It's a Mars Rover.

I know you had lots of questions about what Simon was posing with in the last post. May all your questions be answered in the following 3 minute video companion to that photo.

But if you have questions remaining, by all means, that's why we have a comment section and a few resident scientists.*

*Mark assisted him on this last Sunday. whatta good dad. :)

Goldilocks and the three Hairs

There once was a wee fair maiden with curly hair. Her head was adorned with perfect blond curls at the ends of each lock, there from her babyhood.






But before we get to the rest of her story, it must be known that she was not the only hairy one in the land.





There was the great big boy bear, who's hair was too bushy:







And the wee small baby bear, who's hair was too . . . well,

. . . confuse-y?, messy?, blind-y?

But let's get back to the fair little girl. The middle-sized bear. The one who's hair was JUST RIGHT.

The one who told me yesterday that she wanted "Hailey Hanis hair." Just out of the blue, and not too adamantly. After I asked her about 15 times over the next twenty hours if she really wanted to cut her beautiful hair (see sidebar), I did it.

SOB.

I cried, cringed, and saved this lock for me. A little side story: after I made the first cut, I was wrapping it to preserve and Alli asked me what I was doing. I told her I was saving one of her beautiful curls and that it made me cry. She said, "Mom, can you make one for me to have too?" "Yes." As I took up the scissors she added, "Just don't cry this time, Mom."

So today the great big boy, the wee small baby, and the middle-sized girl all got chopped,

and they lived happily ever after.

I do like Alli's hair.

Epilogue: I don't think Alli will have curly hair anymore. I think our familial curliness is down to just Mary Tessa and me. And who knows how long that will last, judging from the wide-eyed curiousity with which Tess' observed this whole hair cutting process. Pray she and Alli keep away from the scissors, because Tess is in that fertile age window where she's learning words and abilities like crazy and she may just try her hand at it. And until now my dramatic little Alli has never known the possibilities for dramatic change a little scissoring can bring.

While we're on that topic, I applied a little scissoring to mahself the other week:

The End.

coming soon: our computer's been out this week. oh boy, do i have a lot to catch the ol' bloggie up on.

Ode to Rhubarb.

In response to my rhubarb queries, I have just been googling rhubarb images. None of these are my own images, but my heart is pounding and my mouth is salivating and I almost want to cry because I have no idea where any rhubarb is close around me. In real life.

I grew up ten feet away from the backyard rhubarb plant. Well, not always ten feet. I played in more than one spot in the yard. And it wasn't always in season. But my mom probably often had some frozen for those times.

The mere mention of the rhubarb after a long winter season without it is enough to make my dad blubber with excitement. I believe he used to chew on raw, unsweetened rhubarb stalks as a kid. I remember seeing my soon-to-be aunt getting laughed at in pity that she had made it to adulthood and never had rhubarb.

(strawberry rhubarb sauce)

That kind of dedication is on my mom's side--you better not marry in without feigning that you've been on the rhubarb wagon for a long time. Ask Mark. As for my dad's side, they brought rhubarb with them to Utah when they moved from Minnesota and transplanted it. Some of the aforementioned backyard stalk comes from that original rhubarb.

Did I mention one of my parents' cats is named Rhubarb?!

For the record

Now, here are a few things that I know now, and I want to remember:

1. I found out recently that my great-grandma Nora Amelia Taje was a midwife. She was born in Norway and attended births in South Dakota. Since I want to be a midwife, it was exciting to find out about this link--I would've liked to have known her and look forward to talking to her someday. In the meantime, I'm glad to know that midwifery's in my genes (spiritual ones too!).

2. My grandma Zelda Lorraine Taye had measles as a young teenager and never knew whether she'd be able to have children. Starting at 27-28 she was able to have four (my dad among them), never knowing if each would be the last. I admire her earnest desire for motherhood, which she expresses to this day, at age 93.

3. My mom adores having custard popovers with her rhubarb sauce! I talked to her tonight and she was so delighted about a night spent with the pair. :) Rhubarb is also in my genes. Ahhhh, yum.

My mom can also spell ANY word--just try her. Why don't you leave a comment with your favorite misspelling of a word in it? It will be like a little pop quiz fun for her. :)

4. I have a mothering trick. Maybe you know it too. But if not! I discovered with Simon that when I'm rocking him in my arms to sleep, he can't keep resisting if I let a little light track back and forth over his eyes. Like the light trickling through the window blinds or from the nightlight. Dark, light light, dark, light, dark . . . . can't. fight. sleep. I call it eye-tiring, which I learned about in childbirth class, but I've found more effective for babies. It works great on Tess too, but I honestly can't remember with Allianna (shame. I also can't remember her first word, but we all claim it to be "daddy"--perhaps I should check the blog archives).

5. I'm enjoying this post so much I have Bluebell ice cream melting all over my counter. woops. One flavor is Groom's Cake, a concept I only heard of this week--timing!

6. I'm back in the Sinfonietta as of tonight. I adore my husband. The sound of wooden instruments being brought into position, exposed viola melodies, cello/viola comraderie: these are a few of my favorite things. And having to figure out how fast to play a dotted eighth rhythm in a 4/4 measure conducted in 8 (that sentence is for you to decipher, Nancy. Shostakovich 5th.)

