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South of our house is a giant farm with a pumpkin patch. In the fall, they open up on the weekends for people to bring their kids to see the goats and sheep and cows and chickens. They set up a maze in the cornfield, and they pile up hay bales in one of the barns for another maze. They have horseshoes and bean bag tosses and giant checker games. There was a slide for the kids, and little tractors for them to ride. And don't forget the giant tractor rides for the whole family. Clearly, this place was set up for a fun time.
The house itself was built just before the Civil War. They had a couple of cabins and sheds and several barns all around. It was a huge patch of land, and despite the hundreds of people enjoying the gorgeous fall afternoon with us, I really liked all the room. It was one of those days when you think, wouldn't it be great to have a farm and all that land to yourself, and just spend your days working at home?
And then you think of milking cows on Christmas morning, and those rainy days when getting out seems like the last thing you want to do, and you realize farm work is way harder than your cushy day job.
But for a little while it was a nice dream.
Here's Helen tossing the beanbag:
And here she is, about to go down the slide for the 30th time:
And here she is, enjoying the farm:
This entry is for S., my roommate in college and still one of my closest friends. S. hails from jolly old England. Freshman year she told one of our hallmates that they all wore black on 4th of July.
Is it any wonder we're friends?
After the time in the dorms, we shared our first apartment together. We mainly cooked for ourselves, and it was junior year that I learned about her favorite meal: baked beans on toast.
This meal really tested the bonds of friendship, not to mention my gag reflex. Even though I grew up in the southern United States, I can't eat baked beans. They're a staple at every family reunion, church picnic, and most barbeque joints. And I have passed them up every time. Something about them just tastes wrong to me.
And there was S., putting them on toast! Of course it got all soggy, but she loved every bite. Later I learned it's not just S. who eats this odd meal; it's a well-known favorite of English folks everywhere, from childhood on. Yuck!
To be fair, I think that's how she felt when I ate all those Kraft dinners.
I know Helen has eaten baked beans at school, because I've seen the words "Beanie Weenie" on her lunch calendar. But that's the American version, with cut-up hot dogs. It's a meal with enough sodium to rival your saltshaker. Minus the hot dogs, I thought I'd finally give the beans a try at home with her. Something about having a kid - you get to correct all your own food mistakes. Maybe this one will eat all the asparagus I never did. Or maybe she'll like lima beans. You never know. Baked beans? Why not?
And of course, the whole time she was eating them, she kept saying "Mmmmm!" She finished the bowl and asked for more.
All right, Helen, I'll refill the bowl - but you can't pay me to add the toast.
UPDATE: She just ate a whole crumpet. Now we'll have to move to Liverpool!
I realized that I've left you all hanging on the TV update. It's installed and sitting pretty above our mantel.
But Brian noticed right away that the high definition channels weren't as crisp as they could be - definitely not what we saw in the store. When the images on the screen moved, the picture got very pixelated. And the regular channels weren't very good at all. The blue TV did regular channels much better.
Some moron at the customer service center tried to tell us that's what TV looked like in larger sizes. Yeah, right.
Anyway, this Friday someone's coming out to replace the video board. So hopefully, I'll be able to tell you next week that the TV looks fantastic and we're loving it.
But really,in spite of it all, that's already happening.
Yesterday Helen and I went to Target. Daycare takes the kids out twice a day, and it's getting cold enough here to need a coat. Helen has grown a bit since last winter, so we needed to go shopping.
It's never a good idea to let me into a Target supervised by only a 17-month old.
Helen is now the proud parent of a Fisher Price baby. She held that doll all the way to the register, where there was a bit of a struggle to get it scanned. There was an even bigger struggle when we got home and I tried to get the doll out of its packaging.
The baby came with a little bottle, and after spending a lot of time (at her insistence) "feeding" the baby, I've taught her how to do it. I tried to teach her how to "burp" the baby, but she just hugs her instead. 
Email exchange from last month:
To: X, Y, Z
From: Me
Subject: This weekend
Vandy is a 33-point favorite to win, over a Division 1 school? Granted, it's Temple, but still!
From: Z
To: X, Y, Me
Subject: Re: This weekend
Early prediction: Vandy loses.
From: Y
To: X, Z, Me
Subject: Re: This weekend
Vandy by 42.
From: Me
To: X, Y, and Z
Subject: Re: This weekend
With all these predictions, someone should pony up and be the bookie!
From: X
To: Y, Z and Me
Subject: Re: This weekend
Helen. She cannot go to jail.
