Spilt Milk

We discovered this week the truth in the old adage that it's no good crying over spilt milk (or anything else that Andrew chooses to "spill" from his high chair--although in this case it was me, and not Andrew, who did the spilling). (More on this later).

In true epistolary fashion, we proceed--as is our wont--chronologically (or as Dan puts it "chronicly chronicalling chronologically"--try saying that ten times fast). The week dawned bright and warm, full of the promise of late spring (at least, we assume so, because it's been warm and humid all week. In truth, we can't remember much about the begining of the week). Since we don't have much to say about Monday, we've decided to let our pint-sized offspring have his say (or at least, we'll attempt to relay facts as we think he might. Since Andrew, unlike his cousin Eli, makes no pretenses toward literary greatness, we apologize in advance for any uncouth remarks).

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I woke this week bursting with energy. As soon as I sat up, I spied my table and chairs from across the room and couldn't wait to play with them. So, I started shaking my crib. The big guy (I'm not sure if he's "mama" or "dada" but he answers to either) was a little late this morning. I don't know what his problem was. Surely it's reasonable to expect prompt service at 5:30 in the morning! I mean, I'm up. Why isn't everyone else? The milk was tepid at best--gotta talk to the chefs about that one. Dad (he's asked me to call him this) took me into the front room and tried to distract me with books and my chair, but I knew where the real interest in this joint was: in the back room, my mommy (she asked me to call her that too) was still in bed. I knew she would be so excited to see me, so I ran down the hall as fast as I could, burst into the room with a tremendous bang (I like to make an entrance), and ran around the bed to her side, shrieking happily the whole time. And mommy was so excited to see me that she grunted and rolled over, burying her head in a pillow. Of course, Dad put me on the bed, so I could show my love by sitting on her stomach and bouncing up and down. She grunted again. That means she loves me.

Once we got momma ambulatory, that's when the real fun starts. Eventually, someone figured out that I needed to be fed (I mean, come on people, where are your priorities?). I had a delectable breakfast of yogurt and toast, but when I was finished, I showed my displeasure of their dilatoriness in removing my tray by throwing the remainder of my food as far as I could across the room. That'll teach 'em.

After breakfast, my stylist (aka mom) dressed me for the day, and then we took a leisurely stroll up to Penn State campus with my dad. I was on the alert for any signs of wildlife--bunnies, birds, squirrels, and the omnipresent omnivorous humans. I like to take notes. I am a budding sportsman, you know (Poppy: take note. I'm looking forward to a fishing trip in the near future). The only problems with these walks is that we ditch that dad fellow halfway through. I'd sure like to go with him--I'm sure whatever he's doing wherever he goes is much more interesting than what I do.

After we got back, mom made me take a nap, so I don't know what trouble she got into while I was asleep. When I woke up, refreshed and ready for fun, we went to this building where mom drops me off to play with balls (my favorite!) and color pictures with the nice ladies. When she gets back, she's all sweaty, which is kind of gross, but I have to tolerate her because, hey, how else am I going to get home? And who else would bring me to play with these balls?



Can I go now?

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Unfortunately, our manuscript breaks off mid-script, as Andrew, in typical Andrew fashion, lost interest. So we'll never know what happened the remainder of that day, or what Andrew thought about it.

Tuesday, I returned from working at the writing center to discover that my poor babysitter had had to deal with two cranky, nap-less toddlers. Gaby (Andrew's playmate) was crying when I arrived--but to balance things out, Andrew was crying when we left. (He had a meltdown because Stephanie told him not to hit Gaby). After a much-needed nap, we went to Sam's Club to pick up a few necessary items (like milk). Unfortunately, they were just putting away the samples as we arrived, so Andrew didn't get to enjoy what is usually the highlight of his visits. When we arrived home and I began unloading the groceries, I got distracted by Andrew's heading off after a stray squirrel near our car, and let the newly purchased gallon of milk slip through my fingers. I never knew that plastic milk jugs could break quite so spectacularly--most of the gallon was instantly rushing down our street. So for the past several days, every time I leave the house, I'm confronted by the blatant reminder of my mishap. Even the rainstorm a day or two ago hasn't erased all traces yet.

Wednesday Andrew and I went to the weekly day in a park. It was a beautiful day, if a little warm. I tried to keep an eye on Andrew while staying mainly in the shade. Andrew had a wonderful time running after other little kids, and generally being a nuisance. While we were there, he managed to empty someone else's tupperware container of crackers, and nearly emptied a box of animal cookies (also belonging to someone else). Finally, he got hold of another tupperware container (this one contained the remains of someone's lunch--apple cores, etc.), and did his darnedest to get it open. Finally, another little boy (whose mother was owner of said tupperware), took the container away from Andrew, and the two of them had a wonderful time playing tag. Brigham would run away from Andrew, and then slow down so Andrew could catch up with him. Andrew would shriek and run after him. When his approach was imminent, Brigham would shriek and run away again. Finally, the two of them got down on the grass and wrestled over the tupperware. They were pretty friendly about it, and weren't hurting each other, so I let them go. However, Brigham's sister June (who's four) wasn't nearly so forebearing. She marched over to them, hands on hips, and said, in her best imitation grown-up voice, "all right, that's enough. Now who had it first?"

