Catch The Window!

Wild Hare

2011-11-29T04:13:00.000-08:00

About this time last year, I got a "wild hare" to do something a little nuts; donate a large Christmas Tree to the Festival of Trees - a charitable benefit for Primary Children's Hospital to help indigent families that cannot afford their child's health care. Now, I say "wild hare," because the term seems especially fitting here; "It's an American expression meaning to do something at the spur of the moment without really thinking, spontaneity. It originated from "had a wild hare up my ". If you had a wild rabbit in your backside... you'd probably jump without thinking." Yep.

From the outside, it seems pretty simple. Get a tree, some ribbon, ornaments and some friends, and set it all up to donate. Sweet! But it is so very much more. Verging on the bonkers. Kind of like a gateway creativity drug.

After attending the Festival of Trees, you get lulled into a sense of simplicity and fun and jump in, then somehow you find yourself knee deep in glue guns, latex paint and floral wire and wondering where it was that you went wrong. It is a detail heavy, expense laden, frustrating adventure in competitive creativity that will take every ounce of your, and your family's, patience and ultimately leave your self-esteem crushed to powder on the convention center floor.

   It starts... with the tree. In my naivete, I thought about how I would go about this little adventure with four small kids in tow. So I formulated a plan; shop the after-Christmas sales, use someone's tree and do a kind of "decorate-as-you-go" approach that is slow, easy paced, and thrifty. I got my tree right off the bat off of ksl.com. It was too big for their apartment and they were happy for it to go to a happy home, especially if it meant freeing up space at the beginning of the year. Come pick it up! It was being stored in a large screen tv box. Since all of the branches were NOT attached to the center pole, it all fit in the box! Yes yes yes! I "high fived" myself. BAM! Tree is DONE. This is so easy. What a euphoric rush!

Then I did what many addicts do, start "pushing" to the unsuspecting friends around them. "Hey Lisa, Reagan and Mish - y'all are fun and creative! Wanna help me with a little project? I'm thinking of doing a Scottish themed tree for the Festival of Trees. I already have the tree so it won't be very expensive! This will be fun!" Poor things never saw it coming, and soon, they were in.

   I hit the after Christmas sales. I only had an idea vaguely in the back of my mind what I was looking for. But hey! For 90% off, you can splurge a little here and there. Spend a quarter for a couple of boxes of candy canes, some ribbon... preferably in something that matches, some plaid of this, tree skirt for a buck there, and add some huge plastic bells. Mish can do something with those. Easy easy. Little did I know then that we would only use 2% of those items. And zero plaid ribbon.

The website for the Festival remains dormant until about June, the earliest you can register with your theme. We tossed around some ideas of what would be fun and settled on, "The 12 Scottish Days of Christmas." Because that would have some fun variety, and logically follow a triangular, few-items-gradating-to-many-items pattern, and I hadn't seen anything like it at the festival. It would stand out against all the elf and red/white candy cane tree white noise. Perfect! I registered us online, and wavered, for just a second, before I hit the "send" button. In a flash, we were in. Committed to the Festival of Trees 'til donated tree do we part.

I said to myself, "Just follow the pattern, make it Scottish, maybe get a few signs and a "Wee kirk o' the Heather" birdhouse, and hand out assignments. Easy" And my little brain said, "Use a bagpipe as a star on the very top!" and my internal creativity meter said, "Oh yeah! We're strong enough to handle that, with some tiger blood and Adonis DNA, this will be a SNAP!" That was the highest point of self confidence. Then we got the packet. And that feeling that you get at the most tippy top of the roller coaster where instinct tells you to suck in a lot of air and grip the bar in front of you hit: The Official Rules and Regulations. And things started to unravel. The feeling that you desperately want to get out, but you feel trapped was settling in. Just when you think you can get out... they pull you back in!

Your tree must be new. *eyes bulge* All of the branches must have been attached to the center pole at the factory. It must have pvc pipe the length of the interior pole. The outside part of the trunk must be reinforced with rebar, and clamped down with vent hose ties. *sweat springing to forehead* Each section of your tree must be bolted together at the joints. And if it breaks, you agree to come and fix it. At your expense. Oh... and little note there towards the bottom, the tree stand, must be an official Festival of Trees $30 metal wonder that we will need to pick up at the Decorators workshop. Where you will be given further instructions... "Further... instructions? There's more?" *acne breakout*
I nervously started calling and texting everyone, "Uh, hey, um. We should probably start figuring out what ornaments we're each going to do, so... ah, anybody got any ideas? I'm starting to get pressure from da guys up there, and its all signed up, ya know? We need to have a good product..." I was becoming fidgety, and irritated. Scottish things, Scottish things. Like, like the bagpipe and plaid... and ah, well, the flag, which is blue and white... not very Christmassy... and kilts maybe? So I researched the daylights out of Scotland... trying to match up the 12 Days song against items that might be considered a Scottish counterpart, and that would ultimately end up with a bagpipe in a Christmas tree.

Then I let everyone pick which ornaments they wanted to do, because if everyone took 3 off the list, no one would get overwhelmed. Because, as I was discovering, there ARE no Scottish ornaments in Utah. Especially not in the summer/fall. And when you add up The 12 Days of Christmas... you find yourself in need of a total of 78 custom made ornaments. "Pick which 3 you feel like your have the creativity and inspiration to do," I cheerily texted with sweaty palms. I'll just take what's left over at the end. I can do this. I'm in control. No sweat.

Which turned out to be 11 bagpipers piping, 9 kimmers (ladies) jigging, and... the one bagpipe. "No one... no one else wants to go find a bagpipe? Its the easiest one, cuz you just have to find one, just one..." Surely someone has one in a closet somewhere that they aren't using, because if I had to buy one, it'd be over $5oo. I'll just use Facebook, and ask around. *crickets chirping.* Apparently there are NOT a lot of bagpipers out there with an extra set of pipes they want to donate. Weird.

In the crafting world, everyone knows that there are limits to what you can take on, and 3/4 of our decorators had 4 kids. EACH. And now I found myself scrambling to find a tree topper bag pipe. In a Festival of Trees approved, rebarred and clamped, metal stand, with a surge protector 8 foot outlet cord, and skirted, branches-attached-to-the-core tree. Each ornament would have to be wired to the tree with any wood and/or paper being sprayed with flame retardant. Oh, I'll just go pull out my stash of flame retardant! Retardant indeed. "Full Scale Panic" doesn't quite describe how this easy little project started to make my heart thump and anxiety to settle in. "I'm in over my head! How did this happen?! Why didn't someone have the good sense to warn me about this!?" I needed a crafters rehab facility to detox and get my head straight.

What saved me in the end was not an escape, but rather an intervention by my friends and family. And a glue gun and my sewing machine. And an angel of mercy bagpiper named Brian who ordered a "set o' pipes" from Pakistan that were supposed to have ebony pipes, but which turned out to be painted wood, so he donated them. And Spot Technology Inc. that was willing to front the cost of the tree after Craig Johnson pled my cause. As I clawed my way back from the brink of crafters oblivion, everyone stepped up to my wild hare cause and donated time, talents, ornaments, vinyl, the tree, a quilt, signs, frames, pearls, an original signed comic strip, and yards and yards of plain red ribbon to counterbalance all of that plaid.

Its all set up now. We are the little 8' tree in slot O-02, next to the Brighton Ski Resort panoramic double-occupancy space with the ginormous custom built dog house, tree full of Snoopy dogs with Woodstock topper, against a faux mountain backdrop and miniature ski lift with airbrushed waist-high cutouts of all of the Peanuts characters. Yep, that's us. And its the only one with a bagpipe.

And: 12 Drummers Drummin, 11 bagpipers pipin', 10 Lords a Golfin', 9 Kimmers Jiggin', 8 Argyle Stockings, 7 Loch Ness Monsters, 6 Scots Grey's layin', 5 Scottie Dogs, 4 Shortbread Rounds, 3 Plaid kilts, and 2 Wooly sheep on a Spot Techonology's donated Christmas tree.

The Festival of Trees will be in need of someone to fill that space next year. I've learned my lesson. This hare is now tamed, subdued, and properly humbled by the sheer goodwill of friends, family, and community that do this successfully year after year. I think its a worthy cause, and the lessons I take away from this are valuable and unexpected. Nollaig cridheil huibh everybody. That's a Gaelic "Merry Christmas." Peace out!

Musical Chores

2011-11-15T20:18:00.000-08:00

Parenting, for me, has been an evolution of "figuring it out." It took me a while to understand that a mom without a game plan is just about as useful as a poopy flavored lollipop. Recently, I have become more philosophical about the whole process of raising a family of 6, and making some informal inquiries about the way different people cope with raising their children. I have learned a few things about expectations and technique.

First: You can not just "get along go along," with four small kids. Or at least MY four kids. Though running and crying in the bathroom often seems like a good option, the problems that sent you there will still be waiting for you when you emerge from that sanctuary.
Second: You need a game plan. And a flexible one at that.
Third: Good habits are hard to make, but easy to live with.

As a stay-at-home-mom, or SAHM, I am offended by the general malaise out there that says that all we do is lounge around in pajamas and frizzy hair. Not so. This is the nitty gritty of living and raising humans. You have to be on top of your game. All day. Every day. In essence, to keep it altogether, you must become like the plate spinner who must keep an eye on a lot of things simultaneously to keep it working smoothly, lest it all come crashing down on you. Not for the faint of heart.

So I am trying something new. I am trying to transition my children from simply resource consumers to participating citizens in our household. With good habits. And I'm using music. I happened upon this technique after observing a number of parenting style options and an ad from http://choresgetdone.com/. I have been evolving through these parenting styles:

1) Mom Does It All: This model is one that looks at children as mere consumers of mommy and daddy's time, patience, and other resources. Kinda like Veruca Salt of Charlie's Chocolate Factory fame. Since birth, the only expectation is that they will come when called, and maybe eat the broccoli off their plate. They are pampered and frequently peppered with suggestions about what they want, and begged - more than asked - to do things to help themselves out. This works with a small child or two. This does NOT work with crowd control.

"Would you like some milk? 2%, 1%? Skim? Want some chocolate milk? How 'bout I get you some chocolate milk, hmm?"

These kiddos are not expected to help out, and wake up with everything having been done for them. If left unchecked, they tend to operate independent of any understanding that their upkeep requires a lot of work. And when they enter the big wide world on their own, they have nary a clue how to take care of themselves because Mummy did it all. A bad egg indeed.

2) Mom Supervises It All: This model is a hybrid of the Consumer/Citizen. And this is where we have been living most recently. Some kids are old enough for chores, and some are not. The children outnumber me 4:1. They have chores that they are expected to complete, but if no one is going to check up on it, then the children scheme for how to have an "out." The modified rules are, "You have to do what mom asks you to if you are directly under her gaze, but if a request is sent from a distance, like, "GO BRUSH YOUR TEETH!" you can weigh the probabilities that you will ACTUALLY get checked on to have to complete the task." Multiple requests from mom for the same task become a "cat and mouse," game to see who will last, who will get it done, and who will get caught. And the more children there are in a family, the safer it becomes to just wait for the request to blow over.

After all, dinner will still be on the table, and if you feel like bowing out of clean-up time, just dawdle, and maybe stay in the bathroom for a while until someone notices that you are gone. There is the occasional time when mom's frustration mounts to the point that the children see their mother's face become detached from her skull, and at that point most kids will just get out of the way. But even that will, more often than not, only get you sent to your room - NOT on the road to completing the task.

Though not ideal, this is a workable plan for moms, but something usually gets lost along the way: Mom's personality.

Much like "Bootstrap" Bill Turner who became enslaved on The Flying Dutchman, "I am the ship, part of the ship, part of the crew," running a household can suck you in and remove any traces of your former identity. There is more work to do, than time to do it in. And it is relentless, unchartable, and unstable. Sickness, forgotten homework, emergencies, and kids bouncing on the bed can throw a typical day onto an ad hoc schedule.

When you have many young children, there are also a lot of needs, but very few helpers. The tedium really starts to drag you down, and there is no quick fix. The work you just completed is undone moments after you thought you were finished. Cheerios, in the hands of a toddler, can become everything from glue to a hail storm of pellets and powder. You mournfully think back to the days when you would read a book, take a karate class, or do ANYTHING creative and fun.

After all, that's what you were when you got married! Fun, vivacious, full of ideas and energy. Now, you feel like a warden-banshee roaming through the house, and you hardly recognize yourself anymore. You think back to the time when you would say to your friends, "Hey! Lets get some popcorn and go see a movie!" With so many things to stay on top of, that gives way to a lethargic, "Get your shoes out of the living room... please. Now. NOW! *wait* Right NOW! I've already told you THREE TIMES! Just move them for heaven's sake!"

I don't want to stay in this mode. So I am trying to transition to a new mode. The, "You are a citizen of this household," mode. And we will all be doing things to contribute to keeping it running. "Many hands make light work."

3) Family Citizenship: In this model, you are able to train with positive reinforcement, and self-guidance. And it involves a playlist, a routine, and a reward. The children help you select songs that are associated with a specific task. When that upbeat music plays, each family member completes that task. If you finish all of the tasks before the music ran out, you get a point that will cumulatively count towards a reward.

We started on Sunday, and I gotta say, I am ELATED with the results. The kids are racing against the clock. And since each task is completed each morning, there isn't a huge mess build up. Laundry is dealt with in a timely fashion, and after the kids skip merrily off to school, everyone is dressed down to the shoes, and I can walk down the hall and peer into one tidy room after another. I start feeling like myself again. Contemplating what would be fun for the day, not just how to deal with the overwhelming mess. Things will evolve when the kids get older. But for now, this is working for me:

So, for your pleasure here is our first playlist and the tasks we ALL complete before the songs are finished:

"You are my Sunshine" - Get up and meet in the living room
"The Queen of Mars" - Kids take meds
"Good Mornin'! " - Make your bed
"Birdhouse in Your Soul" - Pick up your room
"Vogue" - Get dressed
"A-G-L-E-T" - Get your shoes on
"Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" - put any stray laundry away
"Scripture Power" - Meet in the kitchen for scripture study/ get your scriptures out.
eat breakfast while dressed and do WHATEVER YOU WANT until its time to go. Parents shower and get dressed in a tidy room with kids all ready to go.
"Ray of Light" - Brush your teeth
"So Long/Farewell" - get your backpack/coat/jacket on, and get out to the car.

We still need to get a "vacuum your room" song, but what has gotten us this far has me just over the moon with delight. No shouting. No having to say "HURRY!" a bazillion times in the morning. No being left with a trashed house and a depressed momma. *pats heart* Everyone just gets ready, and does it themselves to be-boppin music. Am I willing to give my kids a play date every once in a while to maintain this? OH YES. Hopefully it will sink in for each child, that the small and frequent things that they do in a day help to contribute to happy home, a happy living space, and a happy mama. Wish me luck.

The "Real" Christmas Letter

2011-11-13T22:38:00.000-08:00

Every year about this time of year, I begin to compose, in my mind, a Crane Family Christmas Letter. A general, "Hey this is what's going on in our lives" kinda catch up for those that don't live near, don't visit, and assume that we are living life from vacation to vacation, party to party, and grace to grace. So in my mind I try and bridge the gap between that imagined reality and my reality. But the truth just keeps getting in the way.

I wish I could write the "real" Christmas letter where the peek into our lives leaves you with a sense of my day to day and what REALLY goes on behind these closed doors. Not a horror show, but the real scratch your butt, half pajama wearin', we are-SO-not-perfect - kind of letter. Why? I dunno. Hopefully so we can climb down off of your pedestals and have you say, "HEY LOOK! They're just like us!"

During the 13 years we've been married there have been rough years, and it never fails that when you are at your lowest ebb that the Christmas cards come in. They come from those whom you only marginally like, and don't care to vacation with. You can spot the soul crushing Christmas Cards among the bills, notices and fliers because they are so much bigger than the rest. You kinda use it as a mail platter to carry in the rest of the mail into your hum drum life.

Somewhat out of curiosity, and the realization that you don't have anything else to do, you grab it. The glittering silver envelopes with embossed paper, embellished stamps and hand written calligraphy making your residence seem akin in importance to The White House. I get these and I run a dialogue in my mind that can only be considered sarcastic.

"Dear Katrina and Family!" (why does the wife of my ex-boyfriend insist on keeping me on their card list? I don't think he told her about that one date where a lot of spit was exchanged....). Well, hooray for you Kristin. You figured out how to make every form letter look personalized. Just like the credit card companies and Publisher's Clearinghouse. And the "signature" at the bottom is in the exact same ink as the letter. You're not fooling me!

"Happy Holidays to our friends living near and far..." Oh gosh - please no. Here we go.
"We hope your year was a blessed and delightful one." OH Shut up. It has been the year from hell.
"As we ponder the significance of the season, we decided to spend our Holy Day holiday in the Holy Land! It is going to be a Magical Christmas in Bethlehem. We'll be staying in the Inn, and our nanny is so delighted to try out the stables." Awesome. Annnnnd I..... hope y'all don't get shot or kidnapped or both.

"After a whirlwind tour of Jerusalem, Mr. Johnson and I will be surprising our 7 children as we usher in a bright 2012 as special guests of the Monte Martre Sailors club to watch the ball drop for the New Year atop the Eiffel Tower! Oui! PARIE!"

You spelled that wrong idiot. Its Paris. Even when you're saying it pear-ie. Why on earth are you allowed to travel to places that you can't even spell correctly? Too busy having 7 kids and sailing, clearly. Life is SO not fair.

"But right now we are all a flutter! Our 5 girls will be dancing in 'The Nutcracker Ballet with the Chekoslovakian Orchestra and Ballet Troop, with Yale as first alternate for the role of Clara."

Yale. Seriously? And there's a "z" in Chezech.. Chezk... There's a "z" in there somewhere! Idiot. And its a "troupe" not a "troop" like a bunch of scouts. Still can't spell. Where is your spell-check woman? Five girls in ballet. That's a lot of tutus. And hairspray. Better keep all of them away from an open flame or they'll all spontaneously combust. *evil giggle* I don't even know if Czechoslovakia has a decent orchestra.

Reading line for line stops, and then you start to scan, "boys, in band... electric guitar... blah blah, debate, chess club, Honor Society... perfect perfect, kids memorizing "The Family, A Proclamation to the World," awesome, and she is keeping up with everything by running. A full marathon. Every month. Freaking Awesome. I only run when chased. OH! Designing a new house with 4 car garage for the new boat. Of course. Skip to the end.

I used to lay on the floor after getting these letters and just drift into a full-on depression until some child stepped on me, "MAM! Where's the JUICE?!"
"Your sister drank it all. We're OUT of juice."
"Why are you on the floor?"
"Mommy's just looking for... something."

Then one day, I lamented this very sentiment to my friend, Melanie Steele, who gave me the perfect solution: Burn 'em! She said to me, "Just take all of those cards and burn 'em in the trash. It's very soothing and cathartic to watch those glitters go up in smoke! Just don't do it around the smoke detectors... You'll be letting in subzero air to try and get those smoke detectors to turn off again."

*sob!* Oh soul sister! You understand! You understand that when you think of all the wonderful and truthful things you could say about the family this year, you realize that it is not exactly flattering Christmas Card material! "We went up to Yellowstone and saw a big brown bear sleeping on top of an Elk carcass!"

I mean, how can you put a good spin on the fact that your 3yr old eats boogers and laughs his butt off when you scold him not to do it because it is SO GROSS!? He may, in fact, be doing it TO gross me out! Or that one of the kids cut their own hair up to here, and the other had a picture perfect bedroom suite until they flung pulled pork on the fake peau de soie curtains and melted laffy taffy on the light bulb of their reading lamp just to make the neighbor kids laugh? And even the good news has a rotten side, like the fact that even though you set up a tent for the first time in a decade, you waited too long to take it down and now have a perfect square of dead grass in the back yard! You can't really spin that!

But everyone else seems to be doing it. And effortlessly. If someone asks me one more time if I'd like to contribute my creative genius for projects, and have a super good camera to blog about my amazing kids birthday parties that I was supposed to have planned with antiques, a Cricut machine, a riding saddle and .... TAPE, I think I'm just gonna LOSE IT! Melting into a puddle of my own mediocre shame, I have had to devise a plan to get me through this year. There is only only one way out. TO LIE.

"We are having a banner year!" Maybe we could do a Christmas card theme with banners. Abigail won first place.... for .... ARBOR day for her short story about a TREE. Benjamin can spell 90, no 900 words PERFECTLY, and Sam and Za play... EDUCATIONAL games together. Because Dora the Explorer enhances a child's learning of the world around them and... Spanish and ... SWIPER NO SWIPING!!! Ethics! And then what do I say about me?

Oh man. Truthfully I am at a stage in my life where my car and appliances are just about the most dear and important things in my life - like next to air. I can not have a vacuum break, or a fridge, or a dishwasher, and heaven forbid it, my washing machine and dryer go out on me. It would only take 3 days to go from "tidy-ish" to "Hoarders - Buried Alive!" candidate.

What did I do this year? Well, I've worked my appliances like galley slaves. They run a couple of times a day, every day. Its not like those young married days, or I assume Old Farty days, where you can just go without one if it breaks until you save and/or research to get exactly what you want.

A clink under the bumper makes me break out into a cold sweat, and finding a hammer in the dryer is actually a relief because at least I know how to fix that. It is a 180 degree difference from what it was like when we first got married. I didn't need a vacuum. I think it was actually years before I actually bought a vacuum. We just borrowed our neighbors vacuum once a week to get the dust bunnies that collected around our apartment since we were both gone all the time.

Now. Now we vacuum daily, and if someone is coming over, we start to vacuum HOURLY. Instead of sucking up dust bunnies, this powerhouse has to take down legos, cereal, dry wall, play dough, ribbons, yarn, shredded paper, pencil shards, screws shaken from various chairs and chunks of food that the baby could not be coaxed into eating and the children could not be imposed upon to pick up. With a severely skewed ratio of messers to tidiers, it is a marathon of picking up, loading up, cleaning up, and putting up with a lot of crying. When I go to the bank and they offer suckers, I say, "Yes, just please make them all the same color!"

*siiiiiiiiiiigh* And after all the angels are in bed, and my brain tells me that, "ITS NOW OR NEVER! JUST WRITE IT! WRITE THAT CHRISTMAS LETTER!!!" Suddenly lying about it all seems like such an effort. And I wonder, can I do the OTHER option, and just not send any at all... is it possible to GET cards without sending them? My brain hurts thinking about it, and now that I need to get that next load of laundry out, I think I will just have to pull a Scarlett O'Hara, "I can't think about that nawh. I'll think about it tomorrah..." But in the meantime, please don't kick me off your Christmas card list just yet. We're running low on tinder...

Now We See Through the Bead Darkly

2011-10-18T11:10:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I went back to Trefoil ranch, a camping area run by the Girl Scouts, for an adult training in preparation for their Camporee next summer. I don't want to miss it, and I don't want Abigail to miss it since they will be celebrating 100 years of Girl Scouts. Lots of cookie sales over the last 30 years have improved the Trefoil camp property considerably. When I went there as a young girl, the main hall was a log cabin, one main room, dark, and poorly lit dealie-O. Now it is more akin to a Swiss Chalet. But it was here that I learned one of the most poignant lessons of my youth: sometimes the bad things that happen to you in life can turn out to be pretty valuable.

When I first arrived at Trefoil, I was about 8 years old. I went with my Girl Scout troop to my first sleepover camp. In order to break up girls from the various troops and help them to get to know other girls, they had a system the first day you arrived of shuffling you into the log cabin to register you and handing you an identifying bracelet.

Since we all arrived at nearly the same time, we all had a long time to hear the opening spiel, and kinda go through a bottleneck process of checking in, and getting a bracelet, while also learning a knot-tying skill. It was a long line.
      We got to get a good look at the beads that went on the bracelets. Though not spoken, every girl knew that the success or failure of her entire camp rested in those little trays. You had time to casually look up and down the line of registering scouts and secretly hoped that the girl sucking her thumb with one hand and clutching a ratty stuffed dog while desperately clinging with the other hand, white knuckled, to her mom with the other, did NOT end up in your group. Those kids were no fun and often slowed everything down. I never could understand kids that had to be persuaded to have fun. "Won't you come play? Tell us your name?" Gah! Go home wimp!
   Anyway, I broke my gaze from checking out the line to check out the bead trays. They looked like so many gems sparkling. There were ones that looked like diamonds, pink ones, light blues ones and ... what I hoped to get, a yellow bead. Because yellow is my favorite color, and if you can score your favorite color, well then the world can go on! But I'd settle for a diamond one and still be happy. Diamonds are the most valuable.
   Somewhere in there was a tray of black beads. Every girl in that line knew that you did NOT want to get saddled with the black bead. It was Uh-uh-uuuuuugLY! Yet as I started to count the girls in line, and pair it up with the bead rotation, I could see that I was headed straight for that black bead. Oh no. OH NONONONONOooooo!!! My survival skillz started kicking in.
     Unfortunately for me, so did the girl's behind me, as I casually asked, "Hey, you wanna go ahead of me?" "Uh NOOooooOO!" It was that snotty, sarcastic "no" that says, "Na ah girl, I ain't takin' no black bead for you..." Then we hit the first station.
"Hi, I'm Katydid! Who are you?" (checks me of on the roster) "Welcome! You need to think of a camp name and get your camp bracelet. Here is your gold bracelet string, don't lose it. Next you'll get your bead from Raven, learn to tie a square knot from Kanga, and then be sorted into your groups!"
    I held my string and walked like I was on Death Row to the bead table where Raven was waiting for me with the black bead already in her hand. It took all my nerve, but I asked, "Can I have a yellow one?" Her look was IMMEDIATE exasperation. "Why is everyone trying to get out of this one? I like it the best!" I gave her a look that must have said, "Well then YOU wear it!" because she plopped it in my hand in a way that said, "Here you go and don't argue about it." I took my black bead, with such dread, over to the knot tying station where other girls were showing off their sparkly beads. "I got a diamond one!" WHOOPIE for you. But I couldn't argue that scoring the clear diamond bead was awesome, and therefore she must be awesome. Her friend crowed, "I got a yellow one! I LOVE yellow!" I decided then and there that I hated that girl.
Still waiting to learn to tie my knot, I tried to discern if there was anyone waiting with me who was unhappy with their bead choice, and found one scout complaining about the light blue bead she got - which, though NOT yellow, would at least be an upgrade from black. "I wanted PINK!" she boobed. I saddled up to her and said in a very cheerful and HELPFUL way, "Hey! I'll trade you!" She perked up, until she saw what I had. "Uh, no, that's okay...." I decided that I would hate her too. Meanie.
Minutes later, I had a black bead tied securely on my wrist. Kids don't really swear to themselves in their head, they just feel rotten. And I did. We were supposed to go outside and stand by our camping gear. I knew that camp was a failure. I was going to have a rotten time, get the rotten kids in my group, and have to wear a rotten rotten ugly bead.
    Then things suddenly changed. I don't exactly remember where I saw it, but I know that it stopped me in my tracks. In the sunlight, and out of that musty old registration cabin, I discovered that I didn't have a black bead after all. It was dark PURPLE. And the purple lacquer bead next to the gold elastic band was stunning. It was gorgeous, and definitely enviable, because suddenly the other girls were noticing it too.
      The beads that had looked sparkly in the dark looked a lot more like cheap plastic in the light. Little Miss Light Blue Bead came up to me, "Hey... still wanna trade?" "Uh, that's okay...." I said, trying not to let her know that I had decided to hate her, and it served her right for not trading with me in the first place. As she jealously looked on, I let my dark purple bead twinkle in the sunlight so you could see all of the light and dark colors. And my dread absolutely evaporated. What was once dreaded was now coveted. I HAD THE COOLEST BRACELET CAMP TREFOIL COULD OFFER! And it was mineminemine!!! Camp was wonderful again.
     Flash forward about 30 years. Now I have four kids. Even as we speak, they are driving me up THE WALL. In the 5 minutes that they were up, and I was mustering the will to face another day of laundry, dishes, dinner and poopy diapers, my quilt project was flung around the house, a whole container of chocolate chips was dumped on the floor, and I can smell the diaper that needs to be changed. It will wait for me. For me, these are stressful, dark days. It is hard. It is tedious. There are more messers than cleaners. Hubby is waist deep in his career, and at the end of the day, after dinner, prayers, pajamas and stories, we are pretty well spent. It is the bottle neck of a young family. It doesn't seem like it will ever end. And the creativity of our children that is expressed on walls, chopped up clothes, pulled pork on the ceiling, and animals made out of straws has made other parents grateful that they got the children they have. And sometimes I envy them. "Look! They don't sass; they just do what their mom says! I'd heard of these rare children, but I'd never seen one. And they have FIVE!"
Girl Scouts has taught me though, that if you wait a bit, and take things out into the sun, that those things that seemed dark will have a deep luster that will make them the envy of all. Paul told us as much when he wrote to the Corinthians (Ch 13):

12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

13 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

I didn't know then, how much I would need that lesson in my life. I don't hate people so easily, and when I am handed dark beads in my life, I try to imagine what they will look like in the light, and what I will be at that point, as a person. So, it is on to another day of faith, hope and charity. Faith that it will be worth it, hope that things will work out, and charity for my family... whom I love. Even though they drive me up the wall. And no, I don't want to trade with you. It may not seem like it right now, but I got the best there is, and they're minemine mine! :D

"Don't Share" Salsa

2011-10-08T22:37:00.000-07:00

<--- If you have these, and can chop, you can make this amazing canned salsa. I call it "Don't Share" Salsa because it is SO GOOD, you don't want to share it. Even if you had a bathtub-full, you would not invite anyone over for a party. You would just stock up on chips, lock yourself in there, and tell your hubby you had feminine problems for a month. It is SO nummy! Its fresh, it tastes good on chips, and you kinda want to lick the bowl when you see that there is some in the bottom that won't fit on a chip.

