Confessions of a Pottymouth Mom

What Big Bro Is Doing

2012-01-20T15:06:00.000-07:00

http://provomayor.blogspot.com/2012/01/permit-no-30000.html

Uh...thanks?

2011-05-31T22:14:00.004-06:00

My sister has worked as an R.N. for several years. Throughout those years, the nurses have been given 'thank you' gifts from the hospital that have expressed, shall we say, less appreciation than they were intended to express. One year it was a wool blanket, with the hospital logo on it, that has a nasty smell that no amount of laundering will eliminate. Last year, it was a pair of socks, embroidered with the hospital logo, that didn't match. Two different socks, in one package. Included with the socks was a jar of Ponds age defying cream (because nurses really need it?) and a package of pepperoni. Yes, I said pepperoni. But the best gift of all, and the one no one believes she actually received, is the key chain pictured below:

Overheard on a Sunday Afternoon

2010-11-28T14:45:00.003-07:00

Atticus: J Boo, are you done poopin'?

J Boo: No. I'm makin' a slow one.

Atticus: (laughter)

J Boo: I'm makin' a slug!

[Note to self: I may want to curtail her multiple viewings of Flushed Away. Just a thought.]

J Boo: I'm poopin' like a slug!

Atticus: What does a slug say?

J Boo: Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Me, hearing strange noises from the living room: J Boo, what are you doing?

J Boo (irritated now): I'm makin' a slug!

Unexpected Hilarity

2010-11-01T22:34:00.003-06:00

Phil had to go have some tests done today after work. One of those was the "pee-in-a-cup" test. When Phil got home, Mr. Wiggle Brows was asking why Dad was home so early. When I told him that Daddy had to go somewhere to get some tests done and that he'd had to pee in a cup, Mr. Wiggle Brows asked incredulously, "You mean they don't have bathrooms there????"

Blood and Carnage

2010-10-17T17:46:00.000-06:00

In September, we attended the session of Stake Conference for grownups (it sounds so racy to call it "the adult session"). Our Stake President spoke of an experience he had with the Nauvoo Pageant. He was given 11 months to come up with a new presentation, and the last word of direction he was given was "don't frame it in the blood and carnage." How on earth do you share the story of Joseph and Hyrum Smith's martyrdom without any blood and carnage? It was a challenge. I can't describe it the way President W did, but his point was that we should not focus on the blood and carnage we may experience in our lives. We should focus on the eternal perspective and see our hardships for what they are: a refiner's fire.

When I think about the challenges/trials I've been given and spell them out, focusing on the "blood and carnage," it can be quite overwhelming. Some trials have been public, but most have been private. Listing them summarily can send me into waves of self pity, which keeps me from seeing my Heavenly Father's perspective: these trials are sent to sanctify me and my family, to bring us closer to Him and teach us eternal lessons that can be learned in no other way.

When I choose to find the blessings that God has given me through these trials, it is equally overwhelming. Because blessings have come, and they've come in very strange ways. I think of one particular person whose relationship to me and my family would seem completely unfathomable, but she has been an incredible source of strength and joy. She was put in my life exactly when I needed her. I think of my next door neighbor, who has become another sister to me. She loves my children almost as much as she loves her own. We've shared tears and pain, laughter and joy, and I can't even fathom what it will be like when she has to move away. I think of the changes in my brother's life, of his incredible outlook on life, and I am in awe.

I would not have chosen the trials I've been given. But I would not be who I am today without them, and I like the woman I have become. God truly moves in mysterious ways.

Thanks for the Memories, Dr. Demento

2010-08-12T17:14:00.000-06:00

Just one of the songs my older brother used to play (and sing) when we were little.

Independence Day

2010-07-07T21:45:00.001-06:00

Guess Who's Home?

2010-07-03T23:44:00.000-06:00

Yup, as of Wednesday. Now he gets to figure out how to get places. Para-transit services are EXPENSIVE!!!!

And this is most definitely not his best picture. Not a fan of the tongue thing, big brother. But I'm so glad you're home.

