Golden.

Vintage Dill blowing out his candles 10 years ago. Ah, ringer tees.

Today is Dilly-pie's golden birthday. That means he's 28 on the 28th.

It only happens once in a lifetime -- your birthdate matching your age.

Mine happened when I was 7. I didn't know about golden birthdays back then, and I felt totally robbed when I found out about them years later. I mean, it's not like I can go back and have a belated golden birthday. That's like taking your wedding pictures after you've had three kids, gained 20 pounds and chopped 10 inches off your hair.

Anyway.

For Dill's golden birthday, we went on a super-hot date to the Phoenix Suns game last Wednesday. As an added bonus, they won! It was pretty exciting. The Suns are Dill's favorite team, and basketball is his favorite sport.

(We're going to forget about the part where he got in a minor collision on the way home from work. Booo.)

On Saturday, we had an outdoor family party for the Golden Boy and the Smush. (Yes, I combined their parties. I'm officially a bad mother and wife, I already know.) The weather was perfect! The Smush got some delectable homemade lemon cupcakes topped with fluffy lemon buttercream and for Dill -- a homemade French silk pie (his other favorite).

Gifts included money, gift cards, Big Cup Reese's and two packages of Cadbury Mini-Eggs (another favorite -- this guy has lots of favorites, obviously) for the big boy and some cash-ola, cute toys, clothes and books for the littler boy. Everyone was pretty stoked about their loot.

Sadly, this post will include no pictures of these events since 1) Suns game pictures are on Dill's phone, which went with him to work and 2) when we went to take pictures at the party, we realized we had forgotten to put our memory card in the camera. So we only got about four pictures of Smush eating his smash cake, and they're on the camera's internal memory. And the cord which allows me to transfer said pictures to the computer is currently in Dill's car at the car hospital. Again, Bad Mom Award right here. I'll be sure to post the too-cute cake pictures as soon as the blessed Elantra is discharged.

And since I love when things come full circle -- happy birthday, Dill! Going to Joe's Real BBQ (another Dill favorite. Surprised? Well, favorites are what birthday are about, after all) for a free birthday dinner.

When was YOUR golden birthday, or are you still awaiting the occasion?

One is not such a lonely number ...

Well, folks -- the day has come. The day we've all been waiting for. The Chair Picture to Top Them All.

Drum roll, please .......

Ta da! Oh look, he's a Jimmer fan, too!

Today, Smush is 365 days old. Or 12 months.

Or 1 year.

ONE YEAR. Holy smokes.

Here's what The Smush has been up to lately:

- saying "Mama," "Dada," "hi" (while waving) and "Bear" (his favorite stuffed toy)
- crawling everywhere, yet not remotely interested in walking
- sucking his thumb while holding Bear (uh-oh)
- putting fewer objects into his mouth and more into the toilet and other strange places
- going down slides with Bubby at the park
- getting excited about dogs, cats and other kids/babies
- not nursing, eating all real food
- being extremely cute and smiley all the time

We love our Smush and we're so happy he's a part of our family!

Happy birthday, Baby Guy!

It was love at first sight.

I see a bad moon a-risin'.

Did everyone get to see the HUUUUGE super-moon this weekend? It looked much like a giant yellow light bulb in the sky, guiding us home from my parent's house after the amazing BYU vs. Gonzaga game (in which the Cougars crushed the Zags).

Here's what you missed if you happened to be on another planet Saturday night:

here

MCP Actions

Diana Carver

In other news, I wore my Granny's amazing kick-butt late 1960's maxi dress to church yesterday. I figured it would be the last day cool enough since summer will probably start next week.

See my bridal face in the background? P.S. I took this by myself using the timer.

Sorry if "outfit pictures" bother you (apparently, they make some people want to jump off bridges, stab their eyes out and/or cry). This one came as a request from Mandyface. So there. Plus, how can you not love some seriously amazing vintage fashion?

That time she ate poison.

Me, as a youngin'. A few years prior to poisoning myself.

If I had to give my kids one piece of advice and that was it, it would probably be this:

Don't eat unidentified and/or potentially harmful objects.

When I was a kid, I had no qualms about eating random things. If I happened upon a cracker or unwrapped candy on the ground, I'd scoop it up into my loving arms and then eat it. I did this often. As long as it was fully in-tact and not wet, it was edible in my book.

(No wonder why Smush is so rabid about putting things in his mouth.)

(Also, I can't believe I'm admitting this.)

I even continued to do this AFTER I ate The Poisonous Nut.

Yes, I ate something poisonous.

