I have always loved Easter. The pastels, the candy, the rolls with ham, the Church meetings, the beautiful weather. I think what I love most is how perfect of a day it always is to rejoice in the Savior's resurrection and can only imagine how beautiful that actual day was. Since it is my first Easter with a child, I kept reminding myself to remember the day's true meaning and to not get **too** carried away in the Easter baskets and candy with Beckett. It is never too early to teach children about the Savior, even at their youngest age. That way, they will never know an Easter without His presence.
We've been teaching Beckett how to clap. He does it masterfully during the most inappropriate moments (not counting this picture).
Easter firsts for Beckett and Charlie.
It's a devastating thing for a child to have their eggs stolen.
Easter cousins.
We decided that "Nacho Libre" would be our Easter movie and watched it last night. It's one of my favorite comedies. I've always thought of it as an Easter movie, actually, and I'm sure it's all because of the line:
"Do you not realize I have had diarrhea since Easters?"
I haven't gotten my hair cut (slash thinned) since July. Watch out whoever cuts it next weekend.
PS, my poor diabetic trooper of a mother dined on ice water while we devoured ice cream. Shameful, I know.
Does anybody else besides us tear up every Sunday night while watching this? It is fascinating and inspiring to see how many small and large helping agencies are doing their own, simple, but meaningful contribution to the many low-socioeconomic neighborhoods in our country. Television and publicity politics aside, it's a very cool show and brings awareness to just how many non-profit organizations can benefit from volunteer work and donations, or even a simple, "Thank you."
I so can't wait to put these on Beckett. Yep, he's a full on walker and those Robeez, as darling as they still are, just won't cut it on asphalt during an Arizona summer. Heh, funny that I'm talking about TOMS, which is not unlike the purpose of Secret Millionaire. I'll be honest, I probably would have still bought them even if they didn't donate a pair to a child in need, but that's an added positive.
As all of us Arizonians know, the weather surprisingly dropped a good 30-40 degrees over the weekend. It was perfect. How I have come to love the cold and despise the heat as an Arizona native. I used to be completely tolerant or "immune" as I like to call it. In fact, I used to love it. Over the past several years, however, many of my vacations have been to winter towns, and returning to the heat and desolation that is this desert is slightly... depressing (strictly speaking geographically). Perfect days like Sunday don't come often.
It reminded me of Miss Congeniality:
"Please describe your idea of a perfect date."
"That's a tough one. I'd have to say April 25th. Because it's not too hot, not too cold, all you need is a light jacket."
I agree with Miss Rhode Island.
Even as summer (and with it, the majestic month of May) approaches, I think park days will remain as a regular tradition. Only, they'll have to be intermixed with pool days so we don't dry up too much.
Met my mother in Colorado (while attending vet school at CSU in Ft. Collins--a new temple site)!
Lives 2 blocks from the Phoenix Temple site (speaking of).
Used to hold state track records for the mile and two-mile races (even though it was 1977... still cool).
Once owned a rad Ford Thunderbird and would wash it with distilled water. It really was a pretty car, I must say.
Was the most penalized (but the best!) hockey goalie in his league during high school. Decades later, my jaw drops at seeing this guy ice skate.
Is a fully certified SCUBA diver who has achieved "Century Diver" status--meaning he has logged 100 dives.
Is an interesting guy, to say the least, and is very fun, funny, and loved.
Last year at the temple. I was 8 months pregnant and accidentally rammed my hand into a cactus and had to ward off obscenities and tears to smile for the camera.
Tomorrow we will all go to Mary Coyle's in Phoenix to celebrate (I have convinced Elliott to take me to "Last Chance" and "Smeeks" beforehand). My dad grew up in Central Phoenix (going to Central High School) and we have benefited from his knowledge of little restaurants brooming with the nostalgia of classic Phoenix. Sadly, Mary Coyle's will be closing in May, sharing the fate of so many established and seemingly timeless restaurants including Tucchetti's (home of the best pizza I will ever taste in my life--goat cheese) and Ed Debevic's. As dry and as urbanized Phoenix can seem to the unfamiliarized eye, it definitely claims some of the most unique and beloved shops and eateries around.
This all being said, happy birthday, Dad. Thanks for introducing us to so many special things in life; subtle and obvious.