When we'd exhausted the possibilities of the park, we went to the nearby local dairy, where I stocked up on milk (one jar whole milk for Andrew, one jar brown milk--I mean chocolate--for Dan and I) and Andrew and I split a dish of lemon custard icecream.

From there, the week seemed merely to get busier. (If you're wondering why Dan hasn't figured in this narrative much, it's because he spent all week at work, so he was gone for most of the interesting stuff. And he maintains that nothing interesting happened at work). Thursday, I spent the morning in the writing center with a full slate of clients. After work, I picked Andrew up, took him home and put him down for a nap, read part of a biography for my dissertation, fed Andrew again, and went to the grocery store. When we got home from the grocery store, we had just enough time to put the groceries away (by we, I mean "I"--Andrew spent that time alternately trying to "help" me by getting into stuff, or roaming around the front room) before my next task of the day: delivering dinner to the Christensen's (whose son, Guy, I watched last Saturday while his mom was still in the hospital with their new baby. In the last two weeks, three baby girls have been born in our ward!) I'd made "Larry's chicken," since it's easy and generally a favorite. Guy was thrilled to see Andrew for the brief ten minutes or so we were in the apartment, and Andrew was thrilled, not to see Guy, but to have free reign in a new environment. Unfortunately, we couldn't stay long--we were parked illegally in their parking lot (which was permit-only), and I had to feed Andrew before our date that night. Yes, date. One of our kind friends (Wendy Girven) took pity on us and offered to babysit Andrew so we could get out.

And so, given the wide variety of options in State College on a Thursday night, what did we do? Well, we did not (although some of you may be faint with horror at this news) make use of the tickets for an early screening of Pirates that we had been offered. Instead, we bowed to Dan's abhorence of crowds and indifference (yes, blasphemous) to the Pirates phenomenon, and went to a less sea-worthy fare (although there were boats, and at least one Pirate): Shrek III. We were a little disappointed with the movie--although it definitely had some funny moments (like Shrek's nightmare sequence with an every-increasing number of green ogre babies, and the princess squad), it wasn't nearly as interesting as the previous two, partly because it was so plot-filled that there was little room for the kind of character development of the first two movies.

At noon on Friday, I had the chance to put my rusty Hungarian to some use. Some friends of ours in the ward have neighbors who are Hungarian, although they've been in the states for long enough that they are both quite fluent. However, currently, the wife's parents are in town from Hungary for their grandson's high-school graduation. I had met them previously (three years ago?) when they were in town, and they, apparently, were asking about the American girl who spoke Hungarian. So, I took Andrew over to meet them. While he ran around the back-yard, and the adults sweltered in the shade on the deck, we tried to converse. I was rather embarassed to discover that, while I could still understand just fine, my speaking skills were considerably the worse for wear (I suppose that happens when the only time I use my language are to write Christmas cards and the occasional random letter--then, I have leisure to look up words in my dictionary). Still, it's nice to chat with "igazi Magyarok" (real Hungarians) for a change. Hungarian is not, as my friend kindly reminded me when we were heading back to her house, a very useful language.

Friday night, Dan and I watched Music and Lyrics, which Dan had picked up earlier from Blockbuster. Although certainly not a "deep" movie by any means, it was a great Friday-night flick. Funny (mostly), romantic, and didn't take itself too seriously. Besides, much as I dislike what I know of Hugh Grant as a person, I have to admit that he can charmingly act romantic comedies.

The madness that was our weekend resumed Saturday. Dan graciously offered to stay home with the boy in the morning so that I could indulge my yard-sale addiction (of course, this was only because he wouldn't be able to get much done at the lab in any case, since we had to be in Huntingdon at 1:30 pm). Disappointingly, this was not a great week for yardsales. I made the mistake of going to the annual "Trash to Treasure" sale--the university has decided to try and cut down on the costs of disposing of all the stuff students leave behind them in the dorms at the end of the semester, and simultaneously raise money for charity, by selling anything usable that gets left behind. They hold this sale under the bleachers in the football stadium (so, as you can imagine, it's pretty big). When I got there, just before the sale started, the line stretched almost halfway around the stadium (and since Penn State has the second largest college football stadium, after Michigan, you can imagine how long this is). I'd forgotten, however, how much I dislike crowds, and realized, after paying the $5 entrance fee (entrance was free after 9:00, but I was trying to stop by this sale before hitting the 8 am yard sales), that there was nothing there I would want. So after waiting through that insane line, I left about ten minutes after entering the building. And most of my time in there was spent, not looking at items, but dodging crazy customers who acted like this was the sale of the century. (Case in point, I recognized a family from Huntingdon ahead of me in the line. Now, since it takes about an hour to drive from Huntingdon to State College, they must have left at around 6 a.m. to get to State College when they did). It was, to reuse an adjective, insane.

