The boys

These pictures are a little outdated, but for some reason the computer at home hates our digital camera, and refuses to upload photos. I don't know what the deal is, but I do know that Husband is trying to use the malfunction as an excuse to buy a better camera. If we could remember to take pictures more than once a month, I think it would be a good investment. For now, I just head over to the parentals where they have a neato slot for the camera's memory card.

Anyway, here are some pictures of 2 of our cutie-pa-tootie nephews when they came to meet the puppy a couple of weeks ago.

This is Jordan's best imitation of a puppy:

And this is Carter:

He is almost 4 months old. Jordan is only sometimes excited to have him as a member of the family. Luckily, on this particular day, Jordo seemed to like him well enough. I think he even forgot to smack him. Actually, I think he felt the new puppy was stealing all the attention. I'm just guessing, though, based on his repeated shouts of: "Look at my brother. Aren't his feets-es cute?"

One of the coolest things about being the oldest grandchild in a family, like Jordo, is that you have all these great uncles who don't have kids of their own yet to teach you how to do cool stuff. For example, gang signs. Every cool three and a half year old has to know a few, and Jordo is definitely ahead of the learning curve. Despite the time I spent as a substance abuse therapist, I'm still a little rusty on the whole flashing signs business. Luckily for the lil' guy, his uncle Braden keeps him up to speed with all the latest stuff from the hip-hop world:



Cool, huh? Apparently there is a song with some reference to "W's to the moon", and Little J obviously has it down. I'm only a little embarassed that the 3 year old knows more than I do...



This last one is of Husband teaching Carter to growl. Not sure how useful that'll be against Jordan's wigga street knowledge, but it's not bad for someone who doesn't have voluntary control of his limbs yet.

Tag! I'm it.

I'm new to the blogger world, and wasn't aware there was such a thing as 'tagging'. Wendy had to pronounce me 'it' for me to even realize we were playing a game. Somehow reminds me of my grade school playground experience...

So, after doing a little digging, I discovered that being tagged means that I have to list seven things about me that others may not know. Enjoy the following:

1. I heart noodles. A lot. I'm pretty sure I could eat pasta for every meal of every day and not ever get sick of them. I would suck at the Atkin's diet.

2. I'm a Scorpio. I don't put much stock in astrology and signs and whatnot, and that's probably lucky as every description of Scorpios seems to suggest that I should be a horrible beast to mostly everyone I meet. For example's sake, a quick google search reveals the following:

"The Scorpio can be the toughest enemy as they are often one step ahead of the game with their powers of perception, steely intuition, and suspicious nature. Yet, outwardly they can look as if they don't suspect a thing. If Scorpios want something, they usually get it as they are focused, ambitious and rarely give up. They are the supreme chess players of the Zodiac.

"Classic Scorpios are suited to careers in management, medicine, advertising, and the creative arts. They also make good funeral directors and scientists. The Scorpio may rarely use sick days at work and can be hard working to the point of being a workaholic. Scorpios are usually intense and confident in their abilities."

Funeral director? What? And also, I think I'm way too lazy to be a Scorpio.

At the risk of getting way too graphic-- wait for your ew-o-meter to go off-- I have to include this:

"Parts of the body ruled by the Scorpio:
The genitals - Because the genitals rule them, Scorpios are susceptible to venereal disease and urinary infections. They may also suffer from fatigue and bad health due to their explosive emotions."

Sorry, too funny to leave out. Ugh. Moving on...

3. My soapbox is health care. Don't get me started.

4. My body knows what day of the week it is. Proof of this lies in the fact that if I don't get a nap on Sunday afternoons, I am very, very grouchy. And I also experience intense, completely uncharacteristic hunger on the morning of the first Sunday of every month, even though skipping breakfast on other days is not uncommon.

5. I dig flip flops. If it's not snowing, I'm probably wearing them (though the corporate world is slowly putting a cramp on my flava.) Don't worry, I'm obsessive about having nice looking toes. I'm not obsessive about using cool slang like 'flava', but I should be. It's fun to use incomplete words to sound like I'm coo'.

6. I am possibly the most unathletic person in the entire world. I'm terrible at everything. I played on the "B" (read: suckier than "A") volleyball team in 9th grade. After another loss, my coach told me she didn't put me on the team because I had any skill, but rather because I had a bubbly attitude. Cool.

