A written record proving we did something today.

Today Madeline and I took a walk to the store, to prove we're not lazy wimps who sit and watch Judge Judy all day. (Which, we all know isn't possible anyway, because Judge Judy is only on an hour a day. Whew.) Madeline really liked being outside, and was pretty much bouncing up and down with joy the first two blocks. I don't know where she gets the energy. Mostly because she's bouncing up and down with joy half the day, and climbing on things or walking around the other half. I guess you know you're old when you like sitting still for longer than 30 seconds. The only time Madeline sits still that long is when she is unconscious. Even when she's eating a bottle, there's limbs flying and hair-grabbing and muffled talking, because she thinks it's cute to talk while she's eating. We'll have to work on that so she doesn't gross out future dates.

Adventures in pretending to be culinary

So I decided to experiment with my cooking today. It makes me feel domestic and productive. Because then when Jessie walks in and says "what did you do today?" I have something to show him other than a baby covered in graham cracker crumbs. Alas, the experimentation doesn't always go well. Jessie would refer you to the buttermilk chicken incident. And yet I keep trying. Because one of these days I am going to suddenly become a gourmet cook. A fantastic one. And Jessie will thank fate that he married such a wonderful woman and gain 50 pounds. It will be wonderful.

Anyway, today we're trying baked spaghetti. I think it sounds a little far-fetched, because you have to cook the spaghetti first. Which is lame. I object to recipes that make me cook things multiple times. Which is why we normally have macaroni and cheese or ramen. But I'm going to try it anyway, because maybe baked spaghetti is oh so much more tasty than regular spaghetti and I've been woefully deprived my whole life. Unfortunately, I had to search for a while to find a recipe that had only kinds of cheeses that I recognized, and few fresh herbs or vegetables. Because the cooking forums think that ricotta cheese and green onions are "staples of everyone's pantry". They've never been to my pantry. They would probably be put into shock at the sight of my pantry. And my vegetable drawer. But I feel good about life. I may cook from a box five nights a week, but my daughter is cuter than those gourmet cooks' daughters. Eat that.

An afternoon with Jane Austen and my feminine side.

Out of either boredom or a desire to seem more feminine, I recently checked out Pride and Prejudice from the library. The kajillion hour movie version. I've never actually watched it all the way through. My one and only foray into the picture was my freshman year of college, when my giddy roommates decided to start watching it at 2 AM late one Friday night (or early Saturday morning, if you want to look at it that way.) Why we decided to start a movie that late that was guaranteed to keep up up until dawn is an act of madness no male would ever understand. I was a little reluctant to watch such a blatantly romantic movie, being in the throes of gaining my reputation as a "maneater". However, two and a half hours later, as we approached the end of the first half of the film, I was unpleasantly surprised to discover that all five of my roommates were asleep on the couches and I was the only one still watching. Rather than embarrasing myself by continuing to watch solo, I gave up and went to bed disgusted with myself.

Now, however, being married and thus obligated to admit that I actually like at least one person of the male persuasion, I can finally finish watching it guilt-free. And during daylight hours when I'm coherent. That is, if Madeline leaves the cords connected to the television long enough. So that's how we're spending our Friday afternoon. Then Madeline and I will work on our cross-stiching and maybe starch some laundry. Whatever that means.

Madeline likes greeting people. By biting them. Ouch.

Madeline learned how to wave. It's awesome, because now whenever I say "hi" or "bye", she starts waving wildly, often with both hands, to demonstrate how great she thinks it is. Unfortunately, she's also figured out that "bye" means leaving, and when you say it she crawls up the gate and stands there and stares at you and wonders why you aren't taking her outside. This isn't so bad when we're actually leaving, but it's traumatic when Jessie is leaving for work and Madeline isn't invited. Apparently our front door is the portal to all things happy and magical and if you don't take you with her when you pass through it you are a mean, terrible person. Also if you don't let her into the bathroom with you. But that's a different story.

Speaking of Madeline. She's developed a fascination with my hair. Particularly with eating it. I always thought that hair tasted disgusting, but apparently I'm behind the times. Madeline thinks it's delicious and must be eaten whenever she is within two feet of my head. Which is great for her, but painful to me. Also painful is the biting. She recently decided biting me a lot was also cool. I know the poor girl is teething, but this is why we pay the big bucks for blocks and stuffed animals and rags and other things she can rip apart with her teeth. Sometimes it's frustrating you can't sit a ten-month old down and explain to her the logic behind not biting people and eating their hair. (Despite my misgivings, I actually tried it anyway. Madeline just laughed at me when I told her she was causing me bodily harm.) If anyone knows how to speak babbling toddler, please let me know. We're in need of a translator here. Also cookies. We always need cookies.

And the holiday jet lag commences.

I don't know if I like Monday holidays or not. On the one hand, it's awesome to have Jessie home all day to play. On the other hand, it throws off the rest of my week. It's hard enough to keep track of what day it is normally. Now I'm just doomed. Also, we tend to go out and about on holidays, and my housework gets neglected. Fondue seemed like a nice idea for Valentine's Day on Saturday, but then I left all weekend and came home to a dirty fondue pot. Because I procrastinate like that. Also because hot oil is uncool to clean up.

