She's in the House

Me Again

2010-07-11T11:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Kenny’s 9^th birthday. Mom and Dad were able to make it over and we had a houseful of boys and chaos and cupcakes for a few hours. Unlike my fabulous friend Nikki, who throws parties that put professionals to shame, I am rendered useless in the bright light of an oncoming birthday. I just want my kid to have fun and then, for it to be over. Is that so wrong? Of course it is.

Thank goodness I’ve got some very cool next door neighbors (truth be told, I have a number of very cool neighbors—the 1300 block of Kimball Avenue is legendary). These particular neighbors have a lovely pool and they’ve been quite generous with the invites. And since last summer they’ve let the kids have swim parties on their birthdays. Since our first one last year I’ve come to realize that when it’s over 100 degrees and you have a pool, you don’t need games, goody bags, or even a piñata. You’re golden.

This birthday was even easier because my parents were here and my parents make everything easier. My plan was hotdogs but Dad fired up the grill and cooked hotdogs, burgers, brats, and homemade sausages. Homemade, I tell you! I invited the Pollicks down to join us and before they left, Dad had dinner, an impromptu party, planned for us and the Pollicks and their houseguests. My smoker perfumed the neighborhood all afternoon. In the evening we gorged on barbecued ribs, chicken, corn on the cob, potato salad, coleslaw, etc. Dad can throw a party with one hand tied behind his back.

Well anyway, it was good and it’s over. Until next month.

Have I mentioned how warm it is? Is it humid? I don’t know. Not like the humidity I remember from living back East. But my bedroom is w-a-r-m. Two fans pointed at me only produce a sort of warm wind. Man, I sure miss that crazy cool June.

How are you? Well, I hope. It’s been too long and I really should write more often. But when? Who knows.

Have I mentioned that I like a blank book? When I see one, I’m generally tempted to make a purchase. Still, I’m not fantastic about actually using them. I do have one I haul out for General Conference and that sort of thing and I pulled it out tonight for the fireside at church. It only has a few pages filled but I added a few more this evening. The topic was, broadly speaking, missionary work but there was a lot said about teaching our children. A reminder that they learn the most at home and how crucial the short time we have with them is.

I know. I know, I know, I know. It was the small kick in the pants that I need every now and again. A reminder that in general, turning a deaf ear to the complaining, whining, carrying on, and foolishness, pays big dividends. That it’s the (seemingly) little things we either do or neglect to do each day that have a cumulative effect one way or the other.

“Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.” Doctrine and Covenants 64:33

Frederick Douglass said, “It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.” Not that it’s easy or anything. Just easier, right? We listened to a talk by Elder David A. Bednar entitled “More Diligent and Concerned at Home” and it was about just that. Something he touched on was damage done by hypocrisy in our lives.

“A public statement of love when the private actions of love are absent at home is hypocrisy—and weakens the foundation of a great work. Publicly declaring testimony when faithfulness and obedience are missing within our own homes is hypocrisy—and undermines the foundation of a great work. The commandment “Thou shalt not bear false witness” (Exodus 20:16) applies most pointedly to the hypocrite in each of us. We need to be and become more consistent. “But be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity” (1 Timothy 4:12).”

I’m not ashamed to admit I have work to do in this area. Clearly, I should be but nonetheless, there it is. It’s something I’ve mulled over long and hard—long before this meeting and even longer, before I read Elder Bednar’s talk. I remember once sitting in the basement, folding clothes and watching TV. One of my not-so-guilty pleasures. I have Oprah set to record each day on the Tivo but most of the time the topic is of little interest and I push ‘delete’. On this particular day it was one of those in-depth deals with Lisa Ling and she was going to hang out with The Dominican Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist in Ann Arbor, Michigan. They’ve experienced a flood of young women interested in becoming nuns. In fact, at the time, the average age of these sisters was 26 and the average age of one of the postulants was 21. Lisa Ling interviewed several, asking pointed questions about what they’d left behind and what they felt they’d received in the bargain. I remember clearly, one sister talking about how amazing it was to live what she referred to as an “integrated life”. Each day, what she said and did was in accordance with what she believed. It got me thinking. Bridging that distance, no, reducing or even eliminating that distance between what we believe and what we do, must be the key to something real, and true, and important.

Well, on that note, let me leave you with two thoughts: a) I still miss chatting at you quite a bit and b) tonight I wish I could sleep in an igloo.

This One's Mostly for You . . . That Is If You're Josh

2010-05-18T23:57:00.000-07:00

Check this out! You know how I feel about succulents. A little obsessed, right? Well, one aspect of that obsession is the whole concept of propagating echeveria. If a person could really pull off a leaf and produce another plant, I’m interested. I decided to try it out a few weeks ago and pulled off leaves from several varieties I’ve got sitting on the front porch. I laid them on the window sill at my kitchen sink and gave them a few days to develop a callus. Once they looked about right, I laid them in a container with a mixture of potting soil and sand and ignored them for a week or so. And look what I found today! Roots, baby! I may actually be able to pull this off!

That was yesterday. And yesterday morning started off great. Fantastic, even. And then, at 8:15 a.m., Sierra looked at the giant calendar on the wall and said, “Mom! Michael has a test this morning! Oh! So do I!” Uh oh. How did I miss this? I don’t do things like this. I was mortified.

I yelled orders and headed the kids to the van. We dropped off Kenny and Sam at school and headed to Kennewick where Michael and Sierra would be tested for the next several hours. When we reached Quinalt Baptist Church, the WAVA (Washington Virtual Academy) teachers laughed and headed the kids in the right direction. I sure appreciated the kindness. I would learn later they these two were not the last kids to show up and testing didn’t start until closer to 9 a.m. As Josh and I headed out I asked when they would finish and found out they’d need a snack at 10:30 p.m. Nice. That meant I was coming back in a few hours. But still, crisis averted.

Next thing on the agenda was to rush home without getting a speeding ticket. My parents would be there any time and the laundry wasn’t put away, the floors needed sweeping, and my bed wasn’t made. MY BED WASN’T MADE!!!

Josh and I managed to put things to rights just as they drove up but the bed remained unmade as Skipper was unwilling to extricate himself from my comforter. He isn’t allowed to sleep in beds at Mom and Dad’s house and he took full advantage of the Tempur-Pedic magic that is 85% of our tiny bedroom. Once he realized they were here, he evacuated and hurled himself directly at his true love, Dad. That boy was ready to hit the road.

I thought they’d stay for a bit but as it turned out, the plan was to pick up the dog and head out. That is until Dad decided he was going to mow the backyard (actually, he said, “I’m gonna mow this !@%$#%@” but you know, nothing unusual there). In my defense, I did mow it last Wednesday—it wasn’t a jungle or anything. But I sure appreciated it. Mom and I made snacks for the kids and before I left to deliver them, she had the weed eater started and was finishing up Dad’s work. They don’t do anything by halves, those two. They blow into town, work like a team of oxen on crack, and they blow right out; never a dull moment and never a job left undone. Except my garage. They’ve never stuck around long enough to fully take on that train wreck (though to their credit they have built a full complement of shelves to accommodate any organizing we may one day attempt. Ha!).

Did I ever tell you that Michael works 26 miles away? Well he does. So it was a treat to meet him for lunch. He happened to be at WSU-Tri-Cities attending training on ASME B31.3, whatever in the world that is (you could tell me and I still wouldn’t know), so Sam and Josh and I met him at Burger King. Because Iron Man. Obviously. Sporting upside down crowns, they put their Iron Mans (Iron Men?) together and began yelling, “I’m Sally O’Malley and I’m FIFTY YEARS OLD! I like to kick, I like to stretch, and I like to kick!” as they kicked, stretched, and kicked with the toys. I think Michael was a little embarrassed; the place was full of people from the training. Those are my boys! They obviously pay way more attention to my antics than I thought!

Have I told you lately of the very sad news that my favorite lip gloss has been discontinued? I’ve been using it for ages and then BAM! it’s gone. I made a pilgrimage to all three Walmarts in the greater Tri-Cities area and located six tubes. Another five online. But I’m still a little sad. R.I.P. Rimmel Vinyl Gloss in “Snog”. Yes, I’m being dramatic. I suppose. SNOG!

Tomorrow my baby turns four. Can’t hardly believe it. Four years ago I sat in a hospital bed at Kadlec Medical Center, disappointed a little. My doctor thought for sure Josh would come by the time “E.R.” was over. He walked in to check on me again and noticed Michael sleeping on the couch. He decided this was a good time to talk to me about making sure this was the end of the line. He said, “I know people. He could wake up with a bag of frozen peas in his lap.” I needed the laugh.

My sweet surprise was born a few hours later. And he’s kept us on our toes ever since! He is awesome. He makes me laugh every day and by way of entertainment value, he gives way more than he gets. Tonight he spent a few hours with Sierra and the boys while Michael and I went to the Delta High School orientation with Michael Jr. I imagine a fair amount of television was watched. When I turned on the bath water for him tonight, he hopped in and began singing, “Who’s that lady? Sexy lady!” from the Swiffer commercial. Seriously. You KNOW laughing is both not an option and the ONLY option. And that’s how it always is.

Tonight I wrapped him up in a few blankets and took him out front for a cuddle in the swing Michael hung in a big sycamores while I was still in the hospital, recovering from this little man’s exit. From the swing we could see the glowing “Kadlec” sign and I sang “The One Bathing Suit Your Grandma Otter Wore”. I don’t think he gets the humor of the song but he’s a good audience.

Tonight, as his eyes were closing, he murmured his last words as a three year old: “I want ice cream . . .” Sounds about right. Man, I love this kid.

Me Again.

2010-05-07T22:58:00.000-07:00

I miss you! I’ve been wanting to write you a little something lately but my time’s been filled with new obligations and old ‘shoulds’ and, well, I just haven’t done it. But I miss you.

Seriously. What’s new? Furniture is new here. Finally. After a year and a half of complaining about the shoddy quality of our original set, the replacement set arrived. Not without a lot of effort on Michael’s side though. Thanks to his persistence we have this newer, nicer, pricier set and only had to surrender the old stuff. And put the slipcovers on because Some Assembly Required. But it’s Awesome because you know (YOU KNOW) it’s only a matter of time before Josh does a chocolate-covered face-plant with a running start. It WILL need the recommended dry cleaning. Probably on a fortnightly basis.

Did I tell you awhile back that Michael had Charter bundle the cable, phone, and internet? The Googles, the interwebs, and the e-mails? Anway, he did. And it was FANTASTIC! Fantastic because we upgraded enough to get me my BYU TV but also Super Fantastic because we now have . . .*drumroll please* . . . Caller I.D.! I didn’t realize this was part of the package but when someone called while the technician was still here and I could see it was an unwanted solicitation (are there ‘wanted’ phone solicitations?), I couldn’t help but share with him my newfound joy. He just looked at me. Gave me the old *blank stare*.

Charter Technician: “You mean you didn’t have Caller I.D.?”

Me: “No sir, I did not. Not since the electronic ankle monitor!”

Charter Technician: “I didn’t know anyone didn’t have Caller I.D.” *extra blank stare*

So I have Caller I.D. And I am so screening my calls. Not yours of course. No. No, I’d never do that, but you know. There are People That Need Screening. Some of you have been accidentally screened because apparently we also now have Voice Mail. I was sort of confused when people began asking me if I got their messages. Um no. My answering machine wasn’t flashing anything new. Then Michael reminded me that there wouldn’t be any more flashing lights. So now to remember how to use Voice Mail. This is not making me feel any younger.

I’m having a small problem. Tiny really, in the big scheme of things. When I used to post every day, I knew I was sharing my Stuff with a large group of friends. Most folks I conversed with on a regular basis had access to my blog and knew what I was up to. I never felt the need to apprise folks of my details during real life interactions because anything I cared to share was already Out There. Now it’s different but my mind hasn’t caught up yet (big surprise, eh?). I still write daily; haven’t skipped a day, but it’s only a journal on my computer. And now when I have real life conversations I find myself holding back because it feels like I must’ve already shared. I’m still assuming everyone knows everything. I’m saying “Oh. I didn’t tell you that?” a lot lately. I’ve got to learn to share and relate like a normal person again. So anyway.

The kids are doing fine. All the regular stuff. Sierra and I started watching The Food Nanny on BYU TV and have made a few of the meals we’ve seen. Although the Food Nanny’s dishes are a little pedestrian and she herself is so aggressively wholesome that it can be difficult to watch, the kids have mostly enjoyed the food. I need to work harder at getting the kids involved with the cooking. They’d probably learn a little something. None too soon; yesterday when I asked one child (who will remain nameless to protect the theoretically innocent) for a can of chicken broth, I saw him shake the can and give another sibling a knowing look as it was handed over. Seriously. Carbonated chicken stock? There was a little disappointment when I was able to open it without incident.

Random thought: “Ghost Busters” and “Phineas and Ferb” are both located in “The Tri-State Area” and both involve vast amounts of attempted “busting”.

Okay, my eyes are burning and I’m getting sleepy thinking of all the yard work that’s waiting for me tomorrow. Darned teenagers and their blasted sprinkler head stealing. *shakes fists in the air*. I have no proof but I only ever see teenagers and old Ukrainian women walk past. Anyway, trees to plant, smalls section of lawn to mow (the part that Mr. Malley’s sprinklers hit), weeds to pull, annuals to arrange, deck to tidy up. Blah, blah, blah. I’ve lost you already. But you’re awesome. And don’t forget, I miss you.

I'm Okay, You're Defriended

2010-04-23T23:37:00.001-07:00

Miss me? If not, please go to the “She’s in the House” fan page and de-fan yourself because I only want to talk to my besties. You know who you are. And who you aren’t.

Today I was able to spend some time with Michael in the morning at such lovely establishments as the Bark and Garden Center in Olympia (thanks for the suggestion Kellie!) and Trader Joe’s. Never enough of this sort of time. In the afternoon I helped ready the church for Corrina’s wedding and loved hanging out with old friends for an awhile. In the late afternoon Michael took me to Red Nails for a manicure/pedicure and what started out as a little pampering turned into a torture session. It started out with a simple question: “Can I fix your eyebrows”? Well sure. It’d been a bit since Sinar plucked the daylights out of them (to keep me from looking like a logger!) and they could use some grooming.

Before this woman came down on me with waxy terror, she said she wanted to wax my upper lip. “It’s been awhile?” Um yeah. I’ve never had my upper lip waxed. Didn’t even realize I had a mustache. Searing pain, searing pain, and I’m hair-free. Next some crazy awful eyebrow waxing/plucking and I felt like my entire face was on fire. I’m crossing my fingers that the redness and swelling goes down by tomorrow but I suppose it’s no big deal. I sort of enjoy giving my friends a reason to laugh.

Tonight Dad asked me to listen to a song and help him figure out what album it was on so he could pick it up. It was a cover of The Who’s “Love, Reign o'er Me” by Pearl Jam. I liked it a lot. We’ll have to help him download it because it wasn’t on the soundtrack for the movie it came from (“Reign on Me”). Next we watched “Survivor” because I missed it last night. I’ve been enjoying this season but man, that Parvati makes me itch.

By this point you may be wondering what’s up. What’s she talking about? Oh I don’t know. But anyway, as you know, I ended the daily postings. Since then though, Michael helped me realize that there’s nothing wrong with taking some time here and there to share some thoughts. So I will.

As some of you know, I was defriended by a high school friend on Facebook yesterday. She wrote a very long (VERY long) message about it (of which I read the first few sentences) and then blogged about ‘breaking up’ with me. Her reason was that at some point I pushed the ‘Like’ button when I saw this on Facebook: “DEAR LORD, THIS YEAR YOU TOOK MY FAVORITE ACTOR, PATRICK SWAYZIE. YOU TOOK MY FAVORITE ACTRESS, FARAH FAWCETT. YOU TOOK MY FAVORITE SINGER, MICHAEL JACKSON. I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW, MY FAVORITE PRESIDENT IS BARACK OBAMA. AMEN”

I was a little surprised. When I first saw this, I chuckled; I didn’t take it as a serious prayer or sentiment. That she did? Well, I’ll just say I’m in no way surprised. I’ve given it some thought since yesterday (though nothing like the agonizing she apparently went through) and my thoughts are as follows:

1) I’m sad that I may have represented my faith poorly and this “letter” was in poor taste.

2) It still makes me chuckle a little.

3) I can’t take life this seriously.

4) It reminds me of a Simpson’s episode where Bart prays for God to kill Sideshow Bob. His mom says, “Bart, no! You can’t ask God to kill someone!” and Homer says, “Yeah! You do your own dirty work!”

What I’ll also add is that I’m perfectly okay with this. Wouldn’t have it any other way. If anything about me is irritating, unnerving, or upsetting to any one of my 393 friends, family, and acquaintances on Facebook, they ought to defriend me. What reason would they have to keep me around? To be nosy or have something to complain about? No. Just defriend me now. Trust me; I’m cool with it.

So anyway, if I don’t actually want Mr. Obama to die, what do I believe?

Although I wouldn’t characterize myself as a Republican, I am, most definitely, a Conservative. Maybe Libertarian fits the bill more closely. I don’t know. What I do know is that when I listen to Herman Cain talk about government and politics and Thomas Sowell discuss economics, I hear that ring of truth. I don’t mention these two men because they’re black. I only mention them because I’ve loved them since the first time I heard them speak and read their words. They are the reason I moved from being a mushy-headed twenty-something full of empty feel-goodisms to someone who has enough love for her fellow man (and woman) to expect more from them.

Additionally, I should add that although folks like to describe conservative thinkers as without heart or feelings, nothing could be further from my personal truth. In our family we believe in giving a tenth and helping anyone who needs a hand. We believe in support of those unable to care for themselves. We believe that help should come in forms that are basic and straightforward. That help should come after a person has demonstrated, for example that they aren’t using the resources they do have for luxuries or lifestyle enhancement. The problem conservative thinkers have with help coming from the federal government is that it’s no longer personal. Recipients don’t have a face to put to the aid. Maybe Uncle Sam, I suppose, but not their tax paying neighbor. Sure, there’s potentially a minority of people who have only used aid for the short term when completely necessary and you know what? I probably know a few of these people. They are grateful, especially in this economy, that the help is there when they need it. No doubt about it. But we’re fooling ourselves if we pretend that most recipients of this sort of aid do anything more than become dependent on it. See it as a right. A right to what truly belongs to someone else. Because the funds only come after someone else gives up their time to work.

But where was I? Oh yeah, I expect a lot from people. Although I’ve heard folks use racism as a reason for disliking Mr. Obama, for me it’s less about him and more about the ideas. But it is a little about him. The fact that he listened to an America-hating preacher for years and associated with a person who bombed the Pentagon during the Vietnam War is very disconcerting. But back to ideas. I think government policies should be based on what’s constitutional and what works, not on whether something makes us feel Nice or Mean. I don’t believe it’s the federal government’s job to make or even help us be successful. I believe the market and private industry are able to do well what the federal government can only complicate and confuse. I believe our country isn’t in a mind-blowing amount of debt because we aren’t taxed heavily enough but because politicians are spending too much. Way, way too much. If we have to figure out a way to live within our means, we should expect the government to do the same. I believe too much help is just another word for hurt.

So anyway, me and Mr. Obama, we may not be on the same page but I have no interest in his death. And not just because the thought of President Biden gives me serious pause. Defriend me if you will; it’s all good.

This Is It

2010-04-15T21:26:00.000-07:00

I don’t know why this is so hard. I’ve been typing and back spacing for half an hour now. But still nothing sounds right.

Do you know what tomorrow is? It’s the anniversary of my first post. The birthday of ‘She’s in the House’. It took some serious stick-to-it-iveness but I’ve managed to hit this dubious milestone with a gold star for Perfect Attendance.

What started out as short journal entries each day turned into longer and longer visits with you. In the beginning I didn’t know if I’d ever be writing with a contemporary audience in mind; it seemed likely that these would only be read later by my kids. Somehow along the way I’ve been able to collect a little cheering section and you don’t know how much this has meant to me. No sir, you do not.

I’m grateful for the year I’ve had to really think. To mull things over. To get to know myself. And friends, as you know, this wasn’t always pretty. Before this blog, I went through a dark period marked with ignorance, selfishness, and poor judgment but this place, and the knowledge that you were all there interested and ready to ‘listen’ was the succor and support I needed to make a fresh start. You are AWESOME and don’t you dare ever forget it. President Spencer W. Kimball once said, “The Lord answers our prayers, but it is usually through another person that he meets our needs.” Thanks each of you for being an instrument in His hands.

