tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29828133731207753822024-03-13T21:53:40.037-07:00Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.Life, Love and PoliticsStephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-32314121537566244942012-07-05T16:30:00.003-07:002012-07-05T16:30:47.684-07:00New BlogHi everyone. I just thought you might like to know that I've just started a new blog called Mo-hawk Mama or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Learn to Love my Mormon Liberal Identity. I'll still keep up with this blog to chronicle our family adventures, and I'll be posting more political/ideological and (dare I say) provocative things on the other.<br />
<br />
I hope you guys enjoy it! I'd love for you to comment as much as possible whether you agree with what I say or not, so that we can start a good, healthy discussion.<br />
<br />
You can follow the blog at http://mormonmohawkmama.blogspot.com.br/<br />
<br />
There's only 1 post up now, but I plan on diligently writing at least once a week.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-1483153966695333802012-06-20T10:13:00.000-07:002012-06-20T10:18:48.869-07:00Things we'll miss about ItacareTen things we'll miss about Itacare:<br />
<br />
<br />
1) The plethora of wild and domestic animals. Well, I guess Rivs and I won't miss this as much as Harper, but a happy Harper is a happy mama. For the past 2 weeks, Harper has taken us on morning excursions to visit the farm puppies. She named the black and white one "Different Panda". I thought that was a pretty smart name.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e4qNit1zpdw/T-H8-28lxII/AAAAAAAABQc/9T4ENkROvyg/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e4qNit1zpdw/T-H8-28lxII/AAAAAAAABQc/9T4ENkROvyg/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1156.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-76k1X6jwzRo/T-H8_c1ctMI/AAAAAAAABQo/aYYQVg61_2M/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-76k1X6jwzRo/T-H8_c1ctMI/AAAAAAAABQo/aYYQVg61_2M/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1157.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
2) The fact that the view from our house overlooks a pool, then a river, then the Atlantic ocean.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ug4kB8LI0DI/T-H94BO13GI/AAAAAAAABQ0/CL7xxUJJ7EI/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="239" width="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ug4kB8LI0DI/T-H94BO13GI/AAAAAAAABQ0/CL7xxUJJ7EI/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1142.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
3) The streets are more crowded and lively at night than they are during the day. There is even a bar on the main road with shirtless black men bartenders wearing aprons. I'll probably miss that more than Rivs. Not that I've visited the bar, but come on... They're bartending half nude in the street. Don't judge me.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cwp8LHqRaFk/T-H_EUWB1YI/AAAAAAAABRA/j_FfXIAvsuk/s1600/favela1321892717.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="130" width="180" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cwp8LHqRaFk/T-H_EUWB1YI/AAAAAAAABRA/j_FfXIAvsuk/s400/favela1321892717.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
4) The $7 all-you-can-eat buffet where Harper eats free. Our whole family can stuff our bellies with soup, salad, bread, fish, chicken, beans, rice and whatever other delicacy they're providing for $15. There are these little spicy fried fish balls that Harper loves, although every single time the wait staff tells us not to give them to her because they're too "picante". Disculpe, but our daughter is Latina, okay?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1VCcxkvik9I/T-IAfT-vmvI/AAAAAAAABRM/T3Cc4npKCvg/s1600/casadetaipa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1VCcxkvik9I/T-IAfT-vmvI/AAAAAAAABRM/T3Cc4npKCvg/s400/casadetaipa.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
5) The way toddlers can shake their booties like Shakira. We happened upon a street party a few weeks ago (people pull up with giant speakers in their cars, upon the trunk and let a variety of tunes and beats hit the streets). The men and boys do a mild variation of the "hip thrust" in giant circles while the girls get dooooown. I mean full on, knees bent to an impossible squat while the hips sway in perfect unison to the beat. Impressive. I stayed in the toddler section and made a fool of myself trying to shake my hips. Everyone was laughing at the hopelessly uncoordinated gringa shimmy, but Harper picked up on some dance moves. I'll have to get a video before we leave, because it's quite something, let me tell you.<br />
<br />
6) The salgados. Salgados are sandwiches rolled and baked in pizza dough and they cost $1 each. Need I say more?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4JkNtSYdYHY/T-ICxQCH55I/AAAAAAAABRY/DXEnp9SBJtM/s1600/salgados12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="266" width="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4JkNtSYdYHY/T-ICxQCH55I/AAAAAAAABRY/DXEnp9SBJtM/s400/salgados12.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
7) The fact that the less bum and leg you show while in a bathing suit, the stranger you look. I've become so used to seeing thonged bums that it will be hard to think people aren't wearing diapers on the beaches in Hawaii. I've also grown quite fond of Rivers in a "sunga" (you Northerners might call it a "speedo", but it's much more stylish than you think).<br />
<br />
No photo required.<br />
<br />
8) Getting to our house "the short way" is a slick and muddy uphill battle. It's really an adventure getting home each time, even if we don't always make it up. To the right of the mud road is an irrigation ditch, and to the left is a small cliff. Luckily we've only been stuck in the right portion of the road. A couple of weeks ago, Dave was driving up the hill in the rain. The tires were hardly getting traction, but Dave is Dave, and somehow managed to pull through. As soon as we made it up the hill, out of nowhere Harper says "Uncle Dave is like a Superhero." Yes, yes he is...<br />
<br />
9) Giving a thumbs up is still cool here.<br />
<br />
10) When we go to the weekend market, Harper now asks to go see "the pig head" (which is literally the butchered head of a pig). <br />
<br />
I guess Rivs and I won't be surprised if Harper's elementary school teacher calls to inform us that our daughter acts like she was raised in a jungle...Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-89616269211729573632012-06-03T10:28:00.000-07:002012-06-03T10:28:40.517-07:00Street Fights and Acai: Brazil is still okay in our booksI know, it's been a few weeks. There was a series of unfortunate events that, for a brief while, tainted my desire to glorify Brazil in blog form. What type of unfortunate events, you ask? Well, sparing the gory details, let's just say me and Simone were victim to an unprovoked street fight with some teenage mutant ninja hippies one evening, and Simone's head came into forceful contact with a wooden bat. I may have thrown all of my "peacebuilding" knowledge out the window to engage in (former students of mine-block your ears) verbally assaulting some military police officers who did nothing but stand by and laugh at us. This event kind of spiraled out of control in the subsequent days and for a week or so, we all feared for our lives.
Luckily everything is now A "OK" and we're no longer under threat of impending assassination. Phewf! Close one. Don't you hate when that happens?
Despite this experience, we continue to enjoy our time in Itacare, although we're thinking of leaving a few weeks early to spend some time with my former BYU-Hawaii roommates who lives in Rio de Janeiro, where Rivers served his mission.
Rivs has been keeping himself occupied by learning how to cultivate the local agricultural gifts that Brazil holds. Here's some cool photos of him working with Arte Na Mata's fazenderos (or ranchers) to process Acai. What was once such an elusive and wildly exotic food now grows in our back yard. Harp and I help Rivs harvest the berries by holding out a big tarp as Rivs monkeys his way up the palm trees to remove the acai-filled branches. Then he soaks the berries overnight and mushes them with a mortar and pestle the next day to make the yummy purple pulp we turn into smoothies and Acai bowls. Yum.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tGdm_bx4GDE/T8uaekb8CwI/AAAAAAAABNk/IK29wWfd510/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="239" width="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tGdm_bx4GDE/T8uaekb8CwI/AAAAAAAABNk/IK29wWfd510/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1136.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H7N9MBr_7yc/T8uae6QzYJI/AAAAAAAABNw/FvJuma7wXt4/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H7N9MBr_7yc/T8uae6QzYJI/AAAAAAAABNw/FvJuma7wXt4/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1141.jpg" /></a></div>
Harper continues to find strange insects and wild beasts, but still enjoys the occasional domesticated animal.
Yeah, that green thing in her hand is a giant grasshopper. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HQgurAeAOBQ/T8uemKpNg-I/AAAAAAAABOY/5wOHw8_0JGQ/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="239" width="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HQgurAeAOBQ/T8uemKpNg-I/AAAAAAAABOY/5wOHw8_0JGQ/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1146.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RJ9ad4vmk3s/T8uemhALfKI/AAAAAAAABOk/nwuGpAKJ-v8/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="239" width="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RJ9ad4vmk3s/T8uemhALfKI/AAAAAAAABOk/nwuGpAKJ-v8/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1147.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3n1OlUxXv0I/T8uenRHjY-I/AAAAAAAABOw/0XIDoZk57TY/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="239" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3n1OlUxXv0I/T8uenRHjY-I/AAAAAAAABOw/0XIDoZk57TY/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1149.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2iNBqDaKmro/T8uafdbKWsI/AAAAAAAABN8/UTIp72SAZkk/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2iNBqDaKmro/T8uafdbKWsI/AAAAAAAABN8/UTIp72SAZkk/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1144.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tfl4RumBVQw/T8uaf6sp6fI/AAAAAAAABOI/JW_mX7eVWVE/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="239" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tfl4RumBVQw/T8uaf6sp6fI/AAAAAAAABOI/JW_mX7eVWVE/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1143.jpg" /></a></div>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-85704880818399526122012-05-10T18:07:00.000-07:002012-05-10T18:26:06.951-07:00The RaynorsTonight Harper, Simone, me and Dave watched Lilo and Stitch huddled around Simone's MacBook eating stove-top prepared popcorn. It made me miss Hawaii. It also made me miss the wonderful Raynor family. Today, out of nowhere Harper sighed nostalgically and said "I love Parker". My eyes welled with tears.
It's hard to think that our time in Hawaii has come to an end.