The first time I made it, I did it to support my sister who wanted to have a cooking day together. I wasn't fast enough to come up with an alternative to canning salsa. I was thinkin, "Why are we doing this? Yes I'm Mormon, Yes my mother and.... probably a ton of pioneer relatives canned... stuff, but that is why the good lord invented Pace picante sauce in three different sized jars." I chopped onions and I chopped peppers while my sister Lisa busied herself, and I thought, "You crazy woman. Why. On. Earth." And then I had some. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM! Oh my word. OH MY WORD! SO GOOD! So amazingly good!!

Good grief, I gotta go eat some right now while I write about it. BRB. !#@!&%$##! Its 10 pm and WE ARE OUT OF CHIPS! GOSH DARN IT! I told Matthew that we could open a jar of salsa if would go out and get some chips. Yah. The garage door is going up. And now I'm like a nervous smoker 3 days after they tried to quit. "C'moooooon. C'mon! HURRY IT UP!"

Anyway. Here is what you need to start: One batch of this recipe will make 8 pint jars. NOT. WORTH IT. Double batch is worth it. Triple batch will get you through til Christmas. Unless you eat it all before then. By YOURSELF. But, hey lil' red hen. You put in the work, you get the rewards. *checks watch* Its been 1 minute and 22 seconds, WHERE IS HE!?

Unless you have your own (and first time out I didn't) canning jars, go out and get some canning jars. And a funnel that will fit into the top of the lids. If you don't have some of this stuff, borrow. I don't have my own jars or funnel. I just keep borrowing Lisa's and waiting for someone to get me one for Christmas. YES. This will feel TOTALLY WEIRD, especially as the checkout kid looks at the jars and looks at you as though he was expecting his GRAMMA. "Just ring it up Skippy!" Just, just ignore him.

One Batch = 8 pint jars. Multiply for however much you need. Which is never enough, but I'm gonna make you do the math in your head anyway - so here we go!

Shopping List:

7 lbs of Roma tomatoes. WARNING: IF you get those beef steak tomatoes and try to use them cuz they were on sale, or someone gave 'em to you, you will be SO SORRY. You will not have salsa, you will have flavored WATER. Romas are meatier. THAT'S what you want.

1 lb Onion - White, yellow, doesn't matter. Unless you feel it will matter to you, then use whatever you like.

2 lbs Anaheim Peppers. You may very well clear out their entire pepper selection. Feel free to ask Skippy Jr if there is more in the back.

1/2 C Vinegar - apple cider, or white. All tastes good.

1/2 C Lime Juice - for freshness!

2 TBS NON IODIZED SALT. Yes, this is in CAPS so that you'll get the feeling that I'm yelling it at you. I don't know WHY it has to be NON IODIZED, but Lisa says that all salsa recipes insist on it. So. I'm not gonna ruin all this over the wrong salt.

1 TBS Cumin - some people are haters, but it works MAGIC in this recipe.

2 tsp (smaller than a TBS!) Garlic powder.

A stock pot. Borrow one if you have to. A clean rag. A soup ladle (for ladling salsa into the jars), a slotted spoon big enough to pick up a roma tomato out of hot boiling water, a good sharp knife or food processor that reliably CHOPS (not liquefies), plastic gloves, or something that you can chop peppers in, and an apron in case you are super messy. Or just want to feel like its part of canning. Or just looks cute on you.

STEP ONE: Dealing with tomatoes.
Now let me just say here, that if you get past this step, the rest is cake. Dealing the tomatoes is the biggest pain in the a@@. If you can get through this, you will be SET. Its not hard, it just takes time.
We're gonna take the skins off those tomatoes. *nods* All of them.

If you are doing a triple batch, then just do this step alone the day before you want to actually put things in jars so you are not uber tired and/or depressed. If you find that you are talking to yourself, you have done too many tomatoes. Two batches can be a marathon, but doable in the same day you want to can them if you have a friend there to talk with you. And for just one batch - what the heck! I told you one batch wasn't worth it!

Start a big pot to boiling. Get another big bowl and make ice water to put the tomatoes in after you've boiled off some skin.

Take each tomato, and put an "x" on the bottom. Also known as "scoring," the whole point of this is to make it easier for you to take the skin off. Don't hack into the thing, and don't do a tiny dainty "x." Cut through the skin in a longish "x" so that when the hot water makes the skin start to peel back, you can grab it with your paring knife and peel off a whole bunch of the skin without having to hack into the tomato. When you feel like you can't stand to make one more longish "x" the water should be boiling. Take about 12 tomatoes and drop them in the boiling water. Marvel at your canning prowess, and set a timer for about 2 minutes. Go make some more longish "x"s on the non-boiled tomatoes.

MULTI-TASKING ALERT: There are three stations here.

The tomatoes on the counter.
The tomatoes in the boiling water, and then
the tomatoes in the ice bath.
Oh. And then the scored/skinned/rough chopped tomatoes in the stock pot.

After the tomatoes skin starts to peel back on that first dozen, take them out of the hot water with your slotted spoon, and dump them in the ice water bath.
Put in another 12 X'd tomatoes to boil, and then grab your paring knife.
Make a few more longish x's on your other tomatoes until the boiled tomatoes cool for a sec or two.
Go back to the water bath and pick up a slightly cooked, (with an x on the bottom,) tomato that should have the skin starting to peel away like old paint. Start taking off the skins. I drop the skins in the sink, and chop 'em in my hand, and repeat. Once all of the skin is off, core the sucker, and either put it on a chopping board to "rough cut it (or cut in 1/2 twice), or just hold it in your hand and cut it in half, and then cut it in half again. Do not cut your hand. Drop it in your stock pot.
Process all of your tomatoes until they are all safely scored/skinned and rough chopped in the stock pot. Sit for a few minutes. Feel good about what you've done!

STEP TWO: Dealing with Onions and PEPPERS

Chop/dice the onions first. Easy. Toss them on the tomatoes in the stock pot. If you have done a triple batch or more, and don't think that all of your ingredients will fit, then just be smart and put 1/2 the onions in with 1/2 the tomatoes etc. Most stock pots will hold a double batch of this recipe of salsa.

Peppers. Put on some gloves, or something to protect your hands. Not all feel that this is necessary.

A guy I know, for example, decided to chop some hot peppers, and scoffed at the idea of doing it in anything but bare hands. "Commando." I can't remember if he itched AND had to go to the bathroom, or just had to go to the bathroom, but the sound that emanated from behind that bathroom door after a few seconds had dogs barking hysterically around the block for miles. And if you just have an itch, have someone itch for you, or take your gloves off.

Cut off the heads of each pepper. About an inch down. Huck the end in the garbage. With remaining long pepper, cut it in half. FISH OUT THE SEEDS. Yes, I'm yelling at you, because I didn't remove them once. SEEDS ARE HOT!!! Take the peppers and just dice 'em up. Toss 'em in the pot.

Turn on the stove to a simmer. You can start at a 7/9 heat. You're just boiling it all down. The more you boil, the more concentrated it becomes. Add all of the other ingredients: Salt, cumin, lime juice, vinegar, and garlic powder. Stir. Stir. Stir, and admire. Stir.

Start cookin' an stirring. The heat blends all of this numminess, and breaks down the tomatoes from big hunks to small hunks, but you can't let it just boil - that will burn the bottom of your pot. Stir, and keep an eye on it. After awhile, you will see the color deepen, and there will be smaller and smaller chunks of tomato. I LOVE the big bits of tomato. LOVE LOVE LOVE. Lisa's kids, not so much. So, cook it down, simmering with the lid OFF, until it looks about like this.

NOW YOU ARE READY TO CAN!

Open up that box of cans. Nervously take the plastic wrap off. Start taking off the lids and rings. SAVE THEM! You want to soften the rubber on the lids, so put just them in warm simmering water. BE EVER SO CAREFUL. The lids like to mate. And suddenly, you have 2 jars left and no lids. Yep. Somewhere in there you put on a couple of double lids. They are sneakier than teenagers!

Line up 3 glass jars. Ladle each one full to the top of the big rim, but not to the top of the neck. Don't stick it in the neck, you need a little space for it to seal. Wipe off the top of each jar with a WET rag. Fish a lid out (check to make sure its a single), and put it on. Screw down with the ring.

SEALING: You can do this one of two ways. The hard way, or the easy way.

Hard: You can stick each jar into a bath of boiling hot water about an inch above the lid and wait for it to suck in and pop. Or
Easy: Turn it upside down and let the heat from the boiling salsa seal itself somewhere in the night.

How can I tell if its sealed or not? Well, if you can bounce your finger up and down, like a finger on a lid trampoline on the middle of the lid the next morning, it did not seal. Eat it. If it doesn't, then its sealed. You can hide that baby in your secret secret spot, cuz baby, you just made salsa! I have just eaten my way through half a jar. And I'm gonna go lie down and have some salsa dreams. Soooo gooooooood. :D

Ancestor Cards - How I Did It

2011-09-30T21:17:00.000-07:00

“If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it's not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That's why it's your path.”
~ Joseph Campbell

I saw this, and laughed how I thought it applied to my ancestor cards. "How did you do it? What gave you the idea?" Well. The fuzzy lint in my brain just wanted to. I wanted to have the equivalent to ancestor baseball cards: something with all of their "stats" so I would be able to put a face to a name, and know a little bit about each of my ancestors. The stories I'd grown up with kinda blended, and as I found out later, were sometimes connected with the wrong person. And I wanted my kids to know their histories as well. Without even one of them, there would be no us. My own children carry half of my husbands genes, and I couldn't tell them hardly anything about my husbands ancestors. But I didn't always have a clear cut idea of how to fix that. How the cards started out, and how they ended up are quite the process, but I'll try and outline it here just in case you want to make some of your own.

I got to see these at the equivalent of a "Tupperware Party" my Cousin Faye put on, and it got me thinking about how great it would be to make trading cards, or baseball cards for our ancestors; something with all their "stats" in a nice compact place. I'd never seen it done before, but pshhht how hard could it be? Right? I'm a 4th 5th or 6 th generation Mormon, it should be easy to pull up all this stuff.

The only known publisher that I know of for a (nice!) deck of cards is "Heritage Makers." If you start an account, and then go under "Photo gifts", you can find the printable deck of cards.

For $24.99 + s/h, you can get 52 cards and the option to add as many cards as you want for $0.50 each. They offer a monthly charge for their "Premiere" package, but I had SO MUCH to put on each card, I didn't need any special do-dads or papers. You can see that there is less than a 1/4" of the basic color around each card. The rest is all my photos, downloaded icons, and my own info. The program insists that everything be in .jpg format, so, word to the wise.

I ordered two decks "at a special price" ($20 each if you order RIGHT NOW!), one for his family, and one for mine. Now - if you think about it - if you are doing 4 generations for you and your spouse, there is exactly ONE family that will want a full deck. Your very own family. My parents and their family are not terribly interested in half of the deck of cards, and the same goes for my hubby's family. But if you buy two decks, you can split a full deck, and send half of one to his family, and the other half to your family. Two full decks take care of 3 families. :D

The first thing I had to decide was how to split up the 52 cards. That ends in a weird number of generations, so we did the math and realized that if we each did four generations back (starting with our parents), we would need 30 cards each. That means we would just have to add 8 cards ($4 - not bad). I printed off a pedigree chart and then made some digital folders on my computer and started to organize.

STEP ONE: Just like the pedigree chart above, it is the best way to organize your files. I am number 1. My Dad is #2, my mom is #3 and so on. You should have 30 files for you and your four generations, and also 30 for your spouse. Keeping the numerical order as well as the names of each ancestor in number order will SERIOUSLY help you to keep things straight as the project goes along.

STEP TWO: If you have computer files, you can start making relevant copies of pictures and documents into each ancestor file. If there's a wedding photo with grandparents and great- grandparents, copy that pic 4 times. Drop one in each file. When you run out of information on your computer, contact the genealogy nut in the family, or people you know who have the biggest amount of pictures and information. Tell them what you want, and hold on. Its about to get fun.

STEP THREE: Back to the cards: I opened up the program, added 8 cards and picked out a basic (free) color for each of four lines, and began to copy/paste. My dad's ancestor line has a red background, my mom is yellow. Matthew's dad has a blue background, and his mom's is green. Should the cards ever get shuffled, you at least have a snowball's chance in hell of putting all 60 cards back in order. I toyed with the idea of giving each couple a unique color to help keep the couples straight, but ran up against a deadline, and... a fear that they would start looking junky. I also toyed with the idea of doing my own extended family. All of my siblings would be orange (red + yellow = orange, get it!?), and all of Matthew's would be a blue/green teal kinda color, but... that hasn't happened yet. Project #2 perhaps. For this project, we just went BACK in time.

STEP FOUR: Grab your pedigree charts. After the color background was copied, I put two plain boxes on each card; one on the top and bottom of each card. Consistency is nice, so it was super easy to pick a nameplate size, and then do copy/paste for the 60 cards. That'll take you a little bit. For the box on the top of the card, I picked a nice legible font (this is not the time for frou frou fonts - the cards are small, and you need to be able to read them!). For ease and history's sake I put their name AND nickname. For women, we left their maiden name for spacing sake, "Marion Naomi Crofts Worthen," went just a tad over my space limit (and I had to keep reducing the font to make it fit), so we just left the maiden name. If the person went by a nick-name, we put that below their "official" name. "Daddy Bish" or "Cuddles."

My own mother, whose offical name is "Margaret," has gone by "Midge" her whole entire life, and I always referred to her mother as, "Grandma Grace." We also put a baby buggy icon to indicate how many children each woman had, and a + (name) if they helped to raise someone. I had quite a few relatives that became primary care-givers to grandchildren or nieces/nephews. Also, an angel Moroni icon to indicate the first ancestor to join the Mormon church, and a wagon icon to indicate a pioneer that crossed the plains. I made an icon for Polygamous families, but didn't have anyone to use it on. :/ Oh well.

On the bottom box we included the following information:

Birth date and place. I also put the flag of their birth place up in the top right hand corner under their name so you could easily see the different countries that their ancestors came from. For ancestors with no photo, and no information, we used this information to put up a map to show where they came from. ----> Matthew moved his to the left top, but since it was getting done, I wasn't going to complain.

Mission - if they served one - including name of the mission, the years that they served, and if it is a vague area, like "The Southern States Mission" I try to include the areas where they served primarily. (KY) for Kentucky.
Marriage date and place, AND ( in parenthesis) a few bits of information. After "Marriage" I put the total times the person was married in their lifetime. This... can be surprising. Also, I put how old my relative was when they got married to my other ancestor. On another line, to help keep everyone straight, I put their spouses name and how old THEY were when they got married. "Hey dad! Did you know that your mom was only 19 when she got married, and your dad was only 20?" He didn't. You find some interesting pairings, like this one ---; who knew there were cougars in Mississippi!

Emigration information. I wanted to put where they came to the USA, when, and the name of the ship, where possible. If they did emigrate, we also put an icon of a ship up on their name plate.
Death date, and place.
STEP FIVE: Photos - We wanted our primary photo to be a picture of each ancestor taken in about their twenties. Its easier to trace family resemblances, and see certain defining characteristics on a young adult face. Where possible, we also tried to post a baby picture, and a picture of them as they aged. Very few have all three, but it was fun to search.
We also took pictures of any heirlooms associated with that person. These are SO much easier to have now that photo-phones are available. For example, on the card for Marion Swan below, there is a picture of an heirloom ring that is passed down to the youngest daughter of the youngest daughter. I had my mother snap a picture of the ring with her cell phone and send it so it could be included with the card.
If known, I also added:
What musical instrument they played
Something to indicate their profession,
Whether they were a Boy Scout, and what rank they attained,
Military service, if any. Hobbies when there was space (gardening, photography, baking specialties, and trashy magazines like "True Story" they loved to read *nods*. Oh yes!)
Anything connected to a defining story involving them or other items of peculiar interest.
If a photo wasn't available, then a picture of their headstone, and map associated with that person.
Photos of things that they made, like quilts, or loved to use - like my great grandmother's favorite tea cup. On one, I have my great-grandmother's wedding invitation, and her calling card from her missionary days. My grandpa has his business sign.
And, to me, the "piece de resistance" were the signatures. Matthew and I searched through marriage certificates, old letters, death certificates, books, and just about everywhere you can think of to get as many signatures as we could. Of all things, it is the only thing that is truly representative of your ancestor. I think only a thumbprint could be more personal.
We found that there were many, many sources of information about our ancestors. We started off with pictures and other information that had already been collected by our parents. From there, we started looking on the Internet and found websites and blogs where unknown cousins were sharing pictures, documents and other treasures we didn't know existed. For our Utah ancestors, we hit the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers who preserve life histories and rare photos. We also used free trial memberships to sites such as Ancestry.com to explore records such as census, war records, pictures and many other resources we didn't know existed. For example, we knew that one ancestor has traveled frequently out of the country. Ancestry had copies of passport applications from nearly a hundred years ago that contained family portraits and pictures that we never dreamed of finding. We also found that the BYU library has a special collection of photographs, diaries and histories (the L. Tom Perry Special Collection) and we were surprised to find several of our ancestors in their collection. There many other free online resources such as the Utah digital newspapers archive, death certificate index (great for finding signatures), and FamilySearch.org with information and historical documents that can be had for free. Finally, when we had noting else, we researched cemetery records and snapped a photo of the grave stone to that no ancestor's card was completely empty.

It has been a labor of love. I have been shocked, and amazed at what I have discovered throughout this process. I am grateful beyond words for what we HAVE been able to find. I gave up on many an ancestor as a "hopeless cause" for ever finding a photograph or a signature, and have been delighted BEYOND WORDS, to have found it in a passport photo, or a signature in a book, or a letter that someone had in a bottom drawer somewhere. Matthew will tell you too, that the things we were able to find are far greater than we had even hoped for after our initial start with this project. Just keep digging, just keep digging...
Now that its done, I have put the cards in a baseball card keeper, and I just sit and flip through them. Nearly in tears for the amount of work it took, and how WONDERFUL it is now to know so much about each one. As a little prompt, I put a little quote on each of my cards, either about the person, or something that they said - so that you could immediately know something about each one. So that they could be real and wonderful. Perhaps you don't think you can relate to that old guy in a stiff colar, but wait til you find out that he had a star tattoo on each hand the size of a silver dollar, a danish flag tattoo on his forearm, and an entire ship across his chest that he could flex to make the flag "wave". Yes. I think you will love him!
Grandma Grace's sister wrote, "Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead; we also are capable of bringing people back to life, merely by writing about them." Though these cards have been printed, the work is not yet done. We are still receiving documents, signatures, and life histories from the descendants of these people. There is more to be had, and once you start scratching the surface, you just want to dig more and more and more. That talent for quilting that you thought was your own ambition, can actually be traced back to your great great grandmother. That wit, and humor that you thought was the only one in the family crops up with your bald great-grandpa wearing a black wig in a convertible to scare his wife and give her a laugh in his bright colored tie. Its odd to describe how you find yourself as you go looking in your past. They are part of you, and you are part of them. Its a beautiful thing - and totally worth working for.
So, good luck on your own journey. I wish you the best as you forge your own trail and discovery! Just remember - this is a great project for the young. Even though you have kids all around your ankles, and it seems like its crazy, you are in the best position to remember, to ask, and to record. It took me until the last, ultimate deadline, 2 years after I started, but I did it. Just a box, color, and photo at a time. Once you see what you have, you will know what you're looking for. Happy Hunting!

Hubris

2011-09-07T11:12:00.000-07:00

Only tuff girls can serve a mission to Portugal!

I'm so smart I graduated High School!

Smart girls know the importance of marrying a smart guy...

BA = Believe it! I'm Awesome!

People from my childhood are asking. High School friends are asking. People from my mission are asking. People from college, and friends from my married days are asking, "What happened to you? Did you fall off the face of the earth?"

No, no. I'm here- if only just barely. Impossible? You would think, after all that I have accomplished in this ole life that I would be on TOP of it all. I mean, if you can do college-level calculus, motherhood should be a snap, right? They're smaller than you, not as smart as you, and when properly motivated, they do as they are told. Easy peasy rice and cheesy! Yet here I sit, with the tv babysitter on, and I feel like a captive trying to relay out a message, "Do you copy? Do you copy? This is Bravo leader, Bravo leader, Delta, do you copy?! 7 Sept. 2011... this situation is NOT FRIENDLY, I repeat, there are NOT FRIENDLIES! Have been taken captive, conditions are worsening, not known when I can communicate again... send aid. Chocolate and caffeine. Will arrange a drop spot..."

The dishwasher is on, the laundry is rolling through, and I have just called and left a message to Matthew about the $2.99 broom that ain't cuttin' it. The clock is ticking, and I have less time than a Jeopardy! player to write this out. I understand that this doesn't make sense to some people, - and I'm thinking of an old boss in particular who said to me, "My friend stays at home, and she complains about how hard it is. I go to work, and do everything that she does; laundry, dinner, tidying. I mean, what does she do with her time?" At the time I was expecting my own first baby, and didn't have an answer. "I dunno. I work too. How hard can it be? Its like, we work twice as hard as them." <--- remember that phrase, because it counts towards hubris.

But to those with little children, it makes allll sorts of sense. Unless you have a maid, unless you are independently wealthy, Motherhood can be the most sacrificing, time consuming, thankless job on a 24/7 basis that you can ever attempt. Now as a stay-at-home mom, I understand better my fellows in arms. You stay home, to provide the best environment for your children. Your home. Your paradise; your prison. The proverbial Hotel California. You are free to check out, but you can never leave.

This is the second week of potty training captivity in my home. I am not sure of a release date at this point, but attempting to go out of the compound is decidedly perilous at best. My trainee is wandering around in naught but a t-shirt so that he can remember that no underwear, no diaper, no nuthin' is gonna catch what falls out of his body. He is interrogated every 10 minutes with, "Do you need to go potty?! You need to stay dry. Don't pee on yourself!"

The two toughest are now in school, so I can sneak my way over to the computer and eek out a message: I have the answer! I know why SAHMs are crazy-busy and stressed! They LIVE. AT. HOME! There is no night cleaning crew, there is no landscaping crew! And one-income families, of a necessity, must regularly eat everything at home! And then clean it up! For those who work, and my Boss had one kid, I can say, "Your ONE child doesn't live at your house! Eat at your house! Mess up your house! - except under direct supervisory control for the few hours that you are there! They spent their day messing up someone else's place! And the workers get paid to clean it up for you! They gave up carpet years ago! Its linoleum and indoor/outdoor where she lives all day!"

Where we are now - at this point in my life right now, we all live here. All the time. THAT is the difference Boss. No one messes up your house, dips their hands into the hot cocoa and then wants to lick it off over the couch, and tramples the Cheerios that hit the floor this morning into a far flung mess. And if all I had to do was load a few breakfast dishes, toss in a load of laundry, and leave my tidy home til I came back to the crock pot I made last night, it would seem that there wasn't much to do. But now. Now I know better.

I do not fear death, most SAHMs sometimes fantasize about leaving their spouse to "stay home all day", but if vacuums have souls, my Judgement Day will be an awful one, and I fear that part greatly. As they tick off the obscene number of vacuums that have met a horrible, terrible, and awful demises under my roof, at that film everyone says you see of your life. I imagine about 19 vacuums lined up watching and waiting for a just God to dispense justice on me and my family. They can testify of the tortuous treatments that were never designed to be inflicted on an innocent vacuum... well, according to the users manual. I don't want to be there for that. Or when the help from local play-land restaurants come to the stand...

