a hazy shade of winter

Because this week has been fairly cold and snowy, the theme for the week has been finding occupation for our children without going insane ourselves . . .

Monday (my birthday), we had thought about going down south so that Dan could help Bubby and Poppy paint the condo. However, on the strength of bad weather forecasts, we stayed here. Although there's not a lot for little kids to do here during the winter months, we still had a nice day together as a family (although naturally the details of that escape me now). We did go to Dairy Queen for family home evening, though--a highlight for all concerned. Andrew, with his dawning print awareness, looked up at the bright red "D" and "Q" on the outside of the building and, sounding out the letters as he's been taught, came to the conclusion that we were going to "Duh Kwah." I wonder why they never thought of that name?

Those of you who are also fans of the children's clothing store known as Gymboree (probably known by other names by the long-suffering husbands of those of us who are fans) will know that they recently ran their Gymbucks promotion. Of course, since I had some to spend but nowhere close to spend them, this meant that we received an exciting package in the mail earlier this week. Everything in the package was for Andrew (but don't feel too bad for Miss E--her grandma more than compensated in her own order): new pirate rainboots (his beloved penguin rainboots were actually coming apart in multiple places, he'd worn them so much), cowboy boots, and a pirate shirt. We ordered everything at least a size big, so Andrew can grow into it, but of course he insisted on putting it all on immediately--you can see that we had to roll the shirt sleeves up a few inches to make it fit.


In default of her own clothes, Evelyn got Andrew's castoffs--the shirt he was wearing, and the cowboy boots that came all the way up her thighs. She thought she was pretty hot stuff. (Side note: I get endless entertainment out of Evelyn and the full length mirror in our entry way--she spends hours of her time there, babbling away happily to her reflection).


Since Evelyn's hair is finally getting some appreciable length, others in the family (who shall remain nameless) have been encouraging me to actually do her hair, so that she can get used to the feel of stuff in her hair and leave her hair alone. I have to admit that, not having done this for little girls before, it takes some getting used to. And her hair is so straight and fine that even if I can get her to hold still enough long enough to put a pony in, it stands straight up on her head. Not the best look, I'm afraid. (And I've caught her daddy surreptitiously removing the hairbands from her hair because he likes the look even less than I do). but I persist in the hope that someday she will really have enough hair to deal with. I had a serious case of hair envy in nursery today--one of the little girls in our ward came to nursery for the first time (she happens to be the university president's daughter). Her blonde hair hangs in a lovely little cut, just shy of her shoulders, and is so thick that most grown-ups would envy it. I think she had more hair than any other kid in the nursery. And she's only just 18 months. Poor Evelyn, your turn will come! (I hope.)

Lest you misinterpret this picture, what Evelyn is protesting here is not her haircut, but the fact that I just took her binkie away from her. Although I imagine the pony doesn't help.

I call this one, "I dream of Jeannie." Notice the lovely little pony on top of her head and the pointy shoes?

The other day (Friday? I'm having a hard time distinguishing days), I decided to make some edible playdough for Andrew and Evelyn, mostly so Evelyn could join in the fun. The recipe called for a mix of peanut butter, honey, and powdered syrup, so it was almost unbearable sweet and really sticky to mix, but worked into a surprisingly nice textured dough.

This picture cracks me up--look at Evelyn hamming it up for the camera.

Yesterday, after the second large snowfall of the week, we decided to take advantage of the sunshine and went out and played in the snow as a family. It's been a while since we've done that. I had some happy flashbacks of Montana winters as a child, and all of the cool snow forts and caves we built. Dan, as it turns out, had never built a snow fort, even as a child, so we spent a little time educating him. Our fort won't win any awards for beauty or engineering, but it kept Andrew and me happily occupied for some time. Dan helped Andrew make bricks, and made a stockpile of snowballs that kept Evelyn busy (she liked throwing them and transporting them into the fort).



The only problems with playing in the snow, of course, are the fact that Evelyn never could pick herself up when she fell down, and the vast amounts of dirty snow that seem to get tracked in the house after all.

On a somewhat random side note, I was looking at this picture Dan took of me (another view of my new shorter crop) and had reconfirmed to me the idea that my hair is not actually curly. (Before you start to protest, hear me out). I found a website some time ago called Naturally Curly, which categorizes curly hair into three types: wavy, curly, and kinky. The site suggests that wavy hair tends to be somewhat coarse, lays flat against the head, and the hair follows a definite "s-pattern" (notice the S-pattern in the picture?). Strangely enough, wavy hair tends to get curlier as it gets longer. Truly curly hair, on the other hand, is actually quite fine, stands away from the head, and gets curlier when it's shorter. I've noticed since my hair cut that my hair actually doesn't have as much curl as it did before (it used to hang in ringlets on occasion when it was past my shoulders), and no one could every claim that my hair was fine. So, I guess that means my hair is wavy, not curly. I suppose this isn't a topic that interests anyone but me, but for some reason I found the distinction fascinating. (I could go on on the topic of hair obsessions, but I should probably stop here before I embarrass myself or anyone else).