Good grief this is difficult. I’m not good at this at all. Let’s see. It’s not you; it’s me. We need to talk. This hurts me more than it hurts you. Let’s just be friends. No. None of this is working.

You see, the thing is I’ve known for a couple of weeks that this would be my last post. If you would’ve told me before that point that I was going to pull the plug on it, I would’ve laughed. Or punched you. Something along those lines. Lest you think Something Happened, let me assure you that it was simply a quiet confirmation in my heart that it was time to move along. *sighs* This is harder than it should be; more necessary than you know.

This is it. *cue the Kenny Loggins music*

Thanks to each of you for sticking with me and keeping me sane this year. I love you tons.

Easy Isn't Always What It's Cracked Up To Be

2010-04-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

In light of my Facebook post yesterday that I noticed I looked pregnant when I glanced at my reflection in a glass door, I thought this conversation with Sam today was sort of funny. He walked in as I was looking for something in our room and this is the conversation he began:

Sam: “What if we had six kids?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Sam: “I had a dream we had six kids.”

Me: “Was it a good thing? Would you be happy if there was another?”

Sam: “No. I don’t want to share my bed.”

Me: “Well, I’m not in a position to be producing any more so I think you’re in luck.”

He smiled and rolled his eyes. He walked away saying, “Ten days later . . .” What in the world? Interesting sense of humor that boy has but ten days later nothing. All good things must come to an end (keep that in mind) and this is one end I’ve come to terms with. I don’t look it in the eye or anything but I know it’s there.

This afternoon I ran into Albertson’s for a gallon of milk and a big candy bar to drop off for someone’s birthday. That I totally missed last week. *sighs* As I was deciding on which big bar to buy, a bright green sale sticker caught my eye. Instead of the $1.79 the rest of the bars were, these bars were only $1. I picked one up and saw that they were Hershey Bars with Crisp Corn Bits. Really? I had to look closer. Yep. Corn. Right there on the label. Well, no wonder they were Reduced for Quick Sale. I mean really, who comes up with these ideas? Who hears these ideas and doesn’t say, “Um, no.”?

Clearly my thoughts on this aren’t universal. I mean someone must have thought it was a bang up idea. Also, when I came home and showed the kids, Michael Jr. and Kenny grabbed their money and headed straight over to Albertson’s to buy a few. No, I’m serious! They did have the generosity to buy an Almond Joy for their sister, the frugality to bring back something to placate Josh from the 75% off Easter section, and the wisdom to pick up some Coconut M& M’s for their dad, so there’s that. But remember, it was the Corn Bits that sent them running. And friends, I tasted it. If you like Fritos with your chocolate, you’re in luck.

So what’s this got to do with anything? Only nothing. It’s all part of the completely unrelated randomocity that is my life. Like sitting down to dinner and realizing that Kenny’s using the words ‘Trinidad and Tobago’ in every sentence. There can’t possibly be a reasonable explanation. So I don’t question, I write. And I write and I write and I write.

After returning home from a board meeting tonight, Michael called me upstairs. He wanted me to look at Sam. I’m not sure how I’d missed it, but the poor kid had bruises on each hip. How odd. After talking for a few minutes we realized it was from his insistence on pulling his pants off without unbuttoning them first. He’s capable of buttoning but it seems easier not to. As he’s grown since we bought his pants in September, this has become more difficult but he keeps doing it because it’s ‘easier’ than the alternative. Wow. It really made me think. I mean, yeah, it sounds crazy but when I think about it, I can point to plenty of examples in my own life of times I’ve taken what appears to be the path of least resistance, the easy way, only to find I made life tougher on myself further down the road. Much of the time I figure we really do know when we’re cutting corners. Maybe this analogy doesn’t work. I don’t know. I’m tired. I just know that being lazy about anything will catch up with you. The chickens will come home to roost.

Three Completely Unrelated Paragraphs

2010-04-13T23:06:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure why Michael Jr. watched 2012 tonight; he already has a number of concerns regarding Death and The End of the World. Before watching it he came to me and asked a few questions about Death, if the world might really end in 2012, what happens next, is it likely to be painful, etc. I reminded him of all the things he already knows but ultimately, all I could tell him was what Jesus had to say on the subject: “But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only (Matthew 24:36). Besides, it’s not like there aren’t Mayan ruins with inscriptions dating beyond 2012. Sheesh. It feels like Y2K all over again. As he walked away he told me he felt better. He said he wasn’t so anxious but, “I just hope my death doesn’t involve fire or black holes.” Good heavens; so do I!

Later, as I was washing up some greasy dishes (Sierra made us sliders for dinner courtesy of our Billy Mays Big City Slider Station), Kenny came in for a bowl of cereal before bed. As I washed, we talked about school and the Native American groups he’s studying. Apache, Pueblo, Navajo, Zuñi. He told me which were hunters, ranchers, farmers. I told him that the Navajos and Apaches drove the Anasazi to create those cliff homes. He knew that. Oh well, I try. We talked about potential 4^th grade teachers but the only one we’re really interested in is Mrs. Fankhauser. Michael Jr. and Sierra both had her for 3^rd grade and she’s great. Also I have no idea who the other 4^th grade teachers are. He asked why we only have two ‘man teachers’ at school. He’s got a male student teacher right now, Mr. Diaz, and Kenny seems to like this. I didn’t have much of an answer. The money, I guess. It probably doesn’t pay the greatest and honestly, I doubt many guys relish the idea of spending all day with elementary school kids. Or would have the patience for it. I don’t know that I’d have the patience for it. Scratch that; I know I wouldn’t. And the parents! But anyway, Kenny didn’t think any of my answers/guesses made much sense. “Wouldn’t you like to boss kids around all day??” Frankly, no. No I would not. I feel like that’s all I do as it is. I asked him how he’d like to be responsible for making sure each of those kids in his class actually learned something every day. And did well when tested. “Oh. Maybe not”.

This morning was M.O.P.s and Tia crashed it with me. It was good to spend some time together with the old gang. (Okay, Tia, please don't hate me for posting this picture. I know you feel self conscious about the Bell's Palsy but I love you! You're my true blue friend and we can't stop taking pictures! And look! My cold sore is still hanging in there!) Gail Johnsen came to speak to us like she does each year and she talked about the things we should never sacrifice when we have kids. She made us come up with these ourselves and the consensus seemed to be soul care and marriage. It makes sense. She spoke about raising her children and as much as she loved being a mother, she always felt there must be something more. Eventually she was able to earn a master’s degree. She loved writing so she made time for it when her kids were young and now she’s a published author. Something she said next resonated with me and I want to remember it. When she finally attained those worldly goals, she realized they were nothing compared to the joys of being a mother. She was enraged that Satan had stolen the joy of the season she was in when her children were small by encouraging her to think being a mom wasn’t enough. We must embrace the season we’re in. Because this is it. It’s not coming around again. There’s something to appreciate about every stage of our life. She felt during that time that there must be more. Out there. Something she was missing. But really there wasn’t. God’s purposes aren’t out there. They’re served right here, where you are. In this family. In this place. That’s powerful stuff.

Is Anybody Listening?

2010-04-12T23:50:00.001-07:00

Tonight I combed the greater Tri-Cities area for a different dress to wear to Corrina’s wedding but came up with nothing. Okay, okay, I gave up after three stores. I hate dress shopping. I hate dress trying on. I hate looking at myself in those mirrors. So I tried on a few things, threw in the proverbial towel, and headed to Sweet Treats. Valaney mentioned going there for bubble teas after Stake Conference with her husband and I figured I’d better check it out. The things I do for you.

Sweat Treats is over by Carmike and it’s open later than most places in the area; Mon-Thu, Sun 11am-10pm; Fri 11am-11pm; Sat 10am-11pm. They have several board games you can play if you feel like hanging out and the biggest banana split bowl I’ve ever seen. But I was there for something else. Chin was the gal who seemed to be running the place and she showed me the list of flavors. After clarifying that there wouldn't be actual tea in these and gagging a little when I got to ‘Avocado’, I chose Mango for me and Raspberry for Michael. She mixed them up, sealed them, and gave me two super-mega straws to deal with the incredibly large frog eye-tapioca they were populated with. Chin warned me that they weren’t everyone’s thing. That if we didn’t actually like them, she wanted me to come back another day and she’d make us something different, no charge. That was awfully nice! She also gave me three different samples of frozen yogurt she makes from scratch. The raspberry was AMAZING! Actually, so was the lemon. Hmmm.

Okay, I didn’t actually like the bubble tea. The gooey black tapioca balls freaked me out and made me gag a little. Michael liked his though, so you never know. The yogurt though, it’s really good!

So. Today. I’ve been feeling like I’m living in a Peanuts special. You know, where the teacher says, “Wa wa wa wa wa wa”. Jibberish. Unfortunately, I was that teacher. It was a day full of The Blank Stare.

It began bright an early. Kenny walked into the kitchen after watching “Curious George” and asked me question about twins. What’s the difference between identical and the other kind? Awesome! I love questions I can answer! I grabbed a piece of paper and pencil and started drawing. My diagram looked more like the Dodge Ram emblem than an actual body part but I kept going. I carefully explained each step from start to finish for a set of identical twins versus a set of fraternal twins then turned to look at Kenny. Any questions? He was pulling on a string from the Clementine bag and said:

Kenny: “Um. Look Mom. I made a parallelogram.”

Me: “Are you sure you don’t have any questions?”

Kenny: Blank stare. “Mom. Look.”

Me: “Um yeah, but do you understand?”.

Kenny: *sighs, pointing to the ovaries* “Well, is there a boy side and girl side?”

Sierra: *yells from the living room* “MOM!!! What are you telling him!”

Like it’s her personal secret. As if she’s the only one with that particular configuration. There was a whole lot of talking going on but not much communication.

I often feel like I talk, talk, talk, saying the same things over and over but the sinking in part isn’t coming together like one would hope. For example, I’m having a heck of a time getting a particular child to remember to flush the toilet and remove the ring from the seat before washing his hands and leaving the bathroom. I say it and I say it and I say it and I still walk in to find he’s sort of gone his own way with it. Today I marched him back in and asked what we do after we use the bathroom. His answer? Blank stare. Then: “Say sorry?” Although I imagine there are times when that might be appropriate, no, that’s not the answer I was looking for. Seems like all he’s heard me say was “Wa wa wa wa wa wa” over and over.

Later in the afternoon I went to the garage to find the next size shoes for Kenny. Turns out I didn’t have the next size but I did find some sandals that looked good. I handed him those and received, once again, the blank stare.

Me: “You can wear these”

Kenny: “For what?”

Me: “For school!”

Kenny: Blank stare

Me: “What? People wear them.”

Kenny: “I go to school. People Do Not wear them.”

It was my turn to give the blank stare.

Being understood has been on my mind since Friday night. Kenny had a friend stay over and Michael Jr. and Sierra were in charge while we made a Costco run. Sometime after dark the boys decided they needed something at the other boy’s house and instead of calling us or the other parents to take care of it, they decided to get on their scooters and head out on their own. Michael Jr. warned them not to but they did it anyway. When we got the call from Michael Jr. we called the other parents and we went looking for them. In the end they were safe and sound but my gosh, they’re only 8 and 9. Wearing dark clothes, they weren’t even particularly visible to cars. It was just such a stupid move that I questioned everything I thought he must already know and understand. If he could think for a moment that this was acceptable, what else could he have up his sleeve? Is he really just hearing “Wa wa wa wa wa wa”? Maybe I need to employ three point communication like they do in the Navy and commercial power plants. Lives are at stake here folks. Maybe not in terms of twins, bathroom etiquette, or sandals, but some of this stuff I’m trying to get across to them will actually matter at some point.

And then I feel a little guilty because I know I’m not the best listener. I can zone out, smiling and nodding just when I need to. Like when certain children need me to hear all the minutia of their Pokémon dealings or listen to their retelling of the latest episode of Dateline or get my feedback on their thoughts about augmented reality technology. Sometimes all I hear is Charlie Brown’s teacher too.

Stake Conference

2010-04-11T22:00:00.001-07:00

This is Stake Conference weekend. Stake Conference and us, well, we don’t have a great track record. We never get there early enough for soft seats and there’s something about sitting in the overflow area of the Cultural Hall that brings out the (extra) worse in my kids. And really, from the sound of it, I should say Everyone’s kids. In the past I’ve vowed to attempt it but time after time it’s been a disaster. Is it the two hours in hard seats? Is it sitting in the Cultural Hall, surrounded by a different mix of vaguely familiar people? I don’t know but it’s never good.

I decided to give the dress I bought for Corrina’s wedding a test run this morning and darned if it wasn’t meant for sitting. At all. By the time we walked into church I looked like I’d pulled the dress out of the laundry bin. Lands’ End is going to be hearing from me tomorrow.

So obviously we were not in the comfortable seats but we also weren’t in the very back of the overflow area. We had a view of the big screen and a side television as well. Note to self: If ever you find yourself in the Stake Choir (ha ha ha!!!) never sit under or next to the plaque displaying hymn numbers. I don’t know who that gal was right underneath it but the poor thing had the camera square on her the whole two hours. I’d never be able to sit as calm and cool as she did. I know I would forget the camera long enough to yawn, roll my eyes, whisper something to the person next to me, or develop and uncontrollable itch. This woman was like a ninja! So cool and composed.

One of the speakers today was Jessica Warren. I don’t know how old she is but I know she’s in high school. I was impressed with her composure and her ability to keep our attention. She told us that she and her family (large family; she’s one of seven girls) enjoy movie night together and one of their favorites is “Evan Almighty”. Now I have to admit I’ve never seen it (as much as I enjoy “The Office”, I can only take Steve Carell in small doses) but apparently it’s about a guy who’s asked by God, just like Noah was, to build an ark (although didn’t the rainbow signify God’s promise to never flood the earth again? Well anyway . . .). Jessica said that in her home they’ve placed these wooden letters in their living room: ARK. In the movie it’s pointed out that it stands for Acts of Random Kindness. I’m probably totally screwing up what she was trying to say but I think she was saying that we can all build our little arks. We do what we can for others. Boys, open that door for the girls. She mentioned her friends calling to check up on her from school when she was home sick. Not the big gestures necessarily but the little everyday things that we can do to build each other up. To let people know they have real value. The collective power of little arks can change lives.

There was a focus on repentance today. Specifically, coming unto Christ through repentance. One of Satan’s favorite tools is encouraging us to feel less than. Not worthy of the blessing God would bestow on us. I remember President Belnap telling us that we’re all to come unto Christ. That there was no group he singled out as not fitting the bill. He quoted 2 Nephi 26:33:

“For none of these iniquities come of the Lord; for he doeth that which is good among the children of men; and he doeth nothing save it be plain unto the children of men; and he inviteth them all to come unto him and partake of his goodness; and he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; and he remembereth the heathen; and all are alike unto God, both Jew and Gentile.”

This is, of course, Awesome. It reminded me of the $20 bill story that has been repeated in different places by different people. Here’s a version Michael found on www.ldscompanion.com:

“A well known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a $20 bill. In the room of 200, he asked, “Who would like this $20 bill?” Hands started going up. He said, “I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this." He proceeded to crumple the dollar bill up.

He then asked, "Who still wants it?" Still the hands were up in the air. "Well," he replied, "what if I do this?" And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe. He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty. "Now who still wants it?" Still the hands went into the air.

"My friends, you have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20.”

Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless.

But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value in God's eyes. To Him, dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to Him. The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know but by who we are!

I absolutely love this analogy. It’s something we can all understand. Sure, we might prefer an uncirculated, crisp $20 but we also know it’s not worth anymore than one that’s been through the wringer. Doesn’t it make you look at people differently? That value is there.

Sometimes I leave things like this feeling sort of overwhelmed. The whole Matthew 5:48 thing can feel like a brick wall in front of my face (“Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”). I think I read somewhere that there are maybe seventeen different Greek words we translate into English as ‘perfect’, ‘perfection’, ‘perfectly’. That gives me hope that maybe it’s a little more nuanced than my vision of Perfect but anyway, last night at the adult session, President Pulsipher left us with these words that gave me comfort: “We're never going to be perfect but we need to be consistent with our efforts.” I think I can legitimately strive for ‘consistent’.

It was a Conference Miracle folks. We made it through all two hours with all five kids. Maybe consistent effort does pay off.

Once Upon a Time in New Hampshire or Herpes is Forever

2010-04-10T23:45:00.000-07:00

Finally, all those flowers, succulents, herbs, and tomatoes we bought are in the ground. It was well into the afternoon by the time I was done planting window boxes and man, do I regret not wearing gloves. My garden gloves just felt too heavy and I didn’t feel like going in the house for examination gloves. Mom never works outside without them and there’s a reason she brings them to me by the boxful. I’ve scrubbed my hands and used lotion but they’re still rough and dry. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Right now Michael’s got the oldest three and they’re watching “Clash of the Titans” after Kenny’s soccer game. The day’s grown overcast and the wind’s kicking up so Sam, Josh, and I are inside watching a Pokémon movie. I guess I could be ironing clothes for the boys tomorrow or folding some laundry but you know, I could also just sit here and procrastinate. And/or finish telling you about our move to New Hampshire.

Let’s see. I had the kids in Yelm with my parents, right? I think it was something like the last week in October of 2000 that we flew back to be with Michael. We moved into a hotel for a week while the house sale was finalized and on the evening of Halloween, papers were signed and we received the keys to 226 Lawrence Road (these two photos of the back of the house and backyard were all I could find). We spend the evening Trick or Treating in the rain with Rick and Elizabeth’s girls and I remember she made the yummiest tacos in the crock pot. I wonder if I have that recipe lying around? I’ve asked for it more than once and lost it as many times.

During the previous year or so I’d purposely avoided getting pregnant. I just really wanted to feel like we were making more permanent roots before going through all that. I guess I really thought New Hampshire was the end of the line; I was pregnant before we moved in. Which wasn’t the greatest plan. I had painting to do (lots of painting; the living room was Battleship Gray), lots of heavy lifting, tons to unpack. Christmas was less than two months away and we were hosting. No time for slacking off.

November was good but stressful in that Too Much Too Do in Too Little Time sort of way. I unpacked and painted like mad. I didn’t take time to find a doctor; I figured I’d done this before and it could wait until after the holidays. On the day before Thanksgiving we brought Skipper home from Maine and we spent the holiday with Rick and Elizabeth. Sometime around here Ellen and I realized we were both due to have babies in July. This is one of my favorite memories.

December came and with it a stupid cold sore. My body responds with cold sores whether the stress is from too much good stuff going on at once or the really lame stuff. HSV-1 is the one thing my mom’s given me that was truly uncool—I assume it’s from her as she’s dealt with cold sores as long as I can remember. Unfortunately friends, herpes is forever. So anyway, I was sporting this beauty when the month began and was only just healing up when my 31st birthday rolled around on December 12th.

A week or so earlier I noticed some sores on Sierra’s gums. She would fuss when I brushed her teeth and I had no idea what to do. I talked to my parents but it didn’t sound like something they’d ever seen. Mom said I needed to keep brushing but it was awful to hear her cry. I hadn’t found a family doctor yet, leave alone a dentist but I knew it couldn’t wait much longer if something didn’t improve.

On my birthday Elizabeth and the girls took the kids and I to Chili’s for lunch. I miss Chili’s. I really miss their All-You-Can-Eat Fajita nights. But anyway, Sierra wouldn’t eat but I wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t eaten much in days. After lunch I put her down for a nap and continued with the unpacking. What happened next I figure I’ll probably never forget. I heard Sierra crying and I ran upstairs to see what was wrong. The poor thing has stuff oozing out of these sores and it was on her pillow. Just then the phone rang. It was the guy who’d been Michael’s contact person for the job at Energy Northwest when the offer came up the summer before. He wanted to speak to Michael about the job. Could Michael give him a call back? What what what what what what???? This was not computing. “Um, sure.”

So. I’m freaking out. Sierra needs help but I don’ t know what sort. It’s late afternoon and I don’t even know who to call. Michael’s deal was making my head spin. So I called him. I needed some answers.

When he answered I heard lots of voices in the background. He was at a restaurant. I asked him why I answered a phone call from someone from Energy Northwest. Guess what? He and almost everyone else at Lavastorm had been let go. This was the moment the internet bubble burst. For us at least. He was having a late lunch with what had been his co-workers. What in the world? Tears flew from my eyes. Happy Birthday to me.