Photo taken circa 2004

For Example: While my children were sliding down the Del Taco play-land slide, on serving trays, (I don't make this up, I just report it as it was...) and I was simultaneously motioning them to GET OFF or I'm TAKING YOU HOME! and carefully monitoring the potty trainee, my 16 month old lunged unexpectedly for my sisters Large sized, hermongo bongo, caffeinated soda. I yanked away his hand milliseconds too late as the drink tumbled backwards, slow motion like - but too fast to grab it with a child on your lap -, onto the bench and then cracked open at the precise moment that would insure that it would splatter drink in every direction, both horizontal and vertical. I let out that gutteral, "sounds like a possessed person" slow motion, "OH NOOoooooOOOOOooooOOO!" as I was swiping for it. But OH yes. Drink all over. Not a "tidy it up with a napkin" mess, but a full fledged, "Alert the manager, we have a situation," mess. While the lowest man on the Del Taco Totem pole was bringing out the mop bucket, I peppered him with, "I'm SO sorry. Let me get that, for you.. I'll just.. sorry, I'll just stop slipping in it and just move over... there..." In front of all the Del Taco patrons, as I'm hustling shoes, and purses and our tray over to another table, I took a whiff of my toddler. And I realized that I had missed it. And it wasn't pee either. I had to hand over the babe, diffuse a tattle tale situation, "Tell them if they do that again they are going to have to go SIT IN THE CAR!", and trot the toddler into the bathroom, because mommy was just a little too distracted. And I started that self talk muttering, "Can't believe ... do this all day... I HAVE A DEGREE! Makin messes at the DEL TACO! You don't POOP on yourself SOooOOOoN!"

Not only had I been too distracted to remind the toddler to go to the bathroom, but also to bring the wipes in case he messed himself. That's another kind of hubris. "Oh, we went and picked up the kids today - I'm sure he'll be fine!" And so, in my pride, the safety net was removed, and it all. came. tumbling. down. "Don't put that bucket away yet!" One of the benign ladies in the booth next to me said, "I thought you should know, that red-headed little girl just took a bunch of hot sauce packets up into the play-land..."

I answered, "Oh thank you... I'll... um, (holding Mr. Poo Poo Platter) I'll go take care of that right now. I... I'm just dealing with four kids under 10, you know...I, uh. Um. Not doing it so well," to which she said, "Oh yes, I understand. I had four too. And when the oldest one left, I realized that I could handle three kids quite well!" I thought about her words as I took the toddler into the bathroom, and started washing his bum. In the tiny sink. Swishing water in a reversal of gravity motion, with my hand and paper towels, trying not to get it on myself. And in that near-to-tears situation, I thought, "Maybe this is just all too advanced for me." There began to be a faint memory of something that I had studied in college about hubris which I'll define for you here:

Hubris ( /ˈhjuːbrɪs/), also hybris, means extreme haughtiness, pride or arrogance. Hubris often indicates a loss of contact with reality and an overestimation of one's own competence or capabilities, especially when the person exhibiting it is in a position of power.

Yep. There's the problem. I didn't see it before. But then, those with hubris never do... until it is too late. I thought I could handle it, nay, even wildly succeed at it! Be the cool mom who bought everyone their own barbasol can, played on the table and then dropped them in the tub. Not this. This was WACK! And the result of hubris? Well, here is what the Greeks said would happen to that overconfident hot mess: "resulting in the protagonist's fall."

So, I am here, and at the tail end of a bad bout of hubris. I have taken so many hits of caffeine and chocolate to get through the day, I barely recognize myself. There are days. There are DAYS where I can't tell you what I did that morning. Or the date. I only know generalities and deadlines. I am told, "Let go, and let God," but they don't say that when company shows up unexpected, and you're trying to downplay the hole in the wall. There is just one place to go. Depths of humility. I don't think Abigail will hit college for another 8 years or so, and then I might be back in the land of the living. Might. Depends on how bad this case of hubris lasts, and if I will be banned from ever entering into every local restaurant when that day comes....

Crusty Bear

2011-07-29T08:31:00.000-07:00

Kids say the darndest things, and sometimes its hard to follow their thought process. When my baby sister was small, she came up to my mom one day, "Mom?"
"Yeah - hon, what...?" Mom said while probably making a bed, or tossing laundry in the washer.
"What is a Crusty Bear?"
"A crusty bear? Wha - huh? I don't know what you're talking about."
"When we were at church, someone was talking about their crusty bear, and I just wanted to know what it was."

You love to be the Font of All Knowledge for your kids, but sometimes they come at you sideways and you need a little context...

"Uh, um, what did they say about it?"
"They said, 'Its my Crusty Bear.'" and then they said how it was hard.

Thank heavens for inspiration. "OHHHHH! You mean 'Cross To Bear,' Is that what they said?" I think my sister was totally thrown by the new syntax. She wasn't expecting some idiom, she wanted to know about this bear, which is apparently crusty, and how to care for such things. And if it is a really cool bear, where do you get one?

The phrase comes from scripture, and it was such a significant event that everyone mentioned it. Matthew, Mark, Luke AND John. We'll borrow from Luke, the physician, since Drs tend to be anal in content and to the point: Luke 23:26 And as they led him away, they laid hold upon one Simon, a Cyrenian, coming out of the country, and on him they laid the cross, that he might bear it after Jesus.

So this poor guy is visiting Jerusalem for a little Passover Vaycay, checking out his "Jerusalem On 20 Mites a Day" guide, and suddenly a big hulking Roman soldier says, "Hey YOU! You with the GUIDE! GETOVAH HERE!" And the next thing he knows, he's haulin' a couple of rail road ties down the middle of a ridiculously crowded Main Street, through a screaming, spitting, hoard - next to a guy that looks like he has had a truly rough night. And that is how you get a Crusty Bear. You had other plans, and you were happily going about your business when, BAM! Suddenly things are a lot harder.

Crusty Bears come in all shapes and sizes, but I think everyone acquires the initial matched set of Fuzzy Fear, Deeply Disappointed Bear, Health Carebear, and Outta the Blue Bear. (Yes that sounds lame, but I'm typing this with a kid on my lap - there isn't a lot of time for editing, ok!)

As I was thinking over my dear acquaintances, and their crusty bears, I find it intriguing that our sorrows, challenges and disappointments are like a teddy bear. We ALL have them; some new, others well worn, but the crusty bears tend to remain hidden to all but our closest friends and family. Many people we know hardly get a glimpse of them. The Big Crusty Bears, like the FAO Schwarts size ones, are easy to see; bald young mom, child drooling in a wheelchair, people who are missing body parts etc. But in my experience, most people keep their collection of crusty bears to themselves. One of my friends was hiding the fact that she had cancer, from her parents. "I don't want them to worry..."

Parents DO worry. Its in our nature. As I was sitting at a stop light, and thinking about what a therapist had told me about my son, and how he gets "flooded" with emotions that leads to lashing out, and will possibly need counseling, I didn't notice the light turn green. The jeep behind me honked, and I snapped to, and started driving. The car switched lanes, and as I looked out my window to give a visual apology to the driver, the girl in the back seat looked at me, and stuck out her tongue. My apologetic look evaporated.

I would like to say that I had compassion, and thought to myself, "Oh, she's probably having a hard day too..." but I had THE strongest urge, to get behind this car and honk LOUDLY at every stop light that turned green, until one of us had to turn. "That'll learn you some compassion, you little snot-nosed brat!" It was more a decision process of trying to figure out if it was worth scaring the pants off that little so-and-so twit while also annoying the poor drivers around me that didn't get her salute. "She's young, " I thought. "You may think I am the worst person on the road, but honey, I KNOW what my crusty bears are. Yours are still waiting for you..." Then I went back to trying to figure out where my son gets these lashing out tendencies. Probably from his fathers side. I dunno, we don't always have a clear view of ourselves "in the round." Maybe it is experience, and getting a good look at others crusty bear collections, that helps us to have a bit more tolerance. And makes us better detectives for the crusty bears of others that are barely perceptible.

That same little sister of mine has a new bear this summer. Unrequited Love crusty bear. She doesn't want anyone to know about her new bear, and I don't know that she has seen mine. But as we sat around the table at a small family gathering, the compassionate detectives wanted to know, "Is there a new crusty bear?" Yes. There is. We now refer to her Ex as "Porta-Scotty."

I didn't have to pull out too much of my own bear collection, and I'm grateful for that. Sometimes, the only purpose of knowing about a collection is the comfort that you don't have some of the bears that others have. But in another way, I also know that people - in general - would also be kinder if we knew all the crusty bears each of us is having to deal with.

No one is exempt from this. I think of someone like Saint Joseph raising his kid. You'd think it would be easy. Unless, as I imagine it, Joseph had seen things going a different way, "Mary - Jesus is out crying in the yard again. I swear! He boobs at the drop of the hat! The Knish boy shot down a sparrow for target practice, and Jesus just falls apart, boo hooing like he made the darn thing! And then he cries because I look disappointed. I don't know what we're gonna do with him - really I don't. Public school is OUT of the question. Maybe we should just make out like your hippy cousin and go raise him in the wilderness! Let him get all weird like his cousin John! Wander around in his skivvies and go diggin' for honey! Oy! This is NOT what I had planned... Of all the blended families, in all the history that EVER was or that EVER will be, I got THIS one! My boy wouldn't be like this. He'd be a freakin' rock star, baba ganoush!"

Disappointment Crusty Bear can be awful. But, in hind site, getting crusty bears isn't all that awful though. We grow in compassion from our collection. We cry, suffer, and lift up our tear stained eyes away from the mirror of self pity to notice that there is someone else out there who is also suffering, and could use a little bit of shoulder rubbing, and kindness from those who know what its like. Dang it, this sucks. I'm so sorry you got THAT crusty bear. I'd take it from you if I could. You weren't looking for this. You were just thrown into a situation by virtue of the fact that you were there at that time, and place. Scripture doesn't tell us what happened to ole Simon, but if he inquired about the guy next to him, he would have known that the weight of the cross he was carrying was nothing next to the weight of the cross that the man next to him bore. And I don't think he would have stuck his tongue out. And that, I think, is the lesson.

Small Victories

2011-07-26T10:22:00.000-07:00

In 2001, when we were living in North Carolina, we took Abigail to get her 9 month photos, and they suggested this bath shot. It was so cute, and we thought our little red head was THE most adorable thing, that we said to ourselves - we should do this for ALL of our kids! And I put the photo away until I had a little free time to hang it up.

After our move to Ohio, I found a cute-ish bathtub curtain for $4.99 and complimented myself on my thrift as I hung it up in our very first home. Unfortunately, I was on a crisis pregnancy when we moved, so the curtain got left behind. But at only $5, it was worth leaving if it meant trying to get the house to sell.

In 2005, when we were living in Nevada, we got our blonde preemie baby - Bear - to a healthy weight, and had his 9 month pictures taken in the tub. We framed the two pictures and started a "duckie" themed bathroom. The shower curtain cost a hefty $12.95, but with a semi- permanent wall border of duckies on blue, it was too cute to pass up!

I started trolling the Oriental Trading company for sets of rubber duckies by holiday so I could line them up on the tank. Sometimes the kids would get into them, and I would just have to give a benevolent shake of the head, and say, "Noooooo baby" and then shut the bathroom door. I added a duckie garbage can AND curtain hooks that are in the shape of rubber duckies! I had to take it out of the grocery money, but since I got them at Wal Mart, it wasn't too expensive.

In 2009, when we were living in Arizona, we had Sam's picture taken and he had - BY FAR - the most luscious dark hair ever photographed in a tub. The 20-something photographer had to go to the back and get the galvanized tub and dust it off, but we had mission accomplished! I found a chenille-duck-on-white-broadcloth shower curtain ON SALE for 50% off at $24.50 (it gets even better) PLUS! I had a coupon for an additional 20% the entire order, so I splurged on bright "rubber duckie beak" orange towels. And we got a toothbrush holder, that quacked, for Christmas.

Finding a frame to match the other two, however, was a bit of a challenge. I got a semi-match and figured that if you put them on separate walls, no one really looks too hard. Many of the holiday ducks got mold, and were pitched, which was okay since I was getting so annoyed with the toys being dragged out after they had been put properly away after each holiday.

Its 2011, and after 10 years, I just put up Isaiah's 9 month picture in a silver frame that doesn't match anything. Finally. All my children sitting in a galvanized tub with duckies at 9 months old. I had to take the other three pictures to the studio, in Utah, to show the photographer what I was talking about. I guess they don't tend to mess with a mom with a surly 10 yr old, and 3 boys all strapped in and around a stroller who is showing 3 silver framed photos to the "photography hostess." So, with worried and annoyed glances to each other they had to pull the props out of deep storage. "You see, I have this THEME for our bathroom... and we wanted ALL the kids to have their picture taken at 9 months sitting in the tub with rubber duckies all around!" They put the tub down and looked at the photographer with an, "I'm so sorry," glance. Grrrrrr.

I'm not being difficult! I'm trying to be ... consistent, fair, equal opportunity or something!!! And it hasn't been easy! The chenille curtain got scissored by "I don't know," which nearly broke my heart. A $50 curtain GONE, from senseless destruction! Little did I know that it was an omen of things to come.

So, now we have a plain white waffle curtain - and the bright orange towels are now a dull orange. They have some bleach stains that can be hidden if you fold the towels in thirds and drape each hand towel "just so" over the sagging rod. Unfortunately, they were used to mop up water after a great number of toilet clogging disasters, but since my husband was willing to do it, I didn't complain that he was using my adorable bright orange towels that can no longer be purchased from Linens N' Things because bright orange is now "au tre" in the world of bath fashion!

Not everything survives. A few ducks from the curtain hangers have had their heads snapped off, and the garbage can, standing alone with nothing in it REEKED from having too many poopy diapers sitting in it, so it was deemed unusable, oh, I don't know how many states ago! As they were questioning me about positioning and whether to put half bubbles or full pictures, I was screaming in my mind, "JUST. TAKE. THE PICTURE, OKAY!".

So, even though Za is 15 months old - I think - we finally got his pic, in a silver frame, up on the wall. It has taken me 10 years to get a matched set. And now, after all that, as I look at my small victory, I realize that I'm kinda sick of rubber duckies. Now, I realize... that maybe I should have had their pictures taken with a surf board instead when they each turned 5. TOO LATE!

Wedding Day

2011-04-29T13:37:00.000-07:00

This morning, as I was texting all my sisters and my mom throughout the Royal Wedding, I naturally started to reflect on my own wedding. My wedding plans started about the time I was five years old. My mom brought home some Vogue pattern books to help me pick out some sewing ideas for Kindergarten jumpers that she was willing to make her first daughter. I thought that the jumpers were boring, but THE WEDDING section. HEY! Now you are talking! I poured over the pictures taking mental notes on gowns, veils, flowers, and bridesmaid dresses.

I think I looked through 3 different catalog books, and settled on this gown as the most beautiful. I asked my mom to make it. She said... "Uh - that's not for school," but seeing an opportunity of a willing mother, I swore that I would wear it to school. Maybe in a different fabric. If she could shrink the pattern a bit.

She compromised, and allowed me to cut out the picture, put it in a folder, and visit it over the years. And I loved it each time I would pull it out. I did. "That's it! That's the one!" I would think. Some day.

By the time Lady Di's wedding rolled around, I was all of 9 years old. Mom and I got up early to watch the young princess and the fairytale wedding. Like everyone else, we didn't care much about the groom (meh) or what he wore (double meh), but the BRIDE,- oh WOW! So adorable! So unsure of herself and innocent that you felt like you were walking down the aisle with her, not quite knowing what to do, but loving the pomp and beauty of it every step of the way. Huge train. Puffy sleeves and sparkly sparkly tiara. It was the start of a lifetime hobby we would dub, "Wedding Watching."

As I grew into my teens, and one sister after another joined us in our hobby, we begin to informally stalk weddings. If we found ourselves driving around on a saturday and there were limos and people lingering outside of a church, we would screetch the car to a halt to pull over to watch for that fluff of white emerging from the church doors. We would give each other our personal wedding critique, and then drive on, hoping to score a double wedding over at St. Pats. What fun to see someone's dream being showcased. We looked, but did not touch.Well, except for the time where my sister and I actually got curious enough to go INSIDE a wedding we weren't invited to.
It just happened about the time I was 20, and Reagan was 14 that we had a car and some time on our hands downtown. We spotted a wedding and nervously dared each other to duck in unnoticed. We sat down before anyone could see that we were in jeans and t-shirts instead of formal wear. We chose a seat based on where to best successfully dodge the 3 video taping cameras, and not let anyone see our jeans, (looking like the total wt of someone's family). Our prime spot was near the front. Oh - it was the best seat in the house!

After the ceremony, and whispered critiques (off the shoulder, iridescent green floor-length bridesmaid's gowns for a day time wedding?! NOT! *thumbs down*) we had enjoyed ourselves immensely. We knew it was time to start edging to the end of the pew for an edge-of-the-church speedy exit. The bride and groom exited to the "Hallelujah" chorus, down the aisle and out the church as we were covertly scooting over the pew to the edge, trying to make our escape. And that's when the bride and groom... unexpectedly came back UP the aisle together and decided to dismiss everyone row by row. Starting at the FRONT!

I believe beads of sweat sprung to my head as I realized we could NOT get out of this. They were only one row ahead of us. Naturally, I followed my little sister's lead as she was closest to the aisle. She stood up, swept the bride in her arms, and said, "I'm SO HAPPY FOR YOU!" as she buried her head in the brides neck. I distracted the bride from the startled gaze she gave her new hubby as if to say, "And this isssssss.....?". I said a short, "It was just lovely!" And then we marched swiftly down the aisle, t-shirts, jeans and all as they went to dismiss the next row of now startled guests; each newlywed trying to figure out whose family we belonged to. We hoped no one was going to try and follow our car to the reception. "Step on the gas!! GO! GO!!"

Once was enough of that adventure. Then I was 25. Post mission, and post dating a lot of guys, I met Matthew. He was my home-teacher at BYU for my last year of studies. I had a bf for the first semester who was living in England. After one fateful date with Matthew to see the International Cinema's "Shall We Dance," and two weeks later, however, we were engaged. I had been accepted to law school, and he thought he would like to take me to the temple instead. I took him up on his offer.

"Happy" doesn't begin to touch how I felt around him. More like "deliriously happy." We were both from large families, had served missions in Portugal, and had a comfort level with each other I had never known before. Other men had asked me to marry, and I would say, "Oh yeah, sure. Someday..." but with Matthew, I said, "Yes." And I meant, "Yes, and I'll actually get the dress and meet you there." I had never felt that before. And it couldn't happen soon enough! I smiled like crazy. The day we got married I couldn't stop putting my arm around him, holding him, and kissing him. My own fairy-tale was coming true.

Since my mom had had to construct my dream dress from half a continent away, with no pattern, and using my partner-in-crime sister as a model, there were a few mishaps when the dress came a few days before I got married. I panicked, my mom cried, and I had to make a quick substitution with a display dress by Alyson Wright. She had made it up for McCalls who decided which of her wedding design patterns to carry. The veil was a cast off from the alteration lady's daughter that I immediately started to alter it to my five-year-old fairy-tale dream right up until the night before my wedding.

My hair was lacquered in place with 110 bobby pins that a startled hairdresser had thought was just a "run through" for a wedding sometime in the next year. Nope! I was getting married the next day.

The night before my wedding, I was at my paternal grandparents, and my father gave me a special blessing. He said many things, but mostly I remember him saying that even though I couldn't imagine loving Matthew any more than I already did (and I couldn't), that we would develop a deeper love that would continue to increase and deepen the longer we were together. So true. I was so unaware of the things the future would bring.

And now that my marriage, timeline-wise, is somewhere between Charles and Di, and Kate and William, I have to wonder, "What will it be like for them?" Diana proved that you could marry a prince, have unlimited funds, the adoration of the world, and still be quite miserable. Fairy-tales are in books, and even the real ones have a short shelf life. Life has a way of inserting itself, - its lessons, storms, and trials into every life. And you can't choose those lessons either.

You don't really know what the future will hold the day you get married. Marriage itself is an expression of faith in the unknown, and deciding to face it together, come what may. On that day everyone (except the ex's perhaps) wishes you well; hopes the best for your future, and that you will use your love and devotion to make the best of it. Cynicism is squelched for a time. Love reigns supreme. Beauty is the order of the day. And even for the most humble bride, there is magic.

So, sitting on the couch, 30 years after that first fairy-tale wedding, and quite a few years into my own marriage I am reminded of a duet sung by Aaron Nevill & Linda Ronstadt that paraphrases my current feeling: "I Don't Know Much:"

Look at this face,
I know the years are showing,
Look at this life,
I still don't know where it's going.
I don't know much,
But I know I love you,
And that may be all I need to know.

So on this day of fairy-tales and dreams for Kate and William, I remember the best of my own wedding and what the future still holds for me and my prince. I don't know much, darling, but I know I love you. And that may be all there is to know.

Lasagne Soup

2011-04-27T10:24:00.000-07:00

This is just a public service. This recipe was circulating on FB, but you had to download a bunch of pictures and what not, so this is the condensed version, click, print, shop for ingredients! If you want to see all of the pics, here it is! http://fix-itandforget-it.com/blog/2011/04/27/yes-lasagna-can-also-be-a-soup/

Ya Welcome!

Katrina

Toot Toot!

2011-04-09T22:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is a gratification post - sort of. My sister did her own take on the Medical Binders, and -of course - she did a better job in every way. Writing the post, the way she arranged her own binders - even the pictures of her kids are cuter. So, if you want a better uber way to do your binder, take a gander at THESE instructions:

http://wuehlers.blogspot.com/2011/04/medical-binders.html

Dun Dun Da DA Da, I'm lovin' it!

You Know You've Been on a Sewing Retreat When....

2011-04-03T21:55:00.000-07:00

Having just returned from my second quilting retreat with Red Dirt Retreats I've noticed that there are some hallmarks of a great quilting retreat:

You came with five projects to do, completed two, and started three more new ones.
There are so many threads all over your clothes that you will have to change the dryer's lint trap mid-cycle to avoid burning out the heating element when you next do your laundry.
You don't want to tell your husband that while you were you gone, you didn't shave, use deodorant, make your bed, or get out of your pajamas either.
People you would have passed on the street are now your dearest friends,
There are enough meds between you to stock a small Walgreens.
You learn something new. And things that you never thought you might be interested in - you are!
Like the chautauquas of old, theres a lot of storytelling, and a lot of wisdom shared. You will laugh for years about things that you heard - Vegas ain't got nuthin' on a quilters retreat.
You came with your fabric, but left with someone elses.
You got to use all of your 25,000 words each day, and didn't have to shout once.
When its time to go, its as depressing as watching Ringling Brother's take down the circus tents.
You immediately want to start planning your next retreat...

In the words of Ferris Bueller, "It is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up".

My Good Opinion

2011-02-17T14:18:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking on the subject of My Good Opinion. In preparing for some nuptials I was asked if I didn't have a high opinion of ... someone... (who doesn't read my blog, but may - at some point) "because she had decided to serve a mission." I don't. I have met this girl on one occasion and she did NOT make a good impression. At all. I remember her whispering to her boyfriend behind her hand throughout a family event, not engaging anyone, and then skulking out the door with bf in tow to "get away" from the family without so much as a "thank you for inviting me to your family event." A family who is about as menacing and intimidating as, say, a fluffy baby bunny with a bow around it's neck in a silk basket with taffeta ribbons.

I am not a great socialite mind you - and oftentimes in engaging people in conversation to draw them out, I have spoken hastily and/or awkwardly. Social situations leave me drained. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault -- "because I would not take the trouble of practicing." And because it is difficult for me, it is also hard to ignore the actions of someone who is so downright rude and thoughtless. Her bf said that she was just "shy," which I have always attributed to another form of selfishness - someone more worried about themselves than the people around them. At least in my opinion.

Do I have a good opinion? Anything that someone would desire? And if so - what is it based on? In "thinking out" this quandary I keep coming back to the interaction between Elizabeth Bennett, and Mr. Darcy from Jane Austin's novel, "Pride and Prejudice." In one scene the hero and heroine lock horns over their opinion of each other:

Lizzie launches: "I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise."

"No," said Darcy, "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding-- certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever."

"That is a failing indeed!" cried Elizabeth. "Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me."

"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil-- a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."

"And your defect is to hate everybody."

"And yours, "he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them."

I wouldn't say that they have a high opinion of each other - would you? If you have read the novel, then you know that they are both right, and they are both wrong in their assessment. A grain of right in a sea of wrong, as it were. In the end, Lizzie discovers -via her visual prejudice - that she has "willfully misunderstood" Darcy - he doesn't hate everybody he just hates country dances and country manners. Darcy realizes too that his pride has kept him from having the same easy association with strangers as his own familiar circle. He comes across as though he hates and criticizes everyone. Largely because he makes it look that way.

What changes the opinion of these two over the course of a whole novel? Actions. Darcy sees Elizabeth's actions with her family, with her friends, with visitors and even among his own friends and family. His good opinion is not lost forever in circumstances of the heart because though born in the country, Lizzy pays no attention to social norms, but very good attention to people and the things in life that matter. She walks because she enjoys it, cares for her sister when ill, is highly respected among her peers, and tries valiantly to bridge the divide between family, obligation, and social grace.

Lizzy opinion also begins to alter when must sit silent as Darcy's character and talents are unwittingly sketched for her by her aunt, uncle and the Darcy's housekeeper:

Housekeeper: I'm sure I know none so handsome, nor so kind.
Mr. Gardener: Indeed.
Housekeeper: Aye, sir. I've never had a cross word from him in my life, and I've known him since he was four years old, but then I've always observed that they that are good-natured when they are children, are good-natured when they grow up.
Mrs. Gardener: His father was an excellent man.
Housekeeper: He was, ma'am, and his son will be just like him: the best landlord, and the best master. Ask any of his tenants or his servants. Some people call him proud, but I fancy that's only because he don't rattle away, like other young men do.

So, we must own that not everyone is at their best all the time. Surely it is wisdom that we leave room for opinions to change as we observe others and their actions. Actions do speak louder than words. Actions over a long period of time speak volumes.

Like Mr. Darcy I do make judgments. I like to allow for the better in human nature, but I also prepare for the worst. Though imperfect and riddled with faults of my own, I also have a calm assurance of rights and wrongs and act accordingly. My dad once said of me that I was like a clear channel. It is a communication channel on which only one transmitter operates at a time. No static. No interference from competing stations. Just a clear signal. And I try to be that. Constant. Predictable. I do not mask what I think, or flatter someone I despise. Social? Yes. Fake? No. Only one feeling operates at a time.

And what is it worth? I am true to myself. I am a truth-teller. I believe that I would have been the one saying out loud, "The Emperor has no clothes!" Or - "The first time I met you, you were really rude! Nice to see that you changed.... or not." I can't understand the desperate lengths some go to to avoid speaking the truth. Voicing a sound and salient opinion. Surely this attribute won't win me any popularity contests, but this I know; it doesn't really matter what others think of me. I just try to align what I do and say with that of the one person whose good opinion I do crave. And if you want my opinion, I'll note your wisdom for asking, and then let you have it. But, in the end, it is only God's opinion of me that will matter. Well, at least that's what I think, in my humble opinion.

