Antimony may be the site of the Bermuda Triangle.

Good news-We are alive. Bad news-Antimony is the bane of my existence.

So, you may recall my skepticism at returning to Antimony, the scene of our disastrous trip last year, in which we were trapped by wild fires (causing me to miss one of my best friend's farewells) and in which we lost our keys and were locked out of our house (on a Sunday, when everything is closed. Beautiful). However, I decided that last year was a fluke, and was determined to enjoy myself this time.

The camping trip was fun for a while. Madeline was really well-behaved and didn't wake anyone up. We played pinochle and horseshoes and other such amusing games. But a few hours before we were going to drive out on Saturday afternoon, a huge rainstorm hit, turning the already treacherous road into a nightmare. And, unfortunately, on the way down we ran over a huge rock which completely ruined our oil pan and rendered our car useless. Sad day. We met a nice man named Wade who drove us all over Antimony looking for someone who could help us, and ended up at the Rockin' R Ranch, which did not have room for us due to the giant family reunion being held there for the family of Earl C. Tingey, senior president of the Seventy. So Wade kindly drove us back to our campsite, where we rejoined Jessie's family to tell the dreadful tale of our woes and try to come up with a plan.

Turns out our friend Wade had a tow rope, so we packed into Jessie's parents' suburban (six of us plus 2 babies, a tight fit) and headed down the mountain to our abandoned car. Jessie's dad was able to tow it into town, where our kind friend J.R. at the Rockin' R Ranch let us stow the car on the property and gave us lunch. Since the closest auto shop was an hour away, and it was Sunday so everything was closed, we decided to leave our junky car and continue on our way home. What should have been a 3 hour car ride became 6, mainly because the brakes on the suburban were pretty much shot. We were in constant fear of dying, and we had to keep back-tracking to try and find the items that were flying off the top of the car after our tarp broke. We finally made it home 24 hours after the initial accident, and I promptly vowed never to go to Antimony again. Except to get my car and camping supplies. Sigh. Antimony, here I come.

We WILL go camping and enjoy it.

Well, so much for reforming and blogging often. But I have to come to remedy that situation and share with you more happy news. You know that quote about insanity- that it's doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results? Well, call me crazy. We're going back to Antimony. For all those who haven't been following the saga, let's review. Antimony is a little town in central Utah in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by towns you've never heard of. I've only met one person outside Jessie's family who had ever heard of it. Jessie's Dad went to high school down there, so it's been a tradition since they were small children to go camping and fishing there every year. Aww, sweet, right? Well, when we got married I was eager to support this happy family tradition. This is what happened.

Year One- We had a good time until we tried to leave. Because there were massive soldiers that had shut down all the highways nearby and you couldn't get through. So we unpacked our stuff and stayed another night, and I missed one of my best friend's mission farewells. Then we lost Jessie's keys and were locked out of our apartment when we got back with all our camping gear. Fun times.

Year Two- Also known as the year from heck. We once again tried to leave on Saturday, but going down the ridiculously hazardous road out of the mountains, hit a rock and punched a hole in our oil pan and died. Got driven around Antimony (population 75 or something ridiculous) by a nice random camper and determined there was no mechanic in this galaxy. Went back up the mountain to stay with family. Rode home with nine people in space designated for a maximum of six (including unrestrained babies) in a suburban with faulty brakes that randomly didn't work. The three hour drive took six inexplicably and things were flying off the roof onto the freeway never to be recovered. Eventually sold our car to a junk yard for a couple hundred bucks because it wasn't worth the towing to a town with a mechanic. Fun times.

Year Three- Foolishly decided to still go even though we were in the middle of moving. Got there late and set up camp in the dark because we'd spent the day cleaning our old apartment. Madeline cried all night because she had no crib. Twelve hours after arrival, our brand new tent randomly had two main poles snap simultaneously. Gave up and went home to a house full of boxes and twenty messages from evil landlady telling us she was charging us for twenty hours of cleaning in which she was presumably picking hairs one by one from ten feet down the laundry drain and demanding we come finish more OCD cleaning. Fun times.

Year Four- We never made it down to Antimony because Jessie had an emergency appendectomy. Ironically the most relaxing Antimony trip I've had.