Just after noon we drove to Huntingdon--the choir was supposed to sing at a Missionary Open House at the branch, and we desperately needed to practice before the event started at 2. When we got to the building, however, we realized that there are some hazards to arriving early--we were the first ones there, we had no keys to the building, and it was hot outside. Luckily, the branch organist/ward clerk/general factotum arrived shortly after we did. The event itself was a little disappointing--not because of the quality of the speakers, who were good. (The mission president and his wife spoke). But rather, it was because the speakers were, as the brother conducting explained, essentially speaking to the choir. This was quite literally true. Aside from the choir members, the branch presidency and their immediate families, there was one member who wasn't directly involved in the program, and one investigator (an old lady who lives near the church).

We finally got home around 4:00 p.m., put our exhausted little boy to bed, and then plotted our evening. Two of my good friends, Matthew Newcomb and Erin Wyble, were getting married that evening in a downtown State College chapel. I had initially hoped Dan and Andrew could come with me (and then go home immediately after the ceremony), but when we finally woke Andrew up at 5:30, it was clear that this was not to be. The poor boy was so lethargic through his dinner, and so clearly on the verge of a meltdown at the slightest provocation, that we decided it would be better for all concerned if he and Dan stayed home. Still, the wedding itself was beautiful--weddings are always a sentimental occasion, I think, particularly when the two people are clearly committed to one another and to God, and who take seriously the idea of making their vows not only with one another, but before God and community (in fact, one of the more interesting parts of the ceremony was when the pastor, following the "I will"s of mutual support between the bridal couple, turned to the audience and asked all of us to pledge that we would do all in our power to support the union between this couple). The ceremony itself was a little different from the temple ceremonies I've attended in the past, but it was a lovely ceremony for all that. It's sometimes reassuring to be reminded how many truly good people there are in the world--and I think Matt and Erin are both exemplary. (Side note: I've been surprised, and rather blessed, I think, by the number of devout Christians in my cohort at Penn State. This isn't generally the case in academia, and particularly not in English. I think my cohort is more widely known among the graduate students as the "priestly" or "monkish" class, which isn't necessarily a bad thing!)

This morning, as a continuation of the wedding festivities, there was a wedding brunch (I gather this is somewhat common on the East coast). Because they (particularly Matt) really have been good friends here, I wanted to go support them--so I did. Unfortunately, this meant that Dan had to take Andrew to Huntingdon solo. But they both survived. And I had the chance to go to the University Ward again (it was nice to see some people I haven't seen in a while). And this brings us to the conclusion of a very long, rather long-winded post. (We might even be able to contend with Justin's blog this week--though not, to be sure, in literary merit. But then, we never pretended to that.)

As a reward for bearing with us so long, we present some pictures of our favorite toddler, whose new discoveries (and therefore new favorite pasttimes) include: the word "no" (as a response to pretty much everything), climbing on the kitchen chairs (and table, if we don't catch him quick enough), and trying on his mother's shoes.

rugrat scuffle

This has been a week of repeat trips to the local Honda dealership. A couple weeks ago, we got a letter from Honda, saying that, given the make and year of our car, we were entitled to a free emissions inspection (along with free replacement of spark plug, and a few other parts). So, we duly scheduled the inspection for Monday morning. Last weekend, it became apparent that this appointment was only too providential--round about Saturday, our car started making noise every time the car sped up or slowed down, and the noise only got worse as Monday approached. So, Monday morning I took the car to the dealership, and after waiting two hours, was told that I could take the car, but that I would need to bring it in again so that they could replace part of the exhaust system (hence the noise). They couldn't schedule us for that day, so we made another appointment for Tuesday afternoon. Not much else happened Monday--because the car was making so much noise, we tried to limit our use of it. I went in to the writing center briefly in the evening for an out-of-season session with a student who was defending her dissertation later that week and had earlier pleaded for an extra session (we're not otherwise open during the semester break). After I got home, Dan rounded up some library books, sans the one that had been missing for about a month. We assumed that the book was another of Andrew's casualties (he has a habit of wandering off with things and replacing them in unlooked for locations). However, while Dan was gone I did one more search of the bedroom--and found it underneath the bookshelf. So, after Dan got home, he returned to the library once again (the book was due that day and he had already used up his online renewals).

