Owen'sday, Week 2

In which Owen learns to eat and to cry.

Owen's had a big second week of life. Thursday started out with a trip to the lactation consultant, who taught him how to eat like a champ. He was so excited to learn this new skill that he demands to practice every 90 minutes. I now feel more officially like a mom, since Michael can no longer help out with the feedings. I felt very accomplished the other day when I managed to both eat breakfast and shower and get the mail.

He's also learned the power of crying. That darling boy who came into the world without so much as a peep has, it turns out, very well-developed lungs indeed. He has decided that he doesn't care for being alone--that is, if he's awake, he must have someone holding him. We have great hopes for his swing...now that he's a bit bigger (8 lbs already!) we're planning on trying him out in it.

Owen also has no shortage of admirers. I took him to meet my old coworkers, who abandoned all projects to coo over him for a while (especially about his faux hawk--completely natural, by the way). And Vilo, Michael's best friend James's mom, is in our ward and stops by periodically to see Owen and help me get things done around the apartment. She's especially crazy about Owen since James and his wife had a baby only five days after Owen was born, and seeing him helps her get through the next few weeks until she gets to see her new grandson in person.

And clearly, as evidenced from the pictures, his parents admire him too. Enjoy!

Love,

Tasha

Shabby Apple :)

So, a few years ago I found Shabby Apple, and guess what, fell in love with their dresses. See? I even blogged about wanting to win a Shabby Apple dress!

It was all about the Antiquated dress, this lovely, lacy incredibly classy dress. Aaaaand, I didn't win it.

However, I couldn't live without it, and my lovely husband surprised me with it. What a guy. Here it is, and it is the perfect dress to navigate those iffy occasions when you're just not sure how dressy to go. Check it out:

Yum.

Time I started updating again! Or: Owen'sday, Week One

Since Mr. O was born (SIX MONTHS AGO TODAY!!!), I've been sending weekly emails out to family tracking his progress. He was born on a Wednesday; hence, the title of each email is Owen'sday.

I'm going to start posting them here so I have them all in one place. Enjoy, then, Owen'sday, Week One.

A week ago, Owen made his entrance into the world not kicking and screaming as most babies do, but in complete purple terrifying silence. He's still not a screamer, but late last night (perhaps early this morning?) his squeaks and whimpers woke me up and for not the first time that night I left the bedroom/went down the stairs/found the milk in the fridge/hiked back up those stairs/and picked that baby boy up.

His whimpers stopped, he started to eat, and with each little suck his eyes batted rhythmically up and down and up and down and, to the great delight of his mother, every so often would stop sucking and look at me and siiiiigh.

We've still got some work to do--like getting him to stop relying on bottles or if we're really lucky keep one outfit clean for eight whole hours but our little guy is pink and loud and perfect, and man, those little moments when he looks at me like "thanks Mom, for running more than a hundred stairs today and doing two loads of laundry and thousands of dishes and pumping every two-point-five hours just so I don't have to endure formula and doing it all on not so much sleep" (or maybe just "hey, still more coming?") make it totally absolutely one-hundred percent worth it.

in honor of romance

It's officially our anniversary today, and in honor of it, I'm posting my favorite romantic poem. Enjoy.

"Litany," by Billy Collins

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass

and the burning wheel of the sun.

You are the white apron of the baker

and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,

the plums on the counter,

or the house of cards.

And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.

There is just no way you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,

maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,

but you are not even close

to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show

that you are neither the boots in the corner

nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,

speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,

that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,

the evening paper blowing down an alley,

and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees

and the blind woman's tea cup.

But don't worry, I am not the bread and the knife.

You are still the bread and the knife.

You will always be the bread and the knife,

not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow-- the wine.

the best two years

Tomorrow marks mine and Michael's anniversary, two years since we got married and three years minus one day since we met. It's sometimes interesting to think that three years ago on May 5, as I flew to Salt Lake from Portland, I didn't for a minute think that I'd be getting married one short year later.

I'm so glad that we did.