So you see, I really want to be supportive of family unity. But you have to admit, that's a pretty long string of bad luck. And despite my best intentions to be positive, I think I've been conditioned to get a knot in my stomach when I hear the name. But seeing as how this tradition is not going away, we're trying again. Maybe one good, uneventful trip will break the streak and heal all wounds. So we're off to eat fish and play games and cook food and return home unscathed. Think good thoughts. Lots of good thoughts. And prayers. And maybe a few horseshoes and a couple strings of garlic.

Contrary to popular opinion, it was not all a ploy to avoid Antimony.

Well, welcome back to our wacky and exciting life. For once my lack of blogging is because there were things going on, not because I was weary of posting about pregnancy ills and Madeline's quirks. But brace yourselves- this post will contain only trace amounts of either.

We spent most of the weekend at the Lundstrom family reunion in Logan. Which is pretty much an awesome event, and I'm pretty sad for all of you who aren't Lundstroms. Basically, Lundstrom family reunions are two day sports marathons, with intense games of soccer, ultimate frisbee, dodgeball, basketball, kickball, and anything else we can think of that will wear people out and burn up some excess competitive drives. And the old people/gimps/pregnant people sit and hold babies and talk. It works out pretty well. As always, we had a great time but were pretty exhausted by the end of the festivities.

Here's where our story gets fun. We stopped at my parents ward on the way home (since they have church two hours later than us and we could sleep in. I came up with this brilliant idea. Sometimes I am amazing.) Towards the end of church, Jessie started having stomach pain. Having a history of ulcers, he thought it would eventually pass. But instead it kept getting worse. And worse. Until 10:30 at night when he declared he was dying and decided he wanted to go to the hospital. (Wimp. Just because his stomach was exploding.) In an exciting turn of events, they were quick to inform us that he had appendicitis. (Always needs attention, that Jessie. Sheesh.) So early this morning, he had surgery to remove the little bugger. Happy Independence Day, Jessie! Your appendix has broken off from the motherland and become its own entity!

Anyway. So we spent most of the day/night at the hospital, being awesome, and then they got sick of Jessie making excel sheets charting his recovery time, so they sent us home. And here we shall remain, reveling in our appendectomy convalescence, until Jessie gets sick of me asking him if he's okay. On a totally unrelated note, this means sadly that we will not be making our annual Antimony trip this weekend. I am very broken up about this, and begged Jessie to reconsider, but he was adamant. So no stories about Antimony stealing my soul this year. Maybe next year. We can only hope.

Startling Updates. Prepare your mind.

Hello, all. Lack of posting can only mean one thing- we are going through a sleep phase. But everyone slept in until a whopping 6:20 today, Hallelujah! (You think I kid. I do not. This is late at our house. I am actually pleasantly shocked.) So that leaves me with enough coherency to update you. I know, you all thought we died in Antimony. But I am here to make a startling announcement. We went to Antimony and nothing bad happened. I know. Amazing, right? No major accidents, tricks of fate, health crises, or other tragic turn of events. We enjoyed ourselves. We're planning on going again next year and I don't have anxiety in my stomach. It was our year. The year of the Warners. I hereby declare the rest of the year to be the Year of the Warners as well. While we're at it.

One reason Antimony was good was this little baby:

We bought a van! And we rejoiced and filled it with stuff and drove it around a lot. (Disclaimer: Not the actual van we own. Just a doppelganger from the internet. Please do not be disappointed. You may come stare at the actual van in front of my house if that makes you feel better.) We found a decent deal on a Honda Odyssey and bit the bullet. I love it. I can go wherever I want, whenever I want. Not that we do, because we are lazy and tired and pregnant and like to sit on the couch all day watching Oprah. (Oh wait. Is that over? Maybe that's not what we do all day. When I figure it out I'll let you know.) But we could if we wanted to. And we reclaimed our extra parking spot from its communal status and the neighbors were all sad. But sometimes you just have to be selfish and forget your community. Anyway. We're glad we'll have room for three munchkins now without strapping one to the roof.

Other than that, we're enjoying being chill this week. Kimberly learned to climb stairs and developed a keen interest in the bathroom plunger, so that's keeping us occupied. And Madeline spends all day singing I Am a Child of God and Somebody to Love, so we're all entertained over here. Happy August. Seems like every time I turn around it's a new month. Calenders are funny that way. Until next time.

