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.