I Am...

When I was a senior in high school, my AP English teacher made us write an "I Am..." paper. It was simple, really. Each paragraph started with a simple statement, and you filled in the rest. I am sure that she meant it as a get-to-know-you paper, but I took the assignment to heart and wrote three pages. The process was an important one for me, because it was the first time I had ever sat down to think about what I believed in and who I was. The paper was due on my 18th birthday, and it was so significant to me, that for a couple of years after I rewrote the paper for my own records. Well, I haven't written one for about 10 years. Now that I am beyond the point that I ever imagined (when I was 18, the way I pictured my future was this: marriage, teacher. I never though past that...) I feel like I am punting. I need somewhere to stand, and since this paper helped establish the 18 year old me, I am hoping it will establish the 30 year old me.

I am 30 years old. I am a wife, a mother, a former teacher, a sister, a daughter. I am trying to blend all those things together to be a coherent and functioning human being. I am trying so hard every day to do things to be better. I am not who I was ten years ago, although that girl is still a huge part of me. She has handed to me her insecurities, but I have gained wisdom from her follies. I think. I am here and now. I am trying to see what I am meant to see and do what I am meant to do. I am strong. I am fearless. I am scared of my own power.

I believe a lot of things differently than I did when I was 18. Family, religion, politics--my beliefs have all changed or evolved. It's amazing to think about all that I have ingested and analyzed in the last eleven years, and how much that has shaped my views. I have become a much more conservative person that I originally thought I was. I believe that children need a mom and a dad. I believe that people should be honest, without sugar-coating everything, and without fear of repercussions. I believe that "politically correct" is another term for "pandering." I believe that there are ugly people. I believe that there are beautiful people. I believe that what determines your ugliness or beauty is the way you treat others. Good teeth and hair always help, though. I believe that the most important thing that anyone can do in this world is have a family and protect them.

I know how to punctuate a sentence, and I know which pronouns to use. I know (in detail) what happens in every chapter of The Great Gatsby. I know how many times The Great Gatsby or F. Scott Fitzgerald is referenced in Gilmore Girls. I know which season every episode of Friends is in, and I know the lyrics to hundreds, maybe thousands, of songs. I know every state in the United States, and can repeat them in alphabetical order. I know all the Articles of Faith by heart. I know that if I study the way I know how, I can have a strong testimony. I know that Heavenly Father watches over me and my family, and I know that we are being led. I know that I am doing what I am meant to do, no matter how hard the adjustment from teacher to mom has been for me. And because I know that, it makes life easier. I know that we will be taken care of, and I know that every experience I have is for my good. I have already seen how much better I am for the the trials I went through to get my family. I know Joe and I are a better couple because we have faced our biggest fears and we have faced things that broke our hearts. I know that Heavenly Father and our Savior don't leave anyone to figure it out on their own. They are there every step of the way.

I wish that I could be more confident in myself. I thought that by the time I was thirty, I wouldn't be insecure about my body, my likes and my dislikes, and my opinions and the way I wish to opine. I struggled with all these things in high school; there was a time when I refused to raise my hand and make a comment in classes because I thought people would like me more if I had less opinions. I have hardly any pictures of myself in high school because I always hated the way I looked. I felt stupid for liking the music I liked, and the liking the shows I liked. Now, I still feel horrible about my body--and those extra 40 pounds from pregnancies aren't helping. I still go home from church every Sunday analyzing everything I said that day from comments in Relief Society to my lesson and wonder if I offended anyone, if there was any way to construe what I said in the wrong way, or if I was inappropriate. It's exhausting, if you're wondering, to worry that much about what comes out of your mouth. I wish I was better at all those things Stay at Home Moms are supposed to do. I don't like housekeeping, so I don't do a lot of it. My house isn't disgusting, but if there's toys on the floor, I might not pick them up. If there are dishes in the sink, they may or may not get done. If Joe doesn't specifically tell me when he needs his work clothes washed, he might end up doing them himself. What do I do all day? I watch TV. I read with Alice. I crochet blankets. I rock Daisy to sleep. I might nap once in a while. And I am always feeding SOMEONE. I feel incredibly guilty for not cleaning the house in pearls. I don't really wish I would be better at cleaning, I wish I could get to a place where I don't feel the guilt.

I hope that I can start to find a balance in who I am and how I define myself. I used to label myself as nothing more than a teacher. Then, when I became a wife and a mother, I didn't know how to be combine all those things. Now, I label myself as just a mom. It's wonderful being a mother. I love every time Alice sits on my lap, or Daisy smiles at me, or when I get to kick some serious monster butt. But if all I am is a mom, then what am I to me? And what am I to Joe? See, Joe and I already have moms. See my problem? I don't know how to balance everything yet. And I don't know what it means to be me, Sarah Bingham. For so long I have been a student, a teacher, a wife, a mother, I never really figured out what it is to be me. I hope I can figure that out and find a way to be all those things I want to be. I hope that I can raise my daughters to believe that they are beautiful and wonderful people. I hope I can teach them to have integrity, but most of all, I hope I can show them what it means to have a testimony and how to strengthen theirs.

I dream of writing a book. I want people to read my words and appreciate what I have in my head. I dream of the days when I can buy a pair of shoes without wondering it it's going to hurt our mortgage, or when I can buy Alice and Daisy everything I want to buy them for Christmas. I dream of a house. A house with a fenced-in yard where I can watch my kids play in the sandbox from the kitchen window. A house where I have a room all to myself with lots of shelves for all my books and cubby holes for all my yarn and a desk where I can write my book that would eventually be made into a Disney movie. I dream of a garage for Joe where he can restore cars the way he wants and a place where he can teach my girls to change the oil and the tires. I dream of my girls, and what I want them to be and wonder how I can help them get there.

I love my Joe. I love my Alice. I love my Daisy. I love my Heavenly Father. I love where I am in my life, even though I haven't figured everything out or how I fit into the picture. I love going on dates with my husband and holding his hand, and cuddling like we used to when it was just us. I love the way he smells when he comes home from work, and I love that he puts on special cologne when he wants me to cuddle him. I love dancing with Alice and coming up with routines that involve Jazz Hands. I love smelling Daisy's head, and I love falling asleep with her in the rocker. I love playing in Alice's make believe world, and I love to watch Daisy watch Alice. I love cooking and having people like my food. I love making usable things with my hands: blankets, booties, slippers, hats. I love creating. I think that's the part I miss most about teaching: creating everything from scratch--lesson plans, handouts, units, tests, activities--and then see that my creations actually worked, and actually helped someone see something differently. I love being who I am, even if I'm not comfortable with all the components that make up me, or even understand all the components. I love the choices I have made that have brought me to this point.

In writing this, I have come to realize one thing that I didn't realize before I started writing this: Despite everything that is so not perfect in my life, I am happy.

Practice Makes Perfect

So. It's been three months, and I still have ten pounds to lose from having Miss Daisy, and then fifty--yes, 5-0--pounds to lose from having Alice. I've done Weight Watchers, I've tried to go it alone, I've tried calorie counting with workouts. I just can't seem to lose more than a couple of pounds, and then if I have a day or so when I fall off the wagon, I gain it back. In like one day. I kid you not.

So I started doing some research into different diets, and the more research I read on losing weight and the science of the body, the more I realized when I cut calories, all I was doing is lowering my fat intake and to replace the feeling of fullness, I was compensating with lots of carbohydrates--yogurt, granola bars, popcorn, etc. Well, carbohydrates turn things into sugar, and sugar turns to fat, especially if your body is not efficient in processing sugar, which, I have discovered, mine does not. I'm an Indian (a genetic group that only ate meat and vegetables), my family has a history of diabetes, I have ovulation problems (which has been shown to be caused by insulin levels and hormones regulation), and I take thyroid medication to regulate my sugars--thyroid also controls your hormones. So. Sugar is not good for me. And if carbohydrates turn to sugar, then. Well, this spare tire around the middle finally has a culprit.