Encore

2010-06-24T17:18:00.002-06:00

And here we go again. Want to help? Come and buy or donate something to sell. Thank you!

ASHBY FUNDRAISER
A tragic accident has left our friend Kerry Ashby paralyzed. All proceeds will go toward medical needs, making the home wheel chair accessible, and rehabilitation.

Neighborhood Yard Sale
Sat June 26 from 7 am to 1 pm-ish
162 East 500 South Provo

Please donate any items that can be sold.
Drop off at the above address at any time.

A financial contribution would be greatly appreciated!
Donations will be collected at:

Freedom Credit Union
815 North Freedom Blvd.
Provo, UT 84604

Checks written to Kerry Ashby
Donations can also be dropped off at the yard sale location anytime.

New Life Comes in Strange Ways

2010-06-02T23:25:00.001-06:00

A little over two weeks ago, I took Sweet Boy, Mr. Wiggle Brows, and J Boo up to visit my brother Kerry. I have been wanting to write something about the experience since then, but it's taken me some time to be ready to share. I know many of you have been wondering how Kerry is doing, and I have hesitated to put much about that here because I don't know what Kerry would be comfortable with me sharing. But I have felt strongly since that visit that I needed to put into words what I felt and saw, if only for my own personal benefit.

You should know a little bit about my brother. He is a big guy with a soft heart who prefers to hide behind a gruff, tough exterior. He is stubborn, has a tendency to be prideful, and presents himself as a cocky, scary-looking, tough guy. For a while there, he was shaving his head and had a goatee long enough to put a tiny braid in. (Not his best look, I must say, but it was intimidating, which is what he wanted.) He never seemed to like to show his softer side. As a result, he came across as loud and brash, and it took my children a long time to get used to him and his rough manner of playing with them. In his own neighborhood, however, he is known as the Candy Man, because he always has candy that he gives to the kids, usually against their parents wishes. (Typical Kerry...always a rebel.)

When I walked into his room last week, the toughness was gone. The real Kerry was shining through, glowing like a newborn baby. He is humble, appreciative, and amazed by the love that has been shown to him and his family. The thing that got me the most was when he said, "I am so grateful that this accident happened. I got to see two of my sons grow into men in a very short amount of time. All of us have grown."

I felt as if I was on holy ground.

Physically, there is not much improvement to report. He moves his arms very well, can feel his fingers, but cannot move his fingers. There is nothing else from the chest on down. He gets frustrated, looking at those hands that have built so many amazing things over the years, and then spending hours in rehab trying to thread a string through a bead.

Anticipated release date: end of June
Kerry's goal: to be able to use a manual wheelchair, instead of the electric one

Please continue to pray for him and his family.

To those of you have prayed for him since the first time you heard what happened, a huge thank you from Kerry and from his family.

Mother's Day

2010-05-07T16:12:00.003-06:00

Today is the day I officially became a mother, 14 years ago. I like to think of each of my childrens' birthdays as a sort of birthday for me, too: I became a new mother every time. With each new baby, I had to learn what works best for that child, and although past experience helps a lot, it is still a new mothering experience. I had to reshape myself with each baby, becoming first a mother to one, then two, then three, and, finally, four. It's been an amazing process. Difficult? Yes, but it's the most rewarding thing I've ever done.

So Happy Birthday, Atticus! I'm glad you're mine. And I'm glad you no longer look like Spaceman Spiff, though you sure were a cute little dude.

Are You There Yet?

2010-05-03T16:54:00.001-06:00

There is a lot of cute stuff to buy, and it's all for a good cause. Go. Buy. And be happy.

Thank you, everyone.