Adult Temper Tantrum

2011-02-08T09:30:00.000-08:00

If you look at the anatomy of a temper tantrum, it follows some very basic requirements: failure to comply, bodily resisting, loss of temper, irrational tirade and tears. I see it in my kids time and again. Emotions out of control. And I hate having to deal with a toddler at this level because the toddler doesn't understand something about mom. Mom wants to have a temper tantrum too, and it takes every ounce of carefully cultivated sense of responsibility to not just lose it right back. And I don't. Typically.

I am in the middle of one right now. Yes, I had to pay this model to look like me, because its really super hard to photograph yourself losing it and simultaneously not lose the steam of the temper tantrum turning into pathetic self-loathing, "I look like the Bride of Chucky there... no, this one makes me look insane - fat and insane, I'm not using that one...WOW - I wasn't even TRYING to make my eyes pop out, look at that..."

My temper tantrum started with the Failure to Comply element AND bodily resisting. On snowy mornings that are overcast, it is just the hugest motivation sucker. I don wanna get up- or articula senences, everything about today says, "Go back to bed." So I obey that feeling, and resist doing what I know I OUGHT to do. But time marches on, kids get up no matter what nature is telling me, and it gets later. Hubby is not a morning person either, and upon discovering that mommy is not marshaling the troops, he comes out to see if... if I'm dead, I guess. Nope. Just failing to comply and bodily resisting.

He looks at me and says, "Uh... its late." Yep. "We gotta get going..." Well. I don't WANNA get up. I don't WANNA hustle everyone around. I don't WANNA start wiping off a sticky counter or the endless baby bums that have been producing acid waste poo lately! I don't WANNA see if everyone got their homework done, or valentines written out! I WANNA sit right here, with my eyes shut and pretend that its all not there!

And then, like a storm gathering, it hits; emotions out of control. All of the frustrations and unrealistic expectations come pouring forth in a tirade against poo, laundry, grocery shopping and little projects that have become the fodder of your small, non-award winning, insignificant little fiefdom of a life; the irrational tirade:

"You said we could have adorable obedient children in perpetual new clothes romping over green grass hills carrying balloons to an impossibly thin me! We were supposed to be gazillionaires by now, with a nanny and facials not vacuuming up pasta from the food storage and changing a hundred disgusting diapers while the kids wiggle their poopy bums onto our gross carpet. I am supposed to wear white pants, crips collard shirts and wipe up 4 x 4" messes with paper towels, not entire jars of peanut butter spread around while other kids are flushing my brand new expensive bath gel down the drain in the bathroom and the other ones coloring on the computer monitor screen! I went to college so I could appreciate architecture not wipe off a booger collection off the wall and, once upon a time, I WAS NICE! not an army sergent to a bunch of disobedient munchkins!!" *breathe sob breathe sob sob sob* Let us quietly shut the door on the rest of this tantrum. Tears are flowing, tempers are burning hot, and they just need a quiet spot, and a little time, to burn themselves out. As my mother would say, "Go to bed. Tomorrow will be a better day." And that is what Mother Nature is telling me to do now.

Toddlers do get to take that time out, but mom's do not. Now I remember why it is not prudent for mom's to throw a temper tantrum so early in the day. Cuz now I am up, showered, and dialing the school attendance line, "Hi, I am the irresponsible mom who had a temper tantrum instead of getting my children ready on time with a nutritious, well balanced breakfast - but will be sending them off late, hair all askew, clutching a chocolate coated granola bar. They will not be arriving to school in matching clean clothes with backpacks full of carefully reviewed homework - but rather they will be the ones looking like an unmade bed today and partially filled out homework. They will be there though, and I will be put on your list of volatile/irresponsible parents." I just hope that I'm not the only one. Mother Nature called you this morning too, right? *tears*

Mind the Gap

2011-01-20T16:40:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73YjnOPM324&ob=av2nl <---- what I listened to while writing this...

My dad is famous for a gesture that is a hand waving back and forth in a horizontal way that is meant to indicate a spectrum of color ranging from black to white. "Noooo gray area..." he would say. Whatever the conversation, what he meant with that wave of the hand was, "Lets make sure that there are no missed expectations.... no gaps in understanding. Stick to the black and white of things."

Gaps can be rather harmful, and the London subway system goes to great lengths to advertise a gap between the concrete ledge and the train. But even greater dangers seem to be those gaps in understanding between spouses, children and people we love. "I thought YOU were bringing the paper plates!" "Nooo, I was already bringing the silverware, so of course I thought YOU were bringing paper plates." It is this "gray area" of misunderstanding that leaves things implied, not spelled out, that my father strives to eliminate. The same sentiment is expressed by Henry David Thoreau when he said,

"In human intercourse the tragedy begins, not when there is misunderstanding about words, but when silence is not understood."

I am trying to eliminate this area of missed expectations in my life. As I turn the ripe old age of 39, I see the gaps between what my younger self had planned, and what life has planned for me instead. Without an accounting and clarification of what dreams I traded in for what I got, there is ample room for disappointment. And in some cases when I review the crossroads in my life, I must just repeat to myself another one of my dad's pithy statements, "Well THAT was an expensive mistake!"

For the others, however, I just have to take a good hard look at the gap. According to the Buddha, we suffer because we crave. What about the gray area is a misery of my own making? Can it be bridged? Can it be fixed? Should it be bridged? Did I miss a train somewhere and fall into a gap of missed expectations? I'd hate to admit here how horrifyingly dumb I've been in my life, but there it is. And I'm not alone. Some missed expectations have come from my dealing with others. The desire to change the core personality of others that... will never change - no matter how much reasoning and common sense is presented to them, has brought about a newfound wisdom: You can't change people. I include myself in all this; hardly going from grace to grace myself, I feel like I've tripped face down from one mud puddle into another. I really saw a lot of things going differently in my head....

But I did not miss the boat on a spouse. He is the envy of all I know. I did not miss the train when I got each of my kids that make my life interesting. Whether on a diploma'd piece of paper, or ability I have gained, I have learned a LOT in the past 39 years. I just have to figure out how to mind the gap between what I expected, and what has been presented. Am I wise? OH heaven's no. I can't fix all the gaps and gray area's in my life. I'm just smart enough to recognize a gray area, a gap, or a missed expectation when I see one.

Purse-onally

2011-01-19T16:30:00.000-08:00

Purses are a funny thing in my family. We have rules about purses, but we all have evolved into our own interpretation of a need for a purse.

The cardinal rule of purses: You NEVER, EVER, EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER go digging through a woman's purse. For ANY reason. Husbands don't dig in your purse, children do not dig in your purse, and my own mother would hand me my purse if I asked for the sunglasses that were dangling off the edge of it. If an item you want/need is in mom's purse, then you go get it, and hand it to her. You never go rifling through it yourself. EVER!

The purse, in my family, is a tantamount to a lady's underwear drawer - and heaven knows you would never go through a woman's underwear drawer. I once saw a husband go though my hairdresser's purse and I 'bout passed out in the chair. He got into her purse, dug out her wallet and then took out cash! I could NOT believe what I was seeing! Drinking straight from a gallon of milk was not nearly as policed as the purse rule. But that's for another post.

But you can tell a lot from a woman's purse, and judge it how you may, this is what is in mine:

Red wallet - the contents of which would be a long post in and of itself.
Extra snoopy watch on the handle - just in case my ugly triathalon sport watch with 3 alarms AND phone die, or a fashion emergency dictates it. Okay, not a wise choice for UPgrading my look, but I never said these things were there for great reasons...
Keepsake Quilting catalog - fabric and quilt pattern porn for when I have to wait in the car.
Foundation, Burts Bees tinted chapstick, 3 back up chapsticks, 1 regular mascara, and a back up that be-bops between the cupholder in my car and the outside pocket of my purse. Lotion, lip gloss (though I look like I've just eaten greasy pork chops when I wear the lip gloss), a cheapie lipstick and a nice one from Clinique. Of all the beauty products, the only one my kids managed to mess with was the nice $14 lipstick from Clinique that "Not ME!" rolled all the way up into the lid until it stuck there, breaking it off at the base and leaving a mere stub for me to actually use.
Back up meds for my ADHD kids, Motrin, Tylenol and a percocet or two. Apparently that is illegal because the baby and pain they were prescribed for is now two. And a half.
Two sets of diapers in size 3 & 4. A magical wipes box that will hold the wipes that will go in wet, and be completely dried out and useless when I am in an actual poo emergency. I had some of the other kind in a plastic bag container that wouldn't dry out, but another mom "borrowed" it in a poo emergency. Permanently.
A mood ring. Just for fun.
Prescriptions for my kids meds.
Feminine emergency items. Torpedoes AND landing pads.
An ID badge on a retractable clip that holds no ID, but two years worth of summer movie punch cards.
A Little Orphan Annie decoder pin. Jealous much? I think I have an irrational fear of being left with a child to entertain for a long long long time.
A magnet thing that clips and unclips. Keeps kids entertained FOR HOURS.
Spare suckers from the bank. My back windows are tinted in my van, so if I have to drop by the bank and they ask if "there is anything else?", I always ask for 5 suckers - regardless of the number of actual kids in my car, and tuck the extras in my zippered pouch. Best thing for keeping a kid quiet.
Gum. Unfortunately it is the remainder of a dual pack of Trident. I bought it for the watermelon flavor pack and have been stuck with the orange flavored shingles that rattle around my hidden pocket with the dum dum suckers from the doctors office. When the orange is gone I'm gonna upgrade the gum to "REACT 5" which is just Wrigley's regular gum with black food coloring...
Tissue pack - I encounter too many allergies, tears and boogers to ever be without.
Coupons for cereal because, "I'm NOT gonna pay a LOT for these Cheerios!"
An emory board - I despise hanging nails!!!
An ever mutating collection of pens and pencils that die when I need them, disappear when someone is giving me a code or password/important email, and are a staple request from my children at church.
Spare pair of sunglasses. Usually the other pair is on my head which is a knee jerk reflex from my living in Arizona days. Always, always have some sunglasses when you drive. Even if you had to buy 9 pairs at the dollar store and stash them all over the car.

So, you can see that it is basically a diaper bag/kid purse/72 hour kit. On good days, I also have a back up Enfamil powder pack, safety pins, band-aids, matchbox car and secret hidden chocolate, but lately I've told my baby that he will not starve to death in the next 20 minutes that it takes to get home.

I don't know if you know me any better for the list, but I found it entertaining to see how my purse stacks up against the other mothers in my family. One has the tiny clutch with minimal items, another has a cavernous bag like mine, but with a fancy label. My mom has... lots of crumbs, but no diapers, and HER mom always had a gramma bag with a short handle that she carried on her arm, wrist up. We're different in our approach, but girl, we all live by the rules. Cuz we've got Purse-onality, STYLE, purse-onality, WOW purse-onality! *I hope you're singing that song in your head now...*

Black n' Blue

2011-01-11T16:02:00.000-08:00

Every once in awhile, I'll get to feeling like Spiderman when he is attacked by the alien "Venom." That is the black goo that gets all over him, and just makes him dark all over.

Most of the time, it seems like I can handle life; I have goals I'm achieving (if only getting through the laundry and getting everyone picked up on time), and I can balance the things in life in front of me. I'll be going along my merry way, and then - almost like a cloud descending, I just get very blue. Sometimes it is the proverbial "thorn in the side," of things in my life that I can't change, or am challenged with often enough that I just feel worn down by them.

And like Spiderman, I want to retreat, up high somewhere - alone, and hope that it will pass. I try to avoid the phone at these times because I simply can't be all chipper and my positive, well-balanced, self. I brood. I fret. I feel like sleeping for 100 years. But part of the uneasiness, is that I KNOW that it's not my regular self. If clanging a bunch of metal would get me out of it, I'd be running to the nearest bell tower - at least that's how it worked for Spiderman. I haven't tried it, now that I think about it. But I'm pretty sure that it would only give me a headache.

It will pass, and life will take a gentle curve up. But for now, I'm just somewhere in the black to blue range. Some people would not approve of sad/ depressed/ unhappy times, and are anxious to get you out. But for now, I'm gonna wallow in it, get all pruny, and then move on when the darkness starts to fade. We can't all be super heroes all the time, right?

I'm Gonna Getcha, It's a Matter of Time

2011-01-05T12:45:00.000-08:00

Twitting is an art form in my family - and if you can do it really well, even better. Abigail, who is particularly "letter of the law" in her views, and I fell into a conversation the other day about how she will raise her children. She smiled at the prospect, and I told her,
"Abigail, I want to be there for the day when you tell your daughter who wants to go out and play,

"First the work,

it's always the same,

then you can laugh, go outside(watch tv, or whatever they are bugging you about), and play games."

I want to be there to see that, and then watch HER holler at YOU, "I KNOW MOM!"

Abigail smiled. She smiled because that is what she does to me. When I have children begging to do things and there are still beds to be made, and other chores to do, I go back to the poem. I don't even need to recite the whole poem, I just have to say, "First the woooor" and they know that THAT'S IT - it's over. No discussion/whining/logic trumps the "First the Work" credo - whatever you want will have to wait until chores are done. I love this discipline shorthand. What gets under MY skin is the "I KNOW, MOM!" which is so silly and irritating, "If you KNEW it, then why did you ASK!?"

You can tell from reading that this annoying poem I made up, that it is based closely on the chant, "First the worst, second the same...," I just changed it to reflect the idea that work is first, then we play. I figure that if I can instill in my children a lifelong habit of getting the work out of the way first, then that will help them to lead successful, organized, and stress-free lives. They hate that vision when it gets in the way of having fun NOW. So round and round we go. And the idea that it will someday graduate into my children's vocabulary just tickles me. OH yes. Mommy's revenge. YOU will say this to YOUR kid some fine day!!! HA!

Abigail was giving me that look. I couldn't resist. I could no more leave a bulbous pussy zit on my nose than NOT say it.

"And when your little girl comes crying to me, and says, 'My Mom is SO MEAN!' do you know what I'm gonna tell her?

Her look was confident.

"I'm gonna look her in the eye and say, 'Oh, don't worry about it. You don't have to do it - it doesn't really matter if you get your work done or not; you can still go to college ...'"

I can't quite describe the look in her eye; surprise, thunderous, - definitely vengeful as she let out a, "AGH!"
It was so funny, it lead to... well, kindof an evil laugh - full on open mouth, head back, loud laughing on my part which was SO SATISFYING!!! Like an evil genius!!!! However, after looking at her face as I guffawed away, I also made a mental note that I should make sure that it's solely my sons who should be allowed to pick out my nursing home!~

Good Mom Bad Mom

2011-01-03T15:30:00.000-08:00

Hello 2011!
I have been making lists today. Mostly "To Do" lists, and lists of things I don't want to forget. It's a new year, and a new chance to start afresh. Having just looked at the numbers for blog entries in 2010, - it wasn't a great year for blogging. 365 days, and 20 posts. Pllllbbt. So 2010 is down a bit from the initial 95 posts. SO, to make up for it, I will now entertain you with what I did and didn't do this holiday season to be a good/bad mom.

Bad Mom:

I didn't get the tree up until way late. It never even had ribbon. I own ribbon, lots! I even have a "ribbon" drawer, and I kept it out until the very last moment thinking that I would put it on. My back went out, and that was the end of the ribbon fantasy. I did put ribbon on someone else's tree though. Theirs didn't make it to Christmas either. The dog got in it, it fell over... som'n som'n. Not sure. It didn't make it, so it's as though it never really got done for them either.
Lights on the house. I blame my spouse. We look like a bunch of Jehovah's Witnesses here. No yule merriness, just a wreath on the door that I pulled out of the garage. I decorated it in my 20s. And I thought that I didn't have time THEN!
Cristmas cards. I had SUCH good intentions! I may still send out ones to the people who sent us one. I might. I just need a sec to think about the things I'm willing to publicly admit to in a card. I'm still thinking...
12 days of Christmas. Didn't do it for anyone. No service, no snow shoveling for the elderly, no "higher purpose" Christmas Cheer. None. Plllbbbbt
Advent calendar. Skip! Never got unloaded. My kids had to do math subtracting from 25 all month.
Scottish shortbread. Nope - I'm sure my ancestors will haunt me on that one. Mech.
Wassail. Didn't even think about it, and no one asked for it.
The Village Under the Tree. I just couldn't police my children and a baby who can crawl. In the words of the Wizard of Oz. No one gets in to see the (village)! Not no way, not no how!! Skip!
Cookie exchange. Abigail did have a thing with the Girl Scouts - I sent her with a package of Oreos, and the girls ate most of the cookies on the plates they were supposed to be giving to the aged and lonely in our area. None of the Oreos made it home or on her plate, and I finished off the two cookies that DID make it home. The ones with the butterscotch chips. I'm feeling very aged, and the cookies looked all lonely.
Nativity. I own a Fisher Price one. Aaaaand it just didn't make it upstairs. It's by the advent calendar.

Good Mom:

I bought matching pjs for all my kids! That is quite a feat with 3 boys, one girl, and a huuuuge difference in sizes.
I took my kids to see Santa! On a Saturday and dressed up no less! Got the picture too. I thought Matthew had scanned it so I could add it here as proof. He didn't. Ah well. That's on HIS to do list. NOTA BENE: He read this post and took umbridge at the very notion that he didn't scan it in. I said, "Well show it to me, " and he said, "It's right here.... in a non-traditional "scan" folder..." an hour of clicking later, there was no pic, from this year, that had been scanned.
I put up the elves on the shelves. This took quite some doing too. They are supposed to come the night after Thanksgiving dinner, and go home on Santa's sleigh. Do you have any idea how crazy it is to remember those things on those busy nights!!! Not to mention getting them in and out of the rooms where your kids sleep! They are tucked away until next year...
I bought gifts ahead of time, and stashed them at Matthew's office to avoid any mistaken discoveries.
My children still believe that Santa is rad and in tune with their every childish wish and Christmas desire, while also believing that Mom & Dad are old fuddy duddy's who give them dumb gifts like socks and pants... and matching pajamas.
Isaiah got his new baby ornaments! One from the White House, one from Hallmark - a porcelain rattle that is really cute, and of course SOLD OUT in my local Hallmark thus necessitating a drive up to 106th. I found a cute baby blue pig too. Couldn't resist. Had my local vinyl lady print out his name and birth year to make it personal.
Set up the train. It was for one day only - but we got it up, as though Santa had needed it to be running with hoppers filled full of colorful chocolate goodies before he left.
Family Talent. I bought whoopie cushions and taught my kids the lyrics to "Up On the Housetop" and had us sit on the cushions and stand up in time with the lyrics. Hilarity ensued. I thought of that myself! I did!
Mended the stockings. The stupid acetate has been shredding for a few years, and I finally pulled out the sewing machine, and mended them up. So satisfying to have that done!

So maybe I was a bit more bad than good. But for good, bad, or indifferent IT'S OVER! I can wrap up this year and shove it in a box to stress about again next year. But for now... I'm just happy getting the kids ready to go back to school. That I can do! THAT I can DO! And I've blogged at least once in the New Year.

Temporarily Out of Service...

2010-10-19T10:29:00.000-07:00

When we got through the summer, I had such high hopes for the fall. I thought for sure that with children nestled all snug in their classrooms, that I would have quiet mornings to get some of my favorite things done, like blogging, and enjoy some peace and quiet as I pad around the house with two sleeping kids. It's mid-October, and I'm still waiting. Instead of carefree time and reading books on a comfy couch, my days are more like a giant, daily, slide than anything else.

Just like climbing UP the steps of the slide, my mornings start with an uphill battle: me getting up is the first hurdle - especially if Isaiah was up a lot in the night, followed by getting everyone ELSE up. Then its getting breakfast, doing some scripture study with the kids, and the "showering/dressing/bedmaking" rigmarole that needs to take place before the "find your backpack/shoes/homework" scurry, so we can send off daddy and the first two to school. *breathe!*

Next rung up is "Morning Madness" of gathering clothes, stacking dishes and putting away breakfast followed by the "Morning Machine Race" where I start my house working for me before I am buried by IT. Laundry in, dishwasher started, quick vacuum (which is almost so quick it looks as though it didn't even happen at all,) and a check at my dinner list to see what needs to be bought/thawed/prepped.

After that, the next step is usually the first load of laundry ready to be folded. Somewhere in there a toddler needs attention, and there were some diaper changes in there. Then my Kinder comes home. After the big climb up, it is allllll downhill from here. If it's not done by now, its probably not gonna get done today.

Open backpack to see what homework *I* (sic) now have. Seriously, a Kindergartner is supposed to come up with a creative way to do a "self-portrait" on a gingerbread cookie? When was the last time your kinder asked for some ric rac, was responsible with glue, and even cared that the stupid project even got done?? More digging; A Sally Foster fundraiser. *sigh* and it's RED RIBBON week. Hooray. So on top of a bonkers morning I also have to facilitate the crazy hat/pajamas/crazy hair and athletic wear???!!! All this so that my kids will not do drugs. They'll just LOOK like they're doing drugs - for a week.

Do that homework, put baby down for a nap and read the library book they sent home with a check list, "15 minutes a day to reading success! *smiley*." Then put everything BACK in the backpack and get ready to get big Sis. Who also has homework. Some of which is actually appropriate for her age. Since the grocery store is by her school, I get to go shopping with ALL the kids, as I wonder how on earth I ran out of pancake syrup and milk in just one weekend (aka "what my kids did this weekend while Mum and Dad were cleaning the grungy carpet...."). Yes, its like Ralphie on the slide, as someone comments to me, "You look really tired kid." Really? I thought it was on top of it! AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh. *thud*

Finally, with the whole crew out of school, errands completed, and back home. Cue the whining as we start the "do your bit" part of tidying - which could also be named, "Mommy could do it faster AND better, but I am raising productive children and not plants" portion of the day. Kids complain and drag their feet while accomplishing such mammoth tasks as putting away their own laundry, unloading part of the dishwasher, and helping set the table - cuz now its time to start getting dinner on the table. And cleaned up.

Then everyone in jammas. Books to read, teeth to brush, and a slew of nighttime requests and "special appearances" of pajama'd kids, while I collapse into a comatose trance watching something like "Dancing with the Stars."

Somewhere in these days I have to wedge in plans for Halloween costumes, checkups, teacher's conferences, "minimal" school days, visiting teaching, the mountain of paper that magically appears on every horizontal surface, and extra projects that kinda make my head spin. Oh how I despise you neighborhood ghost for giving me an extra project to complete in "just one day!"

And that's the bottom of the slide. It takes a day to get from top to bottom, and it will start alllll over again tomorrow. I have had some blogging thoughts, but they just don't have the time to mature into a real post.

My Mother once said, "If you thought you had to do it all the time, you'd never make it. So, just take it one day at a time, and things will change...."

Yes they will. The baby will sleep through the night. The toddler will get toilet trained, and some day - the kids won't want us to put them to bed. But for now, its a daily trip up and down the slide. Its crazy, its nuts, but it won't last forever. I'm sorry blogging friends who keep stopping by for a lucid thought.

I'm like a log roller. You are either on top of it, straddling it, or under it. Right now, I'm just trying to stay on top of the log. We'll just have to hope for lucid thoughts later. ;D

Friendly Fire

2010-07-23T01:10:00.000-07:00

Friendly Fire is inadvertent firing towards one's own or otherwise friendly forces while attempting to engage enemy forces, particularly where this results in injury or death, and though it doesn't really say so in the official definition, it seems to happen more in marriage than it does on the battlefield. Well, the injury part - not the death part so much...

I recently had a "row" with my spouse, and after the smoke had cleared, and everyone had a chance to explain, we realized that due to bad communication, (and some situations out of context), we had turned our emotional guns on each other.

After a heated discussion over lunch, we left each other in a huff. We are both of us rather stubborn individuals, and not likely to concede in a battle where we feel we are RIGHT. That's what you want in a good lawyer, and it's what a good lawyer wants in a freaking awesome wife. While stubbornness has its place in not getting walked on, the best lawyers are also the best diplomats.

After our little tiff then I was surprised that he asked me out to dinner. Texted me, actually. Being married to a lawyer, I felt the need to be mentally prepared with logical arguments backing up my sound reasoning, and wasn't quite sure what I was in for. But I knew that, by gum, if a ship was going down, it wasn't going to be my own. After a toe-to-toe afternoon, I was ready for ROUND 2! *ding!*

So, it was surprising to learn that the conflict was actually a struggle at work. An insane work week filled with lots and lots of stress. He apologized for unloading on me - I had felt the full force of the blast, but the conflict had originated elsewhere. A stupid comment from the night before had lit the powder-keg, and instead of turning our guns on the source, we had turned our guns on each other.

Pat Benatar croons that Love is a Battlefield, and in many ways it is. The minute you get married, the world starts trying to tear you apart. Work wants all of you, children want all of you, and with what is left over, sustaining life takes its share in the form of cars, bills, and mortgages. Grocery shopping, planning, kiddie care, lawn mowing and laundry also exact their due. What is left is usually two ragged and tired people. And the love that blossomed so easily while dating becomes ridiculously hard to keep growing! Its far easier to snap at each other, blame, and point out faults.

Unless. Unless you do as Joshua Chamberlain told 20th Maine Volunteer Infantry Regiment when they were in a tight spot at Gettysburg and, "Fix Bayonets!". During the Civil War, the men of the 20th Maine were up against the rocks of Little Round Top, outnumbered by the Confederates with nowhere to retreat. It was imperative to keep it together.

You see, if the Union line broke, the Confederates (red) would literally divide the Union army (blue) and conquer; surrounding the Union armies on both sides. (As shown in this lovely little pic -->)

After 3-4 hours of heated combat, the 20th Maine ran out of ammo. With no means of being supplied, Col. Chamberlain hollered for the men, up and down the line, to ready themselves with nothing but the bayonet on the end of their musket, and to fight like hell. Which they did. The Confederates never got behind that line.

No whinin', complainin' or nit pickin'. It was time to focus on the task at hand, the enemy at hand, and get the job done. Marriage is like that sometimes. There are "things"coming at you left, right and center with not enough time, energy, or money to easily deal with it. And what a surprise that maturity is not always commensurate with age. (I'm pretty sure y'all would have thought our arguments were pretty stupid and petty.) But if you let it, wisdom and experience will give you a birds-eye view of certain conflicts, and help you get the higher ground so you at least have a shot at a good outcome.

So, after a lovely dinner at the Texas Roadhouse, we did just that. We walked around the grounds of the Timpanogos Temple. We talked. We strategized. We listened to each other and exposed our weaker sides. Now we know what to cover. And our ship is not going down.

We are "fixing bayonets", identifying the true enemy, and we will not let anything divide us. My dad told me something about how lucky he felt to marry my mom because, "She's the one you want with you in the fox hole!"

I always thought that was terribly unromantic, but wisdom has shown me how true it is, and how valuable to sustaining a marriage. And I want my honey in the fox hole with me. We are better together than we are apart, and he has got my back - and I have his. So long as we keep our guns pointed in the right direction, we have a good chance of surviving this life long enough to enjoy it. So, "Fix Bayonets" baby, here we go.

