ameliorate me

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-30T23:23:00.003-06:00

From the "Toy Story" family - Jessie, Zurg and Buzz. (Peanut picked our costumes, centered around her 3-month obsession with dressing as Emperor Zurg, the villain from "Toy Story.")

Happy 4th of July

2011-07-03T22:40:00.000-06:00

Move over Lea Michelle - step aside Kristen Chenoweth. We've got a new Broadway singer. In honor of Independence Day, Peanut belts her favorite song, "Grand Old Flag."

"You're a Grand Old Flag!" from Amelia Nielson-Stowell on Vimeo.

A perfect Mother's Day

2011-05-06T09:20:00.004-06:00

...I am pretty sure GJ has no idea it's Mother's Day this weekend. Most likely, he'll remember sometime Saturday and celebrations will be lack luster. So, for you GJ, when you open up my blog during your monthly "What has my wife written about on the internet that most likely needed to be censored" checks, this is my ideal Mother's Day.

(And because a perfect Mother's Day does not involve three hours at church where I have to teach a lesson - sorry God! - this day is actually Saturday instead of Sunday. So...you've got some work to do in the next 24 hours GJ.)

Sometime after 9 a.m.ish: Wake up. On my own accord. I have not been awaken in the night by snoring or crying or an alarm or birds or neighbor kids playing in our driveway.

9:10 a.m.: Actually get out of bed. My bathroom has been cleaned in the night, and it feels good to look in a mirror that isn't crusted with toothbrush spittle, walk on a floor with no hair and bathe in a shower without hints of mold.

9:30 a.m.: Breakfast is served in the backyard by someone that is not me. Smoothies, quiche, muffins. Peanut has been changed, dressed and somehow completes this meal without getting food on her hair, clothes, face or random-hidden-skin-crevices-that-I-won't-find-out-about-until-she-smears-it-on-the-couch. She has also avoided getting food in my hair and clothes. GJ does not whine about eating "chick food." There is adult conversation. Peanut does not do one of her monumental sneezes where boogers come flying out her nose in two green streamers hanging past her chin.

10:15 a.m.: Peanut will now entertain me. She sings and dances to her favorite Sesame Street songs and, for the grand finale, "Born This Way" by Lady Gaga (feel free to judge - she knows the chorus because I sing this song around the house).

10:43 a.m.: I'm going to read a book outside at this point. Someone that is not me has Peanut.

11:57 a.m.: That sun feels good, I'm going to take a nap now.

12:22 p.m.: Wake up refreshed from my brief slumber. The sun has evened out my strange calf tan from wearing capri tights while running. I now feel comfortable heading into spring wearing shorts and skirts.

12:35 p.m.: Pick up my sister Kristin from her private jet ride to Utah. We head to a day spa - up first, pedicure and manicure. Everyone performing these services does not speak English, so I feel no obligation to make conversation with anyone other than my sister.

1:47 p.m.: Lunch is served. Since Kristin and I are the only two women on earth who have yet to watch the Royal Wedding, we finally see it. We ohhh and ahhh and mock at all the appropriate points. To fit with the theme, tea is served, with tea sandwiches, hors d'oeuvres and dessert.

3:04 p.m.: Facial.

3:35 p.m.: Massage.

5:08 p.m.: Haircut. After 8 months of cutting my own bangs, they finally look normal again.

6:13 p.m.: I'm back home. "...what was that GJ? Every random item on the 'honey do' list has been finished? The downstairs bathroom has been remodeled to my taste, the water heater fixed on the bathtub, the grass and vinca ripped off the front lawn, the disgusting compost dump turned into an appropriately sized and contained heap? You shouldn't have. Well you should have - it's Mother's Day."

6:14 p.m.: "Wait, did I hear you correctly GJ? You also potty trained Peanut?!"

6:15 p.m.: Play with Peanut. She does not want to play anything mind-numbingly repetitive, like changing her doll's outfit two dozen times in the next 10 minutes.

6:45 p.m.: My brother Trent comes over and settles the Great Christmas Movie Pick Debate of 2010 - "True Grit" was, in fact, in theaters, and his pick of "Unstoppable" was stupid. He admits defeat by crying.

6:48 p.m.: I'm done watching Trent cry.

6:49 p.m.: My dad comes over and bestows me with the title of Dad's Favorite Child. Trent cries.

6:52 p.m.: I'm done watching Trent cry.

6:53 p.m.: We have some witty banter.

7:09 p.m.: We create a new inappropriate word and put it on urbandictionary.com.

7:16 p.m.: Check the news. James Franco uses says word in an interview.

7:20 p.m.: Check the rest of the news. Half of the Utah legislature has resigned, citing insanity, a cure has been discovered for menstruation, Rhianna has retired from the music industry and "Glee" has acquired an entire new set of writers. There's a joint media decision that everyone is "over" Osama bin Laden.

7:31 p.m.: GJ and I dress up and go out to dinner. We eat at a romantic lodge in the canyons that provides a meal mixed with all my favorite food - Lugano's pear prosciutto appetizer, Red Iguana's cochinita pibil, Cafe Trio's crème brûlée. (Amazingly, no one gets sick by this Italian-Mexican-French combination.)

9:15 p.m.: Moonlight ski lift ride. We cuddle in blankets and drink hot chocolate.

11:07 p.m.: Back home. Discover season opener of fourth season of "Jersey Shore" online - watch it.

11:59 p.m.: Peanut allows me to cuddle with her as I fall asleep. Her bed is small and her dozens of stuffed animals are lumpy, but her body is warm and her hair has that familiar scent only I could love - a mixture of grass, pancake syrup, sweat and the baby shampoo I've used on her since birth.

12:01 a.m.: Peanut wakes up shouting for dada. Mother's Day is officially over.

Mediocore Magic

2011-04-06T13:50:00.002-06:00

We went to California last week. We were hoping to escape the Utah snow...and it rained every day we were down. Oh well. At least we got to spend time in the green foothills of our hometown and relax.

I decided this would be Peanut's first trip to Disneyland. GJ and I grew up 20 minutes away from Disneyland and went often as kids (then as teens and adults). We hadn't been since 2007. Admittedly, I had high hopes for this visit. And why wouldn't I? It was our 2.5 year old's first time there.

But it turned out to be...a trip to an incredibly crowded amusement park. Disneyland's rather inefficient character-meeting system and the insane crowds (Spring Break for half the U.S. and NCAA tournament Anaheim games for the other half) did not make the experience that great. Yes, it was totally worth it to see Peanut light-up when she met Woody and Jessie and take her first ride on Small World. But us Disneyland veterans had never seen crowds that large there before. We skipped the big thrill rides, missed favorites like the submarine, Peter Pan and Pirates, didn't make it to Toon Town and still waited an hour for rides like the Casey Jr. Train (That tiny train behind Dumbo! The train that half the people who come to Disneyland don't even know exists!). And finding less popular characters (...like anyone from "Toy Story") involved harassing guest services and waiting in a guesstimate time period that was a crap shoot instead of a schedule. We never saw Buzz Lightyear because of this. Nothing pisses off a mom more than hearing her child dejectedly ask "Are we going to see Buzz?" and you're forced to answer "No" because you've exhausted every method to find the spaceman and the best answer you can get from Disneyland "castmembers" as to where he'll be is "Oh, he just walks around different spots in Tomorrowland at different times." Thank you, that sounds like a great use of the approximately $3,000 it cost to bring my family to the park.

Ugh. We left agreeing not to go back for another 5 years.

Our trip wasn't all whining! Peanut did have some magical Disneyland-esque moments.

You forget how enchanting and real everything is to a kid.

Carousel or "Round-a-Round" (Peanut: "Ride like the wind Bullseye!"):

Jungle Cruise...apparently all the people behind Peanut also thought the Jungle Cruise was real since they're all taking pictures of the animatronic rhinos:

Before we left for California, I realized Peanut had never seen a true Disney classic (no princesses, no "Peter Pan"), just Pixar movies. So my sister-in-law let us borrow "Dumbo." Peanut watched it during the drive to California and didn't even make it through the first 10 minutes. During the part where the other elephants are making fun of Dumbo's big ears, Peanut pushed the DVD player away and said "I don't like this movie, the baby elephant is sad!" I convinced her to keep watching...but I forgot how violent "Dumbo" gets. The circus elephants later get chained up and whipped...Peanut freaked out at that part. She slammed the DVD shut crying and declared "I don't like this movie!"

She did enjoy Dumbo the ride! Disney just keeps weird Depression-era animal cruelty in their movies.

(GJ's mom came with us and took Peanut on Dumbo.)

Not pictured: Peanut clinging to me in horror during Pinocchio. Back in Utah, she continues to remind me "Mama, I don't like Pokeo."

Would the dark Small World also scare Peanut? Our sensitive girl instead patted GJ's leg and assured him "Don't be scared dada, it's just dolls."

Meeting Jessie and Woody was awesome.

Peanut was thrilled with this experience. She kept telling us "Jessie and Woody hold my hand!" and "I played with Jessie and Woody!" (...she didn't but, you know, we all have dreams) and was very concerned about Bullseye's whereabouts.

Since she wanted to "Do that again," we took her to the Winnie the Pooh area to meet those characters. She's never seen Winnie the Pooh (or Winnie the Pee Pee), so was a bit more timid about interacting with them. Because she's adorable, Winnie the Pooh gave her a pine cone and Tigger walked around with her. (...or the characters were pleased to have a welcome break from the amount of adults who stand in lines to take pictures with characters. Yes, adults. No children. I will never understand this.)

(ALSO WEIRD: the amount of adult woman who wear Minnie Mouse ears coordinated with an outfit. Skanky outfits. And I'm not referring to the Disney princesses - BA-DA-CHING! We spotted a woman wearing knee-high boots, a mini skirt...and a matching Minnie Mouse ear tiara.)

Peanut's favorite ride was the Buzz Lightyear ride. This is a new-ish ride where you sit in a car and shoot Emperor Zurg and aliens with a laser gun. It's like an arcade, and you actually score points for what you hit. We went on it twice - the second time Peanut shot the laser on her own. She assured me "Mama, I've got Zurg" and, as you'll notice from our scores, actually hit a few things. You'll also notice I got really serious about this game and beat GJ the second time around. HAHAHA! (Our marriage is a huge competition.)

By the time we got to the Tomorrowland rockets (another hour wait AHHHHH) Peanut declared "I want to go home." Could you blame her?