Harper and Parker have truly been more inseparable than any two year old best friends could be. They've gone from boozing babies to beach babes.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c-m6tml2OnI/T6xg2vltkkI/AAAAAAAABFs/kZHZCNf-fRY/s1600/2010%2B1443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c-m6tml2OnI/T6xg2vltkkI/AAAAAAAABFs/kZHZCNf-fRY/s400/2010%2B1443.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RFIIOdvLZZg/T6xg3D30zbI/AAAAAAAABF0/1RB9gVdROZQ/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RFIIOdvLZZg/T6xg3D30zbI/AAAAAAAABF0/1RB9gVdROZQ/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B806.jpg" /></a></div>
On more than one occasion, we've watched Parker lean over and tell Harper "I best friend" (which we assume translates to "You're my best friend"), or witnessed Harper put her arm around Parker to say "I miss you Parker". We've even walked into a room while they were watch a movie together, to find Parker's head on Harper's lap while she gently stroked her friends' hair.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y0UkglIdS4k/T6xna_QHQkI/AAAAAAAABI8/o0Mch3hb0l0/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y0UkglIdS4k/T6xna_QHQkI/AAAAAAAABI8/o0Mch3hb0l0/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B314.jpg" /></a></div>
And just as compatible as Harper and Parker are, me and Lindsay have grown to be each other's other half in a way that's as extreme as it gets before crossing the line to lesbianism. It's a platonic love, but one so deep that I can't imagine living a normal life without her. Ok, maybe we're gay for each other. But only emotionally.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o_gR804NhQU/T6xh_bdeP3I/AAAAAAAABGE/29DEck_D6Y8/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B782.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o_gR804NhQU/T6xh_bdeP3I/AAAAAAAABGE/29DEck_D6Y8/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B782.jpg" /></a></div>
Yeeaaah I guess the bathrobe photo is a bit suspicious. That picture is from a girls' day that will have to be a blog post of its own. Let's just say it started with a groupon for a spa day and turned into a Vietnamese nudist bathhouse. Again, another post for another day...
So to quell my own nostalgia and to make use of all these great Harper n Parker photos that have just been sitting idly in a folder on my desktop, I'm going to barrage this post with cute photos of the duo. I might cry as I do.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-onYLgWlSYBE/T6xi5kHZNFI/AAAAAAAABGM/9Bgn--v9u8A/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-onYLgWlSYBE/T6xi5kHZNFI/AAAAAAAABGM/9Bgn--v9u8A/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B091.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G23KRpf5j_4/T6xi54_jMrI/AAAAAAAABGU/AYrg2wMI-Y0/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G23KRpf5j_4/T6xi54_jMrI/AAAAAAAABGU/AYrg2wMI-Y0/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B100.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4dP-ZUqPupY/T6xi70N7bPI/AAAAAAAABGc/pEg9MexOC-8/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4dP-ZUqPupY/T6xi70N7bPI/AAAAAAAABGc/pEg9MexOC-8/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B128.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uWc_kwPq1AM/T6xi95Zl-2I/AAAAAAAABGk/RcgFvNdKHis/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uWc_kwPq1AM/T6xi95Zl-2I/AAAAAAAABGk/RcgFvNdKHis/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B145.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GxysgHL0Ao0/T6xi_jWlgaI/AAAAAAAABGs/BwbQNimStF8/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GxysgHL0Ao0/T6xi_jWlgaI/AAAAAAAABGs/BwbQNimStF8/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B164.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-52uVZd1mw/T6xjv72ryyI/AAAAAAAABG0/RqAbvONQAYg/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-52uVZd1mw/T6xjv72ryyI/AAAAAAAABG0/RqAbvONQAYg/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B157.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sn8TbO-IPS0/T6xjwEB9bII/AAAAAAAABG8/NrX8DgUG030/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sn8TbO-IPS0/T6xjwEB9bII/AAAAAAAABG8/NrX8DgUG030/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B177.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z1tUDUy2MHI/T6xjx03gkMI/AAAAAAAABHE/T3kiM8SDEbk/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z1tUDUy2MHI/T6xjx03gkMI/AAAAAAAABHE/T3kiM8SDEbk/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B191.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RUYUZonpyII/T6xjz7psRFI/AAAAAAAABHM/TH1KXxXKN7Y/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RUYUZonpyII/T6xjz7psRFI/AAAAAAAABHM/TH1KXxXKN7Y/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B202.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vzIeG3P_Iuk/T6xj1w2zxCI/AAAAAAAABHU/CCkKBbIdmcY/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vzIeG3P_Iuk/T6xj1w2zxCI/AAAAAAAABHU/CCkKBbIdmcY/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B237.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tCL9efoi8v8/T6xnYpMzAWI/AAAAAAAABIY/5Z9hSIbGcIY/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tCL9efoi8v8/T6xnYpMzAWI/AAAAAAAABIY/5Z9hSIbGcIY/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B203.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZR_E-qyRBps/T6xnad2UOwI/AAAAAAAABIk/ilRThr4hGWM/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZR_E-qyRBps/T6xnad2UOwI/AAAAAAAABIk/ilRThr4hGWM/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B271.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qX4OQs-f0os/T6xnarGWO9I/AAAAAAAABIw/QF4Bakth3Is/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qX4OQs-f0os/T6xnarGWO9I/AAAAAAAABIw/QF4Bakth3Is/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B384.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gu8ltwT9Obo/T6xoq1I_SQI/AAAAAAAABJI/3FhyhDsZjlM/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gu8ltwT9Obo/T6xoq1I_SQI/AAAAAAAABJI/3FhyhDsZjlM/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B264.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8YWZ7_Dhxt4/T6xmCeu09vI/AAAAAAAABIE/2s2NMmSnh-4/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B785.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8YWZ7_Dhxt4/T6xmCeu09vI/AAAAAAAABIE/2s2NMmSnh-4/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B785.jpg" /></a></div>
And of course this post wouldn't be complete without an honorable and much deserved shout-out to Matty, who let me steal his wife away from him on many a Friday and Saturday to escape the shackles of Laie and stresses of motherhood. I miss you guys.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-22355331911008773062012-05-05T17:44:00.000-07:002012-05-05T17:49:41.817-07:00Brazilian WildlifeHey! Guess what? We saw a sloth today. It was pretty awesome. Harper was napping and Rivs and I were reading on the deck couch when Dave burst through the front door excitedly yelling something about a sloth in a wheelbarrow. Dead? Alive? Stuffed? I didn't know. But it was definitely too interesting a claim to dismiss, so I matched his enthusiasm and hurriedly told Rivs to follow me.
I debated waking Harper from her slumber, but considering her possessed Emily Rose-like demeanor she adopts when woken from a nap, I decided against it (for the sloth's sake, of course). Rivs and I followed Dave up the dirt road not really knowing what to expect. What we found was a literal manifestation of Dave's earlier ecstatic proclamation: it was a sloth in a wheelbarrow. Apparently a couple of the local boys who work on the eco lodge grounds saw him slowly crossing the dirt path and coaxed him into the wheelbarrow with a big stick. When we approached him, he sat like Buddah, relaxed with his arms folded and legs outstretched, but attentively following our every movement with his head that could do a 360. Really. It was a pretty amazing experience to be so close to such a wild and endangered animal. I felt bad that Harper couldn't witness it, but I figured she would have been so upset to not be allowed to cuddle it that it was for everyone's own good.
Then, as we were leaving, Naco (the old telepathic artist who was laughing hysterically at our fascination with the sloth) invited us to see his sculptures. In the 5 minutes we were in his home, he professed to be the pope, invoked the goddess of Kindness, and informed us that he doesn't sleep because he has transcended fatigue. Then he gave Rivs a hug, blew me kisses and sent us on our way. I love that guy.
Oh- we also saw monkeys this morning. They hang out over at our neighbor Chris' house, who runs a save-the-rainforest NGO. They were tiny little monkeys with ringed tails and white around their faces. Harper loved watching them scurry up the trees.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jPiUwLSX2-Y/T6XIzrLSLtI/AAAAAAAABEM/pOl9cnk4EhQ/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jPiUwLSX2-Y/T6XIzrLSLtI/AAAAAAAABEM/pOl9cnk4EhQ/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1116.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TYK6vrj5Uao/T6XIz2fL-TI/AAAAAAAABEY/xa-Oh2WDiLA/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TYK6vrj5Uao/T6XIz2fL-TI/AAAAAAAABEY/xa-Oh2WDiLA/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1117.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0dpwB8mv5fg/T6XI0FJP1kI/AAAAAAAABEk/hF2c-FzdXFQ/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0dpwB8mv5fg/T6XI0FJP1kI/AAAAAAAABEk/hF2c-FzdXFQ/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1118.jpg" /></a></div>
This is a photo from the beach we went to yesterday. You have to cross an ocean-river intersection to get to the 20 miles of untouched beach, so Simone and Bailey kayaked across,Rivs paddle boarded and me and Harp paid a guy 3$ to row us in a tiny wooden "lancha", or canoe. It was awesome to be so secluded but to be able to look across the water to the town of Itacare.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A0aMHxdwzuw/T6XI0gYZe6I/AAAAAAAABEw/6KVP182vCCQ/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A0aMHxdwzuw/T6XI0gYZe6I/AAAAAAAABEw/6KVP182vCCQ/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1112.jpg" /></a></div>
Uncle Dave went fishing yesterday. He caught an 80lb tuna, but gave it to the boat captain. He saved a few smaller ones for us, and Harper had a hard time understanding why they weren't moving. Sorry Harp. They're dead and in our bellies.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Vf3EcAFSRPk/T6XI00IFj9I/AAAAAAAABE8/Bc6e-Z5R9GU/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B1114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Vf3EcAFSRPk/T6XI00IFj9I/AAAAAAAABE8/Bc6e-Z5R9GU/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B1114.jpg" /></a></div>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-50926457495031377642012-05-03T18:42:00.002-07:002012-05-03T18:46:10.341-07:00Arte Na MataLet me just preface this post by saying that we absolutely love living at Arte Na Mata eco lodge in Itacare. Our cabin is clean and cozy. We have a deck that overlooks the jungle, a river and the ocean. We live next door to Dave and Simone, the greatest hosts and companions. There are two fun women that come to our house every morning to cook us breakfast. We live down the street from Naco, an elderly artist who is a telepath from another planet. Actually, today he was Pinnochio and Rivers was an "amante"-or-lover of many women. He has a kiln in his house and makes ceramic sculptures all day. I'm starting to believe his stories. We are 5 minutes away from some of the most beautiful beaches set within the colorful and friendly Brazilian cultural landscape.
