Mr. Christiansen

The last time I wrote a post dedicated to Jeremy was when we were dating. Suddenly a boy had sprung up in my life and people were starting to get curious. But since we're now married, the masses are no longer wondering. I don't rant and rave about Mr. Christiansen enough, I don't think. So in honor of his birthday yesterday, I think I'll add (and reiterate) a few things to the list of things I already saw in him back last May.

1. He is funny. Not stand-up-comedy-funny, but he is always saying (or singing) off-the-wall things that make me laugh. Whenever I'm feeling sick or tired or out of sorts, he has a knack for giving me a fit of giggles.


2. He is level-headed. No matter how much the new tires are going to cost or what the latest unexpected bill is in the mail, he takes it in stride and doesn't lose perspective.


3. He's diligent and thorough. When he sets a goal, he takes the steps to make it a reality, no matter the cost.


4. He is focused. Seriously, he is studying hardcore for the LSAT that he'll take in the summer of 2010.


5. He is compassionate. We see a homeless on the corner, and he wants to stop and buy a sandwitch. I've had a rough day and he's willing to give me a back rub--no matter how tired he is. I do something without thinking and he makes me look in those clear blue eyes until I see his forgiveness and understanding.


6. He is thoughtful. He takes what I say and applies. I've only had to ask him to put the toilet seat down once, and he's since remembered.


7. He's not concerned with what the masses think. So it's not "cool" or "kosher" to do something they way it should be done? He doesn't let it stop him.


8. Did I meantion that he's good looking? Yup, I still am pretty dang positive about this one.


9. He still wears vans old schools. And swears he will 'till he's an old man. I love the vans/old-man sweater look he sports all the time. It's so Jeremy.


10. And he still makes me smile. All day long.
    

Happy Birthday, Mr. Christiansen. Here's to a long life of many birthdays!

Welcoming Chase David Donovan

Today at 12:23pm (California time), darling little Chase David Donovan came into the world. He was 7 lbs 1 oz and 20 inches long. I got to talk to Tasha tonight for a few minutes. She is doing good--although is understandably tired. I am so dang happy this little guy decided to show up without any major complications or mishaps.

And I loved getting to hear my newest little nephew making noises on the other side of the line! I can hardly believe she has another little one to love and take care of. I just can't stop smiling about getting to be Aunt Carly Jane to one more cute little one :)

ps. Better and more pictures are sure to come soon. These are phone pictures curtesy of Aunt Paige (THANK YOU, PAIGE). I just couldn't wait to post the happy news!

pps. Sara and Stanford posted some of the MOST FABULOUS pictures. Hooray for photographers in the family!

Nursury ideas

Yes. It is 3:40AM. And once again, I am having trouble sleeping. And what am I thinking about so much that I can't dream? My little one, of course. I thought I would at least get up and be productive for a few minutes and show you some of my favorite nursury findings...

You will probably not be surprised to hear that RED will play a significant role in my nursury creating. But, the truth is, it won't be the only color. I've loved ideas I've found with red playing a dominant theme, but accented by other soft baby colors. Most of the following are from the same nursury (on ohdeedoh.com) for a little girl. Since mine is a little boy bun, I like the idea of accenting red with baby blues and soft yellows instead of green.

Is this red furniture not to die for? So far I don't know how much furniture will make it into the budget... but I would like a chest of drawers and a small bookshelf (and a crib, of course). As far as buying goes, I would go white (especially the crib). Although it is tempting to paint the others (if we get them) red. So so fabulous. One can dream, can't she?

Something else I love about this room (and that is so fabulous about the play room/guest room in two pictures down) is the pictures on the wall. I love that they are framed in red and are from old vintage kids books. Or new kids books. Either way. I love this idea. My thoughts are to paint some cheap frames red (unless I can find them cheap and red already) and put nursury rhymes, pictures (scanned? cut out of DI books?) in them. I saw once is craftpad.com (shown below) that she covered her mats in fun fabrics. Love that idea too. Or, I could embroider something and frame it in red. An A, B, C all hung in a row? We'll see. But either way I work it, I LOVE the idea of literary wall hangings. I am an English teacher, after all.

And last but not least, I love this mobil (picture again curtesy of craftpad.com... um, maybe all of these I found there...). Anyhow, the litte owls are SO dang cute. I don't know if I have the skills to make my own mobil. But why not? I like the baby blues but would definitely add some red and maybe yellow ones in.

And there you have it. All my thoughts so far. Don't worry, more are to come. I haven't actually bought a thing (although my mom found some solid red knit sheets yesterday and added them to her basket (hooray!)). So far most all of this is in the planning stages... but that's the fun part, isn't t? In the meantime I have a few fun projects up my sleeve for my sisters who are both about to pop. (Tasha's due Monday, folks, and Sara in a month). Babies, babies, everywhere and all the world is well.