Thanks for the mediocre magic Disneyland. Until next decade!

Christmas recap (I've decided this is appropriate to post in March)

2011-03-09T14:21:00.003-07:00

I thought about making my New Year's resolution "Blog about things in a more timely manner," but how fun, reading about a cheery Christmas celebration in the middle of the March doldrums! Right? Right? Hello?

No one told me Christmas is 100 times cooler when you have a toddler!

"Santa" went all Toy Story 3 on Christmas and got Peanut an eBay Little People Sesame Street house, the same kind I played with when I was little. And eBay Muppet Babies toys in her stocking. True to the movie, I'm sure the toys threw a party that night, toasting Peanut and their new home.

The toys that haven't been played with since the '80s were the clear Christmas favorites. She quickly learned all the Muppet Babies names and still asks hourly to play with the "Mess-a-me Street house."

I was surprised and impressed with Peanut. She gave all her toys ample attention and never had any sort of toy-overload meltdown. She was so happy and sweet with her toys.

...including the freaking Pillow Pet. It now smells like pee and old milk - good thing it's washable!

Before Christmas, I thought about being one of those hippie parents that never keeps up the Santa story. I mean why bother? Try explaining Santa to the blank stare of a 2-year-old who keeps referring to the holiday as "Merry Happy Birthday Christmas Jesus," stewing inside because all your hours hunting down classic toys on eBay will just be credited to a made-up person, and let me know how it goes.

But then Christmas Eve, when Peanut wouldn't go to sleep because "I want to go home and sleep in my crib" (we slept at my parents house with my siblings), GJ explained that Santa thinks she's sleeping at grandpa and grandma's house and is bringing all her presents there, so she needs to go to sleep.

IT WORKED.

She said "OK" and went to bed! Even when she woke up in the middle of the night for more milk, she asked "Santa come?" I told her "Not yet, you need to go to sleep for him to come and bring you toys" and she went right to sleep!

So Santa, yes I will continue your myth for the years of manipulation and easy bedtimes this will provide!

(And blah blah magic of Christmas I guess that's nice too.)

Other Christmas highlights:

- Beginning of December, when I pulled out my nativity sets, I gave Peanut strict instructions that she was not to touch them. So she didn't...but took some liberties with the manger scene.

When I asked her to tell me what all her animals were doing, she reported that Gumby is a wiseman, the frog water squirting bath toy is "Blowing on Jesus because he's hot," Elmo is singing to Jesus, the dinosaur is another cow and Cookie Monster is petting the sheep.

- The obligatory Christmas tree photo. We went with a lot this year instead of the cut-your-own farm. The tree died a lot quicker, but we didn't have the assortment of weird bugs crawling on our ceilings through the holidays.

- And the obligatory Santa visit. Instead of screaming in horror like last year, she just pretended Santa wasn't there.

If anyone asked her about seeing Santa, she'd also ignore their question.

- My sister, bro-in-law and 4-month old nephew came to town for the holidays.

We were all curious to see how Peanut would react to baby D. She gave him attention...if none of us looked at her. The moment someone looked at her or commented "Ahhh, that's such a nice hug Peanut!" she ignored baby D, claiming "He's scary." She had noted that he "Has an apple" (see: male infant genitalia) and, best 2-year-old-ism, told me: "My apple fell off my bum already." I think that about sums up all "Boys have a penis; girls have a vagina" talk.

...of course the best picture we got of the two of them smiling came from my mom's camera, the crappy, low resolution one dubbed "Fuzzy Memories."

We did see the jealousy bug appear when we put Baby D in my sister's old baby doll bed. All the attention, snapping camera and gushes of "You're so cute D!" were too much - Peanut had to get in next.

- Peanut obsessed with sheep at a live nativity. This is the second time she's been able to pet/hug/maul a real sheep and I'm seriously looking into buying our own mini flock. She loves sheep! Moments before the picture below was taken, she said "It's OK baby sheep, I'll help you find your dada." (A bigger ewe had just walked away.) Is that not the cutest thing?

- Peanut's "hake-up" - a $1 make-up brush set I put in her stocking.

- Sledding.

"I love sledding!" - Peanut

"Let's let Peanut go by herself, I bet this won't be traumatizing for her at all!" - Trent

"I hate sledding!" - Peanut

All is forgiven.

- Family time.

(Our fourth sibling - the little brother Ryan - is on a church mission. So I had to provoke the fact that he's gone missing his beloved traditions by dubbing the older siblings "The 3 Originals.")

- ...speaking of, we got to talk to Ryan on the phone.

I remember my mom telling me when I was little that, when I grew up, my best friends would be my siblings. I didn't believe her.

She was right.

My kid is funny

2011-02-14T08:01:00.003-07:00

- When GJ is home from work, Peanut often wants alone time with her father and commands me to go away and into the kitchen with such anti-feminist statements as:
"Mama, go make dinner!"
"Mama, go play in your big kitchen!" (as opposed to her little toy kitchen)

- Her latest confusing statements that I have no idea how to react to:
(Near tears) "I NEED TO IMAGINE!"
(Getting into the car) "It's my turn to drive!"

- Octopus = Octerpus
Tortilla = Cookie-illa
Sesame Street = Mess-a-me Street
Humpty Dumpty = Dumpy Dumpy
M & M’s = Nem-e-nem
adventure = adbenture
Merry go Round = Round-a-Round

- Anytime she gets hurt, she tells us "Maybe candy will make me feel better."

- She has begun doing some make believe role plays with me...all revolving around the movie "Up." Peanut usually assigns me the character of Mr. Fredrickson - or "Misrickson" - and assigns herself to be Russell.
Peanut: Mama, say the story.
Me: Wow, Russell, what are you doing?
Peanut: I'm playing with Kevin the bird!
Me: What does Kevin eat?
Peanut: Food.
Me: Does he like chocolate?
Peanut: Oh, very good mama. Kevin does like chocolate.
...when my portrayal of "Misrickson" is too boring, I am then given the demanding role of "Kevin the bird" while Peanut gets the dual position of Russell and Mr. Fredrickson. While she reenacts lengthy scenes with herself between Russell and Mr. Fredrickson, I just squawk every now and then.

- Scene: Peanut has done...something bad. I don't remember. I get mad.
Me: (Frustrating sighs and grunts to make my anger known!)
Peanut: Mama, be nice to kids!

- When getting Peanut out of the bath...
Peanut: (hysterical) MY FINGERS!!
Me: It's OK honey, our hands get wrinkly when we've been in the water for a long time.
Peanut: I'M ALL BRINKLY!
Me: Peanut, they'll go back to normal soon.
Peanut: NO NORMAL! I WANT FINGERS!

- A true "You know you're potty training when" moment...
Scene: Peanut is playing with some Valentine's Day Winnie the Pooh stickers (she's never seen Winnie the Pooh before.)
Me: Peanut, that guy's name is Winnie the Pooh.
Peanut: What about Winnie the Pee Pee?

- Phrases she says that are directly copying me.
(When I raise my voice) "Calm down mama!"
(When I take too long leaving the house with her) "Come on hon, come on!" (if I'm still taking too long) "Come on hon, let me hold your hand."
(When I can't get a sticker off her sticker sheet) "We have to be patient because we are big girls."
(When I ask her to stop something she wants to keep doing) "You're driving me insane!"
...an embarrassing self reflection.

Don't look at the naked man

2011-01-31T09:04:00.001-07:00

After the wonderful evening with Elmo during Sundance, Peanut and I walked back to the car to make the 20-minute drive from Park City to Salt Lake City. We had parked in front a condo complex, and a living room with floor-to-ceiling windows was overlooking the car.

As we got closer to the car, a man walked out of the hallway into the living room. A man wearing nothing but a beanie. On his head. So his penis was just flaccidly flopping out there in front of the huge windows.

Peanut and I were talking and, when we got closer, he went back down the hall. "He realized there's people out here," I thought, and I began putting Peanut in her carseat, thinking he'd stay hidden until we drove off. But in the reflection of my car window, there he appeared again. The naked man with his beanie and wagging wang watching me load my toddler into the car.

"He thinks we can't see him," I realized. It's dark inside his condo, and it's dark outside on the street. But the light on in his hallway highlighted EVERYTHING. The painting above the couch, the papers on the coffee table...his genitalia.

I quickly started the car for our escape. But this is Park City in January. The sides of the street are piled with snow. My car tires are stuck in the snow, and only a reverse-turnwheel-drive-turnwheel maneuver is going to free the car from the icy grip of snow pile-up. I'm in a "PLEASE don't let my daughter see the naked man in the window" panic and I'm just not taking my time to get out of the snow drift, I'm not being methodical, I'm just quickly jerking the wheel back and forth so the tires skid and make a loud noise.

So the naked man steps closer to his window. Yes, closer. He's now scratching his balls and staring at the loud-car-that-can't-get-out-of-the-snow. And I'm skidding some more, fishtailing in my parking spot, just begging Peanut doesn't look to her left.

Too late.

"Mama! That guy is taking a shower!"

...and I finally unjam the tires and head for the freeway, the beautiful image of my daughter hugging Elmo out of my mind and instead some naked man with no clue that windows are two-way.

Why I love Elmo

2011-01-27T01:06:00.001-07:00

Tonight I took Peanut to the Sundance Film Festival to see the documentary "Being Elmo: A Puppeteer's Journey." It was a long day of bargaining on Craiglist for tickets, standing in various lines for an hour and bribing a toddler with candy to keep her in her seat, but totally worth it.

"Being Elmo" has been the definite crowd favorite of the festival. It's a touching documentary about Kevin Clash, who grew up in the ghetto of Baltimore making puppets and putting on shows for his mom's daycare kids. His hard work eventually lands him a job on a local television show, then "Captain Kangaroo" and finally - his dream - "Sesame Street."

The character of Elmo was originally voiced by a puppeteer who made him sound like a gruff caveman. His voice deep, the vocabulary a second-rate Cookie Monster. Frustrated, the puppeteer gave up on Elmo - and Kevin took over. The popular personality he gave Elmo: unconditional love for everyone.

