waiting...

Waiting... waiting for inspiration. Back in the day, I used to be a prolific blogger. Two, three posts a week. That kind of pace is seems totally absurd to me now. I think if I had one a week now I'd feel like I'd completed a dissertation.

I like to balance blog posts with pictures, so usually I wait to be inspired by pictures we take, or the adventures we go on and the blog posts just write themselves.

The theme for the Pulsipher family this summer is patience. We find ourselves on the verge of life-changing "news." What's trying about this, is that it's completely out of our hands at the moment. It's quite one thing to be waiting on a process or product that you are 100% responsible for the time line and the outcome, it's quite another to be completely dependent on others.


Ashley and I are really good at balancing each other out, even when it comes to being patient. By our own admission, we are both terribly impatient people, but we seem to have just enough of it when the other is about to lose their cool.

I sometimes tell George that we gave him genes for being tall, and having freckles, but that when it comes to being patient, he's going to have to figure out another source for that gift. The patience well has completely run dry.

So here we are... waiting. Like George displays up above. I like what Dieter Uchtdorf said recently about patience:

"Patience is not passive resignation, nor is it failing to act because of our fears. Patience means active waiting and enduring. It means staying with something and doing all that we can—working, hoping, and exercising faith; bearing hardship with fortitude, even when the desires of our hearts are delayed. Patience is not simply enduring; it is enduring well!"

I see George in a lazyboy, and it makes me want to endure things well. For him, for Ashley, and for myself. My life is better when people are patient with me. It is an admirable quality that I hope to develop.

Any tips on patience and enduring well?

fuzzy memories, extra wide

For as long as I can remember, feet have been a part of my identity. To put my way through college, I was a shoe-salesman.

When I was younger, I was pretty pigeon-toed (which I just learned is also called "false clubfoot, egads). It was prett significant, to the point where I had to wear corrective shoes. I don't remember much about them, but they were sturdy. My older sisters lovingly chided me about them, and called them my "clod-hoppers."

I don't think I knew what clod-hoppers were (I still don't, I resisted the urge to wikipedia them as a sign of solemn protest to the afflicted), but I knew that I was the butt of a joke. My sisters stopped calling them clod-hoppers when they were assaulted with three pounds of solid rubber.

After I graduated from my hot orthopedic shoes, I used to proudly proclaim my triumph over being false clubfooted. I even confused the severity of the condition with some other, more real parts of my childhood.

Before I was born, my older brother Tim was hit by a car. The accident left him confined to a wheelchair, and he did have shoes, or some type of leg braces with a metal bar in between the shoes connecting at the arches of the feet. Somehow, in my post-clod-hopper daze, I was convinced that Tim's shoes with the metal brace were actually mine, to cure me of being pigeon toed. I used to tell people that my condition was so severe that I had to wear a metal bar between my legs. People used to feel really sorry for me, and impressed that I had overcome such severe disadvantages in life.

All these feelings came swirling back to me as I look at George's adorable feet. Last week George and Ashley were visiting Grandma & Grandpa Potter, and Grandma took George to a very nice children's shoe store. I'm ashamed to admit, but we had essentially been confining George's poor feet to some crude brogans in what can only be described as modern day foot-binding.

Ok, it wasn't that bad, but... he was wearing shoes that were too small for him. Poor little guy. At the shoe store they measured George's feet and out came the results: 6.5. Extra wide. I don't know what it is, but the "extra wide" rings through my head, summoning images of pigeon toes, metal braces, John Elway, etc. It's likely that this is just common sizing issue with little chubby feet.

But what if it's a part of his identity for his entire life? What if he always has to wear birkenstock sandals? What if he's an incredible swimmer because of his flipper like feet?

I'm under no illusion that having extra wide feet will be something George has to think about beyond toddlerhood, or that it's even atypical. But, I do like the idea of learning little things about this guy, things he comes into the world with. Things he can't change. Maybe he'll invent a story that explains his extra wide feet, and how he went on to become a world class tap-dancer, or soccer player?

I hope I get to discover more of these things about him - and I hope for his unborn siblings sake, they don't tease him about it or they might find themselves on the receiving end of toy-projectile.

Be proud George. Stand tall. Stand tall on those extra wide feet of yours. I love you buddy.

me and mr. mendoza

I like this picture because it represents my relationship with the scale. I shout profanities at it every morning.

Just kidding. Actually - I've been relatively successful with dieting in the past little bit and the issue has been on my mind so I thought I'd put a few ideas together.

First. For the first time since my sophomore year in high school, I'm below the mendoza line for weight. Just barely - 199. I'm not sure what my end goal is, though I've said many times to Ashley that 195 was my ultimate goal. I'm on the high end of "normal" according to this BMI calculator thing.

But then I started playing around with the figures a little bit, and I found out that I could dip down to a svelte 155 and still be "normal." Sick. I cannot even imagine what a 6'4" 155 lb David would look like. Oh wait... yes I can.

That got me thinking... there has to be some other factors than BMI that are better at predicting health. Blood pressure? Cholesterol levels? Heart rate? I dunno, probably a lot of those things. Or maybe none of them. This is an interesting graphic that said for me, a white male (as I age), that heart disease is my biggest health nemesis. So - I feel good about that. I'm doing good in the heart health category.

I was listening to a freakonomics podcast where one guy was essentially arguing that the obesity "epidemic" has been vastly, and hastily over-rated. In it, some smug academic does some research and finds out that a lot of the figures being used derives from old data, or blah blah blah some other type of shortcoming that questions the connections between obesity and health maladies.

I didn't find it particularly convincing - basically because I think it's fodder for people to convince themselves that they don't have to make lifestyle changes to become more healthy. I think a lot of my negative feelings towards obesity, derive in self loathing from when I was heavier. Its like I have to hate that person to never become him again.

