Sneak Peek for Next Week

Matthew is still so much fun. He passed the 6 month mark a little while ago, which is crazy. He's been with us more than half a year??? He's only been with us half a year??? (I am going to spend the rest of my life incredulous about kids' ages, I can tell.)

For the most part, it's awesome. I sort of have to laugh to myself that he was better at both sleeping through the night and rolling over 6 months ago than he is now. (I didn't want to admit either of those milestones back then, but I didn't need to worry . . . he stopped both at about 9 weeks and only does them intermittently now.)

ohhhhhhhhhh so little

But he's great! Here are a few highlights from the last few weeks.
(side note . . . I realized that the people who are going to watch these videos will get to see him in person soon, which sort of defeated the purpose of sharing the videos. Oh well. Now you know what you'll look forward too!)

• Toys. He loves toys! He is just so content with a pile or basket of toys to examine. Of course, the sorts of toys his parents play with (such as cell phones) are the most fun, but plastic colorful ones suffice too.

• Grabbing. He loves to grab our faces and clothes and stick his fingers in our mouth and eyes and whatnot. He also makes cute faces of his own.

Oh, boy. Such a beautiful baby. Only problem is, people were starting to think he was a she, no matter how much blue he was wearing. So when his hair touched his eyelashes, it was time for a haircut. And thus begins another boy of mine dealing with bad haircuts for the next several years of his life. (It's not as crooked as it looks in this next video . . . I blame the blurriness :D)

Speaking of gross motor skills, in addition to scooting while sitting, he scoots on his tummy all the time. Always the opposite direction of what he intended. He also likes to propel himself onto his tummy while sitting. Sometimes Kevin or I hear him squawking and see him stuck in some strange way and ask, "How on earth did you get there?" I'm excited for when he can go where he wants to go. (And a little nervous . . . if he manages to reach a drawer of clothes or tub of books, it's usually empty within a minute. What happens when they are all in reach?)

• Jabbering. I love how much he has to say! Blahs and bahs and dahs and squeals and all of it. Naturally, he stops the minute he sees a camera (I would too), so I have bunches and bunches of movies where I coax him to keep going, and he just smiles the whole time. I didn't bother uploading those because I finally got this one instead.

We were all sick on and off in January, and his laugh changed temporarily during that time. "He laughs like Bert," Joseph remarked. Kevin also calls it a machine gun laugh. Either way, as cute as it was, it's nice that he no longer laughs like he does in this video.

• Solid food. He loves it! It sure is gratifying to feed a child and have them like what you put in his mouth. Even when he shudders a bit.

I guess this next video isn't of him eating. He just has a really cute way of growling. And frowning.

Luckily, we mostly enjoy smiles around here! What a great little guy!

Behind the scenes of a super famous YouTube artist

Have I talked much yet about my mashup hobby?

I started doing it sometime when I was in high school -- putting a few songs together on the spot for a crowd. Every now and then, if I can think of a way to relate two songs, I refine the mashup and put it on YouTube. (Right here.)

Although I started the YouTube channel back in 2010, I have relatively few videos. There are lots of reasons for that -- dealing with the ebb and flow of creativity, understanding that these are clever and gimmicky but not life-changing, having to practice, not wanting to promote myself (basically, don't count on me ever saying "please subscribe!" at the end of a video), etc.

But the main reason I don't make many these days is that I only have so many hands, and if two of them are at the piano, then they are not holding little kids and babies. And that always leads to adventures.

I really did want to make a video this afternoon, though. It had been a long time coming. I had come up with the idea to combine "I See the Light" from Tangled with "Whole New World" from Aladdin way back in January 2013, but it never came together well. When my sister Jennie asked me to play a musical number at her wedding luncheon in August, I finally figured out what the song needed. I thought I would be able to make a recording of it to put on YouTube by the end of September.

 Clearly, it got put off until now. I finally set a firm deadline that I had to do it by Valentine's, and before the weekend even. Today it was.

So when I put Matthew down for an early afternoon nap, I got to work. I gathered up my crew of makeup and hair artists, costume specialists, videographers, and babysitters, and got to work!

(All of those were me. Except that Toy Story was the babysitter since it was too cold outside for me to find a real one.)

Short version: I made the video. And you will probably like it (at least after the first minute).

Long version: Here are the steps I took. Feel free to follow them at your own leisure if you want to create your own in-home YouTube piano series:

• Give your son headphones while he watches a movie
• Clean the living room, or at least mow what shows. (There's no time to really declutter, just to relocate the toys.) 
  