As it turned out, we were lucky. When Michael found out he was out of work, he immediately called Energy Northwest and they were still willing to offer him the job. They would send a moving company a few days after Christmas and they would fly us to Washington before the end of the year. It was an awful lot to process but we were going to be okay.

I still had to figure out how to help Sierra though. I grabbed a phone book and found the name of a pediatric dentist and gave his office a call. They said they could take a look right away. I don’t know when I’ve ever been so appreciative of anything. So I packed up the two kids and Michael met us there.

The dentist was young and he knew right away what we were dealing with: Gingivostomatitis. And how did he know? Only because his daughter had just recently had it. Wow. As it turned out, there wasn’t much to do. A medicated mouth rinse, bland soft food. It was sad though because these sores weren’t just any sores. Gingivostomatitis is an outbreak of cold sores on the gums. I’d given this to her.

We met with the same real estate agent that sold us the house—she was more than happy to list it again. The next few weeks were crammed with getting ready for my family’s arrival and our move a few days later. It was exciting to know we were going back to Washington but it was very sad to leave our new home. To knew I wouldn’t have a chance to paint the kids’ rooms. To see green leaves on the huge maple tree in the back yard. To take the kids to see the Old Man of the Mountain (at least I saw him before his nose fell off). To find those boots and bushwack my way to Worlds End Pond.

On the night we turned out the lights for the last time, I felt the familiar tingling. This is where I would insert curse words if that was my thing. I was furious! I felt, totally unjustifiably, that I’d been Jobed. Sure, Job went through way more but you know, I was pregnant. Emotional. House ripped out from under me after just six weeks. Forced to move again. At the busiest time of the year. Didn’t know where we’d be living. There was a lot coming at me at once.

So anyway dear hearts, this is it. We moved to Richland and lived in an apartment at the end of Duportail for a few months. Our house sold in less than a month to the folks we outbid when we bought it in October. Because we lost everything we’d gained from our sweet home sale in New Jersey, we rented an “A” house for four years. And that, as they say, is that.

Even If It Was Friday

2010-04-09T23:41:00.001-07:00

Starting a little late tonight. Michael and I are watching "Fever Pitch" and enjoying some peach pie. A little celebration. It’s been a big day.

I don’t like Fridays. I’m supposed to like Fridays; everyone does. They’re just sort of lame for me. Too much stopping and starting. Kids getting out of school early. All I want to do is nothing. Something comes over me on Fridays. I pretty much just feel like clocking out as soon as I roll out of bed.

But I can’t do that, can I? Nope. Because the garbage man waits for no one and I never remember to move the van for him the night before. How wrong would it be to teach Michael Jr. to move it up a few feet after he brings the garbage bins to the curb? No! Of course I’d NEVER do anything like that . . .

What did I even accomplish today? Let’s see, some laundry. And a trip to Winco. Oh and I cleaned out the refrigerator and nagged a couple of middle schoolers who seemed to have Fridayitis too. And then the phone rang.

It’s not like it doesn’t ring all the time around here. Automated messages from Rite-Aid about prescription refills, friends arranging rides for kids, Michael wondering what’s up. This call didn’t sound any more interesting than those; just some lady asking to speak to Michael. That always drives me crazy. Who calls in the middle of the day looking for a grown man? If he worked nights he’d be sleeping, right? And they always seem surprised that he’s not home. Anyway, I told this lady that he’s at work; could I take a message? “Are you his mother?” What? Oh! Michael Jr.! Okay, yeah, I’m his mother. This was the call to let us know that Michael was accepted to Delta High School for next year! Giddy up!

His face lit up like a Christmas tree when I told him. It was great to see the smile. He even let me record him playing “Clocks” (Coldplay) on the piano but stopped short of letting me post it on Facebook. Oh well, it’s something. We also found out today that three other kids we know will be there. It feels so great to finally know.

So my day was made. Even if it was Friday.

A Great Night Anyway

2010-04-08T23:30:00.000-07:00

You’d think with as many kids as I’ve got that this would happen more often. For whatever reason though, scheduling conflicts haven’t been a big problem. So far. Tonight though, we had Kenny’s soccer practice, Sam’s Kindergarten Music Program, and the Relief Society birthday dinner. I was heading up the decorating/setting up so I helped Sierra make ten centerpieces and then headed to church later in the afternoon to get everything ready. Yureli, Chris, and Katrina showed up to help but guess what? My key to the church was completely impotent. It could not make that light turn green, that door open. Michael told me I shouldn’t use that word but it was impotent. COMPLETELY. I called Lynn to ask what I ought to do and but she just sounded strange. Like she wasn’t completely there. What was I going to do if I couldn’t get in? In frustration, I shoved the key in and out several more times and then suddenly, the light was green. And we were in.

Set up in the gym was okay. Turns out that eight around the round tables was a very tight fit. What did I know? Well, you know the answer to that. And that lattice we were supposed to use as a backdrop for the skit? How would one connect each piece? Katrina to the rescue; she ran home to borrow some wire from a neighbor. So, with the tables set up and everything all set, I left to rush through the Burger King drive-thru. And while I was waiting I received a text from Lynn. Good grief! The poor thing was very, very sick. And here I was bothering her about keys and the impossibility of using Styrofoam plates with prime rib. But anyway, at home we had ten minutes to eat and rush out the door to Sam’s Kindergarten Music Program. So we scarfed and ran. We made it with enough time to get average seats. It was cute but my arms were shaky and weak(er) after holding up the Flip for the twenty minutes it took to film it. It ought to be a lot of fun to watch later (yeah, right); there was a steady stream of folks walking back and forth in front of me and their backsides took up most of the screen. That and Sam spent the whole of the program fiddling with the Sponge Bob rubber digital watch that came with his dinner. It was great though. They regaled us with favorites such as "Welcome to School", "Puppies", and "The Kangaroo Hop". He belted out the songs, did all the crazy hand motions and seemed to have a good time.

After a quick few pictures they dropped me off at church and what do you know? I wasn’t even late. So really, the only casualties tonight were Kenny’s soccer practice and a sit-down meal. Could’ve been worse. And apparently it was, just before I arrived. I am so, so glad I missed The Situation while I was busy watching Sam check the time ever two seconds. Apparently we had a little miscommunication. Somewhere along the line. The net result was that some guys involved in a volleyball tournament showed up and started taking our stuff down. Because they had the gym scheduled. Katrina was told that we had the church, not just the Multipurpose and Relief Society rooms but I guess that wasn’t quite the deal. So anyway, while I was gone, a group of fabulous lady go-getters (and probably some helpful husband and son types too) set up the Multipurpose Room with a number of long tables and redid everything. It was a tight squeeze, the room felt like a sweat lodge, and Stefany and Linda’s skit was crammed in the middle of the room but do you know what? I think it may have turned out even better than had we remained in the gym with our tableclothes and breathing space. We were crammed in, cracking jokes, and loving on each other. Laughing about what happened. Trying to figure out where the butter went and how we missed that it was right in front of us. On paper this would’ve been a catastrophe but really, it was sort of great. My heart just swelled with love for all of these folks who pitched in and smiled and made it work. And seeing John cut up that prime rib (that he bought for us!) and Bishop Jacks wash the dishes? Amazing. I don’t have family in town like so many people I know but when I’m at church, I’ve got it. It’s nothing short of Awesome. I better stop; I’m getting all weepy and lame.

Tonight as we talked and laughed and ate, Camilla told me more about where she and Steven and the girls are moving at the end of the month. The description sounded familiar and I mentioned my friend Sinar. She and her husband are selling a similar sounding house in that same area. Oh my gosh! It’s the same house! I love it. You may know Sinar from such Fabulousness as my profile picture eyebrow (she plucked it) and Sierra’s ‘Twilight’ birthday cake (she baked it). It totally is a small, small world. I bet they become dear friends. Just like my newer neighbor lady Berta and my first neighbor lady Marijke. Love it, love it, love it.

Once Upon a Time in New Jersey

2010-04-07T23:08:00.001-07:00

You’ve been waiting all day for this, haven’t you? Checking in to see if I’ve written yet. No? Well, anyway, I’ll think of something.

Okay, where’d we leave off on the tale of our days back east? That’s right. Panic attack on the plane with a newborn Sierra. Well, with that behind me, we arrived at our new home in Ocean County, Lacey Township, Forked River, New Jersey. Mom stayed for a bit and helped us unpack and then we were on our own. In the middle of the scrub pines and summer cottages.

Our house backed up to The Woods but my biggest fear was actually deer ticks, not the Jersey Devil. In truth, the real menace was the wild turkey that took up residence somewhere in the thickets beyond our backyard. That was the real Jersey Devil. At first it was cute to see him perch on our deck or wait outside our front door. Unfortunately he was aggressive and I remember throwing snowballs at him just to allow a neighbor to get into her house. The kids thought he was cool but he was definitely a jerk. Someone really needed to have him for dinner.

I think Michael liked living and working in Forked River. We lived maybe two miles (closer as the turkey trots) from Oyster Creek Nuclear Generating Station where he worked and he made a lot of friends right away. For me, it was a little different. I really wanted to be out west but if we’d at least had some family or friends nearby, that would’ve been something. We belonged to a small branch with no couples our age. Additionally, it was so spread out geographically that the only other member living anywhere near us was an older widow. I’d never heard of M.O.P.s so my days consisted of Michael Jr. and Sierra and the occasional trip to the grocery store.

Jim Barton began work at the plant when Michael did and he and his wife Pat became our closest friends there. They kept me sane. Another bright spot was the Young Women at church. I was the Young Women President and the girls, especially Loretta and Liz, were over all the time playing with the kids. They’d babysit, have sleep overs, and even accompanied me on a trip to Yelm one summer. So anyway, I had these folks. These folks and the hope that something would bring us west.

Almost two years after we arrived two job offers materialized. Job #1 was here , working for Energy Northwest. Job #2 was outside of Boston, MA at Lavastorm (an internet company—they created Monster.com and FamilySearch.org). On the one hand, the job here seemed like a no-brainer. It was so much closer to most of our family. It was a good job. The thing is, the Lavastorm job seemed to have way more potential for growth. And Michael would be working with his best friend Rick. And it paid way more. In the name of Hey, We’re Young, we decided on Lavastorm.

I remember a busy summer before we moved. Michael and I spent several days in California by ourselves when we attended Ruben Navarrette’s wedding in Santa Barbara CA—one of only two times we’ve gotten away without the kids since we’ve had them. When we returned we put the house on the market and sold it within a month. Just like that. We packed up our life and moved up north into a Marriott extended stay sort of place (paid for by Lavastorm) and a storage unit and started our house search.

Again, apartments and rental houses were out of the question. Nothing available within an hour’s drive of the job. We decided on Salem, New Hampshire because New Hampshire is AWESOME and it’s not Massachusetts. Also, no income or sales tax. Our town was right on the border and it had every store imaginable and a million tattoo parlors (because you could get them at a younger age). What we found was that although Michael was making way more money than ever, the housing was just way, way, way more expensive. Way. We finally settled on a home built in the 1940’s (just like we’ve got now, I guess) on a half-acre lot. It faced The Woods this time but the GPS in our new (at the time . . .) Honda Odyssey showed that there was a body of water not so far in. Worlds End Pond to be exact. I meant to hike in there at some point. When I finally found my boots.

After we decided on the house, I took the kids and headed to Yelm for a month or so. The house would take time to close on and Michael could move in with Rick and Elizabeth for the time being. Well friends, I still haven’t reached the part of the story that involved multiple cold sores but hey, the one on my lower lip is still hanging in there. Seventeen days later. Wow. I guess I’ll pick this up another time. I need to go give Michael the Evil Eye—he just mentioned buying a new Tivo machine.

3 Nephi 18:20

2010-04-06T22:30:00.001-07:00

It’s quiet right now. I just finished the latest “American Pickers” and all I hear is the hum of my laptop and Michael mumbling something about “The iPad is here . . .”

This morning I hopped out of bed and landed on my knees. I had a serious favor to ask Heavenly Father and I was willing to skip a few meals to let him know I was serious. Today was the lottery for placement at Delta High School and I pleaded that the outcome would be in Michael Jr.’s best interest. I needed to get moving and didn’t have time to dig into the scriptures before I got the kids out the door so I grabbed my books and silently asked to be shown something I needed to know. Here’s what I got:

“And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you.” 3 Nephi 18:20

I laughed; I looked left, I looked right. Seriously? I’ve never had such an obvious reply. I’m feeling very confident that if this is right for Michael Jr. then it will happen. I can’t ask for more than that. I mean I could, but you know.

I meant to accomplish some Things today but an appointment with the ophthalmologist and a visit to the Fred Meyer garden center absorbed any usable time I had for extra projects. And a kick in the wallet rounded off the morning. I learned today that Miss Sierra’s eye sight is rapidly declining. Time for bifocals. Is it insane that I’m getting weepy writing this? The poor kid is only eleven. There’s always Lasik right? Hundreds (and hundreds) of dollars later we walked out with new glasses ordered and my head spinning. We had some time before we needed to pick up Sam from kindergarten so we stopped by Fred Meyer to pick up some basil I needed for dinner. We ended up with a few $1 fuchsias, a couple of small strawberry plants, two pink calibrachoas, a few echeverias someone was administering a death blow to (way over watered), a basil to plant and some for tonight. While I was there I called Michael Jr. to ask how many eggs we have. I knew I needed six for dinner but he confirmed that we had 17.

This afternoon Sierra, Sam, and Josh pulled out a long roll of paper and the paints and brushes Josh talked his dad into yesterday. Note to self: Either pay full attention to what Josh is doing or confine the painting to the great outdoors. I’ve cleaned paint off the bathroom walls, the stairway, and the table. His shirt was covered with it and he turned the bathwater colors. Which is fine, I mean it has to be, but some days I just haven’t budgeted the time for that sort of catastrophe.

I made pork chops for dinner. I’ve never made them before (I KNOW!) so I wasn’t sure how they’d turn out. I’m going to write down what I did so I don’t forget. Let’s see. I mixed up something like a teaspoon of cayenne, a teaspoon of paprika, and a couple teaspoons of thyme with a cup and a half of flour. I dredged the chops in that mixture, browned them, and put them in the crock pot. Then I cooked down a few cups of chicken broth, about a half cup of lemon juice, and some minced garlic and poured that over the pork and left it to cook for a few hours. Everyone ate it so it will probably get a repeat.

When I mixed up the batter for zucchini fritters I found enough eggs but not nearly as many as Michael Jr. claimed we had. Turns out he was counting the Easter eggs on the fridge door. Some days I just shake my head. But I laugh too, you know? This recipe is worth sharing because it’s really tasty:

Zucchini Fritters

6 eggs

3 zucchinis, shredded

1 zucchini, diced

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

3 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese

1/4 cup chopped fresh basil

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

2 cups vegetable oil for frying

Beat the eggs in a mixing bowl with a wire whisk until smooth. Stir in the shredded and diced zucchini, then season with salt, pepper, Parmesan cheese, and basil. Add the flour a little at a time, stirring between additions until no dry lumps remain. Heat the oil in a large skillet to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). Drop the batter into the hot oil by the spoonful a few at a time making sure not to overcrowd the oil. Cook until the fritters are golden brown on each side, about 4 minutes. Drain on a paper towel-lined plate before serving. We like them with ranch dressing.

All this writing about food has me feeling peckish. Hmmmmm . . .

When the Family Gets Together After Evening Work is Done

2010-04-05T21:43:00.000-07:00

Back to the old grind today. Quite the rude awakening for Kenny and Sam. I let them sleep longer than I usually would but they appreciated none of it. It was one of those mornings when I wished I’d mounted the stairs prepared with a spray bottle of water. Poor boys but you know, the whining is so ridiculous. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when they ran out of the van to school. *sighs* It’ll be better tomorrow. It MUST.

I decided today that I’d listen to General Conference talks and Ensign articles on that Mormon Channel app while I ran errands. I made the decision from a sort of One Day At A Time, YOU CAN DO IT, white-knuckled, sheer will, this is going to be lame, kind of place. I am a music freak and you know it’s not the sort of music you hear at church or when you walk into Far West Books. But you know what? I did it and the more I listened, the more I wanted to hear. Shocked myself a little. I know it’s all good stuff but sometimes what’s good for you isn’t hugely appealing and there are so many other shiny things vying for my attention. You know how I feel about peas and cauliflower and you know how I feel about Reese’s Eggs and Cadbury Mini Eggs. I know what’s better for me but what do you think I’m interested in right now?

Anyway, I listened and listened. And I prayed for the fortitude I would need to conduct Family Home Evening. I have no idea why it’s so hard for me but I think it has to do with the fact that no one will quit talking or fighting long enough to hear a lesson. It’s insane. But I know my attitude has been a huge part of the problem. It’s so easy to throw in the towel when there’s contention and frustration. But I guess the prayer helped because I kept on keeping on, even in the face of, well, in the face of Everything. I sure wish our Family Home Evenings were like there’re meant to be. How does that song go? "When the family gets together after evening work is done, then we learn to know each other popping corn and having fun. Then our father tells us all a story, mother leads us in a song, and it seems that nothing in this world could possibly go wrong!" Bah! But hope springs eternal, right? It has to get better. There are blessings to be had and darn it, I need them.

So anyway, that’s my Monday. That and I decided to read The Federalist Papers. Or listen to them. I may be getting too lazy to read.

Easter

2010-04-04T23:32:00.000-07:00

We woke this morning to, drum roll please . . . . No Rain. Lots of packing to do but no rain. Dad hid lots of eggs (66 total) first thing so after breakfast, Easter baskets, and a heated discussion about whether it was right to limit each person’s ability to find more than a fifth of the eggs or to divide up the eggs evenly after they’d all been found, the kids hit the yard. Eventually all the eggs were found but only because my dad was smart and drew a map of where they all were as he hid them!

We got a decent start home; sometime after 10 a.m. With two red coolers tied to the top and the van loaded down, we were off. The day before I was fiddling with my Mormon Channel app and realized that we could probably listen to General Conference on the way home. Michael set it up while I drove and we were able to listen most of the way to the pass and then most of the way after. It was great to hear, especially in a place where there really weren’t any other distractions.

Having General Conference on Easter is unusual I guess but it was nice to have the uplifting messages on the long ride home. Lots of things to think about on a day like today. I thought about the article we discussed at our Ensign meeting a week or so ago. It was about dealing with trials and how to learn from them. The author pointed out that the atonement, though often looked at as relief from sin and guilt, is so, so much more. According to the Book of Mormon prophet Alma:

“And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people. And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities. Now the Spirit knoweth all things; nevertheless the Son of God suffereth according to the flesh that he might take upon him the sins of his people, that he might blot out their transgressions according to the power of his deliverance; and now behold, this is the testimony which is in me.”

(Alma 7:11-13)

So the truth of the matter is, Christ suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane not just for our sins but our afflictions. Our pains. Our infirmities. He’s perfect and sinless but he gets us. And he can lift our burdens because, well, he already carried them. I need this. Because I know He won’t take my Stuff but He’ll strengthen me and make me equal to it all. And maybe help me see what I shouldn’t be carrying to begin with.

He is AWESOME.

“But there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ.”

- Mosiah 16:8

Tomorrow the Cadbury Mini Eggs and Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs are MINE!

2010-04-03T23:24:00.001-07:00

I baked the cake and cooked the frosting today. That’s right. I cooked the frosting. Technically it was an Italian meringue and it tasted like marshmallows. Like that Fluff stuff. That’s probably exactly what it was. Anyway, beating egg whites, boiling sugar and water, then beating them together for eight minutes sort of clarified the whole frosting in a can thing for me. It exists for a reason. Equally, no even more, intensive was the whole dealing with the coconut bit. It was easy to get the liquid out (I hammered a nail into those three holes and placed it over a cup) but getting to the good stuff and shredding it was the time consuming part. I did learn one trick: Put the coconut in the oven set at 375° degrees for 25 minutes and the hard outer shell will crack. You still need to take a hammer to it but it comes apart easily and the meat comes away from the shell without any trouble. So, if you’re still interested in a scratch coconut cake, here you go:

Fresh Coconut Cake

Cake:Cooking spray

1 tablespoon cake flour

12 ounces sifted cake flour (about 3 cups)

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 3/4 cups sugar, divided

2/3 cup butter, softened

1 cup warm coconut water (from 1 small brown coconut)

1 teaspoon vanilla

6 large egg whites

Frosting:

4 large egg whites

1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar

1/8 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoon sugar

1 1/4 cups sugar

1/4 cup water

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 cups shaved fresh coconut, toasted

Preparation

1. To prepare the cake, preheat oven to 350°.

2. Lightly coat 3 (9-inch) round cake pans with cooking spray; line bottom of pans with parchment paper. Lightly coat parchment paper with cooking spray; dust pans with 1 tablespoon flour.

