Fluent Brittish

You’ve seen it on America’s Funniest Home Videos. You’ve seen it on YouTube. Its sure funny when it happens to other people, but it’s not funny when it happens to me.

Just the other night, I was bouncing Nicky above my head in the air when a long, thick, juicy stream of drool made its way into my mouth. It wasn’t yummy, but I recovered quickly. The drool served as a reminder of the risk I was taking by holding Nicky in the air.

Tonight, a mere two days later, I again bounced Nicklaus in the air above my head and BLECH!!! There it was.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. My reaction was delayed because my brain took a minute to process the situation.

Brittany: Hey, Brain! Do I have baby spew in my mouth?

Brain: Processing…

Brittany: Really, Brain! I think I might have puke in my mouth. The stuff on my son’s face is white, and I seem to have some white stuff on my shirt. It must be vomit. It must.

Brain: Processing…

Brittany: Is there a strange taste in my mouth?

Brain: Analysis has come back positive for baby yarf. Body, get to bathroom. Find toothbrush. Rinse.

Brittany: OH NO!!! I THINK I SWALLOWED SOME!! Please, no. Please, no. Please, no.

Brain: Testing positive for baby vomit consumption. Throat is burning. Tastes yucky. Body, run.

I don’t have to tell you how nasty it was. You know. Even if you’ve never experience it, you know. It’s yarf. It’s horrible.

So now I’m a victim, and I’ll probably still bounce Nicky over my head because his smile is so worth it.

Don’t forget about the exciting post coming to you on Monday. I told Scotty what I’m doing, and he said it’s a good idea. He didn’t even roll his eyes or anything. Will the Internet agree with Scotty?

Today I cleaned out my car after five years of tough love. I couldn’t believe the stuff I found in there: two Capri Suns that expired in 2005, my Business Law text book from college, a handful of screws (is it bad that these screws are most likely supposed to be part of the car?), a water weenie, a decimal from the marquis at my former place of employment, some dead grass, a camera, a plethora of home-recorded tapes, four wooden hearts, two serving dishes, a million tampons, a walkman and a discman (I’m still iPod-free and oh! so stone age),  a Buddah figurine, touch-up paint that seemed to have evaporated (that can’t be good), chapstick, two handfuls of change, and so much more.

I might be a bit of a slob, but when I found all of these things, I felt as if I’d preserved a bundle of wonderful memories. My car was like a time capsule waiting to be discovered. It was…. beautiful… except for the toenails. Do you remember the toenails? (this has been one of the only downfalls of Project new Blog - I can’t link to the post where Scotty and I discovered a stash of toenails in the console of our car. Duuuude, they weren’t even ours).

I kissed my car good-bye this afternoon and traded it in for something newer (read: new to me but still less fancy than the cars every one else is driving). My poor, pathetic, little car that could barely hold a car seat looked sad and alone at the dealership positioned among the shininess and brilliance of all of the other cars. Sniff. But I’m excited about our new vehicle. Driving it home was a challenge since I kept pushing in the invisible clutch and reaching for the gear selector. I’m going to miss my five-speed. I always liked driving with a clutch because I felt like I had something to do while I was driving. This automatic stuff? BOR.ING. But it has it’s advantages as well. For example, I wasn’t paying attention at the light, and when it turned green, all I had to do was accelerate. I didn’t have to panic and try and get my car in gear.

Now all I need to panic about is my dad finding out that we bought a Hyundai. Apparently daughters of car technicians aren’t allowed to drive Hyundais. My dad has a shit list and Hyundais are near the top with Fords and Dodges. Oops, Daddy!

Make sure you check back first thing Monday. I have something new and exciting to present to you.  Oooooooo!

After a brief hiatus, Scotty is back in school. For the past few semesters, he’s only taken one class because when you work full-time and your first baby is due the week of finals, there isn’t much time for additional credit hours. This semester, however, Scotty and I decided to go crazy. We want this school thing DONE, so Scotty is taking three classes (11 credit hours), and I am now forced to spend my days and night alone with Nicklaus. With tuition and our need for a new car, finances are going to be tight. Yikes!

