A Name...

How do you choose a name for a baby? This isn’t the same as choosing a name for a pet. When we got CJ I knew what I wanted to name her before we ever when to the pound and met her. I knew I wanted a cuddly black kitten, and I was sure long before we saw her that the name CJ fit well with whatever personality happened to go with the physical description I was looking for. I also knew that very few people would ever call her CJ, realistically, how many people are going to interact with my cat, sure she is adorable, but she wont go to school, grow up, or have to get a job. I could have picked the most ridiculous name and she would have lived essentially the same life. The same isn’t true for a child, if I chose something off the wall it will haunt them though school, through their future careers, and eventually down the road they are going to blame me for some of the teasing they were forced to endure, so how do you choose a name? How do you choose a name that fits both a child and an adult, one that says I am cute and lovable as a toddler but worth taking seriously as an adult? Beyond that, how do you choose a name that fits the child's personality? I have heard people say to wait until you meet the child to choose their name, but really, how much of a personality is this kid really going to show in that first week of life- I doubt there will be much that week that tells me about the toddler, teen, or adult he is going to be- maybe I am wrong, but right now I am skeptical. So I have decided to go another way, we have decided to name this little peanut after someone we know. It is unlikely that he will have a similar personality to this individual (trust me on that), but it's a starting point. Our plan is to name the little tyke- Michael Andrew- both common, easy to spell, and easy to pronounce. There is very little chance that someone will rearrange the letters in his name and spell something like "brain sucker", very little chance that a first grade teacher will be unable to pronounce the name, and very little chance that he will be the only Michael you ever meet. My little brother is named Michael Andrew (well currently "elder Michael Andrew") and he is great- so we are going to steal his name. At first I was uneasy about this- I thought it might be mean to whoever mug eventually marries- maybe she wants to use the name, then I realized the following: 1. He is on a mission and not dating so who cares, 2. There are lots of Michael Andrews what is two in one family, they will have different last names anyway, and 3 and most important, during the last ultrasound this kid was so uncooperative (I know I said you cant tell about a child's personality before they are born but anyway), the doctor tried everything to get him to participate, but he refused, if I am going to have an uncooperative child, I might as well name him after the most uncooperative person I know (he is still great) so at the moment, Michael Andrew it is…

My Jeans

My jeans don’t fit anymore. Until recently this had more to do with the length than the width, but trust me now, it’s all width. I am ashamed to say this bothers me a little bit. After years studying public health, women’s health, and watching my friends as they journeyed through pregnancy I thought I was ready for this, I have read the books, and I knew what was supposed to happen, but as it turns out, there is something about not fitting into my jeans that bothers me. Having such a ridiculous hang up about whether or not my pants button bothers me more than the actual buttoning, after praying and waiting for this little baby, my biggest hang up is the jeans? Lately, I have those some of those “out of body” moments- they usually involve me laughing at myself as the jeans are a little too tight to button comfortably and thinking- “seriously, your hang up is the jeans? There is more weight to gain, labor, and not to mention the responsibility of a child- the jeans are the least of your worries!” So I am trying to make peace with my new size (of the week). There are advantages- it’s easier to find, often in stock, and if I never go back down to the original size I can donate the clothes to my sister. Also, men’s sweatpants are starting to fit a whole lot better, which seems like it would be equally depressing, but is awesome because well… they have pockets and I love pockets. So on that note, sadly I don’t have any pictures to share with you. I want to say that I am too embarrassed to take one, but in reality it is just pure laziness, I haven’t seen the camera since Christmas and I am just too tired to look for it.

Welcome Back to Blogging, and a Summer Announcement

Dear Readers,

I apologize for the prolonged silence- things have been busy here. With the holidays, flying across the country twice a week, and other exciting things going on, blogging has taken a backseat. In my attempt to rectify that, and explain my absence I would like to make one very exciting announcement- we are expecting a baby in JULY!!!!! We are very excited, and very happy to announce that we are 14 weeks down- 26 weeks left!!!!! So far, the best way to describe this experience is as a very long version of the stomach flu- I have been sick, so tired, and everything hurts, but despite the minor inconveniences we are so excited.

In other exciting baby related news- we are 95% sure that we are having a… boy! We go in for another ultrasound to confirm in a couple of weeks, but from what we can see at this point- we are going to have a healthy, albeit very stubborn, little boy in July 2011.