Anyway, after all that boring stuff, I have started looking into different low-carb approaches, and I have settled on the New Atkins. Yeah, yeah. I know. Atkins died of heart disease. Your body needs carbohydrates. Sure. But your body doesn't need refined flour and sugar. Your body needs carbs that can be found in vegetables and fruits. Which is what, once you really start to read up and not go by rumor, is what Atkins is all about. The theory, and there's quite a bit of science to back it up, is this: your body's first source for energy is carbohydrates, with fat as a secondary resource. So, if you don't give your body more than 20 - 30 grams of carbs a day, you body will start pulling from your fat stores for energy. The kicker is that fat is a more efficient and concentrated form of energy, so there's no sugar high and crash. Proteins and (healthy) fats leave you satisfied longer than refined carbs, so you tend to eat less and crave less. It makes sense, really.

So it's Thanksgiving and Christmas. A bad time to decide to avoid carbs and sugar. So, I have decided to "practice" eating low carbs. Meaning, on days when there is not a party or a holiday, I will follow the Atkins diet best I can. On party days and and holidays, I'm not gonna try too hard. I'm going to eat my pies and stuffing and whatever else.

See, I'm just practicing now--remember when you were taking piano lessons, and you were told to practice so you could get better at it? Then you sat down, opened the music, and played it perfect the first time. Done. Right? Well, no, not really. You practiced and practiced, made a lot of mistakes, and hopefully by recital time, you have worked out all the kinks and you can play perfectly. Or near perfect. And if you make a mistake, no one really notices because the rest is so fabulous. That's what I'm doing. I'm living low carb and making all my mistakes now, and then come January, it's recital time. Diving in, following the diet to the letter, and going to the gym as much as my kiddos and hubby allow. Adjusting and making mistakes now, so when it's time to really commit, I am almost perfect, but if I make a few mistakes, no one will know because I'm looking so crazy fabulous.

So for now, low carb-ish. So far, I have survived by substituting anything I would use bread for with lettuce. For example, tonight, instead of creamy chicken taquitos, we had creamy chicken lettuce boats. It was yummy. And guess what? On a low carb diet, you can eat cream cheese, cheese, meats, cream, butter, and vegetables. All the stuff I love. I kid you not, spread some cream cheese in celery, and I'm a happy camper.

This week I have only been able to really follow the low carb diet perfectly for three days out of five, and guess what? I've lost three pounds. In three days. Yeah. I think this might work. Boring blog post. But I felt like I needed to put it out there.

My Stalker

I don't have any pictures or anything for this post, or even the expectation that people will read the post anymore--Facebook has overtaken the Mommy Blog world. But I have an itch to write and be read. I should actually keep a journal to help me out at moments like this, but then my hand starts to hurt. I could type it and put it in a journal, but then I would have to unpack the printer from the pantry (don't ask). And there isn't anything horribly personal I want to say, just pieces here and there that I'm thinking and I don't care if people know it about me. I have the itch to compose. Call me crazy, but I think there might be writer inside me somewhere.

Have you ever read an interview by a writer, like Stephanie Meyer or JK Rowling talk about their characters not leaving them alone? For example, Stephanie Meyer re-wrote Twilight from Edward's point of view for herself, simply because she said he wouldn't leave her alone. JK Rowling has said in an interview that she has pages and pages of Hermione because she wouldn't stop talking. I have never really believed it when writers said that their characters came alive, or they wouldn't do what they author wanted. I was always like, "Okay, Joan of Arc. Whatever." But guess what?

I have a character.

She won't leave me alone.

Her name is Gwen, and she is a sophomore in high school. She is love with Zack Wilson, a football player who is new the school and is incredibly hot. She hates Cali Bernard for the sheer fact that she is a cheerleader, and she loves anything 80's. Except spandex. Because Gwen is fat. Super fat. She's 15 and weigh 233 pounds. And she wants Zach Wilson to take her to Junior Homecoming--exactly one year from now--because she is going to lose 100 pounds in the meantime and make him fall madly in love with her. Gwen has a best friend named Rachel, who is too skinny to be pretty. She has a grandmother named Opal, who is slightly crazy and a hypochondriac, and her grandmother has a boyfriend named Jerry, who is definitely crazy. Gwen's parents both work, so they aren't around a lot, so she depends on Grandma and Jerry.

Gwen talks a lot, and is incredibly frustrated with me because she only has like 330 days left to lose 100 pounds and I haven't started writing her story yet. But she keeps me up at nights. It's not like I don't have other things to do!

Anyway, Gwen's blog is off to the side, if you care. It's the only place I can give her voice and make her calm down for now.

All About My Girls

Well, Daisy has been with us for 7 weeks now, and I am thrilled to say that she is a total mommy's girl. I have to admit, I love that I am the only one who can get her to calm down and she cries when I leave the room. Alice was always a Daddy's girl--needing Daddy to rock her to sleep and calm her down. She's still a Daddy's girl, except now she says, "Mommy, I miss my Joe." She started saying this because my niece asked her one day if she missed her Joe, and it stuck. But Daddy is officially her "Joe," and I think I'm going to be Daisy's "Sarah."

I feel bad sometimes, because Joe gets frustrated when he doesn't have the magic touch he had with Alice, but I secretly love it...although I just posted it on a public blog, so it's not so secret anymore. At Daisy's last appointment, she weighed 10 lbs 12 oz, and was 22 inches long. I don't remember her head size, but I know she was in the 90% range across the board. She is getting super big and fatty--she's already in clothes Alice was wearing at 5 months.

Daisy smiles now and is starting to goo at me. She smiles the most when I'm changing her diaper. It's super cute, as if she is saying, "Ahhh, Mommy! My bum feels so good now!" She smiles when she's laying on the floor and I get down to look at her. She smiles at Daddy when he comes home, and she really smiles a lot for Grandma Jones. She only cries when she is hungry, has a dirty bum, or is tired. Which is most of the time. But at least she doesn't sit and cry for no reason--unless I'm gone. I am totally loving staying home with my girls.

I love cuddling Daisy and kissing her fatty cheeks and watching her smile. I love learning about Alice--she has a crazy imagination, that girl. The other day, we beat up monsters and then made cookies because they were crying. Another day we ran hid from dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and then bit their heads off. Yesterday she invited the horses that live in the pasture across the street to come in the house and eat ice cream. Alice loves to dance and she has come up with her own fancy dance pose--I'll have to get a picture of it and post it, because it is, to say the least, fancy. Alice loves, LOVES shoes and accessories--especially mine. She loves to be a helper and frequently tells me that she is pretty and a good big sister.


I love my girls.

Cloth Diaper Update

Daisy poops. A lot. Remember how I said we were going through a pack (the hospital size) a day? And remember how Daisy was born at 9 lbs, and is now 9 1/2 lbs? Well. These things affect my cloth diapering journey.

First, I have 24 cloth diapers. 12 of the fitteds, and 12 prefolds with covers. I have used all 24 in one day. Really, I have. I don't really mind doing the laundry, but I was getting really frustrated with getting a diaper all snappied in place, only to have Daisy grunt and poop AGAIN in a clean diaper. I know this is what babies do. And I know I should be glad I wasn't throwing those diapers away. But instead I was annoyed because it's really hard to get those prefolds on right.

For some reason, Daisy does not like the fitteds. She screams bloody murder when I put them on. BLOODY MURDER. I'm not even joking, either. At first I thought she had a medical condition, and then one day I took off her diaper and she stopped crying. I put a clean fitted on her, and she started crying again. I took it off; no crying. I put it on; uncontrollable screaming. I don't know what it is about the fitteds that she doesn't like, but she DOES NOT LIKE THEM. And they're really bulky. I didn't think I would mind because, hello, it's a diaper, and it's made for poop, right? Well. Clothes don't fit right with the huge bulkiness. Besides, there's something weird about the fit, too. I have to do the snaps on the smallest setting because it's too tight on Daisy's chubby legs if I don't, but then the waist is huge. Then I have to put a cover on top of that. I don't mean to complain, but let's just say the Kissaluv Fitted Newborn diapers just aren't cutting it for me. I think I'm going to sell them on KSL or Craig's List or something.