Please welcome guest blogger Mark:

Who, Who, Who knew it was my birthday? (please take note of the title of this post)

In April 2005, Elder Bednar of The Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, "...I have reflected repeatedly upon the phrase 'the tender mercies of the Lord.' Through personal study, observation, pondering, and prayer, I believe I have come to better understand that the Lord’s tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ." (emphasis added)

For my Birthday, God, with the help of Simon, gave me one cool tender mercy! We had just pulled into our driveway after satiating ourselves at Red Robin -- our go-to place for birthdays in Houston! Simon hopped out of the car and said, "Owl, Owl, Owl, DAD, Owl, Owl!" To be honest I kind of ignored him because I thought he was saying, "Ow, Ow, Ow ..." An often heard phrase around here as younglings tend to injure themselves in mostly harmless ways as they grow into their bodies. Simon: "No Dad, an owl! Up there. In the tree!" And sure enough, just 5-8 feet above my head was the well-marked, unmistakeable oval-like spectre my mind expects to see upon hearing the word "owl." But this one was so close -- I had never been that close to a wild owl! It was beautiful. If ever the words "silence"or "shadow" were permitted to take shape surely they would organize themselves into an owl.

Then Simon again: "Dad, another owl! A baby!" And of course, per Simon's observation, onto the trunk of a smaller palm tree-like plant in our front yard clung another owl, much younger, with gray down feathers and nascent ear tufts that actually seemed to break up its symmetric oval shape and camoflauge it against the branches and leaves. Like Emily said, the baby almost looked like a koala bear -- more mammal than bird. The hatchling (probably older?) was no more that 3-4 feet above the ground and let the kids and I get within a foot or two of it to look closely at its beak and claws. The mother (we assume) in the branch above my head calmly, almost inaudibly, called to the baby with what our Audobon book perfectly describes as "a tremulous descending wail." To Emily it sounded almost like the neighing of a miniature horse. I agreed.

Then, again, Emily: "Another one. The Dad." Above us, maybe twenty feet or so, another adult owl landed on a branch. And next to it another owl! The fourth owl was slightly older than the baby clinging to the tree below the mother. Four owls! This was better than a nature video -- our pictures prove it! We couldn't believe it. It had to be a tender mercy from a loving God. What are the chances that we would pull into our driveway right at that exact moment, when four owls decided to land within perfect viewing distance? It really was special. I am so glad Simon spotted them. What a great birthday gift -- there is nothing like viewing, appreciating, and reverencing nature. There's something calming about it. Those little owls go through so much. Where have they been? What do they eat? Why was the baby so near to the ground? (We went out later to make sure she had flown away or at least climbed back up into the safety of high branches ... she was no where to be found).

In case you are wondering: our crepuscular (love this word; look it up) visitors were Eastern Screech-Owls (yes, there is a hyphen), no more than 7-10 inches tall. Absolutely amazing. Oh, and I had to put Matt's Birthday Card on the blog too (please take note of the burning candle on the "king tyrant lizard's" rostrum)!

Good Morning Dude.

Mark usually comes home from teaching early-morning seminary to a sleeping house. But sometimes Allianna is awake. She never leaves her bedroom in her pajamas--it's always a fabulous self-designed outfit--like this morning's elaborate "Ode to E.T." which nearly scared the pants off of him.

P.S. Mark wishes I would wake up looking like this sometimes.

In other news, it's a double ear infection and first word for Tess. As we were laying there side by side on our backs in the guest bed that fateful night before slumber hit, she kept saying:

"hAAAAAAAAAA-ppy. haaaaaaa . . . py. HAAAAaaaa--ppy."

A 1:15 am Why?

So as I'm heading to bed a little before midnight, Tess wakes up all coughy and sad. After trying a few different things to get her back to sleep, I decide I'm going to sleep sitting up holding her so she can cough less. Mark has to get up in 5 hours for seminary, but he still helps me through the next 45 minutes of restless misery with a very tired baby and her bed-wetting sister. A little before 1am I remember that I have a some cough/decongestant I can give her--great!! While I'm changing bedsheets Mark holds Tess and she falls asleep. I come and take over, planning to spend the night with her in the guest bed.

Shortly after which SHE GOES BERSERK.

Drumming on the mattress, kicking wildly and gleefully, trying to JUMP off the bed. Bouncing bouncing bouncing.

Right now she's sitting on my lap hyperactively kicking her legs and giggling at the sound of the keys and blowing rasberries on my arms. And screeching and babbling AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS.

Thanks Triaminic. You're a real lifesaver.



Is it wrong now for me to go sleep on the couch while my toddler wanders around all buzzed? Seems like it.


She's nuts! Absolutely kooky. And it's going to last her four hours!

Day of Rest

AKA "my daddy is my favorite pal-low"

"Pretend you've always wanted a monkey."

"Pretend you've always wanted a monkey."

That is how Allianna and Simon's new favorite game always begins. They've been at it every day for about a week and a half. Whenever I hear one of them say that, then I know that they're about to have 1-2hours of mutually joyous time taking turns being the owner and the monkey. It's a rare game that makes them both so happy for so long. And that they can each play to each other's satisfaction. Hooray for monkeys!

Also, Happy May Day. Allianna and I went and picked one pink gerbera daisy to celebrate. Thanks mom, for teaching me about May Day in Girl Scouts--I never like to let one pass by. :)