It's a great rags-to-Public-Broadcasting-riches story. You hear from Kevin's supportive parents (his mother begins the documentary: "Kevin comes alive through his puppets"), get insight into his personal life (it's hinted that his devotion to Elmo during the popular "Tickle Me Elmo" years broke his marriage), learn about his daughter (who e-mails him three years before her high school graduation asking that they spend time together, time he's spent entertaining other children as Elmo) and get detail about his other jobs (Baby Sinclair on "Dinosaurs," Splinter in the "TMNT Movie," the red demons in "Labyrinth").

I got teary at numerous points. Especially at the end, when an interviewer asks Elmo what he wants to be when he grows up. "Elmo wants to be a teacher!" And Peanut begins bouncing in her chair, looks up at me beaming and says "Mama! Elmo wants to be a teacher! In school!" And, as cheesy as it sounds, that's when I realized how much Elmo has taught my own daughter. Whenever people ask me how Peanut learned the alphabet and her numbers at such a young age, I always reply "Elmo." And it's true. He is her teacher.

At the end of the film, Kevin and the filmmakers did a Q&A. Then Kevin pulled Elmo out of a big red bag and did a meet-and-greet with the kids in the audience. Peanut was first. Elmo gave her a hug and a kiss and, my shy little girl who rarely gives anyone but her parents a hug and a kiss, wrapped her arms Elmo's neck and was absolutely enchanted.

We walked back to the car hand-in-hand that night, Peanut gushing about her evening.
"Mama, Elmo gave me a hug and kiss!"
"Can we do that again?"
"Kevin is tall."
And my favorite: "Elmo can come to my house and Kevin can hold him, but those people can't come over." (Those people = the documentary crew who were also there during the Q&A, haha).

Thanks Elmo.

Feeling old

2011-01-14T10:05:00.003-07:00

I have been accidentally placed on the Tooele High School show choir text message alert list. I receive texts about once a week with the rest of the high school students letting me know which practices have been canceled or where we meet for the Homecoming parade.

I texted back once, letting the student leader know she had the wrong number.

My number is still on the list. And frankly, I kind of enjoy reading them.

Our Homecoming performance was, apparently, seven-exclamation mark GREAT, and we often get to miss the last 15 minutes of class to meet before lunch in the amphitheater or in the choir room before the end of school. We also have a lot of trouble remembering to bring our costumes.

It makes me feel young.

I don't know what it is lately - My 28th birthday? A 2-year-old? Getting laid-off? - but I officially feel old. Don't get me wrong - I'm truly enjoying this time in my life. I have no desire to go back in time and relive my teens or twenties. But, for the first time, I'm feeling more like a near-30-year-old than a formerly-20-year-old.

Like when I took my 19-year-old niece and her roommate grocery shopping. I stayed far behind them and kept thinking "They're the cool college kids and I'm the lame mom pushing around a toddler; keep your distance." How could I joke with them over how much Top Ramen to buy when I'm loading up with fiber-enriched yogurt and a case of discount chicken broth?

Or the realization that I'm actually too old to be on the stupid reality shows I watch. Not that I've ever thought about going on one, but I'd formerly watch and judge these people as attention-desperate 20-somethings in my own peer group. Now I watch and, frankly, it's just not as fun. How can I fully judge someone if they're younger than me? They're just immature.

And then there's the blunt: We were playing a leadership game in Young Womens the other week (I'm a leader over the 12-18 year olds in my church) and one of the girls was asked why she trusted my judgment to win the game. I was hoping for an enthusiastic "She's so cool" or "I really look up to her" or "She's smart and fun!" But no..."Because she's old" was the reply.

I said "When I was your age" the other day.

I worry about breaking something when I slip on ice, not how stupid I look.

I own more wrinkle cream than lip gloss.

Sigh.

The demise of the ever-mighty cloth

2011-01-11T08:54:00.001-07:00

You can find me on Babble.com today, where I wrote an article on why I hate cloth diapers.

Sidenote: I finally sold 16 of the gently-used cloth diapers on Craigslist last month for $140, and a new mom interested in buying them called and asked me how I liked them. I was honest and began with "Well, they really take dedication" and she got all offended "Oh, I'm dedicated." I told her I had a lot of trouble because I have a skinny kid who was always leaking out the legs of the cloth diapers. Her attitude was ON - "I won't give-up." I wondered why she bothered asking my opinion anyway, if she was do dead-set on using cloth - so I stopped giving it. "OK, I'll be home this afternoon, come on over to pick them up!" I told her. After she picked them up with her husband, I looked like an evil villain standing in the window, fanning my money and whispering "Have fun!"

It's a pillow! It's a pet! It's a OH MY GOSH I HATE THIS STUPID TOY

2010-12-08T16:01:00.000-07:00

Over the summer, Peanut began watching "Sesame Street." I'd record old episodes on the DVR, then she'd watch an episode a day, falling in love with (in order of her favorites) Elmo, Gordon, Oscar and Bert.

(The last three always make me laugh - after Elmo, her favorites are the stick-in-the-mud, depressed, angry characters. I hope this is not a reflection on her mother.)

Because these reruns were on the Sprout Channel and not PBS, every episode ended with a commercial - the same commercial.

A commercial crafted in hell.

If you need an example of effective marketing to children, just take a look at the Pillow Pet infomercial. I figured Peanut never paid attention to it, just waited for the "Sesame Street" credits to roll.

That was until she spotted a Pillow Pet at a mall kiosk.

"MAMA! A PILLOW PET!"

I had no idea she even knew what a Pillow Pet was. She grabbed the frog and gave it a hug - "Pillow Pet so soft and cuddly!" - and she demonstrated the only time my easy-going child has ever been mad when I didn't buy her a toy.

Over the next few weeks, she'd run up to me to share a random line about the Pillow Pet.

"Mama, kids love Pillow Pets."

"Put jammies inside Pillow Pet!"

"Pillow Pet go to grandma's house?"

I wondered where she came up with these phrases until I actually paid attention to the Pillow Pets commercial.

MY 2-YEAR-OLD WAS QUOTING LINES FROM THE COMMERCIAL.

Things got sadly desperate after that. We got a package in the mail that came with a long tube of those packaging pillows - Peanut was thrilled.

"Mama, a snake Pillow Pet!"

I am not kidding.

This is how kids roll in the ghetto.

She carried this around for days, giving it hugs and taking it to bed. Ever the optimist, when a third of it broke off, she was even more excited.

"A big Pillow Pet and a baby Pillow Pet!"

She began talking about her cousin's Pillow Pets - "Lucy monkey Pillow Pet and Libby dolphin Pillow Pet!" When Pillow Pets began popping up in stores - Target, Walgreens - I'd let her play with them. I tried to figure out which one was her favorite - there's dozens, afterall! - but she played with a new one each time.

I put a Pillow Pet on the Christmas list and learned Pillow Pets are a bigger obsession than I could have imagined. Akin to the 1996 Tickle-Me-Elmo craze, Pillow Pets are apparently the latest must-have kid's gift. There's numerous fake, copycat Pillow Pet companies selling knock-offs. And the more unique varieties you can't find in your run-of-the-mill big box store - the horse, moose and tiger, for example - sell out quickly and go for triple their price on eBay.

This is now waiting for it's Christmas Day debut.

And I can't wait for Christmas.

This (was) Halloween

2010-11-23T14:37:00.000-07:00

Halloween fell on a Sunday this year and I guess it's just like this unwritten rule that Utah observes Halloween on a Saturday in this case? You know, because the Mormons are all "We observe the Sabbath"? I didn't believe it. Even when all my native Utah friends confirmed it. "Why do you think that's weird?" they asked. "Because Halloween is the 31st, no matter what the major religious sect's cultural rules dictate!"

Because we live in heathen-filled Salt Lake City, we had trick-or-treaters both nights.

We celebrated Halloween as the UPS family - the UPS man, UPS girl and the package.

Sending a feminist message with Peanut's costume or a nod to GJ's career? (Sidenote: I wanted to punch an old, crotchety woman we know who, at a third-day-in-a-row party when Peanut was frazzled and worn out, said "Well of course she's crying; her mom dressed her up as a UPS man instead of a princess!" OHHHHH the lecture she missed out on because she is old...)

We took Peanut trick-or-treating for the first time this year. She's finally old enough. I hate when parents take their babies trick-or-treating - they're toothless and eat purees, don't try to fool us parents, YOU'RE eating all that candy. When I'm an old, crotchety woman, I'm totally not giving candy to parents who come to the doors holding a baby in one arm and a trick-or-treat bag in the other.

Peanut was a hit as the UPS girl. Such a hit that neighbors often said "You're so cute! Take more candy!" I was pumped at first, fully expecting to raid Peanut's candy that night, but guess what her favorite pick was? Tootsie rolls. TOOTSIE ROLLS! I can't think of a more disgusting candy. My obligatory "parent check" that night to make sure her candy wasn't, you know, stuffed with razor blades (TOTALLY a fake story parents made up so they could steal their favorites out of kid's candy bags) found that roughly 1/3 of Peanut's candy was in fact Tootsie Rolls or some gross byproduct (like Tootsie Pops. Sure, a delightful lollipop until you hit the center and WHAT IS THIS CRAP TRYING TO BE FAKE CHOCOLATE?!)

And no holiday would be complete without embarrassing myself! Some classics:

- At the exact moment GJ is walking to our front door to put a candle in his pumpkin/pass out candy to trick-of-treaters, I do one of those voice-gets-gradually-louder "peaNUUUUUUUUUTTTTT!" angry mom yells because, for the bazillionth time, Peanut was putting the pumpkin carving knife to her eye and saying "make up!" (it does look like a mascara wand, I'll give her that)...and GJ observed with great glee that the trick-of-treaters waiting on the porch did an about-face, terrified of the real Halloween horror inside the house - a pissed-off mother.

- While carrying Peanut across the street with her candy bag, a masked man walked right up to me and said "Give me your candy." I thought it was someone just joking at first, but then he put his hand in his jacket pocket and my LA-girl instincts kicked in and I thought "HE HAS A GUN." It was our neighbor, who thought my terrified look was HILARIOUS.

- Trying to be all neighborly instead of "Oh hey, I see you watering your lawn sometimes and we've never actually talked, but I'm just going to be awkward and stand here silently while you give my kid candy," I attempted striking up casual conversation with all the people who live on our street. One - an elderly stroke victim - answered my "How are you doing?" with "Not very well. My wife left me." I attempted to grab facial cues - Is he OK? Does he need a comforting pat on his arm? - but half his face is paralyzed. I said a shocked "Oh, I am so sorry to hear that" and he goes "I'm just kidding!" except his tongue is also half paralyzed so it's actually "I hut keeng!"