Last week my former employer called and offered me a job. He told me I could work any hours I wanted. I was also informed that the job pays $3 more an hour than it did when I held the position. I told my boss I’d get back with him after talking it over with Scotty.

During the hours after the phone call, I debated whether I should go back to work or not. I wrote out the pros and cons. I called my mom and talked to her about watching Nicky a couple days a week. Just when the job started sounding really good, Nicky looked up at me from the floor and smiled. Then he held out his arms for me to pick him up. When I lifted him, he put his arms around me and put his head on my chest and stayed there. Nicky is not an affectionate child. He doesn’t cuddle or hug AT ALL, so in that moment, I burst out in tears, and I decided that I wasn’t going back to work because it was as if Nicky knew what was going on. I called my boss and told him that if he needed temporary help while looking for someone else to fill the position, I’d be happy to come back for a month or two, but I had no interest in coming back for good right now.

So for now, even though I miss the feeling of success, and I long for adult conversation, I’m going to continue being a stay at home mom because that’s what’s right for us at this time. We’re going to be dirt poor, and we might acquire some debt with school and a new vehicle (debt is my biggest enemy - I avoid it like the plague), but somehow we’ll make due.

Does anyone have any good ideas or advice on how to spend sixteen hours a day alone with an eight month old?

For a while now I’ve been voluntarily doing family search indexing. Each week I download a scanned image of a microfilm from the 1900 census and enter the information into a database. I’ve been typing information about families who lived in the south at the turn of the century. Despite how boring this may sound to you, it’s actually very interesting. As I read the names and information, I’m fascinated by these people. There are all different kinds of families and households. Last week, I entered data on a home where three single women in their twenties lived together. They were all named Mary. What are the odds?

A lot of the time, I’ll come across a mother of 8 who only has 2 living children. Sometimes that mother is a widow. It breaks my heart. Other times, I laugh because a 74 year old man has a 23 year old wife and three children under the age of two.

As I read about these people, I feel like I know them, like they could be my friends and neighbors. Sometimes I think about how fun it would be to show these people a computer and explain to them what’s happening with their information. Hey Mary Harrison from South Carolina! This is a computer. Guess what it can do?

I bet Mary Harrison would pee her pants.

So what is the purpose of family search indexing? It’s so people like you and me can go here and look up our ancestors. Have you ever wanted to see Elvis Presley’s pedigree? Well, it’s there. I checked.

Family History is awesome. You never know… you might find out you’re related to your favorite blogger. Have you met my fifth cousin, Heidi?

I feel a bit like I’ve been on holiday for a while. I’ve still been posting, but since Our Story was all pre-written, I didn’t have to put much thought into it; just a simple copy & paste with a few pictures in between and voila! A post! Pre-written posts are awesome because they prevent brain fartage… that is, until you run out of said pre-written posts.

Well, since no one likes reading a post about what to post about, I’ll go ahead and cut to the chase. After two weeks of pre-written posts, I have too much to say but not enough to say about it, so consider this my first official bulleted post via Project New Blog. On your mark, get set, go!

• This morning Audrey informed me that my old blog, which I deleted on Saturday afternoon, has already been snatched by someone else. You should stop by and say ‘hello’… or perhaps ’salut’ would be more appropriate since Weekday Wisdom is now French.
• I used to use Member’s Mark diapers from Sam’s Club. In July, Nicky moved up to size 4, and for some reason, the diapers suddenly ceased to contain his poo. When the mega size box of diapers ran out, I decided to switch to Huggies. Huggies contain the poo really well since they have that fancy band around the back that keeps the poo from climbing up my child’s back. The downside of Huggies? They don’t hold in odor very well. Since making the switch, Nick has continuously smelled like he has a gallon of urine in his pants. I have found myself in a lose/lose situation. My baby is either covered in feces or smells like a pee factory.
• The third season of LOST doesn’t come out on DVD until December. I think that’s horrible, but as a true fan I put myself on the hold list at the library four months early. I’m number 15. I feel really good about that.
• On Friday, a lady from church called and invited me to go to the park. Even though I’ve sworn not to go out of my way to try and be friends with the ‘playground mommies’ anymore, I went, and to my great fortune, one of my good friends was there. We sat on a blanket and talked about our babies’ bowel movements and we let our babies play in the sand after one of the mommies finished her speech on how filthy public sand boxes are.
• My lawn is dead. It is crunchy and brown. Our neighbor across the street doesn’t like crunchy, brown lawns. He’s very critical of the homes on our street that don’t live up to his yard standards. Recently my aunt and uncle won an award from the city for having a clean and beautiful yard. My uncle was kind enough to let me have his yard sign saying that he’d won the award. Scotty and I proudly displayed it in our own yard. Everyone at church has been congratulating us on our award. The neighbor across the street won’t acknowledge it. Jerk!
• I hate summer. I know that some of you like summer, maybe even love summer. I hope we can still be friends. I generally hate any temperature above 70 degrees. I long for fall, and though I don’t care much for the unpredictability of winter, I prefer the crisp, cold air of January. Plus, my winter wardrobe better accommodates the baby weight I haven’t lost. If the white, puffy clouds of winter circled around me today and snowed on me, I’d happily roll on the ground naked. I don’t remember what it’s like to be cold.