As for the prefolds: surprisingly enough, I really like the prefold diapers--and these are the ones I thought I would hate because these are the traditional flat diapers that you would have to pin. I really like these because, for some reason, Daisy doesn't mind the wet feeling with these all that much. Instead of the "I-Am-Going-To-Die-Right-Now" scream that Daisy would use when she was wet or dirty with the Kissas, it's more of a "Please-Change-Me-Now" whimper. Once I got hang of using a snappi (instead of pins), things are great. The fit is much trimmer, so she doesn't look like she has a JLo-style junk in the trunk under her clothes, which is nice considering the cover has to go over the prefold. My only issue is that I bought a newborn size prefold--Daisy, again, is now almost 10 lbs. The prefolds are almost too small.

So, between the amount of times I have to change her diaper and the fact that the newborn sizes are too small, but the one-size pockets I have are still WAY too big, Joe and I are 'sposie-ing it 75% of the time. I do cloth during the day until I run out of prefolds, and we use disposables when we are going anywhere--just in case Daisy decides to have a diaper-diva moment.

I'm not giving up yet--if I can sell my Kissas online, I'm going to use the money to buy bigger prefolds and more pockets to build up my stash. I know I will like the pockets because I've been using them on Alice, so as soon as Daisy hits about 12 lbs, I plan on cloth 100% of the time. Or at least 85.

Is This Normal?

So Daisy sleeps. A lot. And poops. A LOT. I have always heard that babies eat, sleep, and poop, and that's it, but I never believed it because Alice only pooped once a day, ate on a very consistant schedule, and was awake during the day and slept through the night.

Daisy poops every time she farts. We go through crazy amounts of diapers, and she HATES a wet bum. People always say that babies poop a lot, I just thought they were all big whannies because I never had a problem with poop. I understand now. I went through one of those hospital packages of diapers in TWO HOURS. Is this normal?

And Daisy sleeps ALL THE TIME. Like 20 hours a day. She wakes up when she's really, really hungry--maybe every 2 1/2 to 4 hours. And then she goes back to sleep. If I'm lucky she might sit up for about 35 minutes, and then she goes back to sleep again. And then, she only wakes up like once during the night. I'm not complaining, but I'm a little worried--should she be sleeping this much? My Ped. says that she should be awake and more alert. She's not. I'm wondering if it's because she's a big baby--she can go longer? I don't know. I'm getting to the point where I'm worried that I'm not exhausted. I know this sounds crazy.

This baby is not schedule-friendly. With Alice, all I had to do was decide to feed her every three hours, and Alice just did it. Voila. Done. This baby? Not so much. I try to hold her off to eat every three hours, and do you know what she does? She insists on eating at 2 hours, 2 1/2 hours, or 4 hours. Not three. Never three.

You think that you know how to do this stuff because you already have one kid. Nope. I feel like a first-time mom all over again, worrying about every little thing, getting up just to check to make sure she's breathing, worrying over poop and sleep, wondering if everything is normal. The more I know, the more I realize that Daisy is, in fact, normal. Alice was not. Maybe. This is hard.

Here She Is...

So guess which is the theme song for the newest member of our family?

Introducing our very own Miss Daisy

Daisy Fay Bingham

August 3, 2011

9 lbs. 20 inches

Born 12:25 PM

And Miss Alice is thrilled

Birth story to come later. In the meantime, we're happy.

There is an end in sight...

So I went to my 39 week appointment today. The doctor asked me why I wasn't in labor yet. I almost started to cry, because I don't know. I ask myself that everyday: "Self," I say, "Why aren't you in labor?" Unfortunately, my self doesn't know.

So I rescheduled my induction date. I had scheduled it for August 11, one whole week after my due date, thinking I would rather go into labor on my own. I have since changed my mind. I rescheduled today for WEDNESDAY! YAY! So, in other words, if I don't go into labor this weekend (which I probably won't) we will definitely have a baby by Wednesday. Which means I will be coming home from the hospital by my 6 year anniversary (August 5).

I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. Really I can't. I have been laying around in bed and my house, hopelessly depressed because I can't bend down because the baby is so low, I can't lift my legs because of all the insanely painful pressure on my lady parts, I can't lay down because of the horrible acid reflux, I can't sit for too long because of the back pain, I can't stand too long because of the swelling in my legs, I can't lay for too long because my hips hurt, and I can't roll over on the other hip because of the, once again, incredibly painful pressure on my legs and my lady parts, and I can't bend over or lift my legs enough to get dressed--to the point where Alice feels the need to help me pull my pants up. To say the least, this has been the most miserable two weeks of my life. And I only have to stand it for 5 more days! YAY! I might actually go buy groceries and feed my family something other than mac and cheese for dinner tonight. That's how excited I am.

But the reality of this baby actually coming out of my body and sleeping in a crib instead of on my bladder is causing me to face yet another reality: Cloth Diapering. Yes. You read that right. I am switching to cloth diapers. And yes, they still exist. My reason for switching to cloth diapers is two-fold: One, they will save us incredible amounts of money. It has cost us around $3,000 to diaper Alice--this is both diapers and wipes. So far, it has cost me $400.00 to buy enough cloth diapers to get me through the same amount of time. The savings alone are enough to convince me, and Joe, that it was a switch worth making. This is everything I have:

• 12 Kissaluv Fitted diapers, size 0 (For a newborn. I am to the One Size diapers don't really fit little bitties. So I sprang for the fitteds.)
• 6 Real Nappies white PUL covers (PUL is basically waterproof fabric. Apparently, a fitted doesn't stay dry, so you need a cover. This isn't one of the big brand names you would find if you started researching cloth diapers, but they were inexpensive and had really good reviews on amazon.)
• 12 prefold cloth diapers, infant size. (prefolds are usually what you think of when you think of cloth diapers. These are to be used when I am doing laundry. I can stuff them in the covers and use them like a regular diaper, or I can fold and pin. Look at me, being all old-fashiond-y)
• Three Snappies (so I don't have to use pins. I don't trust myself)
• 10 one-size Kawaii pocket diapers (these are super cute diapers that will adjust to fit babies from about 12 lbs to 30 lbs. They have snaps, and you can put them on like disposables. The only difference, besides the fact that they're cloth, is that there is a pocket in the back that you can stuff with absorbant material, like bamboo inserts, microfiber inserts, prefolds, or even an old t-shirt, if you get desperate. The Kawaii brand is apparently pretty reliable, good quality, and by far the cheapest diaper I could find)
• 2 one-size Just Simply Baby pocket diapers. These are almost identical to the Kawaiis. The only difference is that they are ALWAYS in stock and have more variety of prints. It's really hard to find the Kawaiis somewhere in stock. And these are only a couple dollars more than the Kawaiis. I think if I need to buy more, I'm going to buy through this company.
• About 40 or so home-made cloth wipes
• A wipes warmer for storage
• 2 travel-size wetbags (to carry yucky diapers in)
• one very large wet bag that hangs on the back of the bathroom door (again, for yucky diapers)

So I have already been using the one size pockets on Alice, and she loves them. She calls them her "special diapers" and likes to pick out the colors and prints to wear. But we have stayed to mostly disposables mostly because Joe does a lot of changes now, especially on the weekends, because I have a hard time bending over. And he's not a big fan of the cloth diapers, especially putting them on. I think they intimidate him.

But the plan is to fully cloth diaper this new little one. 95% of the time. We're going to lift as many disposables off the hospital as we can (insurance pays for it) to use for emergencies, and buy one box of disposables when we run out for the same reason (Joe thinks church is an emergency, but I plan on doing cloth at church, too. But if it makes him happy, I'll let Joe use a disposable whenever he wants. IT will still save us money.) So. I am diving into a world of lots of laundry and lots of poop. But I think I can do it...if Joe will jump on board. I'll let you know how it goes. Apparently, when you cloth diaper, you become obsessed by laundry, laundry soap, the quality of your water, and the stickiness of poop. I'll try not to become the psycho diaper lady, like most of the blogs I have been researching lately. I promise.

Let's see, I think I said my reasons are two fold, right? Well, I lied. There is a lot of environmentalist stuff to be said for cloth, but I don't really care about all that. I don't care if my diaper takes 5oo years to decompose. Heartless? Maybe. But it's true. I don't really care about all the "unsafe toxins" that is supposed to be in a disposable. Let's face it, we're all going to get cancer from burnt toast or water bottles or something anyway. All I really care about is saving a buck.

