The "Real" Christmas Letter

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

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

<---  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.

1. The tomatoes on the counter.  
2. The tomatoes in the boiling water, and then 
3. the tomatoes in the ice bath.  
4. 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

“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

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

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

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!