Let's go back, way back. It must have been 1993 or 1994. I was in 1st grade at Madison Elementary. There was this tree on the playground that produced very strange-looking nuts. They almost looked like brown clams. One day, my weird friend Liane and I found one during recess and thought it would be fun to get it to open, see what was inside. She chucked it at the concrete, she stepped on it, she tried to pry it apart with her fingers. The shell was quite sturdy, though, and try as she might, Liane couldn't get it open. So she handed it to me and went on to some other immature playground dalliance.

I, however, was not so easily deterred. I was gonna get that durned thing open like my life depended on it. I was certain there was a magical pearl inside. Or maybe a small furry creature. I had to know. Unfortunately, the teacher came out and blew her whistle, signaling the end of recess. I pocketed the shell and went back to class.

Fast-forward to the end of the day. My twin brother Josh and I headed home after a tiring day of spelling and subtraction facts. I showed him my treasure and he, too, was intrigued. "Let's try to get it open!" he said. Just as I hoped. Josh is a mastermind at this kind of thing, so I knew it'd be open in no time.

We tried a variety of tactics but still couldn't get it open. Finally, I came up with a genius idea -- run it over with the wagon. It was a wooden wagon, painted red, that our great-aunt had given us as a birthday gift a few years before. It was very heavy, so I was sure it would do the trick. I carefully placed the nut on the back porch and then we pulled the great wagon over the shell, cracking it neatly in two.

I ran to the spot to inspect the contained treasure. To my dismay, it was only a nut. White, and about the size of a pea. I looked at it briefly. And then, in a moment of sheer stupidity, I put the nut into my mouth.

It was horrible.

(I'm actually experiencing some mild nausea while typing this part. It was THAT BAD.)

The taste was so vile and bitter. I ran inside and threw the fridge open, frantically searching the shelves for anything -- ANYTHING! -- to wash this awfulness out of my unsuspecting mouth. I beheld a large pitcher full of red Kool-Aid. I tipped it up and swigged a few large gulps. Relief. The taste lingered, but was eventually forgotten.

Until the next morning.

I woke feeling slightly sick. My dad made me a large bowl of oatmeal with all the fixin's -- raisins, cinnamon, syrup ... I took one bite and took off running. Threw up.

Then, I threw up again. And again. And again.

And after what felt like a dozen more times, I stopped. I was the sickest I've ever been.

I don't know how or why it came up, but I eventually confessed to eating a weird nut the previous day. My mom called the school and was informed the nut I had eaten was likely POISONOUS.

Further research (AKA Google) shows it was the nut of a yellow oleander. Yep: notoriously poisonous.

(Question, Madison Elementary: Why did you have a poisonous tree on an elementary school playground?!?)

So, I had. It took a day to rid myself of the poison and then I was back to my normal, crap-eating self.

Moral of the story: If you find a nut and can't get it open, it's probably meant to stay closed. And Kool-Aid is not a very good antidote.

Or maybe it is, since I lived to tell the tale.

Weaned.

Smush's first birthday is in 10 short days. Does that thought trip you out, too?

This morning, my baby weaned himself. As if on cue. I'm experiencing a wide range of bittersweet emotions over this milestone, but mostly, I'm feeling accomplishment. We did it.

Before Smush was born, I had a goal to breastfeed him for a whole year. I hardly nursed Bubby due to reflux and dairy intolerance, but I hoped this go-round would be different. There were a few hurdles along the way, but it ended up being easier than I anticipated.

Hurdle #1: The early days

When babies are brand new, they love to nurse. All day, all night. Then, they go through a growth spurt and their feeding rate doubles. It's emotionally and physically draining. Not to mention, it can be painful in the beginning while you figure out the best positions and baby figures out how to latch on correctly. There's also that whole issue of what to wear to make nursing easiest, and a solution only comes through trial and error.

Lanolin saved my life. Every new mom needs it. To reduce the risk of drawing total pervs to my blog, I won't elaborate further -- just click on this link if you want to learn more. Also, a good rocking chair and a soft lamp in the nursery is a must. And nursing covers were awesome for me. I found mine especially helpful during the early days when the Smush seemed to be constantly eating and I seemed to be constantly engorged. It helped me be comfortable nursing around friends and family; I didn't miss out on hours of face time by hiding in another room to feed the baby. And good conversation = essential to a new mom. Nothing worse than feeling abnormal during the post-partum phase -- you just want to get back into the regular swing of things as soon as possible.