So I guess you've figured out what we did for Valentine's Day. After our weekend of no Madeline, and going out for my birthday, we played it low key for Valentine's, actually used the fondue pot I've had since high school, and chilled at home. We thought about getting a redbox, but apparently there were a lot of other people celebrating Valentine's Day by being lame, because there were no good movies left. So we were lamer than the rest of the world and watched a movie we owned and have already seen several times. The horror. (Except it had Sandra Bullock in it, so Jessie wasn't too traumatized.) For the rest of the weekend, we went up to Salt Lake to hang out with the fam. My sister got a new Wii, so we all learned to balance and bowl and golf and other practical talents that will enable us to impress other people at parties. As long as there is a Wii there. All in all, a productive and impressive weekend. Happy Monday everyone. Or Tuesday. Whatever you're feeling.

I've already started lying about my age. By accident.

I'm pretty sure I'm too young to be forgetting how old I am. That's not supposed to happen until you're forty or fifty. Yet the past few weeks, I've had to think more than once whether I'm turning 22 or 23. Oh well. At least in twenty years when I'm telling people I'm 32, it will be because I really can't remember, not because I'm lying. I suppose I should also feel older and wiser or something along those lines. I'd say I'm wiser than I was last year. I know how to get a baby to go to sleep by herself. I know how much diapers and formula cost. I know a lot more about aerobic walking than I ever did as a teenager. I know how to get my husband to cook dinner for me when I'm feeling lazy. If that's not wisdom, I don't know what is.

I've always been pretty proud to have the same birthday as Abraham Lincoln. He is, after all, pretty much the coolest president ever. Charles Darwin, not so much. Other than giving his name to the brilliance of the Darwin awards, what has he done for me? When I was little, I thought that being born on Abraham Lincoln's birthday was a sure sign I was meant to be president someday. I have since decided that being president isn't as fun as it's cracked up to be when you're in second grade. I also thought as a child that my birthday should be a holiday, since it was also Abraham Lincoln's birthday. Turns out it is a holiday in some states, but not Utah, and you don't get school or work off, which we all know is the important part. I think I'm going to go lobby in Washington to get President's Day revoked so we can celebrate Washington's and Lincoln's birthdays separately. Because they were both great presidents. And I deserve a holiday. Oh well. I guess I'll go get started on my presidential campaign so I can earn that holiday the hard way. Dratted red tape.

Our weekend getaway to beautiful...Heber

We survived the weekend of no Madeline. So did she, although not without letting us know what she thought of us ditching her. She had a great time all weekend, was an angel for my parents and slept better than she does at home. Then we showed up to pick her up. Her face went the most solemn I have ever seen. I mean NO smiling. No crying, even, which is what she usually does when she's upset. Just a solemn, pathetic stare which no amount of hugging or tickling or teasing could change. She finally cracked a grin for Jessie, and then she was fine and climbed all over both of us and went chasing after my mom's dog. I think she was trying to give me a guilt trip. You laugh, but it's not out of the question for my little manipulator.

It was fun to have a weekend to ourselves, despite my motherly anxiety. We got to see a movie, and even splurged and went to a real matinee instead of the dollar theater, because I knew a baby wasn't going to keep me in the lobby during the best parts and make me feel bad for spending that much money on a movie I didn't even see. We also got to go to dinner, spend an evening in Heber, hear all of the Sunday school lesson, and play card games on the floor without fear of the cards being digested. I tried to make Jessie go shopping with me, but apparently men don't do that. (Probably because he knew I'd post it on my blog, and he's still trying to get over the time I let everyone know he loves chick flicks.) All in all, a great weekend. And my house is even pretty clean. For now. Until Madeline wakes up from her nap.

Madeline likes to clean the house. Her definition is just different than mine.

I'm giving up my baby for the weekend. Which means I'm torn between guilt at going longer than 24 hours of seeing her, and excitement at getting to sleep and clean and other stuff that Madeline doesn't like to do. Or maybe that she like to help with too much. Like the dishwasher.She likes to pull each dish out after I've rinsed it off to make sure I didn't miss any spots. And then she puts them on the floor to keep track of which ones she's checked. So helpful. But rather detrimental to the whole filling the dishwasher idea. She also likes to help with laundry. Which translates to me trying to fold the clothes faster than she can drop them on the floor. She also likes to help me write blogs. Unfortunately, I have an exactingly high standard for my material, which must meet a certain level of wit and genius that Madeline has yet to achieve. Mostly because her writing generally resembles this: bgwlieg uweg ert000--ergre gkllkkkkkkk dkk. I'd tell you what that means but then I'd have to kill you.