Still, there are those few laughable discrepancies that come with living in a rustic paradisaical landscape (remember the annoying Costa Rican toucans?) I feel like I should mention a few so that I can remember them one day when our future children haze Harper for having lived in such tropical places while they will most likely be raised in boring America (no offense, U S of A). That way I can have a few tales of woe for them, just to balance the scale a bit.
1. The eco lodge is solar powered. Today it was raining. There was no power. I'm just starting to realize how creative one must be without the crutch of Yo Gabba Gabba or Disney to distract a toddler when it's raining. My trick so far: lots of play-dough and lots of forts.
2. The dirt road to the lodge is so bumpy and steep that you have to gun it in first gear in the 1-wheel drive Fiat in order to get traction. Rivers got stuck yesterday. We had to coast backwards in neutral at a 75 degree decline and make a second attempt. Luckily Harper found it amusing, raising her arms in the air and screaming "woooo hooooo!" I think we have a daredevil on our hands....
3. It turns out that the squeaking noises Rivs and I have been hearing at night are emanating from a gang of bats that have decided to make their nest (or lair, or headquaters, or whatever bat homes are called) in our ceiling (which is also the inside of our roof). So far no nocturnal dive bombing, but I'll keep you posted on that. I'm expecting it at some point. Again, Harper loves the fact that we have bats living in our house. She'll stop, shine a flashlight on one of the sleeping creatures and say "Nanananana BATMAN!"
4. There are poisonous things here. Pretty much anything with teeth or pincers here also has some ghastly poison coursing through its body. Harper got bit today and I was convinced by the extent of her scream and pained expression (and shaking) that she had been stung by a scorpion or attacked by a spider. My initial instinct was to catch the creature so I could bring it to the hospital where doctors would undoubtedly extract its venom and create an antidote. Turns out it was an ant. Don't worry, she's fine. Her thumb swelled to a sizable girth, but Aunt Simone came to the rescue with topical Benadryl and some orange soda. Problem solved. Later, Dave informed me that he has some anti-snake venom lying around, just in case. Phewf.
Really these are just things that enrich our experience here. It's feels like we're living a dream in this part of the world. I don't think Harper has picked up a toy since we've arrived (other than play-dough). Rivs is busy helping Dave with managing the lodge and harvesting fruit. I'm enjoying spending time with Simone, playing with Harper and lounging by the pool while she naps.
This is how Rivs harvests coconuts. He later took of his shirt and asked if he looked like a Spartan. Yes, Rivs. You look just like Gerard Butler in that scene in 300 where his troops are parched, and the general grabs his trusty coconut lance to get to the fruits' sweet nectar.
a<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Aw6JcBRgUDw/T6MyXZrBUAI/AAAAAAAABCQ/xqcSDPo1w3g/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Aw6JcBRgUDw/T6MyXZrBUAI/AAAAAAAABCQ/xqcSDPo1w3g/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B001.jpg" /></a></div>
I guess this is that scene where the Spartan feeds some warrior animals. ( Must have been in the bonus material/deleted scenes)
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4arW-ixm2SM/T6MyXv5IXaI/AAAAAAAABCc/BCkIFXoWHXE/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4arW-ixm2SM/T6MyXv5IXaI/AAAAAAAABCc/BCkIFXoWHXE/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B004.jpg" /></a></div>
This is Harper swimming with some fishing lures. Don't worry, Uncle Dave de-hooked them beforehand.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AiukMgk8ERE/T6MyYH7bAGI/AAAAAAAABCo/28xxvD2soaI/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AiukMgk8ERE/T6MyYH7bAGI/AAAAAAAABCo/28xxvD2soaI/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B005.jpg" /></a></div>
The storm a-coming.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dqNnp79tlaM/T6MyYTj3SEI/AAAAAAAABC0/dZAi5_8PNDU/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dqNnp79tlaM/T6MyYTj3SEI/AAAAAAAABC0/dZAi5_8PNDU/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B006.jpg" /></a></div>
Rainy day fun on the deck
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LU0YIFs_e-c/T6MyY3hxXfI/AAAAAAAABDA/bSXhJ03Z_Y8/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LU0YIFs_e-c/T6MyY3hxXfI/AAAAAAAABDA/bSXhJ03Z_Y8/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B007.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U7iEMEuoNU0/T6Mzzp_3wXI/AAAAAAAABDM/PzPCYMA8wbs/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U7iEMEuoNU0/T6Mzzp_3wXI/AAAAAAAABDM/PzPCYMA8wbs/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B009.jpg" /></a></div>
Latest discovery: Harper loves Acai. Can you tell?
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K_RZsMa-W5s/T6Mzz0PPz-I/AAAAAAAABDY/twyRdwyuTJI/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K_RZsMa-W5s/T6Mzz0PPz-I/AAAAAAAABDY/twyRdwyuTJI/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B011.jpg" /></a></div>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-61600101858344603082012-05-01T11:25:00.002-07:002012-05-01T11:30:33.572-07:00Latin America Part II: BrazilEven though it took us 72 hours to get here, Itacare has been well worth the trip. We started with a 9 hour flight from Hawaii to Chicago, followed by a 12 hour layover in Chicago. Initially we were planning on finding a park and playing chess with homeless savantes to pass the time, but the weather forecast said 48 degrees, so we opted for a cheap car rental and a day at the Chicago Children's museum at the Navy Pier. Even though Rivs and I were running on about 3 hours of much-interrupted sleep, Harper had restfully slept the entire 9 hour flight, so she was ready to dig for dinosaur bones and hunt for butterflies at the museum. Rivs and I took turns sitting in toddler sized chairs to rest our weary bodies, knowing that there would be 2 more nights of sleepless travel.
The second flight from Chicago to Sao Paolo was much better in terms of sleepability, since I slept on the floor (yes, at River's feet) while Harper took up both her seat and my own. Rivs industriously build a tent over Harper out of the blue thin airline blankets to shield the fight attendants' eyes from the woman sleeping in the fetal position at her husbands' feet, her head resting on a Brobee pillow. Just try to wake me up and make me sit in my seat, Ms. United Airlines. Just try it.
The rest of the trip to Salvador airport was effortless, as Harper slept through both flights, including the one hour layover in between. Dave and Simone were waiting for us as we landed in Salvador, and checked us into an amazing hotel with A/C-and most importantly-a bed. Sleeping fully extended was amazing, let me tell you.
The next day we set out for a 7 hour car ride from Salvador to our final destination of Itacare, which is right on the central coast of Brazil. It was dark when we arrived, but the next morning we opened our bedroom doors to this sight. Yes, the trip was definitely worth the discomfort and lack of sleep.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rzIrzegqBUA/T6AqV2SobgI/AAAAAAAABAc/tZhqD6a0CTE/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rzIrzegqBUA/T6AqV2SobgI/AAAAAAAABAc/tZhqD6a0CTE/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B001.jpg" /></a></div>
Harper has been in Heaven since getting here, although we've had to sternly warn her that the palm-sized "bird-eating-spider" (true story) was not to be cuddled, and the hissing 2 foot long lizard probably didn't want to be held. Luckily there are two cats, a dog and a horse for Harper to pet and annoy to divert her attention from the plethora of deadly and dangerous fauna.
This is Bailey, Simone's amazing rescue Pitbull that is totally Ok with Harper following her around and trying to ride on her back.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wwmEcVW2g6w/T6ArM8z9j1I/AAAAAAAABBY/xOuGCRV3Zyw/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wwmEcVW2g6w/T6ArM8z9j1I/AAAAAAAABBY/xOuGCRV3Zyw/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B012.jpg" /></a></div>
And this is Simone and Dave on a motorcycle "walking" their horse down the street. Why not?