Hurdle #2: Lactose intolerance

Around 3 months of age, Smush suddenly developed awful, constant, green diarrhea. Sorry for the visual; it is what it is. I could not figure out what was going on. Finally, I relied on my instinct, which told me I needed to go off dairy products for a while and see if that was the culprit. Of course, it was. So, I actually quit dairy completely for about 5 months. That was one hurdle I didn't think I could clear. I *almost* gave up and put him on formula. But this time, I decided to give it a try. How hard could it be to stop eating dairy?

It wasn't exactly easy, but it's doable. There are a lot of great alternative milks out there -- soy, almond, rice and even coconut. I tried them all and thought Silk's PureAlmond, vanilla-flavored, was the best. It tasted especially yummy over granola cereal. I also thought Stonyfield Farms' O' Soy yogurt was delicious, very thick and creamy. As for cheese and ice cream, I just went without as much as I could. Instead of indulging in ice cream, I bought fruit pops for myself to enjoy. And abstaining from dairy forced me to fill up on wholesome fruits and veggies -- never a bad thing!

Once Smush hit 8 months or so, he outgrew this intolerance and I went back to eating dairy, but only limited amounts. I found out it kind of messes me up, too. Who knew?

Hurdle #3: Biting

When Smush started getting his first teeth around 4 months, he wanted to try them out on everything, including ME. Boy, that was un-fun. I learned that as a mother, you cannot allow your children to abuse you. Even babies are not too young to learn biting is unacceptable. When Smush bit me, I'd quickly unlatch him and would not put him back on for a little while. He'd usually cry, probably feeling betrayed that I'd taken away his precious food. Quickly, he figured out biting me meant no more milk and that behavior stopped.

Once we crossed these hurdles, nursing became very easy and convenient. I especially enjoyed it when it was no longer Smush's sole source of nutrition. He demanded less during the day and our nursing sessions became more special. Quiet time for the two of us. We bonded a lot over feeding times. For me, it was forced relaxation -- I had to stop doing whatever I was doing to hold him and feed him. And even when Smush got to the age where snuggling with me became less of a priority for him, he had to cuddle with me to eat. I savored those precious times and I am sure I'll look back on them with fondness.

Over the past month, our bodies have been systematically anticipating this day. He began slowly demanding less and I (consequently) produced less milk -- down to only one early morning feeding per day. Yesterday, he bit me. Hard. He hadn't done that in a long time, so it shocked me. He seemed disinterested and was glad to go back to bed. I got the message loud and clear.

This morning, instead of waking up before dawn to nurse and then going back to sleep until 7:30 or 8, he slept straight until 7. I took it as a sign that he doesn't need it anymore. He's done, so I'm done. We skipped straight to breakfast and went on with life as usual.

It's now noon, and he hasn't expressed any interest in nursing at all today.

So, we made it. Ten days short of a year, but who's counting? Overall, breastfeeding has been a positive experience for me. I definitely plan to nurse my future children as it has been beneficial in so many different (and even unimaginable) ways. I'm glad the hurdles didn't hinder us this time around.

It's been good, Smush. Thank you.

Trends.

First off, thanks for all the pants suggestions. Who knew I had such a common problem? I'm guessing jeans shopping is best done when you have lots of time and a babysitter.

I've been thinking a lot about common trends. Some of them, I totally get. Some, I don't.

Get: Lady Gaga

She's a weird duck, that Lady Gaga. And she dresses like she's from another planet. But her tunes are catchy and accessible. Plus, she's a pretty talented musician. So, even though I don't get her fashion at all, I get why she's so popular. She's a modern Madonna. We all get our daily dose of weirdness via the Mother Monster.

Don't Get: Ke$ha

Autotuned train-wreck, this chick. Her voice is absolutely grating to me. Note to Ke$ha: dirty hair + random clothes + autotune + Valley girl talk + glitter + symbols in your name do not a rockstar make.

Get: Vintage

There is something so special about vintage artwork, clothing and decor that's in perfect condition. Preserved in time. I have this siiiiiick royal purple maxi dress that my Granny wore in the 1960's. I don't know how I got so lucky to own it. I'm afraid to wear it anywhere because it's that amazing. (Angela, should I wear it to church?) I also own the tweed suit my mother purchased for my baby blessing nearly 24 years ago. It fits like a glove. Items from a different era are just so .... full of personality, yet classy. I used to love shopping at thrift stores to see what kind of treasures I could take home for just a few dollars.

Don't Get: Vintage

And then, there's vintage gone horribly wrong. I call it, "Grab four items from Savers, slap 'em on and call it vintage. The more random, the better." Like the way Ke$ha dresses. I just don't get it. Classy, not trash, folks.