Adventures in Antimony

So our family is headed out this week to go camping, in the spirit of cheap summer vacations. Jessie's family annually makes a trip down to a little town called Antimony. It's pretty much out in the middle of nowhere. When Jessie first told me about it, I was clueless that this little town even existed. I asked him where it was. It's by this little town named Koosharem that also has never been heard of. Turns out Koosharem is next to Sigurd. It also turns out that I've never heard of Sigurd. We went through three or four towns before he told me one that sounded vaguely familiar. Suffice it to say that this place is in southern Utah, a few hours away from here. Despite this encouraging description I've given you, I enjoyed the trip last year. Being out in the middle of nowhere does have its charms. The only problem we ran into was becoming stranded the day we were going to come home by huge wildfires that shut down the freeways. Whoops.

This year we shouldn't have that problem. I'm more worried about getting disowned by the family if Madeline starts screaming in the night. Or in the day, for that matter. That girl has the heartiest set of lungs west of the Mississippi, I think. Not only is she piercingly loud, but she has stamina. Last week, when we left her with Grandma Alyce, she cried at the top of her lungs for three hours. The child-raising books the doctors give you say you should just let a baby cry if you've tried everything; they'll calm down on their own. Lies. My one consolation is the hope that she'll be a famous Broadway singer one day. Here's hoping we don't wake up everyone in Antimony. :-)

Read at your own risk.

So, if you're looking for sunshine and roses and happy stories, go read another blog. It's been quite the fun week, and I can't decide which to rant about:

- My demon former landlord who is OCD about cleaning apartments and is charging us by the hour to go back over everything I did because it screamed filthy to her. The woman took apart the sinks to find hair we missed and yelled at us for not unscrewing the vents in the ceiling and cleaning them out. BYU wasn't this picky. Phooey on you, landlady. Keep it up and I'll kidnap you, drive you to Antimony, and leave you there.

-Speaking of which, Antimony was as lovely as ever. We were there all of twelve hours when our brand new tent snapped. In two places. For no apparent reason. Also, on the way down the mountain, our car hit the same rock that punched a hole in our oil pan last year, and we're now leaking antifreeze. At least we made it home. Never again, oh Antimony. There's a reason it's located right next to Hell's Backbone.

-The cold showers we've been taking since we moved in. And now our gas is finally on, and I don't have the upper body strength to turn the valve and partake of the goodness. I knew I should be hitting the gym. Curse my wimpiness.

-Madeline didn't like moving. Or camping. For the past three days, she has been clingy 24/7, throwing kicking and screaming fits whenever you tell her no, and refusing to nap when she is tired. I'm sure our first impression at our new ward was fantastic. Especially when the lesson is on reverence and respect and removing screaming children from sacrament meeting. At least they'll remember us.

So, there's all my ranting in one post, for your enjoyment. Let us commiserate, and tomorrow I'll write about how wonderful it is to own my own home and stuff. After I spend a little more time unpacking boxes and trying to impose order on the chaos. Maybe I'll just boycott life and spend time watching some wonderfully stupid and utterly useless drama on the Bachelorette. Because choosing your life long partner (read: fling of six months) from a flock of fame hungry single men is way more difficult than my life.

A few words about moving and that little place I like to call Purgatory

Greetings, earthlings. Things are going well with the whole house buying thing, which means we'll probably be moving in a week and a half. For the third time in a year and a half. Awesome, no? I finally found some boxes and have managed to DI/trash approximately three items from our apartment, so things are progressing nicely. Madeline is nearly as good at unpacking as I am at packing, so we're both working hard. Although I'm winning by about a dozen boxes at the moment. And Jessie disassembled his weight set, so we're both finally getting some exercise. (Kidding, Jessie. You know we already get exercise chasing Madeline around at church.)

So, this is our plan for the next two weeks: pack, do homework, repeat. Move all our junk. Clean our apartment. Go camping for three days. Smart of us, eh? Then we can come home to a nice, new, house full of boxes with all our dirty camping gear. If we ever get home. Because we're going to...please hold back your cries of dismay...a little place called Antimony. You know, that town in the middle of nowhere. That eats people. And cars. I'm starting to think the place is cursed. So I was pretty adamant that we move before we go down there, in case we get kidnapped by aliens and don't make it back in time to let the new renters take over our apartment. I tried to start an underground family coup to change the location of our annual camping trip, but was pretty much overruled by people singing about tradition.