Papa Trauma Fundraiser

2010-04-28T22:06:00.004-06:00

This is a picture of my brother, Kerry, when he was helping me with a big project in my yard in February. He's a big guy with a generous and kind heart, but now he has a big problem. He was in a serious ATV accident on April 16th and is now paralyzed. With two sons on missions, and the type of "insurance" you can get when you are self-employed, you can imagine how tight finances are going to be. I know things are tight for a lot of people right now, and, really, Azucar makes a good point: it reeks that we have to ask for help in a situation like this, but I'm asking anyway. If you are in the area and would like to help, Kerry's neighbors have organized a fundraiser. Please stop by this Saturday and either donate stuff to sell or make a few purchases. Here is the information from the flier:

ASHBY FUNDRAISER
A tragic accident has left our friend Kerry Ashby paralyzed. All proceeds will go toward medical needs, making the home wheel chair accessible, and rehabilitation.

Neighborhood Yard Sale
Sat May 1st at 7 am
162 East 500 South Provo

Please donate any items that can be sold.
Drop off at the above address at any time.

A financial contribution would be greatly appreciated!
Donations will be collected at:

Freedom Credit Union
815 North Freedom Blvd.
Provo, UT 84604

Checks written to Kerry Ashby
Donations can also be dropped off at the yard sale location anytime.

For questions call Cheryl Sheffield at 801-830-8932

Thank you for your support in this effort!

And Life Goes On

2010-04-23T18:07:00.005-06:00

Some of you know that my older brother, Kerry, was in a serious ATV accident last Friday. It's going to be a rough road. Friends and neighbors are combining efforts to help Kerry's family. With two missionaries out (the second one leaves on the 28th next week), added to the astronomical medical costs, the financial situation is going to be bad. The boys are concerned about the financial burden that their missions will be on top of everything else. If you can, please check out the button on my side bar for details about an online auction for the family on May 3rd. There will also be a huge yard sale/bake sale on Saturday, May 1st. If you want details on that, leave me your e-mail in the comments and I'll send you the information.

Thank you, everyone.

Musings

2010-04-08T14:39:00.002-06:00

I had a birthday two days ago. It was a very nice, relaxing day for me. The most unusual experience for that day came at the beginning, and I feel prompted to share it.

Some of you know that I exercise in the morning at Curves. I don't usually go on Tuesdays, but I did this week. There are two women who are part of the Tuesday/Thursday workout group. They are women whom I greatly admire: they radiate their testimonies of Jesus Christ not only in their eyes but in the way they talk, act, and respond to other people. Their love for their families and for the people they serve at church is evident in every word they speak. (I must say here that they are not the only women I know who are this way. Visit with the women in my family, neighborhood, and circle of friends and you will agree. I know some amazing women!)

I was drawn into conversation Tuesday morning with one of the women (the other one wasn't there that day). For some reason, I began telling her of the things I've experienced in my life. These things are not pretty--they are the adversities that President Uchtdorf spoke of. It was rather sobering for me, putting everything out there in a condensed version. She asked me how it is that I kept going. I told her that I didn't have a choice. She reminded me that yes, I did have a choice. I could have chosen to leave, whether physically or spiritually. It's true: I could have chosen that. But it was never an option for me. It still isn't.

Then I told her this (and I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating):

"The mist of darkness that Lehi speaks of is real. It is tangible. But even when I could not feel the Spirit, even when I felt abandoned and alone, I knew Heavenly Father was still there. I knew He still loved me. And I know the only way to get through the mists of darkness is to cling with all my might to my Heavenly Father. There is no way around, under, or over: there is only through, and you can't do it without Him."

We were both in tears. We both felt that truth. It was particularly sweet for me because I needed to feel it. It's been a rough go lately, and sometimes I can't feel the sweet peace that the gospel brings. I needed that feeling on my birthday. Thank you, Father, for the birthday present. It will carry me through for quite some time, I think.

A dear friend of mine was saying the other day how much the phrase "endure to the end" disturbs her. Are we merely passive observers? Do we just roll over and let it all happen to us? The phrase brings to mind such images. I've never cared for it myself, though I've used it often enough. A few weeks ago, a neighbor was speaking in sacrament meeting, sharing some of his missionary experiences. He talked about certain gospel phrases that are better in Spanish. "Enduring" was one of those phrases. He taught us that in Spanish, the phrase is "persevering." I believe he's right: the Spanish is better. Persevering implies active participation in the events around you. I would rather persevere, moving forward continually in spite of the obstacles in front of me.