Oops, I Did it Again...

2010-07-12T14:43:00.000-07:00

This is supposed to be a therapeutic post. I confess that I did it again: I wore the ugly shirt in the bottom of my drawer today, and ought to be publicly shamed for it. *breathes in* I have tried to rationalize it, but the truth is - is that I did it out of convenience, and I should have had better sense.

Yes, it was the only thing that would go with my stretchy yoga pants, but that can no longer be an excuse. Because, I say "go" but I only mean that in the most obtuse fashion sense. It "goes" better than a button up shirt. Its also easy to nurse in, and I know, I know! Convenience aside, when you start looking really bad, its time to stop being so lazy. I got to this point by neglect. I neglected to take it out of my drawer. Matthew and I stayed up late watching Jim Gaffagin (neglecting to get to bed on time), and then I neglected to get up early, and had to hurry and get Abigail out to horse camp this morning - and it was there!!!

In a rush to get out the door, I grabbed what was clean and handy. Only, we went to a family reunion in Idaho this weekend, so there wasn't a whole lot of "clean" to choose from. And as I was rifling through my drawers there it was. Its a white shirt that I bought while I was expecting. The ribbed sleeves, neckline and waist looked fairly cute for someone who was clearly having a baby, and clearly wanting her shirt to cover underneath the bulge. But many washes and a 3 month old baby later, I have been meaning to toss it. Its time, its old, and it is NOT flattering. Its down right trashy lookin'. But then I just put it on ... one more time; until I go shopping for a better one, or until I can wear a smaller size, until I find something athletic that "goes" with yoga pants (yet can also be respectable in the grocery store,) etc. etc.

Then, like today, I catch myself in the mirror and jump back with a, "GAAAH! I should NEVER wear this ugly shirt in public AGAIN! I look like I just waltzed out of the trailer park!!! Oh me, why don't I have the sense god gave a lemon when it comes to getting dressed?" So. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna wash it. And. And DI it. Just so long as I can get it in the DI bag before I need a convenient shirt to nurse in. Dang. Maybe just keep it for days where I don't leave the house in it...

Confessions of a School Mom

2010-07-01T12:15:00.000-07:00

I don't like the summer this year. There I said it out loud. Or at least wrote it. I am a school mom in a summer hell, and if I didn't think it would traumatize the children, I would make a paper chain of days left until they go back to school. Danika asked me what has happened to me. My blogging has dropped off completely; no pics, no witticisms, and nothing thoughtful. How can I explain that - mainly due to this massive inconvenience to my life - I can barely keep it all together, let alone THINK.

The house looks like it has been tumbled through the dryer, and I have to fight for the will to sit in my kids room and tell them, again, to pick it up. Make their bed. Get those toys off the floor. Put your clothes ON. *siiiigh* Of course, I didn't know that there was a difference between a "school mom" and a "summer mom" until I took an innocuous survey that would tell you; it basically tests whether you like your days scheduled and structured, or more free flowing and spontaneous. After 10 incredibly "scientific" questions the result was overwhelming. *angelic chorus* I am a 97% Bonified School Mom. Why?

Because I love the school time of year. I love that we all have to get up, get dressed, and have to GO somewhere. I can make a quick early morning stop at the store, right after the last kiddo springs merrily off to class. The small kids take naps as scheduled, and in that peace and quiet of the morning I can BLOG, get the laundry going, pad about the house picking up stuff without anyone undoing it, start the dishwasher, wipe off the counter, and thoughtfully prepare for dinner and what the afternoon will bring. I make phone calls during this quiet time - either to make appointments, research, or call a friend to catch up without being peppered by children's tattling, and questions about whether they can have some juice RIGHT NOW, and random screaming. I am organizing, recharging, and putting my little world to rights.

Summer is none of these things. And with a newborn babe, a busy road by my house, and young kids not old enough to self-supervise, it is ESPECIALLY none of these things. I sat in a friends house yesterday, and confessed my hatred of Otter pops. She has 6 of her own kids and said, "Oh I KNOW! The clipped ends all over, the drippy syrup, sticky fingers, sticky faces and stained clothes! I told my husband that if he ever brings them home again, he's dead meat!!" Oh soul sister. Thank you. I didn't have to say it.

You see, when other mothers beam about the delights of having their kids home for the summer, I have always felt a particular guilt that either I was a rotten mom, or that I had rotten kids. Now I understand that it is neither of those things. I am a great mom - 9 months out of the year! My kids have homework done on time, projects completed, and an awesome "Market Day" entrepreneurial experience! They wear clean clothes, have early morning scripture study, get to school.... pretty close to on time, with their backpack, lunch and permission slip signed! Later on, we have a sit down dinner at the table. With a fruit, vegetable, and A CLEAN TABLE CLOTH!

I scream A LOT less during those months....

But for now, it is summer. It is hot. We are home. All of us. All the time. We are sick of each other. Everything fun requires time and money, but worst of all it requires getting everyone dressed and into the car. And I don't want to take a newborn to the pool and simultaneously try to keep the 2 yr old from drowning. Grocery trips are a nightmare for all of us. I hate the germs (and the food) associated with the play land. It is not fun for me to keep having to do a head count to make sure no one is being molested. The vegetable project is a failure; meaning that the strawberry plants died, but the pumpkins and weeds are growing like gangbusters. Every time I pull into the garage I think that we should organize it, followed immediately by the thought that it is too hot to organize it right now.

I am weary. I am out of synch. There is cereal on the counters and the floor. The spot of toothpaste that I meant to get up off the carpet has been upgraded to "needs the carpet cleaner" status. And I would do it, if the kids could ever stop tromping on the hallway carpet. I am just not a summer mom. This is not fun for me, and I will be glad when it is all over. And when it is you will see me blogging once more and doing this:

Time Saver #1: Dealing with Dinner

2010-04-10T03:34:00.000-07:00

As we are getting ready for baby, a lot of things are getting "prepped." I was talking to my sonographer about frozen meals, and she was so amazed that she was taking notes, so here is my wisdom, THUS FAR about taking care of dinner. It is the blending of three idealogies:

Once-a-month cooking
Marie Rick's "House of Order"
and Sandra Lee's Money Saving Meals.

After attending Marie Rick's "House of Order" seminars, she suggested that knowing well in advance what you are going to make for dinner saves you time, energy, and most of all frustration.

Having a plan gets the decision making out of the way early in the day, and if you strategically plan your meals, you can multi-task the prep work. After all, it's just as easy to cook 6 lbs of hamburger and onions as it is to do 2. It also facilitates grocery shopping, and keeps you away from expensive (and often unhealthy) fast food. If you are going to have, say, pears as your fruit for 6 of your dinners in a month, you can get a case of pears and be set for 2 -3 months.

So, with that in mind I made this grid on excel: 5 weeks of meals including a main dish, a V: = vegetable and F= fruit. I took a poll of what dinners my family would like to see in a month, then gathered all of my recipes together and decided on 7 categories for each day of the week. For Example: Mondays are set aside for Family Home Evening, so I do my quickest recipes then so that I can ALSO have the time to help the kids make a treat. I dubbed it "Dump It" night - my fast recipes that I can make in under 20 minutes.

After naming each genre of the week, I pulled/copied the recipes for the month in a single binder and put them in plastic sheet protectors (knowing how sloppy my cooking can be). I also printed out a copy of my Month O'Meals and have it taped it to the fridge. It was a bit harder than I thought, and it's not perfect yet, but here it is! One month of recipes. One place to look for what I need. This way, I can take the whole binder with me when I go the grocery store and flip through a week or two of recipes to see what I'll need. Slick!

Part of my weekly genres include recipes from the Food Network Show, "Sandra Lee's MSV, or "money saving meals." I tivo the show every Sunday, and have been trying out her recipes much to the delight of my family - I've never made Greek food before! Even better, she has a "Round 2 Recipe," where you reserve some of the ingredients from your first recipe, and for a few ingredients more, comes up with another meal. It cuts down on my prep time, and helps me to feel a little bit ahead of the 8 ball.

Lastly, freezer meals. Once-a-Month Cooking is both a book and a technique. Matthew and I used this in our college days when no one was home to prep dinner. We would make a list of meals from the books "Frozen Assets" and "Once-a-Month Cooking, then go grocery shopping on Friday night, leave all the cans out on the counter, and put it together on Saturday morning.

Most recipes can be stored in a gallon sized zip lock bag. You freeze them flat, then line them up in your freezer shelf like library books. There are often a few "extras" that go with the meal, like chopped tomatoes/avocados on "Sopa de Maize," or Frito's, but that is minimal work compared with having to make the whole thing.

I have, currently, about 17 meals in the freezer. Do I follow any of these plans strictly? Heck no. Each technique has it's merit, and by combining them, it gives me time and it gives me options. At the end of the day, you do what works best for you and your family.

But I can say that having a plan, and simple techniques is much better than trying to make it up every day. I hope to be SO organized one day that I can have FOUR binders of month long recipes. Winter, Spring, Summer (YAY GRILLING!) and Fall. In my mind, I'll have everything plotted out by what is in season cross checked by what grocery stores usually have on sale. Cue "Dream the Impossible Dream...."

But I can't think about that now.... I'll have to think about it tomorrah... after I pull out mah freezer meal!

Time Saver #2: Bathroom Apprentice

2010-04-10T02:32:00.000-07:00

Many of you already know that I love a clean bathroom. I don't like actually cleaning the bathroom, but I love the effect afterwards. As time has gone by, Matthew and I split up the stewardship of the bathrooms. I let him choose which one he wanted to police, and then we would make sure that "our" bathroom got cleaned every Saturday.

This way, I don't have to be the only one hollering around the house, "Pick up your towel - the maid is off duty this week! Who tried to finger paint in the tooth paste?!!! I see clothes on the floor here... come pick these up - THIS IS NOT A HOTEL!!!"

One Saturday though, as I was scrubbing out the toilet, it occurred to me that it was a bit unfair to have the parents scrubbing away while the kids were out there watching tv. Frankly, it was that way just because it was easier to get them out of the way - and they didn't know how to clean the bathroom anyway. Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.

"Hon, how 'bout we split up the kids and make each one our apprentice for cleaning the bathroom? Once we teach them how to do it, they'll take over the bathrooms..." He thought it was genius. He got the 9 yr old, and I got the 5 yr old.

Now, we are training up our brood to properly clean the bathroom. For the past month, we take our apprentice and show them how we do it. Matthew and I use a technique that we learned from Jeff Campbell's dvd "Speed Cleaning." Matthew is closer to freedom than I am, but let me tell you something - just having all of the stuff taken out of the bathroom (towels, bathmat, hand soap, toothbrushes, shampoo, soap, garbage can etc.) makes it go twice as fast! And while I'm scrubbing out the tub, my 5 yr old is wiping down the dusty base boards.

I'm still cleaning off the majority of the surfaces, but he is right there with me. And he loves the challenge of getting it done before Daddy and Abigail. Especially since he is allowed to go watch tv and sit on his tat while his sister is learning the finer points of wiping down the toilet seat.

And the bathrooms? Since employing our apprentices, they seem to have stayed - CLEANER. Well, lets just say that those two kids have a more keen interest in making sure that THEIR bathroom doesn't become a mess.... ;D And that makes for a happier momma!

Time Saver #3: The Blitz

2010-04-10T02:09:00.000-07:00

Or, "How to Clean an Entire Kitchen in 10 - 15 minutes." This technique was invented by my parents. It is based on Hitler's advancement tactic called "The Blitzkrieg."

In German, Blitzkrieg means lightning war (Blitz-Krieg). Blitzkrieg was named so because it included surprise attacks, "Lighting fast" rapid advances into enemy territory, with coordinated massive air attacks, which struck and shocked the enemy as if it was struck by lightning. The German military in WWII achieved most of its great victories with the Blitzkrieg tactic, and it's also how I clean my kitchen. Well, without Hitler, or the artillery.

Rules:

Everyone helps. Family, friends, guests. No one is, as my 5 yr old says, "Sittin on their tat!" There is a warning sent out by father, "okay, we're about to Blitz..." which means, "If you have to use the bathroom, make a phone call, tie your shoe etc. you have about one flat minute to do so.." My mom believes that having dad lead the way was key. No one had an excuse to slack off. If dad, who works all day, can help for 10 minutes, so can you!
Once "Blitz" is called, rockin' music is selected (some of us have playlists on our ipods, and the kids can sometimes pick the music - though be careful. We had to listen to Abigail's school musical for quite a few evenings...), and everyone gets up, clears their plate, and starts on a job; load the dishwasher, clear off a counter/stove, put away left overs, scrub/dry pots n pans, take the chairs out of the room (then put them back when the floor is dry), sweep and/or mop the floor etc. There is a job for every skill level. Even wiping down the appliances and cupboards makes a huge difference!
If anyone who ate dinner has disappeared, anyone may call your name, "So and So is out of the room!" and in a rapid fire manner the whole family starts to count to 10. If a body part of the missing individual does not make it into the kitchen before the family reaches 10, the remainder of the kitchen is left for that person to clean by themselves.
Try and get it done in under 10 minutes. Always try and beat your best time.

In such a short time, you have clean counters, clean floor, the dishwasher is running, the sink is scrubbed out, dinner is put away, the appliances gleam, and no one had to spend more than 10 minutes working.

This picture isn't my kitchen, but you get the idea. This is so much better to look at 10 minutes after slaving away at dinner instead of a messy counter and sink full of dishes. Many hands make light work. It's lightening fast, and the dirt in the kitchen never knew what hit it!

Just as Nasty as you Remembered it...

2010-03-30T11:35:00.000-07:00

It hasn't happened in years. Though I have been prepared for it, I haven't had to actually MAKE any powdered milk. Then, through a series of events, I was left without a choice; there was no way to fill up on milk, and go to all of my appointments, AND have something for Sam's nap. So I made some.

Using my ingenious knowledge of quarts and gallons, I swished out the last of the dregs of our last gallon of milk, set aside the bottle *taps forehead*, and then poured 3 cups of powdered milk into one hot quart of water and mixed thoroughly with a whisk. It had an odd bubbly familiarity. Familiar because my mom had done it before. Odder yet because it definitely had the appearance of milk.

"Maybe powdered milk in the new millennium is better than what my mom had..." I thought to myself. I continued to REALLY mix, convincing myself that the warm water was getting out ALL of the nasty clumps that would betray it's humble powdered beginnings. Added 3 more quarts of freezing cold water, and stuck it in the fridge. It LOOKED just like the last gallon of milk! SUCCESS!!

Since then, I have been cheerfully substituting it in my cooking, in Sam's bottle, and leaving it out for the kids. And the gallon is nearly out. I decided to, tentatively, take a little sip. It has chilled overnight, it looks like milk, and Sam took it for the second time in a row with no complaints. This bodes well!

OH MY DISGUSTING!!!!!! It was not only AS bad as I remembered it - IT WAS WORSE! My brain had convinced myself that it couldn't be as bad as it had been. It was SOOOO nasty tasting, and I wasn't prepared for the after shock gag, either. If I had had ANY food in my stomach, it would have been all over the floor.

Some people say they love it, and that if the milk is properly chilled you can't even tell the difference. Let me tell you friends, IT IS A LIE! It's the same lie that Diet Soda drinkers tell their fat friends, "Ohhhhh, you get used to it, until you don't notice it anymore..." Lies, all lies!!! If you are one of these, and can so deaden your taste-buds to not notice, then PLEASE! Come over and have some powdered milk! We have lots! I'm sure you won't be able to tell the difference! If you can voluntarily drink diet soda AND powdered milk, hell! you could probably get used to guzzling TURPENTINE!

But as for me, we will have the good stuff thank you very much! You can keep your diet, your powdered, and your turpentine. Now excuse me while I go drag my tongue along the carpet to get rid of this nasty taste in my mouth!!! EHhhhwwww. BLECH!

A Little Ireland for St. Pattys Day...

2010-03-17T11:56:00.000-07:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day my Blogging friends! Guess what!? My sister had her baby! Ireland Gayle. In Boston. How appropriate is THIS!? I'm just excited because her quilt from Aunt Katrina arrived only shortly before she did. My sister and I seem to have some sort of genetic sympathy where our kids tend to be about a month apart. This time, they will be EXACTLY a month apart. Sam and Liesel are 22 days apart. Soon, we will both have newborns to cuddle, as well as a 2yr old's birthday party to plan.

While babies are truly fun, I really had to scramble to get this quilt ready, and the more kids I have, the more I realize that I just need to give up this hobby! But I'm glad that she could get one, just like all of her cousins. The swirly swirly quilting is called "McTavishing" and I love the effect, and the Irish-y name of it. Debbie Lee is my quilter, and she has.... oh 8 kids to care for including one that is going on a mission soon. She. Is. Amazing. And I love her work! The fabrics are reproductions from the 30's, and the design is just a modified 1/2 square, set on point, to look like an hour glass.

As my own kids are growing up, it seems like time is all warped - where the days are like weeks and the weeks are like days. There is so much to get through in a day, and yet, all those days pile up and suddenly you are hurdling year after year! So, this quilt is just a little reminder that time goes by so fast with little ones, who turn into big ones. I edged it in green and hoped that it would add a bit o' the emerald to pay tribute to the wee bonny lass, Ireland. Welcome welcome!

For better details, click on the photos....

P.S. Yes, I DO know that the quote I put on the quilt label by Jim Croce was written in a song about a couple, and not a baby, but it seems to fit just as well here as there...

Please Don't Ask....

2010-03-10T11:33:00.001-08:00

Belly Shots. I don't want to do them. Please don't ask me. It's not that I am denying the wonders of pregnancy, or hiding in shame. It's like wearing hot pink lipstick, some people just can't carry it off without looking like a Vegas street walker. I just can't carry it off - gracefully.

Am I opposed to them? No. Some women, like the one pictured here, enjoy their first photo shoot with ample cleavage. They have skinny little arms and grow a mini basketball in their tummy that is nearly universally deemed "cute." No stretchmarks, furry or lined bellies, or red veiny road-map-like nasty things cover their tum. And good for them. *sarcastic "thumbs up"*

Somehow, the fat stays off their face and sticks straight onto the baby, they look great in spandex which reveal their precious bump, and it resembles a bouncy ball more than, say, a tripled batch of white, pasty, bread dough. Their children exit like the plant from Mary Poppin's carpet bag, leaving no evidence behind that they were ever gestating. Whoopedeedo for you.

I - on the other hand - don't get pregnant this way. I get pregnant in a way that resembles Jabba the Hutt. Pregnant all over. Big face, fat butt. When I see photos of myself, it isn't a "Awww, remember when?!" It is very literally a "WHAAAH!!! GAAAH! Who took this?! Lets destroy it before someone is traumatized for life..."

So, at least for endearing belly shots, please understand that it's just... not for me. Also, just so you know, pregnancy for me is not a fun, tummy-bearing adventure. I ache, I barf, I retain the Atlantic Ocean in fluid, and feel ridiculously tired and cranky. Right now, even as I write, I am at that stage of pregnancy where my arm starts to puff up like a Cabbage Patch doll, and I've just about lost all indications that I ever had ankle bones.

To this end, I have a particular hatred for those that love pregnancy. If you deem it "the best you've ever felt in your entire life!" and "would do it 100 times if I could!" I currently want to rip your face off with my bare hands.

So, please, no cameras, no request, and no stories of how you loved every minute of your pregnancy. Give me a year, and I might - eventually - even admire your professional cute bump photos. But for now, just keep a safe distance, and don't ask. Forewarned is forearmed. Or else, in the words of the great Jabba the Hutt(loosely translated from Huttenese): "There will be no bargain, young Jedi. I shall enjoy watching you die."

J'accuse!

2010-02-26T15:47:00.001-08:00

Abigail had school Market Day Auction Day today. Each kid is allowed to bring ONE thing to auction off to the class. Abigail took a plastic giraffe that we got at a zoo years ago. "Its just a plastic animal, that shouldn't bring much of a bid..." I thought to myself. And then I sat and waited - trying to convince myself that this would not end badly...

Those of you who have been following our darling family know that Abigail is a bit of a magpie/hoarder. A bit - as in "a lot." But, since each kid could only bring ONE thing, it stands to reason that they should only come home with ONE thing. Maybe two. I mean, you'd have to get the bid cheap on your first item, then have enough left over to outbid another kid on something else. Right? Nope.

"Mom! I got two toy stuffed dragons and 3 bouncy balls!"

"Abigail, how is that possible?" I asked.

"Well, since my giraffe had the tongue sticking out, everyone in the class wanted it! Everyone bid on it - EVEN MY TEACHER! So I got $1400 for it. The only thing that was more expensive was the stuffed toy horse, which cost $1500!" [Try to trace the ownership of the horse now, it changes hands at least 3 times...]

"Oh, well, who got that?"

"Kylie bought my giraffe with all of her Market Money. And then [with my winnings from the dumb plastic giraffe with the tongue sticking out], I got the horse!"

"But [looking at the dragons] you don't have the horse... what happened?"

Little did I know that my kid was as crafty and shrewd as an Arab trader....

"Well, Olivia didn't win the horse, and she really really wanted it, and she had one of the dragons, so I gave her some of my left-over money to go buy the OTHER baby dragon from Kaden. So she did, and then we traded."

"Ohhh kaaaaye..." Yes, I'm trying to follow all of this too...

"Olivia got the horse, and with her trades I got the two baby dragons, three bouncy balls and $600! I'm so glad that "Ginger" (the horse) went to a good home."

With more than a bit of chagrin, I drove her to her daddy's office to show off her "treasures." He complimented her on her shrewd trading acumen, then looked at me, with his eyes twinkling.

"She's just like her mom. Give her a little bit of money, list the parameters, and she'll find a way to get the lion's share of anything..."

I was stunned! I had never seen it that way. My little girl is just like me. Well, only I don't have a problem keeping my toys put away. I pondered on that as we went to the Red Box - me with my two free video codes, and Abigail with her new-found loot. She's just like me. I had to think about whether or not that's a good thing. Hmm. I'm not sure, but this I DO know - whereas I only got rid of one thing, I now have to find a place for 5 more items. All because my daughter takes after her mama.

Well, either way, I'm just glad that her dad thinks that THAT is a good thing. *wink!*

I'm About to Put the Hammer Down...

2010-02-18T10:04:00.000-08:00

Convoy: by CW McCall

Was the dark of the moon, on the sixth of June
In a Kenworth, pullin' logs
Cabover Pete with a reefer on
And a Jimmy haulin' hogs
We 'as headin' fer bear on I-One-Oh
'Bout a mile outta Shaky-Town
I sez Pig-Pen, this here's the Rubber Duck
An' I'm about to put the hammer on down!

I love this song. The truckers vs. the police or "bears." It was the litmus test for our Spanish foreign exchange student to see if he really understood "American English." And I've been thinking about it all morning long. You see, every Wednesday, I go to a class held by Marie Ricks of "House of Order" fame. And last night we covered the topic of children. Helping them become obedient and self reliant. The short title would have been, "Parenting: Taking Back the Reigns."

It was NOT a comfortable class. The premise being that children will get away with as much as they possibly can; and that to teach effectively, you need to be PRESENT and CONSISTENT with them until they can manage age-appropriate tasks on their own. Here are some highlights:

"Children will push the boundaries of acceptable conduct their whole lives while they are under your roof. It is only when you stand firm that they understand where the edge is. You may have to leave the grocery store, you may have to go home from a wonderful activity, you may have to postpone or be late for your own meetings. But it is more important that they understand those boundaries so that they can self govern when they are older..."

"Of course this is time consuming and difficult - you are raising children, not dolls!"

"Children are about as obedient as you expect them to be."

"You don't need to be mean, you just need to be firm."

"You need to first model the behavior for the task, let them try, and then follow up with enormous amounts of specific praise... a child will not believe that he is "good," but he will believe that you feel proud of him for hanging up his coat nice and straight in the closet..."

Needless to say, this is a weak spot for me. I have felt tired and unmotivated to go, find the child, and wait for them to do everything that I ask. Let alone be patient and even tempered. My voice pitch and anger have just taken the familiar paths of escalation until I got compliance. Or... I just decide it's not worth the fight, and drop it.

But today dawns the New Day. Parents in Control Day. We have a standing rule that you don't go to school until your bed is made, you are dressed (in clean clothes), and everything is picked up in your room. The kids have made tacit attempts, but truly, neither of their rooms could be considered "clean" by any stretch of the imagination.

So we are starting again. Stating the rule beforehand in a calm, neutral tone: "You know, you don't go to school until your room is clean." Then watching over them - in their presence. I let Matthew pick his opponent first. He picked Benjamin - The Easy. I got Abigail, aka "The Hoarder." It has been a loooooooong morning. You can not imagine the surprise on my daughter's face as I plopped down on her bed and said, "Well, I'll help where I can, but you have a big task to tackle this morning..." In P.J.s, and patiently working things through, it only took from 7:30 am til 10:30 am. They are both late for school today.

And we're supposed to do this for A WEEK! Watch over, guide, neutrally react, and teach. "We hang those up on a hanger. Garbage goes in the garbage can. Dirty socks go in the hamper." Stating the job, not commanding or threatening! Being CALLLLM!

In the program, we then move to R&R: Return and Report. Where they know the standard, and they return to tell us that it is done, and we "reward."

Then move to SI: or Self Reliance. Where they do it without being asked, without reward, but understand that it is just expected in our home.

In the clean chapel with all those other women, I can visualize it in my head. I turn from the Ogre to the Sweet Fairy Tale Mother that I always wanted to be. Oh, no, I do not have delusions that this is a primrose path that runs by itself.

But I realize that sometimes, [and with parenting - most of the time], I have to put what I want on the shelf, so that I can take the time to parent. Yeah, sure it is easier to be lazy and yell, but that is not why we had children. This is not gonna be fun, but it will have to get done. Not because I'm a neat-nick, but because I need to prepare my kids to live on their own - and quite possibly teach, and have, kids of their own. Scary thought today.

Heaven help us all.

So to my Pig Pens, this here's the Mama Duck,
An' I'm about to put the hammer down...

Today...

2010-02-16T08:42:00.000-08:00

Today I am one day shy of 30 weeks pregnant, and this time has significant meaning for me. This is exactly how pregnant I was when Benjamin was born. He was 3lbs 4oz, and an emergency c-section. I can easily remember how small he was, his whole hand didn't reach around his daddy's pinkie. I didn't see him the whole first day or night that he was born. And when I did get to go see him, the immense sorrow of seeing my baby with tubes and tape and an enormous "newborn" diaper engulfed me. One question was on everyone's lips, "Will he make it?" We didn't know. The nurse who worked on him said, "Look at this little guy fight! He does NOT want that tube down his throat. That's a good sign - he's a fighter..."

The details of that day resurface every now and again, and when they do, the fear and anxiety return. One of my sisters once asked to see a photo of Benjamin and his newborn curly blonde hair. I hadn't seen those photos in awhile, and as I flipped through each newborn NICU picture, the memories flooded so fast and furious that I could only look and sob.

