Bridge School Weekend

Holly's Book Club recently read a book about personality types. You know the books: take a "test" that some touchy-feely psychologist whipped up during Oprah commercial breaks, said test plops you into some conveniently oversimplified boxes (Feeler, Leader, Introvert, Giver, Taker, Candlestick Maker), then breaks down how you interact with people in different categories. Pretty soon, you find yourself talking to each other using terms that some arbitrary psychologist you've never met invented while his/her marriage was flailing and he/she was regrouping amid the pina coladas of Cabo. "See! That's the SF/OT in you! ALWAYS THE SF/OT!!!" "Oh, that makes sense. Because you're a FI/CM with a dash of IA...."

Doesn't happen to anyone else? Oh.

The reason I bring this up (besides to bolster the wordcount, tick off my word-averse friend Scott, and weed out the amateurs) is because the book verified something I already knew about myself: I love tradition. I love that we got to open a present on Christmas Eve that was always pajamas (and the unspoken tradition that we'd never wear them again). I love the eggnog/Sprite/ice cream concoction that my Aunt Laura always used to brew up at my Grandma Garff's house. I love that some people just have to take a little swim between the piers when they're at Hebgen. I almost always get a Jamba Juice for breakfast when I know my day at work is going to be long and not awesome. I used to watch U2's Rattle & Hum every Thanksgiving night. If I'm in Driggs in the summer, I'm getting a lime freeze at Corner Drug. You get the point.

Eleven years ago, my friend Billy and I went to the Bridge School for the first time and- then and there- vowed to make it a tradition. Last weekend was Bridge School Weekend, my 11th and Holly's 5th. Without question, it's one of the things I look forward to the most all year with some amazing friends and family. Billy (& Adair), in the throes of Billy's residency and 3 kids, sadly had to opt out this year and cousin Mark had other fish to fry, but we spent some good time with the Curtises, the Owens, and the Wheelers (who took all the pictures because our camera is MIA and already did a better, less wordy documentation on their blog, and yes we are using the exact same pictures).


Overlooking the Sutro baths. Not pictured: inhumane port-o-potties.

With the Golden Gate in the background and me, looking like one of those cheesy Mormon paintings where the wicked person is enveloped in shadows.

FRIDAY
We made a long weekend out of it at our generous and out-of-town friends' house in Menlo Park. We spent Friday in The City with Jason & Mandy and Ben & Dana. Holly got some new boots. I got my favorite burrito at Taqueria Cancun (thanks forever, Pat), which is becoming its own tradition. Jason gave us the locals' driving tour (above)- Golden Gate Park, the Sutro baths, the people who need the Sutro baths the most (the Haight), tasty dinner at EOS, Mitchell's ice cream, and finally Where The Wild Things Are (IMAX even).

THE CONCERT
After an easy morning and a bike ride to breakfast, we made it over to Shoreline. The lineup:
Gavin Rossdale (Bush, not good), Wolfmother (hire a bassist, friends), Fleet Foxes (ruled- amazing harmonies and the way their songs develop is unreal), Monster Of Folk (monsters of ok), Sheryl Crow (2-for-5) Chris Martin (Coldplay, very good), Jimmy Buffett (see also: ex- Carnival cruise employees fronted by that drunk guy with the guitar you and all your sweet bros loved during that one spring break in Cancun), No Doubt (surprisingly good), and of course Neil Young.

During Jimmy Buffett's set. Before he started, I turned to our friends and said, "I can't decide which is going to be worse: Jimmy Buffett or Jimmy Buffett's FANS." Holly shot me a quick cease-and-desist look. Apparently, we were surrounded. The tie-dyed gentleman next to me rocked out the whole set, chanting when the Parrotheads chanted. Really, I was just relieved all the excitement didn't send him into cardiac arrest.

Us, the Owenses (behind), the Wheelerses. Not pictured: The Curtises, who were highrolling it up on the second row. Minutes after this photo, Holly reprimanded Jason for not really liking The Beatles. It's safe to say that anybody who was seated in our section went home and promptly bought or listened to Abbey Road.

Thanks to our parents for taking care of Leo. Thanks to Leo for sleeping for our parents. Thanks to the Hutchings for letting us crash at their place. Thanks to Jason for driving. Thanks to Mandy for photodocumenting. And thank you for reading this far about nothing. Hopefully you own Abbey Road.