Have a happy day, my good people.

I have a brother-in-law from the Middle East. He’s as old as my dad.

(just some trivia for you in case you were wondering)

Since he speaks Arabic, he was recently hired by the government to be a translator in Iraq. He had to go through a bunch of background tests and what not in order to do the job. I guess he passed because he’s been gone for the past six months. Last week he returned for his three week vacation. He and my sister are going to try to make a baby while he’s here.

(more trivia - though my sister probably wouldn’t want me to tell you that)

Since the BIL is in town, my family has been having a lot of get-togethers. Last night my sister, Anna, (who is not making a baby right now because she just had one in July) had a BBQ. Scotty and I went and engaged in some mingling and eating of delicious hamburgers. Whilst consuming my second only hamburger, I was feeling a bit parched so I dove in to Anna’s fridge for the bottle of Pepsi. I poured a refreshing glass and took it to the table to drink.

I took a big swig, five swallows or so, then I realized that the cup had ice in it. I didn’t put any ice in my Pepsi. Then I experienced a strange aftertaste. I looked up at Anna and said, “This isn’t mine!”

“Oh! That’s mine!” Anna informed me. I’d grabbed the wrong cup.

“Am I drunk?” I asked.

“Yes,” Anna said, laughing.

Among my dad’s children, I’m the only Mormon. Mormons don’t drink (raise your hand if you think that’s weird), so I’ve never experienced drunkenness (except for that one time on a cruise ship when….. well…. I was tricked). My siblings, though they don’t understand it, have always been very accepting of it. They always have beverages there for me, and they’ve never made fun of me or prompted me to drink.

After consuming much of Anna’s beverage, I inquired as to what I had been drinking. Anna gave me a quick lesson in whiskey. She showed me the bottle of whiskey that she normally buys. Then she told me that just this once, she and her husband had splurged on some Crown Royal for $60. I did some calculations* in my head and determined that I’d just drank approximately $2 worth of Crown Royal.

Oh crap! I was sauced.**

It was funny to see how my siblings responded to my drunkenness. Anna laughed. Melody was concerned.

“Didn’t it burn going down?” Melody asked.

“No! It was supposed to burn??? This is my one chance to experience alcohol, and I didn’t even feel the burn??”

“Yes! Whiskey burns. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit smashed. But I’m fine!”

Then Anna chimed in, “My sister drank whiskey!”

“Oh! Right! Let’s all make fun of the little, drunk Mormon girl. How classy!”

I wonder if Lindsay Lohan needs a room mate.

*My calculations may be very incorrect.

**I know I wasn’t sauced, but I was as close to sauced as I’ll ever be so I might as well take advantage of the opportunity to say “I was sauced.”

While we were engaged, everyone consistently told Scotty and me how hard marriage is. You have to learn to live with another person, work with his bad habits, share a bed, share responsibilities, and the like. I walked in to marriage expecting a drastic change in my life. I was prepared for the rocky road (not ice cream) I was promised, but so far the rockiest road we’ve hit was when we had Nicklaus, and we suddenly had to be responsible for a third party. Up until then, marriage was a breeze, and now it’s still relatively easy.