Please observe my cool Rainbow sandals pumpkin...pictured while sporting our actual Rainbow sandals. (As of Sunday, this porch is now covered in a foot of snow.)

Have a little extra protein with your baby formula

2010-10-13T14:01:00.001-06:00

We received one of those letters from Similac/Abbot last week about the infant formula recall. It included such PR mumbo-jumbo phrases as "voluntary product recall," "remote possibility," "small common beetle" and "one production area in a single manufacturing facility." I figured I'd check some old formula laying around, just in case.

Although it's been well over a year since Peanut was formula-fed, I still have some formula containers in the pantry. They're the plastic kind that all had about half a scoop of formula left. At one point I figured I'd combine all the formula or reuse the plastic containers. But no, instead they stayed in my pantry collecting dust and...HATCHING BEETLE LARVAE.

...yeah, my baby ate that. Disgusting.

Here, with pasteurized cow milk sippy cup in hand, Peanut questions her existence and near-death experience. Or could care less and is looking at her nails.

While I'm grossed out, I'm not worried about Peanut. Maybe if I found this when she was still a helpless baby, needing me to rock her in a chair while bottle-feeding her. But she's a rough-and-tough toddler who drank all the water/urine/beer out of a puddle at the bottom of a park slide yesterday. And what's the stat -- don't Americans consume 1-2 pounds of insect parts a year anyway through store-bought food?

And yet, the guilt from stopping breastfeeding has crept back. Motherhood is just awesome like that.

Peanut did inform us this week that "Yogurt starts with y, and y says 'ya ya ya,'" so ingesting beetle larvae and filthy formula over mother's milk apparently didn't make her stupid.

So Peanut status: NOT DEAD

(...but needing a haircut.)

Why you must watch what you say in front of children

2010-09-22T21:26:00.007-06:00

(Part 1 of many, I'm sure.)

Scene: Sunday, couch, watching the movie "Happy Feet" with Peanut and GJ.
Me (to GJ): That penguin Gloria is voiced by Brittany Murphy. She's dead now...that's creepy.
Scene: Monday, Peanut discovers "Happy Feet" DVD cover under couch and brings it to me.
Peanut: Gloria! Dead! Creepy!

Scene: Tuesday, sitting outside the "smoothie store" and enjoying a mother-daughter date over an Orange Dream Machine. Two mid-twenty-something women step out of their car and head into Jamba Juice.
Woman 1: Do you like the green tea shots here?
Woman 2: F%#& yeah!
Peanut: F%#& yeah mommy! F%#& yeah!

Mormon Mom: FAIL

2010-08-26T11:20:00.000-06:00

While getting ready to leave for our pretty awesome vacation last month (HAWAII. HATE ME.), Peanut and I went shopping for some beach wear. She spotted a toddler-sized straw fedora at Old Navy and - you guys - babies are the only beings that can pull off a fedora without like a douchebag/hipster/tool. She looked so stinkin' cute. It was on sale for $2 - I had to buy it.

Peanut instantly fell in love with this hat. She has a bit of a hat obsession, but her love for the fedora was somehow stronger, fueled by the amount of attention she gets when she's wearing it. She's often pairing it with completely mismatched outfits and an ugly pink purse, so she's quite the sight when we run errands. (I let her go out like this because I'm an edgy, free-wheeling parent that lets her kid express her creativity through her clothing. Or I'm just lazy. Take your pick.)

Despite the fact that it's a fedora, one thing really bothered me about this hat -- the braided, metallic silver plastic band around the brim. So I did what any good crafty Mormon mom would: EMBELLISHMENT!

One night, when Peanut went to bed, I busted out the hot glue gun, pulled up an internet tutorial on fabric flowers and went to work on covering up the ugly silver braid. I glued a turquoise ribbon around the brim, then made a flower rosette to attach to it.

Let me preface with this: I'm not necessarily a fan of the whole giant-fake-flower-on-head trend. It's just not my style. I have some handmade flower clips for Peanut's hair, and even a headband for me with three little white flowers, but they're no bigger than a nickle. The fact that this trend went from "child" to "adult" is...concerning. Like a romper or overalls.

Plus, my 5-year-old niece will tell you that one time, at school, she had a fake sunflower in her hair at recess, and a bee kept trying to land on her head because he thought the flower was real, and she was scared and ran away.

Once live bees are involved, I'm out.

But this hat? It needed something to cover up the part where I (crapily) glued together the ribbon ends. A flower worked. And we were going to Hawaii, that's like the only place where it's actually normal for any female to regularly wear a flower on her head.

I was pretty impressed with the finished product.

The next morning, I was excited to show Peanut her adorned hat. This would be the culmination of my years of training to be a Mormon Mom, the Presentation Of The Fabric Flower, and I was sure Peanut would be thrilled at a little extra "cutes" (her word for all accessories) on her hat.

She quickly spotted her hat on the couch, paused, stepped back, pointed at the flower and goes "What is that?"

She wore it once in Hawaii and has refused to wear it since.

Mormon Mom: FAIL

July 4th, Utah style

2010-08-22T21:02:00.001-06:00

What I didn't do during my July 4th vacation:
- Watch the new "Twilight" movie
- Spend a few days on (insert lake name here)
- Go to Wyoming for illegal fireworks.

According to the blogosphere, I'm totally lame.

July in Utah holds a special place in my heart. I grew up in California, but had (have) a lot of relatives in Utah. Our family roadtripped to this beautiful state every July. I have such great memories of my childhood here -- chasing dragonflys through sagebrush bushes, warm summer evenings playing night games with my cousins, sneaking fresh raspberries and cherries from my grandparent's garden, fishing up Weber Canyon, shopping downtown and enjoying an ice cream cone at ZCMI, hiking the trails in Little Cottonwood Canyon, swimming in "The Bubble" public pool and thinking it was the coolest thing ever (us Californians were spoiled with an abundance of backyard pools, without amenities like public showers and giardia).

Utah is the best place to celebrate the July 4th holiday. People get all patriotic, there's a lot of smalltown charm and the state is usually still gorgeously green this time of year.

Our vacation-where-we-took-time-off-work-but-didn't-travel-more-than-20-minutes-from-home (I can't bear the word "staycation") began in Snowbird, the ski resort up Little Cottonwood Canyon. My family has had a time share there for over three decades. We love it.

We hiked!

We disliked (our mother)!

We psyched (over our father)!

We swam!

We trammed!

We dined!

We find!

We bballed!

We hauled!

We bonded!

We spotted (moose)!

We celebrated!

We related!

We napped!

We adapt!

We charmed!

We alarmed!

We ditched the kid!

We maintained our street cred!

Saturday, we checked out early to run the Murray 5k (the race we ran with those killer patriotic outfits). For Father's Day, Trent and I bought my dad and ourselves entry into the Murray 5K. It's been my dad's goal for over a year to run with us in a 5k.

Don't think "Wow, that was really nice." Because my dad actually signed us all up last year, then Trent and I bailed on my dad last minute to hang out with friends. Family first!

(I made a little poster for my dad to announce this year's gift. I printed up pictures I found online of runners -- Dad being the 82-year-old, nearly-dead marathoner, Trent being the 20-something with diarrhea down his legs and me being Pamela Anderson in her Baywatch years. When my mom saw this, she goes "Pamela Anderson?! Why is she representing you?!" as if the most unrealistic thing about this poster is that I'm being compared to the blonde bombshell. Forget that the man representing dad looks like the crypt-keeper, and the kid representing Trent looks disgusting. My mom tried to cover herself up "Well, Pamela Anderson is just brainless," but damage done. Cool mom.)

That afternoon, GJ and I headed over to Sugarhouse Park to get a good spot for the fireworks show. I'd say we scored.

You would not believe the amount of people she had to flash for this outfit to come together.

The Stowell clan later drove up for the party.

This picture of my niece's freckles -- I am SO IN LOVE.

The Sugarhouse Park fireworks show is THE fireworks show in Salt Lake -- as in the only one in the city. But last year, the park authority said it was the last because they couldn't afford to keep it going. So a resident stepped in and started fundraising efforts. It's been pretty neat to watch (and throw my money at) -- residents and businesses donated enough money for a show this year and next (that's over $125,000). Pics from the party at the other end of the park:

I have no idea how they got a set of couches up there.

HOT.

HOTTER. (JK GJ)

My favorite part of fireworks is taking pictures of them.

...you'll note that fireworks were Saturday, July 3. No fireworks shot off in any Utah city on the actual 4th, the Sabbath, except for Park City -- they're probably going to hell. On July 4th, we watched cul-de-sac firework's show with the Stowells.

Portrait of a future pyro. Peanut was in love with fireworks -- when describing them, her voice would go deep, and she'd go "FIRE." Kind of creepy.

Not the best quality picture, but I totally want one of these plasma cars. Yes, it's for children. But I love this thing, I could go run some errands, tow Peanut behind me.

We also celebrated my dad's birthday on the 4th with the Nielsons.

I love this picture - if only Peanut didn't look like she wanted to kill herself. My grandparent's were there for the party.

I had all my siblings answer a questionnaire for a roast/toast for my dad. There's always a friendly competition going on between the siblings over who is dad's favorite kid. Well, my Mormon missionary brother Ryan secured that one -- all his answers (even to the roasts) were pretty sweet, and he gave a cheap cop-out to the question making fun of my mom. Missionaries are boring.

(The next day we had a family outing to see "Toy Story 3," and Trent and I argued over who would bond more with dad during this movie. I mean, sure, Trent's the little-boy-all-grown-up like Andy, but Andy goes to college in this movie, and me going off to college was a really emotional moment between me and my dad. I'm not ashamed to admit I cried through the movie. So did my dad -- which means I bonded more with dad than Trent during "Toy Story 3." Trent did not shed one tear, probably because Andy doesn't even have a dad.)

Monday we drove to the small town of Oakley with the Stowells for dinner at Road Island Diner and a night of animal roping at the Oakley Rodeo.

I've written a few articles about this place (it was an old diner in Rhode Island that an Oakley man drove here), but had yet to eat there. And, man, it was good. They were packed.

Onto the rodeo!

I love the 4th in Utah.

We've apparently been away from our home so much on our find-another-word-besides-staycation that Peanut asks me roughly every hour if we can go in the car and go somewhere, usually seeing family -- "Lucy? Ella? Megan? Ernin? Tent?" -- or "mountains?" AM I THAT BORING?