From: Me
To: X, Y and Z
Subject: Re: This weekend
This is the first time Vandy has been this big of a favorite since Vegas started keeping up with the data. I might put money on this game.
From: X
To: Y, Z and Me
Subject: Re: This weekend
You need to let Helen stand on her own. She needs to spread her wings and fly. Like a bird. A glorious bird, who takes bets.
You can only hold on to them for so long.
From: Me
To: X, Y and Z
Subject: This weekend
Helen would make a terrible bookie. She'd spend it all on Twizzlers. She really likes Twizzlers.
Mounting a TV over the fireplace means figuring out how to hide those pesky cords. So Brian spent Monday night drilling a couple of holes in the wall for power cords and cables. Actually, he spent some of early Tuesday morning on that project, too. But he finally conceded to the Carpentry Gods that the drilling was not going to work without the right drill bit.
So, after a trip to Home Depot, Tuesday night's work went a lot faster. He made it through 2 studs to bring the cord down to an outlet he created next to the mantel, and after I went to bed, he put up part of the mounting bracket for the television.
(I would put up pictures of this stuff, but right now the hard working crew at Blogspot is out for a manicure. So I'll try to edit them in later.)
He also created a second outlet for the satellite dish hookup and the phone line. That required a trip to the crawlspace, to pull the lines from the current location across the living room to the new spot.
For those of you who have not visited your home's crawlspace before, I learned an important fact on Tuesday night. Brian came back from his trip under the house and shared with me that we had "millions of spiders."
Now, I don't know about you, but I get the heebie-jeebies whenever I see a bug. As a kid, I was not typically afraid of bugs. I carried around roly-polys, I played with caterpillars, I watched ants scurry around, but a chance encounter in a bathroom with a cockroach the size of my foot changed all that in a hurry.
And for many years I've owned a cat who delights in taking care of any pest problem I might have, and even tortures them, too. So, at the end, there's no more bug, and as a bonus, it's died a horrible, lingering death. It's a win-win in my book.
But now, I have to sleep each night on a bed which stands on a layer of carpet and plywood subflooring and wooden joists, knowing that mere inches below all of that lies a breeding, teeming layer of spiders.
(Sorry - did I mention sleep? My eyes aren't actually shut. It's more like a panicky, "eyes wide open" look.)
Back to the project! On Wednesday night, which should have been the easiest of all, it took 3 hours and another trip to Home Depot to get one lone cable through the brick outside of the house, into the crawlspace and up through the floor. As a bonus, tonight Brian will get to re-crimp the cable since one end didn't survive the trip through the brick wall.
I'm now taking bets as to how many more trips to the hardware store are left in this project. Please feel free to make your guesses in the comments. The winner gets a free consultation with an experienced TV installer, who may or may not be deathly afraid of spiders.
Last year we bought a gigantic Zenith television for an absolute steal at a friend's employee pricing sale. Brand-new DLP TV, more than 60" of viewing pleasure, with a few good reviews already online.
But about 5 months later, we noticed a small blue streak along the lower left-hand corner. The manufacturer's warranty was only 90 days, so we were pretty worried that there was some very expensive going wrong with our gorgeous TV.
After a bit of Googling, it turns out we were right to worry - the light engines were defective in this model. Reviews were scathing by this time as most owners were seeing the problem, and since they paid retail, I can understand their wrath. By then Zenith was well aware of the defect, but since it was outside of their warranty period, they were only too happy to replace the part after you gave them quite a lot of money first. Money which we didn't really want to spend, not knowing if the new part was also defective.
In the meantime, our TV screen turned more and more blue. For a while, it held steady at about half the screen. But eventually, it went ALL blue. This is a picture of the Monday Night Football game, to show you what we've been watching:
Fun, huh? It means every team plays on Boise State's blue field. It means having conversations like "Who's in the dark uniforms? Georgia? Okay, got it."
We got a quote to repair it, but the estimate was a bit shocking. Not willing to spend more to fix the TV than we bought it for, we hemmed & hawed for months. Finally, we decided to cut our losses and go for a new TV. Brian shopped and read reviews and talked to the guys at Circuit City and Best Buy. Then he'd come home and tell me all about it.
Plasma. LCD. DLP. Rear-projection. Warranties. Surround sound. Receivers. HDMI cables. Satellite dishes. My head spun.
But after 8 months (!), Brian finally settled on one model. He took me to look at it, I loved it, and he proceeded to swing a fantastic deal, along with a 5-year warranty. Plus (you'll have to take my word for it), it's really pretty.
But it's going to take a lot of work to put that thing on the wall.