Tuesday morning, Andrew and I went to the YMCA, where I worked out and he played. That afternoon, Dan came home from work early to take the car into the dealership. The part replacement, which I had been told would take about an hour to an hour and a half, naturally extended to almost three--Dan didn't get home until after five o'clock, to find a grumpy wife and a grumpier child (hence the grumpy wife), who had refused to take his afternoon nap. And of course, the replacement wasn't quite finished--there was one more part that needed to be replaced (this second part, luckily, was covered under warranty). Andrew went to bed early that night, and Dan, meanwhile, went to Huntingdon, where the young men and women joined in a rousing game of ultimate frisbee. The surprise star of the evening was a short, stocky eleven-year-old girl (she's allowed into the young women early because there's nobody else her age in primary) who proved unexpectedly adept at blocking and causing turnovers.

Wednesday, in anticipation of the weekly day in the park, I got up early (well, when Andrew did) and went to the YMCA. (Usually we go after Andrew's nap, but this would have conflicted with the timing of our park outing). However, fate and the weather conspired against us. The day was overcast and drizzling, a drizzle that turned into a full out shower by the time Andrew woke up from his nap. We compromised by going to Target and buying a baby shower present for a friend of mine. Dan spent a rousing day in lab and worked late.

Thursday, like most days this week, was pretty quiet. Andrew and I walked up to campus in the afternoon to pick some books up at the library and visit Dan at his lab. The weather was nice--sunny, but cool--so we enjoyed our outing. Andrew is fascinated by wildlife of all kinds that we encounter on our walks: dogs, cats, squirrels, rabbits, birds, even the occasional student or two. That evening, Dan stayed with Andrew while I went to a Relief Society book group (I think our Relief Society president got special permission from the stake for the group, because I don't think the Relief Society normally sponsors such groups). In an unusual turn for me, the book under discussion was one that I had listened to rather than read (I usually prefer to read, since I remember details better that way, but the audio copy was more accessible than the hardcopy). We talked about James Ferrell's The Peacegiver: How Christ Offers to Heal our Hearts and Homes. Ferrell is part of the Arbinger Institute (an institute founded, I think, by C. Terry Warner, for those of you who are familiar with him or his work), and this book takes off from some of the principle's in Warner's book, The Bonds that Make Us Free. The Peacegiver is about the ways that Christ's atonement allows us to forgive ourselves and those around us and to achieve peace in our lives, through the story of a man struggling with an unhappy relationship with his wife, who ultimately comes to realize that her behavior should not be the determinant of his, but that each of us are responsible for our own actions and our own redemption. Anyway, I don't think I'm doing the book justice in my description, but I found it an interesting story, and I enjoyed our discussion. Some of the women clearly found the book quite profound and moving--particularly those who were struggling with a close friend or family member who had done something to hurt them. One woman, in particular, is currently struggling with a spouse who has recently decided not to attend church, and I was quite impressed with how honestly she admitted her struggles, and with her decision to continue to do what she knows is right--and to try to forgive and love her husband--in spite of her hurt feelings and disappointment that her marriage (for now) is not what she had envisioned when she got married.



Friday morning, Dan took the car back to the dealership for our third (and final) visit for the week. However, since we only have one car, this meant a sacrice of sorts for me--I couldn't go yardsaling until after Andrew's nap, at which point we drove clear out to the boondocks for a yardsale that, while promising on paper, had sold most of the interesting things before we got there (which was just as well, since we couldn't have moved them!). That evening, I went to a reception for a friend and former roommate, Carey Hendrix Hord, who was in town for graduation (she moved at the end of fall semester to Ohio, where her husband has a job). Originally, we had planned to both go, but Andrew foiled our plans by taking an abysmal afternoon nap (though at least he napped) and was clearly wiped out by the time the reception started.

Saturday morning (of course) Andrew and I went to some yard sales while Dan went up to school early to do research. I was pretty pleased with the morning, since normally it's hard to find nice boys clothes (for some reason, boys tend to wear out their clothes faster--whether that means that they're simply harder on clothes, or they don't have as many as most little girls, so they wear their clothes more often--or a combination of reasons--I don't know). However, I found one sale where they were selling name brand clothes in good condition for low prices--I was particularly excited that some of the clothes were from Janie and Jack (for those of you who don't know, this is a high end version of Gymboree, like Banana Republic is the high end version of Gap--they're owned by the same parent company). Later that morning, Andrew and I went to Carey's baby shower (since she was in town just for the weekend, there was a lot going on!). I'm glad I went--the shower was nice, and Andrew had fun running around after the two cats at the apartment. He also demonstrated that the child-proof covers for the stove knobs did indeed work by pulling all of them off the stove, bit into a ripe papaya that was within reach, tromped through the cat's water dish, splashed in another water dish, and generally caused the kind of havoc an active 17-month-old can do. (Luckily, the woman holding the shower has a daughter only a month or two younger than Andrew, so she was very understanding!).


