A Year of Alice

My Dear Sweet Alice,
This past year has been the best and the hardest in my life. I cannot remember what life was before you were here, and never, in my wildest dreams, would I ever go back to life before my sweet Miss Alice. You are our miracle, the most wanted baby in the world. This is what I remember most about this past year with you.

The first thing I said when I first saw you was, "She's so pretty!" Everyone had prepared me for a wrinkly, red, skinny baby. But you were pink, plump, and ready for the world.

You were such a good baby when we had these pictures taken. Only three weeks old, and already cooperating. I love this look on your face...like you were so glad to finally be with us.

Your very fist Lehi Roundup Parade! The first of many, I am willing to bet. You fell asleep shortly after this picture was taken, and I stashed you under Grandpa Jones' chair to keep you out of the sun. When the sirens and the firetrucks came by, I thought you would wake up crying, but instead, you just slept, happy as a clam, safe and sound. I had a little bit of a Mr.-Holland's-Opus moment when I thought you might be deaf. But then I relaxed when later that day you woke up from Cousin Elise's tantrum. Thank goodness!

You always gave us this wide-eyed look. You always looked as if you wanted to say something, to ask something, or to let us know what you were thinking. You were so curious. In fact, the minute you were born, you were holding up your head to take in the sights. You never slept in the car because you wanted to see and experience everything. Even now, you hate your naps because you're afraid you'll miss something. I love that you want to learn and explore!

This was your first real outing. We took you hiking up in the Uintas. Daddy strapped you into the Bjorn, and off we went. You were so good, as long as we kept moving and gave you plenty to look at. You alway had your tongue hanging out at this point in your life. I tried a couple of times to push it in, but you would have none of it. This is my favorite picture of me and you together. This is how I see us in my mind's eye. Happy with no double chin.

This was my favorite picture. You were so fun at five months! You were laughing for the first time, babbling, and smiling. You loved to take naps with Mommy, and you LOVED to play games with Daddy. You were always so happy and playful, always trying something new, always learning a new trick.

What can I say? Look at that hat! We called you Swiss Miss when we put this on you. But you were so darn cute, we couldn't resist!

This is you with Grandpa Jones. For a while there, all you would do was spit. And you wouldn't stop spitting until you ran out of air. I remember driving with you in the back, listening to a long raspberry, a huge gasp for breath, and then another long raspberry. Everyone thought it was really cute, and no one minded when they got your baby germs sprayed all over their faces.

Needless to say, you were NOT happy about this picture. At this point, you were less patient for the camera, which was constantly in your face. You just wanted to go to sleep. Unfortunately, we still had to go to church that morning. Don't worry, Alice, we were only two weeks away from 11:00 church!

You are such a good eater! You ate anything and everything we put in front of you. The only downfall to this is that, even now, you don't stop when you are full. You just keep on stuffing it in and storing it in those chubby cheeks of yours.

This was my favorite outfit! You looked like a little angel with your white onesie and your white sweat pants. Then I would put on the jacket and this huge flower, and you turned into a sassy angel. I tried many times to get you into the store to get your portrait done, but there was never any money or time. I'm glad I got this picture, at least, before you grew out of it.

This is you in your Easter dress. Again, you weren't very happy. You never are before we go to church. But you looked so grown up and pretty! I wish you could see it better. It was pink and white stripes. And it was the frilliest thing I ever bought for you. I don't know why, but you never struck me as a tulle-tutu girl. No, you seemed more like the overalls-pigtail girl. But I did it up just this once, and then I cried. How did my baby grow up to be this toddler?

My Sweet Miss Alice. This is my favorite picture to date, because, to me, this picture looks like YOU. The Essence of Alice, I guess. You're so happy, walking around, doing your "tricks" for everyone, making them all laugh and adore you. You have such a knack for getting people to make you the center of attention. You're a crowd-stopper, my dear. Literally. People stop me wherever I go to tell me how beautiful you are. The only thing I can reply is, "Yes, she is, isn't she?" because it's true. You see, they are complimenting you on your kissable chubby cheeks, perfect plumpy lips, tear-drop eyes, and your infectious, flirty smile. But what I see as beautiful is your natural curiosity, your ability to make anyone smile, your quick mind, and even, yes, your "sneaky" ways around the rules. I think the way you say, "Hi, Dada" every morning is beautiful, and I think the way you moo at anyone you see because it's your best trick is beautiful. I think the way you play in your crib when you're supposed to be napping is beautiful. I especially think the way you pick up one of Mommy's books (the ones withOUT the pictures) open it up to a page (usually upside down) lean back, and hold the book in front of your nose, just like Mommy does, especially beautiful. We love you, Miss Alice, and you have made our lives happier than we could ever have imagined. You're a special spirit with important things to do--the first month you were with us, you booed at the cartoon Laban and cheered for the cartoon angel--and we are so excited, happy, priviledged, and honored to help you get there. One year down, my sweet girl, and many, many more to go. WE LOVE YOU!