Maybe there’s something I’m missing, or maybe I’m just lucky to have such an agreeable husband who puts up with all my crap. Maybe the hard times are in our future, but for now, we plan to be continuously happy together. We plan to stay together forever.

My dad always told me to make sure that the man I marry is my best friend. When I bought Scotty’s wedding ring, I had Forever My Friend inscribed on the inside. Scotty is and always will be my best friend. My true love. My husband.

When I decided to totally rip off the love story idea from Emery Jo, I wrote all of the chapters before posting any of them. I did it that way because sometimes I’m a quitter, and I didn’t want to write 2-3 chapters and get stuck or bored and give up. I did pretty well until I got to The Wedding. That’s where I stopped. For two weeks I’ve been contemplating how I can share the story of my wedding day. I’ve decided that rather than write a big, long, boring testimonial of that special day, I’ll just share the photos and some brief wedding details. I honestly don’t think that my words can do it justice.

=========================================================================

May 9, 2003

Details

The Day: It was a freezing, cold, rainy Friday. The skies cleared just long enough for us to go outside and take pictures. We were sooooooo cold, but we tricked you because we look warm, don’t we?

The Place: We were married in the Salt Lake LDS Temple (pictured above).

The Photographer: Scotty’s aunt is a photographer, and she did all of our pictures for FREE! All we had to pay for were reprints and enlargements. Our wedding cake was also FREE, made by another one of Scotty’s fabulous aunts.

The Bride’s Maids: My best friends, Leelee and Michelle, and my sister, Anna.

The Groom’s Men: My brothers, Colt and Brock, and Scotty’s brothers, Kyle and Riley.

The Flower Girls: My cousin, Hope, and Scotty’s niece, Kaedyn.

The Car: Scotty’s brother was kind enough to gather up the garbage from our luncheon and dump it on our car. Very classy, Kyle.

The Music: My Polynesian neighbor approached my mom while I was planning my wedding and simply said, “I will be Brittany’s wedding DJ.” I had no choice, but how do you turn down a FREE wedding DJ? The song list included I Love Rock and Roll, I’m too Sexy, and Like a Virgin. I didn’t notice the music selection until I watched the home videos later.

The Honeymoon: Seven day Caribbean cruise.

To be continued…

From the time we officially fell in love again, there was no question of whether we’d get married or not. It makes for a boring proposal story because Scotty and I had our wedding date set before we were even engaged: May 9, 2003. I guess you could say we were engaged to be engaged.

I picked out my own ring, so I had a general idea of when it might be coming. My only request regarding the proposal was that Scotty get permission from my dad. That was the only factor that delayed our engagement. My dad is scary. He has a very serious demeanor and a few guns. I’m his only biological daughter, so he’s protective of me. During the few months following Scotty’s return from his mission, my dad consistently asked me about Scotty’s plans for education and whether or not he had money in the bank. Since I didn’t live with my dad, I had no way of telling when Scotty had talked to him. That was the only element of surprise in the proposal.

On January 4, 2003, Scotty and I had just finished watching a movie with some friends. It was late, and as Scotty and I left my friend’s house, he asked me if I wanted to go for a drive. We drove south and up to a look-out where we could see the city lights. We sat on the tailgate of his truck and enjoyed the sight. Scotty was making meaningless conversation and saying some really weird things. He seemed nervous. I suspected what was going on, and I wanted to say, “Are you going to ask me to marry you or what?!?” but I refrained from doing so just in case I was wrong. I couldn’t stop staring at the shape of a small square box in Scotty’s right pocket. It had to be my ring. It just had to be.

In the midst of the mindless chit-chat, Scotty started looking on the ground for something. “I dropped something,” he informed me, and then he slowly made his way to his knee. He took my hand, told me he didn’t really drop anything (duh!), and asked me to marry him. I said yes. Maybe we hugged. Maybe we kissed, but I don’t recall for sure since all I can remember is Scotty running off to pee in the bushes because he’d been so nervous to propose.

To be continued…

To my great dismay, my computer crashed this morning so there will be a delay in my posting until I have reinstalled everything. The last few chapters of Our Story are on my computer. Let’s hope and pray that they are still there. I am sad.

Boo, computer Lords. Booooooooo!