(Don't answer that.)

Random headlines

2010-07-21T23:26:00.002-06:00

BLOG SPAMMERS COMMENT IN FULL FORCE

My post about doing nothing for GJ on Father's Day apparently struck a nerve with some people -- I lost a subscriber after that one, and the spam commenters seemed particularly bothered.

See, spammers are doing this "innovative" thing where they actually read your post, leave a related comment, but then get you at the link back to their blogger account, which is actually a link to a web site. I got a watch shop (thanks "Carry") and color printing site (come on "Megan") commenting.

Another one linked to the bio of "civic leader" (read Miami millionaire who the Bushes love) Armando Codina, who looks like he is undressing me with one eye and judging me with the other.

He's also being investigated in a bribery scandal that sent a planning commissioner to jail, so QUIT JUDGING ARMANDO.

(FYI: I did take GJ out to dinner for a late Father's Day. In an act of love and appreciation, I let him have the booth seat and eat the last coconut shrimp. So blah blah he's a good dad.)

27-YEAR-OLD DRESSING LIKE A TEENAGER

I bought one of these style dresses at Nordstrom. In the junior's section. The one with Twilight characters plastered all over the dressing room (why no, that doesn't freak you out to walk out of a dressing room and have a life-sized Robert Pattinson staring at you). The section that is not just content with the name "Nordstrom's juniors section," but is called BP. Which stands for something trendy-sounding -- like Blue Pencil or Brown Penny -- a color followed by an inanimate object that I can't remember at this moment and I don't care to look up. (I would have known it 5 years ago, when I should have ended shopping in that department.) It 's also the initials of British Petroleum, which should have reeked of disaster to me, but instead I find myself with this adorable you-look-like-you're-a-15-year-old dress and I kind of hate myself for loving it so much.

AMELIA'S SUMMER MUST-SEE NERD DOCUMENTARY LIST

"Waiting for Superman," about America's crappy public education system. This was on my must-see list at the Sundance Film Festival, but the films I actually had to write about took priority.

This next one, folks, it's NSFW for language. (Really, I've warned you.) It's on the "Winnebago Man" phenomenon, featuring the story of Jack "F-bomb" Rebney. When the crew finds him for the film, Jack's living alone on a mountain, unaware of his cult Internet fame.

And, of course, "The Blinkumentary," featuring Blink 182. Their songs remind me so much of high school. FAN GIRL ALERT. I actually have a scar on my hip from being unknowingly pushed into a mosh pit and trampled at one of their concerts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I get goosebumps when "What's my age again" starts to play in this preview. (Don't judge. Some people have Edward Cullen...I have Mark Hoppus.)

YOUTUBE VIDEO HIGHLIGHTS LESSONS LEARNED FROM LITTLE MERMAID

(Hat tip Katie.) I think this line is my favorite: "Don't ever talk to a man until he kisses you on the lips first. Then, as a woman, you're allowed."

Thanks Disney.

Fun sidenote: my sister and I used to fight over whose "ah-ah-ah" sounded more like Ariel's. I remember being genuinely pissed-off when we asked my mom to decide for us, and she said "I don't know. Go record yourselves."

PARENTING HIGH QUICKLY TURNS INTO PARENTING LOW

The other day, Peanut and I were having one of these totally euphoric mother-and-daughter moments where everything seemed perfect. We were lounging on the couch upstairs, simultaneously enjoying the sunlight through the windows and the cold air from a fan, and Peanut was stroking my head, ohhing and ahhing at my hair.

She began going through the personality traits I compliment her on -- "Mama smart! Mama funny!" -- and, even though she was copying me, I was feeling really good about myself.

She then glanced out the window, got a big smile on her face, and goes "Car smart! Car funny!"

COOL KID.

"BUSY BEE" NOT JUST STUPID NICKNAME

Peanut has this book -- "Busy Bee" -- about, well, just that. A bee who is too busy. He won't follow snail (sounds boring), play with ladybug (she's probably skanky) or watch spider spin a web (why would bee even want to do that one? you know that two-faced spider is just going to kill him).

This damn bee has become a metaphor for my life.

I hate people that whine "I'm so busy blah blah blah" on their blog because it's annoying. But it's the excuse for my lack of blogging. "Busy" not being the excuse (because that's a big slap in the face to the rest of you, implying that I'm too busy to blog but you're not, haha), but for putting too much on my plate, and then pushing blogging to the back of the priority list.

It's also annoying when a blog fades into oblivion. But hey, look, a blog post, a step avoiding my blog death!

WOMAN SPENDS ALL HER MONEY ON RACES

I've been having a lot of fun running adventures lately.

Ragnar Relay Wasatch Back (post to come...eventually...maybe by Thanksgiving)

Murray 5k -- complete with patriotic outfits fitting for July 4th

...and the media preview for Utah's first mud run, the September Dirty Dash, complete with Dirty Farmer's outfits

(Photo by Jason Olson, Deseret News)

(Oh, and I've been blogging with a team of reporters for over two months now on the DNews blog "Reasons to Run." Here, I pontificate about running in costume.)

"Work hard, play hard" has been my summer motto. It's treated me well. (And turned me into a caffeine addict.)

Wife: FAIL

2010-06-29T23:06:00.000-06:00

When Mother's Day rolled around, I had high expectations. REALLY high. If I'm going to be parenting alone Monday-Friday, GJ better do something pretty awesome to account for the fact that I'm doing a hellofalotof mothering around here.

GJ was a tad surprised when I informed him of this. I think he expected he could slack on a Mother's Day celebration since weekends are his only time home. But there was NO WAY I was going to let him slack -- this is MY DAY, and I better be getting the rockstar treatment.

GJ did not disappoint. He surprised me with a spa treatment Saturday -- complete with a hot stone massage, facial and pedicure.

Mother's Day was equally as lovely. After a big breakfast, GJ obeyed every one of my demands to take care of Peanut. Because there's no better way to celebrate Mother's Day then defying the very role the day is named after.

I started off the day saying "I'm not changing a single diaper." I then added any monotonous task, like getting Peanut in and out of the carseat or taking her up and down the stairs. I later declared I wouldn't be feeding her or just picking her up in general, unless she wanted to give me a hug or a kiss. But then she kissed me with snot coming out her nose and it got on my lip, so by the end of the day, the only motherly duty I held onto was looking at Peanut.

I'll admit, I went a little power hungry.

Then comes the week before Father's Day. Yes, the week before. I let GJ know that he's getting nothing for Father's Day -- no special breakfast in bed, no gift, probably not even an obligatory Father's Day feel-up -- because I was going to be so busy that week.

I won't bore you with the details, but because of a race, two receptions, a late night drive to retrieve my car and a church lesson, I really did not have a spare minute to do anything for GJ.

Really. Not a thing.

This really should be my sign that I just have too many responsibilities to make life enjoyable. But no, it becomes a challenge and a screwed-up prioritization game where I put a celebration honoring my well-deserving husband last on the list.

...but he didn't have to change a single diaper.

California: in bursts

2010-06-03T16:36:00.001-06:00

This blog post has been looming over me. Like death. If death were a two-month old blog post.

Yeah, it's old. That's how I feel lately, so it fits.

My mid-March trip to California for my cousin's wedding, featuring the highlights and accompanying pictures.

- An all-night drive. Left Provo, Utah with my brother Trent at freaking 10:45 p.m. to arrive in Glendora, California at 6:30 a.m. That's 8 hours folks. Haven't pulled one of those all-night drives since my pre-baby days, and still my favorite way to travel to the good-old C-A.

- DONUT MAN. The moment we arrived.

- Hiking in the Los Angeles National Forest. Trent and I ran up Big Dalton and hiked on a steep trail overlooking the valley. It's moments like this when I can't believe I used to live in such a beautiful place. (If I ever move out of Utah, I know I'll have the same reaction when I return to visit.)

- La Tolteca salsa. If I had to eat one food for the rest of my life, it would be La Tolteca's chips and salsa. This is one of the Stowell's favorite places to eat, and by far the salsa is the best thing there. Peanut agrees. She ate it with a SPOON, shoveling it into her mouth, later picking up the salsa bowl to drink it.

- SPRING. Gotta love leaving snow in Utah to perfect 70-degree weather in Southern California. Flowers from my in-laws backyard:

- The beach. The artists, the surfers, the weirdos, the beauty, the fish tacos.

Love this picture:

THE SCENE OF THE CRIME.

...and the couple taking pictures for the fetish site "50-year-old beach people."

(Oh, opps, that's my mom and dad.)

- BEACH HAIR. My hair looks and feels the best after a good dip in the ocean. Trent and I specifically planned going to my cousin's wedding dinner with styled beach hair, that is how much we love it. We went to Salt Creek Beach before the dinner and had to do a "deck change" in the parking lot with all the surfers before the wedding.

- A big surprise. GJ was working in Maryland the week before and after the wedding, and he told me his company would not let him switch plane tickets to fly into California for the weekend. And then I came back to his parent's place in Glendora Friday night after the wedding dinner to find him sitting on the couch waiting for me.

- Crab Cooker. Newport Beach's dining jewel. Scallop and shrimp kabobs, king crab legs, red crab chowder...I'm counting down the days to when I can go back.

- Baby's first Rainbows. We bought Peanut her first pair of Rainbow sandals. They just started a new toddler version with the heel strap. Peanut was a little reluctant about having something between her toes, but once I pointed out to her that mom, dad and Uncle Trent were all wearing sandals, she loved them. So much so that she wouldn't sit through my cousin's wedding and just wanted to "Walk! Walk! WAAAAALK!" (She actually throws fits in Utah that I won't let her wear them daily - whether it's snowing or raining.)

- Alex and Karry's wedding. My cousin (the groom) married his beautiful girlfriend in a ceremony overlooking the beach. My fav pics:

- The wedding sitter. Karry's friend has started a business L.A. Wedding Sitter (Peanut and I are in their photo gallery) - they set-up a play area and craft table at the back of the reception hall, and watch the kids while the adults enjoy the party. GREAT idea. Don't know if the parents or kids loved it more.

- Driving back to Utah with my parents. They packed two bags of groceries from our former neighborhood grocery store for the ride home. And it was the same food we've been eating on road trips for the past 20 years - bananas, Baked Lays, pecan sandies, Gogurts (when we made fun of them for this, my dad got all huffy and goes "They didn't have Gogurts 20 years ago.").