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MQp-brKkxsQ/T6ArNOfjnyI/AAAAAAAABBk/EbMLKAihEbw/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MQp-brKkxsQ/T6ArNOfjnyI/AAAAAAAABBk/EbMLKAihEbw/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B014.jpg" /></a></div>
I think we're going to like this place. A lot.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LUSdIrXtRzs/T6AqWFrXLhI/AAAAAAAABAo/1r-0UNH7v1Y/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LUSdIrXtRzs/T6AqWFrXLhI/AAAAAAAABAo/1r-0UNH7v1Y/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B003.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UTpnL5VHxsA/T6AqWRFi2qI/AAAAAAAABA0/ed8dkGD0PmE/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UTpnL5VHxsA/T6AqWRFi2qI/AAAAAAAABA0/ed8dkGD0PmE/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B006.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TBPffhCcOro/T6AqW7iS7dI/AAAAAAAABBA/At95JYHuxFk/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TBPffhCcOro/T6AqW7iS7dI/AAAAAAAABBA/At95JYHuxFk/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B008.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PJ0J0hAZ5bk/T6AqXVCUYXI/AAAAAAAABBM/GdOvcuNLjaE/s1600/Android%2BPhotos%2B010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PJ0J0hAZ5bk/T6AqXVCUYXI/AAAAAAAABBM/GdOvcuNLjaE/s400/Android%2BPhotos%2B010.jpg" /></a></div>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-19908252307467537422011-11-14T17:13:00.001-08:002011-11-15T22:37:16.898-08:00Art Takes TimeAlthough I prefer to present myself as a moderately modest person (I'm so modest, aren't I?), I recognize that I do have a few talents up my sleeve. Fine arts are not one of these admitted gifts.<br /><br />On the long drive home from Costco last week, I was searching for activities to keep both Harper entertained and our sanity. Harper loves to devour crayons (yes, she bites, chews AND ingests them), and giving markers to a 2 year old is a car sell-ability's death sentence. So, I handed Harper a pen and a cardboard box we used to package some of our bulk grocery items. She started doodling, then demanded that I draw a cow for her. Okay, I thought. I remember doodling cows in 6th grade when I decided to become a 12 year old vegetarian. I can do this. Then she wanted a snake. Easy enough. A few curved lines and a forked tongue. Done. Then she wanted a cat, and that's when her demands began challenging my 6th grade artistic abilities. When she called for a seal, I knew it was over. I did my best to draw my mind's manifestation of a monk seal. In the moment, I thought I did a pretty good job. Just as I was drawing the seal's fins (seals have fins, right?), Harper started to scream and whine that I wasn't drawing fast enough, to which I hastily (and seriously) replied: "Harper! Art takes time!", thinking I was teaching her a valuable lesson in patience and art appreciation. <br /><br />Rivs gave a glance over his shoulder from behind the wheel to look at my self-professed "art" and snickered. I too decided to inspect my drawings, and upon realizing how amusingly awful they were, began to laugh. <br /><br />Yeah, art takes time, and apparently vaguely decipherable animal drawings that could have been sketched by a stoned 3-toed sloth take time too.<br /><br />Exibit A<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GkHiX4sx1XI/TsNZIvnySaI/AAAAAAAAA28/3WJmp95cssU/s1600/art%2Btakes%2Btime.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GkHiX4sx1XI/TsNZIvnySaI/AAAAAAAAA28/3WJmp95cssU/s400/art%2Btakes%2Btime.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675477962174122402" /></a><br /><br />Yeah, I labeled "cow" for my 2 year old. That's how bad the drawings were. Oh, and the blob on the far right corner? Yeah, the one with the inverted unicorn horn? That's right, the one that looks like a pick-axe with an eye? That's a seal.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-35675852278427969162011-09-19T16:36:00.001-07:002011-09-19T23:13:04.747-07:00Alaska was cool, but Hawaii is mo' betterEven though Alaska was a fun adventure, it's pretty clear that Hawaii is the place we call home, though Harper adjusted well to the changes and found alternative sources of fun to replace her favorite Hawaiian activities.<br /><br />Instead of splashing in warm, tropical tide pools, Harper and Teya decided that becoming decently immersed in frigid Alaskan rain water was sufficient. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0gMggo7I76k/TnfSyr-EPfI/AAAAAAAAA1w/ATaaEro13oI/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B899.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0gMggo7I76k/TnfSyr-EPfI/AAAAAAAAA1w/ATaaEro13oI/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B899.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654219625425288690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5k4QC6sl8uk/TnfSyH_BfLI/AAAAAAAAA1g/mboRmgjIe80/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B903.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5k4QC6sl8uk/TnfSyH_BfLI/AAAAAAAAA1g/mboRmgjIe80/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B903.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654219615765626034" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iKl5ZParBko/TnfSx3JbtDI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/l2qpgDgjp1g/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B895.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iKl5ZParBko/TnfSx3JbtDI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/l2qpgDgjp1g/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B895.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654219611245884466" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1aGBzXS9bbc/TnfSyaT1kHI/AAAAAAAAA1o/6WAWrFY1oa0/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B898.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1aGBzXS9bbc/TnfSyaT1kHI/AAAAAAAAA1o/6WAWrFY1oa0/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B898.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654219620684763250" /></a><br /><br />En lieu of picking wild Hibiscus flowers, Harper took to collecting dandelions and treating them as delicately as any exotic flower.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-khwL1OweTEs/TnfSx-jdz6I/AAAAAAAAA1Y/GQP40rJBdLk/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B305.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-khwL1OweTEs/TnfSx-jdz6I/AAAAAAAAA1Y/GQP40rJBdLk/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B305.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654219613234122658" /></a><br /><br />After 2 solid years of rarely wearing more than a diaper and owning only one pair of shoes, which were worn very sparingly, Harper made little fuss about dressing in sweaters and actually wearing shoes on a regular basis...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U1RY-AR21xw/TnfTnt9rIeI/AAAAAAAAA2A/mSBWviQjkag/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B896.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U1RY-AR21xw/TnfTnt9rIeI/AAAAAAAAA2A/mSBWviQjkag/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B896.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654220536493580770" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_3RkDuwzym0/TnfTnTrlsJI/AAAAAAAAA14/cIT8hpZgUlU/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B897.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_3RkDuwzym0/TnfTnTrlsJI/AAAAAAAAA14/cIT8hpZgUlU/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B897.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654220529438404754" /></a><br /><br />...although on more than one occasion, despite the weather ranging in the 50s and 60s, Harper stripped down and had her way with the Alaskan rivers.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l4f2VYu62Y8/TnfUfZQqUHI/AAAAAAAAA2I/uZ7tJ8u31nM/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B608.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l4f2VYu62Y8/TnfUfZQqUHI/AAAAAAAAA2I/uZ7tJ8u31nM/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B608.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654221493008748658" /></a><br /><br />With no sand to shovel into buckets, Harper and Teya found creative ways to put their toys to use.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--JsvWowI2yE/TnfUy3_E-CI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/xzoG0J9JFm8/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B900.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--JsvWowI2yE/TnfUy3_E-CI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/xzoG0J9JFm8/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654221827674011682" /></a><br /><br />And with no ocean warm enough to enjoy, Harper happily settled for cold, swan poop-infested stagnant ponds to dip her feet into. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--y-Af9fLzIs/TnfVZ6U8HII/AAAAAAAAA2o/BFuC6LarZAE/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B713.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--y-Af9fLzIs/TnfVZ6U8HII/AAAAAAAAA2o/BFuC6LarZAE/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B713.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654222498317474946" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pkAhpKuy-qs/TnfVZm8qkXI/AAAAAAAAA2g/wPmiyCeyqag/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B885.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pkAhpKuy-qs/TnfVZm8qkXI/AAAAAAAAA2g/wPmiyCeyqag/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B885.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654222493115388274" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kp8wOZoIFAk/TnfVZX8GCkI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/XN0rYoQDzig/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B149.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kp8wOZoIFAk/TnfVZX8GCkI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/XN0rYoQDzig/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B149.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654222489086462530" /></a><br /><br />All that to show that we're really, really glad to be back home. Really.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-53532910076376080592011-09-16T00:26:00.000-07:002011-09-16T01:00:28.973-07:00Good thing we gave Harper a Uni-Sex nameThe past few days have been a real testament to Harper's inherent tomboy-ness. Since our plane ride home from Portland to Hawaii was a 6 hour day trip, I knew I'd need to stock up on lots of fun, new activities to keep Harper occupied. Dollarama was where it was at, apparently, and I spent $14 on some of the coolest toys a lil' babe could ask for. One of those toys was a little mermaid doll with long luscious locks and a tiny comb. I thought to myself: "I don't really want to condition Harper to play with dolls just because she's a girl, but combing hair is a pretty androgynous activity. You don't think Tristan from Legends of the Fall let his perfectly luminescent head 'o hair go a day without combage, do you? Or hows about Anderson Cooper, you silver fox you... We all know you have a wooden boar's hair brush in your back pocket at all times." So I bought the dolls along with 13 other small trinkets, and put them in a little backpack for the plane ride. <br /><br />When I handed Harper the doll and comb about 2 hours into our journey, Harper's face lit up with excitement. In turn I waited with baited breath for her to pick up the little brush and start delicately combing Ariel's hair. Intrigued, Harper carefully inspected the mermaid's cranium. "Ooh, she's conjuring up a cool 'do for Ariel!" I thought proudly. And what a naive thought that was, because Harper took the doll and instantly began methodically pulling out small tufts of the doll's hair until she was completely bald. Then, with a look of satisfaction, she proceeded to play with it as if to say "there, now she's beautiful. Exactly how she should be: bald like my dad and mom." The comb was never even an option. <br /><br />The second indicator (of many) that Harper is quite rough n tough was the short-term adoption of her new "pet". Yesterday morning, while attempting to unpack the many boxes we had left in our apartment over the summer while we frolliced in Alaska, Montreal and Oregon, i noticed Harper grab something, put it to her neck and say "my buh, my buh" (translation: "my bug") Upon inspection I found that Harper caught and had instantly began to cherish a sizable cockroach that took up the majority of her hand. I tried to get her to drop it, but she clutched it as if it were an unopened pack of Dora the Explorer fruit snacks. So, call me a bad mother, but I let her keep it. If you had seen her rock it in her arms saying 'shhh shhh baby" as she did, you would have let her keep it too. Harper LOVED that cockroach for the hour she had it, before she played it to death, literally. (The love story ends with cockroach guts on Harper's hand as she exclaimes "duhty buh" (dirty bug). Don't worry, I promptly washed her hands with hot water, anti bacterial soap and some hand sanitizer for extra germ fighting insurance.)