One time when I was 16, my picture was in the Arizona Republic for being such a Beatles fan. I had bangs that I cut myself so that was cool. I need to get my act together and laminate that. You know, to preserve my 15 milliseconds of fame for the posterity. I also have my devotion immortalized in Sandra Day O'Connor High School's 2007 yearbook pages. Yeah, it took two pages to get the message across. I remember visiting with a friend after I graduated who told me that he and his girlfriend called me the boob girl because whenever she (who I had never even spoke two words to) wore her Beatles shirt, I would...apparently...stare at it and ultimately her boobs. Oops! I keep thinking I need to update my collection of shirts. I have 15 stuffed in a drawer, all too small now, naturally. The Beatles were my hobby growing up. I collected them, listened to them, loved them, learned about them, dreamed about them, and let everybody (well, at Church and SDOHS) know darn well who they were and that I would always be the number one fan. They were my passion and inspired me to do so many things. I have met a lot of people who do not receive their inspiration from music (but rather through other means, which is perfectly acceptable). They hum along until they turn the car or iPod off. I believe that I have turned down the music in my life a little too much because of the many, many things I have become caught up in, especially at a younger age. Fortunately, one benefit of having a painfully sharp memory is that I can remember it all. My feelings, my hideous clothes that attempted to look 1960s, my guitar and piano that seemed to only be able to churn out Beatles' tunes, my "shrine" that was a solid wall of nothing but memorabilia and magazine clippings. While it's important to grow up, to balance your life with what is relevant and important, it is just as important to remember what has contributed to your happiness, and what was so fun to parade around singing about. It is never too late to reinvent a passion. Oh, and in the middle of typing this, I found my paper. It is severely creased. Ignore my bangs and the fact that I actually said "drag."
And. Elliott and I have found ourselves singing this song quite often around the house.
Veggies that sing and are ridiculously cute. I like.
When I think of April, my chest constricts a little. A bit of PTSD if you will. Ok, let's not get too dramatic here. But really, I have a hard time thinking of last April. It's like when you have your alarm clock set to a certain buzzer and you hear that buzzer on someone else's phone or on the tv. It's all too familiar and elicits those same feelings of reluctance, anxiety, and brief shock at the sudden blare of that harsh sound though, it has no purpose anymore for the time being. It reminds me of Classical Conditioning.
Back to April. I was "worried" (for no reason) about being able to graduate. I had papers, discussion boards, tests, commutes, work. I had a baby coming; Due April 27th. Well, we did find out the week before that he was *technically* due the 29th. Whatever. He was coming and I was shy to meet him. Not worried about caring for him, not worried about losing sleep, not worried about loving him to death and back, not worried about breastfeeding (too many people ARE worried about breast feeding), not worried about how he would change my life. I was shy, bashful, and embarrassed. This baby didn't even know me and was about to be subjected to all of my motherly behaviors, one by one as I awkwardly wove them into my personality. Of course, little did I know, or realize. We've never been apart. Not really. Not ever. Thanks for being my guinea pig Beckett. It was inevitable, but here you are, once again, paving the way so that I might learn to be a little less crazier with each child. Love. Loves. Loved.
Did anyone see President Cook(or is it Elder?) or hear his name on conference today? He was called to be in the First Quorum of the Seventy! We are all very excited for him and his family.
Last weekend we went to my parents' house in Glendale where Beckett had a free-for-all with the cat, dog, and piano. He likes to be well-rounded. My Dad the veterinarian loves introducing his pets to Beckett though, by the hysterical looks on both Little Gray Cat and Harry's face, they didn't love it. At all. Such is the life of a pet with a baby (as opposed to a baby with a pet).
I am excited for the weekend. Well. It depends on how productive I am tonight with finishing my paper.
But I'm still excited.
I have a strange obsession with elapsed time (it contributes to my overly vivid and sharp memory). I measure the months in General Conferences. I find myself giving quite a bit of thought in regards to where I was 6 months ago (last conference, in October). I had made the last minute (almost literally) decision to apply to NAU's Master's Program in School Counseling. I was prepping for the GRE. I submitted my admissions application in between sessions of Saturday conference. Here I am half a year later, well into my cohort and classes, bumbling about a paper. Tomorrow, Beckett is a month shy of turning 1 (let the festivities planning commence). Six months ago he had no hair. Six months ago, I was fantasizing of the wonderful land of magic called Disneyland with the hopes of taking my husband their to convert him to the happy dream. Unbeknownst to me then, we would have the opportunity to go twice (and he has become a humbled admirer of the park). Last conference my bathroom was a dull white. Now it is a tranquil silver sage. Ok, maybe that doesn't matter but it contributes to the strange obsession! I am in awe of time and it's ability to apathetically pass by no matter what happens in life. Frightening, but assuring.
PS, Krista: can't wait to sign Beckett up for your fabulous piano lessons--even though it *may* be a few years down the road.