And 400.00 dollars, possible 450.00 if I decide I need the top up Real Nappies pack later on, versus 3000.00 over the next two years? Umm....I'll take the 400.00, thank you.

So, here comes another baby. And here comes cloth diapers. I'll let you know if they really stink as much as you might think. Or if the laundry is really that bad. Or if it sucks really bad. In the meantime, the next time I blog, it will probably be to announce a new baby--will it be a boy or a girl? And will Alice get her way in names (Alice had decided that a girl will be named Minnie Mouse and a boy will be named Donald)? And will this baby look as much like me as Alice does? Or is it Joe's turn for a look-alike? We'll see! So exciting!

Feeling a Little Lost

When I graduated high school, I knew exactly what I wanted to do: I wanted to be a teacher. And I wasted as little time as possible getting it done. I went to school right away, only giving myself summers off to work and save money for the next round of books to buy (when you're an English major, we're talking 400-800 dollars on books per semester).

I didn't take the customary year off, I didn't play a little bit. I graduated in May of 2000, started college in August of 2000, and didn't stop until I graduated college in April 2004. Then, I got a job right out of college and started teaching at my Alma Mater August 2004. And I have been returning to school to teach every August since. Until now.

For the first time since Kindergarten, I am one week away from August and am not getting ready to go back to school. I went to Wal-Mart the other day and walked right by the school supplies. You know, kind of like you do when you see an old boyfriend and then pretend you didn't so you don't have to revisit the pain? School supplies are like my old boyfriend--except they're not douche bags. They just cause pain, is the point.

It's not like I am permanently separated from school--I'm still doing lesson plans for my sub during maternity leave, and I am still attending any meeting I can before Baby makes his/her appearance (15 more days!). And I do realize that I will be back in the swing of things starting October. But October ISN'T school season. It will feel so weird. And I'm going part time. Never in my life have I part-timed anything relating to education. I've part-timed being a mom and wife and housekeeper. I've part-timed being a pizza maker, sandwich maker, hostess, and grocery checker. But if it related to education, whether I was doing the assignments or giving the assignments, I have been in, whole hog, all or nothing.

And that's changing. I am almost 3o years old, and I don't know how to not be in school. I am going to be 30 on September 9, and for the first time since I was 5, I will not be celebrating at school.

I'm at a loss of what to do, really. I don't know how to live life without school or planning for school or shopping for school. I don't know how to dress if you don't go to school--Do regular people buy clothes for themselves at times other than August? I don't. I buy "back-to-school" clothes once a year. What do people wear when they don't go to school everyday? Do they still shower and wear nice clothes? (Believe it or not, I have some really nice clothes. But I haven't been able to wear them for about 3 years, because right when I was starting to get my body back from being pregnant with Alice, I got pregnant again.) What do people do during the day in the fall? I've never been home during the day in the fall. In summer, I stay inside in my pajamas recovering from last school year and gearing up for the next. What do you do when you don't have anything to gear up for? I realize that I should be gearing up for 3/4 time motherhood, and that will be challenging, but does that require professional dress? Because I have some killer slacks and heels that I really want to wear again if I can manage it. I don't know how to get ready to be a 3/4 or full-time mom. I do know how to get ready for school, though. I've been doing it all my life.

And more importantly: will I really go most of the fall without reading The Crucible? I have read The Crucible every fall for 7 years! What am I going to do without entertaining myself by making unsuspecting boys yell "Whore! Whore!" As loud as they possibly can as we read John Proctor in class (I really do make them yell it. And they have to keep doing it until they really "feel" it. It takes about 5 times before they really start to let loose. And they fight over who gets to say "bitch" too. What am I going to do without that?)

It's sad, really. I am an (almost) 30 year old woman who doesn't know how to function without the public school system. You might find this blog taking a bit of a turn over the next two months as I navigate August and September, for the first time in my life, at home, away from bells and crowded hallways. It will be a ride, to say the least.

Is it Bad...

That I think, "My kid is cuter than yours" on a daily, sometimes an hourly, basis? I am sure you all think that about your own kids, too.



















And really, who can blame us?

Updates

Lately I have been....

• going to work meetings. I know this is weird, but really enjoy meetings. I volunteer to go. I get really excited about my profession instead of getting depressed about it, which occasionally happens when you're "in the trenches" as we say. Yes. We really compare teaching to war. And sometimes I get trench foot.
• Facing up to the reality of no more Harry Potter anticipation. For the REST OF MY LIFE. It's really hard and slightly depressing. I have spent the last 12 years waiting for the next book, the next movie, the guess of who's going to die and who's going to live. It's the end of an era, people. This was a once-in-a-lifetime-series, and I am sure I will never read something like this again.
• Counting minutes between contractions. I have been contracting regularly almost every night, but apparently this baby is all talk and no action. I was getting really worried last night when they started coming harder and harder--at the beginning of HARRY POTTER. I was like, are you kidding me! But I took Joe's reasoning the last time I went into labor while watching X Men Origins: we're not leaving until it seriously hurts. Well, I made it through the movie (every 4 - 6 minutes) and through the night. Contractions stopped around 2 in the morning, and baby is still here, sitting as low as humanly possible without falling out. The kid is going to have a square head from me sitting right on top of it.
• Trying to not be a bad mom to Alice even though I am really too tired and hot to do anything. I feel really bad because she wants to go and play, but I just really, really can't face walking up and down my stairs some days. I think this is why Daddies were invented (well, besides for the obvious reasons) he comes home and livens things up for her. I hope that she'll like me again after I'm up and around and not so tired anymore.
• Trying to crochet a blanket. It's harder than you think because it's hot, and I don't want a blanket on my lap, and Alice LOVES to crochet. This doesn't sound bad, but let's remember that Alice is 2. Her idea of crocheting is to hijack my yarn and needles and create knots that I later have to untangle. But you should see her cute little face when she looks at me and says, "yook, Mommy! I made it!" So I let her, even though I regret it later.
• Looking at all the recipes I want to make. When I'm not hot and I can actually reach the stove.

All in all, it's not been too bad going at this point. I'm ready to be done, and I'm ready to not be sore and walk like a penguin. Just three more weeks....

A few things I am realizing about being home...

Summers are really the only time I have to be a stay-at-home-mom, as most people know. What I have found over the last couple of years with Alice is that I have a tendency to freeze Alice in my mind from summer to summer, assuming that this summer is going to be the same as the summer before, etc. What I have come to realize in the last three weeks is that this summer is NOT last summer. Even though I saw my daughter everyday, I didn't fully understand what it was like to be with her everyday. Here are a few things that I has really caught be off guard about this summer, when (surprise, surprise) I realized I had a two-year old this time around and not a one-year-old

1. Cleaning a house with a two-year-old is A LOT different than cleaning a house with a one-year-old. Instead of getting a room cleaned once a day and call it good, it's more like taking all day to clean the same room over and over again.

2. Two-year-olds talk A LOT. Especially mine. Even if she doesn't have anything to say, she still talks. Here is an example of a conversation that happens 5 - 10 times daily in my house:
Alice: Mommy
Me: What?
Alice: Mommy
Me: What?
Alice: Mommy
Me: What?
Alice: Mommy
Me: What?
Alice: Mommy
Me: Alice, if you don't say something, you're going to bed to take a nap.
Alice: Hi, Mommy

Yeah. Alice didn't talk so much last year.

3. Feeding a two-year-old is a lot more difficult than feeding a one-year-old, especially if the two year old talks (refer to number 2). And Alice has decided that she is going to be the pickiest eater on the face of the planet. As an example, here's the conversation we shared over a PB&J Sandwich today.
Alice: Mommy, I want a sammich
Me: Okay. I'm making you a sammich.
Alice: I can't like a sammich. I want a hot dog
Me: Well, we don't have hot dogs, and I made you a sammich.
Alice: I can't like sammich. Hot dog.
Me: No. If you don't eat the sammich then you can go to bed and take a nap.
Alice: I wanna go night-night.
Me: Fine (I start to take the sandwich away so she can go to bed, since it was nap time)
Alice: No! My Sammich! I love my sammich! I no go night night. I can't like it.