Oh So Much to Blog About

And so little time to do it. But it's all coming, I promise. I have the most spectacular One Year blog in honor of Alice's birthday--alas, it exists in my mind only. But I promise, give me a couple of weeks, and I will be a blogging FIEND. Then, I have a great story about tragedy, love, loss, and wonder that involves a little girl's first birthday, an allergy-induced sleepless night, a call-in-sick day, a firing, and a little secret shop clean-out. Yeah. Needless to say, Monday, May 3, 2010 was a day that will live in infamy in the Bingham household. That little story will also be on the horizon. And the totally awe-inspiring moment that took place yesterday when I was trying to get the AT&T people to not swindle me out of $200.00. Just ask for a supervisor, and you get whatever you want--who knew? Also, something major to look forward to--an expose. Called Life Without DVR or Bravo. It will be emotionally charged and cathartic to say the least.

But, for today, I leave you with a little analysis paragraph written by one of my students in reponse the to question, "Is Gatsby [from the book The Great Gatsby] a liar?" It makes me happy. If you've never read the book, all I can say is that this book takes place in 1922, and there are not martial arts in it anywhere:

Okay, so we're reading the Great Gatsby, and I asked my students to write an analysis paragraph answering the question,"Is Gatsby a Liar?" There is a section in chapter four where Gatsby said he "lived like a young Rajah in all the capitals of Europe..." I do remember explaining to my students what a rajah was. But here's a paragraph submitted by one of my lovlies. If you read Gatsby you will understand why it's so funny... P.S. The "Jew with Connections" he talks about is Meyer Wolfsheim.

"Gatsby is not a liar because he is a ninja. He talks about being a ninja rajah in Europe while he went to Oxford. This matters because pictures of Oxford cannot be faked during the jazz age and the Jew with connections says he went to Oxford. Having back-up from the Jew means that more people were there, or knew he was not lieing. Gatsby is not a liar because he can supply evidence for more than one side of the story."

Imagine, after reading this book out loud over 21 times in the past six years, I have never caught on to the fact that Gatsby is a ninja. That explains so much!

Random Monday Mornings

I have a difficult time with Mondays. I think most people do, so I'm not out of the ordinary--in this case, anyway. And don't worry. This isn't another depressing rant about how sad I am. Thanks to asking God if it was okay if I took a break from my calling, allowing Joe to do the dishes and help fold laundry, taking walks in the sunshine, telling my students no, and some happy pills from my doctor to deal with the post-postpartum that I didn't know about (It turns out, depression isn't about being sad--it's about losing control. Who knew?), I am feeling much better about life in general, and even my job. No, this isn't about how sad I am. This is about why Mondays are so hard for me.

I simply don't want to do anything for anyone else. Why is that? I don't know. I can't figure it out, either. Basically, this what my Mondays are like: The alarm goes off around 5:45. I don't hear it, and Joe pushes snooze about four or five times so it's 6:15 by the time he wakes me up. Now, if you know me, you will know that when I wake up, I don't jump out of bed and get started. I never have, and after six years of teaching I realize that I never will. So I try for the next fifteen minutes to keep my eyes open, trying to remember if I need to wash my hair today or not. If I do, I reluctantly get up and walk (with my eyes closed) to the shower. If not, then I joyfully turn on my curlers and go back to bed for five minutes. At this point, Joe, who is a much better morning person than I am, is up, dressed, woke up Alice, fed her, and is making lunches. He is such a wonderful wife!

Finally, I either get out of the shower or bed, depending on the status of my hair. By now it's about 6:35. I officially have 25 minutes to get ready for the day. This is why, in the last two years, I have stopped wearing makeup. No, it's not a feminist stand, nor is it a decision based on the self-confidence of good skin. No. It's just laziness. Sometimes, if I particularly don't care, I go in the front room to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse with Alice for a few minutes. It's Monday mornings that Alice decides that, after a weekend of being a Daddy's Girl, that she in fact, wants her Mommy. But I can't hold her because I have to get ready for work. This is the only time during the whole day when I get a twinge of that old guilt. But, once again, thanks to the happy-pills, I move on and go to blow dry my hair and hope the shirt I want to wear is clean and not too wrinkled. Then, around 7:05, when I should be jumping in my car to go to work to make it by the 7:15 contract time, I take Alice to the babysitter, stand around and chat for about 5-10 minutes, then walk out with Joe, talk to him about another 5 minutes, go back up the stairs to grab whatever I forgot the first time, then I get in the car.

