Wednesday, December 26, 2012


At eleven months old Ivy takes one or two steps before getting freaked out and switching to a crawl. She knows hot to unlock iphones and delete apps.
She says "Mom" and I think  she might actually know what it means.
She likes to turn book pages even if you haven't read the entirety of the text on said pages.
She loves chicken, cheese, clementines, avacadoes and bread.
She has two teeth on top and four on  bottom.
Her six month clothing finally fits and she'll keep her shoes on if tied tight enough.
She likes to giggle and squirm during diaper changes. If she hears adults laughing, she tries to join in with a big, fake "ha ha ha ha."
She insists on making this face at every person she sees:

I have no idea where she learned it.

She's getting friendlier toward new people but still cries if I leave the room.
Church with Ivy is a wrestling match and she always wins.
She only sitsstill if she's really tired or is playing with an electronic device.

Christmas with  Ivy was a blast. She didn't quite understand presents but she acted happy and excited all the same, playing with wrapping paper and ribbons, and every once in a while glancing at at her new (many) toys.

At one month shy of a year, she's more fun than  ever,and I honestly don't know what I did with out her.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

No one cried this year

What's Christmas without a little vicious friendly competition. This year's gingerbread construction produced some of the  finest work from the Morleys (and two Walters) to date. And though we're  all extremely proud of our efforts, we want to know who is the the most talented and amazing family member. So if you would, take a minute and vote for your favorite Christmas Creation.

Entry: A

The real star of this Three Little Pigs artistic interpretation is the Big Bad Wolf
Entry B:
A Christmas Crossing
Entry C:
Let down your long licorice
Entry D:

Roving Mars
Entry E:
The only actual house this year

Entry F:
Plaaaaaaaaaay ball

Which candy creation conquers all?

Also, this:
I sent out 25 and then gave up, so I'm sorry if you didn't get an actual tangible copy. I realize now that I should have worn a more feminine shirt for this picture because I'm dangerously close to passing as a Man.
Have a Merry Christmas. 

Monday, December 17, 2012


Friday we hustled around our apartment in preparation  for our drive to Utah. The plan was to let Ivy get as tired as possible so she'd sleep for hours in the car. It wasn't  long past nap time before the fatigue set  in and she sat on  the ground, extended her arms and cried "Mamamama." I rolled my eyes, picked her up and held her just long enough  for the crying to cease, then put her down,  handed her a pacifier and continued cleaning the kitchen.

A while later we were packed and loaded, Stephen and  I in  the front seats, Ivy and Ollie in the back. As the car started so did NPR and we heard the most devestating news of the elementary school  shooting in Connecticut. As the reports turned more horrific and less hopeful, all I  wanted to do was hold  and comfort my baby. And I cried  with horror and guilt thinking about those mothers who  no longer could.

I can't even begin to imagine their grief and it almost feels disrespectful to try. But I think  we need to grieve.  We need to remember how terrible this was and we need to stop forgetting about these incindents and do something. Aurora felt personal as a Coloradan, but as a mother this feels much much worse. I don't want to find out how much more personal it can get.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

You've had a birthday, roof roof roof

Hey Ollie!

Happy  second birthday! Yesterday you were a puppy but today you are a dog.
I know it hasn't been the easiest year for you. Ivy took a lot of our time and attention and more often than not your emotional needs were placed on the back burner. I know you ate your feelings since you gained six pounds since last December, and the stress seems to have turned your hair grey. You've had your hair pulled, your eyes poked, your food stolen, and your pride hurt too many times to count. And yet, you're still a good dog. You don't bite, you only bark sometimes, and you love us despite the borderline neglect. Thank you for not hurting Ivy. Thank you for cuddling. Thank you for being the best running buddy ever.

We love you, Ollie. Happy Birthday.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Eat your heart out

Blame Britt for whatever happens  to you when you watch this:

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Naughty and Nice

By yesterday afternoon I had all but completely lost faith in humanity. During the preceding 72 hours someone who hates happiness sent me a virus  disguised as a customer complaint, a disgruntled and very confused woman accused me of sending her a virus, a scary old man joked about my menstrual cycle and our *favorite next door neighbor cornered and yelled at me guessed it...knocking on our shared wall. 
So when I saw roughly twenty elementary school children  lined up and yelling along the playground fence as I was about to run past, I assumed I was being heckled. I'm the first to admit that I have the gait of an injured hippo (which is probably why as a child I was picked last for every recess game, that or my inability to catch or throw) and given my previous interactions with those monsters we call humans this week, it would make total sense that the children were shouting hurtful remarks. Out of morbid curiosity or maybe self-hatred, I removed my headphones to better hear their insults.
"Hey!", they yelled.
"Can  you get our ball for us?" 
I apprehensively crept closer,  wondering if they might throw rocks or paint at me if I got near enough. I was pleasantly surprised to find a football hidden in the weeds a foot or two away from the fence.
"Throw it over!" they encouraged. 
Terrible flash backs of kick and dodgeball raced through my head. I might not be able to throw that far. They were going to laugh at me. They were going to send me a computer virus or joke  about my womanhood or  file a complaint with our Home Owners' Association.
"Don't choke don't choke don't choke" I pleaded with myself as I wound my arm and released the ball.   
I sighed with relief as it barely cleared the fence. 
Then, the children cheered. I kid you not, the children CHEERED. 
And, you're not going to believe it, but the whole gaggle of youngins said Thank You. They used their manners and showed appreciation. And just like that there was hope once more. 
Adults are terrible but the children are our future. Don't believe me? Look at this:

I apologize if you've already seen this photo on Facebook  or Twitter or Instagram or the billboard I rented on the freeway. What can I say? I love Christmas and  I love my child.

*Least favorite. She's terrible.