4. Two-year-olds are a lot heavier, especially when you are hefting them up three flights of stairs. It's even worse if you're 35 weeks pregnant. Most of the time, I try to make Alice walk the stairs, and she usually does, but once in a while, if it's really hot, she's really tired, and I don't have the patience to be on the blazing hot stairs while she stops to examine every rock, I give in and carry her up. Which is a lot harder when you weigh 25 pounds more than last year, and you daughter weighs about 10 pounds more than last year. But sometimes, I just have to, especially when Alice turns to me and says, "Mommy, Alice too heavy. I carry you?" And then puts out her arms to be carried. What can I say? If someone was standing by that would carry me up the stairs every time I decided to be cute, I would never walk up on my own.

5. There is no shame in your daughter watching two hours of Kipper the Dog so mommy can take a nap in the morning. Because I can't train Alice to sleep in this year by leaving her in the crib if she wakes up too early, like I did last year. This year, Alice walks in our bedroom anywhere from 5 AM to 8 AM (depending on how well she slept the night before) gets in Joe's face (or mine if she sleeps in beyond Joe leaving for work) and saying (very loudly) "Hey! I awake!"

All in all, I have learned a lot about my daughter that I kind of knew before, but not really. As a result, I have a few things to say,

Mom, I realize now why you never listened to me. I talked so much, who knew if I really ever had anything valuable to say?

Jackie, I wasn't paying you nearly enough money. I am sorry. The only consolation I can offer you is this: At least she didn't "puppy kiss" you (which really is what you think it is: licking. Ew.)

My First Week Home...

Alice did this:


It's not a great picture, because I was stupid and didn't take one when it was really dramatic, but it's stitches, or the scar from stitches she received on my last day of work. Poor Jackie--she had to rush Alice to the ER while I was at graduation watching my feet swell, and Joe had to take the day off to cover for me. But that's not all.

The day before I had to take Alice to get the stitches out, she did this:

I took this picture this morning, after Alice has had a day or so to look better. Yes, this is looking good compared to yesterday, when her eye was swollen shut, or the night before when she looked like she had been hit with a stinging hex, like on Deathly Hallows. Or Igor, is another reference that seems to fit. Poor Joe was with her when she tripped over some shoes of some teenager's at the Arctic Circle play area and met the stair with her eye. He was practically in tears when he brought her home and told me that I had to take her to the ER because he couldn't handle it. I decided to wait until the morning, since I was had to take her there anyway to get her stitches out.

I tried to hold it together until Alice went to bed so she wouldn't get scared, but as soon as she went down, I fell apart. I try not to cry in front of Alice or Joe because Alice gets scared, and Joe blames himself for whatever I'm crying about, but I couldn't help it this time. Alice looked so bad, we couldn't see any sort of bone structure under her eyes, and I was convinced that she would need reconstructive surgery. Then, I couldn't sleep all night because visions of blood clots and strokes haunted me. Finally, I couldn't take it, and I crawled into bed with her so I could monitor her breathing. Alice rolled over, woke up, and saw me. She put her hand softly on my cheek and said, "Hi, Mommy. I otay. I all better now." Then rolled over and went back to sleep. I felt calm after that and decided to go back to my own bed.

And then I got up four more times to check on her.

This is why we don't have boys in my family, I guess. Because we FREAK out. And because Alice is more than enough trouble for both of us. Yesterday, then, I took my mom to the ER with me for a witness that I don't really beat my child, and to hold down the freakishly strong Alice when they took her stitched out.

And then my mom made me go to Arctic Circle to "firmly let the manager know what happens when they don't follow their own rules" (shoes are supposed to be kept on at all times, and no one over 48 inches tall is supposes to be playing. Both of which were not being enforced). It's no wonder I became a teacher. My mom is such a rule-follower, and gets upset when no one else is. I think rule-following is an inherited trait, which is why, I assume, I have always gotten upset, even in fourth grade, when grammar rules weren't followed. How else can we communicate when no one follows the rules? So, I (a little too politely for my mom's taste) informed the manager what happens when people don't follow the rules. And then we got ice cream.

The plan this week was to get portraits for Father's Day. And to take Alice to a friend from High School's wedding to brag to my old boyfriend about how pretty my kid is when his are ugly. Oh, Alice. You do have a way of humbling me.

Alice's Fishing Pole

When my Grandpa died, we went over to help my Grandma finally clean out the garage. There was a whole bunch of cool stuff there, including a really old fishing pole Joe inherited. Unfortunately, it was not Joe's for long.

Alice discovered the fishing pole, and all of a sudden, she carried it around the house all day declaring it as "moin" (mine. She's started inserting "O" sounds in some of her words). Joe wasn't too attached, so the fishing pole became officially hers. And she carries it around constantly. She has even gotten out her swimming pool floatie, had Mommy blow it up, and she sits in the front room in her "fishing boat" and her fishing pole and watches Mickey Mouse. I first I thought it was a little odd, but cute.

Now, after last night, I just think she's weird. Alice has started sleeping in her Big Girl Room (pictures soon, I promise). It has been really hard for her, and so Joe and I have been taking turns sitting with her until she goes to sleep or until we get sick of her...whichever comes first (she has yet to go to sleep before we get annoyed and leave). Well, last night was my turn, and I just wasn't in the mood. Alice was being very good, reading books quietly, and I thought, she seems fine. Let's see what will happen if I leave. So I turned on some piano music, hoping it would help, and I left.

Alice got up a couple of times and grabbed me, telling me I had to listen to the music with her, and I would go back in her room, put her to bed, and then leave again. She didn't cry, which was a huge improvement over the last three nights. Finally, she stopped trying to come and get me. I could hear her playing in her room, but I thought, whatever, at least she's not coming to get me. And then, all of a sudden, she started to cry.

It sounded like a "hurt" cry, so I went to her room. Alice was sitting on the floor, crying. I put her in bed, and asked her what she wanted. She babbled something that I couldn't understand, so I started holding up books, her stuffed elephant, her blanket. No, no, no. Finally, I saw her fishing pole on her floor.

"Alice, do you want your fishing pole?" Yes, she did. So I tucked her in with her fishing pole. And she went to sleep. Weird.

It is Better for One Man to Die than for a Nation to Suffer

I've been thinking about this post since Sunday. I really didn't want to write it because I don't want to talk about it. But I feel, for posterity sake, that I should have an opinion. What happened on September 11, 2001 was one of the most influential events in the past 50 years, possibly passing up Pearl Harbor in seriousness. And I was alive, an adult. I remember where I was when, which is something my daughter will never understand, just as I don't understand Pearl Harbor or the intense hatred of the Japanese that my grandfather harbored until his dying day. Even in the midst of his Alzheimer's he would mumble about the "damn Japs."

So, where do I stand? First off, I can't ever forget what it was like at that time. I was one year out of high school, taking both a Political Science class and the required Ethics and Values class (philosophy). My EV class started at 7:00 A.M., so none of us in class knew what was going on until after the fact. I walked into the Institute of Religion in Orem and watched the towers fall on the LDS Institute television screen. I remembering thinking that there was no way the footage was real, that it must be some spectacular feat of special effects. I soon realized it was not.

I skipped the rest of my classes that day and spent all my time in the chapel watching the news that was being televised on the jumbo screen. My best friend, Beth was crying (and incidentally, it was the ice-breaker for her and her now husband. He played the manly comforter that day very well), but I didn't really know what to think. I was shell-shocked, I guess. For most of the rest of the semester, my Political Science class, taught by a man from Afghanistan, was a Q and A from the class about his religion, and my EV class talked about Terrorist Theory and argued about the death penalty and war. It was an interesting time to be in college, to say the least.

Now, ten years later, I am a teacher in a public school, and I am surrounded by students who were 5 and 6 years old when this happened. They have very little memories of it, other than their Kindergarten teachers crying at school; I have stopped asking about it in journal prompts, because my students have very little to say on the topic. I doubt they fully understand the implications of this week, just as I didn't fully understand the implications of the Berlin Wall falling when I was ten. No one has really talked about it here, other than the re-telling of the orders in the copy room. But after perusing some blogs, and watching the celebrations on the news, and listening to my talk radio to and from work, I have been thinking a lot about this.