- Losing my parents respect. When I dared Trent to make a trucker bomb*. And a Nielson doesn't back down from a dare. Picture not safe for public viewing. My brother was hydrated enough to need to pee, but not hydrated enough to have normal-colored urine.

*Trucker bomb = peeing in a water bottle and chucking it out the window**.
**For the record, I did not approve of the latter part of the bomb, but dared Trent to pull the classic "You know you're a mom" move and casually hand the nasty bottle back to my mom saying "Mom, I've got some trash for you to put in the bag," hoping she'd grab it without looking up from her book. (She didn't fall for it.)

- Losing my parents respect...again. When Trent and I played a few rounds of "Would You Rather," a game which had questions so inappropriate, I don't even feel comfortable listing them on a blog my in-laws and extended family reads.

- Laughing at myself. When, near the end of the drive, my mother-in-law texted me: "Congratulations, your team minus the blue dogs did it today!" Remember, we were out there during the peak of March Madness. And this is a woman who loves basketball as much as my husband. I immediately thought "OH NO. I have no idea which team has the mascot of the blue dogs. How will I break it to her that I really don't care about March Madness?"

Turns out she was talking about the health care bill.

THE END.

Drama in the 801

2010-05-06T10:51:00.006-06:00

I interrupt week of vacations to bring you this breaking news on a bit of an incident at our house last evening!

(I feel like one of those real bloggers who is actually dedicated to their blog, has time to write about things hours after they happen and makes more than $30 a quarter off ads.)

Prelude: Peanut has this book titled "Move," detailing the way animals, well, move. In it there is an absolutely disgusting illustration of a jumping spider that looks more like a monstrous tarantula. This spider is big, ugly, hairy and looks like it will jump off the page and crawl all over your face.

Now, yes, I'm a HUGE wimp when it comes to the 8-legged creatures. And every time Peanut and I read this book, I automatically say "EW" and shake and try to turn the page quickly. Peanut does the same thing, pointing at it and saying "EW! Bider!" and shaking her shoulders.

A few weeks ago, I was reading this book to her and we went through the same spider routine. After finishing, Peanut hoped off my lap to get a new book and there, INCHES FROM OUR TOES, was a HUGE BROWN SPIDER ON THE FLOOR. Oh folks. I freaked out more than was appropriate for, well, any situation that did not involve a dead person, simultaneously freaking Peanut out. I felt bad that she thought I was screaming at her (she had yet to notice the giant arachnid right at her feet), so I showed her the spider from a safe distance and said I was scared of it.

In hindsight, this was a really stupid idea because then Peanut became scared of it. Peanut was very worried about this spider, ran out of the room crying and thought there was a spider in her room for DAYS. Every time we walked in there, she'd look at the floor, whimpering "bider" and would squat and point to the exact spot on the floor where we saw the spider. In hindsight (theme of my parenting, apparently), I should have kept her in the room when I killed it, but I vacuum spiders, and I don't need her scared of another random inanimate object. I told her I killed it and smacked the floor (as if I'm really that hardcore to just smash a spider with my bare hands), and now if she sees any sort of lint, clump of grass or thread on the floor, she smacks it, saying "BIDER! AHHHH!"

In conclusion: Peanut hates spiders.

Flash forward to last night. GJ's out-of-town-Monday-through-Friday-until-November-SCREW-THE-MAN schedule is still in full force, so just Peanut and I are holding down Casa de Stowell. I'd just fed Peanut, finished a lengthy game of bubbles outside (meaning Peanut wants to blow the bubbles herself, so she sticks the wand all over her mouth and blows, dripping a mixture of soap, slobber and snot down her shirt) and made her a bottle. We proceeded downstairs to begin her nighttime routine, which begins with a few minutes of "A show? Elmo?" where she watches "Sesame Street" for 15 minutes while finishing up her bottle. (ELMO. SHE'S OBSESSED.)

As we round the corner to the TV, though, there's a freaking spider sitting on the carpet in front of the couches. The way I just wrote that last sentence, it sounds like I was kinda irked about it, casually rolled my eyes and just stomped on the thing, sighing "GEEZ spider, you're so annoying." In reality, I jumped, made my signature exaggerated gasp and yelled the exact thing Peanut's been mimicking since March. "SPIDER! AHHHH!"

My overreaction, of course, made Peanut A WRECK. I put her on the floor to grab the vacuum, and she just spiraled into a toddler mess, crying, backing into things, pointing and screaming in horror "BIDER! BIDER!" Realizing I need to have a better spider attitude, I changed my tone. "Peanut, it's OK, mama's gonna get it! Don't worry," I offered calmly, "Why don't you just go hide in mama and dada's room for a minute?" She clumsily darted in, a nervous wreck bumping into the door jam and tripping over a pair of shoes. She closed the door behind her and I got to work with my vacuum (the ultimate chick means of killing spiders).

After sucking it up, I figured I already have it out, it seems pointless to just suck up one little bug and not finish vacuuming the rest of the carpet. Plus I should leave the vacuum on for a few minutes to make sure that thing is dead, right? So I vacuumed. The floor, under the couch, the blanket covered in Peanut's cracker crumbs. It was when I pulled out the upholstery attachment to work on the couch cushions when the sound of Peanut crying broke through the blare of the vacuum. I turned it off to hear Peanut banging on the inside of our bedroom door, bawling.

The bad thing about having a tall toddler is, at a little over one-and-a-half, she can open doors. Not only does she open them, she turns the locks. And last night she had locked herself in our bedroom.

We've actually never used the lock on our bedroom door, so I had no idea if there was even a key. I ran upstairs, pulled out our pile of random keys with no known purpose, and tried the first key in the lock...to find that this lock actually has metal over the keyhole, so you can't even stick a key or anything bigger than a pin inside it. The keyhole looks like the lock melted or something, and now there is no way to put a key inside.

I run upstairs and grab two screwdrivers and a credit card. A requirement to growing up in a house with two little brothers is lock picking. Give me or my siblings a lock, and I'm confident we'd have that thing open in under 15 seconds (depending on lock difficulty, of course). We were constantly breaking into the locks in the bathroom, my parents bedroom, the garage-turned-family-room and the front door.

I grab the small screwdriver first, thinking I'll pick the lock with it. PROBLEM: remember, there's metal over the keyhole. I bust out the bigger screwdriver, hoping I can just take the doorknob off by unscrewing the perimeter screws. PROBLEM: the screws for the doorknob are on the inside of the door, facing Peanut. So I grab a credit card, confident that I can slip that plastic puppy in through the door jam and jimmy the lock. PROBLEM: the door jam is built at an angle, making this task impossible. And bending the credit card.

At this point, I'm getting nervous. Peanut is wailing "MAMA! DOOR! MAMA!" and is trying to turn the doorknob herself. I attempt explaining the door lock system to her, but she's 1.5, that goes nowhere. Talking to Peanut calms her down, but I feel like I'm addressing a suicidal teen. "Just don't take mama's shoes into the bathroom with you!" "I CAN HEAR YOU TRYING TO EAT THAT, TAKE IT OUT OF YOUR MOTH" Oh, and this fun gem: "PLEASE PLEASE don't wipe your nose on my towel again!" Rational thinking is not my strong point in crisis mode. I call GJ - four times - no answer. I call my brother Trent - he suggests all the techniques I've already used, then says "You need to call a neighbor."

So I do just that. I run back upstairs to find my phone book and call our neighbor. He says he'll be over in a minute, just give him time to throw on some clothes.

It's at this moment that the vanity bug hits. "Oh crap, someone is coming to my house and this place is a disaster." I couldn't have him walking into my house deducting "What kind of squalor do these people live in, no wonder there's spiders; there's probably maggots and rats too." I hurriedly pick toys up, shove the mail in a pile in Peanut's diaper bag, hide my dirty socks in my pocket. The kitchen floor has peas all over it from Peanut's lively dinner, so I quickly sweep. Peanut's whirling downstairs, and I realize how stupid I'm being and I need to talk to my daughter to help her stop panicking.

So I sit in front of the door and stare at the lock a little more. I decide that I could attempt to really shove the screwdriver in the small metal hole to try and break it, then angle it to pick the lock. I do just that - and Peanut is saved!

I swing open the door, thinking Peanut will rush into my arms in pure toddler joy, thrilled to be reunited with her mother, and grateful I saved her from spending the night in a pile of her dad's dirty clothes.

She looks at me with red eyes, tear-stained cheeks and a booger train running into her mouth. She controls her hyperventilation in order to say her first word since being rescued.

"Elmo?"

The 12-man, 200-mile race known as Ragnar So Cal

2010-05-03T14:19:00.008-06:00

It was getting to a critical point where I HAD to post something new. The bad thing about this new blogger reader gadget is that my inappropriate blog titles appear on the blog of anyone who links to me and uses said gadget. So my "porn" title is displayed on someone's blog who may not otherwise want it on there. (Some of you have pervy friends who clicked on my blog through yours more than others - I hope to meet them someday.).

So I offer "The Week Of Picture Posts About Cool Trips I Have Taken in The Past Month-and-a-Half" aka "This Blog is Annoying, Why Do I Want to Read About Trips Other People Have Taken? CLOSE." Meh, first-up, last weekend's Southern California Ragnar relay race.

Five years ago, my sister-in-law Megan had this goal for the Stowell family: run the 197-mile, 12-man relay race in Oregon called Hood-to-Coast.

The runners in the family hit the pavement again. Others began training for the first time.

The race was painful -- and powerful.

Come 2010, Megan found a new relay race for us to take on: the Southern California Ragnar, a 200-mile, 12-man relay race from Ventura to Dana Point.

We ran it last weekend. It was one of the most grueling 36-hour experiences I've put my body through, but a once-in-a-lifetime adventure full of laughs, bonding and over-sharing.

How it works is the team splits up into two vans of six people, each runner taking three legs of roughly 3-10 miles a piece. The van currently running is driving between exchanges, stopping to jump out of the car, cheer on their runners and give them water. The van currently off is relaxing, eating and (hopefully) sleeping.