3. Combine 12 ounces (about 3 cups) flour, baking powder, and salt; stir with a whisk. Place 1 1/2 cups plus 2 tablespoons sugar and butter in a large bowl; beat with a mixer at medium speed for 2 1/2 minutes or until well blended. Add flour mixture and coconut water alternately to sugar mixture, beginning and ending with flour mixture. Beat in 1 teaspoon vanilla. In a separate bowl, beat 6 egg whites on high speed until foamy using clean, dry beaters. Add remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time, beating until stiff peaks form (do not overbeat). Carefully fold egg whites into batter; pour batter into prepared pans. Bake at 350° for 18 minutes or until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pans 10 minutes on wire racks; remove from pans. Discard wax paper. Cool completely on wire racks.

4. To prepare frosting, combine 4 egg whites, cream of tartar, and 1/8 teaspoon salt in a large bowl; beat with a mixer at high speed until foamy. Add 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time, beating until stiff peaks form. Combine remaining 1 1/4 cups sugar and 1/4 cup water in a saucepan; bring to a boil. Cook, without stirring, until candy thermometer registers 250°. With mixer on low speed, pour hot sugar syrup in a thin stream over egg whites. Gradually increase speed to high; beat 8 minutes or until thick and cool. Stir in 1 teaspoon vanilla.

5. Place 1 cake layer on a serving plate, and spread with 1 cup frosting. Top with another cake layer. Repeat procedure with 1 cup frosting and remaining cake layer, ending with cake layer on top. Spread remaining frosting over top and sides of cake. Gently press shaved coconut onto top and sides of cake. Store cake loosely covered in refrigerator.

The kids dyed the eggs this afternoon and as always made a big old mess. Which I guess is fine if you put down enough newspaper. Which I didn’t. I hope the Soft Scrub with Bleach will get that red stain off Mom’s table—it’s the only thing that works on my counters when the kids spill Crystal Light powder. Which, now that I think of it, I wonder what that does to one’s insides as far as color goes. Anyway, Kenny and Sierra worked to make their eggs look like rocks, while Sam and Michael Jr. went for brighter colors. Josh had no patience whatsoever and would dip the eggs (without the little metal dipper, of course) for only a moment and pull it out with completely unbridled enthusiasm. He LOVES this. I guess they all do. I know Tom and I dyed eggs until he graduated from high school so I must’ve been 20 the last time I dyed them as a ‘kid’. That isn’t creepy, like Trick or Treating when you’re 20, is it? Maybe I’ve overshared . . .

The rain and wind kept up as predicted but it didn’t seem to bother the wildlife much. Josh was especially interested in the elk and humming birds and walked around with Grandma’s binoculars around his neck just in case he needed to check them out. There’s a big herd of elk across the street and after dinner I rode Mom’s bike up the drive and down the road to get a better view. Actually, I have no idea if this was a big herd. How many elk are usually in a herd? There were a little more than 20 of them. Anyway, they were interested in the camera flash but not spooked. They are so cool. Sometimes it’s like Northwest Trek around here.

And those humming birds. Where do they go when it rains? And do they ever stop moving? Do they get tired? Do they sleep? I guess they must lay eggs somewhere but for the life of me I can’t imagine them stopping for a second to take a deep breath and chill out. I’m sad to say that my chilling out is just about done and real life waits just around the bend. *sighs* Happy Easter to you. I hope you take some time to chill out with your loved ones and remember why it’s a day of celebration. I’ll give you a hint: It doesn’t have much to do with colored eggs, rabbits, or chocolate. Just the same, I have laid aside some Cadbury Mini Eggs and Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs because, you know, it’s me we’re talking about.

Blustery Day

2010-04-02T23:31:00.001-07:00

Michael’s mom called this morning after hearing about the refinery explosion in Anacortes. She isn’t familiar with Washington geography and wasn’t sure if that was anywhere near us. We’re definitely closer to Anacortes now than if we were at home but we’re still nowhere near. How sad to hear about the three, then later 4 deaths. Heart wrenching to think of the others that were horribly burned. Dianna wrote today that her sister’s husband works at that Tesoro plant but blessedly, was home this morning. I bet he’s getting some extra hugs today.

It’s Good Friday and the weather seemed appropriate. Dark gray skies, wild wind, pouring rain. The wind chimes have been singing their tune loud and clear. Not much to say about the first half of my day; I slept in, ate half an apple fritter the size of my head, and did a few loads of laundry. That was the extent of the morning’s excitement. I have to say I appreciated the change of pace.

This afternoon all eleven of us went to town to see “How to Train Your Dragon” in IMAX 3D and it was pouring when we ran in and pouring when we ran out. No offense to my Richland friends but I wouldn’t be disappointed to hear my lawn was getting the same treatment over there. The movie was great! I won’t say much about it as plenty probably haven’t seen it yet but our whole family enjoyed it. It occurred to me that we’ve finally hit that stage where we can all go to a movie without concern that one of the younger ones will freak out, bolt, or cry. As long as you keep the popcorn coming, Josh is fine. FINALLY. Or maybe it was just the fact that Grandma was with him? Well, either way, we’re getting there.

Dad and Mom were kind enough to take the kids back with the van while Michael and I picked up a coconut and other ingredients to make his birthday cake. Better late than never, right? And better coconut than not. Stay tuned; if it’s any good I’ll post a recipe tomorrow.

I talked Michael into a quick trip to Jason’s when we were done and it was worth it despite the downpour. I needed ten more of a particular plant to finish up my window boxes and I wasn’t interested in paying $4.99 each in Richland. Jason’s had them for $1.99! I wish I had room to bring more home!

I read an article in The Guardian online tonight and it shed a little light on why people who make a show of being ‘green’, ‘socially responsible’, ‘eco-friendly’, whatever you want to call it, make my skin itch. It was about this series of experiments (later published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology) and the bottom line was that the research showed folks to be more likely to choose ‘green’ products when doing so in public. Researchers found that shoppers were willing to forgo luxury and performance in order to benefit from the perceived social status that would come from buying products with reduced environmental impact. As one researcher put it, “Even if people don't care about climate change, they care about what other people think of them.” I guess it’s phoniness that makes me squirm. It’s the show of it. Whatever.

Anyway, the coconut is calling.

Breakfast, Breakfast, Beach

2010-04-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

This morning came way sooner than I was ready for. I gloss over these details about traveling when I get the urge to do it again. I forget how long it takes to get seven people packed up and ready to hit the road. For no good reason it took us over an hour but, as Michael pointed out, we did miss the rush hour traffic. We put the address for Voodoo Doughnuts into the navigation system and eventually we made our way to Portland’s steamy underbelly. We couldn’t believe there was only one person outside the doughnut shop but we soon found out that the tiny little shop was packed with folks liked up. Even so it didn’t take very long to pick out a few odd things. The kids picked out remarkably tame items such as chocolate covered and sprinkled, while Michael went for the Bacon Maple Bar and I had the Voodoo Donut. But breakfast wasn’t over yet!

Sierra’d seen some food program that featured The Original Pancake House in Portland. I guess these places are all over the country but the Portland restaurant is the original Original. She really, really wanted to try the apple pancake they’re famous for. Okay, okay, she twisted our arms. Anyway, we got there and were seated almost immediately. It’s a small place with shocking prices (our apple pancake was $15 and the side orders of 4 sausages the little boys wanted were $6.50 each . . .) but the food really was amazing. It was something we had to try but there sure won’t be a repeat. When it was time to go, the lobby was packed with people waiting to eat. I guess when you have a following like that you charge whatever you feel like charging.

At this point I was more than happy to move on. I can only take a small dose of the humanity that calls Portland home. Which is sad. I grew up reading Beverly Cleary books and I sort of love the area. It’s beautiful, lush, and visually, the sort of place I feel at home. Because I’m all about the Pacific Northwest. You know that. But I cannot stomach the folks I keep finding myself surrounded by. The table of moms next to us at OMSI was a perfect example. In an area clearly designated for food purchased in the museum (there’s a separate brown bag area), these mothers and their snappily dressed progeny noshed on organic, locally grown, sustainable health food they’d brought with them (don’t get me wrong; I love that people feed their kids right but there was obviously a competition going down about who brought what). The moms wore clearly expensive, extremely casual clothes and you know, it reminded me a lot of high school. When people work really hard to look different, interesting perhaps, only to look just like everyone else. One mom in particular cracked me up. She was a white girl with two-tone dreads and her son’s name was India. No seriously. It was a boy. I felt a little boring sitting next to these folks but you have to take into consideration that I have no one to impress.

So anyway, from the pancakes we traveled on to Cannon Beach. I’d been eyeing my weather app all week and it kept showing that today would be the one sunny day for the next several. It should be great! And it would’ve been if I’d been a little patient and waited ten minutes for the rain to pass. You see, when we pulled into town and found a place to park, it was pouring down rain. We got out anyway. Bundled up, put on shoes fit for the beach, and trudged off. By the time we got to the beach the sun was starting to shine and we were wet. It only got better; once they hit the sand, Sierra, Kenny, and Sam headed straight for the surf. They were soaked in a matter of minutes and shivering. WHY??? I’d been pretty clear about the whole DO NOT GET WET RIGHT AWAY thing but they couldn’t help themselves. We stayed long enough to fly a kite and let the surf chase them a little longer but it really was a short visit. I wonder what a rental house on the beach would set a person back? That would really be the way to go.

Long drive up to Yelm but it was interesting enough and one I hadn’t done in years. Probably I’ve never even driven it before, a passenger maybe. There were a few cloud bursts but nothing like we’re expecting here tomorrow. I’m crossing my finger the city of Lacey doesn’t lose power; we’ve got tickets for 3 adults, 2 seniors, and 4 kids for the “How to Train Your Dragon” in IMAX 3-D and I hear it might be pretty good. It better be for what those tickets cost.

That’s it for the travelogue dears, I’m hitting the sack.

Happy Birthday Michael!

2010-03-31T23:45:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday Michael!

We got up at the crack of dawn this morning, packed up the van, and headed to Portland. Our trips west almost never head us down that route and I was excited about the drive. Admittedly, the first few hours are a snoozefest but there’s that last part full of beautiful basalt column cliffs and incredible waterfalls that make it worthwhile. While the older kids were engrossed in their gaming (because I gave in and let them use electronics in the car), Josh spent the trip staring out the window at barges, trains, the rocks and the falls. At least he gets it.

We drove to OMSI and bought ourselves a membership and an extra Omnimax Deep Sea ticket for Ellen. Yay! Ellen! We explored awhile until lunch then headed for the café to get a bite to eat and wait for Ellen and the boys. I finally convinced Josh to take a bathroom break and when I came out the kids told me they just talked to Brother Simm. Huh? Sure enough, I see Geoff, Julie, and the kids. It’s a small, small spring break!

Ellen and her boys, Jackson and Cooper, found us and we ate and headed over to the “Deep Sea” IMAX show. I always get excited about doing things like that and then reality (read: “Josh”) hits. He was very involved in getting away from us, hitting and licking a glass wall dividing us from the IMAX reels. I’m getting sweaty and anxious just thinking about it. Once we were seated I think he did alright but when it was over he was off again, intent on escape. Why don’t I own a leash?

By the way, the movie was pretty cool.

After checking out the Science Playground with the little kids and the Space exhibit with everyone, we hit the gift ship and said our goodbyes. I sure wish we lived closer to the Lines but we do get to hang out again in a few more weeks—Corrina’s getting married! Shout Hooray!

We had some time so we headed to the hotel for awhile and then out to Vancouver for dinner with the Wilsons. Now friends, I’d never met Beckie and her family—she’s a high school friend of Michael’s, but you know how Facebook works. She’s been my friend for awhile. How cool to meet her husband, father, and son! And Beaches was a great restaurant, especially for the kids. The wait staff reminded me of really awesome babysitters; they made sure the kids were totally taken care of, even taking them to get sundaes and some “treasure” when dinner was done. The waitress had all their names down and came around every few minutes to be sure they were doing okay. Beckie’s Michael wouldn’t let us pay a dime but I was tempted to slip her a $20! The evening ended with birthday cake and singing—just what I know Michael would’ve loved avoiding but we just could not let that happen, could we? Not after the awful sombrero incident on my birthday! Thanks again Wilsons! We owe you three!

I Hope Her Little Red Corvette Doesn't Smell Like Compost

2010-03-30T23:25:00.001-07:00

Today was a lot of laundry and a lot of packing. When I think about it, I can’t be sure why it took so long. But it did. It always does. I mean the beach alone requires serious thought. Water jugs to wash off sandy feet. Kites. Sunblock. Coats. Sweatshirts. Sunglasses. Baby powder to remove more sand. Chapstick. Shovels and Pails. Changes of clothes. The list goes on. And the camera! Is the SD card empty? Is the battery charged? WHERE IS THAT LENS CAP???

Tia came down to visit today and I was finally able to see for myself. Oh my goodness. My poor Tia. On Saturday she could tell something was wrong with her eye. Before long it was her mouth. Not sure it wasn’t a stroke, Dean took her to the emergency room. Bell’s Palsy it turns out. She tells me she isn’t to expect much change for at least six weeks but it should clear itself up. Something like 20% of the time it doesn’t. She’s got such a good attitude, despite the awkwardness, embarrassment, and pain. She told me she’s collecting palsies. She already had cerebral palsy; why not add another? Poor thing. I just wanted to take it on for a few hours and give her a break. Let her enjoy eating something or go out without getting stares. I guess we can’t do that, can we? So I brought her a flower to plant and a card and pretended it made a lick of difference.

Well, enough of me making Tia feel even worse. Can you smell me from there? You’ll never guess what I did at 10 o’clock this evening! (Deena and David, you, you stay out of this!) It’s definitely something I’ve never done before and hope to never repeat. And it involved quarters. Give up?

I vacuumed copious amounts of mushroom compost out of my van. Are you familiar with mushroom compost? Yes, yes it does smell just like driving past Ostrom’s in Lacey.

I am so clever. I’d been thinking about what I could get for Deena because her birthday was on Sunday but we were going out tonight to celebrate her special day and Michael’s birthday tomorrow. Hmmm. What do you get a girl who got a red Corvette for her birthday? You get creative. I bought a big pot that I thought was kind of pretty and filled it with a geranium and a few trailing accents. You know, verbena, calibrachoa, bacopa. It should be very pretty in a few months. Dad put a hole in the bottom of the pot and helped fill it with mushroom compost he brought over for me. I did a little arranging and that was that.

We met Dave and Deena at Anthony’s for dinner tonight. Who would’ve thought we’d be in for a 40 minute wait at 5:30 p.m.? On a Tuesday? Who are these people? Besides us I mean. Anyway, the wait was unexpected and dinner was a little rushed but we left in time to go catch “The Bounty Hunter”. As we hurried over I wasn’t thinking at all about the big pot full of stuff sitting behind me. At all. I was thinking about the spots on my slacks from my leaky Mahi Mahi tacos and wondering if it would be disgusting to put lip gloss on that cold sore. That’s still there. A week later. It’s become some sort of parasite with a life of its own I fear. No, I wasn’t thinking about that pot.

Thump! One quick turn and the entire contents lie in a pile on the van floor. No sign of flowers.

Now if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll remember that on Saturday my mom and I spent an hour cleaning said van. Nuts! I kicked off my heels and climbed over the seat as Michael drove down the road. I scooped up handfuls of “dirt” (in these moments you pretend. You tell yourself it’s only dirt) and threw them into the pot. I rescued the flowers and arranged them as best I could. And it only got better. When Michael parked I fell forward and hit my head against the door. As luck would have it, I finally put a box of baby wipes back into the van yesterday so I had something to work with. Wasn’t enough to get compost out from under my nails but you know, it was better than nothing.

After the movie I passed the reorganized pot onto the ‘lucky’ couple and crossed my finger that it doesn’t do the same thing in her pretty car! Happy Birthday Deena!

In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lion

2010-03-29T23:18:00.000-07:00

I sat down to write a bit ago and the computer did that sneaky thing it does so well. Sucks me into a rabbit hole of different things I want to know more about. Disks of photos I want to do something with. Photo books I need to prepare for publishing. Interests I want to explore. Concerns I need to address. And not much to show for it an hour or so later.

The wind is whipping outside. I hear yard debris (though I’m not ruling out soda cans and other garbage we find in our yard) hitting the windows and I wonder that it’s actually the end of March. So much for ‘In like a lion, out like a lamb’. Not exactly what I was looking forward to for spring break this week but there is a bright spot on the horizon. I looked up the weather forecast for Cannon Beach and it looks like Thursday will be the one day in the next ten that the sun might shine. That’s the day we’ll be there so I hope it actually works out this way.

The weather’s kept the kids inside more than normal and this afternoon I found the youngest four cuddled up with each other on the couch playing with their Game Boy contraptions. I was feeling a little guilty for how much time I was allowing them to waste playing around with them but it was nice to see a little togetherness without fighting.

I’ve been meaning to mention the library again. I wrote the other day how much I love the library and especially the 2^nd floor. Not long after this I heard on the news and read in the newspaper (and of course, saw all over Facebook) that some man had followed women into the 2^nd floor bathroom on two separate occasions, turned out the lights and proceeded to make sexual advances. I think he grabbed someone’s leg, but I’m not sure what all else might have been accomplished toward whatever sick goal he was after.

When I first heard about this I wondered if maybe the person was mentally handicapped in some way. I know that sounds bad but I couldn’t figure out how an adult male would pick a place like that for that purpose. First of all, there would be cameras. But additionally, there’s a good amount of library a person would need to get through before they could make a break for it outside. People who do things like this are behaving in an evil, sick manner but that doesn’t necessarily make them stupid. When the perpetrator was caught and we learned it was a 13 year old boy, the stupid part suddenly made sense. I couldn’t tell you what would drive a 13 year old to do something like this but once driven, I’m not shocked that his methods were sloppy. My gosh, he’s just a kid.

Some of my friends on Facebook discussed how something like this might come to pass. I think a few of us agreed that it seems less a matter of lack of parenting than really bad parenting. I guess. I know as a mom that you can teach and cajole and nag and prod but it doesn’t always have the effects you’d hope for. It’s hard to believe that a kid from a family with parents who try would be capable of something like that but I guess you have to make allowances for the possibility of mental illness too. Because even under the most neglectful circumstances, I think stalking strangers in a public bathroom would be a pretty unusual result. One friend mentioned the evils of kids surfing the web without parental supervision and easy availability of pornography. This is a huge concern, though personally I wonder if that would lead to the stranger stalking. The truth is, I don't know exactly what it takes to flip that switch and turn someone into, as my dad would say, an excellent addition to the inmate population.

The whole computer thing is something I talk a lot to the kids about but I think they don’t really get it. They know that we don’t want them to see or hear anything inappropriate. They don’t want to see or hear anything inappropriate. What they don’t get is just how easily they can become visually assaulted. How one word, taken another way perhaps, can yield visions of perversion and human degradation that they’d never be able to wipe from their minds. They don’t get that once it’s in there, it’s there to stay. And once there, it can either haunt them or pique their interest. Either scenario is completely unacceptable.

Some days I really do want to pack up my family and isolate them. I can’t and I won’t but some days, when the wind is howling and the world seems especially wicked, easy answers are all I want.

Things That Happened Today

2010-03-28T21:11:00.001-07:00

Josh is climbing me right now, sniffing my face. As if I smell interesting. It should be shocking but it’s normal Josh behavior. He sniffs those he loves. The fact is, he smells. He smells because he just got a hold of my last bottle of Hermes d'Orange Shampoo that I lifted from Le Meridien hotels in Munich and Paris two summers ago. I love the smell but I think maybe I’m over it at this point.

Something really crazy happened this morning. We were ready for church almost a half an hour before we needed to leave to be on the early side. It was very disorienting. I had time after we found a place to sit so I went to the library to make copies of the Relief Society announcements. While I was there I found out that the librarians really prefer this to be done by Thursday at the latest. I guess it makes sense but I’d never thought about it before. I guess I’ll just have to let everyone know I won’t accept announcements after Wednesday. The librarian who told me this has the coolest name ever. If I was writing a book I would be hard pressed not to steal it: Lurlene Lenkersdorfer. I almost wanted to tell her how much I adore her name but I thought she might think I was poking fun.