(Here's a picture of the latest in haut-couture: Andrew wearing his dad's tie as a kind of belt/sarong).

Saturday afternoon provided us with the title of the blog. Friday night, at Carey's reception, I found out that one of the women in the ward had her second baby earlier that day. Another friend mentioned that they might need help Saturday with their older son, so I offered to. After all, Guy is only a month or so older than Andrew, so it seemed like a good idea at the time. We experienced our first slight hitch after Guy's arrival--Andrew was supposed to be going to sleep, but hearing new voices--especially a high pitched child's voice kept him from sleeping. Eventually, I had to take Guy out to our front yard to play ball so that Andrew could finally go to sleep. After Andrew woke up, I gave both boys a snack, and then we proceeded on our merry way to the park just behind our house. I considered using the stroller for one boy and putting the other boy in a backpack carrier, but discarded the idea as too cumbersome. After all, we weren't going very far--what could go wrong? Walking with both boys worked just fine on our way over to the park--once they had the swingsets in their sights both of them trundled towards it as fast as their little legs would carry them. It was once we were actually on the playground that I realized my plans may have been a little short-sighted. Andrew is, as most of you know, a child of perpetual motion. In this, he was well matched by Guy. However, both of them are still too little to play unsupervised, which mean that I was constantly trying to herd both of them in the same direction so that they were both in arm's length. After three times down one of the big slides (which necessitated all of us going train-style down the slide) I decided enough was enough. Unfortunately, the only way I could get both boys to go in the same direction toward home (as neither of them wanted to leave), was to carry both of them, one on each hip. As Andrew and Guy are remarkably well matched in size and weight, this was no mean feat (they're probably about 28 lbs each). Needless to say, by the time our house was in sight, my arms were about ready to fall off. So, I put the boys down in front of a Baby Einstein video of wild animals so I could have a short break. This worked okay for a little while (you can see the enraptured stares below), until Andrew decided that he wanted Guy's chair. It didn't matter which chair Guy had--Andrew wanted it. At this point, I began to realize that Guy was much better mannerd than Andrew was--Andrew would grab Guy by the collar and try to forcibly remove him from the chair. And Guy, who hasn't had much experience with other children around his age, looked at Andrew with mild, inquiring eyes and basically let Andrew bully him! The same pattern repeated itself when I gave Guy his sippy cup--Andrew wanted it, so Andrew took it. In contrast, when Andrew dropped his own sippy cup, Guy very kindly handed it back to Andrew (without trying to promptly take it away again). At any rate, I was pretty relieved when Dan finally came home to help out!





On a final, completely unrelated note, a friend of ours directed us toward a cool website, Gender Genie, that uses an algorithm to analyze whether a particular piece of writing is feminine or masculine. According to this site, our blog is unquestionably written by a woman. However, if I run through a two-page description of my dissertation, the Genie thinks I am male by a margin of 852 (feminine words) to 1299 (masculine words). I suppose this helps confirm a long-standing truism about the academic bias in academia--that even women adopt a more masculine writing style to fit in. Still, it's a pretty interesting site. (Justin, according to last week's post, is male, but just barely--by a margin of about 100 words).

Mother's Day

Because today is Mother's Day, I wanted to start with some fitting tribute to mothers. But beyond generating this idea, I started to run into a few snags. See, I wanted to find something appropriately literatary, both so that it wouldn't offend anyone's sensibilities (have you ever noticed how much mother's day poetry is incredibly sentimental?) and so that I could get credit for being appropriately literary and erudite myself. Unfortunately, after looking through my assorted poetry collections and doing an online search, I found nothing that truly seemed expressive of my sentiments, although the Academy of American Poets does have some nice poems about mothers. (And, despite the fact that one of our sacrament meeting speakers introduced his talk on motherhood by referring to Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade, I don't find that a particularly apt poem either! The speaker went on to explain that the kind of courage [stupidity?] exhibited by that fated 600 was a kind of courage that can only be inspired by mothers--a statement I take issue with, but that's besides the point!)