FOUR!

As our friend Mark Phillips commented today, if we were the Beatles, this would be our Revolver year. Not bad. I could probably spend a good 3500 words expounding on the parallels and how Taxman = NYC taxes still trying to hose us and For No One = so good and so on. But I just wanted to say Happy Fourth Anniversary to Holly, who rules and rocks and...

is pregnant. (Yes, Holly, I just broke our "Only Tell In Person Rule." But for good reason. That reason being: we got to hear the heartbeat today and it was, unexpectedly just as incredible as the first time AND the best anniversary gift I think either of us would ever hope for.)

Two years ago, on Sept 27, 2007, Holly posted this and, honestly, it says it all. Again:

It felt pretty real when the test revealed not one line, but TWO and my heart began to pound out of my chest. It felt even more real when I gained 10 pounds in 3 months, started to gag every time I brushed my teeth, and couldn't button up my jeans for the first time. Or when I had to spontaneously throw-up in a plastic bag going 80 on the interstate.But today, when Paul and I were able to listen to the heartbeat for the first time... that's when it all came together in one overwhelming wave of amazing reality. We're having a baby. Pretty awesome.

Paging Carl Spackler

In efforts to keep up with the Joneses, the Tanners, the Wileys, and all the elderly people on our street with immaculately kept yards, we (and by "we" I mean "mostly Holly") have spent a lot of time in the yard. I'll leave Holly the honor of showing the fruits of her labors. And I don't just mean her thrown-out back.

Yesterday, we came upon a giant hole in our lawn, heretofore unseen. So if anyone has any ideas on how to deal with Things That Dig Giant Holes In Lawns or knows how to get ahold of this guy:



...we're all ears.

I am grateful

I lay lazily in bed this morning (I write this as if it's an uncommon occurence, but don't be fooled) as Paul kissed me and left for work. When I heard the door shut behind him, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude swept over me.

I think the feeling was sparked in part by a blog I had read just a few minutes before - about a friend's baby who just can't catch a break, and his mother's unbelievably positive attitude - but mainly just because I clearly have so much to be grateful for. So I've decided to not keep the gratitude inside. Because what good is a grateful heart that doesn't share? So here it is. My Thanksgiving in February...

I'M GRATEFUL (in no particular order):

I get to wake up every morning next to the love of my life.
I have a beautiful, healthy and HAPPY baby boy that I get to love on all day long.
I still have 2 incredible grandparents on this earth, both of whom continue to inspire me.
I have the best calling in our church.
I have amazing, drama-free in-laws.
I have 5 amazing, drama-filled sisters.
I have incredible friends - both old and new - that keep me sane and help me deal.
I have someone that writes songs for and about ME. And they're GOOD.
I live in a time when a black man was elected President.
My legs work. My arms work. I can speak. I can see.
I can go to the store without the fear of being bombed.
That, mainly because of my husband, "I don't have crappy taste in music" (quick shout-out to J-Bird).
That Leo goes to bed every night knowing that he's safe and loved.
That my mother taught me how to sew.
That HEROES is on tonight! AND 24!
That the DOJ has stopped calling me (Keep those fingers crossed).
For love.
For New York City.
For Nederland.
That my daddy's heart is healing.
I'm able to forgive. And be forgiven.
For love letters.
For coffee ice cream, chocolate chips, pretzels, Grapenuts, soy milk, cous cous & chicken.
For birds.
For babies. But especially mine.
For time.
For my gym membership that I sometimes use.
For memories of Candela, Irving & Saint John.
For Leo.
For Paul.
To be alive.

Once upon a time in Hawai'i

So, for the time being, we've left the password-protected, retinal scan, voiceprint verification era of our blog. (Insert politically-infused comment about chaperoning out an era of paranoia, fear, & blah blah blah, and ushering in an era of hope, change, and beep bop boop HERE.)

Seems like we'll never get around to a bona fide post about Hawaii, so I figured I'd just throw some photos up at random. Maybe toss some captions in. Of course, I've said that before and still somehow managed to eclipse the 1000-word mark. We're around 100 already.

These are nonsequential.

Holly and my mom learn to hula at the PCC.

Holly rocks the ukelele.

The Zinho is close to crawling. We thought he might break it out for Christmas, but- even at this early age- he understands the importance of "the moment" and appears to be ramping up for his debut during The Annual Lull In Awesomeness that takes place in January and February.