<br /><br />She found another one today (it's not my house that necessarily dirty, it's just Hawaii, but I decided it better not to let her make a habit out of befriending creepy insects, so I made Rivers flush it down the toilet. By the look on Harper's face, you would have thought that we had just dismembered her favorite doll or something equally as evil. She cried for a solid 15 minutes and only calmed down once we gave her a treat and took her outside, apologizing for murdering her baby the entire time.<br /><br />So sorry 'bout it... Our little girl likes her dolls bald and loves to play with cockroaches. I think that's worse than loving ponies, but a little better than liking Hannah Montana. So I say we're shooting for about average.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-7138645673250144202011-07-21T21:09:00.000-07:002011-07-21T21:30:33.355-07:00Enjoying America's other annexed state.What I had originally anticipated as a summer of frigid boredom and isolation in Alaska has turned into some of the most enjoyable few months of my life. If you haven't yet made the trek to the Final Frontier (and it really lives up to its name), then you should. Alaska is breathtakingly beautiful, filled with friendly people, lots of dogs and lots of salmon. Pretty much all of the stereotypes you think of when you imagine this place are accurate. Bears really do live in people's backyards, being charged by a moose is truly an immanent threat, you could literally catch a spawning salmon with your bare hands in any given neighborhood creek and the produce sucks. <br /><br />Probably the best part of being here is that it is really kid-friendly. Tawny and I had visions of walking our kids (who are not siblings) around the concrete sidewalks that surround our apartment complex while freezing in the arctic weather. What we've found is a place peppered with public parks and well-manicured walking paths connecting them all, bordered by a clean (and okay, admittedly frigid) river. We're outside enjoying nature just as much (if not more) than we do in Hawaii.<br /><br />Oh yeah, the mosquitoes really are gargantuan and vicious...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--LlbUxkABhs/Tij8Nv422jI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/i8_Uk-NC75g/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B428.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--LlbUxkABhs/Tij8Nv422jI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/i8_Uk-NC75g/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B428.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632028647150246450" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ti7mtu0_RoA/Tij7GkTRwpI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/_y_yLBckdlU/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B305.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ti7mtu0_RoA/Tij7GkTRwpI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/_y_yLBckdlU/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B305.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632027424269124242" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-om5LeEe2rxA/Tij7Gfq_cpI/AAAAAAAAA0I/veLoTHT1s_Y/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B124.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-om5LeEe2rxA/Tij7Gfq_cpI/AAAAAAAAA0I/veLoTHT1s_Y/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B124.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632027423026410130" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y5kMNk3eZa0/Tij7GJshZoI/AAAAAAAAA0A/hvewXQG9Mec/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B106.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y5kMNk3eZa0/Tij7GJshZoI/AAAAAAAAA0A/hvewXQG9Mec/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B106.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632027417127249538" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c0Fhcfjdp8g/Tij7GJMVLTI/AAAAAAAAAz4/RzqE5JUnNDU/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B025.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c0Fhcfjdp8g/Tij7GJMVLTI/AAAAAAAAAz4/RzqE5JUnNDU/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B025.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632027416992230706" /></a><br /><br />Whether it's Hawaii or Alaska, we can't seem to keep Harper out of the water.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B2XTmWiaWpw/Tij8OLUOMZI/AAAAAAAAA0w/U7nNIoYSApY/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B841.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B2XTmWiaWpw/Tij8OLUOMZI/AAAAAAAAA0w/U7nNIoYSApY/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B841.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632028654512779666" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-No8yweyTIv8/Tij8NwHZsVI/AAAAAAAAA0o/ngRRUfXQ7ts/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B525.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-No8yweyTIv8/Tij8NwHZsVI/AAAAAAAAA0o/ngRRUfXQ7ts/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B525.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632028647211250002" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-62544116373009618112011-07-14T21:16:00.000-07:002011-07-14T22:24:59.811-07:00Man, I (don't) Feel Like a WomanOver the past year, I've come to the stark realization that if I were in a committed relationship with another woman, I would definitely be considered the man. This is probably not a surprising disclosure to many, seeing as my hair is generally shorter than most men's and I tend to dress in oversized T-shirts and haven't worn heels since platform sneakers were all the rage in 8th grade. Still, the true obviousness of my (heterosexual) butchness has really come to my attention since being in Alaska.<br /><br />In Hawaii I spent most of my time with Lindsay. I think we look equally gay, so it was probably hard to really tell who wore the "pants" in our pseudo-relationship, if you know what I mean. In fact, we'd sometimes playfully argue over who people generally assumed was the guy of our relationship. Here in Alaska, my femininity is contrasted against <span style="font-style:italic;">the </span> embodiment of 'woman': Tawny Catudal. <br /><br />Each day, Tawny, Teya, Eden, Harper and I take small adventures around anchorage in search of fun things to do. So far, I've been referred to as "sir" once, followed by a sincere compliment of what a beautiful family I have, obviously implying that i was the father of Harper, Teya and baby Eden. Seeing as this comment came from a 70 year old Chuck E. Cheese employee, I pawned the remark off on poor elderly sight and/or dementia. It was only days later that the true nature of said remark became overt and undeniable.<br /><br />Tawny and I were taking the kids to Bouncin' Bear, an Alaskan indoor inflatable playground. The young lady working the cash gave Tawny and I a good look, then asked <span style="font-style:italic;">me</span> to sign the waiver as the legal guardian of our apparently 'modern family'. Then the cashier told us that siblings receive discounted admission, so Harper and Teya's entrance fee would be reduced. Ok, point taken. If I'm not mistaken for a man, I'm at the very least considered to be the father-figure in a same-sex parenthood. <br /><br />Our image of being a progressive family unit is not helped by the fact that Harper consistently refers to both me and Tawny as "mommy". Harper absolutely adores Tawny. When Harper sees her for the first time each day, she lets out an excited squeal, holds out her arms and says "MOMMY!!!" And, being the nurturing, loving, quintessential mother figure that Tawny is, she smothers Harper in kisses saying "oh, my baby!" This greeting, when performed in public, only furthers the notion that we are in fact both the mothers of three beautiful girls. <br /><br />Not that Tawny and I are ashamed of this image. Actually, we kind of bask in it. Hey, if it gets sibling discounts for the kids and stops men from hitting on us (ok, who am I kidding- stops men from hitting on Tawny), then we're all for it. <br /><br />"Oh, what a lovely woman and her child..."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aGao4PKWPss/Th_NhFPKKYI/AAAAAAAAAy4/nzzeN1A8Q78/s1600/TawnyBlog.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aGao4PKWPss/Th_NhFPKKYI/AAAAAAAAAy4/nzzeN1A8Q78/s400/TawnyBlog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629444027461544322" /></a><br /><br /><br />"...And look at the father. Not wait-is she a girl or a boy? No, not the baby. The baby is obviously a girl. I mean that mother-or is it the father? Oh well, cute kid, at any rate..."<br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BAG4LOkYONM/Th_NhL_rl3I/AAAAAAAAAzA/G9HwZhiTa_w/s1600/TawnyBlog2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BAG4LOkYONM/Th_NhL_rl3I/AAAAAAAAAzA/G9HwZhiTa_w/s400/TawnyBlog2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629444029275674482" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-32791558141557182032011-07-01T22:20:00.000-07:002011-07-02T13:05:05.916-07:00It's been a while. You look great.Okay everyone, don't get too excited about this post. It's only a quasi-return. <br /><br />I've been omni-consumed with writing my thesis over the past few months, with time for little else other than full-time motherhood, Rivers, teaching a couple of classes and The Bachelorette (who does Bentley think he is?) But seriously, with the exception of nourishment, the upkeep of minimal personal hygiene (notice the shaved head)and Sunday night dates, I have been glued to the computer researching and writing. The good news is that my thesis is officially due on July 16th, and I am currently in the editing phase which means that my return to blogging is imminent.<br /><br />I miss recording the events of life in cyberspace. So many things have happened that have been wiped clean from my clotted mind. Memories are nothing without you, internet. <br /><br />Notice that over the past 6 months, my personal appearance and thesis writing dedication have had an inverse relationship. As the amount of my dedication to thesis writing increases, by personal appearance decreases. Or at least the amount of hair on my head. I guess its subjective. All I know is that I feel like a dude.<br /><br />Harper and Rivs are still cute though, so that's good.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dhwyL6KLa4Q/Tg95yOThy6I/AAAAAAAAAyY/TTl0r0ChAHc/s1600/Iphone%2BPics%2B819.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dhwyL6KLa4Q/Tg95yOThy6I/AAAAAAAAAyY/TTl0r0ChAHc/s400/Iphone%2BPics%2B819.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624848363349461922" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-69708708808501336652011-03-23T00:06:00.000-07:002011-03-23T00:54:12.959-07:00Martha Stewart and the Facebook RevolutionIn light of the spirit of revolution sweeping the Arab world with seeming domino-efficiency, social media has been dubbed the finger that flicked the first piece. Seldom does one hear of the Egyptian uprising without the terms “Facebook” or “Twitter” enmeshed into the revolution’s narrative of success. It has become common knowledge to anyone following the events surrounding the revolt against Mubarak’s regime that the initial Tahrir Square protest on January 25th was organized on Facebook. And like a mama bird proud of her chick’s newfound flight, Western media were quick to christen the social network as victors in the Egyptian uprising, now better known as “The Facebook Revolution”. But were international media over-zealous in bestowing the victory to the medium rather than the Egyptian people? <br /><br />The mere title “Facebook Revolution” seems to give credit to the social network site as though it were itself an ideological entity determined to oust Mubarak. Deeming Egypt’s revolution a victory of social media represents the momentous event as an isolated phenomenon occurring in a vacuum, instigated by the medium itself.