I find that I have mixed feelings about mother's day: I think that the mothers most closely involved in my life (my mother, my mother-in-law, my sisters and sisters-in-law) certainly deserve all the thanks and encomiums that they can get. But I also find that mothers vary so widely--and in fact, not all great women are themselves mothers, and some women who are mothers may find themselves conflicted about their role (a woman in our Sunday School class broke down in tears today because, of her three children, her son is dead and she has not seen either of her daughters for at least a year). And I think that we could do a better job (both in the church and in the wider American culture) of being more sensitive to the wonderful array of women there are in the world. I also find myself obscurely troubled by the cultural ideal we hold up of mothers--a mother is kind, saintly, never says a cross word, selflessly nurtures her children and everyone else around her (at the expense of her sanity?), is educated, keeps a perfectly neat home, etc., etc. Personally, I don't know anyone that perfectly fits the characteristics of mothers held up every year at mother's day--but I also have more respect for the mothers I know who are imperfect, who grapple with their weaknesses but still find the strength and courage to reach out to others, and to lavish love on their children and families. I also think that "mothering"--i.e. that nurturing love that we seem to value so much in mothers--is not the exclusive property of biological motherhood. I know men who possess it in great quantities (like Dan!), and I also know women (either unmarried or without children) who have been incredibly supportive of those around them. I think one of our good friends here in State College, Celie Hanscom, has been a wonderful surrogate mother for lots of college students (I know she has been for us!). And I wish that we could acknowledge that better and more often. During our Sunday School class today, the teacher closed his lesson by suggesting that the virtues that Christ demonstrated in his life are all virtues that can make us better mothers--and while I think that is true, I also think that the emphasis needs to be not simply on becoming better mothers but on becoming better people--a spiritual movement that is available to everyone. I guess what I really want to say is simply how grateful I am for the wide variety of people who have blessed my life and my family's life--our mothers in particular, but also fathers, sisters, brothers, and friends.

And that's probably enough of my personal soapbox for one day! I imagine that most of our readers are more interested in Andrew's exploits than the inner workings of my mind, anyway. :) So, without further adieu, our week in review.

Neither of us can remember Monday. (That either means that it was fairly uneventful, or something so traumatic happened that we have since blocked it out of our minds). Nothing much happened on Tuesday either; I went to the writing center in the morning, Dan went to work, and in the evening we fed Andrew, bathed him, and put him to bed. The only noteworthy thing was that Dan did not have to go to Huntingdon, because activity night had been switched to Thursday so that the youth could attend the Huntingdon Area High School's production of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (three of the youth from the branch were in the musical).

Wednesday was a little more adventurous. I took Andrew to the day in the park again (the weather this week has been pretty much uniformly gorgeous) and he enjoyed himself thoroughly. He was particularly interested in trying to insert himself into a tug-of-war over a stuffed soccer ball that was underway between two two-year-olds, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was shorter, slower, and smaller than either of his opponents. At any rate, he gamely ran after the other two, and was positively thrilled when either of them dropped the ball and he could scoop it up triumphantly. It was actually pretty funny to watch--one of the other moms commented that she was surprised by how well Andrew managed to keep up!

Also on Wednesday, Dan finally got the new part for his microscope which means that his experiments can resume (although he was somewhat hampered by the moving crew that Andy brought in to pack up stuff for the move to Sweden). And, in a momentous and rather agonizing decision, I finally decided to get rid of my old analog cell phone and upgrade to a fancy new one. This decision only took me 45 minutes on the phone talking to various service personell before someone finally told me that it was easier, and often you could get a better deal, by going through their website (!). Then, of course, I had to figure out what Andrew had done with my cell phone before I could update anything (as the company text-messaged my temporary password to my cell phone). I found it, of course, on the floor of my closet, under some shoes and clothes. Andrew is adept at putting things in unexpected places. We frequently find jars of food on the floor of our bedroom, or in the bathroom. Wednesday was also my last day in the writing center for the next week and a half, as the semester is officially done. I'm thoroughly enjoying my break (especially as my last two appointments were both fairly difficult ones--students who are smart enough in their own fields, but whose grasp of English is still pretty rudimentary).

Thursday morning Andrew and I ran some errands and went to the library (always a favorite destination in our family!) where Andrew played a delighted game of hide-and-seek with a three-year-old Russian (at least, I think that's what language his mother was using) boy around the little puppet theater the library has set up in the children's section. That evening, as previously mentioned, Dan went to his musical. I think he may reluctantly be becoming an Andrew Lloyd Webber convert! (When I read this sentence back to him, he gave me a rather strange look). He does say, however, that snare drums in a musical are just "so timely," and also that he could have done a better Elvis (as Pharaoh).