And that is what I will do. I will keep moving, even though there are times when I want to say, "You want me to do what? Um...really?" Because that is the only viable option for me.

Sunday Highlights

2010-03-14T15:24:00.002-06:00

Favorite things about Sacrament Meeting today: the blinking shamrock light necklace worn by the elderly sister sitting behind us; the talks; the choir number ("Take My Life and Let It Be"--one of my favorites, partly because I love to play triplets); J Boo begging Phil (in full voice) to let her "swide" down his legs.

Worst part of coming home: Atticus accusing me of playing favorites and creating rules that apply only to him; lamenting, once again, that I cannot be as generous and flexible with Atticus as I can with Sweet Boy and Mr. Wiggle Brows because he will take advantage of it and use it against me in the future.

Best part of coming home: eating chocolate-covered strawberries, hand-dipped personally just for me and slipped surreptitiously into my hands when the choir got up to sing. I have amazing friends.

My Favorite News Story of the Day

2010-03-11T10:44:00.002-07:00

This makes me giggle. Can you picture it? A rogue knitter making sweaters for tree branches and lamp poles under cover of darkness. I love it. What would you call this person? I like The Purl Shadow. And how about a name for the sidekick? Hmm...maybe The Drop Stitch.

How My New Year's Resolution Is Going

2010-03-03T23:16:00.002-07:00

Parental Satisfaction

2010-02-27T23:34:00.005-07:00

First, I need to set the scene for you. A couple of weeks ago, the boys had an extended weekend. Sometimes, as a family, we like to have a movie night on such occasions, but it didn't work out this particular weekend. Atticus was not happy about it. Not happy at all. Sunday evening rolled around and Atticus was trying to convince me, at 9 pm, that he HAD TO get on the computer to finish downloading and converting some video files for his mp3 player.

Atticus: MOOOOooooom, I have 2 minutes left on my computer time! You HAVE to log me in so I can finish this project!

Me: It's bedtime, Atticus. You should have finished this afternoon instead of terrorizing your brothers for fun. I'm not getting you on.

Atticus: But it's all your fault that I didn't get home in time from Grandma's house to get on the computer. Now YOU have to get me on. Because it's all YOUR FAULT!

Phil: Atticus, you're more than welcome to leave Grandma's early, if you need to get home to do something. We're not keeping you there.

Atticus: Nu-uh! You guys were late getting there, and that's why we're so late getting home. It's all YOUR FAULT!

Me: Atticus! Go and get ready for bed NOW! Perhaps, if you are ready quickly enough, I'll discuss the possibility of getting you on for your last 2 minutes, but not if it takes you 30 minutes to get ready for bed like it usually does.

Atticus: Fine! (stomps off in a huff and, miraculously, is completely ready for bed in 6 minutes)

Unfortunately for him, while Atticus finished up his bedtime preparations, I checked his computer time.

Me: Uh, Atticus? You have 43 seconds left, not 2 minutes.

Atticus: But that's enough time to finish what I need to do.

Me: No, it's not. I'm not logging you on. It's late, and you need to go to bed.

Atticus: WHAT?!?!?!?!? You can't do that! We're having movie night tonight, and we're watching Mythbusters on my mp3 player! You promised!

Me: I promised no such thing. I said we might be able to, if things worked out, but they didn't, so we aren't.

He was furious.

(Stay with me now, I'm still setting up the scene.)

I went off to help Sweet Boy clean his teeth. While I'm brushing, I asked him, "So what's this movie night Atticus is talking about you guys doing tonight?"

Sweet Boy: Huh?

I repeated the question and finally got an "Oh! Yeah."

Me: At what point were you two planning to tell me about this, let alone ask permission?

Sweet Boy: We weren't supposed to say anything to you.

Me: Ah. I see.

I think someone is busted.

Back in the kitchen, I ask Atticus the same question: When were you planning to tell me about this movie night?