Get: Breastfeeding

I'm so glad this is becoming a trend. When I was a baby, it was seen as the uneducated, lesser form of nutrition for babies. Moms who nursed were basically viewed as poor, dirty hippies. Why? I'll never know! It's healthiest and it's free. How can you beat that? I love this trend. My hope is in 20 years or less, nursing a baby will be viewed in the same light as tying your shoe. No big deal.

Don't Get: Babywearing

Sigh. I tried this, I really did. I tried it with Bubs. My dumbest babywearing moment was hiking up the hill at the south end of BYU campus with a 6-month-old Bubby in tow. That hill is not very stroller-friendly, so I thought I'd give the pouch sling a try. Oy, by the time I got to the top, my back KILLLLLLED and I was huffing and puffing like an asthmatic. Sometimes, I tried to be all cool and walk down historic Center Street while wearing my baby. Just for funsies. She had such a big head, it was like wearing a Barbie doll with a watermelon on its head. It just lolled around all over the place.

I tried this concept with Smush (who has a smaller head) but he hated it from the start. I prefer a stroller. Much smoother ride.

Get: Facebook

Isn't Facebook the coolest thing EVER? I saw "The Social Network" a few months ago and it blew my mind. Thank you, Mark Zuckerberg, for keeping us all in touch. I heart Facebook.

Don't get: Twitter

If you follow me on Twitter (@momtheintern) you already know this, as evidenced by my severe lack of tweets. I hate being limited in my communications. HATE. it. Obviously, I like to talk a lot. 160 characters or less really cramps my style. Maybe I'd like Twitter more if I had the internet on my phone. Speaking of which ...

Get: Smartphones

Seems so efficient to basically have a computer the size of a phone.

Don't get: iPads

Is it a super-large phone, or a slimmed-down laptop? The big questions.

&%#$! jeans.

Find me a pair of jeans that:

-do not contain any spandex (the fabric of Satan!)
-hold my loose-skin muffin top in but don't give me a front butt
-are dark wash
-are NOT 3 feet too long
-don't bag out and fall down after 5 minutes of wear
-cost less than $50

Ready, set, GO!

But seriously. I cannot be alone in my request. Can I get an "amen?" Anyone?

I am tired of searching endlessly for this unicorn that does not exist. The Perfect Jeans that Make My Butt Look Awesome and Don't Cost My Firstborn.

You wanna know why SAHM's live in sweatpants? Because pulling up your baggy, saggy, ill-fitting jeans 5,423 times a day gets old really, REALLY fast. And if you're going to resort to sweatpants, why bother with a nice top? Hence, the holey, stained, "comfy" T-shirts so common to the mom crowd. And if you're gonna dress like a total schlub, why bother with your hair or make-up? Or showering, for that matter?

You see? There you have it: JEANS ARE TO BLAME for the stay-at-home-mom fashion crisis known as frumpy-ness. I stand by my hypothesis.

Maybe those Pajama Jeans aren't such a bad idea after all.

--Currently wearing my brother's high school gym shorts,
Jenna

BYU in the news.

I'm sure you've all heard about how BYU's basketball team is doing quite amazingly this season. Ranked #8 this week. Up there with the likes of Duke, notorious for its legendary hoops program. They're killing it and it's awesome.

If you're aware of this, than you've probably also heard about recent events involving the suspension of star forward Brandon Davies due to an honor code violation.

The news was a rather shocking blow. As you can imagine, lots of people are talking about it.

I have plenty of thoughts on the matter, all of them aligning with this superior blog post by Lindsey Redfern at the r house. She says it so well. Please read her post if you have any doubts about how this situation is being handled. And if you don't have time, just know Brandon Davies is receiving a lot of love and support from both the LDS and BYU communities.

I'm pretty proud to be a Cougar right now.

How the baby comes out: A review of "The Business of Being Born."

The moment Smush was born.

So, I mentioned a few weeks ago that I watched Ricki Lake's documentary, The Business of Being Born. Here's the Netflix synopsis in case you haven't seen it (but really, you should see it):

Director Abby Epstein's controversial documentary takes a hard look at America's maternity care system, juxtaposing hospital deliveries against the growing popularity of at-home, natural childbirths that some expectant parents are opting for. Former talk show host Ricki Lake was inspired to produce this compelling exposé after a dissatisfying birthing experience with her first child left her with many unanswered questions.

(Hey, not sure why that "the" is bold like that. Anyway ... )

I have to say, I really liked this film. I appreciated the historical background it provided -- like, did you know that in the 1940's, women had what were called "twilight births?" Basically, they'd go into the hospital when labor started, and doctors would give them some awful drug cocktail that would allow them to be awake but unaware of everything until the baby popped out. They had to be strapped down and blindfolded. They didn't remember a thing when they woke up days later. I mean, crazy, right? Well, it happened.