Oahu. Leo sees, and feels the ocean for the first time. His dad's grizzled ivory chest (not pictured) sees the sun for the first time in ages, only to be shut down when the makers of the Hubble telescope call and tell him he's casting a cosmic glare.

Why crawl when you can boogie board? Holly and cousin Caitlin help Leo get his sea legs. Not pictured: the family of whales wondering how the humans got such a blubberous baby.

We went sea kayaking, so Leo got to hang out with grandma, who took maybe my favorite picture of the trip. The island's healing properties helped Leo kick RSV, which was a nice little Christmas gift.

More later. Maybe.

Leo's First Christmas

As some of you may know, Paul's parents were kind (and awesome) enough to take us to Hawaii for Christmas this year. So, we don't have the traditional First Christmas photos of Leo in the snow or in front of the tree on Christmas morning. Nonetheless, it was an amazing First Christmas for all of us. It's hard to beat balmy 80 degree weather, the beach, the ocean and fresh papaya...

We finally got to see our friend Scott Wiley's favorite Mormon cultural idiosyncracy (people opening their talks by saying, "ALOHA, BROTHERS & SISTERS" even though they're either a] in Utah or b] not Hawaiian) in its proper context. ALOHA, BROTHERS & SISTERS! (no picture, sorry.)

We have a lot of pictures from Hawaii, so maybe we should just stick to Christmas Day for now.

Christmas morning

Since we decided to pack light, we only brought stockings for each other. It was nice keeping it simple. Here, Leo enjoys his stocking's spoils- gingerbread cookies, a Christmas (I think) monkey, and some other snacks.

Leo going to town on his stocking stuffer. Not pictured: Holly totally letting go.

Best big toe ever. Look at that thing. The only thing keeping it from being a thumb is opposability. And maybe the fact that it's a toe.

We went to the beach for some snorkeling. Leo got to try out his new watergear.

Leo's love of the ocean is still in its infancy.

There's more on Christmas, but I figured I'd just get something up here and maybe add a little on later.

If You See Her, Say Hello

Work has been nuts.

It's now midnight and I can't predict if I'll be going home in 3 minutes or 3 hours. Good times.

With this economy, though, I'll count my blessings. Among them, a job and these two, who none of us see enough:

Labor Day or Leo's First Hike or Is It Really His First Hike If HE'S Not Hiking?

We kicked off Labor Day like any good American would: lounging around.

Later, after some barbecue for lunch, we got adventurous, drove up Emigration Canyon, and took the little dude for his first hike. Here, he gets his gameface on for the grueling, tortuous 22 minutes ahead.

Gameface gone.


OK, Leo doesn't really have a gameface, except between the hours of 1 am and 7 am. Anyone who wants to come see it then is more than welcome.


Holly channels Julie Andrews.

1 Year Ago 2 Day

(Pardon the Prince-speak in the title.)


On this day, last year, we found out Holly was pregnant. These pictures show just how excited we were about it at our celebration lunch at Market Street Broiler.

Honestly, you couldn't have rained the smile off of Holly's face that whole day, but somehow we captured the one moment she wasn't smiling.

The Larry Bird Year

It's somebody's birthday. (Hint: not the dashing fellow in the photo.) So, like any hack writer worth his weight in cliches, I thought about cranking out some snappy little essay like maybe "(Number Here) Things I Love About Holly" or even "(Number Here) Holly Photos" or something equally mind-blowing. What you call lazy, I call tasteful. Instead, I simply wish the Happiest Larry Bird Year (either you have a Bird Year or a Kareem Abdul Jabbar Year. There's no in-between.) In The History Of Mankind, Documented and Undocumented to my favorite person in the world. And give you a few photos, over the years, that don't add up to (Number Here).

Random Nonsequential Photo II

The day we found out Holly was pregnant. And, no, I don't subscribe to the "we're pregnant" school of thought. As Holly can attest, I am definitely not harvesting a human in my belly, not getting kicked by said human, not prone to sudden nausea, not subject to sudden aches & pains, and I get plenty of sleep.

Random Nonsequential Photo

This was the day we found out we were having a boy, just before going into the doctor's office.

I've always loved this picture of Holly for a galaxy of reasons. But the main one is simply how genuinely happy she is.