Even now, for this blog, as I pick through those first photos, I edit again, "That one is too scary," "You see all of the tubes in this one, " "This one would make people uncomfortable - or even worse, scared..." In all of them, Matthew and I look like death warmed over. Life moved from "normal" to ... to something all together different. And I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Though that time was dark for us, ever so gradually, shines the light of that time. Through that blackest of nights came the dawn. Every day offered a little more hope, and one more chance to enjoy our little boy. Many of our prayers were answered, and we found that faith isn't just an ethereal idea - rather, it is a solid rock that harbors your soul in the hurricanes of life. We didn't skip through this trial by any means, but we were not alone either.

Fast forward 5 years, and that premature baby is as solid as a keg of nails, and about to be a big brother for the second time. He can flush toys down the toilet, and scribble on walls like the best of them. If you didn't already know, you would have to be told that he was a preemie. Everything is just fine. We were blessed, we are lucky; and to be able to do it again, we are grateful. I'm happy for this new little one, and I am happy - despite the side effects, to keep this little bun in the oven for awhile - especially today.

My Life Has a Plan and Other Crazy Maps

2010-02-10T05:30:00.000-08:00

I went to Relief Society Meeting last night. Imagine 3.2 tons of makeup and perfume with the dearest souls on earth who are trying to keep it together. I was the one in the stretchy maternity clothes and a scant offering of mascara and lip balm - but they were offering a nursery to watch my kids for a few hours. "C'mon Em (my SIL), let's go!"

For this year's meeting they decided to get a variety of women together and have a panel on issues that we face under the banner of "A Proclamation to the World on the Family." I sat on a very back row so that I could catch the nursery worker's eye just in case my child had a poopy diaper, or was makin' a ruckus in the nursery. Hymns, prayers and many ideas later of how to live better, they asked a question to the panel about living the gospel when things don't turn out the way you thought they would. The darling representative for "Older Single Sisters" raised her hand and shared a story of meeting someone who had left the church.

"I asked him why he left, and he said, 'Well, my life doesn't look the way that I thought it should,' and - I was nice and everything -, but inside I was thinking, TAKE A NUMBER!"

She went on to testify that even though her life was not what she had wanted, it was - indeed - tailored to fit her soul to learn by a loving Father in Heaven, "who wants for me what I want - even more than I do." And it got me thinking. Could I say the same?

Same evening, I'm reading my big brother's short story about a colleague who he worked with in his youth. Joel's friend survived brain cancer, but was disfigured in the attempt to remove the cancerous tumor. And though they had rollicking times in the Sears mechanical department, his friend Calvin ultimately committed suicide from... well, disappointment about the way his life was turning out. A college graduate, witty commentator, and WWII officiando, my brother still feels the loss of someone who just couldn't fathom that there was a rhyme or reason to it all.

Throughout all this, I am wondering about my own life and whether it has been planned, or whether - as I suspect - it is unrolling one day at a time, with bizarre factors that have given me a truly frenetic past. And I go to sleep.

In the dream I have that night, I am in a benign wilderness, trudging through gulleys and mountains, and trying to get somewhere. It reminds me of Midway, Utah where the Olympics set up the luge - civilized, but just waaaay out there.

In the dream sequence, I tell Matthew I'm gonna double check my bearings and get some directions. So, I show up at a railroad station and ask the bartender there (I know, they don't match, but it was a dream!),if I'm headed in the right direction. She pulls out a huge travel map and an orange highlighter, and starts asking me about where I've been and sloppily starts to outline my path with the highlighter. (I would grab the pen to make nicer lines, but she knows the place, and I don't.)

"Okay - so it looks like you started here, and then went this way..." *marker swaths start to cover the map*

We outline the most horrendous map. Horrendous because the path is so.. messy and nonsensical. Instead of going from point A to point B, there are ellipses, wiggly lines, weird paths, and one huge dip through the middle of it all.

"And then you came up on this side, and started over here - is that right?" she asks me as we look over the orange highlights.

As I stand back, my eyes take in this map which is criss-crossed with orange highlighter, with different names of places where I've been. Yes - I was there, and there... I was just at that place gathering flowers on my way over, hm, why was I going there? And the big ditch. That sucka is HUGE. Cavernous. Goes on forever.

Then I see that I am on a track, as it were, and completing a most bizarre circle. Not a neat and tidy one, but one that has a rough, ragged outline, and doesn't keep to the edges, but goes, literally all over the map. And under all the highlighter are a ton of roads that I haven't even been on, or knew they were there. Overall, the path has an outline of a jagged "C", and I can tell that, roughly, I'm going back to where I started - or at least trying to get back.

When I wake up - because baby is kicking me at O'Dark:Thirty, I try to remember this dream. And then I get it. It's a map of my life. A totally bizarre, backtracking, messy, yet utterly map-able life. And I'm on track. Something that in the wilds of young motherhood and present craziness, I never would have suspected. My children sing in Primary, "My life is a gift; my life has a plan. My life has a purpose; in heav’n it began."

Sitting and thinking about God-as-architect, I am reminded that most people don't believe that someone could have orchestrated all this. It's too complicated, there are too many factors. One minuscule change reverberates in unknowable directions - and to unknowable ends.

But, perhaps we will discover, as I did, that there is more to life than we ever suspected, and even the most rickety, remote, and ragged terrain is "right on track." Of course, I also dreamed that I had lice night before last. But, at least for me, it has brought me a measure of comfort. I have believing blood, and an utter respect for the Almighty. And if this was all plotted out exactly as it has unfolded, have mercy on my poor family, because the uncharted parts of that map are WACK!

Invisible Work

2010-02-07T09:11:00.000-08:00

I think that being a mom is a lot like being invisible. You are... in many senses THERE, but the evidence is awfully hard to come by. "What do you do with all your time?" is a frequent question, and there's the joke of a man coming home to a house in utter chaos, and after following a trail of debris, kids swinging from chandeliers half naked and a ton of junk he starts looking for his wife. He finds her relaxing on the bed reading a book. "What HAPPENED here!!??"

"Well Darling, you always wonder what I do with my day, and today I didn't do it..."

This came to mind as I surveyed the house at the end of yesterday. I worked really hard! But as I looked around at the end of the day, I knew that hardly anyone would be able to tell - they would only be able to tell if I hadn't done it. For example I:

* Changed the sheets, and washed the comforter cover on the bed. I don't know how mustard got on the comforter, I just knew it was there. At least I *hope* it was mustard...

* Cleaned all the pillowcases, and some of the pillows. I started the wash early in the day so that I could put them back exactly where they were this morning - only cleaner. I've heard so many horror stories about how many organisms live in your mattress, eating skin, as well as how much heavier your pillow is when you sweat in it day after day (even though I have TWO pillowcases on all pillows - as per being brought up correctly). So I tossed 'em in the wash too, to... well, drown 'em I guess, or at least give 'em a bath.

* Scoured the bathroom. Saturday ritual that shines up the faucets, cleans out the toilet/tub, and gets the hair off the floor. There's not a lot of dust after a week, but it rises exponentially from dust bunnies to dust rhinoceroses if you wait even one day.

* Helped clean out the garage. We've "taken out" 3 mice to date, but they have left their little party droppings all over the garage. Besides being disgusting, it is also a very emotional endeavor as you get ticked at every single thing that they pooped on. We have no less than three tall shelves packed with stuff on each shelf.

"GAH! They got into THAT! *curse curse mutter mutter* They ate the Styrofoam on Sam's old infant car seat!!! *styrofoam confetti sprinkles to the floor* EW! They pooped all over the DVD movie covers?! Now we have to clean out that whole box!!" etc. etc.

150 Lysol wipes later, the garage is clean yes, but not in such a major way that you would have noticed anything different with a casual glance before and after. The old washer/dryer got moved to storage, the bed rails are now UPRIGHT, and we still have to figure out what to do with the sleds. And the shelves are covered in plastic bins. Now, if it's in MY garage, it's in a plastic bin to keep out/starve unwanted rodents. *curse curse mutter mutter*

* All this while doing load after load of laundry and a trip or two to the grocery store.
Still tired but not finished, we got dinner on, then put away. Floor swept and mopped and it just all looked pretty much like it did when I got up. I worked like a friggin' galley slave, yet there is really no evidence of the struggle. Like... building the Taj Mahal, and then having nothing there but the dirt you started with! It seems like there should be something... THERE! But my proof of hard work is that the counter has NOTHING there!

And that's when it hit me: Mom's are invisible. Food is in the pantry, and dishes in the dishwasher (transported, as if by magic, from the counter and sink to the dishwasher!!)and it seems to all happen when nobody is looking. It's all invisible, that is,unless you stop. It is only then that the evidence starts to pile up of what you used to do, but that isn't getting done now.

But for now, at least, we can roll on. The work of the invisible is done, and the house is where it was this morning. Just with fewer dust mites and mice poop.

Miracle Product

2010-02-02T09:20:00.000-08:00

I know, like you, I really don't believe that miracle products really exist. I have been more disappointed by "new," "ultra," "uber," "radical formula," than I can shake a stick at. But it did just happen - last night.

I have been struggling with DISGUSTING dishes. We have hard water, and it has never taken such a devastating toll on my dishes as it has here. Like seeing a cataract develop, my glasses/dish lids have gotten whiter and whiter over the past 18 mos 'til you have to look at the TOP of a clear glass to see what drink is in there.

Em brought me this Lemi Shine stuff that touts itself as "The Hard Water Expert," *uh huh, yah - WHATEVER!* and I thought, "Oh well, what the heck," and hucked it in the dishwasher last night and went to bed.

Then, this morning, I went to unload the dishes and what to my wondering eyes should appear?!!! *cue angelic chorus* I can not describe to you what I felt when I opened the dishwasher door that comes close to the euphoria I felt as I pulled out each CLEAN glass. I couldn't believe my eyes, but the kids were saying stuff like, "You can see through our glasses mom!" *fears to publish such revealing information* "Where's all the gross stuff?!" and simply, "WHAT HAPPENED!"?

All after one load! And I kid you not, this was not a small task - you could see my fingerprints on the pot lids despite hand washing them multiple times in hot water and detergent. My metal colander had white buildup at the base, and everything looked like it had just been dipped in a heavy salt/water solution and dried on there. And now - they are crystal clear! *more angelic chorus*

So, to my good blog readers, if you too are suffering from gross and disgusting dishes, measuring cups, lids and all things glass, there is hope! Find this stuff! Buy this stuff! I will grab my clean glasses and toast you and your clean glasses, tears rolling, to clean dishware again.

For other opinions: http://www10.epinions.com/content_273229385348

Their website: http://www.envirocontech.com/products/Learn-More-about-Lemi-Shine.html

If you want to know where I live in Utah, check out the Lemi Shine hard water map and look for the orange spot in Utah - which is the color indicating the worst kind of water EVER - yup! that's where I live!

*puts on ipod to "I'm a Believer," and boogies around the kitchen holding clean glasses*

Addendum: Could this product GET any better? Well, I contacted the company with this blog post and got this reply:

Katrina,

Thank you so much for your wonderful blog post! Since you are such an avid user and promoter of our product, we would like to send you a product package including Lemi Shine, Lemi Shine Rinse, Lemi Shine MC3, 5 Lemi Shine samples, 5 Lemi Shine Rinse samples, and 5 MC3 samples along with a Lemi Shine t-shirt and tote bag. Please send me your shipping address and t-shirt size, and I will get the bundle out to you as soon as possible. If you have any questions, please let me know. We truly appreciate your business and support and hope you will share the product samples with your family and friends. Have a terrific Tuesday afternoon!

Sincerely,
Lee McDonald

SCORE!!!!!!!!!!!! Wait... I have to share????!!!!

Threats n' Bribes....

2010-01-27T10:41:00.000-08:00

[Click on Charts to read the fine print] My mama always said that raising kids is just "threats n' bribes, threats n' bribes..." which is a pretty simple philosophy considering all the tomes written on raising children. I've known this, but haven't been applying the "bribe" portion very well.

You see, just about every mom I know of is struggling with their kids right now. For me, it was the battle with the 5 yr old over throwing away Sam's stinky diapers. The feelings of guilt that swarmed every confrontation, not to mention his pleas for a play date were just getting to me because I didn't want to add ONE MORE KID to the mess I was dealing with! Then I noticed my sister had a very simple notebook paper "chart" on her fridge. So, I asked her about it.

"Allen (her husband) made that. When she's good, she moves forward a space, and when she's naughty, she moves back. Too far back and she'll end up on her bed..."

"What happens if she gets to the end?"

"Oh, she gets a package of M&M's..."

So SIMPLE! And a cheap bribe too! It eliminates motherly commentary on behavior, "What is WRONG with YOU TODAY!" and just simply, and emotionlessly, inflicts a consequence. BAM, you moved back a space. Wanna go another?
So, I made up a chart for my two kids. Service and being ready on time gets you points, sass & backchat moves you back. I printed it off, got some of those cheapie flat magnets off the fridge and had it all laminated together so it sticks on the fridge. Each kid has their own magnet to move forward and back.

Has it worked?!

YES! We have had two play dates, and the kids are excited now to get a point for any ole thing. My kids very own chart is probably the crappiest of the three, but I've been happy to switch the template and help others with their chidlren to gain some ground in the serenity department.

Cost? One bag of M&M's. Threats n' bribes baby, threats n' bribes...

Organize This!

2010-01-23T00:32:00.000-08:00

We have been chasing keys for awhile - you look at them and think, "What is THIS one to?" and in sum, we have lost some that we really needed.

Tonight, my SIL Em and I had a polishing party, where we did keys! The downstairs to my house has many wonders that can be pillaged unchecked, so we have locks on the following doors:

1) The furnace room: you wouldn't THINK a kid would want to play in there, but you'd be wrong!

2) The Harry Potter closet a.k.a The Christmas Closet: This one, of course is the closet under the stairs, and it has all of our Christmas decorations/tree and festive knick knacks.

3) The toy closet. Due to incredibly generous friends, neighbors and family, we have accumulated quiet a few toys, games, and puzzles. I like my kids to have them, but not all at the same time, so this closet - along with Mom's vintage clothing, is also locked.

Throw in a house key, back door key, keys to different cars, old keys, keys to locks not currently in use, and you start to see a lot of silver! So, just like a girls night out, Em and I pulled out her collection of fingernail polish and stickers. We had a blast putting on base coats and colors with teeny decorations to our various keys. The result is that they look fabulous! AND - they are all different colors! AND, we now know which keys are duplicates, which ones go to what closet, and where we're going to store them.

It's a small step in the key department, but a big relief for our overall organization. Now we can finally open the furnace room which has also been lacking organization and get started on that. And I have Em's fabulous nail polish and sticker collection to thank. It's smooth sailing in the door department, and all because we got our heads together and had a painting party. Genius!

Thoughts on 38

2010-01-19T15:29:00.000-08:00

Having just celebrated my 38th birthday, I've tried to think about what it "means" to be this old. I know that when I was a kid, and I met someone this old, you knew that they were an adult. You assumed that they could/would tell you what to do, and had attained just about all the knowledge they were ever gonna get.

They could drive, and have kids, and make dinner. And though I didn't know the in's and outs, I pretty much knew that an adult could buy ANYTHING they wanted. They could own every Strawberry Shortcake doll, plus the Berry Berry house, AND the scratch n' sniff stickers! Though they never ever EVER seemed to want to. Which was weird to me. I KNEW in my heart that I could spend money better than my folks. I would skip the phone bill and get all the cool toys.

Much wiser, I know how little I know about the world we live in, it's history, and what the future holds. So what has 38 years taught me? Well, here's a sampling:

Driving is scary. I fear for my kids lives every time we get in the car. There are some stupid people out there, and I have seen trucks run into cars, cars slide off the road, and even overturned cars that make my heart skip a beat.

The garage is one of the best cleaning investments. You see it every day, and it will stay cleaner than nearly any other part of the house.

Kids are not handed out on merit. I know many terrific people that struggle, or will never have biological children of their own. They seem to deserve kids more than some thoughtless kids who are in no way prepared to bring children into the world, and don't care.

Learnin to spel helps others understand you easily - and wearing clothes isn't just identity, it shows the world that you give a modicum of a darn about how you present yourself to them. Tuck in underwear - no one wants to see your panties, and beware of those who do want to see them - their intentions are not good. Don't physically damage yourself for fashion. Be gentle with the elderly.

If it is kind, it is always best to think out loud: I love that shirt! Your hair is super cute today! What a cute baby you have! I want to look like you do in those jeans. The most secure and put-together people are surprised that others think well of them without wanting anything in return, "Can I have yo number?".

Giving stuff to Goodwill is 99.9% always a good idea. I can count on one hand the number of things I've given away in 38 years and wish I had back. I can't think of one right now...

Instead of hoping for a boys or girls, it is wiser to hope for good kids, whatever they are!

The best way to secure laziness is to be supremely organized.

Everyone, at some point, will disappoint you - even God (though he may have the best intentions for doing so out of everyone...). Unless it's a toxic relationship, you forgive and forget, then remember that you too have disappointed people. Move on and be better friends tomorrow.

If you think, "Gosh I love you!" then say it as soon as you think it! Make a shortcut from your brain to your mouth. And say why. It is water to a parched soul, and no one is ever told enough that they are loved. Never.

Art is not a luxury. Keep yourself surrounded by the beauty that moves you - even if you can only afford the print.

Try to smile at yourself in the mirror instead of hunt for flaws. Children do, and adults don't.

Wherever possible, buy a balloon for your kid. You never need an excuse to have a balloon...

Help elderly and handicapped people without being asked. A simple, "Can I help you with that, " doesn't cost anything, and brings out the best in humanity.

Birthdays are a big deal. Even if doesn't end in a zero. Thanks to everyone who made mine spectacular!

What We're Having...

2010-01-07T10:28:00.000-08:00

Let me start off by saying that this baby was a surprise. I was 10 1/2 weeks along before even considering that perhaps this nagging "flu" the kids had given me, might be something more. As soon as we confirmed it, I threw up. Ooooohhhh, the excitement.

Though we are backing into this, it is with great anticipation that we welcome #4. I was fairly certain that I knew the sex too. A girl. I was right with my first, Abigail. Then Benjamin, I predicted with my inner pregnancy eye, had to be a girl as well. As did Sam. And after my OB confirmed my suspicions a few months ago, saying that he was 60% sure that THIS one was a girl, it all seemed to fall into place.

Why? Because the Good Lord knows that I DO girls. I do hair, I do ruffles, I do ribbons & tutus. I do clothing colors that match skin tone, and I also did summer camp with 10 JAP's ten-year olds rather successfully.

Abigail's younger girl cousins have been enjoying a plethora of Daisy Kingdom dresses with sparkles, tulle skirts, bloomers and full slips. I also have ample advice on getting that perfect 'do. (Put 'em on the edge of the sink with their feet IN the sink so the fear of falling makes them not squirm as much when you do their hair...). I am courted by Gymboree, Wooden Soldier, Pottery Barn Kids, and Chasing Fireflies. So, the two boys were a surprise - but we worked it all in.

You see, in my 17-yr-old Life's Plan, I figured that it would play out this way; marry the awesome guy (check!), then have 4 kids in this order: girl, girl, boy, & girl. Putting the boy between two girls would ensure that he was raised to put the seat down and flush, or face their communal wrath. So, the girl, boy, boy was... not as planned, but okay. This last one was sure to finish out the set. Even Stevens. Two of Each. Matthew thought so as well. It's time for a girl... TLC, Tatiana Lisbon Crane. :D
So, ultrasound day, the sunny sonographer asked if we wanted to know what we're having. Heck yes! Show us that cute face! So, she goes immediately to the area and announces: it's a boy! (Imagine here a really long pause that can only be described as shock...) My three sons. You could have knocked me off the table with a feather - I nearly fell without the feather.

What the HECK! My last child will be a fashion dead end of bugs, dinosaurs, jobs and automobiles? The balance has shifted, irrevocably, to more males than females?! This is WACK. Matthew has 5 sisters and 1 brother! I have 3 sisters and 2 brothers. I did the math! The odds were in my favor!

I don't understand the Eternal Meaning of all this, but this is for certain; there's gonna be a lot of scouting in my future. Camp-outs and Pine Wood Derbies. The triumvirate of S's: Spit, Sports, & Scatological humor. All three boys will be within 5 years of each other. Based on the first boy, I believe that they will, collectively, destroy the house... all together; all at once. I'm cringing already. But, if they even THINK of rabbit hunting, i.e. dating a young, stupid airhead, they will go into an immediate course of Women's Studies from their mama.

But, for awhile, this baby will be mine. He will get loves and cuddles. I will swing him around, laugh with him, and tickle his tummy. He'll wear hats with bear ears, matching outfits, and have to put up with mom kissing him a lot. He'll be my baby, and our last. Welcome Lil' Baby Boy, to our nutty family. Hang on tight, and brace yourself, you're gonna fit right in kiddo - simply because you have no choice. :D

Purging in Times of Desperation & Pregnancy

2009-12-29T15:55:00.001-08:00

It doesn't happen often, but every once in awhile, I get the itch to do a closet purge. Maybe this time it's because I still have capris in my drawer... in December, or perhaps the fact that being five months pregnant has caught up with me, but truly, the catalyst was the mountain of laundry that is taking over an entire room. "Zackanista! - Enough!"

Now, I don't know about you, but for me there are two kinds of purges. The first is the benign, "Eh, this doesn't fit/I don't like it/I don't want to wear it anymore." This is a harmless purge. A happy purge! Its usually done when you are making room for something better, something new, - something you like. The second kind though is awful. It is the gut wrenching, ugly truth-telling, reality-check, kind of purge. And this is what I did today.

Fashionistas and Clutter Control agents alike will tell you that the easiest way to purge a closet is to:
A) Get rid of the trash - for severe clutter cases where Snickers wrappers and empty cd cases are stored in clothing closets.
B) Get rid of things you no longer like/wear. And,
C) For those things that you aren't sure about , turn the hanger backwards, and after six months, if you haven't worn it - and turned the hanger around, simply pitch it.

My brain knows these steps and agrees that others should follow and comply with them. For my own closet though... it is a different story. I don't rotate my closet by seasons, I basically have it all there, all the time. My mom taught me to buy quality items that will LAST, not cheapie stuff that you have to get rid of every season because it has worn out. Pendleton over PennySaver.

So - here it goes. The ugly truth part. I. Have. Clothes from High School. A beloved Benetton sweater that I paid $88 for back in 1980... something. I also have a gorgeous lined wool skirt with a kick pleat that I look ROCKIN' in, when I'm under 150lbs. I got that in my early 20's, and I get compliments on MY butt just about every time I wear it. Especially at the Air Force Base. So, that's an early '90s item.

Needless to say, purging my closet is not a casual affair. I don't just go through random clothes and decide, "pitch/stay." It is like trying to get rid of investments. But, sadly, it has come to this. I steeled myself and admitted some difficult truths as I started pulling clothes off hangers from the back of my closet: I will NOT be needing this karate outfit from that one semester of college - not even for Halloween. All my karate moves are on a VHS tape that got ditched three moves ago. Even though this is a nice red suit and jacket, I hate the way the skirt makes my thighs look fat and how I'm always trying to yank the skirt down all of the 3 times I've worn it.

This warm, and gifted-from-a-missionary ethnic sweater, though warm, makes me look like a fat, hibernating, caterpillar. So I never wear it - and no one EVER wants to borrow it. Not even in sub-degree weather. Eh, this skirt. Even if I WAS thin again, I would put this skirt on once, and then indulge in something better. And, ohhhh, forgive me mom. The orchestra skirt you made me. I wore it through college, and just don't see when I'm gonna wear it again. I've moved it from coast to coast for the past 12 years and haven't worn it once. Not once. *sigh*

This went on for AN HOUR! I winnowed out about 2/3 of my closet. No one will really notice, because I have not worn most of this stuff for years, and no one has ever begged to help me clean out my closet and pick up on some of my great stylin' clothes - from two decades ago.

I will be severely hurting come spring, but for right now, I know I've done the right thing in getting rid of the hot pink shirt that is not-so-hot, and was bought on sale. I am down to ONE denim shirt, and it is stained, but it is my favorite. The wire hangers are in a bundle, ready to bless the lives of someone else, and I have a solid plastic hanger closet. And now I am ready to go to the basement and haul up all my "expec-TENTS." They will go between my Benetton sweater and my green wool skirt.

Yes, I will need to have this baby, get the flu, diet for a long time, run the circumference of the earth, and develop a dislike for chocolate, learn to sweat, sweat and more sweat until the layers come off. Is it likely? Not really, but hey, the Red Sox won the series. It can happen! Just as soon as I shake this "Curse of the Bambinos!" But for now. I'll just be thankful that I survived a Defcon 2 Closet Purge.

Santa is a Woman...

2009-12-27T16:13:00.000-08:00

SANTA SPOILER WARNING!

I know that the traditional view we take of Santa is a fat, old, jolly man, but I have come to believe, at least among my acquaintances, that Santa is a woman. Everything that Santa does requires rather feminine traits: Intense listening, plotting, and planning ahead - not to mention doing it all in one night with nothing but a few cookies to keep you going. That doesn't even touch the PR (Christmas Cards), Party Planning, (aka Getting the Tree and Ornaments up and various tchotcke up around the house), and Calendar Coordination - for the inevitable, "What are you doing for Christmas/New Year's Eve?"

But what is the point of perpetuating such a farce? Is it simply because our mom's did it for us? Since they gave us a belief in magic, the impossible, and a caring universe, we should at least do the same for our own kids, right? Perhaps. But as I look at my motives, I actually think it all goes back to the main Spirit of Christmas; an imitation of something ancient and wonderful.

It stems from the belief that a loving Father in Heaven really did plan ahead for us, got us our souls most sincere desire, and delivered it quietly and inconspicuously to all of mankind in one night. He knew very well what we wanted and needed - to return to Him again, so that each of us could be together as a family forever.

He didn't ask for a lot of credit, He just asked that we believe in the gift of His son; that it was what we wanted, and was sent with a desire for us to be supremely happy. It was the best thing he could think of; someone to save us from sin, set a good example, and bring a spirit of love back into the world.

Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, and the motive for doing so is found in a favorite Christmas carol, "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear:

For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever-circling years
Shall come the time foretold,
When the new heaven and earth shall own
The Prince of Peace, their King,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.

So, we Santas of the world, send back to God His angelic song. Peace at home, good will to our friends and families, and a sense of wonder and magic that was first shown to us. We celebrate the spirit of the impossible, the magic and wonder of a generous soul who knows us by name, our deeds, and also who gives, who loves, and does not ask for perpetual credit, but rather asks that we be happy with what He chooses to send us. We are learning and imitating our Pere Noel, Father Christmas, Pai Natal, our Father in Heaven, and trying to become just like Him. All while eating some cookies. :D

So whether you are male or female, to me, if you don the traits of that Cloaked Man, then you send back that song first brought to us by a wondrous being. God who, daily, tries to send us gifts in quiet, anonymous ways. So, this year, I hope that we may take all the gifts given daily from our invisible benefactor, and send back to Him the same. In anonymous acts of love, silent prayers, and faith in Christ who wanted us to know that the future is bright. This is Christmas. And there is a Santa, for anyone who would try to be one.