• Decide that you want to allude to Rapunzel in your hair and clothes. Which probably means you should have some flowers in your hair.
• Make a flower out of fabric held together with Scotch tape. It may or may not look like a flower when it's actually in your hair. 
• Calm the baby who has woken up to the sound of the heater turning on. Make a mental note to turn the heater off while you are playing piano.
• Set up a tripod with a high chair and books. Experiment with various angles.
  
• Dust the piano. That part you can't hide from the camera.
• Retrieve the baby, who has now woken up for good. Cuddle him for a bit, then set him down with a pacifier to contentedly look around and listen to you play.
• Start recording, only to notice the battery that claimed to have 66% power 10 minutes ago is now blinking low battery. It's okay. Toy Story is still going.
• Charge the battery and nurse the baby.
• After nursing and changing the baby, put him with quieter toys like stuffed animals instead of blocks. Hope that you can finish recording before he decides to jabber.
• Put makeup on after all. It might show depending where the camera is positioned.
• Turn the heater off.
• Put the partially-charged battery back in the camera. Move the high chair tripod around a few times to try and get a good angle. It may turn out that you didn't need makeup after all since they can only see your back.
• Do a few test runs with the camera. Change your clothes as necessary.
• Since the baby is antsy now, take him up to his brother (who no longer wants to use headphones). Scout the room for small objects that he can reach from his sitting position. Coast is clear. Tell them to sit and watch the movie for 5 more minutes.
• 30 seconds into recording, hear a lot of squeaking right above you.  Go into the room and discover your older son standing next to a wiggling pile of blankets. "He liked it when I dumped blankets on him," he says as you pull them off your flustered but smiling baby. Explain that when they move at all it squeaks. Toy Story is about done, so turn on a short show for them. Don't berate yourself for all the screen time.
• Start recording again. Play the song with as much musicality and emotion as you can muster. When you make mistakes, don't think about your adviser saying, "No one could tell you made mistakes" when you played for graduation 5 years ago. No, don't do that! Focus on the music at hand! Don't mind the little bit of squeaking upstairs now! You're so close to the end! Don't mess up don't mess up you don't want to start this over . . . you didn't mess up! 
• You did it! You made another video! Go rescue your children.
• . . . When you get cold, turn the heater back on.

And there you have it. Your guide to becoming a super famous YouTube artist.

I'm going to share this video again, just for good measure.

Comic Con in the Checkout Line

I had picked the slow line.

By the time I realized it, I had put a few items on the conveyor belt and there were people behind me, so it was too late to switch. Kevin had grabbed a last minute item, and when he joined me in line he made a face like, "welp, now we're stuck," and I made the same face back.

We watched the checker talk animatedly about something (Superman maybe?), using his hands a lot as he spoke instead of using them to scan the groceries. The woman ahead of us nodded politely through it all, though she seemed relieved as it finally finished. Then it was our turn. "Here goes," Kevin muttered to me.

"But like I was saying, Batman is a vigilante! He's not a hero. Taking the law into your own hands is not being a hero. He would be a lot more benefit to his community if he used his wealth to build it up."

"Like trickle down economics?" I asked. I couldn't help myself.

"No no no! Nothing like trickle down! Like using his money to build better schools, or outreach programs, or, oh, sorry I interrupted you back there, or better hospitals. Those sorts of things. Just because his parents died didn't mean he needed to turn into a vigilante," he said as he slowly scanned our items.

"Sorry, I know you guys don't care about this, but then there is Captain America, who is a symbol of World War II. Did either of you have grandpas who served in World War II?"

We both shook our heads.

"Korean War?"

We shook our heads again. (Age and health reasons had prevented both.)

"Really? No one? Surely someone in your family did."

"Like great-uncles," Kevin said, to move the conversation along since his hands had paused with the flow of words.

"Right. Sorry, you guys don't care about this . . ." and then he started scanning the items for the next customer.

"Um . . ." we started to say. "Oh, right," he responded as he started helping the bagger bag our items.

"Have a wonderful day," he said as we headed off. I was determined to say nothing or laugh until we got to the car, but Kevin started talking.

"That was a really slow bagger," he said.

"What?"

"Yeah, it wasn't his fault. She was the one who was slowing things down a lot. There was no point to him scanning any faster than that."

"But . . ."

"Yeah, he should have helped her bag. But still."

In that instant, my perception of Comic Con Checker changed. Instead of being a slow, talkative checker, he was a hero, distracting us from the slow bagger by entertaining us. By deflecting our attention from the bagging, he would take the blame for the slowness. Not many people are willing to do that.

And he was probably right about Batman, too.

Remembering Granddaddy

Last night, my grandpa passed away after a stroke. He was 83.

Over the past day as I've tried to absorb this unexpected news, I've spent a lot of time pulling out my memories with him. Most of them are sort of silly stories. It's hard to tell a story of a warm hug or a tender smile or the goodness that someone radiates . . . so I'm left telling the silly ones, though there are many others worth sharing.