(And let's just remember how well that worked out for this guy:)

So, Antimony, I'm giving you one more shot. You've stolen my dignity, my time, my sanity, and my car. If you take my firstborn, that's it. We're camping in Yellowstone from now on.

Happy birthday, pookie schnookums

Well, you're probably all sick of the birthday talk, but it's not my fault Madeline insisted on coming the same week as Jessie's birthday. She's obstinate like that. And since Jessie's got 25 years to his credit instead of just one, I figured I'd be remiss if I didn't blog about what an old fogie he is. Seriously though folks, that's a quarter of a century. Time for a life crisis or something, don't you think? But no, he has to keep on being all responsible and charming and successful and handsome and stuff. He just doesn't know how to have a nervous breakdown. Here are some reasons I am glad Jessie was born:

He kills spiders. And takes care of dead mice.
He watches West Wing with me.
He produces cute offspring.
He got me to like Mexican Food, cheesecake, and pumpkin pie.
He appreciates Excel like no one else I know.
He makes really delicious empanadas and chicken parmesean.
He's a really good country dancer, and sort of makes me look like one too.
He uses the word "feisty" rather than "stubborn" to describe me.
He got me out of Antimony. Twice. Without anybody dying (although it was close.)
He has built houses that didn't fall down.
He can find a lot of Easter eggs.
He looks good in a tux.
He taught me pinochle.
He lets me blog about some of his more embarrassing life moments. And lack of holiday spirit.
He lets me read and critique his papers for school even if it brusies his ego.
He enables my smoothie bad food addictions.
He does all that boring marketing stuff so I can play with Madeline all day.
He only complains once in a while when I steal the covers.
He likes to hear me sing.
He lets me win at card/board games as often as it takes to keep the peace.

This is just a small sampling, lest you get bored and jealous reading about how awesome my husband is. You should all wish him happy birthday and good luck with his quarter life crisis.


Seriously. Aren't you glad that face was born?

My offspring and my poor choices.

Recently Madeline has decided she's a big fan of the Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde movement. When she's happy, she's downright adorable. But when she's not happy, heaven help us all. She's rediscovered temper tantrums and we're having a lot of fun trying to convince her that being happy is way more fun. But I'm trying to focus on the downright adorableness, because that gives me less headaches. On that front, our big news for the day is that Madeline finally learned how to pedal her bike (really a tricycle/scooter thing). I've been trying to teach her for a month and today she finally connected the dots. It was kind of amazing how excited I was. I'm usually excited about Madeline's accomplishments, but not in a I want to shout it to the world kind of way, and tell random strangers, and give her a trophy. I haven't really been like that since she was learning to roll over and crawl and other such milestones. I blame the pregnancy hormones.

Speaking of which, I just realized there's a baby in there. Because the last week or so there's been some weird fluttering/flipping action going on that catches me off guard at weird times of day and reminds me: oh yeah. Something is alive in there. I'd kind of forgotten about that part. But I'm glad, because I can't wait for it to really start jiving so I can let Madeline feel it, because I'm pretty sure she'll think it's a hoot and we'll be set for entertainment for the next five months. Oh, and so Jessie can feel it move. But let's be honest, he's been there/done that, so Madeline's reaction is going to be more novel.

And, lastly, because I would just like to inform you all that I must be crazy. Because I've officially committed to returning to the bane of my existence. Which, in case you missed the last three years of my life, is a little place called Antimony. Which you can read about in the archives if you want to know all about how our grudge fest. And then you can wonder, as I am, if my IQ dropped twenty points or I just enjoy punishment. I fully expect to get sucked down a river or go into premature labor in the middle of nowhere or have Madeline get eaten by a bear. But these are sacrifices we must make.

It doesn't change a thing, but even so, after twenty-five years, it's nice to know

It's that time of year again. No, not Thanksgiving. Not Christmas. Not False Confession Day. No, tomorrow marks three years that Jessie and I have put up with having someone steal the covers from you while you're sleeping. So once again, you have the privilege of listening to me highlight my husband's amazing super powers. Don't worry, mushiness is not my strong suit, this should be safe reading for small children and endangered species.

