For Posterity

This was painfully similar to trying to teach my Sunbeam Class.

Labor day

I forgot my camera. How I could do such a thing was beyond me. So my apologies for the lack of pictures this post. Maybe I can beg some off of my relatives at a later date.
Anyway, for Labor Day this year, Michael's dad took us to the aquarium. Evelyn was in heaven! She loved the octopus, the frogs (Evelyn, what does a frog say? "Oh Yeah!") and the star fish. But most especially she ADORED the sting rays. In the aquarium we went to they have a big pool where you can reach out and pet the sting rays. I thought it was a bit creepy, but Evelyn wanted to RIDE them! A Sting ray would swim past and flap Evelyn's hand and she would giggle, giggle, giggle and then try and dive in the water. Later in the gift shop, she found a soft purple sting ray stuffed animal that she fell in love with. It was an ordeal trying to get that thing away from her. Who falls in love with a Sting Ray stuffed animal, for crying out loud?!
Then in the evening, Evelyn got to have a giant inflatable slippery slide all to herself. That's the sweet life!
Evelyn loves Michael's family. Each one has a special place in her heart. Her Grandma Adams she calls "Nana" that is occasionally followed with an affectionate sign of "banana." Grandpa is definitely a favorite. If we tell Evelyn we're going to visit Grandpa, she runs to her shoes and screams "PAPA!" and demands to leave right at that second. Then we inevitably endure a whole car ride of "papa. Papa! PAAAAPAAAAAA!!!" And her uncles, both of whom she harbors secret crushes for, are Uncle Yaya (Carl), and Uncle Cookie (Cory). We couldn't even get her to try to say Cory for a while. She just persisted in signing "Cookie."
Evelyn happens to be the first grandbaby on Michael's side of the family. On my side of the family she's merely the first baby Adams, and she falls as my parents' 26th grandkid. Of course, they treat her special too. I guess I'm just not used to the wonderful perks that belong to being a first. After all, I was like the 45th grandkid on my mom's side or something. But I did have the luxury of being the spoiled last child.

Explanation

Some of you might be wondering where I got the title of my blog. I know it sounds philosophical and intelligent, but it's not. Sorry. And some of you had such high hopes for me.

No, actually it dates back long ago back to when Michael and I were dating (Almost six years ago now, can you believe it?!). Michael and I had been dating for about 2 and 1/2 weeks, and I decided to introduce him to my family. As many of you know, that's quite a task considering that I have eight brothers and sisters older than me; most who were married and had multiple children. I thought I'd get it all over with at once and give Michael a bit of a trial by fire. So I invited him to Thanksgiving Dinner.

While we were waiting for Michael to arrive, my mom starting teasing me about how serious I was getting with him so fast. (She gave me so many marriage prep talks that weekend it wasn't even funny. I think I was getting serious with him so quickly because she kept making me think seriously about the relationship.) At one point of the conversation, she told me she was going to pull Michael aside sometime during the night and interview him to make sure he was worthy to marry me. I laughed and thought she was joking.

She wasn't joking.

As soon as Michael showed up, Mom gave me a job in the kitchen and disappeared somewhere with Michael. You can imagine that I was somewhat worried about this. I asked my sisters what they thought Mom was saying to him.

One of my sisters laughed and said, "Oh, she's probably giving him the sex talk a little early." I thought she was teasing, but just in case, I asked her what she meant by "a little early."

"Mom gives all the guys the sex talk after they propose." She stated matter-of-fact.

No way! I thought. Even if my mom really did give out the sex talk, which I couldn't really put past her, she wouldn't corner someone I was dating only a couple weeks.....would she?! My concerns deepened.

Michael and my mom eventually showed back up and I asked Michael what she told him.

"I'll tell you when you're older."

Famous last words. "No really," I pleaded.

"I can't tell you. She swore me to secrecy."

Blast. That really didn't soothe my nerves.

Michael didn't end up telling me what was going on for over a month! But on Christmas Eve, just before we parted, he whispered in my ear:

"Tomorrow You'll Be Older," and refused to say anything else. I got butterflies in my stomach so bad imagining all the things it might mean, and I didn't sleep particularly the greatest that night. But who does on Christmas Eve?

As it turns out, for Christmas that year (after much teasing about losing our Christmas to the Grinch) we found out that we were going to Disneyland. The "interview" that Mom gave to Michael the first time they met was to let him know so he wouldn't plan anything that week with me.

Just as an interesting fact: After my mom met Michael that weekend for Thanksgiving, she told me that he was "Too good to be true" and warned me to be careful. Now she is the first to admit he really is a gem. In fact, sometimes I think she only claims me as a daughter because I married him.

A special thanks to Jessie for the picture!