Have a happy week!

Ashley

Santa: A Confession

I have a confession; until I was about 8 I thought my grandpa was Santa. I know it sounds ridiculous but let me elaborate. My grandpa is a jolly guy; he has rosy red cheeks, a red nose, wears suspenders, and best of all he has a white beard. In addition, he likes to wear hats (like all good Santa’s), can build anything, and loves milk and cookies. Of course this is confusing to a kid! I clearly remember telling one of my friends in first grade that my grandpa was Santa. Other kids waited up all night Christmas Eve to catch him, I didn’t have to do that, and he always came to my house Christmas morning for breakfast. My grandparents rarely spent the night on Christmas Eve, I was convinced this was because my grandpa had work to do that night, but they always made it in time for Christmas morning.
My little first grader friend argued with me about my grandpa being Santa, she pointed out the flaws in my logic, but being 6 I was convinced. I assured her on no uncertain terms that my grandpa was Santa, and I would prove it to her. I don’t know that I ever actually ended up proving it, but trust me I could have, he would have eaten a cookie for us, or let us give his beard a sharp tug, and I am sure if we asked he may have even told us a good Christmas story. Sometime around age 8 it occurred to me that Santa’s name might not be Bob, Santa may not like to golf quite as much, and that in all likelihood Santa probably spent a majority of his year somewhere that got more snow than southern California. My grandma was the dead giveaway, all the pictures I had seen of Mrs. Claus showed a pretty lady with white hair that baked- my grandma did not bake, and there is no way Santa could live without fresh baked cookies. My grandma is also decidedly “bah humbug”, she hasn’t put up a tree in a decade, doesn’t put lights on the house, and might forget that it is Christmas without our constant annoying reminders. When I finally made the realization that my grandpa wasn’t Santa I was a bit disappointed, I thought I was famous, that I knew Santa, and then all I had was a grandpa. Don’t get me wrong, he is an awesome grandpa, but there is something about knowing where Santa lives, or that he eats cereal from a salad bowl that makes Christmas that much more magical

Lessons Learned the First Week

When Brian and I first got married we both worked at the BYU Bookstore. I worked in customer service (as a professional gift wrapper, and I love that you think I am kidding), and Brian worked first in security and then in accounting. It was a good fit for us, it lasted about 6 months and then Brian went on to another opportunity. Now we are back working for the same company (not the Bookstore), and this time it is a bit strange. Let me explain, Brian started looking into PwC in 2006, while we were both employed at the bookstore), he was recruited, interned, and was eventually hired on full time (after graduation). Since that time, PwC has always been “Brian’s thing”. It was the place Brian worked, the people he knew, and the lingo he used, now that is changing. Granted, it is unlikely/impossible that we will ever work together (much like at the bookstore), but still our circles are starting to collide. The best part of this, besides the awesome opportunity, is learning to speak the same language Bri has been speaking for a year. There is opportunity for common ground, shared interests, and extending our circles to include some similar people- I would say this is the past repeating itself- except this time we don’t have to go to class, live in a tiny place with no ac, and we aren’t paid hourly- this version may be a bit more comfortable.

Writer's Block, Toilet Paper, and Getting Electrocuted

I have recently become a horrible blog poster. I blame it on a number of things (none of which will be mentioned here), and I would like to say that I am promising to improve, but with a new job and the holidays coming up that is very unlikely to happen. So while I attempt to overcome my writer’s block (a week in your pjs will do that to you) this is what I have to share:

Several months ago Brian and I decided to get a kitten. Well let me rephrase, several months again I decided to get a kitten and Brian slowly got on board. People warned us that the resale value in our home would plummet, that our house would smell like cat urine, that everything would be covered in cat hair, and that all our stuff would be ruined. I am happy to report several things about the cat: first, she doesn’t really shed. I think that she is broken, well not really, but I think we got this strange type of cat that rarely sheds- you cant tell by looking at her, but really, I shed about 10,000 times more than she does (good news for clean freaks and people with allergies). Second, unless you know we have a cat or happen to see her stuff I don’t think that our house smells like cat- I could be wrong, but I am a little obsessive about smells and I cant smell her, and sadly the poor cat smells like the “harvest spice” air fresheners we have sprinkled throughout the house (there is always next season cj). Third, not ALL of our stuff is ruined… just one thing.