<br /><br />Another tidbit of common knowledge is that the initial Egyptian protests were instigated by youth. So, an important question to posit is whether the extensive use of social media in organizing the January 25th protests is simply because it is the primary communicative tool of the youth. The very nature of the internet is that it compresses space and time, making communication across vast areas quick and effortless given the necessary tools (computer, broadband connection). Following Tunisia’s success in revolting against Ben Ali’s authoritarian regime, the Egyptian youth acquired newfound confidence for a longstanding message: get Mubarak out. Seeing as 78% of Egypt’s youth are Facebook users, it is only fitting that they would choose the social network site to disseminate their message of protest. This could likewise explain why the first few days of protest consisted mainly of youth, or those who accessed the message via social media. However, once mainstream media outlets indexed the events as newsworthy and broadcast the events on satellite TV, the spirit of uprising was proliferated throughout Egypt, thus inviting non-Facebook users to join the revolt (ie the older generation and the poor). This could be a strong indicator that although social media aided in organizing initial protests, the revolution couldn’t have been as successful without the older generation’s participation (lawyers/doctors/union strikes), who represent only 22% of all Facebook users in the country. <br /><br />Let's say Martha Stewart is marooned on a deserted island and desperately wants to make coconut cake(because hey, she's Martha Freaking Stewart). Unfortunately, unlike in Lost, it appears that this island really is deserted, which means no readily available ingredients. But again, she's Martha Freaking Stewart, and by golly she's going to eat cake. So she shimmies up a tree and harvests coconuts, grating some for the cake and pressing others for oil. She then braves the ruthless roosters to steal eggs from the wild hens nesting behind her hut. She arduously picks wheat growing in the valley to the west and grinds it into organic flour using nothing but some river stones she found on an afternoon hike. And, just to make the cake extra delicious, Martha hacks down some sugar cane, presses it by rolling large boulders over it, catching the sugary juice in a hollowed coconut shell (Martha recycles). Now, everything is ready for her feast except for one looming detail: she ain't got no fire. So, no bakey-bakey. She knows she can slowly bake her cake in an underground makeshift oven, but she still needs a match to start the fire. Defeated, Martha loses hope that she will ever again bite into a moist, creamy coconut cake. Then one day, in search of some new banana leaves to compliment the color tones of her bamboo hut, Martha happens upon a backpack that had washed up onto shore, drying in the sun. Quickly, Martha opens the bag hoping to find some kind of fire-starting device. And she does. In the outside pocket of the Jansport bag, Martha excitedly pulls out a single, solitary match. Hallelujah, and it just so happens that Martha brings her cake mix everywhere she goes in a gorgeous hand-crocheted palm leaf fanny pack. So, Martha pours, mixes and bakes a delicious cake. Later, after Martha is rescued by one of her old inmates friends from when she was 'lock up', everyone says "wow, it's so wonderful that match was there. Otherwise, you could have never made and enjoyed that delicious cake. That match was really a godsend, wasn't it. Imagine if that match hadn't been on that otherwise deserted island? Don't you just love that match, Martha?" Martha slowly nods her head in agreement, but is crying inside. "What about me?" she wonders. "There would have been no cake at all if I hadn't harvested the wheat. Or shimmied the coconut tree. Or pressed the sugar cane. Now all anyone ever cares about is that stupid match. But <span style="font-style:italic;">I</span> made the mix. I made the mix..."<br /><br />Get it? Martha does.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vv6w-kwCqro/TYmnCbxtVLI/AAAAAAAAAx8/jcw5cugw9B8/s1600/Martha.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vv6w-kwCqro/TYmnCbxtVLI/AAAAAAAAAx8/jcw5cugw9B8/s400/Martha.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587180472987636914" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-29919549307387039682011-02-10T23:53:00.000-08:002011-02-11T00:41:47.275-08:00Egyptian ChocolateHave you ever had a friend with lots of chocolate who didn't share it with anyone but you? Everyone knew that he was horribly selfish, but you didn't really care because, hey, you <span style="font-style:italic;">love</span> chocolate! And when everyone else started starving while you and your friend became mildly obese on the abundant flow of rich cacao, it still didn't matter because, hey, you <span style="font-style:italic;">love</span> chocolate! Then one day the poor, starving people started to demand chocolate from your friend. They said "it's not fair! The only reason he has chocolate is because he keeps stealing it from us! Look-we have proof!" (Cue black-and-white security tape of friend commandeering a Hershey truck). They start calling him a tyrant and a thief. And, well, you still love chocolate, but you don't want the people to see how fat you've become from all that delicious, creamy goodness. So you start to distance yourself from your friend. Heck, after a few days you've lost enough weight that you're hanging out with your newfound friends and calling him a thieving tyrant yourself!<br /><br />Perhaps you haven't had a friend such as this, but the United States of America sure has. And his big fat name is Hossni Mubarak.<br /><br />Remember when democracy in the Middle East was the foreign policy American dream? Well, it turns out that democracy is a privilege of the chosen few, allowed only if The People can promise to vote in America's interest. Unfortunately the USA has a poor track record of supporting oppressive dictators in the name of its own stability and strategic needs. Then, once their cover is blown (they've been getting fat on chocolate, too!), they are relatively quick to backtrack and denounce their BFF as an oppressive violator of human rights.<br /><br />This isn't to suggest that Mubarak is not a thieving tyrant who steals the people's chocolate because indeed, he is. It's just that we never seem to blame the friend's friend who got fat on the stolen chocolate (AKA oil, CIA dirty work, War on Terror, Israel, etc.) How can the US be such an advocate of democracy while simultaneously supporting an authoritarian leader who denigrates all notions of democracy? <br /><br />It doesn't seem too long ago that this nation initiated an all-out war in order to overthrow a dictator and instill democracy. Now how is it that this dictator was so heinous while for 30 years the US administration had been puckering up to Mubarak, an only slightly-less evil version of the aforementioned? And if memory serves us correctly, it wasn't too long ago that Saddam was America's BFF when it was time to fight Iran (circa 1980)...<br /><br />Ah yes, it seems that democracy is a strategy rather than an ideology for some in the USA. I guess it's time to go on a diet. <br /><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DwGTIsULRq8/TVT0eMhpTBI/AAAAAAAAAx0/t8LPljwf33w/s1600/eating-chocolate.gif"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DwGTIsULRq8/TVT0eMhpTBI/AAAAAAAAAx0/t8LPljwf33w/s400/eating-chocolate.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572347438559742994" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-57006212159012026722010-12-21T00:02:00.000-08:002010-12-27T00:26:33.886-08:00Maui WowieI spent last weekend lounging childless on the shores of Maui. I attribute my ability to have done this to an awesome husband who, with little-to-no persuasion graciously stayed behind to watch Harper, as well as a very well-connected Lindsay who has a friend with a condo in Kihei, Maui which we were able to use for free.<br /><br />Although I had prior aspirations of waking early to get some sightseeing in, and staying up late to party hard (Mormon style, of course. Shirley Temples and PG-13 rated movies), we spent most of the weekend tanning our buns on the beach and watching trashy reality shows. And boy was it awesome.<br /><br />We rented a great little Ford Focus. These are the faces of girls with newfound freedom, filled with endless possibility. Aaaah...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHBK3k5PI/AAAAAAAAAwc/TS7fHTeLUro/s1600/IMG_8096.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHBK3k5PI/AAAAAAAAAwc/TS7fHTeLUro/s400/IMG_8096.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268225784407282" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHA3x5PrI/AAAAAAAAAwU/vZaiJx-viL4/s1600/IMG_8094.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHA3x5PrI/AAAAAAAAAwU/vZaiJx-viL4/s400/IMG_8094.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268220660301490" /></a><br />This is how we spent a lot of our time. You may think this was a waste of a perfectly good island vacation opportunity, but keep in mind that we take our babies to the beach every single day. A little Bravo, TLC and Style R & R is exactly what we needed... <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHBjiqLXI/AAAAAAAAAwk/rZQzQ2mJPIU/s1600/IMG_8110.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHBjiqLXI/AAAAAAAAAwk/rZQzQ2mJPIU/s400/IMG_8110.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268232407559538" /></a><br />We ate delicious Thai food uninterrupted by crying babies knocking over glasses of ice water. As luck would have it, though, we were seated (in a very uncrowded restaurant, mind you) next to a family with a baby and a small child. I think seeing the little ones made us miss our own little ones. But not too much...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHB0_58bI/AAAAAAAAAws/OKdQlXJDcU4/s1600/IMG_8106.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHB0_58bI/AAAAAAAAAws/OKdQlXJDcU4/s400/IMG_8106.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268237093630386" /></a><br />Then we stopped by a frozen yogurt place to indulge in pumpkin pie fro yo topped with graham crackers and whipped cream. Yes, the girls went wild indeed...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHCZV4HmI/AAAAAAAAAw0/we8Z_gbHZl4/s1600/IMG_8107.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHCZV4HmI/AAAAAAAAAw0/we8Z_gbHZl4/s400/IMG_8107.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268246849461858" /></a><br />We spent the second day casually crashing a ritzy Mariott resort, trying to act natural as we snatched the neatly rolled green-and-white striped towels from the hotel's lawn chairs and claimed them for our own.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHpF4qj8I/AAAAAAAAAw8/uyMBQ-Nc350/s1600/IMG_8098.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHpF4qj8I/AAAAAAAAAw8/uyMBQ-Nc350/s400/IMG_8098.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268911641563074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhK7DWPO6I/AAAAAAAAAxk/RSioser15j8/s1600/IMG_8100.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhK7DWPO6I/AAAAAAAAAxk/RSioser15j8/s400/IMG_8100.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555272518732823458" /></a><br />The facade was short lived. After an hour of basking sand-free, hotel security asked to see our elitist "guests only" bracelets. Needless to say we were cast to the sands like the pilgrims we are.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHpT3tbaI/AAAAAAAAAxE/dpIGgp5uxIg/s1600/IMG_8102.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHpT3tbaI/AAAAAAAAAxE/dpIGgp5uxIg/s400/IMG_8102.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268915395653026" /></a><br />The last day was rainy and cool, so we packed our stuff and headed to the mall with hours (and I mean hours) to kill before our thirty minute flight back home. Oh, but don't you worry. We found plenty of ways to entertain ourselves, much to the chagrin of many-a-salespeople.