If you're looking for a dog, read this first

I think I'm a dog-aholic. Or maybe just a pet-aholic. I can't help it. I see a little green poster with black permanent marker writing on it that announces: "Free Kittens: to a good home!" and I cave in. Or I go to a pet store and think "$5,000 for that cute thing?! That's a deal!" Michael has gotten extremely sick of coming home from work to meet the new addition to our household.

The sad thing about my condition is I'm not a pet keeper. I fall in love, buy a pet, get sick of the pet and re-sell it two weeks later. (If I were smart enough I could turn it into a business and earn a profit!) Michael has wised up to this strange obsessive disease of mine and has grounded me from buying animals of any variety. If he were smart, he'd ground me from pet stores and the Thrifty Nickel.

But I'm starting to learn some tricks about finding the perfect dog for you. Here are some things to look out for in ads for dogs:

• The term "Friendly" actually means the dog jumps up on people and gets excitable in public settings.



• "Energetic" means hyper and disastrous.



• "To a loving home" usually refers to the fact that the animal was never house-trained.



• "Can't keep because of allergies" is an all-out lie and is code for "get this dog out of here before I kill it!" another thing to look out for is the word "Free." In this economy, anything that's free has a reason for it.

That cat was a BAD experience. Demon Banshee Cat.

Impending DOOM! (Pretend the font is scarier)

Parenthood. It just keeps getting more interesting the closer Evelyn gets to 2 years old. She signs just great now and we can typically understand what she wants, but now signing is "Old School!" she refuses to do it, because talking is "In!" The only problem is: she can't talk. She only thinks she can. So when you try and get her to say something, it goes as follows:

Momma: "Evelyn, say 'I...'"
Evelyn: "VVVVuh!"
Momma: "...Want..."
Evelyn: "Gush!"
Momma: "...To Color!"
Evelyn: (Shriek, Giggles.)
Momma: "Can you say 'please?'"
Evelyn: (gurgles in the back of her throat, more resembling a dog growling than a word.)


As you can see, it's not the most adult conversation, and it gets even worse when she's trying to ask for something by herself. A game of 150 questions inevitably follows.


The other thing Evelyn has discovered is that it is FUN to hide things. So we walk through the house finding all sorts of things crammed in the strangest places; ie. crayons shoved in the piano's hard drive, mashed potatoes hidden in the back of the lazy boy.... the list goes on! It wouldn't surprise me too much if she placed that mouse in the silverware drawer!

Being a parent certainly keeps you on your toes:

• picking up a child throwing a tantrum that is disturbingly similar to picking up a melted laffy-taffy--a very LOUD melted laffy taffy.


• having your child spit out anything they don't want to swallow in your lap: like a chewed walnut that resembles soggy sawdust saturated in saliva (say that 5 times fast!), or a chewed up grasshopper. or a fruit of the red berry variety that stains anything that looks at it wrong....


• getting so excited that your child is finally the age to go to nursery and then having her REFUSE to go.


• getting every minute flaw on your face or body poked accompanied with the sign "hurt"--repeated indefinitely.


• Books are fun to read, but they're so much more fun to rip into packing material!


• If the child is being too quiet, it's time to check on them. You never know what fun thing they've discovered that will turn you instantly into the incredible hulk.

But everything's looking up! I was talking to my sister Jane (who has a 2-year-old) for comfort yesterday, and she gave me something to look forward to: Potty Training. AAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Is it too late to change my mind about being a mom?

No, honestly being a mom is the best thing in the whole world. There's nothing better than watching your own posterity develop their own little personality...and yes, even gain their independence from you.

(*whew!* There, I said it.) After all, where would we get all our funny stories if it weren't for kids?

The object stuck to the door behind Evelyn is a slice of cheese. Who can help but love her?!

Wanted: $100,000 Reward

At work today Michael had a big shot Master Sergeant come to inspect the facility. When he was introduced to Michael, he exclaimed: "Are you right out of High School?!" Later, Michael's manager was bragging to the Master Sergeant that all her employees had military experience, and Michael added, "Yeah, even 'Baby-Face' over here has ten years of experience!" (He can say things like that now that he's not government property.)

Here's some mugshots of "Baby-Face Adams" and his accomplice....."Baby-Face Adams."

Star Kitty

Evelyn has a favorite toy. It's a little white kitty with a star on it's foot. She adores this kitty. She carries it everywhere. She feeds it her bottle. She drops it in mud puddles. Michael and I have tried to get her to love some other, less-white toy, but all in vain. If she ever loses it, we'll be hard pressed to replace it. As my brother Sam says, we'll have to buy another star kitty and tie it to the back of the car and drive all over the city in order to make it look like a suitable replacement.

Thank you George!