Friday morning, of course, I went yard-saling (I have no idea if that's even a formal word, but I end up using it a lot) and spent a whopping $2.50 on some pajamas for Andrew and a book. Friday evening, Dan and I emerged from the social abyss that has been our life pretty much since Andrew was born and cleaned up the house and invited a few friends over for chicken katsu and strawberry shortcake (the latter was courtesy of one of my friends). I trounced everyone at The Great Dalmuti, and so a good time was had by all. (Well, at least by me, which is all that really signifies. Dan still likes to remind him that I once threw my hand of cards at him after he beat me in Hand and Foot; all I can say is that I was pregnant at the time.)

Saturday was by far the most exciting day of the week. While Dan went into lab, I took Andrew with me to a couple of yard sales. At the first one I found something I've been seeking for some time--a sturdy little table and chairs for Andrew. While I was debating over this particular table (one of the downsides of yard-sales it that you don't really have much time to compare prices--you either take what you want or risk it not being there when you come back), Andrew discovered a Little Tykes kitchen set that the owners were also selling. He spent the entire time at that particular yard sale opening and closing the cupboard and moving the plastic tin cans around. In the end, I bought both the table and the kitchen cupboard (another woman bought the stove and the refrigerator that were part of the kitchen set--this was just as well, as I a) couldn't afford the whole set and b) we have no where to put all that stuff!). Andrew has probably enjoyed the table and cupboard as well as any toy we've gotten for him--he's spent most of the last two days playing with it. He likes to sit at the table and bang on it; and he likes to take the cans out of the cupboard, but them on the table, put them all back in the cupboard, and then move them all to some other location (like the front room). We also think that the novelty of these toys may have been partially responsible for his 5 a.m. wakeup this morning--something like the Christmas morning phenomenon. Andrew woke up, and, instead of whining a little and going back to sleep (which he usually does), he saw his new set and spent the next half hour going, "oh oh oh" like he does when he's excited about something. (Meanwhile, we tried to cover our ears and pretend like we hadn't heard him).

Saturday also marked the start of what for me is one of the year's biggest highlights: the AAUW (American Association of University Women) annual booksale. It's a pretty unbelievable phenomenon--one of the biggest of its kind on the East Coast, if the website is to be believed. People start lining up in the early hours of the morning on the day the sale starts, and then hordes of book-lovers start pouring in. The AAUW collects enough books from the community to fill the agriculatural arena--dozens of tables filled to capacity with books of all kinds (with boxes more of books beneath the tables, from which volunteers fill gaps on the tables themselves). Of course, to anyone who likes books as much as I do, this is rather addictive. Especially as the books are priced to sell. I went twice yesterday (once with Dan and Andrew, once alone), and will probably go back again tomorrow (all the books are half-price--which means most paper backs are $.25-.50). I think I only picked up a couple dozen books.

Andrew has been a joy in the last week or so--he's finally starting to learn new words; recognizeable ones from this week include "tru" (for truck), "down," and lots of animal noises (he can roar, sort of, like a lion; when I ask him to say "woof" for a dog, he does this funny little puffing noise, like he's trying to blow on his food; and he says "tee" for "tweet"). He's also entering into the packing and unpacking phase. On Friday, after we came back from the grocery store, he actually managed to put a couple of cans into the right cupboard for me! (Of course, he promptly took them out again and put them back in the bag.)





As Garrison Keillor says to close his daily "Writer's Almanac": "Be well, do good work, and keep in touch."

# 50

Today's entry, dear reader, marks the fiftieth installment of this illustrious blog. And, barring Christmas break, I think we've managed to post at least once a week since we started. Not bad for a couple of tyros. In honor of this achievement, I'd like to take a moment and (ab)use my position as editor to reflect a bit on this blog. Our readers, though few, are generally a faithful sort who have some sort of investment (friendly or familial) in at least one of us (we do have the grace to recognize that usually that someone is Andrew. And we admit, he's usually much more interesting than either of us). And although our comments are seldom profound, we have strived to keep a relatively even-handed, light-hearted tone. On occasion, we have even been known to venture into the realm of humor (or attempt to venture, at any rate!). However, this past week we have been forced (once again) to acknowledge the unparallelled mastery of online blog humor to our friend Keith Gibson. The latest installment of All Available Means of Persuasion had us weeping (literally) with laughter. We highly recommend the April 29 entry, "When My Wife Leaves Town." (Warning: to those who are offended by scatological references--particularly in the context of one man's struggle with potty-training--you probably don't want to read this).

On a more mundane note, we turn back to the events of this last week. Monday night, Dan and I survived a double booking (he, marathon meeting; me, tutorials) with the generous help of our neighbor, who offered to sit in our living room and read while Andrew slept. Tuesday, Dan travelled to Huntington to celebrate "uno de Mayo," and he and his cohort of young men finished decorating the pinatas they had made on a previous occasion. While they failed to appreciate the culinary masterpiece (chicken tacos with lime and cabbage) Dan had made--they don't like onions, much to Dan's disgust--they did enjoy splitting the four bags of candy that filled the pinatas among the three of them.