Later in church today my mind wandered from where it should be to my trip to Target yesterday. I hadn’t been in probably two months so I took a little extra time wandering through the clothes and shoes. I always have my eye out for dresses that are long enough and sleeved enough to pass muster. I stopped in front of some very pretty, classic dresses and admired them. As pretty as they were, it was sleeveless or tiny cap sleeves as far as the eye could see. Sitting there in church, I thought about how stupid that is. I mean from a marketing perspective. I know a lot of women. A large percentage of these women a) love Target and b) choose to wear sleeves either for religious or cosmetic reasons (arm flab is a very real deterrent!). I think that if Target made available more classically inspired dresses with sleeves, they probably couldn’t keep them in stock. The LDS gals alone would make them some serious coin.

After church Sierra told me that the red maple we planted in October was starting to get leaves! I’ve been wondering what it would look like for awhile. I took a few pictures of the apple and Asian pear blossoms and some honeysuckle as well. Everything is so pretty. I mean my actual yard is a vast expanse of goathead infested green stuff but those trees and bushes are lovely. Oh how I wish I knew a way to rid this place of goatheads. A way that didn’t involve rototilling and Round Uping the whole thing or paying for sod. I think there’s no magic for that.

Well, let’s call it a night. Michael Jr. just informed us of his plans to spend two hours a day for the next month learning echolocation. And of course Sierra is roundly mocking him. It will be forgotten by tomorrow but for now I’d like the clicking sounds to call it a night too.

It's Not That I'm Falling Asleep

2010-03-27T23:23:00.000-07:00

Michael Jr. got up early to go the temple with the Young Men and Young Women. Michael ironed the rest of the church clothes but Michael Jr. has since left his in a pile on his bedroom floor. I think it’s about time the boy learned to iron. Not from me or anything because a) I’m not the best ironer in the house and b) I would lose my mind.

This morning was an Easter program for the kids at church and it ended with an egg hunt. I figured at least some of the kids would be happy to go but only Josh seemed real interested. When I told Sam it was time to go to church he ran into the backyard and straight up the play equipment, howling, “Church is TOO LONG!” I had to explain that it was for fun. For a little bit. No white shirt, slacks, belts, or ties. Candy would be involved. Fine. *sighs* That boy needs his moral fiber cleaned and pressed.

After church we drove to the car wash next to 7-11 and finally cleaned out the van. I don’t mean a quick vacuuming, but a knock down, drag out, hour long scouring. Because it was the last place anyone remembers seeing Sierra’s phone. That we’ll have to continue paying service fees for another year and a half whether we find it or not. The four kids stood back as Mom and I took everything out of the car. Sorted through all the stuff that gets shoved in the pockets behind the seats. Under seats. Everywhere. We even wiped down every smooth surface with individually wrapped Wet-Ones we found in a door pocket because my mom doesn’t do anything by halves. We vacuumed every square inch but no phone. And no idea where to look next. The phone company has no record of its use after we returned from Yelm last but that doesn’t really mean anything.

While the kids were standing around being useless, Kenny decided to treat them all to Slurpees. It made my blood boil to see them watch the work but I also knew there wasn’t room for any more of us in the car cleaning and there wasn’t time for their style of work. I at least wanted to see Sierra losing a little composure over the whole thing but she was happy as a clam. If this phone ever does turn up, I’m pretty sure it won’t be handed over to her anytime soon. Or ever.

We had a wiener roast for lunch because that’s sort of tradition whenever my parents come over. There was also home cooked corned beef on rye, tuna salad from a tuna my parents canned, and Dad’s vegetable soup and chili. So here’s the deal. When you know they’re coming, you just happen to stop by at lunch time. You’ll be cajoled into staying and eating and it will seem like it was all their idea. There’s always more than plenty to go around. You think I’m kidding, don’t you?

During lunch Sierra told us what she wants to be when she grows up. The best job in Science. Drumroll please . . . Multi-Species Baby Tickler. Apparently they compare the laughs of baby humans with other baby primates. I’m sure there’s a huge demand for that sort of thing. Absolutely. I’m also sure she’s been reading way too much Popular Science.

So anyway, I was tired of seeing my kids playing Game Boys today so after lunch I herded them outside to plant several sedums and to lay down some rubber mulch. Oh my the wailing and gnashing of teeth! For heaven’s sake! All I was asking them to do was dig some holes and sprinkle some stuff! Eventually they settled down after learning that I could be talked into letting them go to Target when we were done to spend some Christmas gift cards. They did a decent job until they noticed the sprinklers across the street at Central United Protestant. In a flash they were looking both ways and crossing Williams to get soaked. Was it that hot today? Insane. They came back after the water was only coming on in the goathead-infested areas next to The ARC and we finished up the job. I don’t know about the wallflowers I'd already planted from last year, but these sedums are going to hold up spectacularly to the searing Tri-Cities sun and our occasional summer disappearances.

We went to Target, Home Depot, and Wal-Mart and came home with some flowers, ice cream, Girl Scout Cookies, etc. The important things. I didn’t expect to get any more done in the yard before we had to call it a day but with the help of Michael and my parents, I was able to plant something for someone’s birthday (shhhh!!!), several pots for the front deck, and a whole rock garden on the side of the house that I didn’t even know I was going to make. It’s the Kimball Avenue side so if you have a good sized rock you want to get rid of, feel free to add it to my design. Ha! That would be so cool if people actually did that.

We had French Dip for dinner, among other things, but what I remember most clearly is Dad and Sierra talking about “Deal Breakers”. Either while they were fixing the swing set or during their trip to Ace Hardware, Dad started talking to Sierra about what sorts of things were unacceptable from men. One Strike You’re Out sort of behaviors. First on the list was “He cleans his ears out with his keys”. You know, I’d have to agree. Michael Jr. was also adding to the conversation the same way he had all day. By telling us about different phobias. He’s very interested in these for some reason. Grandpa told him he has a fear of squirrels setting up housekeeping in his shorts, but I’m guessing that’s not a fear Michael’s come across yet!

Oh yes! I wanted to mention this stuff Michael bought for me today. He gave it to me after dinner and it's called LypSyl. I'd asked for some Blistex today thinking it might soothe my cold sore a little (I swear by Abreva in the very, very early stages but this time it didn't do a darned thing or I just didn't catch it as soon as I thought I did). He bought me the Blistex but also this other stuff because it said it was Extreme Cold Sore Relief and it was on sale at Rite-Aid for $0.99 instead of the usual $6.99. This stuff was great! It completely relieved the pain and although my lip still looks like raw meat, at least it now mostly only bothers OTHER people.

We watched “Better Off Dead” tonight and as usual, Dad was fast asleep after the first half hour. As I sat here writing in the living room I heard my dad tell my mom, “It’s not that I was falling asleep. I was just no longer awake”. He lay there for awhile asking her questions about what happened in the movie even though he’s seen it several times. It’s sort of hilarious listening to my parents discuss the plot in earnest before they fell asleep. And now it’s time for me to say goodnight. It’s not that I’m falling asleep. I’m just no longer awake.

In the Dumps, Down in the Mouth

2010-03-26T23:04:00.001-07:00

Mom and Dad got here this morning. Skipper seemed ready to turn himself inside out with joy, jumping up, up, up, up to lick Dad’s face. I think he was very happy with us (because we let him sleep in our beds and aside from seared flesh and chasing cats, there’s nothing he loves more) but I do think he wondered where Dad was. At our house he could aggravate several cats (at home Bagheera won’t give him the time of day) and it went as far as Bobcat losing a claw over it. I pulled it out of Skippers head a day or so ago. That almost seems like it would be more painful to the cat but who knows.

Dad’s got several projects going on around here but I stayed out of the way this afternoon. I worked on weeding the bed under the living room window and getting it ready for some sedum I’d like to buy tomorrow (2 for $10 at Fred Meyer!). I just didn’t feel fit for company. I know I’ve gone on and on about it but this cold sore is kicking my butt. I’ve had a number of them over the years but nothing like this. I’ve had headaches for the last few days from the pain. And to add insult to injury, I’ve developed several canker sores on my tongue. In a perfect world I could crawl under the covers right now and wake up in a few days when this has run its course. It’s totally uncool to have my parents here and all the delicious food they make with this going on. I’m enjoying nothing. Okay, pity party’s over.

Dad and Mom brought the truck and trailer over today so we could make a dump run. We had a couple of old recliners to get rid of, one of those swings with a canopy that the sun had got the better of, and so, so many sycamore leaves. I think I’ve mentioned this before but one of my favorite things is to throw things into the open containers at the dump when there’s glass left by a previous dumper. I’ve thrown things through plate glass windows, shower doors, and today it was a box of canning jars. It seemed a waste but there wasn’t a safe way to salvage them. When it was time to off load the recliners, Dad decided to throw them into a neighboring container. This one was maybe half full and I took a picture of Sierra helping my dad launch it. The next thing I knew he said, “Take a picture of this!” and he hoped right in! The kids were amazed! I wasn’t surprised or anything, just real glad there wasn’t anyone there to give us a hard time or ban us from the dump. Because man I love the dump.

Amid coolers full of food, half barrels of mushroom compost, a rototiller, and various and sundry yard and garden items, Dad had a special gift for me. My very own smoker! I’ve been wanting to learn how to smoke meats (brisket in particular) for awhile and now I’ve got something to work with. Tomorrow we’re going to pour a cement pad for it out by the garden shed and I’ll be set. I’ll have to start looking up some techniques and recipes and see what I can come up with.

I think I found something to wear to Corrina’s wedding. I saw it in a catalog that came in the mail and it was advertised as being perfect for women with essentially no waist. Well friends, that’s me. So I put it in the “cart” and I looked around some more to see if there was anything else I might be interested in. Michael was on the bed behind me and perked up when I came to the swimsuit section.

“I’d rather see you in that.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“But I have a chance with you.”

I pretended to be a little offended but it was funny because, well, because I have a warped sense of humor.

What a strange night. We watched “Fantastic Mr. Fox” and by 9 p.m. it was lights out. I better hit the sack too; I’m sure tomorrow’s a big day for one reason or another.

Something Worth Remembering

2010-03-25T20:20:00.001-07:00

[Warning: The graphic and boring nature of this post may nauseate/put you to sleep. It’s written as a continuation of my efforts to journal about times I’m sure to eventually forget. After reading this you may wonder why I’d want to remember.]

Now where were we? Oh yes, Sierra was born. On Thursday August 13, 1998 at 9:52 p.m. This was the start of a rough few weeks for me. I was happy to have my girl but nothing seemed to go anywhere near as planned. To begin with, my hospital experience was awful. Never before or since have I had nurses that were anything but helpful and kind but this was nuts. My catheter wasn’t emptied when it needed to be and if I pushed a call button for help, it took a very long time to hear from someone. I remember vividly pushing that button at a time when Sierra was crying and it was very painful to get up. No one came so I stood up to make my way over to her. As I did, the catheter leaked all over my feet. When the nurse walked in to see what I wanted, I explained and asked if she minded changing Sierra’s diaper. She said I needed to do it myself because soon I wouldn’t have other people to rely on. I couldn’t believe it. The same woman lectured me, gosh, how do I put this delicately? If I didn’t have any luck in the bathroom department, I wouldn’t be going home. I really wanted out of there and I found myself in tears praying for it to happen. Add this to all the hormonal issues that would be sort of expected after giving birth and I was a train wreck. When my doctor came to see me Saturday morning I asked him if I could just go home now. Please. He didn’t like the idea but gave in.

It seemed like things were improving till we got to the car to leave. We had my brother’s Nissan 240SX and it was small enough that the car seat would only fit if the seat in front of it was pulled all the way forward. I had the honors as Michael needed leg room to drive. I wasn’t comfortable but oh well. Then something really weird happened. I completely lost my mind. I totally freaked out. I had a full blown claustrophobia-induced panic attack right there in the car. I’ve never experienced anything like it before in my life. It was scary as heck.

Michael flew out the next day and I began life caring for two kids. In retrospect I kind of amaze myself—why didn’t I ask for help? I’d only had a c-section just three days before. I guess I didn’t think my mom could take time away from the office. But anyway, Sierra was an awesome baby, sleeping four hours at a stretch and she’d go back to sleep right after nursing at night. It should’ve been bliss, I mean I had oxycodone from the surgeon and hydrocodone from my doctor. What else did I need? (Truth be told, I actually hoarded those and at a few later dates was sort of glad I did.) What I needed was a breast pump.

I was in some serious pain in that upper region and I knew I needed a serious, medical-grade electric breast pump. I called the hospital but theirs were all rented out. I called everywhere I could think of but with the UPS strike, they simply weren’t available. The next best thing would be a battery-operated option so I picked one up at Tim’s Pharmacy. And it didn’t do a darned thing. Turned out to be part of a recall. So anyway, I was a pretty touchy, pretending to be happy, grumpy girl for a bit.

Two weeks after Sierra’s birth it was time for the flight home to New Jersey. I’m not sure how I would’ve managed if my mom hadn’t come along with us. She sat with Michael Jr. near the middle of the plane and I sat with Sierra on my lap in a window seat in the last row. Now this shouldn’t have been a problem. I’d flown across country several times with Michael Jr. and each time I sat in a window seat with him on my lap. But clearly, I was still in a very bad place. As soon as someone sat next to me, I began to panic. I can’t get out. I can’t get out. I can’t get out. This thought bombarded me in an endless loop. I didn’t know what do to. When the tears began to spring from my eyes, I pushed a button above my head for help. A flight attendant arrived and asked what I needed. I told her I needed to move. I couldn’t sit there. I was completely embarrassed and the tears wouldn’t stop. She told me that she was sorry but we were ready to leave and there wasn’t another seat available. Additional panic. Then a lady in front of me asked if I’d please take her husband’s aisle seat; he’d love to sit by the window. An angel from heaven. She talked me down from that cliff I felt I was on and got me through the flight. This is the part that’s worth remembering. This is what I hope I never forget.

Spring Cleaning

2010-03-24T21:26:00.000-07:00

Today was fast and furious. I made myself a list as long as my arm of things I needed to do before my parents come on Friday and I got a lot of items done before the boys left for school. When I walked back in the door after taking them I noticed that Sam’s photo on the wall looked different. Someone already moved the star this morning.

A star sticker showed up on Sam’s picture a week or so ago and every day someone moves it. Some days it’s on one of his eyes, on others it’s on his forehead or cheek. My mom gave the kids a package of stickers awhile back and for whatever reason, they don’t leave any mess behind and they peel off easily. So anyway, I decided I’d add a few extras and when Sierra caught me, she had a fabulous idea. To her and to her only. She pulled out the Vis-à-Vis pens and more stickers and defaced the whole lot of us. Michael Jr. made a big fuss about the pencil-thin mustache she gave him but so far no one else has complained much. Even Kenny with the starry eyes and dreads.

I dropped off Michael Jr.’s application to Delta High School this morning. I sure hope he gets in but we won’t know till, well, I guess I should’ve asked because it’s going to bug me not knowing. Anyway, there’s a lottery involved and I guess his chance is as good as anyone else’s. How good that chance is, I don’t know.

Desirée and I did a little visiting teaching for someone else this morning and I was able to meet someone new. It’s funny, but it never occurred to me to ask a member of the Relief Society Presidency to make visits when I couldn’t or to join me when my companion was unable. I wonder how many other examples I could find of ways that I do things the hard way? Don’t even say it! But seriously, I think I reinvent the wheel on at least a bi-weekly basis. I need to let people help me more.

Did I mention I have some pretty Awesome friends? This morning Tia showed up and brought me a treat to make me feel better about the freakishly nasty growth on my lip and she even picked up a few gallons of milk for me later in the day. There are times when really the only reason I’m making a grocery store run is because we’re out of milk. This would’ve been one of those days. And yesterday Desirée even offered to come help me clean! I turned her down but it was less pride (you know I have none) and mostly because what I have to do is more like putting things where they belong. Seriously, when I finally decide to clean out the garage I’ll be all over the help. *hears crickets chirping*

Josh and I sorted through Michael Jr.’s room today and he “helped” by picking up everything at least once and asking if Michael got it for his Christmas or for his birthday. I love that little bugger but cleaning and sorting around him is like running up the down escalator. In the end though, it's sorted out, clean, and ready for Michael to keep it that way. There WILL be inspections because I’ll be darned if I’m doing that again.

Sierra’s room is all Spring Cleaned and something very cool happened while we were working on it. Sierra started talking to me about different folks and their respective drama in the Book of Genesis. She said that when she’s in class on Sunday she always has the answers because she read the Orson Scott Card “Women of Genesis” series. I loved those and after she FINALLY decided she didn’t hate reading, I gave them to her (Thanks Stephanie Meyers! From the bottom of my heart. I know you will never read this but you’ve made a reader out of my girl and I will never, never be able to thank you enough). She devoured them and now reads for hours a day. Still hard to believe. But anyway, I asked her if she wanted to read the chapters in Genesis that her teacher would be studying for the next lesson. She dug right in and is finding that it makes sense now in ways that it didn’t before she read the novels. I’m so happy she’s reading the scriptures on her own but then again, it is Genesis. If it were made into a movie it would be at least rated “R”. I hope some of that goes over her head. Now that I think of it, there’s an awful lot of awful in there. It reminds me of last Sunday when Michael Jr. overheard me singing, “Here’s to you, Mrs. Potiphar” to the tune of the song from “The Graduate”. He’d just learned about her overtures and knew just what I was singing about. Ah religion. It’s not always rainbows, olive branches, and white doves, is it?

The Parable of The Lord and The Hot Tub

2010-03-23T23:19:00.001-07:00

A woman from J.C. Penney called yesterday and told me that they were having trouble replacing the cushions for the living room set we bought a year and a half ago (and wrote complaining about two months later). Michael kept up with the problem until today when I was told to pick out something new. A truck would come for this stuff. Well that’s exciting and way more than I expected. Unfortunately, it’s still J.C. Penney furniture and I’m not real sure what to choose. I’ve had a lot of friends suggest leather but it’s a risk with the cats. They haven’t destroyed our furniture but we do catch them from time to time sharpening their claws on an end of a sofa. I think I’ve decided on a style that comes with washable slipcovers (if you Google “Linden Street Friday Sofa Group” you can check it out). It’s probably still poorly made but at least I can keep it clean. How’s that for enthusiasm? Well, I didn’t have much of it today after battling this cold sore and learning that my e-mail account’s been hacked. Apparently I’ve been sending strange, probably evil, e-mails to EVERYONE all day.

My cold sore has reached previously unseen proportions. In fact, when I walked in the door tonight, my oldest son looked at me and started freaking out. It really is awful. And yet I still went out tonight. In light of how much this thing hurts and how sleepy I am, I’m a little surprised I did venture out but I knew I’d be glad I did. So I texted Tami, bribed her with M&M cookies (she may have come anyway; just saying), and we headed to Patti’s house for our Ensign group. No, meeting. I think that’s what we call it.

This month we were set to discuss an article in the current issue of the Ensign magazine entitled “Learning through Life’s Trials”. It’s a serious message and we were a bit of a somber group for awhile. Daring to veer off-topic here and there but you know, I think we pretty much stuck to the subject matter. Let me see. Can I distill it? I’ll try.

While wandering through this earthly life, chances are, we’re going to have trials. Things will go badly from time to time. For some it may be all they know. The author, Larry Richman, points out that it’s human nature to want to place blame, either on ourselves or others. He suggested we look at trials as a continuum, with Sin at one end and Adversity on the other. Some bad things may come into our lives as a result of sin. Natural consequences. On the other hand, there are plenty of trials one can experiences that have only to do with being mortal or the choices others have made. The trials that fall somewhere in the middle are difficult to assign blame to and the truth is, blame isn’t useful anyway. What matters is that we take responsibility for what we can and figure out what we can learn one way or the other.

This was actually given as a devotional at BYU-Idaho and he ended his talk with this: “I testify that each of us has the strength to bear each challenge in life because of who we are, who God is, and who we are together”. That love, love, love that.