(to be continued)
One of my college roommates got married yesterday. C. has found the love of her life and decided to settle down with him. After watching the two of them at their reception, I think they'll be supremely happy.
She & I reconnected after I moved to town a few years ago to be with Brian. I knew she was from this area, but didn't know she was still here after we all went our separate ways at graduation. So imagine my surprise when I was headed to my car after work one day and saw her standing on the sidewalk. Once we recognized each other, I think the squealing could be heard a couple of blocks away. Now we "do lunch" at our favorite little restaurant nearby and spent a little quality girl time catching up on all the latest news.
The wedding was very small - just family and a couple of friends. I felt very privileged to be invited, and best of all, I finally got a chance to meet her parents. Lovely people. Her dad and her new husband both tried pretty hard to get the dirt on our college years, but since most of my stories implicate both of us, I kept my mouth shut.
Much love and congratulations, C. - Brian & I wish you many happy years together!And no, I won't post that picture of C. dressed like an early 80s Madonna for a frat party. Your dad offered money, which is tempting, but no. ;)
Our friend W. is in town this weekend for a golf tournament. W. was stationed in the Navy at Pearl Harbor a few years back, and graciously allowed us to stay in his home for a week-long vacation to Hawaii.
Now W. is stationed in DC. More administrative work than boat duty, but he's in DC, so there's a normal routine and a nightlife. He's single and young and clearly quite unsure what to think of a weekend with a married couple and a baby. The highlight of our evening is watching Helen run around the living room. For those of you who remember your single years, you may be thinking, "Yeah, just give the man a drink already."
On our trip to Hawaii, this guy took us to one of the best karoke bars in Waikiki Beach, where 99 cent mai-tais encouraged the guys to sing "I Want It That Way" by the Backstreet Boys. Tonight, Helen kept pulling up her shirt to show us her belly button.
I'm sure he'll carry these memories of domestic bliss with him for a long time after this weekend is over.
It's September - time to shop for back-to-school clothes! Remember getting in the car with your mom and your little sister to go shopping, just a little bit peeved because you could have gone to the pool one last time? Remember picking out new shoes that hurt your feet, and those dark, stiff jeans? Remember having a hard time trying on sweaters when it was still 100 degrees outside? Remember spending several hours arguing with your mom over what you really wanted to wear?
Yeah, Helen's only 15 months old. This year, no argument from her on clothes shopping.
I especially love those jeans. They fit her in the belly but they're WAY too long. So I had to cuff 'em.
But I noticed something weird last night - when I took the jeans off so she could take a bath, her legs were this weird shade of blue. Turns out the dye on the jeans had rubbed off on her skin.
Did anyone else's mother buy them new clothes for school that turned them into a Smurf? Just wondering.
Sunday the Wyatt family went to the zoo. It's a pretty nifty place, designed more as an animal preserve than a zoo. There are lots of walkways through shaded forests or bamboo jungles, with wide open spaces for the larger animals. The selection of exhibits are fewer in number than most zoos, but it's a quality place, and we enjoyed the afternoon.
My favorite part of the place is the elephant savannah. They have a huge field built up with rocks and ponds and shaded areas for the elephants to wander around, and a nice path for the visitors encircles it with several different viewing areas to choose from, depending on where the elephants might be. We lucked out and spotted them close by at the first spot we stopped, so I pulled up the stroller to the fence, leaned down and pointed at the three large grey elephants nearby. "Helen," I said, "Can you see the elephants?"
"Noooooo ..." she replied.
I point again. "There they are, Helen, can you see the elephants?" Again: "Noooooo ..."
I lean down and try to look through the fence from her vantage point in the stroller. Maybe there's a fence post in the way, or she's too far down to see them uphill. Nope, she's got a great view. Two handlers come out, apparently to walk the animals around, and as they start to move, I point them out again. She's watching, but always saying, "Noooooo ...:
The exact same thing happened at the giraffe exhibit, and the tiger exhibit. The only animals she really "saw" were the meerkats. She kept meowing and woof-woofing at them.
I've decided that "Noooooo ... " must actually mean "Yes, that's a perfect view, Mommy, and thanks for pointing it out to me" in toddler-speak.
I had to adjust my high expectations for our trip to the zoo very quickly. She was old enough to pay attention, but the things I thought would interest her, she didn't even notice. The things that I didn't see, I could hardly peel her away from. Like, she was absolutely thrilled by the sight of water. A small rushing stream near the lemurs, or a pond near the petting zoo - didn't matter. It was water, and she wanted to look at it. Same with pulling leaves off all the bushes that we passed by, or watching the other kids nearby. And Helen loved the swings in the children's play area. I couldn't believe my camera got pictures of her in the swing, but it came through in a big way.