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHqFec13I/AAAAAAAAAxc/l8frkkokOdk/s1600/IMG_8119.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHqFec13I/AAAAAAAAAxc/l8frkkokOdk/s400/IMG_8119.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268928711481202" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHp-T3AcI/AAAAAAAAAxU/8MvRV0RvbPQ/s1600/IMG_8115.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHp-T3AcI/AAAAAAAAAxU/8MvRV0RvbPQ/s400/IMG_8115.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268926788010434" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHpoCrbRI/AAAAAAAAAxM/xINuwb-Y1v4/s1600/IMG_8114.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TRhHpoCrbRI/AAAAAAAAAxM/xINuwb-Y1v4/s400/IMG_8114.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555268920810368274" /></a><br />It was a much-needed respite. When I got home, I was half hoping that Rivers would grovel at my feet telling me what a hard job I had in being Harper's primary caretaker. Instead I was told tales of how much fun his weekend was. And I guess this is a good thing.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-5552745300308801992010-12-05T23:11:00.001-08:002010-12-05T23:29:59.209-08:00First is the Worst, Second is the Best, Third is My Rivs so You Betta Recognize.As Rivers and I sat in the church pews today, I slowly rested my head on his knee and shut my eyes. "I'm tired", I sighed as a pang of guilt simultaneously crept over me. If you're thinking that my feelings of guilt derived from my overtly irreverent display of disinterest at a church service, you would be wrong. The truth is, I was sitting on my lazy butt getting a massage from my husband who happened to have just run a 13 Mile mountain race as I complained of being fatigued. And no, Rivs didn't just run the race. Rivs never just runs, in case you didn't know. Nope, my omni-awesome husband ran off into the sunny peaks of Hawaii's Kualoa mountain range for and hour and twenty minutes to compete in the Xterra Trail Running World Championships. And he came third. That's right, my husband is the third fastest man in the world. Now, some may contest the validity of this claim seeing as no Kenyan, Ethiopian, or non-Western runners competed, by I stand by my man. He was just a couple of minutes behind the reigning champion who happens to be so fast that Montrail modeled a shoe after him. So, that's definitely saying something.<br /><br />Congratulations Rivers, on being the Third Fastest Human on the planet. Now give me a massage. I'm tired.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-50824321036122040672010-12-03T00:43:00.000-08:002010-12-03T00:56:03.762-08:00Nanny SueHaving my mum come to visit is always a real treat. It's as thought she's the perfect roommate; she cleans up after herself (and me), she always takes the trash out, she cooks delicious meals and she is really good at entertaining herself. Just give my mum a sidewalk and a sleeping baby in a stroller and she can go off exploring for hours, giving me time to work on my thesis (or catch the finale of America's Next Top Model, which is equally important.)<br /><br />Harper absolutely adores her. In fact, she's starting to walk to my mum for comfort instead of me (oh yeah, Harper's walking). A few months ago this may have worried me, but I know that once "Nanny" leaves, Harper will love me again. For now, it's so nice to watch her cling to her hot babe Grandma as they gallavant around Hawaii together, eating Frozen Yogurt, harvesting sea barnacles and other fun activites.<br /><br />Having my mum here also makes me realize how much of a kid I still am. I love that she makes me lunch while being sure that all the food groups are on the plate. I love how she bugs me to go to the dentist. I love how she gives me disaproving looks when I finish my 3rd can of Diet Coke for the day. I love that she's making breakfast before I wake up, just like in High School. And most of all, I love how she kisses my cheek before going to bed.<br /><br />Yup, I'm gonna miss that ol' Brit when she leaves on Tuesday. Kinda wish she could stay forever.<br /><br /> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwEnL-kaI/AAAAAAAAAwI/BkfKGkKRqlM/s1600/Harp5.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwEnL-kaI/AAAAAAAAAwI/BkfKGkKRqlM/s400/Harp5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546376534391951778" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwEVAQvjI/AAAAAAAAAwA/G47sj6LlVv4/s1600/Harp4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwEVAQvjI/AAAAAAAAAwA/G47sj6LlVv4/s400/Harp4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546376529510972978" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwD0VGexI/AAAAAAAAAv4/XgRVg2lY1Pw/s1600/Harp3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwD0VGexI/AAAAAAAAAv4/XgRVg2lY1Pw/s400/Harp3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546376520740010770" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwDkRWjMI/AAAAAAAAAvw/0G4TpVEJ3Vw/s1600/Harp2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwDkRWjMI/AAAAAAAAAvw/0G4TpVEJ3Vw/s400/Harp2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546376516429319362" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwDaZwwTI/AAAAAAAAAvo/rK5W15lPZlY/s1600/Harp.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TPiwDaZwwTI/AAAAAAAAAvo/rK5W15lPZlY/s400/Harp.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546376513780236594" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-79320169181526058952010-11-23T21:58:00.000-08:002010-11-23T22:06:48.068-08:00Research Proposal Take FourBack in the library again. Feeling like a student once more. It's finally time...<br /><br />After three topic changes, two deferments and a lot of tanning at the beach, I am finally starting my thesis. It's funny how I've been putting it off for so long, but as soon as my mom comes out to Hawaii, I find myself sitting at a desk in academic mode. I guess mothers never lose their "do your homework" influence.<br /><br />So, here it is. My final research topic (hopefully). I am going to be examining the extent to which satire news (John Stewart/Colbert Report) has influenced the formatting and content of mainstream broadcast news outlets (CNN/FOX). I'm feeling good about this one, and even if I wanted to change topics, I think my thesis advisor would officially disown me as a mentoree. Without his media research omniscience, I would be lost. And for that sake alone, I will plow through this thesis, page by page until I've written 16,000 socially significant words. <br /><br />And yes, I've snuck a Rockstar Recovery into the library. <br /><br />Shhh, don't tell my students...Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-31745317410545609472010-11-14T23:48:00.000-08:002010-11-14T23:52:31.495-08:00Loves of My Life<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TODmLCH3mjI/AAAAAAAAAvg/_t5XaPnyois/s1600/DSCF7145.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TODmLCH3mjI/AAAAAAAAAvg/_t5XaPnyois/s400/DSCF7145.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539680618888534578" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TODmK7a6lgI/AAAAAAAAAvY/ENN-uaV6cX8/s1600/DSCF7137.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TODmK7a6lgI/AAAAAAAAAvY/ENN-uaV6cX8/s400/DSCF7137.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539680617089373698" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TODmKf7NoFI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/zBaMpDOpzo0/s1600/DSCF7136.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TODmKf7NoFI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/zBaMpDOpzo0/s400/DSCF7136.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539680609708646482" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TODmKARJzgI/AAAAAAAAAvI/WY3qqQ7rFU8/s1600/DSCF7132.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TODmKARJzgI/AAAAAAAAAvI/WY3qqQ7rFU8/s400/DSCF7132.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539680601210736130" /></a><br />That's all.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-42033890127481211742010-11-11T00:21:00.000-08:002010-11-11T00:46:39.088-08:00First (but really second) Birthday!Harper's first birthday was way better than her original birthday. You know, the one where she was stuck in a cramped, contracting birthing canal for ten hours only to be pushed out into a cold, iritatingly bright room with tons of masked men speaking a mortal, unintelligible language? Hands down, even if you spent your sixteenth birthday eating a dessertless, balogna sandwich lunch alone in a high school bathroom stall, your original birthday was the worst. With this in mind, I knew that Harper's second First birthday would be her best yet, even with minimal effort on my part.<br /><br />Of course I still wanted to make the day special. I know it's been said that a first birthday is more for the parents than for the baby, but I think Harper had a really awesome day. I mean, just look at her wake-up face. It's like she knew this was <em><strong>her</strong></em> day.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNuok0CIkQI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/1vT1JPUW-Us/s1600/DSCF7061.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNuok0CIkQI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/1vT1JPUW-Us/s400/DSCF7061.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538205517178507522" /></a><br /><br />She really loved her Happy Birthday sign. She kept pointing to it and growling (because that's her #1 form of communication...)<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNuphd3MRBI/AAAAAAAAAtY/8k3muQkGXuY/s1600/DSCF7066.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNuphd3MRBI/AAAAAAAAAtY/8k3muQkGXuY/s400/DSCF7066.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538206559199052818" /></a><br /><br />She couldn't wait to open her presents, and was definitely stoked (and not the least bit humiliated) by her obnoxiously flashy headband. I tried to make her wear it all day. <br /> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNuqf_6qE_I/AAAAAAAAAto/wLDpU1ihL2w/s1600/DSCF7083.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNuqf_6qE_I/AAAAAAAAAto/wLDpU1ihL2w/s400/DSCF7083.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538207633492284402" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNuqfqqdFxI/AAAAAAAAAtg/psB-qd7cvbI/s1600/DSCF7076.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNuqfqqdFxI/AAAAAAAAAtg/psB-qd7cvbI/s400/DSCF7076.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538207627787179794" /></a><br /><br />I then made Harper her favorite meal for her Birthday dinner: chicken nuggets and peas. Yup, still wearing the headband...<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNurAQx_-rI/AAAAAAAAAt4/I397V_4MXjE/s1600/DSCF7099.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNurAQx_-rI/AAAAAAAAAt4/I397V_4MXjE/s400/DSCF7099.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538208187775187634" /></a><br /><br />After her gourmet dinner, we had the usual gang over for birthday cake. Harper had the happiest, most genuine smile the entire time we were singing "Happy Birthday" to her. It was as if she knew we were singing just for her. Then we just let her go buck wild on the cake. She made a few unsuccesfull attempts at eating the cake face-first with not hands, but eventually resorted to the hand-to-mouth method. She almost ate the entire piece!<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusKrXvfTI/AAAAAAAAAuA/9Jx02Vanr-o/s1600/DSCF7101.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusKrXvfTI/AAAAAAAAAuA/9Jx02Vanr-o/s400/DSCF7101.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538209466223131954" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusLOU1tYI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/lUy5mdHBFP8/s1600/DSCF7106.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusLOU1tYI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/lUy5mdHBFP8/s400/DSCF7106.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538209475606197634" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusL-OxBPI/AAAAAAAAAug/WvlDLGmnBbo/s1600/DSCF7114.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusL-OxBPI/AAAAAAAAAug/WvlDLGmnBbo/s400/DSCF7114.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538209488465626354" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusLjapq_I/AAAAAAAAAuY/UlZIFk2Uh-8/s1600/DSCF7113.