At one point Patti told us about an experience she had in her hot tub awhile back. She was sitting outside when suddenly and unexpectedly, the jets directly in front of her turned on. She was startled but then decided to turn and face the moon and let those jets remove the tension in her shoulders and back. She told us the jets reminded her of adversity and if we turn to face the Lord and let the adversity strip us of our stuff, if we let it do something for us, teach us something, we’re getting somewhere. The Parable of The Lord and The Hot Tub.

Well, after all that heavy business she broke out the Klondike bars and brownies. We talked and enjoyed each other for a little longer, then left. Or at least we thought that’s what we were doing! As we were walking out Patti decided we needed to try her rice-filled hula hoops she uses for her fitness class at the community center. Me? No, no, no. I only faux-hula on the Wii. And only that once at Berta’s house. As far as you know. But anyway, I tried it, failed miserably, and vowed I might try it again one of these days. Maybe. Tami, on the other hand, well now, she was Fabulous! I’m sure she must have some secret hula life we aren’t aware of.

Well, it was a good night, a late night, and soon it’ll be time to put this cold sore to bed. Keep it’s extinction in your prayers dearhearts.

She's Long-Winded

2010-03-22T22:16:00.000-07:00

I tried something different in the crock pot tonight and the reviews were mixed. Come to think of it, it was just Kenny who stuck his nose up at it and that’s nothing unusual. This was just a seasoning envelope I found near the taco seasoning packets and it called for two cans of stewed tomatoes, a can of tomato paste, 8 oz. of sliced mushrooms, and a few pounds of chicken. I served it with some spaghetti noodles, etc. and it was decent. But Kenny just pushed his plate in front of him, folded his arms on the table and put his head down.

I really don’t know what to do about this sort of thing. I mean I could send him to bed without eating, I could insist he eat some (this is the route I go), or let him have cereal or something. I feel he needs to be open to a variety of foods so it does bug me. Apparently it bugged Josh too because when he realized Kenny wasn’t eating he started yelling, “Be manners Kenny! Eat it!” over and over. I think this may have been what prompted him to finally just eat.

I looked in the mirror this afternoon and suddenly realized how stressed out I’ve become over the past few weeks. There is it was on my lower lip; an ugly HSV1 outbreak.

I hate cold sores. Sort of stupid to say; no one likes them. But they’re just so awful. They’re ugly, they hurt, and they come precisely when I want to hang my head and cry. I put on some Abreva and I’ve had good luck with it in the past but right now I can feel the disgusting thing throbbing. It reminds me of our move to New Hampshire back in the Fall of 2000 which reminds me that I meant to continue writing about our time back east. If memory serves, I left off with my flight back to Washington with Michael Jr. to wait for Sierra’s birth and our house to be finished.

Let’s see. I had a while until Sierra was expected to arrive on the scene—we left for Yelm on July 4^th and she wasn’t due till late August. Before we left Boston, when I knew I’d be in Washington over the summer, I made a special trip to Newbury Street to a maternity boutique and picked out a little black dress for my 10 year high school reunion. This was before the days of being able to buy nice looking maternity clothes at stores like Target. I was also willing to buy a fake diamond ring too, if necessary because I wasn’t showing up alone, 8 months pregnant without one. As it turned out, my ring fit through this entire pregnancy and I also had almost no back pain troubles. For the record, the birth of each of these boys has been heralded by fat fingers, pitting edema, debilitating back pain, and a posterior exit strategies. Like monkeys! I wonder what the odds are of that.

So anyway, I went to my reunion, had a great time catching up with friends and all that. My parents arranged for me to see a doctor in West Olympia and he agreed to induce me two weeks early. I made the request because it was when Michael could get away from work for a few days. I kept hoping I’d just go into labor before this. Michael Jr. was born almost a month early so it seemed possible. Just didn’t happen. So Michael flew over and we checked into the hospital on the 13^th of August and I was given a pill to start the ball rolling. We went to the mall and walked around, spend some time at Barnes and Noble, but by the end of the day, nothing much to show for it. I suppose we should have let Nature takes its course but we didn’t. My doctor decided to hook me up with a Pitocin drip and at that point I knew I was in trouble. I had one with Michael Jr. because when my water broke and hours later nothing was happening, we needed to move forward. I hate this stuff. It does stuff to a uterus I’m sure God never intended. But anyway, I was strapped in for that roller coaster ride again.

What happened next would change the course of the evening a bit. After struggling with serious contractions for awhile, my doctor did an internal check. He looked at me and said, “What I’m feeling is either a cheek or a cheek.” He couldn’t be sure if she was coming out head first or if this was a frank breech situation. An ultra sound was performed and low and behold, she’s coming out rear first and the cord was wrapped around her neck. After explaining the options, we felt the safest bet was a c-section.

This was unfortunate on several levels but the one I remember most vividly was that I’d eaten a tremendous burrito Michael brought me for dinner. That’s sort of a no-no before surgery. The nurse assured me that I’d be seeing it again sooner rather than later and they wheeled me off.

I know that it’s not uncommon for women to schedule c-sections even if perhaps they could have a vaginal birth. I know lots of women have repeat c-sections after an initial, very necessary one. I was never going to fall into either of those categories. This was the grossest thing I’ve ever experienced and had no intention of repeating it unless there was NO other alternative. I can’t express how creepy it felt to have hands inside me, pushing and pulling. No, you can’t feel the pain but you can feel the pressure. It’s like going to the dentist. You can’t feel the pain but you can feel and hear that something is going on. Additionally, staples across the abdomen are a real drag. I consider myself lucky; I was able to have three more births without the need for surgical intervention. I also consider myself lucky because my surgeon was a woman who’d learned a few things from her father-in-law, a plastic surgeon. Not that I’m a bikini wearer but if I was, well, a c-section scar wouldn’t make the Top 10 List of Things I’d Be Embarrassed About.

Wow. I’ve been writing and writing and I’m nowhere near telling the story of my multiple cold sores. Oh well, another day.

One Way or The Other

2010-03-21T22:12:00.000-07:00

I chose the gray dress this morning with a little bit of trepidation. It’s a serviceable dress; it covers the bases but I only have one pair of shoes that really go with it and they have 3 ½ inch heels. They look so good but man, I wasn’t built for these things. Technically, none of us were, but you know, I think some women pull it off.

Because I don’t have Caller I.D. I answered the phone this morning to a request to say a prayer in church. It’s no big deal but as I sat through sacrament meeting, I kept envisioning myself tripping on the walk up to say the closing prayer. It would have been so funny but no one would understand that it was funny to me too and would see my laughter as nervous overcompensation. An awkward, instead of reverent, silence would ensue and I’d be assaulted with kindness on the way to class.

I made it up to the pulpit without losing my footing; so much for my overactive imagination. I thought I was home free until I caused a scene in Relief Society. During the announcements I put a clipboard and binder on the folding seat next to me. Without thinking I put my hand on the back of this seat and leaned into it. Instantly the seat flipped up, my clipboard and binder hit the floor with a thump, and my arm followed! One way or the other I was going to make a scene.

“Are you okay??” I heard several people whisper.

And do you know what? I’m great. Great and sleepy.

I'm Actually Home Today

2010-03-20T18:52:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, it’s the weekend and I’m home. Seriously. I’m not kidding. The first time in a month, I think.

Not that there weren’t other things we wanted to do. I was hoping to take Michael Jr. skiing for the last time this season but after car repairs this week, it felt like a bit much. We also considered going up to Spokane to the USA Volleyball Pacific Northwest Qualifier to see Jacqueline play but we opted out for the same reason.

Knowing we’d be home I made a last minute call on Thursday afternoon to see if it was too late to sign Sierra up for the Expand Your Horizons conference at WSU today. As luck would have it, there was room. This is a very cool thing for girls 6^th -8^th grade and we’ll definitely sign up next year. The girls get cool messenger bags with a calculator, paper, pen, etc. and they attend 4 or 5 workshops lead by women in different careers. There were several to choose from but I think since Sierra and her friends only decided at the last minute to go, their choices were determined by the girls who signed up and didn’t come.

At the end they were all asked to write down the name of the class they felt they got the most out of/ enjoyed the most. Sierra chose Mathematics. I do think if she could’ve gone to the class taught by the pilot, her answer would’ve been a little different. She seems to think that would be the way to go.

I think about careers and educational choices for her not infrequently. She’s interested in math and science as well as writing so I think she could be successful at whatever would interest her. What I’d like to do is help her find out what careers are more conducive to motherhood. There are more than one might think but it isn’t always obvious. I recently read a list of these types of jobs and Free Lance Writing came up first. I had to laugh; I’m sure those jobs aren’t easy to come by and enough to pay a real salary? I don’t know. The list didn’t mention Pharmacist and I thought that was a pretty good one. It pays well and a person could take shifts when it suits them. Still, I don’t think that’s for her. We’ll see I guess.

Her friends came home with us for the afternoon and I’m glad they did. Sierra’s been asking if they could have a sleepover for awhile now and I keep telling her that it isn’t going to happen until her room is clean. I even offered to help. The only stipulation was that she get all the dirty clothes to the basement and load up everything from the top of her desk, dresser, any flat surface into boxes I scrounged from the back of the 945 building. Yes, they say ‘Single-Use Vaginal Specula’ on them but whatever, they’re free. I can’t understand how this is a difficult request. It takes no thought and barely any effort. But could she do this over the course of the last several days? Absolutely she couldn’t.

It was, unfortunately, time to face the music and she wasn’t going to be able to do anything with the girls until it was done. But you know what? Instead of moaning and complaining, they all pitched in. Cranked the tunes and got it done. Wow! Now they’re enjoying “New Moon” and pizza; the perfect reward for these three. The boys aren’t impressed and their running commentary may get someone injured before it’s over.

Kenny had a soccer game this morning—the first one I’ve seen this season. Unfortunately we were playing a team that always creams us. They are good. And for whatever reason, the ref continually neglected to call offsides. Like Michael said, they aren’t at an age where they have real refs or that something like an offside offence is reliably called when it happens. It’s usually parents or friends calling the games and you get what you get. And even if offsides had been called, it wouldn’t have made a difference. We were going to lose. All of this made our coaches verbal fisticuffs, his yelling tirade across the field a little embarrassing. The last time we played them there was pushing and elbows flying. Eventually the coach just ended the game. I guess I could say we’re lucky this isn’t the norm.

Did you hear? Spring is here! I planted some of my succulents and bought three more. And I was so impressed with my frugality; I took one $2.99 pot of hen and chicks and split them up six ways. This is Awesome! What? You don’t think it’s completely awesome? Give it time; you’ll come around.

Well lovelies, I’m going to cut and run. I want to check out the new Grocery Outlet in Kennewick and as I’m craving wings, we’ll try out Wing Stop. And don’t get any crazy idea when I say “craving”! If you’ve ever had a fleeting thought, a passing wonder, the answer is that the suburban breeder phase is over and we’ve moved on to the next portion of the show where we laugh at people who become grandparents before us. Life is Good.

That's Not Her Name!

2010-03-19T23:51:00.001-07:00

I’m tired. We put in “The Informant!” in the ClearPlay machine with filters set on high for Profanity, Nudity, Blasphemy, and Gluttony. Well, not Gluttony but you get the picture. I’m trying to enjoy the movie but I’m mostly fidgety watching Matt Damon’s character. That mustache. Those pleated slacks. Even the haircut is awful. I bet his loafers have tassels. It’s too much. I might have to give up. It feels like being lied to endlessly by a bad dresser.

I think I’m in love with the Richland Public Library. I packed up my laptop, etc. and headed over this morning for a few hours. I needed some place to spread out my notes, a place I could work on the Relief Society newsletter, announcement sheet, agenda, etc. without being constantly reminded of the hundred million other things I really should be getting right on. I went upstairs and it was so peaceful. Huge windows, awesome, fully wired desks, silence when the barista downstairs wasn’t talking. She’s a real nice gal (she makes a mean hazelnut hot chocolate) but the acoustics in the entry way are perfect for carrying and amplifying sound. Not what you’d expect at a library. But anyway, it was nice.

I felt like sending Michael Jr. down there today. He is so easily distracted and he has his Delta application to finish up. Writing is not his thing and you know, I don’t get it. He is so literal and would answer an essay question with a list if we didn’t get on his case. I can’t get my head around not wanting to answer questions about myself. Totally foreign. I just want to get this thing behind us and find out if he’s in or not. Otherwise I’ve got to get things arranged for Richland High.

I made pozole this afternoon for the Chili Feed because I saw that Soups were invited too. I love this recipe and the benefit to bringing it to something like this is that it’s not particularly nice looking so people pass it over, leaving more for ME. Unfortunately I bought parsley instead of cilantro and had to run out to Albertsons for a do-over. I have no idea how I screwed that one up. The kids benefited though; when I walked into the store I saw that they had the Dreyer’s Girl Scout cookie ice cream Buy 1 Get 2 Free. Such a deal!

It was only Michael, Michael Jr., and I and we parked ourselves close to my pot of soup and waited for the go ahead. The kids pulled out their DS’s (they were everywhere!) and played something with each other. I have no idea how that works but it was good to see Michael Jr. smiling and laughing. After awhile the Nicholson’s sat across from us so we had some additional front row entertainment. Good stuff. LDS Jeopardy was the fun for the night and we were asked to go up against the Hunts. Michael said NOPE so that honor went to the Lucas’s. I was glad; there are plenty of things I don’t know. Of course, I’m not the only one; in true Jeopardy style, the question to the answer “The 8 Witnesses”, somehow involved Eddie Murphy and several Hunt boys. That was the laugh I needed!

But the biggest laugh was yet to come. I posted on Facebook that I bought parsley instead of cilantro and Ania wrote that she usually smells it first. I was just trying to say that’s what a smart person would do but when I typed in her name, the way I misspelled it prompted my iPhone to correct it to “Anus”! I called her “Anus”!!! Lesson learned! Read twice, post once!

The 4th Musketeer Has Second Thoughts

2010-03-18T23:08:00.000-07:00

So distractible. I meant to begin writing but actually ended up looking up mail order succulents. So anyway, I’m writing. Would you like to hear about my day? That’s why I like you. You always seem interested or you feign it very well.

This morning I took some cash out of my secret cash puzzle box and drove to Beaver Bark. I meant to see what sort of succulent selection they have and honestly, it wasn’t great. Still, I found four I figured I didn’t already have and bought them. I’m having fun collecting them and have big ideas for my planters and window boxes this year. Imagine it! Plants that thrive on neglect. On the raging Eastern Washington sun. I love the look of colorful annuals but good grief they depress me in July and August when watering twice a day isn’t even enough. I may have finally come to terms, horticulturally speaking, with the fact that I don’t live in Western Washington.

Today was the 3^rd grade play. Kenny made the executive decision to not try out for a part and just be part of the chorus. I think he sort of regretted it because in the end three of his best friends landed the roles of The Three Musketeers (and I hear his buddy Jack was originally cast in Caleb's role!). As we drove home after school he said he sort of wished he’d given it a shot; maybe he could’ve been d'Artagnan. My clever boy wasn’t taking into consideration that this play was called “Three of a Kind”. There were The Three Bears, The Three Caballeros, The Three Wise Men, The Butcher, The Baker, and The Candlestick Maker, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, The Three Blind Mice, The Three Little Pigs . . . you get the picture. No room for the 4^th Musketeer there.

A little later I dropped him off at soccer practice and headed over to C&M Nursery to see what they had. Not much either but I did find six varieties of Hen and Chicks (sempervivum or houseleeks) that I didn’t have and they cost half of what I would’ve paid at Beaver Bark. Still, I’m on the lookout for some more interesting varieties. I have definitely found a new hobby and by the glazed looks from folks I share this with, I think that may be a pretty strange thing.

When soccer was finally over and Kenny climbed in the van, he told me he only had an hour and a half till he had to be back at school. In church clothes he said. I looked at the clock and realized that what we actually had was 25 minutes and we still had to have dinner. And I had some clothes to iron, apparently. Darn it!

Well, we ran for the border because what else could we do? I had this strange idea I’d have time to make Sloppy Joes or something but of course that was out of the question. Even with take out and me squawking and ironing and completely losing it, we were still not on time. Or were we not on time because I was squawking and ironing and completely losing it? Whatever. We arrived and the show did go on.

Now this may just be unnecessary complaining (it most certainly is) but this is my blog and I reserve the right to express some opinions here and there. And everywhere. Here’s what raised my eyebrows tonight: Why was Kenny told to dress up when the music teacher, the woman who put the whole thing together and who stood in front of us pleased as punch, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt? I know she is well loved. I know she is very likely an amazing woman. I know, I know. It just struck me as weird.

And now a somewhat unrelated thought. Tonight, after the play, and after Dairy Queen with friends (of which, round of applause please, I did not partake, though I did inhale), Michael and I returned to Taco Bell to retrieve the Crunch Wrap they didn’t quite put in the bag the first time. On the way over we started talking about Facebook and why we have as many friends as we do (lots of schools and moving around) and it got us talking about our friends at 60 Wadsworth Street back in our M.I.T. grad school days. Back then I had friends from Mexico and South America and I told Michael I always envied something about their lifestyle. Family was important and children were loved and taken care of but the adults also had very separate, adult lives. They ate dinner together later. They dressed up and spent time with adult friends often. I don’t see much of that here. I mean we dress up for church, where we spend an hour or three wrangling kids and wondering WHY we bothered dressing up, but that’s as far as it goes a lot of the time. Maybe a date night or girl’s night out here and there, I don’t know. Life seems so kid-centered. I love kids. I mean I have five of them and they really are an endless source of humor and interest but seriously, I became a grown up for a reason. Okay, I didn’t have much of a choice but honestly, we need to make being a grown up look way more cool or these kids are never going to be really interested in maturing and stepping up to the plate for the hard stuff. I mean doesn’t it make you want to cry when you see grown men deeply invested in computer gaming? Or women wearing ratty sweatpants with logos across the rear at the grocery store? Yes, I know that Child Rearing is sort of the age and stage I’m at but no, I don’t buy that either. I will certainly miss all of this when it’s done but I’m not saying I don’t love it right now. I just want more. Is that asking so much? Maybe. But I figure life is supposed to go on after the kids fly the coop. Not just begin. Wow. I must be tired. Please forgive the rant. What? Go to sleep? Okay, okay.

It's Magically Delicious!

2010-03-17T22:19:00.001-07:00

Not a whole lot of luck ‘o the Irish around here this morning. Michael started out getting lucky; I actually woke up and made him a pot of Irish Oatmeal. She finally came through! No bacon though. Unfortunately, his luck wouldn’t hold out and on the way up a hill in the Hanford Reservation, his car died. And by ‘his car’ I mean my ’88 Honda Accord. My 18^th birthday gift. That gasping heap of Japanese ingenuity that’s kept us free from car payments (and pride) for years.

I saw it sitting outside of McCue’s this evening as I drove from one McDonald’s to the other in search of a Shamrock Shake for Michael (which, by the way, no luck). I wonder if this is finally the end of the road for the little engine that could. And if it is, I wonder what our next move will be, because surely there’s no room in the budget for a car payment. Too bad, huh? Michael really ought to be driving something cool at this point.

I went to Winco this morning for a routine shopping trip and at some point realized that a) I meant to make corn beef and cabbage for dinner and b) I don’t have corned beef or cabbage. Also c) That I have no idea how to cook corned beef and cabbage. My phone and www.allrecipes.com to the rescue; I found a recipe and picked up what I’d need. I was surprised that it really didn’t cost much.

Sierra showed me a recipe for rainbow cupcakes a week or so ago and asked if we could make them for St. Patrick’s Day. Of course I said Sure! because I had plenty of time. The truth is, I bought the cake mixes and frosting this morning and we spent quite awhile cranking them out. When I looked at the recipe I didn’t consider the time and talent involved in getting the batter divided into six bowls evenly and dyed, as well making sure 1/24^th of each color made its way into each cupcake liner. And each layer smoothed out. Well anyway, it was fun to see how excited the kids and neighbors were to enjoy them and that’s the point. As I was working at it today I asked Sierra what was wrong with me, thinking it wouldn’t take long. She said, “It’s called Cupcake Fever”. I think she’s right.

Earlier this morning Tia posted that she was NOT going to wear green today. Not even lime green! That’s her signature color! Well, I made it clear that pinching was going down. Somehow. But how to accomplish it? Then it occurred to me: By proxy! I sent Sierra down with a load of cupcake and a message. “My mom has something for you!” and Sierra let her have it. Oh I love my neighbors!

