It’s Crockett Science

I think I was about seven years old when my mom signed me up for sewing lessons. I have specific memories of “sewing” way too many circles and squares on the machine using only the unthreaded needle to poke holes in the paper. In the end, I made a pillow for my bed that was black with little pink flowers all over it. And the seams came out within six months leaving my hair and my bed filled with clumps of staticky, poofy stuffing. It’s safe to say I didn’t stick with it.

So I’m sure it’s a little odd that Brett got me THIS for Christmas last year. And I actually ASKED for it:

For some reason, I got it into my head that I was gonna learn to sew! And I was gonna teach myself! It might be the hormones….

I really have NO IDEA where this whim came from. I have ZERO inclination or talent to be crafty or creative. (Shocking considering who my mother is.) But I kinda felt like I needed to develop my domestic skills. Basically it came down to two things: 1. it might come in handy and 2. I’m so obsessed with clothes I better learn to make my own.

So you can all laugh to yourselves right now while you picture me using Google to try to figure out how to thread a bobbin and making myself jump everytime I bump the foot-peddle/throttle?/thing.

This is my guide:

Does this look terrifying to anyone else?

Don’t worry I’ll be sure to document the human and textile disasters along the way.

Okay. Quick update.

The upstairs neighbor?

She’s vacuuming right now. Which is awesome because it means she won’t be doing it at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning!

However…

This is the FOURTH time she has vacuumed this week.

And it’s only Friday!

I’ll be the one to say it. Her house is WAY cleaner than mine.

While WhittneyLynn is asleep and I can get away with it, I thought I should let her readers know something she probably won’t come right out and say. Probably one more item she’ll add to her list of “Things I Can’t Stand.”

Saturday morning, I was quietly clipping my toenails when Whittney decided to get involved.

“You’re not doing it right” she quipped.

“I’ve been doing it this way for over 20 years and never had any major disasters,” I said.

“Well you’re still not doing it right, and that’s why you’re always scratching me with your toes.”

I’ll admit she’s got a better handle on this cosmetic-type stuff than I do, and i was definitely interested to see how may different ways there could be to use a pair of toenail clippers, so I handed them over to let her show me the “right way.”

Apparently the proper procedure dictates prying the nail apart from the toe and jamming the clippers as near as you can get up to the bones in your toes. Not entirely comfortable, but it seemed effective.

She went from one toe to the next, correctly clipping, and looking rather satisfied at her work when suddenly her face lost all expression. Without looking up, for a split-second, she stared straight forward and then blew a chunk of toenail out her mouth and across the room.

Honestly, I’ve never seen anything in my life as funny as the expression (or complete lack thereof) on her face as a piece of my toenail shot into her mouth and immediately spat back out and ricocheted off the wall. Reading about it doesn’t do the story nearly the justice it deserves, but I thought it was important to get it out there. It made my weekend.

Thanks Whittney. And please be sure to brush your teeth.

1. Blow drying my hair.
2. Being asked if I am pregnant. I AM. NOT.
3. The neighbors upstairs. (Must you really vacuum at 7 am on Saturdays?)
4. Fruit. Weird I know but at least Brett doesn’t like it either.
5. Spiders.  (Like this one)
6. Trying to sleep with a stuffy nose.  You just can’t breathe!
7. Having my feet touched. 
8. Old people drivers. Anyone with a cadillac boat should NOT be allowed to drive.
9. The neighbors upstairs. (Are you really asking me to turn down Guitar Hero at 7 pm on a Friday?)
10. Being cold. I wish summer were permanent.

Brett has always been obsessed with bears. As a kid and now as an adult, he reads about them, watches documentaries about them on PBS and likes to get on all fours, growl and pretend he’s climbing a tree.  The sad part of the story is that he has never seen one in real life.  He has been to Yellowstone, Alaska, the Wind Rivers; basically everywhere in the US you might have a chance of seeing one and yet… nothing. I think it irks him that I have.  Me - the one who doesn’t camp, who went to Yellowstone once cause I had to, and who basically avoids any chance of having to pee outside - I have seen bears in the fur.

About two weeks ago I ran across a local Salt Lake blog where the family had a chance to actually HOLD bear cubs, in their arms!  Brett would DIE to do that.  So I called around a little and found that Bear World has brought some cubs into a nearby Sportsman Warehouse and lets the public hold them and take pictures and that they would be doing it again that coming weekend.

So I suprised Brett with a little trip to fulfill his life’s dream. I told him we had to go “pick something up” and wouldn’t tell him anything else.  We had to go around the back of the building for the exhibit and at that point he became a little uppity that we were going the wrong way and I had to give in and share the surprise.

Brett was able to hold the little girl (he just had to check) bear for a few minutes, get his picture taken with her and talk to her caretaker.  I think the pictures below do a pretty good job of highlighting the natural high he was on.  Hopefully, he’s had his fix for a while and he’ll stop clawing at the furniture.

This is why we still don’t have people over for dinner. Especially not when I cook.

-Brett

By far, the best advice I received before we got married came from Katie:

 ”Keep his belly full.”

 This advice loops through my head like it’s on repeat.  Now, B’s annoyingly cheerful first thing in the morning even going so far as to sing primary songs in the shower.  And this level of contentedness continues throughout the remainder of the day, especially when it’s snowing.  But for those rare times when he’s a little quieter than normal (i.e. scowling out the windows), all I have to do is throw food his direction and he’s bursting with snacky happiness.

B: “You’re really good at this whole snowshoeing thing Whittney–especially for your first time.”

ME: “If there’s one thing I have, it’s balance.”

…about 3 seconds later…

ME: “Woaaah!”

B: “Click.”

ME: “Stop laughing!!”

Used by permission of B.

What does this picture remind you of?  It reminds me of B first thing in the morning, when he still can’t walk straight and mumbles everything he says.  Or how about three months too late for a haircut (he HATES haircuts).  Or maybe a smiling, freckled porcupine.

Hopefully it’s not hereditary.