How do you have a first memory of someone you've known your whole life? As I think of Granddaddy, I think of General Conference and Thanksgiving in the fall, of Christmas parties and Christmas afternoons in the winter, of Easter and yard work in the spring, and of many, many summer events and parties, especially when we celebrated Pioneer Day and his birthday. There were lots of visits both directions, and I remember many, many conversations we had together.

So it's hard to narrow down what my first memory is. However, I do remember an argument we had when I was about 4, which is a bit of a surprise because it's the only one I really remember. He was watching me one time, and he pulled out a book he wanted to read me. It was some book about some boy in the jungle (all I remember is it wasn't the Jungle Book).

"My dad reads me The Secret Garden."
"I want to read you this book."
"I want you to read me The Secret Garden."
"I want to read this to you."

I really don't know what he ended up reading me. Maybe my parents came before he started to read.

***

Another time, he and Grandma (everyone else called her Mima, but I was a slow adopter) were watching us while my parents were gone. It was lunch time and he was looking through the fridge.

"Do you have any mayonnaise? I can't find any."

"Oh! I know where it is," I exclaimed and pulled out a jar of white stuff.

"That's miracle whip."

"I thought Miracle Whip was the brand name of mayonnaise," I responded.

"No, Kraft is the brand name of Miracle Whip. See? Kraft. Miracle Whip," he said as he pointed to the labels.

I didn't really see the big deal. They were both white, so what else mattered?

Now I know.

***

There are many things I inherited from Granddaddy. We both love music, literature, writing autobiographically, languages, and theology. I feel like his example influenced me to choose to read the best books, even the ones that weren't engineering textbooks.

However, in a few areas, he and I had differing tastes, at least initially.

For example, he hated the song "Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel." He even brought it up in a Sacrament Meeting talk. I couldn't understand it. Our chorister loved loved loved it and even paused us in the middle if we weren't singing it with enough gusto. And of course, for the final chorus, we went at half-speed. How could Granddaddy not like a song like that? (I mostly agree with him now.)

He also liked Irish tenors. One time, he picked me up from piano lessons and began to sing in an Irish tenor voice. After he finished a few phrases, he said, "Let's listen to someone who can do this for real."

He then turned on a tape in his car, and there was a man warbling up in the notes that I thought belonged to girls. I didn't tell him this, but I thought he actually sounded better than the man on the tape.

And of course, there was the drive to New Jersey for my dad's sabbatical. Since we were taking both cars, Mima kept my mom company and Granddaddy went with my dad. We kids took turns in the different cars. While it was fun hanging out with my dad and grandpa, the fact was they liked really boring books on tape. On the bright side, I guess I did learn a lot about Rachel Jackson, the wife of Andrew Jackson. (In all honesty, I loved being in the car with him and my dad. When they weren't listening to the tapes, the conversations were incredible, and I grew really close to him.)

Differing tastes aside, these stories illustrate how involved he was in serving our family. It's only been in recent years where we've lived away from family that it's hit me. Oh! That's what families do! They help each other with moves and babysitting and support each other in church events. I was so used to it I didn't even realize that it was happening.

***

Summers were prime grandparent time. There were so many weekends we would make the 2-hour trek down to Orem to spend the night with them or with cousins. We would go to parades, light fireworks, eat popsicles, decorate cupcakes, and sit out on their back deck enjoying everyone's company.

I also remember Granddaddy going out pretty often with some salt. "Time to get rid of some snails," he would say as he went to work.

But when I was a teenager, my younger cousins decided that was no longer okay. They grabbed a box, stuffed some grass in it, and went around rescuing snails from a shriveled fate. As they found more and more, they got excited.

"They can have snail babies now!" and did all they could to encourage the snails. As they made bigger and bolder plans, I looked over at Granddaddy. I could see in his grimace what he wouldn't say out loud -- he didn't want his yard to be a snail wildlife refuge.

I don't remember what happened, but after that day the snail rescue plans were discarded. Poor snails.

***

Grandaddy taught Spanish at BYU for years, so he and Mima still attended many of the events. If I went to a concert, there was a good chance they were there too. I might happen to run into them at the BYU bookstore. Or, as I excitedly pointed out to everyone else at freshman orientation, I could see him in the video where he played Karl G. Maeser in the history of BYU video shown there. Each time, it was exciting, and I was proud that my grandparents were cool enough to walk around BYU.

I confess there was one place I always felt silly running into him. Many morning when I went running on the track, there he was too, jogging along slowly with other elderly men. I would say hi, but what was I supposed to do? They were going too slow for me to stay with them, and they probably wanted to have their own conversation. But it felt strange to lap them and say a quick hi as I went past. But that was the best option, so that's what I would do.

