not to sneeze on Erik.

Despite all that, we've all been in very high spirits (during the day, at least!). Erik has started a new rotation - emergency medicine - and is enjoying the fact that most of his assigned shifts don't start until 3 pm! We're still getting used to the luxury of having him around in the morning! He loves being able to spend time with us when he's awake and energetic, which he hasn't been able to do the last month when he's gotten home just before or after Abby's bedtime. Abigail is thrilled and doesn't like to let him out of her sight.

On the first morning of this delightful new schedule (Tuesday), I was feeling like a particularly happy wife, being able to enjoy a sit-down breakfast with my husband, so I decided to make a scrumptious scrambled egg breakfast. A while later, we all piled happily into the car to drive to a nearby park to exercise. Unfortunately, our car battery was dead. Undeterred, Erik went and got the jumper cables and brought the other car over to jump us. I tried to keep Abigail entertained the whole time by singing her favorite songs, but right in the middle of the chorus to "The Wise Man Built His House Upon a Rock" (right about the time I was singing "and the floods came up!"), she suddenly erupted, covering herself and her carseat in scrambled eggs. I'll leave the details of the smell to your imagination....but it wasn't pleasant. However, nothing seemed to phase Erik that morning. He just kept smiling as he helped me get Abigail out of the car. Then while I took her inside, changed her clothes, and fed her some lunch, that Super-husband of mine took care of ALL the smelly details. He cleaned up the mess in the car, brought her carseat in, scrubbed every inch of it in the bathtub, and put all her clothes in the wash. I hardly touched a thing. Then he took our car over to the Saturn place to have it checked out (the battery had been dying on me pretty frequently). What a man! I felt almost guilty letting him do everything; I was expecting to clean things up during Abigail's nap. He did it all himself, though, and I was so grateful that I told him I'd do almost anything for him. His response: "Would that include making me a tuna fish sanchwich?" (I absolutely detest the taste and especially the smell of tuna fish. Erik loves it, though, and always gives me a hard time about never letting him eat it. I have to remind him that I don't mind in the least his eating the stuff, but if he wants it, he gets to prepare it himself.) It was a true test of my love, but I passed. I made him a yucky tuna fish sandwhich.

THEN after all that, he went to work for 9 hours! What a tropper!