What is my stand? What should I, as a Christian, think? Should I be celebrating the death? Should I feel relieved? Should I be abhorred at the thousands who are celebrating? And what do the Prophets think? I mean, most of them were around for Pearl Harbor, so this is familiar territory for them, and back then, it was patriotic to hate the enemy. But now, when public opinion is so widely spread, it's a different story. I have finally come to a decision about how I feel.

First off, I believe in Jesus Christ, and I believe he was the perfect man. He was a man that the government hated and eventually killed. But he did nothing wrong, so if you think I'm going to make a comparison here, I'm not. My point is, after all the abuse He took, the pains He suffered, and the burden He bore, He still said with one of his last breaths, "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do," referring to the Roman Soldiers. So he forgave what they did. Can we forgive Osama Bin Laden? That would be the right thing to do. But on the other hand, I always remind myself, Christ forgave them, but he wasn't chummy with them. We don't have to like them, we just have to forgive them. So the question: Can I forgive that much? Well, in a way, I can. What Bin Laden did was horrific, a sin by a seriously evil man, a man who was following Satan. And I do not like Satan. So...I don't think I hate Bin Laden. I think I hate Satan and hate what he is doing to our country and has been doing for the last century.

Should I celebrate in the killing of Bin Laden? I think celebration is a little much. I don't want to celebrate, and and I am not naive enough to think this means it's over, the terrorist threat is done, because it's not. It is a little sigh of relief, just as Sadam Hussein was. Bottom Line: am I sorry he is dead? No. Am I sorry Americans killed him? No. Do I think that we should have captured and put him on trial? No. Do I think we should have honored his Muslim tradition in death? No. And here's why I am okay with that.

The Lord told Nephi (and I'm working on memory here, so I will probably misquote it) that it was better for one man to die than for a whole nation to suffer in unbelief. In this case, I think it is better for one man to die than for a nation--and possibly, the world) to suffer.

But death of another of God's Children is never something to celebrate. It is sad, not that he's dead--Bin Laden's death is NOT in any way sad--but it is sad that there is that much evil in the world, and that Satan has taken what I am sure is a beautiful religion and twisted it and turned it so that it is something ugly and violent. It is sad that a man who was once so innocent sitting in his mother's lap took the path he did and caused so much hatred in this world.

A man like that had to die for the help of the rest of the world, and I think that Americans should have been the ones to do it, just as Nephi, the most righteous of prophets, was the man to kill Laban. But it is sad that another one of God's children has chosen to follow Satan. Satan didn't lead away just a third of heaven. Satan is still fighting the old war, and he's still taking casualties. That is what we should mourn: that Satan has won another soul that was beloved to Him, and the loss of another soul is never a cause for celebration.

One thing I clearly remember about 9/11 was that the First Presidency gave an address later that day. Since I didn't leave the Institute Chapel, I watched and listened as it was broadcast. One thing I clearly remember was President Hinckley talking about how Secret Combinations, whose only master is the master of all that is evil and wicked in this world, even the very same Satan, were alive and well.

This man, Osama Bin Laden, was one of Satan's followers. I am glad that we have eliminated one of Satan's followers here on the earth, but it is important to remember that in this war, this war that we have been fighting since the beginning of time, did not start with physical bodies, and it will not end with the destruction of a physical body. It is good that Osama Bin Laden cannot cause any more hurt and destruction on this earth, and for that I am glad. But this death is a casualty of that more-important Spiritual War.

Someone won this battle. And it was not us.

This war will be bitter to the very end; we will suffer more and more casualties, and it will get to the point where we feel we cannot win, but we will. We have that guarantee. Even though wicked is reigning and Satan is gathering and strengthening his armies, we know that we will win. And at this time in our country, this fact, that Christ will conquer evil, is the most important thing to remember.

Alice Says...

This morning, Alice woke up crying. I went into her room and said, "What's the matter?"

Alice says in her new "crying" voice, "I can't see Ky-yer."

Kyler is our neighbor, about one year older than Alice. She loves him and asks for Kyler and Beckett (his little brother) constantly. It took a while to convince her that she can see Kyler tomorrow at her birthday party.

Cloth Diaper Flats and Handwashing Challenge

I don't know if anyone knows, but I am thinking of cloth diapering Baby Bingham #2, and I have been doing a lot of research about costs, different diapers, etc. I have found that cloth diapering can be as expensive or inexpensive as you want it to be, with flats (a large piece of cotton) the cheapest option.

In the news lately, there have been stories of people who, unable to purchase new diapers, have been reusing disposable diapers by blow-drying them if they are wet, or having their children sit in their poop for hours at a time to make the diapers last longer. A lot of little kids have been getting sick, even a few dying because of the infection this is causing.

By perusing through some cloth diaper blogs, I have found someone over at Dirty Diaper Laundry who is sponsoring the Flats and Handwashing Challenge to help people understand that there are options for your child, that are quite inexpensive, to diaper your child--even if you don't have access to a washing machine.

I don't have anyone to participate in the challenge with (Miss Alice is going to be with Jackie on the dates of the challenge, and I would never expect someone else to do this for me), but I still think it's important for people to find other ways to take good care of their kids, even if they don't have a lot of money.

I will donate 12 flat diapers to anyone who would like to participate in this challenge. If you know anyone that can't afford the diapers and would benefit from 12 flat diapers, let them know. They can email me at cutiebing {at} gmail {dot} com with their address. I will order the diapers and have them sent to their address.

For more information on the parameters and rules of this challenge, you can find the information here:

Flats Challenge

Update: Without Pictures

Sorry about the no pictures thing. The only time I find that I want to write is a work, ironically (especially since it's Core Testing this week and I'm almost completely caught up with grades), and have no access to the pictures that I PROMISE we have been taking. Maybe I'll come back later and update with pictures.

Anyway, here's what the Bingham clan has been up to:

Joe: Still works and Chris' Body and Paint on the corner of State Street and 7200 South (sound familiar? The shop is right next to the Shane Company. Not right on the corner, I guess, but how can you NOT quote the Shane Company?) It is 100 million% better than where he was last year. At least I'm not trying to constantly cheer up a depressed husband, but it's still not where he wants to be. Ultimately, Joe would love to get a job with a salary instead of commission and health insurance instead of...nothing. But at least he's happy when he comes home.

Joe has been working very hard to get our spare room ready for Alice. The goal is to move her into her "Big Girl" room and her "Big Girl" bed by her birthday (next week...can you believe it?) so it's a "Yay! You're a big girl!" kind of thing rather than a "By the way, we're kicking you out of your crib for the new baby" type of thing. Joe has done the room all by himself, and has done a stellar job, if I do say so myself. He painted, installed the bead board, the chair rail, and battled with the stupid bull-nose all on his own. He even picked out the ceiling fan, which is Alice's favorite part. She likes to take people in the room, point to the ceiling, and say "Yookit! Bootiful!" Pictures are definitely forthcoming.

Alice is officially 23 months and 3 weeks old, which means it is birthday time around our house, and I have been pretty lazy lately. I've been sewing like a crazy lady for the baby, but in all the nesting I have kind of forgotten that Easter was here, and just a week later, it would be Alice's birthday. I haven't even done anything for it yet, unless you count getting her bedroom ready. But I am currently trying to come up with a fun cake that I can do this weekend, and I have just been waiting for my paycheck to go and get her big present that we've been thinking about.

Alice's vocabulary is expanding at an astonishing rate. I didn't realize this until I got to spend a week home during Spring Break. The girl never shut up! "What you doing?" "Yet's Dance!" "How 'bout...Micky Mouse?" "Where Daddy go?" and "No! Stop It" were on a constant cycle for five days straight. I was so glad when Joe took Thursday and Friday off so I could say, "Alice, go see if you can help Daddy fix your big girl room." And then she would bug him with the question, "What you doing?" Over and over again.

This event, however, has kindled Alice's new love affair with tools. She loves to "fix" things with a hammer (which means we have a couple dents in walls) mark the walls with a pencil (like Joe was marking his measurements on the chair rail) and carry around her favorite flashlight. Her new favorite show is Bob the Builder, and recently she has taken to sleeping with her own (plastic) hammer. Remember how I said I had a girl? Sometimes I wonder. Although Alice does have her girl moments.