Later in the day I started the corned beef. Honestly, I had no idea it was just boiled. How does it end up tasting so Magically Delicious? I should Google it or something. It took awhile so I decided to do myself a favor and clean something that would make a difference. Something I could look at the end of the day and say, “Hey! I did that!” Something that would stay done for more than 15 minutes. I chose my dresser. Start small, right? No. It took me two hours to sort through my jewelry, books on top, stuff in the drawers, and to attack all the filth and ear plugs that had accumulated under it. I wondered where they all went. I’ve been addicted to ear plugs since Day One with Michael. Even after the C-PAP machine, I still need them. And I digress. Continuously.

In the drawers I found things I sort of wonder why I keep but I ended up sticking them right back in when I was done. Items such as the last jar of Beech Nut baby food I ate at my Grandma Ruth’s house (November 16,^,1970) before we moved from Ohio to Washington. She actually kept it with a slip of paper inside that described what it was. She and Grandpa were pretty amazing archivists. I also found a plastic jar of 28 gallstones Dr. Trotta liberated from my malfunctioning gallbladder in 2002. What am I keeping those things for? A bracelet? *shudders*

When dinner time rolled around I braced myself for the reaction of the kids to a steaming bowl of cabbage and weird looking meat. As it turned out, they all liked the corned beef except Kenny. Josh liked it but kept calling it “chicken”. The cabbage didn’t go over very well but the red potatoes and carrots were eaten. So. I’d like to make the corned beef again but I wonder what I’d serve with it. I probably wouldn’t bother with the whole cabbage pretext again.

Michael says I’ve said enough for one night so good night lovelies. See you on Facebook.

One of Those Days

2010-03-16T22:53:00.001-07:00

It just occurred to me that I’d like a motorcycle. Odd because I’ve never considered the matter one way or the other. Whatever; mothers of five don’t do things like that, right? It’s not the done thing, dangerous, etc.

I feel like my head’s been held under water today. My cold symptoms have dissipated; it’s not that. I just want, no desperately need a day or two to catch up but I’m nowhere near getting it. I thought I might get several items checked off my list today because I wouldn’t have additional children around but ha! No way. I had a kindergarten and a 3^rd grade conference, a trip to the eye doctor to repair Sierra’s glasses, and an appointment for Sam to get his bifid tooth extracted. Add in things that don’t count unless you don’t do them, such as unloading the dishwasher, sweeping, homeschooling, planning and executing meals, and the day is DONE. What I wouldn’t do for a few days by myself to sort this place out.

I always wonder if I should write things like that. Nothing is solved by it and it’s nothing close to interesting or entertaining. But it’s real and it’s true so I guess it has its place somewhere. And the day wasn’t all a downer; it just felt like it 95% of the time.

The day could be considered decent because it was conferences for Kenny and Sam. Neither of them love school (unless by “school” you mean “recess”) but they are both very good at playing by the rules and getting the job done virtually anywhere outside the confines of this home. Kenny’s standardized test scores placed him in the gifted category in math but in reading he was only just above the end of the year target. Not surprising; he’s only recently decided he actually enjoys reading a little. Sam’s mastered what he’s supposed to, he’s gone back to “Sam” (he used to insist on “Samuel” at school), and Ms. Thompson thinks she may have finally stopped calling him Kenny. She laughed and said that in two years she’ll be calling Josh “Sam”. No doubt about it.

And the day was a little better because Sierra finally had her glasses repaired. Afterwards Sam had his dental appointment and although he was a little whiny on the ride over, according to the dental assistant, he did very well. Didn’t complain a bit. That’s a big deal because like I wrote yesterday, numbing the area in front is a little more involved. While I waited I talked with the receptionists and they said that if it was one of their kids, they’d have to be right back there in the operatory. They couldn’t sit out front waiting. I laughed. I can’t imagine a scenario where that would go down well. I love my kids but it’s just like Primary. I somehow appear to them as a sort of neon-flashing exit strategy. It’s better if I’m nowhere in sight.

He must’ve done quite a job because when we headed toward the prize machine on the way out, Sam showed me that he had 6 tokens. As he chose things for himself and his brothers and sister, I looked over the instructions we’d been handed as we left. Apparently Sam is to avoid smoking. He got a chuckle out of that. Then he became very serious and said in a garbled voice through the gauze, “Mom, I can’t talk good. Do I have to go to school tomorrow?” I smiled and said “Absolutely you don’t”. Because hey, he may not remember, but there’s no school for him till Friday (why do they bother?). It’s great when you can be the nice mom without even trying.

I got a phone call today asking if Kenny had earned anything for the next pack meeting. I needed to look over his book to jog my memory and when I did I saw that he needed to practice some phone call scenarios. Such as what to do if someone calls looking for a parent who isn’t home. I had about three other things going on so I asked Michael Jr. to practice with him. I guess he needs more practice because when Michael pretended to call, Kenny answered, “I’m home alone and completely vulnerable. May I take a message?” Ug. No one takes anything seriously around here. I mean aside from their own personal righteousness in all disputes. Which, my goodness, we’re having plenty of. I don’t know what the deal is but the combination of the household chores stacking up and the kids bickering are completely undoing me. I mentioned feeling like my head’s being held underwater but really I think it’s closer to just treading water. And really, I want to get somewhere. I guess I need to learn a different stroke.

I Should Get Paid for This

2010-03-15T23:50:00.001-07:00

“It’s Ducks,” Michael said, when I asked what time it was a few minutes ago. 10:22 p.m.? How’d it get so late? Daylight Savings, for sure, but I don’t think it helped that I started the evening with a 5 p.m. dental appointment. It felt like Double Daylight Savings by the time I got home.

It’s been a long day of kids, kids, kids. Just like Daylight Savings, Conference Week really snuck up on me. I completely forgot that the elementary school kids would be off for most of the week. Ah well, you adjust, right?

I had three extra boys over today to help other friends with the day off and it was just as loud and crazy as you’d probably guess. Good thing the weather is fine and I could send them outside. They were a wild bunch today!

Eventually they went home and I headed over to Willamette Dental to get #8 worked over. An old filling needed replacing and I needed to put my feet up for awhile so it worked out pretty well. The hygienist did the honors of numbing my entire face but no biggie; front teeth are a bigger deal to shut down than other areas because there are more nerve endings there. I suppose that explains why eyeballs felt achy and throbbing. Maybe not. What I didn’t understand is why she came at me with the injection the way she did. Come to think of it, the dentist doesn’t do it any differently. I guess I’m just used to my dad’s sleight of hand.

I always wonder what he thinks of me when I’m sitting in the chair, kicking back. I wonder because in his odd, androgynous, kindergarten teacher –voice, he keeps asking if I’m okay. I don’t move a muscle and I don’t make a sound. Is he used to flinching? Fidgeting? “You’re about to feel vibrating”. And why does he always tell me this? I know what I’m feeling and it’s not vibrating. He’s drilling a hole into a rotting hole in my head. Please. I’m a big girl. I don’t need a play-by-play hand-holding session. Still, I won’t complain too much; he’s certainly not rough or anything. I did get a chuckle as I was leaving. The receptionist said we’ll see you next January! I wish. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon with Sam to get his bifid front tooth extracted. That should be a real good time.

I came home to find that dinner was going. Bonus. I wasn’t feeling much like eating, what with my facial nerve endings still not quite cooperating. Instead I cleaned out the refrigerator so I could go after it with my new steam cleaner. Fantastic! It made short work of a few sticky situations. I love this thing! Which makes me wonder if I shouldn’t follow Ben’s lead and make my blog into some sort of Amazon store. I need to turn a buck on all this free advertising I’m doing!

She's Back

2010-03-14T23:59:00.001-07:00

I just finished regaling the boys with tales of feudalism, the War of the Roses and the bubonic plague, so it’s lights out and Quiet Time. Except that echoing, really indescribably annoying sound of Michael’s Blackberry as e-mails come in from work.

I woke up this morning feeling just about as tired as I did when I went to bed. Not a good sign but nothing to be done for it; we needed to head out one way or the other. It took longer than I’d hoped though. The Dreaded Time Change showed up on the scene and turned a reasonably decent Rise and Shine (hold the Shine) into a Snooze Fest. Mom made bacon, tomato, and avocado bagels which helped in the Shine department but it was slow going for awhile. I forgot that I needed to show her how to upload photos from her camera to her laptop and from there to Walmart for prints and e-mails and Facebook to share. I wrote up a cheat sheet so maybe we’ll be seeing some photos from their next trip to Louisiana one of these days.

We finally hit the road around noon, with Skipper onboard. We’re the kennel alternative and he didn’t seem to mind much. In his old age he’s lost a good deal of his crazy terrier-like ways and essentially all he’s interested in is sleeping on the couch and occasionally taking off after a cat. He’s next to me now, covered up in his favorite blanket and sleeping like a short-haired log.

I got to see something interesting today. As soon as we made it home, Sierra and the boys headed down the street to take Skipper for a walk (and thus narrowly avoiding the whole Unpack the Van scene). When they walked back, Sierra said a neighbor wanted to borrow a dolly and that he was coming down to ask. Only one neighbor is moving from one side of the street to the other so that narrowed it down. I hauled it out of the garden shed and down the street to him and after refusing several times to allow him to “rent” it, he relented and offered to give Sierra and I a tour of his new digs.

This is the “F” House I’ve written about before. It’s just simply massive and dwarfs everything in sight. During the extended re-mix that was the remodel, this family lived in the other half of Tia’s “B” House (“A”, “B”, and “C” Houses all started out as duplexes) across the street, so this move has to be the shortest I’ve ever witnessed. No one’s borrowing any trucks, that’s for sure. So anyway, would I like to look around? Why yes I would. Absolutely I would.

Because I’ve heard stories. I knew things weren’t being done halfway. We walked in and I died and went to heaven looking at the entry floor. It was a gorgeous slate floor with squares laid down on the diagonal. Across the floor at points where four corners would have met, half thunder eggs were inlaid. It was amazing. The living room fireplace was also faced with the same slate and thunder egg design. We checked out the laundry room with the spiral staircase up to the turret where we could see for miles and miles (which, incidentally, I can also do from my front yard). The neighbor offered the use of it if we ever need to get a good look at our roof. Honestly, he could get a good look at a lot of stuff from up there. Not real sure how the next door neighbors feel about it because as it turns out, he’s getting new ones on either side.

We saw plenty more but the master bedroom was insane. A beautiful closet with a window (I could totally move in to it), a huge bathroom that had it all, including a sauna, and a massive picture window that highlighted their uncompromising view of the cemetery. I applaud their style and taste but location? I love this neighborhood and think it’s the best block in town but I don’t know folks. That’s an awful lot of Fabulous for an almost 1/5^th acre lot.

Well dears, I’d better say goodnight. I feel like garbage.

It Only Smells Like My Birthday

2010-03-13T23:30:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning to delicious smells: pancakes, sausages, and a pot full of steel-cut oats with raisins. I’m sold on the oats; I don’t think I’ll be going back to rolled any time soon.

Corrina’s bridal shower was at Andrea’s house in Rochester at 11 o’clock. I left a little early because I realized last night I was card-free. I found Hedden’s Pharmacy in the middle of Tenino, so that little problem was solved. Furthermore, I forgot to write up a recipe on the recipe card enclosed in the invitation that I also forgot. So far so good.

Additionally, I didn’t bring a gift but that, my friends, was totally acceptable. How is that possible? This was a Pampered Chef shower. I’ve never been to anything like this but it sure made the shopping end of things simple. I just chose something from a list of items Corrina had her eye on and that was that. Easy Peasy. I added a few things for myself on the order form because 1 for you, 3 for me and voilà! Done.

And what a fun shower! Not because we played games (which only makes it funny, not necessarily fun) or because I even got off my rear and watched the cooking demonstration. It was just so fun to see my girls again. And Michelle! I hadn’t seen her in a long, long time (at least 11 plus years). We talked and laughed and laughed some more. I sure wish we all lived closer so we could get together more often.

When the party was wrapping up, Ellen and I headed out to Olympia to eat more because you can’t consider shower food a meal, right? Shhh! Anyway, we drove through a cloudburst to Budd Bay Café and spent a lovely afternoon reminiscing, catching up, and discussing the formidable social skills and foresight of Dolly Madison. Because you never know with us. You just never know.

Eventually we had to leave but first we attempted to take a picture of ourselves with my phone. I’m still no good at it and as we both tried, a smoking, bearded old guy and his girlfriend walked up. He asked if he could take the picture. I shrugged my shoulders and handed the phone over. I whispered, “I’m never gonna see that again, am I?” He handed his cigarette over, looked at the phone and said, “Bitchin’! What do I push?” Seriously. He said "bitchin'". He took the picture, I got my phone back, and Ellen and I had a laugh. And like always, it was over way too soon. I left her with her car at a gas station near Rochester and I headed back to my parents’ place.

With a belly full of clam chowder and blackened halibut tacos, I walked in to find my parents had made my birthday dinner. Uh oh. Where was I going to put that?

It was hamburger stroganoff and if you’ve ever come to my parent's house for dinner on December 12th, you’ve had it. Josh asked if it was my birthday and I had to break it to him that it only smelled like it. On the upside, I did bring cake home so, thanks to Ellen and her last minute discovery of a clean ziplock bag in her tote, he had that to look forward to.

On the Mom’s on Facebook front, she’s getting the hang of things. There are still some questions but that’s what I’m here for, right? I mean aside from Corrina's shower. Tonight we had this exchange as we sat at the table after dinner:

“I’m going to ask you a stupid question.”

“I doubt it.”

“No really. It’s pretty stupid.”

“Okay. I’m bracing myself.”

“When I write something in the status box, can anybody read that?”

See friends, that wasn’t stupid. But yes, all your friends can see it. Everyone. She isn’t used to this weird internet world where what you say is announced for all to hear. It’s a whole new ball of wax or can of worms or something. And what is a ball of wax, anyway? And why are my feet so cold? My throat doesn’t feel right either. Oh man. I’m not only digressing but I think I’m getting sick too. Please send virtual chicken soup with extra-thick noodles. Hold the carrots.

Over the River and Through the Woods Again

2010-03-12T23:35:00.000-08:00

This morning I totally meant to have the van packed and the kids ready to leave when it was time to take Kenny to school. Unfortunatley, Last Night Tiff didn’t go to bed until 2 a.m. so This Morning Tiff was a total slug and couldn’t be made to roll out of bed until almost 7 a.m. On the upside, the up till 2 a.m. business concerned folding clothes and packing so there wasn’t a whole lot left for the morning. Enough though. We were out the door by 9 a.m. and with only a small detour to leave Kenny’s forgotten scooter at Jason Lee Elementary, we were on the road by 9:15 a.m.

Though the original plan was for me to head over for Corrina’s bridal shower by myself, the plan later expanded to include Josh. He could use a little trip to visit Grandma and Grandpa. The next thing I knew, Sierra wanted to come. Sam didn’t see why he shouldn’t go as well. Kenny has two soccer games tomorrow and Michael Jr. has a Scout merit badge clinic and a talk in church so they got to stay home for some Dad time. Neither seemed to mind which was spectacular because anytime you can avoid World War III amongst the progeny, it’s always a blessed thing.

We headed out into the desert with the wind whipping all around. The sky was gorgeous with cloud formations in all shades of gray but clearly rain was threatening. The kids laughed as I hit tumbleweed after tumbleweed until they finally lost interest and pulled out a portable DVD player and popped in “Secondhand Lions”.

I sort of hated to see that happen. It’s a great movie; don’t get me wrong. It’s just that we don’t use that sort of entertainment in the car. The kids are great passengers and don’t give us any grief at all about long trips. In fact, we can make the 4-5 hour trip to my parents without even a bathroom stop, so I guess I worry that if we start with this sort of thing it will become somehow necessary.

On the upside, when the movie was over they didn’t put in another. They played I Spy which was not easy in the landscape we were passing through. Next, Sierra began quizzing Sam on geography and dinosaur facts. This was interesting to listen to because a) Sam knew a lot more than I would’ve given him credit for and b) he could argue his point rather persuasively. For example, Sierra asked him a question about brachiosaurus. She wanted him to say it was an herbivore but Sam disagreed. He said, “Point of fact, sauropods ate insects and that makes them omnivores!” I really need to limit the TV with that kid.

We took a detour for Jack in the Box and another for the outlets in North Bend. Nothing exciting (it took everything in me to drive past the Coach Outlet), just some things for Sierra. No fun to stick around with little kids and drizzle so we moved out smartly and headed over Tiger Mountain to the Valley Highway. Down to Puyallup, up through Parkland and Spanaway and through Fort Lewis. We passed through Roy and McKenna, finally crossing the Nisqually to Thurston County and my hometown. My soggy, grey Yelm.

I was here last weekend and it was bright and beautiful. Mt. Rainier loomed in the distance, brilliant white against an azure sky. Fruit trees flowered and bulbs bloomed. And they’re still doing their thing I guess, just under a bit of a dark cloud. Honestly, this is probably more normal than that slice of heaven last weekend. This time of the year the weather is a crapshoot and I never know what to pack.

We made it in and after some hugs and kisses I sat down at the computer with Mom to help her figure out what on earth she was doing to be unable to respond properly to comments on Facebook. After about 30 seconds it became clear. She was responding only to the e-mail notices Facebook sent her. She wasn’t actually going to www.facebook.com. That was easy. I had her opt out of those notifying e-mails and walked her through facebook again. She had a lot of wall messages to respond to and I helped her upload an album of old photos. It was so cool to the perma-grin she had on as she heard from family and friends and looked at these pictures. I know I complained a lot but this is cool. I feel like I’ve almost given her something.

Dad made Contidina Misto for dinner and it was so good! He said he’d write the recipe before I leave and I’ll share it here. Be warned though; Dad’s recipes play fast and loose with exact details. I like specific amounts, times, temperatures, etc. and he’s just a bit more vague than that. But man can he cook.

And he thwarted my efforts again with that darned bread/rice pudding of his! I've never been able to stop at a single serving . . .

I suppose I should sign off for the night. I’m bushed and I still want to hang on the phone with my man for awhile.

More Torture

2010-03-11T22:57:00.000-08:00

It was against all odds. A practical impossibility. But somehow, on a day I was supposed to be transportation-free, I found myself in a massage chair with my feet soaking in scalding water.

What?

Seriously. It was very, very hot. My feet were only able to stand it in the at all because of the recent addition of a little cold water. The first attempt to submerge my feet was not entirely successful. When I sat down I confidently plunged them in, expecting immediate pleasure. I mean I could see the woman about to give me a pedicure actually testing it with her hand. It didn’t occur to me that I was seconds from recoiling in agony.

“Too hot?”

Oh my goodness, yes too hot. And it was all downhill from there. I haven’t had anyone ever cause me this sort of pain with a pedicure. I’ve been cut with a razor-type thing in an attempt to remove the layers of dead skin on my heels but even that was tolerable. This was just crazy; I kept wondering if I was on camera or something. But being the total wiener that I am, I said nothing. Beauty can be painful and all (let’s not forget my logger eyebrows) but this was ridiculous. If memory serves, pedicures are supposed to be enjoyable.

I was only able to squeeze in this mini-torture session because the dealership finished up with the van earlier than we’d anticipated AND Michael was able to leave work to pick it up with me. I have no idea how the stars aligned for that one; it’s almost unthinkable that he didn’t have a meeting or something else unmissable on the agenda. He showed me a bar graph the other day of Central Engineering Activities. He had 185 out of 323 and the next closest person had 43. It’s a Christmas miracle that we ever see his smiling face. But anyway, he was able to leave and help.

The reason we had to do without the van a little longer than a day was because they were overnighting a new driver’s side seatbelt from Portland. Apparently it was the last one there. I was told that they’d never seen a seatbelt shredded in quite that manner but I can offer no clues as to how I accomplished that. One day it was a snag and a few years later it was a disaster. No excuses for waiting so long; seatbelt replacement is free. After we squared up with the cashier Michael gave me the green light to take off and he headed home to pick up Kenny. Perfect.

But of course not really. He waited at the front of the school because I didn’t know that he didn’t realize we always meet at the back. He texted me but of course my fingers were busy being prodded and painted. Kenny already asked to be able to walk home today, thinking I wouldn’t have the van, so he was set to hoof it. He wasn’t looking for his dad at all. Stephanie offered him a ride when she saw him and texted me to ask if it was alright but again my fingers were busy so I didn’t get that bit of information until way too late. Lots of confusion. *sighs*

But anyway, my toes are sort of cute and don’t so much resemble Mrs. Sasquatch anymore so there’s that.