This is around 7:15. I am officially late. I drive about 60 miles an hour, because Mondays feel like that kind of driving, so I get to work in 20 minutes instead of 15. At this point, it's 7:35, and I am the last English teacher to arrive that day. I can count all their cars. But I don't really care. So I sit around my classroom for about 10 minutes, trying to look busy in case a student comes in for help with something (which they never do. I think I scare my students.) Then, when the bell rings, I say a silent prayer, thanking the powers that be that the girls outside my door (sophomores with bright green eye-shadow who swear and talk about all the bi@&!es they're gonna take out. There's a new b#%ch who's gonna be taken out every week. It's amazing there's any girls left in the school) have to go to class.

Then, I sit at my desk, start up my computer, and then stare at it for about five minutes and say another silent prayer thanking Heavenly Father for first hour preps. Then, to put off the grading that needs to happen, or any copying I need to do, I look at blogs for about 35 minutes. It would be longer if people updated their blogs more (hint, hint). Then, I decide I should update my blog, but then I realize I don't have any pictures of Alice at work, so I decide I could write about me. So I start writing a post that no one will really care to read, and takes me about 20 minutes to compose. Then, I look at the clock, see it's 8:35, and realize that the bell will ring in 20 minutes, because once again, it's MONDAY, meaning there's about 15 minutes less in each class, and I have nothing done for my students.

But I don't care. Partly because it's Monday, but mostly because I realize that it's State Core Testing all this week, and I don't have to do anything particularly exhausting, nor do I have to make copies. Then, I decide, instead of using my time wisely, that I'm going to try to change the music on my blog.

That's my typical Monday. By Tuesday I'm ready to work. Sigh. Just 6 more hours until I can go home...

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Alice's First Easter

Tonight was the first time we dyed eggs with a little one around. Or all the way around. This time last year I was dying eggs with a HUGE 8 month pregnant belly! I didn't think Alice would really care about dying eggs, since she is still so little, but I was wrong. She was so excited just to sit there and watch us get things ready and to see the eggs, and to play with the newspaper. You can't see this egg very well, but Joe made it. It says "Alice's First Easter." I am quite proud to see that he used an apostrophe in the proper place!

This is Alice before we started dying the eggs. You can see the bright red duct tape we used to keep her from pulling the paper close to her and tipping the dye. Usually I don't think of these things until AFTER there is a mess everywhere, but I was impressed with my incredible foresight. As you can see, Alice is super excited!

At first, I didn't really understand Alice's fascination with the eggs. I mean, c'mon. They're EGGS. But then I realized that she had never actually seen an egg before. She's tasted them, but those were post-shell. She grabbed one, and as you can see, tried to eat it. Shortly after this picture was taken, she realized it was hard. She got very excited and started banging it on the counter--something she has been doing lately with hard objects (she loves the noise it makes.) She was a little shocked when it cracked. Needless to say, we didn't dye this particular egg.


This is Alice post-dye. She was so cute and happy all night! She kept mooing at the eggs. These days, she moos at everything. That or makes monkey sounds. She's funny.

Alice trying to eat the post-dye eggs. Yes, Alice, they are still hard, even though they are a different color. This one didn't escape the counter top, either.

And even though we had fun, Alice and I still had a talk about why we celebrate Easter. We talked about Jesus and how he died so he could save us, and then how he came alive again. I'm pretty sure she didn't understand what I was saying. But it's a start.

PIGGYS!

Or is it pigg-IES? I don't know. Anyway, I have been trying for weeks to put Alice's hair in piggys (I'm sticking with the grammatically incorrect. I like it), but she wouldn't let me. I had to wrestle her down, and she would cry and cry all these fat tears. I finally gave up; it wasn't worth the fight. But the other day, I went to pick Alice up at Lisa's, and lo and behold, PIGGYS. With no fight or no argument. I couldn't believe it. Lisa is a MIRACLE WORKER. I'm serious. Because you know what? They had kind of fallen out when she took a nap, so I came home and redid them. No tears. No fight--AGAIN. And there hasn't been a fight ever since. She just wants to hold the brush. Who knew? And they are SO CUTE! Thank you, Lisa, for taming my child.

Kisses...

To everyone we love. You make our lives full of happiness and joy!

Happy Valentine's Day!

Love, Joe, Sarah, and of course, Alice