Wednesday, Andrew and I went to one of the local parks as part of a ward "Day in the Park" that one of the Relief Society sisters organized for moms at home with young kids. The day was beautiful and bright--unfortunately, it had rained the night before so the ground was pretty muddy. That didn't daunt Andrew, who fearlessly climbed to the top of the slide tower (while his not so fearless mother followed after him to make sure he didn't slip down between platforms or fall off the slide--he still seems to think that you step off slides, rather than sitting down and sliding on them). From the top, I asked a couple of other women if it was muddy below--they said it was, a bit, but thinking that they meant the slide (and I couldn't see too much mud on it), we went ahead down the slide. It wasn't until we hit the bottom that I realized what they meant--the bottom of the slide opened onto a huge mud puddle, and we planted both feet solidly in the mud (Andrew, in fact, lost his shoe). Wednesday was also the day that Dan's advisor asked him if he was okay (!) moving his dissertation defense to August, rather than June. This is funny, because Dan didn't really think that he had a choice, as his equipment had broken and he didn't think he had time to complete his experiments, let alone defend his dissertation, before the June deadline. In hindsight, he wishes he would have said, "No. What are you going to do to fix it?"

Thursday neither of us can remember.

Friday morning I ventured out on one of the true delights of summer in State College: yard saleing. I ran into my friend Steph at the first yard sale (which started at seven a.m., but advertised lots of good kid stuff.) Dan says (with a curious inflection in his tone) that nothing gets me out of bed like the prospect of a deal. I was even out of the house before he was, which is somewhat unheard of (I took Andrew with me). Steph and I compared notes and, discovering that we were bound to the same places, opted to leave Steph's car at my house while we went on our merry way. We had fun, but the best deals were reserved for the next day, when we repeated our exploits. The only other thing of note on Friday was that, when Dan arrived home at 4:15, Andrew was still asleep, as part of a 2+ hour nap (marathon proportions for this child).

Saturday morning was spent in a blissful orgy of consumerism at yard sales. Since our generous husbands had agreed to watch our respective children, Steph and I were child-free. Between the two of us, we managed to fill Steph's car with our purchases. Needless to say, it was an exceptionally good weekend for yardsales. Some of my best purchases were a Little People zoo, for just a couple of dollars (Andrew loves hearing the lion roar and repeatedly hitting the button so the monkey jumps up), and the fabric truck/gas station you see below (which was the best deal of all: free. The woman just wanted to get rid of it. The whole contraption folds up flat--sort of like those fancy windshield shades for cars). Andrew likes climbing through the holes in the front and back, and laughing at us through the windows. We even put his spiderman chair in the tent, and he kicked back and watched part of Hundred and One Dalmations.

Saturday afternoon, Dan drove back to Huntington for an eagle scout court of honor for one of the young men in the branch, which was apparently a pretty big deal, as one of the state representatives showed up. That evening, back in State College, we went to our ward's Cinco de Mayo party, where we enjoyed the fine cooking of Brett Lunceford and Andrew spilled lemonade on one of our neighbors (luckily, he also has a baby, so he understands how it is!). We had to leave early because we'd already missed his bedtime, but we enjoyed seeing people we haven't seen much of recently.





Today has also been nice. Fast and Testimony meeting--aside from the 15 minute travelogue with which we concluded the meeting--was nice and sincere, and the classes we attended were also well-done (even if the Relief Society president ratted me out about my New Era articles--she had wanted me to share one of them as part of the lesson, on modesty and interior beauty). Afterwards, we had the monthly "Souper Sunday," only, in contrast to previous months' cornucopia of food offerings, we had a lone soup--ours--a lone salad, and a lone dessert. (Luckily, most of the families in the ward did not stay, so there was enough, but barely). After we got back, Dan and Andrew napped, and then Andrew ran around the house chirruping happily. He even engaged Dan in the "Great Burrito Race" (Dan was getting something out of the freezer and two burritos fell out. Andrew snatched them up and then gleefully evaded Dan as he tried to get them back). You see below the end of the Great Race--Andrew finally consented to being picked up by his mom. And this brings us not only to the end of our race, but this week's blog. This week is finals week, and the end of the semester, and I am greatly looking forward to a few days off from the Writing Center. (Although I do have some funny moments: one of my students, from Taiwan, has been trained that you bring people small gifts as tokens of appreciation, so she regularly brings me food treats, etc. One week she thoughtfully brought me a coffee, and I had to explain that I don't drink coffee for religious reasons. This last week, she brought me orange juice, Chinese pineapple cakes, and asked if she could take a picture with me! I'm not often surprised with writing center requests, but this one did surprise me).