Freckles

As the winter months continue in their coldness (although yesterday it did rain instead of snow... an interesting phenomena in the Utah weather scheme of things) and my skin gets paler and paler, I have begun to miss my freckles. It's not the pale skin I mind so much (actually, I don't mind it at all), it's the lack of interesting colors and splotches created by my ever-present freckle friends.

They are my fairy kisses. The evidence (as I firmly believed as a preschooler) that the fairies have chosen me. (Note: I don't know if I came to this conclusion because I read it in one of a bizillion fairy books I read and had read to me as a little girl, or if someone actually articulated it for me, or if I knew it simply because it is true...) In any case, I miss them. And while I walk to and from work everyday (and thus have plenty of vitamin-D rich sun exposure), I have yet to get a new freckle in many a long month.

But I know they'll come back. It will just take one nice-weathered BYU baseball game (don't worry, I'll wear sunscreen this year) to make them magically reappear on my arms and shins and cheaks. And oh how excited I am for those BYU baseball games to begin...

Morrell Snowball

The other day I had a deep pang of missing Grandpa Snowball. He died last February and it has subsequently been a year of "firsts" without him. Although I don't live in California near my Grandma, I think of her often as she continues the mighty struggle to live alone. Because I grew up living just 10-15 minutes from my grandparents, we were at their house a lot. We celebrated almost every holiday with them. My pool of memories about Grandpa is deep. He was such a good man. Quiet and good natured. Yet stubborn. Persistant. A perfectionist. He would work on a project until it was just how he wanted it. He never (never) did shoddy work.

I remember my mom bringing a belt over to him once that needed another hole. He got out his tools and found the perfect size pin to make a hole the exact size of the others. He was painsaking and deliberate.

He was always that way with his garden. It was a work of art. Their yard is safe haven. I remember when we were little and they would open the hidden pit in their back yard. We would parade the food outside to be set up on card tables. The little ice bucket and stacks of matching melomine plates. The benches with backs that flipped into tables and the special white iron table for two in the gazebo.

I remember trips to Park City in college and staying in the Marriott Hotel. They would pick us up as they drove through Provo and let us spend the weekend. They would take us shopping at the grocery story with them and fill up their cart with all kinds of goodies. I remember on one of those trips watching Grandpa open the breadbag and push down the edges. Then, with the precision with which he does everything, use his pocketknife to cut off and away the inner plastic bag and slide the outer bag up and around the neatly sliced stack of bread.

I remember him sitting me on his knee or putting an arm around me to sing me the saucy little redhead song. I remember sitting by his knee the Sunday before his surgury to remove the tongue cancer as we recorded him singing all his favorite tunes from the 40s. Songs he had sung again and again and for any and every occasion. (A, you're adorble, B, you're so beautiful, C you're a cutie full of charmes...)

He was the candy man. The jars and dishes were always full... and so were his pockets and church I hear.

His wavy grey hair was always neatly combed back, his shirt carefully tucked in, and often matching his shoes. His work clothes always hung from the hooks opposite the mirror in the "kid's bathroom." He was a hard worker. He loved to showoff his garden. He loved to see us smile.

As Grandma would talk and tell stories when we came to visit, he would sit in the green swivle chair opposite her and add a note here or there. He wasn't usually noticibly in the middle of things. But he was.

His wood art--the birds and musical notes he carved--were beautiful and reticent of the things he treasured. Long Beach--home. The music he always sang and the music his wife and daughters filled the home with. Diligence. Attention to detail. Long hard work.

His scriptures and a small trash can sat hidden behind his green chair. The trash can so he could throw away hsi candy wrappers without having to get up. He lived a good life. He loved us unequivically. He loved the gospel. I don't know that ever recall doubting that he had a testimony, even though I also don't ever remember hearing him bear it with words. It was an implicit part of him.

I miss him. I ache to think of Grandma living without him. But I know he isn't really gone. I'll see him again someday. And in the meantime I hope to carry on his legacy, to teach my children about this good and great man who helped shape my childhood and my view of the world. To teach them of the righteousness, the valiency and love and gift for living that he left.

The wee one

Ever since those little lines showed up on the home pregnancy test, I have been on pins and needles to know just what this little bun (in my oven) will be. The last week and a half I have begun to feel movement and kicking and flurries, which have only heightened my anticipation. Would it be little red truck or little red sunbonnet susans in that imaginary nursury I have been scheming up for the past four months? Would it be sugar and spice and everything nice or snips and snails and puppy dog tails?

For some reason (that 177 beats per minute heartbeat way back in October might have had something to do with it) everyone was convinced it was a little girl.

But us Christiansens like to keep people on their toes. It looks like our very own, cute as can be, little BOY bun is on the way! And we couldn't be more excited.

I will say, the ultra sound was very fun. I had had one before (at 14 weeks) when I was threatening a miscarriage. That one was stressful. This one was all delight. The technition was great. We got to see him moving and kicking all over his little placenta. And at the end the technition took a few 3D pictures. It is very surreal to look at that tiny little face and know that in just a few months I'll have my own little boy to love and hold and nurture.