After some last minute replacements, GJ and I ran in van 1 with brother-in-law Dave, brother-in-law Sean, Dave's sister Jill and Jill's friend Jessie. Day of the race, we woke up at 5 a.m. to drive to the starting line at Ventura. We were all exhausted, and pretty jealous that van 2 got to sleep in until noon. That soon faded once we got to San Buenaventura State Beach Park and joined the Ragnar festivities with all the decorated vans and costumed runners. PUMPED.

Dave and GJ practice the art of the exchange. Teams are given a bright orange slap bracelet to pass off to each other. You better believe that bracelet is sweaty and sticky after a few passes.

Our team name was "It All Runs in the Family." I had way too much fun decorating our van, including coming up with this little tear-jerking motto: 200 miles, 32 hours, 12 runners, 2 vans, 1 family.

Dave started us off. He was sure to tell everyone that he was the oldest man on our team, and two of his three legs were 8-milers labeled "very hard." He ran a mostly beach-side run to Oxnard Beach Park.

Thank goodness they practiced for this moment.

Dave passed off to GJ, who ran around Port Hueneme Naval Base. GJ's route was full of busy streets, meaning he had to stop and wait at crosswalks every half mile or so.

GJ passed off to Dave's sister Jill, who ran along Hueneme road, a road that was lined with warehouses for a while, then strawberry fields. It was also the route for all the fruit trucks. Basically, she ran on a major highway.

Jill passed off to her friend Jessie, who ran in similar major-fruit-route conditions on this same road, then along the Camarillo train station. Mind you, Jessie started training for the Ragnar roughly a month before the race, and had never run more than two miles. She rocked it!

Jessie passed off to me, and I ran through residential areas in Camarillo.

My goal this leg was to beat a high school girl from a non-profit group for at-risk kids in L.A. who had cut off Jessie at our exchange point - you better believe I killed her (I know, mature attitude). But the last 100 yards or so, I kept my pace to pass-off to Sean, when this same high school girl sprinted ahead to pass me.

Here's me continuing my maturity and making a "go ahead" look when she passed me at the end. Or signaling that I just farted.

I passed off to Sean, who ran the longest leg - a 10-miler - through Moorpark in the heat of the day. His leg had a massive hill at the end, practically no shade, and Sean reported that this was one of the hardest runs he's ever done (this is a man who ran the Boston Marathon).

We then passed off to van 2, which consisted of GJ's sisters Megan and Shannon, brother Scott, his wife Maureen, niece Emma and her friend Jenna. While they ran through Thousand Oaks, Agoura Hills, Woodland Hills and brought us into Los Angeles, our van chilled at Warner Ranch Park, which was just wonderful. We grabbed some food, brought out our sleeping bags and slept with all the other runners in the grass. We were like a bunch of stinky bums. And, you guys, bum life was AWESOME.

We spent the next few hours sleeping, relaxing, reading, snacking and talking. I declared I wanted to be a bum for a few days, chill in a park, put my bum baby in a shopping cart and read my bum book. We had a really hard time getting out of our sleeping bags, especially since it was now dark and cold.

Our second leg, I didn't take pictures, because who wants to be blinded with a flash when they're out on the course? Running this time of night was exhilarating. Equipped with reflective vests, flashing butt lamps and a head lamp, the weather was cool and the scenery more beautiful in the moonlight. We all agreed this was our favorite leg.

Jill and I deducted that we had the right mix of personalities to make up a killer van. Dave, the funnyman driver; GJ, the never-complaining navigator; Sean, the ethical super runner; Amelia, the loud camerawoman; Jessie, the dependable last-minute pinch-hitter; and Jill, the charming conversationalist (who kept up a flow of topics even when we were all pooped.)

Dave continued through Los Angeles where, mid-way through his run, we stopped at a stoplight to grab Dave's bottle of water. Sean was driving and hopped out of the car to grab the bottle. Problem: he didn't put the car in park. So while Sean ran to make a left-handed water bottle catch, thinking we're cheering "Great Catch Sean!" in reality we're screaming in horror "SEAN WE'RE CRAWLING TOWARDS OUR DEATH INTO AN INTERSECTION AT TWO MILES AN HOUR!"

GJ ran next around the Sepulveda Dam, and ended up sticking with a group of girls who were all jointly nervous about braving the dark route past midnight without a male. What a kind guy, right?

Jill next ran in front of all the shops and bars on Ventura Blvd. and brought us into the Hollywood Bowl. Jessie ran past the people waiting in lines outside clubs in West Hollywood, still packed at 2 a.m.

I ran through Beverly Hills, six miles along trails and all the ritzy hotels on Sunset and Willshire. During the West Hollywood end of my leg, a group of 20-something boys pulled over, offering all the runners weed (a runner next to me goes "Not now man, I'm running a race!"). This was the perfect run for me because I could totally place all these locations in relation to Hollywood stars ("Brangelina stayed there during their last L.A. visit...Heidi and Spencer ate there last season on 'The Hills!'...Paris Hilton had a nip-slip outside that hotel pool.").

Sean took us back out to the coast at Santa Monica and, being the hardcore athlete he is, stayed with van 2 to be a bike pacer with them, as three of their runners were going through really shady areas of coastal L.A. lined with homeless people (Ragnar actually marked these legs as female runners needing a pacer). They ran along Santa Monica Pier, Mahattan Beach, Redondo Beach, Venice Beach and Hollywood Riviera.

Instead of sleeping on the ground at the next exchange point, we went to GJ's aunt Vicki's home in Los Alamitos. Hot showers, yummy food, real beds. I don't remember much from this stop because we finally got some much-needed sleep.

We caught van 2 again in Harbor Park. Megan (who is running the Logan marathon this month) was our other hardcore runner - she ran twice with Shannon, because Shannon had a scary route. Shannon had passed a group of men milling outside a ghetto building who were all staring at her, so she yelled "If you're going to stare, at least cheer for me!"

...I'm a little offended at the looks on your faces, Shannon and Megan. You don't look pleased I'm capturing your sisterly run on film.

Shannon and Dave, showing a little exchange #24 love.

Dave ran through San Pedro and, although it was daylight hours now, his course was marked that female runners needed a pacer. So was GJ's. That indicates how, uh, picturesque these routes were.

GJ headed into Long Beach, running along the Los Angeles River. His route was especially ghetto, lined with strip clubs and tattoo parlors (and, hey, Jessie James West Coast Choppers).

After running a 7-miler and 8-miler back-to-back, Jill had extreme knee pain. In our safety course, Ragnar told us that, if at any time on the course, the runner didn't feel safe, just get back in the van and drive to the next leg. We planned to pull the safety card at this point, letting Jill start the course, do the universal "I'M SCARED!" sign a few hundred yards into it, then drive her to the next exchange. Once Sean got wind of this, his strong moral compass would not allow for a breach of the rules and, after already running the hardest leg of the course, missing a sleep stop and taking on the role of pacer for van 2, Sean ran Jill's leg into Long Beach.

Posing for his next Nike ad.

Next, Jessie ran into Long Beach.

She passed off to me, where I ran further into Long Beach and around Seal Beach (notice "into" and "around" - no beach runs for me!). This was was my hardest leg. It wasn't my longest, but we were hitting the heat of the day again and I got a killer side cramp. Sleep deprived and sore, the third and last leg, you're running off pure adrenaline.

While my team was waiting for me at the exchange, Dave decided to get a burrito. He'd been obsessing about a breakfast burrito all morning so, frankly, I was glad he finally satisfied his craving. After walking out of the restaurant with his goods, Dave spotted me running in - so he ran with me, burrito in hand, for the last few hundred yards.

Sean ran us in along Huntington Beach, and VAN 1 FINISHED. GJ's parents and the grandkids met us here, as well as van 2 again. We didn't get much rest after that, as we now had the kids and cheered van 2 as they made their way through Huntington, Costa Mesa, Irvine, along Highway 133 into Laguna Beach and into Salt Creek State Beach in Dana Point.

The grandkids were really enthused about running the course with us. We arguably had the biggest group of family members cheering us on throughout the course. Emma ran her 8.8 mile into Laguna Beach with brother Bryan -- sister Kathryn joined in at the end.

Finally at 8 p.m., with moleskin covering our blistered feet, ice on pulled IT bands, gel insoles on aching arches, bandaids over lost toenails and icy hot layering sore muscles, we crossed the finish line. Shannon and Megan ran us into Salt Creek Beach, and we all jumped in with her for the last few yards, running on the sand.

This team picture didn't turn out so well - a combination of the dark and ocean mist. But here's our team, functioning on roughly 5 hours of sleep, energy supplements, Powerade, licorice, carbs -- and a lot of adrenaline.

Ideally, we should have ended hours earlier, during the daylight hours. Teams, however, start based off your mile split times, so an estimation on when you finish. Friday, teams started anywhere from 6 a.m. to 4 p.m. - we started at 9 a.m. Since we had two last-minute runner switches, our estimated times were off. We were sure we were the last team to arrive - all the finish line festivities (the food, the massages, the drink stations) were all broken down by the time we got there. But results show us we placed 238 out of 269 teams, running it in 35 hours.

That night, we had a post-race party with Wahoos fish tacos, and two of our runners got horrible heat exhaustion. It's here that I need to apologize again to my niece because, when she was laying on the couch moaning "MY BODY HURTS! MOM! HELP ME!" I sat there making fun of her, saying "If you don't die in 30 minutes, this complaining is going to be for nothing." Then her body went into shock and she puked. Sorry, Emma.

I'm still going through Ragnar withdrawls. You can take your body to crazy limits, and it's a trip to see just how far you can go. The memories you make with your team, though, is the best part.

Hopefully our next relay race won't be in another 5 years. Go Team Stowell!

My 5-hour stint in the porn industry

2010-04-05T18:36:00.006-06:00

While in California, my brother Trent and I decided to go to the beach. We were anxious to stick our feet in the sand, feel the salty breeze and people watch on the Laguna Beach boardwalk.

Walking and commenting on the demographic differences of Utah and California, a man came up to us from an "art gallery" site on beach feet. He said he took pictures for this art installation and asked if my feet could be a part of the gallery.

"Have you ever gotten compliments on your feet before?" he said, pointing at my sparkly purple "I'm Not Really a Waitress" OPI nail color toes.

"I certainly haven't," Trent said, laughing.

"Actually, this is only for women," replied the artist.

I laughed nervously.

"Is this some sick, fetish web site?" I questioned.

...and he was kind of offended.