Merry Christmas to all, and know that we send to you our love, gratitude and Christmas magic. Please, come on over and have a cookie!

New Calendar

2009-11-21T21:46:00.000-08:00

I bought a new calendar today. 2010 "God Bless America." As obligations start bleeding into the new year, I'm running out of space for notes on my current calendar. The "Butter my Butt" one was *not* an option at Wal-Mart, but if anyone finds it, let me know how much it is.

There are two french sayings that I think of when plotting out a new year. The first one is a New Year's toast that says, "In the year to come, if there aren't any more of us, let there not be any less." I love New Calendar Day. A brand new chance for a brand new year. While perusing the $5 variety at Wal-Mart, the family was trying to decide between the beauties of America, tropical beaches, flowers, or Old Nauvoo. America won out on awesome photography and general consensus. Abigail made a push for Chihuahuas, Labradors and DEER. "But mom! You always point out the deer when we're driving!" Not in MY kitchen you don't. I'll take Mt. Rushmore and a salty bridge over a whole year of looking at dumb ole deer ANY day.

As I transition between years, I have to think if this is a freak-out year. Have we hit any certain milestones with expectations unmet; is it now too late to do something by a certain age? Nothing comes to mind. I got gray hairs and earned every one of 'em! I flip through the old tattered calendar, which like a pair of well worn shoes - the kind that is starting to rip and tear in places, and has definitely lost its glimmer - is looking really sad - especially when paired with the shiney new calendar. I flip through the months; good days, bad days, VT days, scouts, callings, short weekends, the endless house "to do" lists, and a sprinkling of doctor, dentist, and eye appts.

Each year, I'm handed a years worth of time, and it seems like so much. Then it gets eaten away with grocery trips, breakfast, lunch, dinner, laundry and sleeping. Some years less than others, but still. It's only when I step back from the rigmarole that I see that little by little, my kids have changed; I have changed. And it all happened in about a year's time. Kids lose that baby look, I can't seem to lose the baby fat, and I seem to be ever searching for when I can "just get a minute!" And it happens every year. Which reminds me of my second French phrase: Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. The more things change the more they stay the same.

So, here's to a fantastic 2010. One day at a time, and full to the brim. And if you are planning on having a baby, getting married, or having a significant event that you need me for, say so now - the calendar is filling up!

Not All Advice is Sound

2009-10-01T05:27:00.000-07:00

You gotta love this ad from the 1930's that says that starting your child early on cola will ensure their acceptance into mainstream America!

Despite the Cola industry's claim that soda can do wonders for your health, I am sad to discover that it can't remove the burnt-on popcorn from the bottom of my stainless steel pot. Aggie Mackenzie, from "How Clean is Your House" fame, said that if you boiled some soda in a ruined, blackened pot, that it would magically take it off. So I tried it. The bottom still looks like an areal view of London after a WWII bombing raid.

Why was I making popcorn in a pot? Well, you see, Alton Brown had said that the best popcorn didn't come from a microwave, but rather from your own stove top - experimenting with all kinds of kernels from "white" to "golden harvest." He failed to mention that when you see fluffy white popcorn bursting on the top, you might ALSO be burning the fluffy white popcorn on the bottom into unrecognizable pocks of yuck that won't come of the bottom of your pan. Not even with soda. Any advice? I have a blackened pot and now I'm out of soda. I'm afraid to tell you which one I am more sad about...

May I Have a Card Please...

2009-09-17T11:36:00.001-07:00

This is my latest endeavor: putting genealogy on playing cards. I have been wanting to do it for awhile, but just... well, had this great idea, and no direction.

Now, thanks to a M.L.M. aka Multi-Level Marketing company (yes, I acknowledge all your boos and hisses), I found a place that sells playing cards that you can put ANYTHING on. Well, one pic on the back of the deck, and anything you want on the front of the cards. I went to a Heritage Studio party (yes, again, boos and hisses), and saw the deck of cards that had a family reunion pic on the back. Cue light bulb above the head.

Instead of face cards with the four suits, I am doing four generations on each side of our family. I've never seen it done before, and I am so excited for my kids to get to know their heritage. Each family branch gets their own colored background; Dad's side - red, Mom's - yellow and their children(my siblings) get.... ORANGE! :D Because red+yellow=orange. Okay, maybe too kitschy, but you get the idea.

What you see is my Dad's "Grandpapa," with a pic of his business card. I still need to add something about him being a sailor. I know that he had tons of tattoos including one of a ship that covered his whole front torso. If the family asked, he would flex his pecs to make the ship's flag "wave." I'm just not sure that I would... be able to put that on there - but what teenager couldn't relate to THAT ancestor! And NO, you may NOT have a tattoo.

I'll put a hole punch in the corner and string them all to a clamp so that they don't get lost, and then let the kids look through them for church. Or maybe when we're waiting in line for something, or when I tell a story about one of the ancestors,

"Your Great-Great Gramma "Momps" said, 'If there are TWO jobs in this town, I will have one of them!'"

She taught herself how to run a printing press when they were low on funds. My kids should know that about their ancestors.

The surprise in all of this has been to trace family resemblances through the photos. I'm trying to get pics of each ancestor in about their 20s, so you can clearly see "that Danish forehead" in each succeeding generation. I'm adding a flag for country of origin, and toying with an outline of the country as well.

The scary thing is that this has never been done before, and I am worried that I will think of a better way to do it AFTER I've pushed "print." Fifteen bucks down the drain. So, if you have any ideas, post 'em, and if you want to do your own, here is my upline -who will give me free things for your business-: Heidi Arave, heidi@storiesthatlive.com 1.801.491.0966

Yes, yes, BOOO HISSSSSS. You don't have to do it. You can do what I first did and try printing your cards on paper and then taking it to the copy store to hard laminate it. You'll still spend the same. I'm just trying to make my genealogy look a little "classier" on a deck of face cards. Hmmm. I wonder if my staunch Mormon ancestors would approve of me putting their images on a face card. Too late now! And, no, you still may not get a tattoo. Grandpa was at sea when he did that and his mom wasn't there to say "NO!"

Finally Famous

2009-09-03T14:04:00.000-07:00

For those who don't know yet... I've been published! Well, that is to say, this blog has been published in "Raising Arizona Kids!" Okay, okay, just a post from my blog regarding medical binders has been published. For those wishing to skip past my anniversary photos, Baby's First Haircut, and sarcastic posts, you can click here to go straight to the post: Tuesday, April 28, 2009

For those who can't believe that anything in my blog actually got published somewhere... well, I don't blame you either. But here's the proof: Getting Control of All That Medical Information Ahhhh, I do believe it's time to get my spray tan and glue-on nails... possibly a wax, so I can greet my public! Enjoy. ;D

Not Dead... Just Resting!

2009-09-01T10:13:00.000-07:00

In a family favorite film, "Ishtar," our heroes are in the desert, facing imminent destruction by dehydration - and the vultures are circling. Lyle says to a vulture, "Are you kidding! I'm still movin'!" And so am I. Not dead, noooot dead... just resting!

So what have I been doing for the past month? Well. Lots. Lots of family, lots of summery things, lots of screaming, and lots of plate spinning.

There are things, I have noticed, that impose themselves on a daily routine. Some are expected, like dental appointments, oil changes, laundry, and Visiting Teaching, and some are not. For things that were expected, you knew it was coming, and you just glance at the calendar and realize - oh, I guess that is today.

Then there are things that unhinge a day that weren't on the schedule, but need to find a way to be worked in. Like cleaning the fridge, or the car. You open and shut that door how many times in a day and think, "oh, not today... probably not tomorrow either." I tackled one of them today. It was a toss up between the windows in the van, or the fridge. Fridge is cool on a hot day, so it won.

I open the door to see white film covering everything, including the jam spill congealed in a very back corner and the crumbs from who-knows-what beginning to form a nice Mesozoic layer under the bins. I have been staring at such a mess for too long. The culprit is a leaky gallon of milk that managed to hit/leak on every surface level of the fridge as I moved two gallons around trying to figure out where the leak was. All I got was a jug holder bin filled with milk. GAAAAH!

So, today was the day to take everything out. I hate doing it. Bleh. Messy, cold, and always involving shelves that do not fit in my sink, but which need a de-crusting SOMEHOW. I am annoyed as I'm scrubbing, rubbing, and ultimately taking a bath in the back-n-forth transfers of shelves and bins.

After the inside is deemed respectable, the outside seems to scream "FILTHY!" So, I take another rag and start getting the fingerprints, dirt and I-don't-know-what off the door. The "piece de resistance" is the bottom gutter fan. That part UNDER the doors but above the floor. It has spots, it has grime, it has unspeakable layers of yuck. If I clean it off, I'll also end up doing the floor. Well. Not today. Probably not tomorrow. It's time to pick up the preschooler and prepare for a husband who wants to know what I did with all my free time. Are you kidding me! I haven't been just laying around, I'm still movin'! Nooot dead, not dead! Just resting.

Half, One, Two!

2009-07-21T17:43:00.000-07:00

Now you know the secret to a HOST of divine cookies.

1/2 C oil
1 cake mix
2 eggs

Cook: 350 for 10-12 min.

My Sis-in-law Lisa made these with me, and oh YUM! I didn't know such wonderful recipes existed! And so fast! We did a lemon cake mix, with powdered sugar on top, but you can do that strudel topping, or frosting! You can make chocolate ones (add a cup of choc chips to make it worth it), strawberry ones, ginger-y ones! If it's a cake mix, you can make it into a batch of cookies in no time flat! Awesome for fits of PMS. ;D

And, with all of the time you save, you can get real creative, put two together with frosting, ice cream, peanut butter, anything you can think of! Enjoy my little secret, and have fun with it too. I don't think I've had a pink strawberry cookie, but I know I will soon! :D

Daddy's Little Girl...

2009-07-21T11:11:00.001-07:00

Sometimes something comes across your vision and you are suddenly surprised at what you are viewing. This happened today as I was sitting in the elementary school library, and a little girl walks into the area. She was probably no more than three. And the more I looked at this little creature, the more I wanted to see who she belonged to. She was wearing light pink cowboy boots, a low slung diaper, and a top that might have looked like a dress to hasty eyes... except that it only really covered her belly button, and had breakfast all over it.

Her hair was completely disheveled - like she'd just climbed out of bed, and the single back button of her top was flopping around looking very forgotten. With some cute shorts, and a bow, this would have been an adorable outfit! It was so funny, I had to wonder. What happened to Mom this morning? So I watched her wander around, and ultimately gravitate to... her dad. *Bing!* It all made sense.

Dad came around the corner looking for the librarian. I got up my courage and said, "Did she pick out her outfit herself today?".
"Yeah."
And he looked at me, and he looked at the little girl - trying to figure out what was so amusing. Clearly, to him, it had passed muster. She had clothes on. She had matching shoes on. It's good! I bet he was questioning himself as he left the house this morning, "Why do women make it so hard? Just put some clothes on the kid and go to the library - it's not that hard!" He went about looking for the librarian, and I continued my search as well.

I looked to see if he had any others with him -ooop yep. That little boy with the bedhead, wrinkly shirt and mismatched shorts must belong. And I'm guessing that this little girl who was looking a little unkempt was part of the set too. Yep, they're all hanging around together. The surprise was his oldest.

Probably a girl of about 9. Matched clothes, clean, tidy, appropriate shoes, and combed hair. Oh yeah. She has caught the vision. You may be Daddy's girl, but when it comes to going out in public, we use Mommy's standards. Made me laugh.... to myself.. not out loud. There are just some things that we don't do in public!

Summertime Summertime...

2009-07-12T00:01:00.001-07:00

I love Country Time Lemonade Commercials. The wooden sign, the sun ripened, just-picked-fresh lemons, and the kid in denim overalls pedaling through the summer wheat fields on his red bike with his black dog running alongside.

While old geezers sit laughing on the wrap-around wooden porch sporting suspenders, hats and old-timey glasses, a vibrant grandma in a dress and bunned up hair welcomes our rider back with a tall, cold glass of lemonade. They share an affectionate hug and big smiles while he slurps around the big ice cubes.

And then they tell you that there are only so many days left of summer. How you better slow down and enjoy it. It makes me crave summer. And a leisurely bike ride through wheat fields with a dog.

Something struck me as odd though recently, and I've only just put my finger on it: that is not my summer at all! Summer, with an 8,4 and 1 year old involves a cacophony of crying - A LOT of crying! I started keeping track and realized that it's like the white noise of my summer,
"He hit me..." "She's in my room!" "S/he took my toy/changed the channel/*insert tattling*!"
and it always starts with the siren wail, "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaam!" There isn't a moments peace. And as for laughing, well, it's only because they caught me, threw me in a straight jacket and a padded room!

Clinging to my idyllic commercial summer, I try to send the kids out for some happy summer memories riding through the asphalt, concrete and dirt. They go out, but then come right back in. Not only can't you go on a bike ride anymore without a helmet - but the nearest wheat field and red bicycle are miles away. And they're hot! And there's bugs.

"Why aren't you outside playing?" The answers are pretty pat.

Well, So and so is at their gramma's (probably with a red bike and wheat field!), and so and so has soccer, and the last-kid play-date option has gone on vacation. There's nothing to dooooOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo. Mom, can I watch Phineas and Ferb, or Dexter's Laboratory?"

"NO! Cartoons are NOT summer! Summer is overalls and outside! Go! Swing! Play! Ride!"

Then comes the knock at the door from an angry man in a mini-van, "Your kids are throwing rocks (crab apples if you look closely) at my car! You need to keep better track of your kids!"

"GET IN THE HOUSE THIS MINUTE!"

I didn't have time to greet them at the door with the tall glasses of lemonade and hugs because the regular household routine is punctuated with more changes of clothes and swimwear, otter pops dripping through the beige carpet, and mysterious messes that "I don't know" keeps making.

That's not to say that I'm not rushing to the door. Apparently ding-dong-ditching is big here. But we're on a hill, and the computer sits in the bay window right next to the door. Even though the kids have learned to pull up their t-shirt up around their nose as a disguise -I can still see them approaching AND running away when I'm on the computer.

I can tell it's those kids from two houses up & I don't bother to open the door to give them the satisfaction. I'm like an old geezer, and am just waiting to hear that my house has been deemed "haunted" or that some "old witch" lives here as I'm tempted to holler out at them, "You darn blasted kids stay outta my yard!"
Summer feels like it is dragging on FOREVER. When is this OVER!

I feel like Ralphie Parker who discovers the truth about his Annie decoder pen,
"BE SURE TO DRINK YOUR OVALTINE.... Ovaltine?"
"It's a crummy commercial?! Son of a b*****!"

And I too leave the world a sadder, yet wiser mom. Crummy commercial...

Happy Anniversary!

2009-06-11T15:23:00.000-07:00

Today marks our 11th Anniversary. At this time 11 years ago, I was winding up the California coast in my wedding dress with a hot groom in a two seater Honda CR-X. It had been a long day, a bit overcast, but perfect for photos. We had family and grandparents with us at our sealing in Oakland Temple, and dear dear dear friends. Since then, we've spent quite a few anniversaries apart, so it's nice to have one together this year. The children and I all went out to Thanksgiving Point to have a picnic with Matthew between rain and hail storms. And that about summarizes our first decade. Grab the good times while you can, it looks like hail!

In 11 years, we've racked up some amazing tallies. We have:
Lived in 5 different states
Attended school in two
Moved our family at least 12 times
Have three kids - each one about 4 years apart
Together visited Europe, and Matthew went to South America,
and we have more friends than we can count.

What a wild ride! And its not over yet. Hang on darling, we've got another decade ahead...
It's overwhelming - almost to tears - to select pictures over this time frame and realize how much we've done together. Matthew is my best friend. He's a wonderful provider, an excellent father, and someone you want in the foxhole with you.

Cheers darling, I love you!

Dealing with Anger...

2009-05-20T10:52:00.000-07:00

Is it wrong to get angry? For my lesson to the 4 and 5 year olds this week, there is a Q&A summary at the back of the lesson that has you ask the children, "Why do you think Nephi did not complain to Heavenly Father while he was tied up? [during the boat journey with his rotten no-good-shoulda-left-them-behind brothers].

I don't know the answer to that. And there is no answer given in the book. So I asked around to some people that I respect, and here are some of the answers I got:

Anon 1: Nephi saw that there was already plenty of contention, and that it only led to disaster and getting lost, so he just let it go. He knew that it was supremely important that he get, and keep, control of his emotions.

Anon 2: Just cuz the scriptures don't mention it specifically doesn't mean that it didn't happen. I mean, he wrote that probably months or years after it happened. History is kind to us when we write it ourselves. :D

Anon 3: Nephi is superhuman; he was "born that way." The Lord knew that he'd need someone patient who wouldn't complain in order to lead this whole troop across the water. Nephi just had a kinda "natural faith" that always saw the eternal perspective.

Anon 4: Nephi knew that they were only suffering from the effects of his bad, and somewhat rancid, cooking. Mad cow disease - or maybe Mad Camel Disease.

Anon 5: Nephi really struggled with being ticked off and wanted to toss them off the boat. He probably had the muscles to do it as he was strong and had just built a boat for gosh sakes! But he prayed for strength beyond his capabilities to deal with a bunch of idiots who just weren't going to change, angels, floods or otherwise. He just figured, "We're all in the same boat." Literally.

It seems that the definitions fall into one of two groups: Some people are just born with natural patience - its in their DNA, OR patience is a virtue that you can, and should, develop until you can just about drown with your family without complaining.

Maybe it's just that I tend to be an angry person - or rather, I have a more generous definition of what is worth getting mad about; but I just feel at a loss as to what to tell these kids about anger, and complaining. Maybe the art of "sucking it up in silence" is just becoming a lost art? I dunno. But while you're thinking about it, please pick up your shoes and put your laundry away, I've already asked you twice and I'm gettin' a little fed up with the mess!!!

Clean Bathroom

2009-05-16T19:15:00.001-07:00

I love a clean bathroom - I seriously do. I didn't have this fetish as a kid, but I have begun to appreciate more and more just a clean mirror, a spotless toilette, and a clean floor. The only thing that should be yellow in a bathroom is a rubber ducky. Like the upscale hotels look - shiny fixtures, little packets of fun stuff, and 20 plushy towels for each person. The idea of relaxing and just having a good time is so appealing. Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh.

You can't relax in a stinky room though. Smell is a major factor; I love a bathroom that smells like fresh linens, a tinge of bleach and just fresh fresh fresh. Almost minty. Not like what you smell at a truck stop. Or your gramma's bathroom.

I have nightmares of those bathrooms that are so overwhelmingly perfumed with "rose" or anything gagalicous that makes you have to hold your breath so you won't be nauseous. Bleeeh. After I clean my bathroom I spray my favorite perfume over the light bulbs - a little light and airy touch. Back when we had tile, I'd also use mouthwash to scrub it down. Tastes nasty, smells wonderful, and minty fresh.

The bane though would have to be the floors. Between my long hair and a drippy 4 yr old boy, I just hate dealing with the floor. I've found a way around it though: vacuum. I vacuum the tile before I clean it, and it's so delightful to see spare tissue and hair go straight up the tube. MUCH easier than broom and pan. Our current bathroom is so small that I can use the spray bleach and a rag and just hand wipe the floor in less than two minutes (timing is everything - I don't want to be doing this FOREVER...), and the dirty rags go straight in the wash. It's the last thing I do before replacing everything back in the tub and on the counters.

Afterwards, I lean in the doorway with such satisfaction, enjoying my spotless bathroom. It will only last until someone leaves a glob of toothpaste or puddle of shampoo, but for a little bit, it's just like a ritzy hotel. Aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Hate cleaning, but for 20 minutes of work, it's nearly a week of "worth it."

Sam's First Haircut

2009-05-14T17:06:00.000-07:00

It's just hardened keratin, that's all hair is. But today it is the difference between my baby and my toddler. It was time for a cut - I drug it out as long as I could, holding out for his first birthday. I could actually put a ponytail on top of his head, and people were asking me, "What's her name?," but knowing all that still did not help me when the clippers came out and the first curls hit the floor. My knees about buckled and I had to say to myself, "He is a boy." The hairstylist looked at me to gauge my likelihood of fainting to the floor which prompted me to ask, "Do you get women who cry?"

"Oh yeah..."

It's just hair, it will grow, but we have crossed the Rubicon. I wonder if this is my last First Haircut, and how I feel about losing my baby. How much longer can I scoop him up, nuzzle him and smother him with kisses? I wouldn't keep him small forever, and this is not wholly unexpected, but sometimes it just takes my breath away how fast it's here and gone. [Except the fat - the baby fat sticks around FOREVER!] - I notice it even more so since I've been able to sleep through the night.

The accouterments of babyhood are falling away. He walks on his own, wears shoes and is feeding himself whatever is within his grasp. It's hard to see it come, but that doesn't stop it from coming. Next stop - getting rid of bottles - oh Baby Sam.

If you give a mom a vacation....

2009-05-11T12:39:00.000-07:00

If you give a mom a vacation - she will have something to look forward to. She will call her husband an "angel" and tell everyone about how wonderful he is. She will smile mischievously at each thought of leaving him with the munchkins. She will plan and plot with her sisters and skip merrily out the door.

If you give a mom a vacation, she will start to phone home after awhile to see how you're handling her job, and laugh when you say that you gave the baby 3 bottles full of soda; not because it's so funny, but because YOU will be up with that kid tonight. She will hope that with all that extra time at home you are fixing the water softner and cleaning the kids toy closet. She will not be surprised that you forgot to run the ONE errand she gave you.

After she gets home, she will want to hug and kiss her children, who are now glad to see her, but she will be slightly appalled at the stuff left out as you explain to her how it's SO much better than it was, and how there were just too many dishes to run. She will see two pots in the dishwasher and 45 bowls in the sink and realize that you also gave out popcorn which is insidiously crunching everywhere under your feet.

She will listen to your tales of adventure and woe of having the kids all to yourself, and not plan on doing much the next day. She will give you some left over Olive Garden and start sucking up the popcorn and rolling through laundry.

If you give your wife a vacation, she will smile as you scuttle gratefully off to work, clutching your briefcase with relief, and silently laughing that your car got left outside because you couldn't pull the van in tight enough for both cars to fit. She will wave to you as you pull away, refreshed and able to tackle the daily grind left behind. After nights of girlfriend therapy and sleeping in, she'll be able to pick it up again.

But then she'll want another vacation...

I'm The Drummer

2009-05-04T15:53:00.000-07:00

"You are the drummer.
You're the backbone,
The timekeeper.
You can't let a tepid reaction from one matinee house affect your dedication to the band."

I have been thinking about this quote from "That Thing You Do," as my day has fallen apart, just like Guy "Shades" watches his band go to pieces and fumble through a song in front of a packed audience - if the drummer isn't "on" the whole thing is off. It has truly hit home today that Mom sets the beat in this house. Mom's morning prep sets the tone and tenor of the day. I think that's why I have such a hard time going to sleep at night. I'm thinking about all of the things that need to go right, right away. From food set up, clean up, buy it up, to laundry pick it up, fold it up, clean it up, there has to be a rhythm to my day. If there is a hiccup in my day, it is so hard to recover that rhythm. You can go from domestic "palace" to "pit" just like *snap* THAT!

And its not just getting the family rolling, it's being prepared for the things that come at you sideways, like unexpected visits, or sudden agenda busters such as, "Your scout is supposed to bring two dozen cookies to pack meeting" or "your child has a project due..." or, the fear inducing situation of a poopy baby. Far from supplies with either no diapers, no wipes, OR BOTH.

For today's disaster, I have been playing catch up instead of being one step ahead of the game. Instead of snapping on the radio for some classical music to get everyone roused for scripture study and breakfast, I was snapping at kids and tossing them a "Gogurt" on their way to school. Actually, after trying to jump in the shower while Matthew was searching for what backed up the kids toilet, I got a phone call from the school; one child ended up at school who doesn't even have school today.

*UGH!!* I know that I still have a lot to learn - and I would appreciate any advice all y'all might have for two night owls trying to get it together. Until then we are just gonna have to practice, practice, practice. Sorry kids - the drummer lost the beat today. But I'm totally dedicated to this band.

Gifts

2009-04-30T20:32:00.000-07:00

April has been a crazy month with birthdays and events. Now we are staring down the barell of May with Mother's Day next week. It has me thinking a lot about gifts. I think that we are rather impractical, as a people, at gift giving. Give mom breakfast in bed, and a mess in the kitchen that everyone is absolutely dumbfounded as to how to clean up. Nope. Not a gift.

We give each other stuff that we don't need. For example: My sis-in-law went to a bridal shower of an 18 yr old, where all of the gifts had a heart theme. Heart shaped ice tray, measuring cups, throw rugs, car mats etc. Heart, heart heart! It will come as no surprise that this girl probably should have graduated High School (at least!) before getting married, and gotten herself an education as she is now divorced with a bunch of heart paraphernalia.

So, here are some ideas of what I think should be gifted for:

Mother's Day:
*Dad should teach himself, and each child a new skill. "Look mom! I have figured out how to put my shoes away when I come home! Tommy can make his bed and Suzy can now scrub the toilet..."
*Dinner out - with no one. Just alone.
*Dad comes home at 10 am, on a Tuesday, and asks, "What can I fix for you around the house? Leave me a list, the kids, and go window shopping - here's a $20. I don't want to see it when you get back..."
*The receipt for the expensive jewelry he bought at the last second. Then mom can return it and get something that she really wants. Like an attachment for the Bosch, or a new 1/4 ton of laundry detergent so it can stop eating into the food budget.

Marriage:
*$250 in counseling. Go on, I dare you to deny it!
*A calendar for the groom that marks off her cycle. He can start planning on being in the dog house well in advance.
*A metal ladder. It will last longer than the hymn book with their name on it.
*Coupon organizer
*Vacuum - which will get more of a workout than the lacy nightie.
*Bulk Laundry Detergent - not very sexy, but it will get used more than the vacuum.
*A case of tp and 72 hr kits - "Love is all you need" until you run out of tp.
*Cooking lessons. Not the kind where you cook a gourmet meal, but rather, "How to feed a family of 5 for 4 weeks on 3 dollars" variety.

New Baby:
*A case of Baby Tylenol and Ibuprofen.
*Carpet Cleaner - industrial strength - one that can remove organic stains and red liquid baby Tylenol.
*A pallet of wipes.
*Stock in Huggies/Pampers and Enfamil; might as well try to get rich while you're in the poor house!
*Gift cards towards car seats. Just when you recover from the new addition's first seat, it's time to buy that little bum a new car seat!
*Something to childproof your computer from little fingers that want to hit the "shut down" button.
*Mega toilet plunger. You will be amazed at what goes down there and then STICKS.