Michael and I met playing ultimate frisbee, or maybe home teaching, or was it over smoothies? Whichever story you subscribe to, it wasn't long before we were inseparable. I liked him because he made me laugh, we could talk all day and all night, he had that fantastic dimple. When six weeks later I left him for two weeks in Mexico and two months in Oregon, he came to visit me, driving 900 miles in record-breaking heat in a black car with no air conditioning. Then it was serious, and three months later we were engaged.

Our wedding was perfect, but I don't remember much of it. Just Michael's goofy grin and my face sore from smiling and an intense gratitude for waterproof mascara after all that happy crying.

Now it's been two years, and seems like we're starting it out much like we have each May since '07: one in school, the other looking for work, and both of us happy together.

Thanks for being sweet, thanks for being silly. I love you, Michael.

Shabby Apple Dress Giveaway!

A few months back I discovered Shabby Apple, and spent most of my birthday money on a gorgeous dress that reminds me of something my ever-so-stylish Grandma S. would have worn when she was my age. It's my favorite item in my closet. And now, Shabby Apple (via Mama Manifesto) is giving away a dress to someone who describes her dream date. There's a dress called Antiquated that I've had my eye on for a while, and probably won't get otherwise (one only gets birthday money once a year, after all!), so here, friends, is my dream date (with a smidge of back story):

Mom wore The Black Dress to Homecoming at Cowley, Wyoming's log gym, and Dad thought she looked so beautiful that he never let me wear it, even though Mom saved it for me, for fear that someone might see me in it and marry me on the spot, I suppose.

The log gym in Cowley is still there, and sometimes I daydream about going back there for a different dance. Mom's Black Dress was stunning, but that dress belongs to her and to that night. I'd wear my own Black Dress, more my style with lace and a collar, and sorry Dad, but it's too late for someone to marry me, since I've been there, done that, and Michael, my sweet husband, would be my date. Although I bet when he'd see me in that dress he would want to marry me all over again.

We'd clear a path in the crowd as we waltz around to Tonic and to Lifehouse, and boogie to Cake and to Muse, until eventually we slip-sneak out the back door and borrow Grandma's blue Ford pickup that I learned to drive on ten years back. We don't have to drive too far to see the lights fade out and the stars glow bright so we put the truck in park and lay out in the bed to trace pictures in the stars, and we wait for the fireworks to start going off right over our heads.

Then we'll drive back to Grandma's house and switch off the headlights before we turn in the driveway, and sneak inside like a couple naughty teenagers, and who knows, maybe someday we'll have a daughter who will see the pictures and ask to borrow The Black Dress I wore, and Michael will get to be the dad and tell her no, that's Mom's dress and not for anyone else.

I was just thinking that as rarely as I write here, I even more rarely talk about events actually going on in our lives. Part of that is because I spend about forty-five hours per week at work, and people have been fired for what they've written in their blogs; ergo, writing about work is out. And since most of my most delightful stories come from work, I'm never sure what to write about. But I can think of a few things:

1. I had a birthday (shout hurray)! (Okay, a month ago. It was a great one, though.) At work (just one work-related story won't hurt, right?), my coworkers brought in donuts into which they stuck--for lack of candles yet surplus of lollipops--the sticks from tootsie pops, and lit them on fire. I was impressed with the ingenuity. At home, though, we did a bit better:


Note the puzzle pieces scattered around . . . we never did finish that puzzle :(

Anyway, Michael and I ate lovely red velvet cake, opened presents, etc. I'm especially excited about one present in particular:

Yep, I will officially be the last person in the known universe to see Wicked when it comes through Portland next month. Thanks, Mom and Dad (and Michael for letting me leave him for a few days)! I can't wait!

Since my birthday, I have officially conquered my fear of snow driving due to the epic snow and ice we've had, been rescued by a man with a machete, reorganized our closet, and officially started counting down the days until Josh gets home from his mission.

I'll leave you with a picture of Michael and our snowy adventures.

If you can believe it, I was even less thrilled than he was about the snow that has now stuck around for ELEVEN DAYS.