Good thing it didn't cost us anything to bring a child under 3 to the zoo. Next time, I'll save the gas money and just lead her outside to the water hose. 
It's been about 2 weeks since the mortifying conversation with the daycare teacher about Helen needing to have rules.
It was a pretty rough week after that - she spent most mornings at school crying, wanting her pacifier, asking for a morning nap that they don't allow. That was frustrating for everyone.
So I spent last weekend making sure Helen stuck to the daycare schedule, instead of taking an extra morning nap. Voila! Much happier kid the next week at school. Several days I called to check on her, and she was definitely improving.
Those of you unfamiliar with daycare may not know that the babies get daily reports. Every day since she was 8 weeks old, I've taken home a report on the day's activities:
With the report, the parents know what the child ate, what the diapers were like, and how long they napped.
I found out quickly how important it is to know this stuff, because Helen will sometimes eat very little at lunch and then proceed to chew my arm off when I get home. Check the report - "ate very little of my main item." Hmm. Got it. Helen, I'm cooking it at light speed, sweetie. Stop gnawing on my elbow.
Last week, the notes along the side had included details from her teacher about being cranky, crying or asking for her pacifier. This week, the notes were a little nicer. Then, there was Friday's note:
That teacher, I'm not sure if she was giving us a compliment, or simply toying with me. Either way, Brian & I laughed a lot. LISTENED TWICE.
It's way more than we ever get from her at home.
Friday night Brian & I had a real, honest-to-God date for the first time since - well, it's been a while. Our last effort at dinner out was thwarted, and it's hard to save up enough for both the entertainment and the sitter. Seems pointless to pay someone to sit in our house while we sit in our car, doesn't it?
(Actually, that idea is sounding a bit better every time I think of it.)
I had scored some tickets to a good show at the comedy club, and I had been looking forward to the event all week. So this time, the babysitter showed up, and after a flurry of instructions and kisses, we left for the car. You may recall me writing about the neighbors before. They were on the front lawn with the previously mentioned FOUR children, who were riding bicycles or curing cancer or something. I wasn't paying much attention, but I did give them a little wave.
Immediately, and I do mean PRONTO, the neighbors noticed we did not have Helen with us. They shouted, "Are you going on a DATE?" When I nodded excitedly, they yelled back, "Woo hoo!!"
Parents of small children do get that excited for each other. Really. Adult time spent in a room full of other adults, knowing that Helen is in the perfectly capable hands of a wonderful sitter that she adores - it all creates a certain joy that allows you to relax and try to think of something else to talk about besides the baby. You experience it on so few occasions when the baby is this young, that you can genuinely enjoy it when someone else gets that precious date time.
The best part was yet to come, though. Helen slept until SEVEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING.
Let's see, how many times has that happened this year? Um, let's see, total it up, carry the one, yep - NEVER. Last month, I actually considered getting her a paper route.
Helen waking up 7 a.m. is like my grandparents eating dinner at 7 p.m. IT JUST DOESN'T HAPPEN. And you can bet I thanked my lucky stars and my AMAZING BABYSITTER. Gratitude beyond measure, I'm tellin' ya.
(Can you tell she reads this blog? I'm trying not to lay it on too thick here.)
Last week at daycare - I think it was a Tuesday - I dropped off Helen, trying my usual routine of getting her settled with a toy. Her usual routine is to realize I'm leaving, start to cry, and then I pass her off to the teacher. This particular morning, the teacher commented to me that Helen was a little "pushy."
The teacher is a very nice young lady, expecting her own child later this year, and her comment sort of took me by surprise. But I gave myself a moment to think it over - yeah, Helen can be pretty pushy. She fusses, and I respond by making whatever's annoying her go away, and the fussing stops. It's a pretty good system for her, so why should she think daycare would be any different?
Fast forward to two days later. I was at the daycare with Helen - actually sitting on the floor with her this time, playing with some blocks. No other parents were in the room, and the teacher took advantage of the opportunity to speak with me. She says (and I quote), "I hope you won't take this the wrong way ..."
Now we all know she's about to say something really nice, right? Yeah, that's what I thought.
"... but I wondered, do you have any rules for Helen at home?"
Gulp. Words every mother longs to hear, eh?
We actually do have rules for Helen. There's a short list Brian made last summer, posted on the refrigerator, titled "Rules for Helen." She's not allowed to hang out with the Smith Boys on her own (ever). She has to take swim lessons. She has to learn basic car maintenance. You know, things we want her to do or not do - but probably not what the daycare teacher meant.