Child's Birthday:
*Something for mom, like a massage, "This is so your parents will keep you!"
*For teens: A week in a 3rd world country.
*For tweens: everything you got on YOUR birthday at their age

I feel a bit scroogish with my suggestions, but in another real way, I know I'm right. No one would "ooooh" and "aaahhhh" when these gifts were opened, especially by the recipients, but everyone who's been there would say, "Wow, that's a smart gift!"

Let me know if I've left anything out...

Medical Binder 101

2009-04-28T13:42:00.000-07:00

Wow - I have always admired the wisdom of those who seek out my opinion, and for Meredith, here is a snapshot of my family's medical binder system. It's easy to do, and oh-so-helpful. You will need:

*A binder - I get the sturdiest 2 - 3" money can buy, Heavy Duty with a clear plastic insert front. Each of my kids have a different color.
*A nylon binder pencil case.
*A binder folder. It's just a binder velcro-closure folder that holds loose information that won't fit in the pencil case. (It's that light green plastic you see in the photo...)
* Plastic sheet protectors. I buy them by the gross from Costco.
* 8x10 picture of my child. I like head shots myself...
* Pretty scrapbook paper - this is just if you're in the mood, or want to color code each child, or just have a "cohesive" look for your binders...

1. Assemble all of your pages. From back to front insert plenty of plastic sheets, binder folder, then the pencil case.
2. Assemble your medical docs in chronological order. If it's an important two-sided page, you can put one page in the clear plastic. But if it's not, I do two faces of documents per page so I can see the pertinent info. If it's a packet, like, "What to do when you're TWO!", I just stick the whole thing in one page protector.

You can try and do sections, but Dr.s usually ask questions that start with "When was the last time you..."

3. Immunization card and pens go in the pencil case.
[ Note: When getting shots for kids I have the nurse fill out the information FIRST and give the shot SECOND so that I can take my wailing kid out post haste. If Matthew is there with me (...it happened with the first two kids), I'll send him out to make the next appointment while the nurse is filling out the Immunization card.] Slick as snot.
4. Put the oldest documents and information at the back.
5. Copy of Birth Certificate on top.
6. Picture of child on front cover with all pertinent Dr.s information taped to the picture.
7. Map of the directions to your pediatrician. This is for those who move a lot, or have a terrible memory, or have their husband take the kids to their appointments, or all of the above.

You see a picture of Benjamin's folder with the business cards of heart specialists, eye specialist, every pediatrician he's ever seen, pharmacies where Rx are sent, dentist info, nurse-on-call numbers, and school info (so you can call the school when you are doing a Drs appt). He was a preemie, and his medical record has been copied AT LEAST eight times. Now, it's a one stop shop. Since all information is on the cover, you can glance at the info you need without searching all over the place for numbers, faxes or addresses.

Now, some would disagree with my method for "identity theft" information purposes, and I acknowledge their wisdom, and yet still do it my own way. I have yet to hear that, "They robbed us and took the medical binders!" So, I keep an original birth certificate in the velcro binder folder as well as the kids SS card. Usually when I need one, I also need the other. I also keep their Congratulations from the White House, and collectible stamps there as well. You could also store finger print information, locks of hair, whatever your heart desires. It's all in one place.

For "worst case scenario" purposes, there is an additional copy of their birth certificate in our "House-Burning-Down-Grab-It-Case." All of our "sensitive" information is in an accessible Suze Orman brief case. It will be moved over to a safety deposit box... some day. Just not today. I have to trust that you won't rob me...

So, there you have it! It doesn't take much time to set up if you have all of your materials ready, and it is just as easy to do all of your kids at once than to get stuff ready separately. Any time you go to the Drs office, grab the Dr.s business card and tape it RIGHT THERE to your kids pic.

If you are taking your binder with you to their appointments, there is no reason not to take 5 seconds and ask, "Do you have a piece of tape?" If you can say it faster than that, then it takes even less time! I have never been turned down yet for tape, and the appointment people are usually impressed that you have "so together." Just don't forget to bring the binder home with you. ;D

Happy Birthday Samlet!

2009-04-23T23:36:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to my darling Baby Sam. It has been such a wonderful and adventurous year. At one year old Sam can:
Scream when he wants action from someone
Click his tongue
Laugh
Call out for "Maaahm"
Call out for "Dada"
Slide independently off the bed and couch, sometimes landing on his feet, sometimes on his butt.
Blow Raspberries
Smile
Walk
Find something hidden under the covers (if he sees you put it there...)
Pull my hair
Pull Benjamin's hair
Operate the remote control. He can turn it off RIGHT when you are in the middle of something interesting.
Dial China
Put in the mysterious key combination that will reprogram your computer, boot you off your page and send the whole system into shut down.
Clap
Read facial cues
Understand routine
Sleep through the night.
Hold his own bottle
Request a shower
Play in a toilet
Pull things out of a small drawer
Eat just about anything
Resist getting buckled in his car seat
Identify chocolate, find it, eat it, smear it all over...
Anticipate tickling
Play
Understand "no" and completely ignores it

Can you identify this look alike?

I love this darling boy. He truly is a joy, and I love to cuddle him. For his first birthday, we are putting him in shoes. We'll have to see how that goes. Party tonight at Aunt Reagan's! Love you Samlet.

And the pic? That's my mom. ;D

Overcompensating....

2009-04-19T21:31:00.001-07:00

Did you know that they have been mislabeling bras? I am so annoyed, especially after my latest bra adventure. For those of you struggling with your size and self-esteem, let me show it to you from the "too big" girls end. Yes, yes, it's true. Could anything exist - yes, and could my "C and greater" girlfriends, please give me an "amen," and feel free to chime in here.

I muster up the courage to go bra shopping at Lane Bryant, which is for chubby girls, and I get myself a lovely "sugar" colored bra. It's my waist size with some D's after it. I hate buying a bra. In younger years, it was a delight to see all of the cute prints with mickey mouse, plaid, and sweet colored lacy things. Front hook, back hook, whatever suits you. A few kids later and I have now moved into the Industrial Strength, over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder genre.

If you're not sure which category you are in, just check the hooks. If you have more than three, and your bra is named after an ugly Russian woman, (I.E. THE HELGA, or THE UBER-MAGDA), and if you have double row stitching, and rivets; OR the thread used to stitch it could also sew a button on your couch, ~ then yes, you have left "adorable land," and are fighting now to keep those "girls" off your waist... or knee caps. Your color choices are WHITE, BLACK and BEIGE. Though I understand that you can get hot pink and purple in certain areas of South Harlem...

So, imagine my dismay when, after only ONE washing, the seam ruptures under the cup. NO NO NO NONONOOOOOOOO! I do NOT want to go bra shopping again! No, I think I'll slink back in to the Lane Bryant and toss the defective product in a paper bag on the counter and just swap it out. Which I did. They showed me (held high so EVERYONE in the store could see) two of what seemed like similar bras, and I just pointed to the one that looked closest so they could pop it in the bag and I could get the heck out of there.

Would you believe that it was a plunge PADDED bra!!! The first time I tried it on at home, I had muffin top. My bussies popping up OVER the top of my bra! I took the darn thing off and realized that there were these air pockety plastic things concealed inside the bra. IN A DD BRA! WHO IN THE HECK IS SUPPLEMENTING A DD BRA! I took out the pockets and tried to get used to the plunge effect. It was so bad, so awful, I just knew that I would be trekking back to take back my "take back" bra. Which I did out of panic and mortification, not courage.

The overly cheery sales lady looked at my receipt and proceeded to help me out. "Yah, these run a little small...." Well, that explains the seam popping. I thought that first bra was a little tight, but like a new pair of shoes it needed to be broken in... So she measures me -in the middle of the store with onlooking shoppers - and advised me that in THIS brand, I could get a "G" for good coverage ( I LIE NOT ) or go up in waist size to compensate for a smaller cup. WHAT THE WHAT! Come to find out, this is all a marketing ploy to help smaller busted women salvage their self-esteem while simultaneously making the rest of us feel like circus freaks! I tried on a bra, shook my head at the size I was trekking home, and resolved to find a place that would see me for my true bra size.

So, if you are somewhere in the "B" range, wanting to be a luscious DD, and want it padded with air pockets so that you can sneeze in your cleavage, why not try out Lane Bryant? Apparently, it's not just for chubby "girls" anymore. Then we'll do lunch. Me in my DD, and you in yours. :D Perfect!

Out of Small and Simple Things...

2009-04-15T09:47:00.000-07:00

The world is a harsh place for some of us. Especially the unemployed older woman from a small, nowhere town, who lives with her cat "Pebbles" and admits that she's never been married, or kissed.

But if ever song and situation came together, it is here. "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables. A song of a girl who's life has not turned out the way she'd hoped. And Susan Boyle singing it makes me want to cry, and stand up and cheer.

It is what I imagine heaven to be; where the love and approval that has been wanting comes with thunderous applause and standing ovation. She hoped to rock an audience, and she is currently rocking the world. You go girl! May your brass ring be grasped and rattled. A privilege to hear and see.

Susan Boyle Rocks "Britain's Got Talent"

Sorry to make you follow a link - my skills are low this morning. But I'm feeling so much better about my day. :D

My Girl Scout

2009-04-03T15:48:00.000-07:00

Well, Abigail has survived her first cookie season as an official Brownie scout. Not only did she sell cookies door-to-door, but she also went outside the local Smith's grocery store to vend her wares. There are 12 boxes to a case, and after 5 hours, she and her fellow scouts sold over 15 cases. Here is some of the things they said,
"Girl Scout Cookies! Last Chance of the Season!"
"Come and Get 'em! 3 Flavors left!"
"Here today, gone tomorrow!"

It was fun - except for the awkward situation where someone bought the last box of Thin Mints while another customer was coming up breathlessly with the cash, "Here! My mom wants all the Thin Mints you have!" I hope that guy really relished the last box of Troop 1063 for the season!

April Snows...

2009-04-03T13:04:00.001-07:00

If April Showers bring May flowers, what do April snows bring? These pics were taken outside our place just moments ago. It is overcast and blowing snow. I feel like I'm in a "7 Brides for 7 Brothers" set. Still sweeping snow off the porch in April. I mean, come ON! It's even on the calendar that it's supposed to be spring. So, hopefully you're a little sunnier than we are here.

You're Invited...

2009-03-24T16:58:00.000-07:00

What have I been doing lately? A lot of invites, actually. They can be done late at night, on the computer, in my jammas after all of the kids have gone to bed. Some of the things I've made are:

Girl Scout Banquet, RS Birthday Dinner, Sam and Piper's Birthday party, Baby Shower, and Ward MTC. The hilarious thing is that they are all within 30 days of each other. So, now you know what I've been up to. Tons of planning. I'm actually almost late for scouts - I'm bringing my camera to corner unsuspecting families for my OTHER responsibility - ward photo directory. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeoooot.

Girl Scout Surprise

2009-03-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, this may be the lamest post ever, but I am putting it out there: Girl Scout Lemon Chalet Cremes are worth the $3.50 per box. I know, I KNOW! It's a ridiculous to price to pay when it's CHOCOLATE, why would anyone risk that kinda cash on a cookie? Well. I don't blame you. The lemon cremes look like the cheapie wafer cookies in the big cellophane no-name bags at the store. The ones where you get 100 for $1.99.

But I was delivering some to a lady who said, "These are HUGE in Texas - I can't believe I'm one of the only ones to buy some. TRY ONE!" Well, for one, it's got the sissiest name EVER. Lemon Chalet. Who was in charge of naming, and what was the alternate?

So, with these low expectations, I took a bite. Oh, my. The cookie has spices like cinnamon and ginger, and the creme has lemon zest or SOMETHING that makes it so incredibly lemony and tasty that you KNOW you are not eating a cheap cookie. OH, my, yum. Go, try, enjoy. Worth every calorie. I do NOT feel like I am swishing down the Swiss Alps. I do NOT feel like I am on vacation at a "chalet", but I DO love the lemony taste of these cookies! Recommend. Highly. I should start an Oprah list.

And our number one fan? Baby Sam. He can't get enough of them. He can be lured away from anything if you just dangle a lemon creme where he can see it. So, if you get a chance, get a box. Open it right there. Try one. Then buy two more boxes, because you will be craving these babies just as soon as you've swallowed one. YUM. Then give me a call. I like to know I've made a change in someone's life. Even if it's a new addiction. ;D

Confessions of a Night Owl

2009-02-23T01:05:00.000-08:00

I love the night. When I was young, and couldn't sleep, I would gaze out my bedroom window at the stars, and Mt. Timpanogas. There's a legend that a maiden laid down there and died, though I could never remember which end was supposed to be feet, and which end was supposed to be hair cascading down the hill. I had a special star that I could see, but I figured that since it was pretty insignificant, that it could be MY star. My wishing star. I'd look for it on nights when I couldn't sleep, but was too tired to read.

Now, I love the night for different reasons. Right now, at 2 am, it is soooooo peaceful. No tv, no lights, no crying, no screaming-begging-pleading- one more drink, I love you's and something to dream about. No NOISE. I feel my ragged soul trying to re-energize itself. Smoothing away the horrendous time at church with a 4 yr old who didn't want to be there and a baby that was missing his nap.

The ruffled feathers of being told I'm supposed to bring an apple crumble to the poorly planned, ad hoc, "Blue and Gold" Banquet that is on the calendar a good YEAR in advance, smoothing... somewhat.

The incredulous feeling I have signing up an entire ward for their own website, when the step-by-step directions have been in the ward program for TWO WEEKS --- A half sheet of icon specific, idiot-proof pictures that I spent a couple of hours preparing for even the most LIMITED intelligence. "I need whaaaaaaaaaaaaa?" Those are starting to melt into acceptance.

It's a delicate balance. I'll pay in one way or another; I'll be tired tomorrow for sure, but in a weird way, more able to handle the desire to throttle a great number of people that so richly deserve it. At least I can point to a time when I wasn't bothered, and annoyed, and severely ticked. Well..., except for the disturbing task of trying to find "still of the night" photos that weren't incredibly... off-putting. Geeeze louise. Can't there be a little something out there that's not getting ruined? Maybe if I can find that star again, and make a wisssshhhhhhhhhzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Where Have You Been!?

2009-02-18T10:04:00.000-08:00

WARNING: Tidy mom's with a weak constitution should NOT enlarge this photo!!

My Sister asked me why I haven't put up many posts lately. Well, here are some photos to help you understand what I am dealing with. In a mad rush to get things tidy for the day, I swept up the kitchen floor. Then the phone rang. While chit chatting with Amy Jo and exchanging dinner recipes, I got my own dinner started in the crock pot. Then (still chatting about our mutual friend with a possible boyfriend) I switched over the laundry, started the dishwasher, and had to fetch a screaming baby Sam because he took a SHORT morning nap.

While deftly putting random papers into stacks of "to deal with later so I can wipe off the counter NOW", Sam found the swept-but-not-swept-UP pile I had abandoned to grab the phone. He crawled through it to pull out some OREO lids, and started munching away.

SORRY EVERYONE - I KNOW ITS GROSS, BUT IT'S THE TRUTH. Sam then crawled through everything - cheerio dust puree really sticks to those diapers. So now instead of one clean floor I now have another dirty floor AND a dirty baby.

It's just stuff like this. In theory, I'm accomplishing a lot - bills are getting paid, the laundry has been in detergent and clean water, but it's like the Caucus Race in Alice in Wonderland. The folded laundry, though clean, is threatening to implode into undefinable family member piles - which means I'll have to fold it TWICE! ARG! It is my failing as a mother - I secretly wish for someone to take over and make it all their problem.

On the bright side, my kids were out of school for President's Day and they got to see horses (including a new baby), turkeys, a pig, goats, a parrot, llamas, chickens, dogs, possibly cats. I got this one pic of family bliss which I am pasting in their baby book as proof that there were good times.

Create it Forward - A Get-it-Give-it-Away

2009-02-18T07:53:00.000-08:00

So my friend Meredith is doing a cute give away on her blog, but the catch is -- you in turn have to have a give away. Like I needed to add more to my "to do" list but I love love love the creative challenge!

The first five people to comment on this post will get something made by me! My choice. For you. This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:
1. I make no guarantees that you will like what I make!
2. What I create will be just for you.
3. It'll be done this year (hopefully sooner than later.)
4. You will have no clue what it is going to be.
5. I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.
I did not make up the rules -- I SWEAR! These are the REAL rules.

I'm not sayin' that I'll make you one of these eyeball pincushions, but I'm not NOT saying that I'll do it either...

The catch? Oh the catch is that you must re-post this on your blog. The first 5 people to do so and leave a comment telling me you did will win a marvelous homemade gift by me!
Let the games begin!!

Some of My More Brilliant Ideas....

2009-02-06T14:10:00.000-08:00

My mom used to say, "Yeah, that's one of my more brilliant ideas..." when it came to something that she did well. I have been thinking about some of my own, and thought I'd share.

Baby Binder: This has been extremely helpful with Benjamin, who was premature, and the fact that we move all over the place. I think his exit instructions have been copied about nine times. It is also useful when they ask questions that no one would have the capacity to remember, "And when was the last time your child was seen for a Hepatitis A vaccination booster?" Well, let me look in my handy dandy NOTEBOOK, because I don't tend to keep that information in my Randam Access Memory!

Each of my kids has a clear front sleeve 3-ring binder. It's full of clear plastic page protectors, a pencil zipper case (for binders), and a folder for binders. I print off an 8x10 of my kids pictures (or use their school pic), and start filling this binder up with:
- pediatrician notes/mile stones
- SS card, or at least a copy
- foot prints
- Card of Congratulations from the White House
- business cards
- if I see a set of cute or memorable stamps, I buy a full sheet and stick it in the folder. It's my lame way of stamp collecting. The 50 states suckers me in every time.

While at the pediatrician, or dentist, or any specialist my kid has to visit, I grab at least 3 business cards. I tape one to the picture on the cover (I bring my binder to the counter and ask the receptionist for a piece of tape and just do it right there...), and put two in my wallet. One is to give out and the other is for my reference. This is GREAT for when you need to call and tell them you are running late, can't remember EXACTLY where the office is or if you just need to make an appointment between sleep deprivation and laundry.

Christmas rotation: This is an idea I borrow from Nicole Peterson-now-Davis (It's how I remember her name in my rolodex mind...). Simply, you rotate who you have each year. Start with the next sibling down, then rotate the next year to the next sibling down. If everyone does this, you not only have fair rotation of siblings for Christmas, but you also have an entire year to shop for your special relative. It helps to avoid Christmas crunch, and lets you think about that special family for the whole year. This is extremely helpful for kids from large families!

Biz: This one is from Miriam and John Hatten. For biological stains (blood and poo and food), this is THE BEST. You get a cheapie $1.50 walmart mop bucket, and soak stained clothes for about 2-3 days. It comes out. The clothes look fantastic, and you can buy white for children again. Fantastic stuff. Amazing stuff. I buy it so that I have at least 2 boxes on hand. I fear for a time when I can't find it.

Color coding books: This took about an hour, and has saved my sanity. I love books, I want my kids to enjoy books, but I hate PICKING UP books! I bought a 5 color assortment of electrical tape, and organized the kids library so that all of the books fit. Big tall ones on the big and tall shelf, and little ones on the short shelf. Then, just like the library, we cut a couple of inches of tape, and put them on the lower binder of each book. BAM. Now the kids can put their books away by themselves. I even put a piece of tape in the middle of each shelf so the kids know "Oh, that's the blue shelf." Genius.

Cleaning Supplies: It was either Matthew, or the Clean Team who said to have a full bucket on each level of your house, so you're not running around getting supplies from all over. Two floors, two windex, two cleanser, and one day, two vacuums. YES - yes, I hope to be that rich/lazy some day. Let's not make this hard, right?

Crap in = Crap out: I've moved too many times to gather much stuff, but I can tell you that it is a marvelous feeling to be able to handle the backlog of stuff. Let it go. If you don't use it, let it go on to bless the life of somebody else. My mom had been saving huge soda cups for about a decade(refills are cheaper!), but when we took them all out - along with the "very nice" baskets from gifts, plants and sales, it made a mini-village on the kitchen table. We bagged them up, and took them to DI. Now she has a shelf for stuff she had a hard time storing, like her crock pot. Let it go... let it go.

Visiting Teaching: Hold a breakfast with all your ladies. Have everyone bring their calendar, and plan 4-6 months in advance when you'll meet. It saves about 14 hours of phone calls, and lets you get everyone on the same day, mostly right after each other.

Learning to Lose

2009-01-27T19:38:00.000-08:00

Tonight was Pinewood Derby night for the scouts. I had the general gist before we even started: dad's make the cars, kids race 'em. Best Dad wins.

What I didn't expect was the lesson in losing. How do you tell your kid how to lose? I'm just a Den Leader, so that removes a lot of the emotional tension. I got to watch how things unfolded, and when it came to losing, I was most impressed with Ben. He made a car that was supposed to look like a Lamborghini. He added thin nails under the carriage to look like exhaust pipes and hand drew (badly) all of the lines on his car. When you turned it over there were weights and quarters taped along the bottom. Other cars had weights drilled and melted in for optimum balance and speed. Ben's looked awful - especially compared to the kid who is the 5th son of a sucessful businessman.

That kid is a tremendous scout, and has more Boy Scout Bling per square inch than most of South Harlem. His car was professional, aero-dynamic, and had already had a paint job redo when the first one bubbled a little.

I thought about why these dad's didn't want their kids to lose. If you win, of course, you don't have to feel bad the whole night. You just get more and more accolades as your car keeps placing in the top. You don't have to be gracious and turn to a victor, shaking his hand, to tell him "Good job." But, there was only one kid won the derby, everyone else got to learn in their youth how to be a gracious loser. "Go on, go shake his hand, tell him he did a good job!" said one dad.

After it was over, I asked Ben about his car; "It looks like a Lamborghini..."
"IT IS!" he said.
His eyes lit up, and I could tell that, outside of this competition, he knew he'd done a good job on his own, to make one fantastic car. Good job Ben. You taught me something tonight that makes you, in my book, the Grand Winner. You know how to lose with dignity, and not let it ruin your day, or change how you feel about your work. The other kid took home a ribbon and a shiney car, you took home a lesson that will serve you your whole life through.

100th Post

2009-01-11T15:34:00.000-08:00

It's a year to the month that I started this blog - thanks to my sister, Reagan. Things do change over the course of a year. I started this blog when I was 35, I lived in Arizona and had two kids. I was starting to think about how the coast seemed clear to spend an unprecedented THREE Christmases in the same home. Abigail was in a great school, and Benjamin was making steady progress towards potty training and learning to speak at his level. We had a horrible church schedule ahead of us of 1 - 4pm, and we thought about moving to get away from it.

One year later, we are STILL looking at another year of church from 1 -4pm, but now I live in Utah, with three kids. I spent Christmas in Alpine, and have stopped trying to guess where Christmas 2009 will be. New year, new president, new state, new school, new job, and new child to potty train. ;D I am hopelessly addicted to your comments and hover over Matthew after I post; pestering him with questions like, "Was that funny? Did you like it? What part was were you laughing at? Ohhhh, was that too much there? Should I take that out?" Poor guy. He knows before most of you when I have put up a post because he has often been my reluctant editor.

It has been a year, and as per the title, we have been trying to catch the window; stay on top of this madness, and take it as it comes. Sometimes gracefully, much of the time not. SO, to you - my readers - thanks for stopping by, and cheers! Here's to another 100 in the next year. I hope I've kept you entertained enough to not be considered a waste of your time.

Happy Birthday Dad

2009-01-03T22:53:00.000-08:00

To my awesome dad, or better put, my dad on Matthew's side of the family, who is turning the big 60 today. Many congratulations and loves comin' your way from a true and loving fan.

Animal Crossing City Folk

2009-01-03T22:08:00.000-08:00

Since the aftermath of Christmas I have been rather busy.

I have:

Paid off two mortgages

Been to the Alpine Museum about 45 times - donating at least 25 specimens that they did not own, to put into the private collection for display

Caught the rare and exotic stringfish TWICE -15,000 bells for each one, but I donated the first, as a good citizen ought....

Decorated my house
Sent notes to neighbors and friends
Gone shell collecting
Gone peach collecting
Satisfied a neighbors need for a freshwater Goby
Fished in the Ocean
Fished in a stream
Fished over a waterfall
Gone into the city to deal with a shady character
Gotten a shoe shine
Gotten my hair done.

These are all things that go with the game that LISA got for us for a family Christmas gift. I watched Abigail play it, and it seemed like a kiddie kinda thing. Hey, she seemed to like it, and it's nice to see her out recreationally fishing... even if it is with the Wii. Then I tried it.
OH. MY. GOSH. First, it was just watching Abigail, and noticing what she was doing as she wandered about the town.

"Abigail, you're supposed to pay off your mortgage! It's only 18,900 bells. I'd do that first. After you do that it says here in the book that you can buy a bigger house!"

And then I got a little bit more involved: "You need to stop buying wallpaper, and pay that off first. Look there's an animal that will trade turnips to you, and if you sell them to Tom Nook, he'll give you more money! And if you put some in your savings account, you'll get more bells (the local currency) just for having left it there!"

Then I thought, TO HECK WITH IT! And got my own character, and my own house! And then Matthew got his. And then Benjamin got his.

We are now swapping items. I gave Abigail a set of stair drawers, and she's mailing me a violin as a gift. I know, I'm INSANE! I'm INSANE! Who DOES this?!

Well, LISA does now! She got the game after asking how it was going, and we are feverishly trying to figure out how to get our two towns to connect so that I can go and swap some of my peaches for her pears. She called me all flustered: "We're all playing it now! It's like an obsession, it's like... HEROIN!" Ya gotta love it, they named their town "Squallor". Its so funny to see the comments throughout your visit there, "Welcome to the Squallor Museum!"

Indeed. SO, if any of all y'all are hooked as well, let me know, and I'll give you my friend code and swap ya some awesome Luxurious Oriental Carpeting....

Frosty has a Bad Day....

2008-12-30T16:06:00.000-08:00

The cousins came over today, and I've been wanting to do a snowman. Our neighbors have a huge snowmammoth with green toxic waste all over, and it makes me laugh every time I drive by. Awesome. Something about being in the desert for so long brought back the old nostalgia of Frosty, and I thought we'd have a go.

The problem with the nostalgia is that snow, and a big ball of it, is really heavy! After having the Blue Team (Noah and Abigail) roll the base, and the Red Team (Eli) roll the middle, it was clear to Team Mom, that there was no way that we were gonna get the middle on top of the base - even with all of us pushing.

So, a la Calvin and Hobbes, we just left it there. I didn't really want a decapitated snowman though, so we tried to make it look like he was getting a sunburn tanning in our yard. Thank you food storage taco seasoning! It added just the right touch!