Luckily, I am also the most noncompetitive person in the world, at least when athletics are involved. That means I don't care even a little when I lose everything.

7. All of my sisters and my brother swim on the swim team. People regularly ask me if I swam, too. I didn't. (See above). When I tell them that "I only dog paddle", most people don't get the joke. It's just from Princess Bride, people. I can stay afloat, really. I swear. Just laugh.

Unlike grade school, where I was usually 'it' for the rest of recess because I couldn't run fast enough through that blasted pea gravel, this is where my tagee status ends. I don't know many bloggers, so Melinda and Ry, you're it. Seven things about yourselves, stat.

Oh, and also...

I realize I already posted today. Just thought I should give all of my newly graduated friends a little heads up. If your brain says this:

"Hey, Self, I don't care how hungry you are and how cold your office is. You aren't in college any more. There is no excuse for running to the grocery store next to the office and buying frozen burritos that you intend to heat in the break room microwave and eat. Especially when the individually wrapped ones belong to a mystery brand. Steer clear! No mas!"

then listen. Otherwise you'll end up eating a hideously disgusting used-to-be-frozen-and-now-some-parts-are-still-frozen-and-other-parts-are-on-fire imitation of a burrito wondering why you ever got your Master's if you just intended to keep eating prepackaged frozen foods willy nilly with no thought to the possible gastrointestinal repercussions.

It's not a fun place to be.

I'm a nerd. I get it, ok?

Reading has long been a favorite past time of mine. As a child, I used to actually set my alarm for 2:30 in the morning so I could finish devouring my latest Nancy Drew novel after bedtime without my mom catching me. I have long wished to invent a waterproof book so I could read in the bathtub without getting the edges all wet when I have to turn the pages, and I have actually tried to read while blowdrying my hair. I read in the car, too, (not while driving, of course) even though the chances are decent that I'll end up getting all queasy for about an hour.

Experience has dictated that I not allow myself to read for pleasure during any semester of school work. As any member of my family can tell you, I am essentially useless to the outside world until the book is finished. Understand that if my personal hygiene can acutally suffer during the course of a good read, a research paper is not likely to get any attention.

Luckily for me, I have officially finished the coursework for the last official class I will ever take. (Can you imagine anything more awful than working on a PhD? I can't. Bleh.) It took about 5 minutes after my class ended for me to run to the charming neighborhood library and stock up. (Which meant that I finally had to pay the somewhat expensive fines I had racked up over Christmas break. I finish the books, and forget to take them back for weeks on end. Even the threat of monetary reprimands cannot prod my memory into remembering to return them.)

Then we moved away from that charming neighborhood library--not that I'm complaining and also I took their books back first and without fines this time--and I started working full time.

Introduce the delightful 'Project Gutenburg' link (thanks, Wendy) on the right. While this does not solve the bathtub problem (using a lap top in the tub is a decidedly more risky endeavor than reading a book, what with the high replacement cost and electrocution risks and all) but it does help keep me entertained while covering the front desk. Now I've been able to reread Jane Eyre for the first time since 8th grade and am just starting into Nicholas Nickleby. There's nothing like a little bit of Dickens to remind myself that the good orphans of the world always end up on top.

All of this while reading some wonderfully mindless Mary Higgins Clark mysteries at home and the second Harry Potter out loud at night makes for a perfectly happy little ol' me. Except for that irritating Gilderoy Lockhart. Grrr.


PS- Oh, and the artist of those cool Golden Gate bridge paintings emailed me back. Come visit the condo in a week or two to see one.

And puppy makes three!

Say hello to the newest member of our family! The beautiful four-legged creature below is Maria Guadalupe del Mar. (That's what Patrick says her name is, anyway. I don't think they can put all of that on a tag. It's just Lupe to the rest of us.) (Oh, and mom says we should have put a pronunciation guide on her tag, too. Lupe. Loo-pay.)

She is two and a half months old, which seems to be a wonderful age to get a puppy as she has yet to have a potty accident in our condo. As designated dog mess cleaner-upper of the family, I am pretty excited about that.

She also has managed to get through two work days in the condo without any major destruction, with the notable exception of the carpet outside of her room. The rather unattractive carpet in our house acts a little like a sweater-- if you pull one thread, the whole thing unravels. Such is the case now in our hallway. Good thing Mama is more patient than her Dad.


Note: Despite the picture to the right, we in no way condone the use of cigarettes by dogs or people.