As a side note to all stupid people at grocery stores (and this will sound like complaining to the rest of you, so skip it): Please, please have the courtesy to wait for me to remove my bags and my reciept from the self-serve checkout before you reach across my cart, and incidentally, my baby, to scan your Dove chocolate bar. It's not good manners, and no one's in that big of a hurry, or they wouldn't stop to buy a chocolate bar and nothing else. Next time you do that to me, I'm going to punch you and then take your chocolate bar and split it with my baby. Thank you.

Twenty-five things...or not. I hereby tag the world.

So. I got tagged on facebook. I don't know how I feel about tags. When I get tagged on the playground, I know what to do. I'm actually pretty good at tag. Probably because instead of running from the other person, which would only show off my phenomenally embarrassing athletic skills, I face them like a woman, and slap them back before they have time to run. I especially like freeze tag, maybe because you get to rest. I don't understand internet tag. Oh! Tag! Snap! Now you HAVE to throw a sheep at me or turn twenty people into vampires or kidnap me to Italy with a boot or take a survey designed for 12 year olds trying to out each other's crushes and brag about how many people they've kissed. Awesome. And yet, there is some evil property about the tag that make me feel like I have to pass it on. Therefore, I reveal for you, twenty-five things I would rather be doing than tagging you.

1. Poking you. Because for some reason, this is way cooler than any other application on facebook. And I'm talking old school simple poke, not throwing octopuses or making out with or some such nonsense. Consider yourselves all poked.

2. Making cookies. Would you like another invitation to join my mafia, or a plate of cookies? That's what I thought.

3. Sleeping. Because it takes energy to turn down the zillions of invitations I get every day. Click. Click. Click. Carpal tunnel.

4. Watching the West Wing. I think it is my goal to mention The West Wing in every post ever from now on. I'm going to start a mass e-mail featuring a West Wing Quiz. And a West Wing facebook app where I invite you to join my presidential campaign.

5. Playing real tag with Madeline. Because she's not very good at it and the poor girl needs practice. Also because she's cuter than all of you put together, and has no facebook profile for me to bug her on.

6. Reading my library books so that I can pretend to be cultured and stuff. Because there is no honor in bragging at a party about how many people you've dropkicked on facebook, but you know if I ever finish Atlas Shrugged, I am going to look so cool. If only because I read a really freaking long book AND kept a baby alive at the same time.

7. Aerobic walking. Which, I admit, is only marginally more fun than taking internet surveys, but infinitely better for my abs. Supposedly.

8. Playing pinochle. No explanation needed there.

9. Critiquing Jessie's papers for school. Apparently I am a freak and this is fun for me. Unfortunately, I think Jessie would rather I recruited him to my online zombie army. He thinks I'm a grammatical snob.

10. Writing e-mails. Because amazingly, it's more fun for me to write personal messages to my friends and family instead of inviting them to my Ultimate Circle of Coolest Facebook Friends Ever and considering that our socialization for the week.

11. Reading random people's blogs. Unless their posts are all surveys/tags. Please be original, people. For the sake of the random people you don't know who are stalking you through your blog.

12. Taking pictures of Madeline. Because, I remind you, she is cuter than all of you put together.

13. Playing games with Jessie. As long as I win.

14. Laughing at stupid people on Judge Judy. Because let's be honest. No matter how stupid you may appear by imagining that I care whether you prefer chocolate or vanilla ice cream or that your favorite thing to do at 3 AM is clip your toenails, the people on Judge Judy are invariably stupider, and thus more entertaining. (And yes, I know stupider is not a word. I don't care.)

15. Reading the news. Because maybe that will be more useful to me today than sending you a piece of flair telling you it's cold outside. Go read a weather report. Or go outside.

16. Doing the laundry. Because I like clean clothes better than the free flower you sent me on facebook. Which isn't a real flower by the way. It's a picture of a flower. And a small one at that.

17. Reading Dear Abby. If they had a Dear Abby facebook app, maybe I would add it.

18. Sledding. Not for any good reason. I just have the sudden urge to go sledding.

19. Blogging. Because let's admit it. I'm hilarious. My blogs are like a gift to humanity. And they showcase my incredible wit and sarcasm.

20. Cleaning my house. And I don't even really like cleaning my house. I'd just rather be doing it than tagging you.

21. Fiddling around with the keyboard Jessie got me for Christmas. Because one of these days I'm going to learn to play the piano brilliantly and start my worldwide tour. And you'll be able to say you tagged me in your 25 things on facebook. And people will be impressed.

22. Shopping. So I can buy myself a real flower.

23. My dishes. Okay, let's not kid ourselves. I'd much rather throw an octopus at you than do the dishes. You caught me.

24. Pretty much do anything with Jessie, because aside from Madeline, he's the cutest person in this family. And he's never tried to turn me into a vampire or a zombie.

25. I refuse to tell you anymore things I'd rather be doing, simply because who the heck said there have to be twenty-five of anything? Who came up with that number? So be content with the 24 things I'd rather be doing. I hereby set everyone free from the tag and command you to write whatever you want about yourself, whenever you want. If you want to be cool too, write 25 or 13 or 108 random things about yourself. Or blog about the virtues of penguins. Or go watch Judge Judy. I'm really not too fussed about it.