He handed me a business card, printed with "World Renowned Art Gallery" on the back. I mean WORLD RENOWNED ART GALLERY was highlighted in a gold, cursive font on the back of his card. The business card police don't just let that happen without verifying it, right?

Things seemed fun and legit, he was professional and talked photography shop-talk with me, the beach breeze left me carefree and vulnerable, and both Trent and I thought "Why not?" So I obliged.

He posed me on a bench and began taking pictures of my feet from different angles. He noticed my fresh pedicure, my toe ring. And I kept thinking "This is for an art gallery, nothing creepy." We were in public, and Trent was also taking pictures of what was happening.

Also a candidate for "Pasty white beach people"

Next, the artist asked me to remove my sandals and took silly pictures of me holding them in the air. He snapped pictures of the soles of my feet. Soles which were apparently "dusty," so he asked if he could dust my feet off. He got out a towel, put water on it and washed my feet. Yes, washed my feet. Right there on the boardwalk.

It was at this moment when I thought "OK. This is getting weird." He had me rotate my feet in different directions, meanwhile asking me questions about my feet as if they were a separate being.

"What are your feet's unique qualities?"

"They're small." (Trent: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA)

"Where have your feet been?"

"Oh, um, Europe, Mexico, all over the U.S."

"So they're well-traveled feet?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What do your feet like to do for fun?"

"...uh...they run...hike...bike..."

"So they're athletic feet?"

His cream-colored fedora no longer looked edgy and easy-going, but the sign of a pervy cameraman manipulating women for a quick buck.

The artist wrapped up, thanked me for my participation and we headed our separate ways.

I left REALLY freaked out about what happened. I was sure I would end up on some fetish site with my name and pictures attached. Trent was laughing about it, didn't think it was a big deal. I relayed the story to other family members, and they were all laughing about it too.

I mean, it's FEET. GROSS. Who wants feet pictures? No biggie, right?

Well I come home that night and all my fears, my worrying, my anxiety WERE CONFIRMED. My pictures are featured on a full-on paid subscription foot fetish web site. Sure, there's no naked girls or anything, but definitely not a site one would want to be associated with.

I, of course, was whirling. WHIRLING. "My employer will find this and fire me via e-mail." "Peanut is going to need so much therapy!" "When I make it on American Idol, I'll be kicked off a quarter-way through the season because of my shady past. THE SHAME."

GJ tried to look it up, and his work computer blocked the site. He thought this was hilarious. "So I married a porn star?" It was not helping the situation.

I wrote the web site manager a strongly worded e-mail.

"I am a mother with a career" I implored! "I did not sign a model release form for this" I threatened! And, just to make sure I didn't piss anyone off, I politely ended : "Can you please remove them immediately?"

I woke up the next morning to find the pictures gone, no cached trace left behind. And an e-mail from the web master: "No problem."

No problem indeed.

And just as quickly as I entered the world of internet porn, I was out of it.

(I'm sure this is how half the women in a "Girl's Gone Wild" DVD got there. Just replace "feet" with "boobs" and "ocean breeze" with "inordinate amounts of alcohol.")

Lesson learned: There is only one man allowed to wash your feet. And that man is Jesus.

Home again, home again

2010-03-22T23:40:00.003-06:00

"What kind of idiots leave California - WAAAH!"

We just returned from a whirlwind trip to California. Went to my cousin's wedding, swapped secrets with my brother on an all-night roadtrip, got a big surprise, bought Peanut her first Rainbows\ sandals, did some things I'm not proud of and lost my parent's respect somewhere between Primm, Nevada and Cedar City, Utah.

These trips always give me hope that I CAN stay home alone with Peanut for a week. I get a break, she loves the extra attention from her family, I leave thinking "She's so sweet and happy - this next week will be awesome." And then, barely 12 hours back in our house, I'm reminded of toddler hell when Peanut (accidentally) punches me in the mouth with a wood block, chipping my tooth.

Damn you sustainable toys.

(It's just the two of us because GJ's been traveling for work Sunday-Friday, a schedule that will last until freaking November. I wasn't going to say anything about it on a public blog, but really psychos, I'm home alone with a toddler for days on end, come over and kill me, you'd be doing me a favor.)

'Twas 81 days after Christmas

2010-03-17T01:00:00.001-06:00

NOTE: My little brother Ryan has been asking me to post a Christmas '09 recap since, oh, Christmas '09. I wrote one, never fine-tuned it or added pictures, then "Eh, it's February now, I'm over it." Well Ryan leaves on his mission this afternoon. And it's his leaving-on-a-mission wish that I finished this post. I won't have contact with him for two years outside of exactly four phone calls and snail mail. So I gladly oblige.

'Twas 81 days after Christmas, and all through Stowell house,
Not a Christmas card was sent, not even to a spouse.
Neighbor gifts still stacked high on the office floor,
"Our friends must surely think we're a holiday bore."

The holidays! They were grand! Full of family and food!
Young Peanut, she loved it too much, twice she spewed.
Fair sister Kristin came to town from the land of Obama,
And GJ's family reunited for his 30th bday at Red Iguana.

Traditions, new and old, were celebrated with great excitement!
GJ let Peanut drive for holiday lights (he'll get an indictment).
Gingerbread houses, Muppet Christmas Carol, Grandpa's 81st,
Cousin party, Rummikub, for pomegranate 7-UP we thirst.

We saw God's Christmas lights display on Temple Square,
Unforgettable conversation, favorite memories we did share.
"Remember when," my siblings would say, reciting a beloved story.
"SIGH" GJ would retort: "I'm sick of hearing the Nielson's nostalgic glory."

We celebrated Winter Solstice, Hanukkah and Jesus' birth,
And took family photos at the coldest spot on earth.
We saw lots of blue side boob in "Avatar," a movie so boring,
I feel asleep during the mating scene (though no snoring).

A toddler Christmas where Peanut pulled everything off the tree,
Broken ornament count at four -- she's a holiday banshee!
Peanut scored puzzles, books, clothes and a toothbrush.
The latter, naturally her favorite, she's a toothpaste lush.

Spoiled with attention, that kid melted down with great display.
Despite, she was chosen as baby Jesus in the Nativity play.
Although, she didn't confess, she got drunk out of a stolen flask,
(It was really vanilla - a sweet-smelling clean-up task.)

To open stockings, Nielson siblings piled in the same bed,
A tradition the in-laws have labeled "creepy" and "inbred."
"Holy crap, is that a picture of grandmother and granddaughter?"
"Yes, my mom's Christmas gift to herself; it is quite awkward."

New Year's Eve we toasted with sparkling fruit juice,
For Mormons -- no alcohol allowed -- this is our celebration excuse.
Brother Ryan vowed no more "That's what she said" jokes.
(A resolution that will surely be a hoax.)

Work deadlines always make December stressful for us,
So frankly Christmas, we bid you farewell without a fuss!

(I love you Ryan)

Must-reads and time wasters

2010-03-07T13:22:00.006-07:00

My brothers are going to kill me. After not updating my blog for over two weeks, I've got another link round-up, when what they really want are quips about themselves and pictures of Peanut.

- My friend Doug summed it up perfectly: "I'm in love with this video." So entertaining to see the works of artists like Rembrant, Pablo Picasso, Leonardo da Vinci and Sandro Botticelli recreated in a music video "70 Million" by the French-American band Hold Your Hoses. The Frida Kahlo, René Magritte and Edvard Munch especially made me smile. And laughing at the "Gabrielle d'Estrees." (This is what happens when you grow up with a mother who has a master's degree in art history.)

70 Million by Hold Your Horses ! from L'Ogre on Vimeo.

- Also entertaining? OK Go's music video for "This Too Shall Pass." I so wanted to make one of these Rube Goldberg contraptions when I was a kid. Or own the game Mouse Trap. I can't tell what I love the best in this video -- the mass flying paper airplanes, falling umbrellas or smashed TVs.

- For work, I covered the homecoming of some of Utah's Olympians, including Jeret "Speedy" Peterson. I knew the basics about him -- invented the Hurricane, won the silver in aerial skiing -- but that was it. I was so touched by his fun group of friends waiting for him at the airport with signs and costumes that, later that night, I looked up some articles on Jeret.

This profile on him in Men's Journal is unbelievable.

There have already been numerous tragic, high-profile suicides this year -- Alexander McQueen, Andrew Koening, Marie Osmond's son -- and the similar piece to the deaths was their trials with depression. It was inspiring to read a story of a person who has seen those same lows and, through the help of family, friends, counseling and medication, made it through successfully.

- We spend more on our monthly trashcan fee than we do for water. Does this surprise me -- no. Trash is (often) an unusable material that is becoming more and more expensive to store. Yes store -- it doesn't just disintegrate or go away. It's sad that it costs more to dispose of our household waste than to enjoy water. But we're destroying earth's natural resources by producing so much garbage.

These pictures by Seattle photographer Chris Jordan are haunting. Disturbing. Albatross see chunks of trash in the water and mistake it for food, eating it themselves and feeding it to their babies. Unable to digest it, they choke. Starve. Become poisoned.

It's a reminder to recycle. Cut down our dependency on plastic. And a reminder to just plain throw away our trash before littering -- their bellies are full of random objects many people don't think twice about leaving on the ground, like plastic bottle caps, cigarette butts and buttons.

- Honest Movie Titles. Thank you, College Humor.

- "Mean Girls" -- Disney princess style. I imagine this is how those marriage-obsessed spoiled brats would really act if they were forced to hang out.

- I would dream of sharks if this were my room.

It's part of an addicting Facebook group join if you want this as your bedroom The gallery features more exotic rooms - including the one below that I would LOVE to have as my bedroom. Don't know why being surrounded by water would freak me out, but being enclosed in it seems soothing.

- An episode of This American Life, titled "Parent Trap," that goes from relateable to enlightening to...I can't even describe the last story. Unethical? Depressing? Fascinating? Like listening to a train wreck? This American Life always captivates me.

- Have you seen the new characters for Toy Story 3? My sister sent this link to me, specifically the pea in the pod, which reminded her of this.

- As if I haven't gotten on my Soapbox enough this post, Esquire's article/slideshow "12 Surprising New Facts About Women" is messed up. Not the facts, but the final picture, the one on "Pain." It reports women have a lower pain threshold than men and, to accompany this fact, there's a picture of a woman clearly having sex. That sends a mixed message about sex/violence and plays into the sad fact of society's Rape Culture. Incredibly inappropriate, Esquire.