She frequently will point to our house and say, "Oh, no! Mommy, it messy!" Which, okay, it is, but really. Our house has always been messy. When did she start to mind? And second of all, it's messy because of ALICE. So lately I've been saying, "Yep, it is messy, Miss Alice. I guess you better clean it up." And the conversation ends there. I think she is my daughter. I learned really young to never complain about being bored because my mom would "find me something to do." Alice is a branch from the same tree.

Alice has taken to recognizing letters, but doesn't know the ABCs. We were driving down the road and passed a Weinershnitzel and Alice started yelling, "Yippee! Yippee! A W Mommy! Yippee! W! Yookit! A W! Yippee!" I don't know why a W brings such joy to her, but I am very glad she can recognize letters out of order. I think that will really help her when she starts to read, although I worry about her future alphabetizing organizational skills.

And me? Well, I'm counting down the days until summer break (27) and counting down the days until New Baby makes an appearance (99). There's a lot I have to do between now and end of school, though, and planning and grading are last on that list. I have to start packing up my room. I am going part time next year, and I might have to move classrooms. I haven't heard anything like that, but I have a sneaking suspicion (based on good historical evidence) that there is a serious communication problem and they will notify me that I have to move my classroom in August, a week after the baby is born. So I'm packing up now.

I also have to start getting ready for a substitute for next year. I am doing what I swore I never would: starting the school year with a sub. Arggg. But. I can't change that now. I'm crossing my fingers, though, that an intern friend of mine won't get a job so she can be my sub. That way, I won't have to do 6 weeks of lesson plans, and might consider taking the full 12 weeks off, knowing my classes are in good hands. I feel mean hoping she is unemployed, but what can I do?

I have reached that point in my pregnancy where people are starting to ask my due date, and then give me a pitying look when I tell them August 4th. I know. I am that big. I'm huge. I can't bend over to tie my shoes anymore, and my LARGE clothes I wore for the last month of Alice's gestation are now fitting perfectly at week 26. It's sad. But, I keep telling myself, it's all baby, right? I've only gained 13 pounds this time around, and at this point with Alice, I was up a whopping 30 and counting. So. Whatever.

As mentioned above, I have been sewing and crocheting like a crazy lady. Most people clean when they're nesting. I make bigger messes. So far I have made: two wet bags, 30 cloth wipes (because they clean up messy faces better than regular wipes), covered 7 cardboard boxes with fabric to act as stylish drawers in baby's closet, a blanket (for someone else), crocheted a diaper cover (with ruffles!) and am crocheting a large white blanket for a girl, and have plans for a cute blue one if we're having a boy. I have bought material to make a diaper holder, and curtains for the new baby room, and am considering buying more fabric to make a bed skirt and new bumper pads. I bought a food processor (for 8.99 on ebay) so I can make my own baby food, and I have started shopping around for breast feeding supplies (since I'm gonna give it a go this time around). I have also started stocking up on a diaper stash. I've gone a bit crazy, I know. It's all pretty new to me, since I don't remember going through this last time, but I attribute it to the knowledge that I'm going part time, which means 50% less income than I'm used to. So I'm trying to get everything in order before I don't have any more money. Whew. I wish I weren't working.

So that's us for now. There's pictures coming of Alice's Big Girl Room, her new potty (which she loves to sit on but hates to use), Easter, Two Year Pics (as soon as she's not sick anymore to get her to cooperate), my many projects (cute diaper covers, blankets, etc), many, many more.

So Remember When

I was doing those cute posts about how I met my husband, fell in love, and here we are 6 years later? No? Well, that's what I was leading up to. I was going to chronicle March 12, March 18, and March 19, our first three dates, and end with a stirring, yet upbeat, post on March 19 about how I knew then, on our third date, that I was going to marry this guy, and that guy's birthday was March 19th, and then talk about how I did marry him, how much I love him, and then tease him about being 35. Because, of course, I am still in my 20s (barely), so how old is he to be only 5 years away from 40?

That was the intention. And then some evil cold/allergies I don't know what descended upon our family. First, I had a little head cold, then Alice caught it, followed by a horrible, vomit-inducing cough (which, thankfully only induced twice--both times when I was holding her, by the way), which she suffered from for about two weeks. I was feeling fine, and this week she finally started to pull out of it when Joe came down with the cold/allergies. And it is easier taking care of Alice when she is sick than Joe. At least Alice will be happy between bouts. Joe is miserable. Constantly.

And dear, I love you, but we all feel crummy. I know you are achy, your head is stuffed, your ears are stuffed, and it's settling in your chest and you can't sleep. I can't sleep either, because I have a stiff neck (from trying to sleep on my stomach, but since the baby has taken that region over, I end up sleeping on my side, but twisted--it's weird) and I a miserable, too. But I do not think you are going to die, and I do not think you are going to catch pneumonia, and I do not think you are going to permanently lose your hearing in your left ear. I am sorry. I am not a very patient nurse.

So, the cold that I had for a week went away (except for a stuffy nose--is that allergies?) for a week while Alice was sick, and since Alice has gotten better, has reappeared with a vengeance. My eyes are leaky and swollen, my nose is constantly stuffed, and this morning I woke to a cough that induced vomit-like reactions (though I have yet to vomit). It's back. And Joe is still sick. And I am tired, since I didn't sleep last night, and at work, since I have to be, and Joe went to work (even though he has a tendency to break parts when he's sick and tired), and I have to make up a root word quiz and go buy a cake at Costco during my lunch break (which, by the way, is only 30 minutes) for my student teacher, who is leaving at exactly the WRONG time. And on top of that, I look like crap because I don't care.

And that is why I didn't get a chance to finish my wonderful, upbeat series to my husband. I am so sorry. Here's the nutshell version: I married him. I love him. He's a super guy. He's a neat dad. And we are both miserable when we are sick.

Flashback: March 18, 2005

Remember how when guys say they'll call you, they usually never do? Well, after the fabulous first date the week before, the guy CALLED ME. I really couldn't believe it. And he asked me out. For March 18th. I, of course, said yes because one, it really was a fabulous first date, and two, he was pretty cute, except for the aforementioned jeans up to his armpits. But I can fix jeans.

The only problem with this date of ours was that I had to go to my cousin's wedding reception that night (happy anniversary, Cali!) I mean, I had to. I had gone to her bridal's with her, and I really like her, so I didn't want to miss it. The problem was that the wedding was in Spanish Fork, and I lived in Bluffdale, about a 40 minute drive. If I went to the wedding, said hello to the fam, and then came home, this would put our date at around 9:00. And I didn't want to miss this date. Sure, I could have said no and scheduled for the next night, but I didn't want to say no, and I knew the next night was my date's birthday, and I didn't want to be so presumptuous to assume that he would want to take me out on his birthday. So, I asked if he wanted to go to the reception with me, and then have our date. To my surprise, he said okay. This meant showing up with a boy at a family function--all my aunts and uncles would be there, including the 'rents and the sibs. But he wanted to go. I knew he must really like me.

On the way down to the reception, I tried to warn My Date about my family. Now,my family is a very loud, very fun bunch, but you would never know this unless you stuck around long enough to get past the--well, it's not weird, it's just us-- stuff. Because we are, for lack of a better word, us. Natalee knows everything about music there is to know, and she loves sharing the information. Yarley is the belching champion of the world, but knows better than to perform in public. Rory is very funny. But it's not a regular funny. If you didn't know he was being funny, you would just think he was being weird. Example: At the wedding, My Date had valiantly survived Meeting the Family (on the second date, mind you) and we were leaving when Rory tapped on My Date's window to say something. Date rolled down the window and Rory said, "The cock crows at midnight," looked furtively over his shoulder, and snuck away into the night. I, knowing my brother, laughed. My Date, not knowing my brother, thought he was a freak. It wasn't until I explained the joke (which took quite a bit of time--how do you explain "the cock crows at midnight?"), My Date smiled (or tried to) and let it pass. He must REALLY like me.

My Date and I headed to see the movie Hitch. We arrived early for our show time, so we walked around Thanksgiving Point for a while and chatted, during the course of which I finally grabbed his hand because I was tired of making my hand available for someone who so obviously wanted to hold it. We finally went into the movie theater and sat in our seats, waiting.