If you want something really harrowing, look at the CDC's obesity figures by state, from 1985 to 2008.

Ever since I began losing weight in 2004, I have to admit I've been somewhat obsessed with the topic of weight loss. Ashley gets mad at me when I want to watch the "one ton man" shows on TV. For some reason, I feel like I need to watch those shows to prevent some type of relapse. I am afraid of gaining the weight I began to lose six years ago.

Most recently - this year I found myself about 20 lbs heavier than where I wanted to be, so I began watching my diet a lot more closely. I try not to eat sweets during the week, and I've also been skipping breakfast. Say what you will about breakfast (ok, I lied, I usually have a lump of cookie dough and a swig of milk), I think it's personally over-rated unless you are gonna go really decadent and even then that's not a once a day type thing.

So in about 4 months time I've lost most the weight I wanted to, with basic diet choices and consistent exercise.

This is just a smattering of stuff I've been thinking about. Do any of you guys think about this stuff? Do any of you have experiences, successes or failures with this type of stuff? For me it seems like I have to err on the side of zealotry to keep weight off. When I get relaxed, the clothes get a little snug.

the great blueberry caper of twenty ten

"Blueberries? I haven't seen any blueberries. I don't know what you are talking about blueberries. Do I look like I know anything about blueberries?"

"Ok, I swear. I just had one. Two tops. I got them from over there. In that big box. They were basically pushed on me. Forced. I was forced to eat them. Did you see the guy? He practically begged me to do it."

"I regret nothing."

monday is the new saturday

This past weekend I had to work on Saturday, all day. Total bummer, so as a consolation I took Monday off for some family fun. There is something special about not working, when everyone else is. It's like those days in college when you could go up to the mountain to go skiing/snowboarding during the week. The fun gets amplified 10,000 times because all of the sudden the world has become your playground. A giant, vacant playground. Maybe some of you who have unconventional work schedules already know these fruits. The added bonus was that I felt less stress about the expectations of the day, whereas on normal weekends I sometimes feel like there are high stakes because it's the weekend. I think I unlocked a key to the universe - weekends on weekdays. Think about it people.

While we're thinking about these and other wild possibilities, let me caution you about thinking too much.

Apparently, not only is climbing on the railing is prohibited, but so is thinking about it. Wild.

The picture doesn't quite do it justice, but the water really was clear. George was in rare form.

Look at those chompers. You know George was feeling the Monday = Saturday conversion

George was telling some awesome jokes

George & Me (cliffs of insanity in the background)

Getting all artistic on ya. My idea. Ashley's execution. Liked it so much, I made it our banner.

Our new favorite trick for George is "party fingers." Oh, and walking.

With all our free time, we even snuck a quick trip to San Pedro South Korea to visit the friendship bell.

Yes, I realize that it looks ridiculous that I have the kite out 100' long and only 20' high. Ashley failed to capture my awesome kitesmanship when I had it really high, so instead I just look like an ignoramus.

Other events not captured on camera include:

• A giant/delicious diet coke from 7-11
• A family bike ride to Carlson Park to play soccer

I think I've made a compelling case for the effectiveness of weekend observation on weekdays. Who's coming with us?

free range george

Our friends Keith and Leslie are great babysitters for George. It is really nice to live in a place where there are always plenty of friends willing to watch your baby while you go out. So when they went on a vacation to Scandinavia and asked if we'd take care of their chickens Virginia and Dorothy - we jumped at the opportunity. Disclaimer, by "we" I really mean Ashley (and to a lesser extent, George). I went up a couple of times, but by far and away, Ashley deserves the medal for doing all of the dirty work.

One of the last days of chicken-sitting, George got to be a free-range kid (how we long for a backyard).

Some things you may not know about chickens:

1. They are actually quite beautiful birds
2. They lay an egg a day
3. They sometimes eat their own eggs
4. They don't peck (at least these ones)

Without further ado, I give you George, Virginia & Dorothy

"Mom, I think I just put my hand in something..."

Just looking cute. He was actually playing with the horseshoe pit stake. Horseshoe pit! Backyard. Separate garage for tinkering and storage. Yes, it's true, I have serious backyard envy.

"Well see here, I've been trampin' for so long... can't even reckon when I started. Let me grab my bindle and I'll be outta yer hair."

The hunter would quickly become the hunted

"I kid you not... I once saw a chicken at least this tall. She laid eggs like as big as my head"

"I don't know if this is awkward or not, but I figured I owed it to you, to tell you straight out, I've been eating your eggs."

"I dub thee, Lady Dorothy of Cornwall..."

Three's company

As you may or may not be able to tell, Spring is in the air. The days are getting longer, warmer, and we can't wait to start making regular trips to the beach and a lot more family biking.

"i've been sick"

My dad has a sculpture titled, "I've been sick." I really like the title, and the sculpture. Something about the admission itself, begs for some sort of recognition.

I remember hearing other parents (pre-George) talk about their kids being sick, and from their description wondering why they were describing it as some monolithic event.

Now I get it.

George has been sick for over a week or so. Lots of sore, runny noses. Crusty crap in the eyes and nostrils. Bad sleeping.

The funny thing is - when babies are sick you kind of realize how their entire life impacts your own. It's not like when your spouse is sick. You sympathize, you maybe get them some material comforts, make them food, but otherwise are able to go about your business. When your kid is sick - it sends an interruptive shockwave through your house.

You can't wait for your kid to get better, and you wonder if they ever will. You wonder if they were ever happy, or were they always grumpy and irritable.?

We hope that George is almost out of this last bug. It's taken it's toll on all of us. Less sleep, more stress.

Despite it - it makes you feel really fortunate to understand how much this little life affects your own.