There were a few preachy, militant soundbites I didn't care for, but overall, the film spoke to my senses. It presents the facts and lets the viewer decide. And quite honestly, all the facts make logical sense.

After watching, I couldn't help but think, would things have gone differently during Smush's birth if I hadn't had an epidural? If I had been allowed to push in whichever position I felt comfortable in? One foreign doctor in the film said he does not deliver while the mother is lying down. He makes her squat down and he sits on a little stool to catch the baby as it basically falls out. Since you all know I was the president of the Physics Club in high school, I'll just say DUH. Of course! Because that all-encompassing (and sometimes annoying) force called gravity would allow the baby to descend more naturally. Whereas, when you're lying on your back ... what, you're expecting the baby to crawl out on its own accord? And if your baby is facing upward like mine, he gets stuck, and the only way out is by some external force, like a vacuum. Which hurts like hell and rips you from here to there and back.

Oh, but I had an epidural, so I didn't feel it (praise be!). Which was fine and dandy, until all the drugs wore off and I actually passed out on the hospital toilet due to the extreme pain.

What, I didn't tell you that story? Oh, boy. What a great time that was. Thankfully, a nurse was with me when I lost consciousness and she was able to summon a whole bunch of extra nurses to wake me up with smelling salts.

And you all know how we couldn't "special hug" for months after because my nether regions were so jacked up. That was a little bit stressful, to say the least.

Yeah, I obviously have some pent-up frustration and regret over my second child's birth. Well, actually, the birth was great. Painless, and I didn't have to do any work. The aftermath? I would have preferred to relive junior high. Twice. Frizzy hair and all.

But I digress. The one thing I loved most about the film was the ending: director Abby Epstein's birth. She was pregnant at the time of filming and decided she wanted a home birth with a midwife, like Ricki had. But in the end, her placenta quit functioning and her baby was essentially starving. He was breech (not head first) and had to be delivered by C-section. He was premature so he needed the NICU. She said she would have loved to have a home birth, but her baby needed those interventions or he may not have made it.

The film did NOT condemn necessary interventions. It did not condemn obstetricians nor hospitals, as they have their place in the medical community. It didn't really condemn anyone -- it simply praised the old school way of doing things -- drug-free, midwife-assisted, at home -- and backed up its accolades with statistics and facts. And that's why I liked it.

So, if you have Netflix, you can watch this film streaming. Or, if you don't, you can probably borrow it from your local library. But any and every woman planning to have a baby has got to see this film. Even if you're not planning to have babies or if you're done having babies, it's worth watching.

I'm not saying I'm going to have my next baby in a tub with a midwife. I'm not quite ready to think about my next child's birth yet. I think I need to come to terms with my past experiences and go from there. But, I feel enlightened now. And knowledge is power.

In the end, it doesn't matter how the baby comes out, but mothers should know the ins and outs of all birthing methods and be prepared to deal with the consequences. It's our right and responsibility to know.

Apparently, I'm stylish.

Who knew?

Well, at least Mandyface of Dash It All believes as much. Thanks, Mandy!

P.S. If you haven't seen Mandy's blog ever, get thyself over there pronto. She's hilarious, it's adorable ... much love.

So, as my prize I get to divulge seven secrets and then tag seven more stylish bloggers. Ok, go!

1. I'm a music geek. I took 10 years of piano lessons, sang in my high school choir and minored in music at BYU. I love singing and I do it all the time. In the car, in the shower, while I'm cleaning, while I'm playing Robot Unicorn Attack ("Always, I want to beeee with you ... "). I guess those who know me already know this and it's not really a secret. Sorry if I just disappointed you.

2. I don't put on real pants unless I'm about to leave the house.

3. I'm big-time afraid of bugs, but my daughter isn't, so I make her catch any vile intruders and toss them outside. It's pretty funny, actually.

4. Sometimes, I let my son eat paper.

5. I don't have a data plan on my phone.

6. I once was Cinderella for a 4-year-old's birthday party, and it was awesome. Photographic evidence:

That creature to the right is my mom's dog, Bisky.

7. I was president of the Physics Club in high school. That is straight-up nerd dope right there.

Alright. The following need to play along on their own blogs. Well, you don't HAVE to, but it could be fun.

Kate from Smug Marrieds
Angela Hardison
Jessica
Tara at A Dentist's Wife's Life
Siovhan at The Siovhan Show
Melanie at The Jenson Jaunts
Katie at Team Kreamer

Peace, love and unicorns.