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusLjapq_I/AAAAAAAAAuY/UlZIFk2Uh-8/s400/DSCF7113.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538209481267719154" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusK-lI4jI/AAAAAAAAAuI/gHAKCWlHU18/s1600/DSCF7103.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusK-lI4jI/AAAAAAAAAuI/gHAKCWlHU18/s400/DSCF7103.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538209471379595826" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusvP7frnI/AAAAAAAAAvA/jiajwYLHWJ0/s1600/DSCF7126.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusvP7frnI/AAAAAAAAAvA/jiajwYLHWJ0/s400/DSCF7126.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538210094512057970" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusuYiWKNI/AAAAAAAAAu4/fD3G7j7blBo/s1600/DSCF7124.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNusuYiWKNI/AAAAAAAAAu4/fD3G7j7blBo/s400/DSCF7124.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538210079642626258" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNustxGoAaI/AAAAAAAAAuw/72suBwUvMYI/s1600/DSCF7123.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNustxGoAaI/AAAAAAAAAuw/72suBwUvMYI/s400/DSCF7123.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538210069057372578" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNustlz97qI/AAAAAAAAAuo/HCT__lIy0gs/s1600/DSCF7122.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNustlz97qI/AAAAAAAAAuo/HCT__lIy0gs/s400/DSCF7122.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538210066026327714" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-70459592869047185632010-11-11T00:07:00.000-08:002010-11-11T00:20:22.609-08:00All Hallow's EveHarper's first Halloween wasn't too special, thanks to me. At first we were going to dress Harper and Parker in some kind of "duo" costume. Our ideas slowly deteriorated from grandious aspirations of dying our babies' hair hot pink and azure for Dr. Seuss "Thing 1 and Thing 2" to just drawing a sun and a moon on a couple of onesies and calling them "Night and Day". Eventually, probably in an attempt to subdue our 'creatively underacheiving mom' complexes, Lindsay and I decided that first Halloweens weren't that important anways. I mean, then can't even eat candy, after all, so what's the point? Then I found an awesome 5$ baby motorcycle jacket and decided that I would be James Dean, and Harper Baby James Dean. This didn't happen either. Luckily ever-festive Aunt Tawnie came to the rescue by inviting us over for pumpkin carving. Harper just couldn't keep her hands (or mouth) off of the pumpkin innards and kept sneaking handfulls of the orange, stringy goo into her pie hole. As you can see from the following photos, Harper's Halloween costume degraded into a couple of spooky stickers on her cheeks. I'll do better next year. Promise.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumjLmucMI/AAAAAAAAAtI/h0jrTaHKb_c/s1600/DSCF7047.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumjLmucMI/AAAAAAAAAtI/h0jrTaHKb_c/s400/DSCF7047.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538203290123006146" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumi0fUYhI/AAAAAAAAAtA/ZmFXSWEK06E/s1600/DSCF7046.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumi0fUYhI/AAAAAAAAAtA/ZmFXSWEK06E/s400/DSCF7046.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538203283917922834" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumimMrPEI/AAAAAAAAAs4/yjIt7dWqZSw/s1600/DSCF7045.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumimMrPEI/AAAAAAAAAs4/yjIt7dWqZSw/s400/DSCF7045.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538203280081632322" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumFWFAagI/AAAAAAAAAsw/SxpoHfVu8TI/s1600/DSCF7039.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumFWFAagI/AAAAAAAAAsw/SxpoHfVu8TI/s400/DSCF7039.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538202777538292226" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumE2EqMvI/AAAAAAAAAso/us08IjSKMBc/s1600/DSCF7037.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumE2EqMvI/AAAAAAAAAso/us08IjSKMBc/s400/DSCF7037.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538202768946901746" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumEdABkHI/AAAAAAAAAsg/0zDLeMZlGnA/s1600/DSCF7036.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumEdABkHI/AAAAAAAAAsg/0zDLeMZlGnA/s400/DSCF7036.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538202762216575090" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumECIOJII/AAAAAAAAAsY/kJzdu2eI-j8/s1600/DSCF7030.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumECIOJII/AAAAAAAAAsY/kJzdu2eI-j8/s400/DSCF7030.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538202755003196546" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumDhDIdZI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/38hwFtkDfFs/s1600/DSCF7027.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TNumDhDIdZI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/38hwFtkDfFs/s400/DSCF7027.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538202746123482514" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-33911286284435131722010-11-04T01:10:00.000-07:002010-11-05T18:48:30.853-07:00Alternative ToiletsRunning errands just ain't what it used to be. Like today, for instance, when I had to make the hour-long trek to Honolulu to pick up Harper's Social Security Card. Pre-baby, this feat would have been annoying, but pretty low on the stress-o-meter. Add a one year old baby to the mix? Well, things aren't quite as easy rider as they used to be...<br /><br />It started with strapping a fussy, hand-foot-and-mouth diseased baby into her car seat, coaxing her to sleep for the first 15 minutes of the car ride. This included many dangerous (and impressively acrobatic) manoevers that required extreme arm contortions to keep Harper's pacifier in her mouth. After she was finaly asleep, I was able to relax for a while, just until the keen pang of a full bladder came creeping up on me. At first it was a faint sensation, but after 45 minutes I was trying to figure out how to cross my legs and do the Pee Dance (you know what I'm talking about) while driving in a straight line. I never figured it out, but somehow I made it to Honolulu and parked on the side of a busy street. Was sweet relief just minutes away? Not exactly. Being that Harper was sick, I didn't have the heart to wake her. I figured she wouldn't sleep for much longer. 20 minutes elapsed, and I had resorted to a strange seat version of the Pee Dance to try and supress my burning bladder (my hands were gripped to the steering wheel, so think a faster version of the Macarena). Finally I couldn't take it anymore. Did I wake up baby and take her into a public bathroom? Nope. I peed in a bowl. That's right. A bowl. You might be thinking that this was a shameful act for me, but in the moment, I was actually really proud of myself. In fact, as soon as I was done, I texted Rivers to let him know how rustic I was. I thought he would be proudest of all. And he was. He sure was... The End.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-76088355119695235132010-10-25T23:22:00.001-07:002010-10-27T00:28:14.095-07:00More Harper n ParkerLindsay and I have concluded that we spend more waking hours with one another than with our spouses. This, coupled with us sporting similar androgenous hairstyles and the fact that our babies are 6 days apart in age may lead some to suspect that we carried each other's eggs in order to make a modernly progressive family. This is untrue, of course, but it's hard not to feel like a little family of four on our daily outings...<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUdm4pcCI/AAAAAAAAAsI/GsfAGEG4XoI/s1600/IMG_4966.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUdm4pcCI/AAAAAAAAAsI/GsfAGEG4XoI/s400/IMG_4966.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532624272367382562" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUdpWvM-I/AAAAAAAAAsA/F5dQWoek8m0/s1600/c764487950a9__1287775930000.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUdpWvM-I/AAAAAAAAAsA/F5dQWoek8m0/s400/c764487950a9__1287775930000.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532624273030460386" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUdb6KnZI/AAAAAAAAAr4/QvTZZ33TN7c/s1600/31430f845d43__1287776003000.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUdb6KnZI/AAAAAAAAAr4/QvTZZ33TN7c/s400/31430f845d43__1287776003000.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532624269420961170" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUMb6Y-MI/AAAAAAAAArw/Kw66vqk9ddU/s1600/b329cf2b88e4__1287776212000.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUMb6Y-MI/AAAAAAAAArw/Kw66vqk9ddU/s400/b329cf2b88e4__1287776212000.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532623977364125890" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUMPoYYWI/AAAAAAAAAro/g5HyNpacWKs/s1600/adee7999c3e5__1288021497000.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfUMPoYYWI/AAAAAAAAAro/g5HyNpacWKs/s400/adee7999c3e5__1288021497000.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532623974067364194" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfULyVfVEI/AAAAAAAAArg/nKazIR0ZMF8/s1600/dfd6a6aaacbd__1288021880000.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfULyVfVEI/AAAAAAAAArg/nKazIR0ZMF8/s400/dfd6a6aaacbd__1288021880000.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532623966203499586" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfULksjszI/AAAAAAAAArY/9JArsVLCJI0/s1600/c7e1356c4513__1288021813000.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfULksjszI/AAAAAAAAArY/9JArsVLCJI0/s400/c7e1356c4513__1288021813000.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532623962542158642" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfULRDUxmI/AAAAAAAAArQ/97K8Btt6ZnE/s1600/03674383b5c8__1288024416000.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMfULRDUxmI/AAAAAAAAArQ/97K8Btt6ZnE/s400/03674383b5c8__1288024416000.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532623957268940386" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982813373120775382.post-82173640938545067222010-10-22T01:37:00.000-07:002010-10-22T02:27:04.330-07:00TimeSome days time is a malicious beast forcing me to watch the hours and days crawl by with a broken heart. Then there are moments that time is stagnant, and it seems like just yesterday I was feeling his weekend beard on my cheek, or running to greet him from the 6:10 train ride home.<br /><br />You may think that time works to eventually reveal a mended wound, like a band aid slowly removed. But truth be told, the emptiness never really goes away. Time just covers the hole with new thoughts and memories, when underneath the patch, a void remains like a punched wall repaired with putty. The heart becomes a piece of punctured drywall. Its structural integrity is compromised by a blow so forceful it brings hollowness. <br /><br />Most days I try to forget by allowing time to work its redundant splendor; the numbness is relief to his memory. Still, some days I can feel his presence urging me to remember his throaty laugh, his contagious smile, his broken-handled comb, his out-dated haircut, his tool belt, his handstand push-ups, his New Balance running shoes...Things that were long ago sorted-through, thrown-out or kept in our minds or in our closets. These times bring tears, but in them I find the beauty of feeling. I find the juxtaposition of memory and pain.<br /><br />In my life, time presents a ruthless dichotomy. Some days I beg for its ability to obscure memory, like the eventual degradation of a photograph. Other days I courageously fight against time to preserve my ability to recall his face, his voice, his strength.<br /><br />But at the end of each day, regardless of time as friend or foe, I lie in bed and miss him.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMFXdLPEbDI/AAAAAAAAArI/y0qVCvWLeHk/s1600/dad2.bmp"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 89px; height: 108px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZpFVcFVJjZE/TMFXdLPEbDI/AAAAAAAAArI/y0qVCvWLeHk/s400/dad2.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530797976131497010" /></a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11243971523719567775noreply@blogger.com4