***

Even if I didn't run into him on campus, I would run into people who did all the time. One time he asked what classes I was taking. When I mentioned an English class, he asked who the professor was. When I said his name, he grinned brightly.

"He lived here for a little while back in 1975! He needed a place to stay so we put him in that room over there."

I felt strange all of the sudden. Teachers and grandparents were not supposed to mix. But I wasn't surprised, either. So many people had stayed with my grandparents -- all sorts of relatives, exchange students, and professors. We even had video evidence of it from my first birthday -- on the couch next to my grandparents was an exchange student joining in the celebrations.

A few weeks before this conversation, I had heard my mom call my grandma up to see if our good friend Brother Griffin could stay there on the weekdays while they waited for their house to sell. Of course he could, and so he did. As he learned of the many, many people who had lived temporarily with my grandparents (I believe he had counted 37), he dubbed their home a Statue of Liberty of sorts, welcoming the masses in and caring for them once they were there.

***

Granddaddy took to Kevin quickly. A few weeks after we started dating, Kevin and I went over for dinner. When they heard his name, they asked, "Which wife are you from?"

After they figured out the genealogy and after Granddaddy had lent him a book he had written about Henry Moon, the next question was, "Where did you serve your mission?" Puebla? Granddaddy had been to Puebla, and had written about it in a journal. He went to his office and pulled it out for Kevin to read. Although Kevin was a little overwhelmed with this welcome (and the corresponding reading material), he appreciated the sentiment, and he felt the love.

***
Granddaddy was kind, wise, eloquent, loving, and good. He was a good conversationalist and a great listener. He had a strong testimony and a deep love for his family, all the way down to the great-great-grandchildren. We will miss him, and I look forward to seeing him again.

At my wedding

Meeting Joseph

Meeting Matthew

Another 5th grade cowtastrophe

While it's still on my mind, here's another 5th grade cow story. Pardon all the puns.

We changed seats pretty regularly in my class. One day soon after a seat change I happened to notice the back of my faded yellow chair and saw the word "cow" written medium-small with a black sharpie.

I bristled with annoyance. Why was the word "cow" on a chair? Why did I have the bad luck to be stuck with that chair? It wasn't any more broken than the other chairs, and my hair didn't catch on the screws any more than for other chairs, but still. No one wants to be stuck with a "cow" chair. I think I tried to surreptitiously switch chairs with someone else.

While I can't remember if it worked or not, I know the "cow" chair became a thing in class, and I don't think anyone particularly wanted that chair. Worst of all, though it made the rounds, someone always steered it back to me.

Every day at the end of school, we would crawl around on the floor picking up scraps of paper and other crumbs. But before we did this, we had to put our chairs up on the table so we could reach things better. When I was partially under the table, someone (maybe me) bumped the table, and a chair fell off, grazing my head.

As I blinked back tears (5th graders definitely can't ever cry, though I could have milked it for all it was worth) and my friends ran over to comfort me, one boy examined the chair. "It's the cow chair!" he said with excitement.

"Hey!" he continued. "The cow jumped over the moon!" The boys in the class began to bust up.

As I marched toward the door with my head throbbing, I almost wanted to chuck something at him. That was, quite possibly, the least funny thing I had ever heard.

On the bright side, I rarely had to sit in the cow chair after that.

A Bovine Valentine

Valentines were a really big deal in 5th grade. We not only still made the Valentine's boxes as in years past to be filled with cartoon cards and cheap candy, but there could now be potentially hidden meaning in the Valentines we distributed.

So I proceeded with caution as I signed my cards. My mom had bought some animal themed Valentines, among others. Some of the animals were cute, like the chicks or cats. But there was also a hideous looking cow with its face plastered at the front of the card saying, "I hope you have an udderly awesome Valentine's Day!" Yuck.

I carefully selected the prettiest Valentines for my best friends and signed my name with gold ink for the boy I liked (and then signed a few more with gold ink to throw him off the trail). Now for that cow one.

And then I knew who that card would be perfect for! There was a boy who just . . . talked about cows a lot. He thought they were hilarious. So I signed his name and my name on that card and called it a night.

The next afternoon, after we had passed around our cards, I examined my haul. As I opened my card from cow-boy, I gasped and immediately tossed it down.

He had given me the same ugly cow Valentine.

What could this mean? Why had he given this to me? Was it fate that we had given each other the same ugly cow Valentine? He didn't like me, did he? He didn't hate me, did he?

Turns out it was none of that, at least as far as I could tell. If there was any hidden meaning in the Valentines, it was only from the girls' end.

. . . I think that's pretty much the story of all Valentines ever.