Lupe is a cheerful little thing, and generally pretty content with the world. Except, it seems, at bath time. The look on her soggy face below pretty much sums up the experience.

In our fam, we have recently discovered that getting a puppy is a lot more like having a baby than one might think. I don't sleep well because I'm listening to her in the next room all night, and we can't let her take naps in the evening or she won't go to bed. I definitely think she's cuter than all the other dogs in our complex, and is obviously going excel in doggy obedience school. Oh. And we worry about her peeing on herself. So, pretty much like a baby-- kind of, sort of.


Lupe has life pretty easy. Since we don't have any kids, she only has our beta fish, Enrique, to beat out in order to claim the coveted position as favorite. And since he sucks, that should be a walk in the park.

Friggin' hot

The worst part about returning from the yearly family Lake Powell run is knowing that it'll be approximately 364 days before we get to go again. Lake Powell Trip 2007 was super cool. And by super cool, what I really mean is swelteringly hot. (Melinda, what do you think of when you hear the word 'swelter'?) I'm pretty sure it averaged around 109 degrees, although I can't be positive since I was much too tired to watch the news at night to find out. And also, I'm convinced that anything over 103 doesn't really feel any hotter, it just kills you quicker. Paddy, who served 2 years in one of the hottest missions in the world, begs to differ. He says 120 does feel hotter, but I'll just have to take his word for it.

Anyway, the wind on our faces during boat rides and wave runner trips was like air from a blowdryer. Paddy and I, with our smooth, olive skin (read: pale with freckles) got the desired sunburns in record time. It appears we made it through with no long term damage, though. The Honda Accord pulled through with flying colors, especially when compared to last year's Kia disaster. Paddy managed to catch a couple of fish, and I can see ankle bones on both sides of my feet again! (Side note: Did you know that if you get lazy and don't drink enough water in the aforementioned sweltering heat, your feet and legs can swell? I didn't either. And I ended up with cankles.) (Side note numero dos: Cankles= a hideous condition wherein there is no distinction between calf and ankles. Gross.)

We also learned that we suck at taking pictures. I'm pretty sure that subconsciously we didn't want any documentation of us in swimsuits. I guess we'll post some from our family members' cameras soon. Maybe tonight I'll post what our house looks like with the post-trip mess.

Don't call it 'Frisco. Trust me, it's tacky.

After an exhausting weekend, we are all moved into our new condo! Nearly everything appears to have survived the move, though I did break the top to our precious Brita filter. Dear Brita will be sorely missed-- after all, she's probably the only reason our intestinal tracks survived the South Salt Lake tap water for the last year. (Once, I let the tap drip onto a cloth... it dyed it orange. Safe? I think not.) The camera is buried somewhere, though, so pictures will be coming later. While the furniture is all in place, I have yet to hang much on the walls. In fact, there is a glaring bit of wall space near the kitchen table just begging to be filled. The following is the painting by Chris Harrington that I really want to hang there. I don't know anything about the painter other than he came up in a google image search and that I love this:




I am also in love with this one, however it wouldn't look quite as stunning against my buttery yellow walls:

My next move is to pray that the painter will email me back, though it'll probably just be to shatter my dreams of finding an affordable print for my home. After all, being a newly-wed, newly-graduated social worker filling in at a temp job in a financial office doesn't exactly leave me with a lot of discretionary income.

I'm sure you noticed a recurring theme above. My grandparents lived outside of San Francisco for most of my childhood, and the city holds a special place in my heart. Were you aware that Walnut Creek, California has a whole different smell? Occasionally I'll get a whiff of it and miss the funny shaped pool that was always approximately negative one million degrees because of Uncle Scott's crazy solar heating idea. Being from a land-locked state and all, we swam anyway. I think about the Palm Walk and Coit Tower and the Brown Bear Factory (long before Build-a-Bear, by the by) and seafood and torta-greenies and Papa eating the lima beans out of those disgusting frozen mixed veggie bags. Bleh.

Weird how absolutely foreign a place is when you've never heard of the grocery store chain before. I'm not sure Bandie and Papa will ever stop calling Albertson's Alpha-Betas.

Anyway, here's to hoping I can get lucky with an inexpensive reprint.

Also, here's to hoping that our Lake Powell trip is as truly awesome as last year's! We should be leaving in the wee hours of the morning, and returning Sunday with sunburns and some great pictures for el blog. Hooray for Independence Day!