So when Brian and I decided to get the cat we also decided to get a new living room set. I say that like they were both snap decisions, and that isn’t anywhere near true. We had thought about both for awhile, sat on tons of couches, compared sales, and prices, and finally found the perfect one. Turns out we also found an adorable black kitten the same day. The couch is doing well, the chair is doing peachy, but the ottoman… hasn’t faired as well. I cant say it is destroyed, because it is still functional… but it isn’t as pristine as the day we got it.

I am also sad to report that since we got the cat we have been going through a lot more toilet paper. I know this sounds strange so permit me to offer an explanation. To CJ a roll of toilet paper is the happiest thing ever- not only can she unroll it, but she can shred it, roll it back up, bite it, and chase the little airborne pieces. If you leave the bathroom door open and unattended for 2 minutes, she can go in, unroll the entire brand new roll, shred it, and spread it throughout the room- we are going through a lot of toilet paper. Don’t worry we are learning to shut the door when we aren’t in there, recycle shredded paper, and laugh when it happens, but the lesson has been a bit more expensive than we thought.

One other sad item- our Christmas tree is not safe. I thought our tree would be safe until we had kids, but I was wrong. Not only are the low hanging ornaments a joy for her to rip off, chew, and carry off, but the tree itself can be used as a fireman’s pole, the branches are a great chew toy, and the lights are too delicious not to eat. I think she finally got electrocuted today, I heard a squeak and there is one light near the bottom that is missing-poor cat, and poor tree.

Writer's Block, Toilet Paper, and Getting Electrocuted

I have recently become a horrible blog poster. I blame it on a number of things (none of which will be mentioned here), and I would like to say that I am promising to improve, but with a new job and the holidays coming up that is very unlikely to happen. So while I attempt to overcome my writer’s block (a week in your pjs will do that to you) this is what I have to share:

Several months ago Brian and I decided to get a kitten. Well let me rephrase, several months again I decided to get a kitten and Brian slowly got on board. People warned us that the resale value in our home would plummet, that our house would smell like cat urine, that everything would be covered in cat hair, and that all our stuff would be ruined. I am happy to report several things about the cat: first, she doesn’t really shed. I think that she is broken, well not really, but I think we got this strange type of cat that rarely sheds- you cant tell by looking at her, but really, I shed about 10,000 times more than she does (good news for clean freaks and people with allergies). Second, unless you know we have a cat or happen to see her stuff I don’t think that our house smells like cat- I could be wrong, but I am a little obsessive about smells and I cant smell her, and sadly the poor cat smells like the “harvest spice” air fresheners we have sprinkled throughout the house (there is always next season cj). Third, not ALL of our stuff is ruined… just one thing.

So when Brian and I decided to get the cat we also decided to get a new living room set. I say that like they were both snap decisions, and that isn’t anywhere near true. We had thought about both for awhile, sat on tons of couches, compared sales, and prices, and finally found the perfect one. Turns out we also found an adorable black kitten the same day. The couch is doing well, the chair is doing peachy, but the ottoman… hasn’t faired as well. I cant say it is destroyed, because it is still functional… but it isn’t as pristine as the day we got it.

I am also sad to report that since we got the cat we have been going through a lot more toilet paper. I know this sounds strange so permit me to offer an explanation. To CJ a roll of toilet paper is the happiest thing ever- not only can she unroll it, but she can shred it, roll it back up, bite it, and chase the little airborne pieces. If you leave the bathroom door open and unattended for 2 minutes, she can go in, unroll the entire brand new roll, shred it, and spread it throughout the room- we are going through a lot of toilet paper. Don’t worry we are learning to shut the door when we aren’t in there, recycle shredded paper, and laugh when it happens, but the lesson has been a bit more expensive than we thought.

One other sad item- our Christmas tree is not safe. I thought our tree would be safe until we had kids, but I was wrong. Not only are the low hanging ornaments a joy for her to rip off, chew, and carry off, but the tree itself can be used as a fireman’s pole, the branches are a great chew toy, and the lights are too delicious not to eat. I think she finally got electrocuted today, I heard a squeak and there is one light near the bottom that is missing-poor cat, and poor tree.