"So," I began, "Did you go on a mission?" Now let me explain my thinking to you. As a rule, I hardly every mentioned the mish to my dates because one, I usually didn't have to--returned missionaries in the single scene usually waste no time in exploiting the valour; two, there was a Spanish person in the theater, and My Date didn't stop to have an obnoxiously long "secret convo"; and three, if you mention the mish to a date, you can kiss other topics goodbye. But this guy was different. There were no Spanish conversations, no mention of the best two years of his life, yet there were garment lines. So I was curious.

My Date hesitated after my question, and finally said, "No, I didn't."

"Oh," I replied. Thank goodness. No stupid companion stories to suffer through. However, My Date was thinking something else.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"Umm...no. Do you not want to see this movie? I mean, we don't have to see it if you don't want to."

"No, it's just...I can take you home if you want." Okay. I really was confused at this point. I thought things were going so well. We were holding hands, he braved the fam, but now he wanted to take me home. I couldn't figure out what went wrong. Finally, it dawned on me--I don't know why or how I figured it out. Looking back, the only explanation I can think of is that well--Heavenly Father liked us together. So He helped clarify--and it was crystal clear.

"I don't care, you know," I said after an awkward silence. "About the mission thing, I mean. I know lots of good guys that didn't go on missions, my dad one of them. And my bishop. And every bishop I've ever had. I don't care."

He looked surprised. "You don't?"

"No. I just asked because you hadn't mentioned it, and most guys mention it by now. All I need to know is that you go to church, right?"

"Yeah"

"And you can go to the temple, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Good enough for me." And to prove my point, I put my head on his shoulder. He put his arm across my shoulder. We sat that way through the rest of the movie. I realized that night that it wasn't just that he really liked me, but I really liked him, too. He asked me out for the next night--for his birthday.

I didn't find out until later that My Date had run into the "I-Will-Only-Date-Returned-Missionaries" so many times that he had promised himself that he would only go out with ten more girls, and then he was done with dating--with the church. I was girl number 10.

Flashback: March 12, 2005

I went shopping with two of my best gal pals for a fabulous shirt, a new denim jacket, and jeans. Then I went home, meticulously applied some serious make up, and did my hair to the best of my ability (which, if you know my hair, and I don't mind saying this, is saying something. I have great hair). I did all this in preparation to go on my first date with a guy I had been trying to get to ask me out for a couple of weeks. I could tell he liked me, but he just wouldn't ask me on a date. Finally, after a couple of very obvious hints (I have never been good a subtle) he asked me out. One a date (not a hang-out) and he was coming to pick me up. I was very excited for this date. It had been a long time since I went out on pure free-will. Everything prior to that was a blind-date. Apparently, when you have good hair, people like to set you up.

My date showed up after I had to go outside and wave him down because of my bad directions, but I went back in the house and made him come to the door. He picked me up and looked pretty good, despite the fact that his shirt was tucked into his jeans, which were pulled up way too high. But I could change that. I mean, jeans are just jeans, right? So, giving myself a last once-over in the bathroom (to make sure my cleavage wasn't slutty, just alluring) we left. And we talked all the way to Mimi's Cafe.

When we arrived to dinner, I didn't know what to do. Do I get out? Or do I wait for him to come open the door? I always have hated the guess work on this one. And personally, I really hated waiting for the guy to walk all the way around the car while I am sitting there perfectly capable of getting out, by myself. So, again, not so good with the subtle, I asked. "Do you want me to wait for you? Or should I just get out?" This guy just looked at me for a clue as to what he should say, and I finally gave him a hint, "I would much rather get out. I hate sitting here by myself."

My date said, "Okay. I sometimes forget anyway."
Me: "Good. Then it's settled. But you should probably get the door for me getting in."
My date: "Good to know."

Usually, with the other boys I dated, this kind of comment would lessen their manhood, and they would think I was bossy. This boy, on the other hand, was just glad he didn't have to read my mind. It was refreshing to have someone realize the value of knowing what I am thinking at all times, instead of getting offended or embarrassed.

We ate at dinner, talked constantly, and completely ignored the other couple we were with. Bet you didn't even realize this was a double date, right? That's how much they didn't matter. Then we went to a hockey game. I had never been to one, and knowing of my penchant for loudness at a game and how it embarrassed all my other boyfriends, I gave this one a warning, "I get really loud at games and sometimes I swear at them."

My date: "Sweet. Then you mind when I heckle, right?" This date was going very well.

We didn't yell or heckle at the hockey game. We talked through the whole thing. Throughout the course of our conversation, we discovered the my grandpa and his grandpa were brothers. That put a damper on stuff for a minute until I realized that my grandpa was not my biological grandpa, but my dad's step-father. So we weren't really related. My grandmother and I just have the same taste in men. Again, when I said this, there was an awkward minute.

Finally, me: "I don' t have a problem if you don't."
My Date: "I don't. As long as we're really not related."
Me: "We're not."
My Date: "Then I'm fine."

He took me home, and we laughed the whole way. He was laughing at me because my laugh sounded funny, and I was laughing because he was the first person I had ever met who laughed louder than I did. It was a match made in heaven.

Dear Grandpa Bingham,

Even though you are not my real grandpa (a fact that I don't usually recognize, but considering my marital status, it is important) you are the only grandpa I have ever known. I feel that I am writing this to you several years late, because you have truly been gone from us that long. I should be sad, and I should mourn your passing, and I should cry a little bit more than I have.

But I can't. And it's not because I didn't love you. I did. I loved you a lot. It's because I can't be sad for you when I know that you can finally see, hear, and remember for the first time in a long time. I am happy when I think of you young and fit, like your pictures in Joe's genealogy book, going around with Weldon and Sprig and Bish and all your other brothers. I am happy when I think of you finally seeing your first wife, Alice, again, and your sisters, and your mom and dad. There was a great Bingham bash, I am sure, when you went home, and I can't be sad about it. There are, however, a few things I would like to ask of you, now that you know who I am and where you are:

1. Please watch over Grandma. There are plenty of people here to do it right now, but no one can be there all the time, and I am sure she needs you.
2. Tell Weldon about Joe and my Miss Alice. Joe never got to know your favorite brother, except through stories you told on all those Malt-Shop outings Joe took you on. So it would be nice if you could pass on what you remember.
3. I hope you remember how much all of us Pete Jones girls loved you. As I said, even though we weren't biological, you were the only grandpa we knew. When I was little, I couldn't figure out why I wasn't a Bingham, and when my mom told me that you were not dad's dad, I was a little sad. We all miss you--not the you that laid in a bed for the last two years, but the you that kept sheep and swore in the corner and loved the movie Shane and the you that loved chocolate malts. We've been missing you for a while.

RAYMOND BINGHAM

Raymond Bingham 1913 ~ 2011 Raymond Bingham died early March 6, 2011 at the Legacy Village in Taylorsville, Utah. Ray was born on Indian Bench to Ashel Calvin Bingham & Grace Eudora Casper on August 16, 1913. He married Alice Runsted and they had five children, Lorna Rae (Rolf Petersen), Alice Ielene (Clyde Rydalch), Jack Raymond (Helen Fitz) and Robert (Suzie Green). Ray was a veteran of World War II and served most of the war in the South Pacific. His wife, Alice died in 1965 and he later married Dorothy Fern Jones (formally Warden) on July 16, 1970. Dorothy brought with her seven children, Sherry Ambrose (Rick), Krista Kanenwisher (Ken), Winston Jones (Leora Tingey), Jennell Colvalt (Norm), Jenniffer Walton (Don), Peter M. Jones (Suzanne Nicholes) and William Raymond Jones (Barbara Boyack). Ray and Fern have 44 grandchildren, 64 great-grand-children and seven great-great-grandchildren. Ray's surviving siblings are Loke, Dick and Acel Bingham. Ray's Alzheimer's decline took him back to Indian Bench. His last thoughts were of his boyhood years spent on Indian Bench with his brothers and sisters (8 boys & 3 girls) and the parents he adored. Ray taught us how to bear our burdens lightly. A family viewing will be held on Wednesday, March 9, 2011 at 12 noon at Goff Mortuary, 8090 S. State St., Midvale, Utah. Graveside services will follow at the Bluffdale City Cemetery at 1:30 p.m. www.goffmortuary.com