So I had to stumble through the next few minutes with comments like, "Well, I've tried to put my foot down about her throwing food on the floor when she's done eating, but she just laughs at me." And I felt about 2 inches tall while I was doing it, too.
Her daycare teacher subtly suggested I needed to buckle down. As an example, when she's changing a kid's diaper, the rules say one hand on the kid at all times. Helen's across the room with another kid, and they're climbing on the table. The teacher tells them to get off the table and come stand by her. Every kid EXCEPT Helen obeys the teacher. It's like Helen doesn't listen to her.
(If you were wondering what that sound was, it's Helen's grandparents laughing hysterically. Cackling with glee, even.)
It's hard for Brian and I to be tough with her. You've seen her. Cute as a bug, eh? She gets fussy, and it's usually because she's upset with some sudden change. It's easier to fix whatever's wrong and get her quiet again, instead of letting her work through her frustration and settle herself. I can continue to fix things for her, but it could hurt her chances to pick up the tools to figure out this crazy world we live in.
It's part of being a parent, making sure she learns how to be a good girl. I just didn't realize it started SO SOON. I'm still back at "sleep through the night." Can we slow this down a little, please? Thanks.
Don't you just love Helen's new purse? She got this from her daddy, who loves Hello Kitty a lot. (Some would say, too much.) And Helen loves this purse, too. I especially love how she's giving me the eye in this picture, like "Hey, hands off my purse, lady."
Helen carries it around, shoving various toys in it. Sometimes it's the baby car keys, or the baby cell phone, or the baby remote control. (Can you tell what she likes to play with? Believe me, these are not suitable replacements for the real thing.)
She also has a bunch of my old Mardi Gras beads, and she spends a lot of time putting them in her purse and taking them out again. Then she carries the purse to another part of the room and starts the whole process over again.
It reminds me a lot of what I do all day at work.
Random Update #1:Several of you have asked, "So, Jennie, what did Brian do that was so funny?" Honestly, I could tell you, but then Brian would have to kill me AND you. So, really, folks, I'm not telling!!
Random Update #2: To "Anonymous and Possibly Former Friends in Destin" who phoned over Labor Day Weekend just to mention that they were in Destin, and I wasn't, AND HEY, LET'S RUB IT IN A LITTLE MORE: not cool. SOOOOO not cool.
Helen loved wearing an Erik Ainge football jersey this weekend. The Bama fan in me is having a hard time with this, but Brian's so proud. And thank goodness the Vols won. Must have been all the new gear Brian purchased! He was trying hard to get rid of the bad juju from last year.
By the way, in case you didn't already know:
ju'-ju: (noun) 1. a soft and chewy candy eaten in movie theaters. 2. an African term referring to the spiritual nature or supernatural power of a particular item. So, last year, mystic forces and/or movie candy converged to create a season not worth thinking about, ever again. I can see the Orange Nation chanting at the tailgate, just before kick-off this year: DEMON RANDY SANDERS, I CHEW YOU UP AND CAST YOU OUT (OF STATE)!!
With Helen's round belly running around in a football jersey, she reminded me of those guys on Saturday Night Live who ate wings and fried potato skins and jawed about DA BEARS and DITKA.
But, don't they both look happy that football season has started?
My life has distinct categories. Once I was Single, but now I'm Married. I spent much of my adulthood Renting Apartments, and now I'm a Homeowner.
"LBH" (Life Before Helen) seems like a distant memory, but I remember all that free time I used to have. God knows what I ever did.
Same thing with money. I should have opened a daycare. That's a cash cow if I've ever seen it. Or, at least, they seem to get all of my cash every week!
Now there's "LWB" - Life With Blog. Each day is chock full of things to write about, and I'm trying harder to remember the little things that happen, to see if someone else can see the humor. For example, Friday night Brian did something really funny. And by "really funny" I mean hilarious in a way that a wife can enjoy and snicker to herself for years. When it happened, the first thing Brian said was, "You can't put this on the blog." Brian saw the humor, right away. He just wanted to make sure that NO ONE ELSE EVER DID.
I swear, honey, my lips are sealed. But it's so tempting to share here, to make you all smile. I guess that's part of having a blog: deciding what to share, and what stays in the family.
Something I will share: tonight, Helen got a Tigger marshmallow lollipop. She played with it for a bit, and tried to like it, but handed it back after a couple of minutes. That left precious few photo ops for her mother, but I did my best.