A Classic California Christmas

I love Christmas. I love coming home for Christmas. I love pulling into the driveway (this year we were towed in... but you get the idea) and having my mom and dad come out to greet us. I love the white lights and decorations and nativities everywhere (my mom now has over thirty). I love the smell of carmels and cinnamon jells and cinnamon rolls.

I love going to Naples in Long Beach to walk up and down looking at all the beautifully decorated harbor homes. I love late night movies with Paige. I love sleeping in. I love playing Christmas songs on the piano--and, even more, to sing all the Torgerson and Snowball classics with my mom playing.

I love (LOVE) Christmas Eve. The fancy dinner with candles and martinellies and all the turkey trimmings. I love the program we do every single year--the stories that make Mom cry, the singing, the Sees Candies, the stockings on the chairs, and the Miracle on 34th Street and The Grinch watching that happens upstairs as we fall asleep, waiting for the magic to take it's toll.

I love Paige's inability sleep and her bouncing energy at 6:30 am Christmas morning. I love the parade down the stairs as we go to greet the gifts of Christmas. I love taking our time opening stockings and watching as the Santa presents are opened (Santa doesn't come to married folk, so we patiently waited our turns as Paige and Blake make their way through their piles). I love that my dad sits by the tree and tosses the presents to us one by one. I love capturing Paige's great reactions on presents she especially hoped for or that came completely unexpected. I love the migration to the kitchen for homemade cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate and talk of the gifts.

I love the missionary phonecall as we all fan around the speaker phone and three-way in those who didn't come home this year. The jumble of conversations, the cascade of questions.

I love the lazy morning in pajamas and the slow processions to the showers to get ready to go to the Grandmas' houses. I love walking into Grandma Snowball's house and being greeted by the aunts and the 100+ santa decorations strategically placed throughout the house. I love the candy dishes and the ongoing conversations and the red sweaters in abundance. I love the traffic in the kitchen when dinner is served and the slouching in the chairs and recliners when finished. I love the music--the classic Snowball music--and the feeling of unity and we all sing the familiar carols and blend our voices in the familiar harmonies. An Old Fashioned Christmas. Were You There. Who Would Send a Baby. Silent Night Lullaby. I love it when the sweet soup is brought out and the adults come carrying their cream-filled bowls in their hands to the living room (while us non-sweet-soupers scramble for the creamsicles). I love the sigh of the day as we climb back into pajamas and watch a movie or read a new book, warm with the day's doings.

I love waking up the next morning and wishing Mom a Happy Birthday and then getting to partake of the usual festivities for that day (shopping with Mom, out to lunch, a movie). I love the piles of unwraped presents that fill up the suitcases and floorspace of the rooms because we don't quite want to put them away yet.

I love being home for Christmas. The scramble to be ready, the excitment and calm of the day, the lazy haze of the aftermath. I'm a little sad to be leaving today in just a few hours to go back to my own apartment and another week of vacation. There is nothing quite like being home for the holidays. I wish it never had to end.

Crazy car happenings...

So Saturday afternoon we were making our way down the I-15 after a glorious night and morning with Sara and Stanford (that included a salmon dinner... a full-on breakfast, fun conversation, and a good night's sleep) when something big and white and scary flipped out off the road and hit us in the windshield. We think it was a car bumper (at least that big) that the truck in front of us ran over. I was sleeping and all Jeremy could think to do in the second is duck. It didn't break through (luckily, or I wouldn't be here to write this post), but it did shatter the glass on the far driver's side and break a hole in the lamanent (between the two pieces of glass of the windshield) and force us to pull over. After assessing the damage, getting as much glass out of our clothing as possible, and trying to drive a little further, we realized that we would never make it the 80+ miles home (we were just outside of Victorville). So we did what anyone else would do... we pulled into a cheap hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant and called for a tow truck (thank you AAA!) and ate some of the most delicious food this side of Mexico (for future reference, it's called Taco Chon and it's the very first exit coming into Victorville... before it looks like you've reached civilization).

We were hit about 1:00/1:15pm and we got home about 7:00pm, so it made for a full-0ut adventure. I'm just glad we are alive!

Sleigh bells ring... are you listening?

Once upon a time there was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. And she lived in Cedar City where the snow came down so hard she wished she had a sleigh instead of a tiny, low-to-the-ground hatchback to get around in...

But that doesn't matter any more because now she has left the land of snow and is on her way to California (currently she is in her pjs at her sister's house in Vegas but will soon continuing the journey to HB). She finished all her projects (almost) and Christmas sewing and baking and hours of working... and is ready for a whole glorious week of helping her mother finish all her projects and sewing and baking. She is ready for homemade cinnamon rolls and hours of movie watching and turkey making and present giving.

And she hopes to catch up on all her blog reading and blog writing (since the internet is stable at the parent's home) and sleeping.

And she hopes your Christmas week is looking just as merry and bright!

My new favorite blog

I've decided I need to read the blog of anyone who makes homemade graham crackers (mmm...) and ties them with red ribbons. Don't you agree?