So, Jessita, thanks for three years of wedded bliss. I was a little worried you were only marrying me to get a free Mexican cruise, but then, I only married you for your rare book inheritance, so we're even. I thought maybe you'd jump ship about month seven to pursue your career writing love songs to Excel, but when you let me make up that Christmas budget and showed me how to use the sorting function, I knew we'd make it. Those days we were lost in the barbaric Antimony countryside were rough, when we thought we were going to die, but I'll always treasure the moment we looked into each other's eyes and promised that if only one of us made it out , they'd come back and put our car's punctured oil pan over the other's grave. If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Here's to you, Mr. Warner. Thanks for making your fatherly example and genetic contribution to this adorable little dictator:

Thanks for not leaving me after you learned how much I suck at this:

Thanks for not making me get rid of my giant collection of these:


And thanks for showing up on time to get permanently stuck with me on this day (although I'm not grateful you tricked me into thinking you'd forgotten. Minus ten thousand anniversary brownie points for you!):

The last three years have been awesome.

Here's to the next ninety-seven.

And you'd better bring chocolate, my friend.

Mawige. Mawige is what brings us...you know the rest.

Well, I'm sure you're all dying to know what life is like with two little munchkins. But your thirst for information will have to wait a day or two, because it's time for our annual Jessie love-fest, in which you humor my mormon-mommy-blogger need to tell you about how cool my husband is, to feed our egos. That's right folks, Jessie and I have officially been married four years today. It feels like a lot less when I write it down. Since we're so awesome and knowledgeable about matrimony and stuff, we're pretty pleased to have achieved this milestone despite the rumors from the paparazzi that Jessie was leaving me to study the penguins in Antarctica, or that I was running away to focus on my belly dancing career. Allow me to regale you with the most awesome parts or our union over the past year, and why I'm glad I went through them with Jessie instead of, say, George Jetson.

1. We found my wedding ring in an unlikely place after Jessie had magnanimously decided he loved me enough to buy me a new one even though it could have provided him with a handy excuse for running away to Antarctica. I believe I detailed at the time how delighted I was, so I'll spare you the sappiness.

2. We cemented our love watching the Olympics, and I decided that Jessie and I should get in training to win a figure skating gold medal. Because how cool and romantic and good for your marriage would that be? Then I remembered I have no sense of balance, and can't ice skate. And I was bummed for a minute, but then I remembered Jessie loved me anyway. So now we're going for the Nobel prize in physics together. Just as soon as we can get Madeline to sit still for the photon laser.

3. We found out we were having kid #2. And wondered if we were crazy. And endured a long pregnancy of hospital visits, morning sickness, crazy hormones, and other such unpleasantness. (And that was just Jessie. Believe me, I was feeling even worse.) And we still liked each other enough when it was all said and done to hang out together in labor and delivery and have a baby. Of which I'll post a picture, because let's face it: this post may be about Jessie, but we all want some baby pictures. (Of which I will post more once I unload a camera.)
4. We survived an appendectomy, and in the process avoided going on the annual Antimony trip. Both of which were good for our marriage and brought us together. Because Jessie had to stay home and hang out with me for a few days, and went nuts being on sick leave and cleaned the house as he is wont to do. Going through medical crises is great with Jessie. I have less housework to do for a week.

5. Jessie got a new job with a lot of perks, because he is awesome. Now he lets me play with his iphone and brings home free t-shirts and has real work parties. Oh, and he does work for his new company too, but we don't like to talk about that. As always, his nerdy work side and his obsession with geeky computer programs is endearing. And it's pretty nice he brings home a paycheck too, to pay for those pesky things like food and diapers and new shoes.

There was probably more eventful things in our fourth year of marriage, but with post-pregnancy brain I can't remember them. So, let me sum up: Being married is pretty awesome. Jessie is still a pretty great guy. Stuff happens in our life and I'm always glad Jessie is here to deal with/enjoy it with me. Because misery loves company and happy people do too. So happy anniversary, Jessita. It's been a ball. Let's do more cool stuff.
(And here for your viewing pleasure is the requisite wedding photo that these posts must have. See how in love we are. Jessie is one handsome devil in a tux.)