Our Sumo Wrestler

Charlotte: When I was in college I got a job working as security at a nuclear laboratory in the middle of nowhere Idaho. Really, we just sat around all day watching other people work. I had the opportunity one day to sit with a national champion in sumo wrestling. We had plenty of time to shoot the breeze and I found out a lot of neat things about him. After an hour or so, he said to me, "Would you like a snack?" He then opened up a cooler sitting next to him and pulled out three of those Hungry Man microwave dinners. I politely declined and sat in awe as he gobbled his "snack." It was then that I realized what it takes to become a national champion sumo wrestler: loads of food!

Boyd and I have a dream that one day our little Keido will aspire to be just like this man, a national champion sumo wrestler. The breast milk is just not cutting it these days so we have started him on hungry baby man dinners: rice cereal:) I think this video will speak for itself when it comes to our new adventure with Keido. He has mastered the first skill of all training sumo wrestlers: open mouth, insert food. We help him with the inserting, but he definitely has the puppy dog begging down.

95th Percentile

(Keido during bath time. For some reason, he really liked sucking on his upper lip.)

Charlotte: It seems that every Sunday at church at least three new people comment on the size of our child. "Holy Smokes, how old is he?" "Your baby could squish my baby." "What are you feeding him?" From a mother's eyes, I don't really see the drastic changes in growth, but apparently we have one chubby baby who gets chubbier every Sunday:) I've been curious to see how big he really is, and if everyone else just has little scrawny children. I was really excited to take Keido to his four month check-up yesterday.

As usual, they had me dress him down to just a clean, dry diaper. The last time we went in we went through four diapers before the doctor even came in, and then Keido still pee-peed on him when he checked his "little man." Thank heavens that didn't happen again. So, we put him on the scale and pulled out the measuring tape to find that he is a whopping 18 lbs. 5 oz., 26 inches long, and his head matches his body, I can't remember how big it is. On the little growth chart, this all boils down to meaning that he is in the 95th percentile for head size and weight, and the 70th-90th percentile for height. I now know exactly how much I'm hefting around everyday, and have decided I don't need to exercise anymore. Boyd checks out his daddy muscles in the mirror every night before going to bed and has been excited to watch them grow. My arms are not to shabby these days either.

After the measurements and the million questions that I asked the doctor, it came time for Keido's shots. The nurse popped the first one in and Keido's face was that of hurt, anger, and utter betrayal. He sucked in a breath and didn't let out the scream until the nurse had finished the third one. She said "okay, breathe baby breathe." Then came a blood-curtling scream for about 30 seconds, after which he was just fine. What a champ. I was so proud of our little guy.

Haircuts and Good Husbands

Boyd: So I've been telling Charlotte to write in her blog -- after all, it was her idea to create one -- but she's been "too busy" to write anything. I guess packing, sewing gifts, and chubby babies take up a lot of time.

Anyways, a few nights ago, Charlotte and I were talking and the question of how I could be a better husband came up. After a couple moments of silence, Charlotte finally responds with "you can be a better gift-giver." Of all the things Charlotte could have said: less jokes, less play fighting, or just less amazing singing, she decided to choose better gifts. After the initial punch in the face -- since I thought I gave good gifts -- I asked her to elaborate a bit.

To my utter surprise, she doesn't like it when I give gifts that she actually wants. Ok, that may not be totally true. Apparently, she doesn't like it when I ask her what she wants. She wants me to get gifts that "I want to give her," not what she tells me she wants. Now, this is totally fine by me... but isn't that kind of weird? If I was a horrible person with big dreams of even bigger HDTVs and blu-ray players, me being a "better gift-giver" could totally be misconstrued. However, unfortunately I understood her quite clearly.

So, with our 2 year anniversary coming up (are you proud that I remembered... cause I am), I knew I needed to get her a gift. But with her comment, I could not just get her any normal gift, now it had to be an amazing gift. So, after losing some sleep, I finally came up with an idea. I could give her a new haircut/hairdo. But instead of her picking it out, I would choose it. I decided that I would just schedule an appointment, find and print a picture of the hairstyle that I liked, and send Charlotte with strict instructions that she was only to get the haircut of my choosing. When I told Charlotte of my idea, she was genuinely excited about the idea. Isn't my wife amazing... or just crazy.

Judgment day finally arrived and Charlotte had to go get her haircut. I did not show Charlotte the hairstyle that I wanted until she got in the car. Luckily, she liked it. This is the picture I gave Charlotte:


This is the final product of Charlotte's haircut:

As a result of late night talking, horribly rude comments, and the odd ideas that run through my brain, my wife is hotter than ever!

Football with women... sigh

Boyd: Charlotte and I love to play sports whenever we get the chance. In between sessions of the October 2009 General Conference, Charlotte and I decided to go to the field right next to our house and throw the football.

After having thrown the ball for a few minutes, I noticed that Charlotte was pretty good. I mean, she's no Steve Young or anything (even though she might think so), she's got quite the arm. So, I figured it'd be fun if we worked on running some routes. We each took turns running a specific direction or pattern and had the other person throw the ball to us. Again, I was quite surprised at how good Charlotte could throw the ball. Now, it started to get to the point where I had to worry if my wife was a better football player than I was, so I had to test her skills. The balance of my marriage was at hand.

Without telling her of my little competition, I had her do a couple of different throwing drills throwing: a 3 step drop, a 5 step drop, throwing on the run, etc. Despite the odds, she was pretty good. There was one more test. I had to see if she could throw a ball accurately over the shoulder of a running receiver. And to spice things up even more, I decided to make this a timed run. Instead of looking at Charlotte to have her throw the ball at me, I wanted her to throw the ball prior to me turning around and signaling that I was ready. This way the ball could meet me at the exact time that I was ready to catch it. What can I say, I have a lot of faith in my wife.

We decided that at the 10th second, the ball should be ready for me to catch it. So I start running. 1 mississippi, 2 mississippi; "Boyd, you're crazy." 4 mississippi 5; "Have faith in your wife Boyd, she won't hurt you." 6 mississippi, 7 mississippi; "Good grief! I better just turn around early so she doesn't hit me." Eight mississippi; BAM! Just as I started to turn around on the EIGTH second, without even noticing it, a brown piece of pig-skin hits me square in the face, literally knocking me off my feet.

Apparently, Charlotte got a little anxious and threw the ball prematurely. Needless to say, football with women is all fun and games until someone gets hurt.