Home Bound

2010-03-10T23:54:00.000-08:00

Uh oh. It’s 9:47 p.m. and I don’t have the slightest idea what I’d like to write about tonight. Nothing particularly interesting happened today but that’ s not necessarily a bad thing.

I was homebound and will be for the majority of tomorrow as well. When I took the van to Les Schwab on Monday the good news was that the problem I was noticing was warped rotors. All that’s under warranty so it didn’t cost anything. The bad news was that we really needed to take it to the dealer when they were done. They hooked it up to a machine for diagnostics and the result was a lot of red flag situations popping up. I am not what one would call ‘good’ at dealing with pesky details such as ‘warning dash lights’ and ‘telephoning the dealership’. There never seems to be a great time to hand over the keys and go transportation-free. And what on earth will it cost? I mean really, dealerships are known for charging top dollar. I wonder if McCue’s could have just dealt with it. They’re a block away and known for their great work and fair prices.

But anyway. I texted my fingers off making arrangements for the kids and we dropped the van off at the Honda dealership this morning. Out of the blue I had a day to spend some quality time with my new underwire-enhanced steam cleaner. It was pretty sweet knowing there was no need to hurry off to school (or anywhere else for that matter).

Michael Jr. finished up with school and took a bike ride to that video game store down by Winco. Apparently for a small fee they will resurface scratched disks. He wasn’t sure if it would work for his defunct Wii disk but his prior attempts to fix it by applying Chap Stick to the scratches was a FAIL. He was pretty sure he’d have to buy a new one if he ever wanted to play it again till he read about this service online. After a quick trip to Office Depot for a compass, he came home and tried it out. Works like new.

In the meantime Sierra decided she’d like to take the boys a few doors down to the playground behind the Episcopal church. I warned her that I wasn’t about to run down there to get Josh when she was ready to go. He has a history of not respecting her “Time to Go!” warnings. She assured me that she could handle it. Until she couldn’t.

Mr. Life of the Party wouldn’t come when she called and he threw rocks down the slide (I’m still trying to figure out why Sierra took a picture of this instead of stopping him . . . ) so I had to stop my steaming and haul rear down the street in mismatched flip flops to deal with the perpetrator. He was definitely surprised to see me! Such a little mischief maker. I threw him over my shoulder and walked back home. Someone needed a nap. But, as he likes to say, “I’m not naughty”.

I really don’t have much to say tonight do I? Since this is the case, I’ll share the dinner recipes for tonight as they were pretty tasty and will definitely be repeated:

Crockpot Korean Ribs

(This recipe is from crockpot365.blogspot.com)

1 package of beef short ribs (or pork!)—[the cookbook by this same blogger calls for 4 lbs.]

1 cup soy sauce

1 cup brown sugar

5 whole jalapeno peppers

1/2 cup water

The Directions:

I plopped frozen solid beef ribs into the crockpot. I didn't even think of browning them.

I then put the soy sauce, water and brown sugar on top, and threw in the WHOLE (don't cut them!) jalapenos on top.

Since my ribs were frozen, I cooked them on high for an hour, then used a wooden spoon to smash them down further into the crock. Then I cooked on low for another 8 hours.

These are the blogger’s words; I actually used fresh boneless ribs. I’d suggest going for bone-in next time but they were still very good. We had rice with this and my favorite broccoli recipe:

Roasted Garlic Lemon Broccoli

2 heads broccoli, separated into florets

2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 teaspoon sea salt

1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

1 clove garlic, minced

1/2 teaspoon lemon juice

1.Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C).

2.In a large bowl, toss broccoli florets with the extra virgin olive oil, sea salt, pepper and garlic. Spread the broccoli out in an even layer on a baking sheet.

3.Bake in the preheated oven until florets are tender enough to pierce the stems with a fork, 15 to 20 minutes. Remove and transfer to a serving platter. Squeeze lemon juice liberally over the broccoli before serving for a refreshing, tangy finish.

That one’s from www.allrecipes.com and despite totally forgetting the lemon tonight, it was really tasty.

I better hit the sack; I’ve got a full day of not leaving the house tomorrow. The van’s getting a new seatbelt and EGR valve so I won’t be seeing it till later tomorrow. Honestly I don’t miss it but give me a day or two and I’m sure this would grow old fast. I’m just glad I finally took care of this; I’m looking down the barrel of another weekend out of town and crossing the mountains with a van lit up with alerts would be not unlike me but not particularly smart either.

All's Well That Ends Well

2010-03-09T22:20:00.000-08:00

Today was Spa Day at M.O.P.s. Once a year we have hairstylists, massage therapists, eye brow waxers, a chiropractor, and a few other folks on hand to pamper us and give us a day of relaxation. This year there wasn’t anyone waxing brows but there was a table set up with mirrors, wax strips, tweezers, and the like. As much as I need this stuff (because Josh likes to stroke my chin and say, “What’s this hair?”), it totally freaks me out. I’m afraid I’ll make them uneven and every time I’ve had them waxed I end up looking like a plucked, scalded chicken. Face aflame with tiny pimples to follow. I was meant to go au naturale. You’d think. I started talking to Sinar about it while we were at this table and she seemed to know what she was talking about. Lining a pencil up with a nostril to show me where the brow should start and drawing something on a napkin that looked alarmingly like the introductory geometry Sierra’s become involved with lately. I screwed my courage to the sticking place and asked her to tweeze my brows. I didn’t have to ask twice; she settled right in and began what would be the single most painful thing I’ve experienced outside of childbirth. Or maybe my gallbladder debacle. I don’t know. Did I ever tell you about that? Anyway, it hurt so bad! And it just kept going! My nose started running and my eyes watered. She told me we need to tweeze our brows so we don’t look like loggers. Sinar is so funny. And she did a great job. No flared up, puffy skin and I don’t look like a logger anymore. I think it was worth it but I just wish it was a little more permanent.

Today my Shark Steam Pocket Mop (with its very own patented steam pocket technology!) arrived in the mail. I was so excited! Michael Jr. worked at opening the box but I quickly grew impatient and did it myself. I only had about ten minutes before I needed to leave to pick up Kenny so I pulled it out and tried to put it together fast. I wanted to see it burn through the practically invisible grease, grime, and dust on my cabinets. I couldn’t wait! Which is always the first sign of trouble. I unscrewed the small opening for water and took the contraption over to the sink. Sierra grabbed and shook it. Oh no! She said the lid must be inside! Without taking a second to realize that a) it was impossible and b) the lid was on the kitchen table, I stuck my finger inside the water area and pulled at a thin rubbery tube that was attached to the thing she thought was the lid. Instantly it popped off and Uh Oh! Broken. Sierra walked over to the table and held up the lid. Oh my gosh! What had I done?

Well, nothing to be done about it at the moment. I picked up Kenny and his friends and as they each donned bad French accents and discussed their upcoming soccer “battles” this Saturday (Seriously. They were referring to their games as ‘battles’.), all I could think about was that stupid, awesome steam cleaner. Darn it! I kept whispering prayers that Michael could fix it and we would stay married.

After school I headed over to see Edna and get a rundown on what my new duties as Relief Society Secretary would be. She’s ultra organized with the whole shebang and had everything I’d need in a tote and a thumb drive. Thank goodness. I know I’ll bumble around for awhile but in theory I should be able to get up to speed soon.

And the steam cleaner worries continued to plague me.

As I shopped at Winco and left my checkbook behind.

As I rushed Kenny off to soccer practice ten minutes late.

As I finally explained to Michael what I did.

As I slaved over Monte Cubanos and listened to him complain under his breath. He worked and worked and worked at it. He sent me to the dollar store for balloons and rubber bands. Maybe they would work. When I returned he was in the final stages of fixing the blessed thing with a new tool. An underwire from an old bra of mine. That he’d saved in his workshop area in the basement. Because maybe he could use it sometime. I may scoff and invoke the name of "Hoarders" but for once, "It might be good to have" turned out to be true!

Our favorite sandwich from the now defunct Gourmet magazine. It really isn’t hard at all and we multiply the ingredients and make several:

Monte Cubano

Serves1

2 slices firm bread

1 to 2 teaspoons mustard

4 or 5 dill pickle rounds

2 slices boiled or baked ham

2 slices smoked turkey

3 thin slices Swiss cheese

1/2 garlic clove

1/2 tablespoon mayonnaise

1 large egg

2 tablespoons whole milk

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Spread 1 slice of bread with mustard and top with pickles, meats, and cheese. Mince and mash garlic to a paste with a pinch of salt, then mix with mayonnaise. Spread on remaining slice of bread and assemble sandwich.

Beat together egg, milk, and 1/8 tsp each of salt and pepper, then soak sandwich in egg mixture.

Melt butter in a heavy medium skillet over medium-low heat. Cook sandwich, uncovered, until underside is well browned, about 4 minutes. Flip and cook remaining side, covered, until well browned, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from heat and let stand, covered, 1 minute.

Charity Begins at Home

2010-03-08T23:17:00.001-08:00

Did I mention I have a new calling? I heard there was going to be a whole lot of changes coming down the line when I was asked to take on this new job but I didn’t ask what they were; it wasn’t any of my business. On Sunday there turned out to be even bigger changes than I imagined. Primary, Young Women, and Relief Society were all involved. This happens every so often.

I’ve been called to be the Relief Society Secretary. I’m humbled; I don’t know how I qualify. Patti says it’s my heart and that she knew more quickly than she ever has before who was to replace the members of her presidency who were moving on to other callings. I don’t doubt I belong here but I’m such a work in progress. I’m such a struggle. I want to be that totally charitable woman who makes this work but that’s part of my identity as A Struggle. I guess this is where the rubber meets the road.

I don’t know exactly what this calling entails aside from praying more, fasting more, studying the scriptures more, becoming instantly organized and efficient as well as being on my feet a lot on Sunday. It’ll be a snap, right? Quit laughing! And just to be on the safe side, please keep me on your perma‑prayer list. You know I’ll need it. Tomorrow Edna will show me the ropes, pass the torch, etc. and I’ll learn more about the expectations. I’m thankful for it; it sounds like she was very good at the job.

We had our first meeting as a presidency this morning and Patti talked more about charity. She spoke at length yesterday in Relief Society but Desireé wasn’t able to be there so she gave us the highlights. Charity, as we speak of it, is the Savior’s greatest attribute. As Patti put it, it’s mandatory but it’s also a gift. We must plead for it and we must be worthy to receive this in our heart. It’s just not part of the whole Natural Man package deal. Paul wrote about it in his first epistle to the Corinthians. Newer translations often use the word ‘love’ instead of ‘charity’ but for me that doesn’t work. ‘Love’, at least in my modern mind is something I feel. Charity, on the other hand, is a state of being:

1 Corinthians 13:3-8

3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

4 Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,

5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;

6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;

7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

8 Charity never faileth . . .

So anyway, I’ve got a ways to go. Some growing and stretching to do.

Tonight we had leftovers. Sopa de arroz, refried beans, and tacos. Sierra and I with our taco salads. I have no problem with this. Michael has no problem with this. And just like the dentists, 4 out of 5 kids had no problem with this either. All but one. With rants of, “Even Mexicans don’t eat tacos two nights in a row!”, this child finally sat down with a microwaved Hot Pocket. Does this child not know he’s Mexican? Or that tacos are delicious any night of the week? It wasn’t my fault he decided to eat tacos for breakfast and lunch. My blood was starting to boil. As the evening continued I talked to Michael about the fact that everyone was asleep before 8:30 p.m. the night before. How rare it is for a mom like me to ever really experience total quiet that early in the night. Kenny turned to me and said, “I know! That is rare. You should really raise us better.” *sighs* Oh Kenny. You deserve to be throttled for that but hey, charity begins at home, right?

Luke 17:32

2010-03-07T21:44:00.000-08:00

Michael Jr. walked into the kitchen awhile ago and he asked if I’d seen a commercial for the movie “Hot Tub Time Machine”. I don’t see a lot of commercials (because Tivo is Awesome) so I told him I hadn’t. He said it was about these people who fall asleep in a hot tub and wake up in the 80’s. “Too bad it’s rated ‘R’”, he added. I turned to Michael and said, “Well that’s that. I will never write that book because the best idea’s already been taken.” I mean really, is that not the best story idea you’ve ever heard? Check out this synopsis I just found on the Fandango website:

“Disappointed at the way their lives have turned out, four longtime friends reunite at the ski resort where they used to party and find themselves transported back to the year 1986 by a magical jacuzzi.”

It’s got John Cusack’s in it, a magical Jacuzzi, AND it takes place in the 80’s? What more could I ask for?

Interesting that Michael Jr. would bring this up; I’ve been pondering the whole concept of Looking Back all week. We’re studying the Old Testament in our Sunday School class and we were at the part in Genesis where Abram and Lot part ways. Their herdsman are quarreling and together they just have too much for the land to bear. Abram tells Lot to go wherever he’d like; he’ll go in the opposite direction. Lot decides he’s all about the cities of the plain and he pitches his tent toward Sodom. This was probably literally true but there’s a whole lot there as far as metaphor goes. Lot was a good enough guy but you know, the city had its allure. As Elder Neal A. Maxwell said, “Such people know they should have their primary residence in Zion but they still hope to keep a summer cottage in Babylon.”

So anyway, eventually Lot and his family are living in Sodom. God’s had enough of the people of Sodom and Gomorrah and their evil ways and he warns Lot to get his family out. Lot isn’t quick on the uptake but eventually they get out without a moment to spare. They were warned not to look back but Lot’s wife couldn’t help herself and paid the price for it. But was it just that she literally turned and looked back? Not likely.

Every scriptorian knows that the shortest verse in the Bible is John 11:35, “Jesus wept.” What you may not know is that the second shortest is Luke 17:32, Jesus’ admonition to “Remember Lot’s wife.” But why? I looked up a talk by Jeffrey R. Holland from about a year ago with that scripture as the title. Elder Holland offers this as an explanation:

“Apparently what was wrong with Lot’s wife is that she wasn’t just looking back, but that in her heart she wanted to go back. It would appear that even before they were past the city limits, she was already missing what Sodom and Gomorrah had offered her . . . she did not have faith. She doubted the Lord’s ability to give her something better than she had. Apparently, she thought, fatally as it turned out, that nothing that lay ahead could possibly be as good as those moments she was leaving behind.”

It’s easy to glorify the past as well. Easy to gloss over those not so great moments and forget how things really were. Lest you think I only get inspiration from the very best places, I like to think of Homer Simpson’s advice to his daughter when trips down memory lane seem enticing: “If I were you I wouldn’t dig into the past. I lived in some of that past and I got out for a reason.” And as stupid as it sounds, it’s true. The past isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There are plenty of fond memories I have of times and relationships I ended for solid reasons.

So, would I want to take a ride in a magical Jacuzzi back to 1986? That’s a hard one. I mean I don’t want to turn into a pillar of salt or anything. 1986 was Fabulous and there’s that whole If I Knew Then What I Know Now thing but what’s the point really? In his talk Elder Holland added, “The past is to be learned from but not lived in. We look back to claim the embers from glowing experiences but not the ashes. And when we have learned what we need to learn and have brought with us the best that we experienced, then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future—faith always has to do with blessings and truths and events that will be efficacious in our lives.” So. I guess if we have faith we can look back fondly but still know the best is yet to come.

Pause, Day 2

2010-03-06T22:57:00.000-08:00

The sun is blasting through the windows and I knew this would happen if I parked my stuff in this corner. Still, it’s got an outlet under the table and I can see the skiers coming and going from here. Excellent vantage. I can hear “Stairway to Heaven” coming from the speakers nearby and it’s déjà vu and surreality all rolled into one. Back in the day, when my parents would haul us up to White Pass, we had two cassette tapes that we’d play over and over in the Dodge minivan. Led Zeppelin IV, I think, and another that had Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton singing “Islands in the Stream”.

Michael Jr. came in a bit ago from his lesson and he told me that Danae was his teacher! It was a great lesson, he said, and he’s feeling more confident. We ate the lunch Dad packed us (check this out: corned beef on rye or white, hummus, bruschetta, and brie with bagel crisps) and he’s out at it again. When I first suggested we sign up for three lessons he was skeptical that we’d actually go three times. Now he’s asking if we could come back a time or two before the season ends. He’s pretty excited to get to the stage where he can feel in control enough to try a real chairlift trip down the mountain with me.

(Which secretly scares me a little; I haven’t skied in over 20 years. I can just see myself developing an instant case of Avian Bone Syndrome and destroying myself on my first run . . . )

I’ve done the knitting and Project Runwaying so I have some time to sit here and write a little. In the spirit of journal writing, because this is My Journal, I’ve decided to write down more events from the past. I figure I’ll be glad I did when I become totally addled and feeble minded. But where to start?

The other day I wrote about moving to New Hampshire and getting Skipper. That was part of our time back east and I think I’ll start with moving to New Jersey, two years before.

Michael graduated from M.I.T. (again) in June of 1998 with a master’s degree in mechanical engineering and another in nuclear engineering. Clearly the world was our oyster. We would be living in a gated community, swimming in our own pool, eating lobster (okay, I would be eating lobster) for every meal, jetting off to fabulous destinations and driving expensive cars. Obviously.

(Okay, I didn’t actually think all of those things would happen but I did think things would be pretty sweet and definitely easy.)

What actually happened was a bit different. The job offer that Michael received was in Forked River, New Jersey at Oyster Creek Nuclear Generating Station. Forked River is a small town along the Atlantic seaboard and Oyster Creek sat on the outskirts of town. With nothing else on the horizon and graduation and a new baby arriving soon, Michael accepted the job and we flew down to do some house hunting.

Generally accepted wisdom would tell you that a rental would’ve been the way to go because we had nothing to recommend us but the ability to get a VA Loan and New Jersey didn’t feel anywhere near a final destination (at least for me). Unfortunately, the housing market is a little different back east. Apartments were always full and being situated blocks from the beach, any rental houses available were pricey and smelled of the ocean. And not in a good way.

So a house it was. We settled on a new home on the edge of an old community of tiny beach bungalows now containing full-time residents. This was May and the house we chose wasn’t quite finished. It was estimated to be done a few weeks after graduation—almost perfect. But you know, these construction things rarely go by an actual stated time-table.

Back to Cambridge. Two sets of our parents flew in for graduation. Unfortunately, Michael’s Dad and Joan and I wouldn’t end up going. The planned graduation speaker was David Ho, an M.I.T. grad, Time magazine’s 1986 Man of the Year and a pioneer in the area of A.I.D.S. treatment but at the last minute Mr. Bill Clinton expressed an interest in sharing that honor. This put me out of the running as an audience member because at seven months pregnant, I wasn’t going to wait in long lines at the crack of dawn to have Secret Service clear me. And I sure as heck wasn’t going to sit on a folding chair in the sun to wait for the festivities to start. Hours later. Just thinking about how many times I’d need to use the Port-O-Potty and how horrible they would smell was enough to convince me to watch it on TV. But it was frustrating. I’d spent four years with Michael while he worked to earn this honor and I’d always meant to see it in person. Michael’s dad and his wife wouldn’t be there either because they booked their flight before we knew there’d be a need to show up so early for a 2 p.m. graduation. At least my parents were able to be there so there was some sort of family physically present.

A few days later the movers arrived and they packed us up. We said goodbye to the best view we’ll ever have and hopped a flight to New Jersey. We had hotel reservations in neighboring Toms River for two weeks but as the days passed it became pretty clear that our house wasn’t going to be move in-ready for a month or so. The plan was that at the end of two weeks I’d take Michael Jr. and head to my parent’s house. Michael would move into the new house and he’d come out in time for the birth of the baby. Mom and Dad had arranged for me to start seeing an OB/GYN in Olympia (who at the time happened to be Danae’s brother-in-law)—we thought we had our bases covered. But with a delay in the house, there wasn’t much need for Michael Jr. and I to stick around in a hotel. It sounds nice but remember, he was almost two and I was very pregnant. It was a nightmare. So anyway, Michael called the airlines and they moved up the date of our flight to July 4^th. Michael moved into the Sea Pine Inn, one of the sleeziest places I’ve ever seen (mirrors on the ceiling—including over the table, the walls, everywhere, clothes already in the drawers from the previous resident, and folks checking in by the hour). He didn’t complain much; it was very close to work and it was super cheap.

I could just keep going but I’d better pace myself; someday soon I’ll tell you more.