Atticus: You already knew!

Me: No, I didn't. Were you ever going to ask my permission?

Sweet Boy (to Atticus): You said not to ask her.

Me: HA!!! You are so busted, my friend. There is no way I would log you on to the computer. No way, son. Now go to bed.

All was quiet, I thought, so I went to get myself ready for bed. But then I heard Atticus' voice. I knew something was up, and I was thirsty anyway, so I headed to the kitchen. On my way, I noticed that Atticus' door was wide open. Also, there was a funny light coming from the kitchen.

I walked very quietly into my kitchen to see Atticus and Sweet Boy standing at the kitchen counter in front of my open laptop. Obviously, Atticus had sneaked in to Sweet Boy's room and convinced him to get out of bed to log on to the laptop. (Sweet Boy knows the password, but Atticus does not because he cannot be trusted. A point he brought home, yet again, with his actions.) The boys were facing me, but because the lights were off and they were watching the computer screen intently, they didn't see me.

I walked up to the other side of the counter, not 3 feet away from them, and still, they did not see me. So I exacted my revenge.

Me: {SLAMMING my open hand down on the counter top} What the hell do you think you are doing?!?!?!?

Atticus' knees buckled and his voice cracked as he said, "What the crap?"

Sweet Boy looked up in horror and said nothing.

I started to laugh hysterically.

Me: You are so busted! I caught you red handed! I should ground you both.

Atticus: Oh please, Mom, pleeeeeeease don't do that!

Me: You know, the only thing that is saving both of you from grounding is the look on your face, Atticus. Just remember this: I always figure out what you are doing. Always.

Revenge is sweet.

And a Happy New Year to you, too!

2010-01-03T23:09:00.005-07:00

We had some beautiful snow this past Wednesday, so (as previously promised) I took my boys sledding at "the bowl," a favorite sledding spot here. The snow was soft and fluffy, just perfect. It was a little hard to get started on the sleds, but once we got our momentum going, we could fly down the hill. It was awesome. Atticus went with his friend across the bowl to a steeper place and took a few jumps. I saw him a couple of times and was impressed with how much air he got. After an hour and a half, we were all tired from tramping up the steep hills in the soft snow, so we left, much to the disappointment of the boys. Atticus was especially vocal about not wanting to leave yet and made me promise to bring them again on Friday, New Year's Day.

New Year's Day was beautiful, but the snow at the bowl was packed and hard, and there were lots of people there. Atticus and Sweet Boy took off to the steeper hill again while I took Mr. Wiggle Brows down a kinder incline. We had been there no more than 15 minutes when I happened to look over to where Atticus was sledding. I watched him fly down the hill, hit the same jump that he did on Wednesday, and that was it. He didn't start walking back up the hill: he started walking towards me. As far away as he was, I could tell something was not right.

I began ushering Mr. Wiggle Brows over towards Atticus. Sweet Boy came running over ahead of Atticus to tell me that Atticus had hurt his wrist. When I saw Atticus, and the panic and pain on his face, I knew it was bad. Then I saw the wrist.

"Oh, honey, you broke it."

{sniff} "Is it bad?"

"I'm afraid so, son."

"How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad. We need to get you to the ER as soon as possible. Let's go."

I've never seen him in pain like that before. Never.

We got to the car, took Sweet Boy and Mr. Wiggle Brows home to Phil, and headed off to the InstaCare. We never made it to the exam room. The doctor was in the hallway when they called us back. He took one look at it and said, "He has to be knocked out to set this, and I can't do it here. Head directly to the ER."

Atticus was in quite a state. Not only was he slightly "shocky," he was panicked about the amount of pain he was in and exactly what they were going to do to him. I tried to reassure him as best I could, but it's hard to calm down when you hurt that bad.

Want to see how bad the break was? Of course you do. Because you love gruesome photos as much as I do.

What I learned from all of this: I can remain amazingly calm when disaster strikes; I can impress nurses with my fascination for gross stuff enough that they ask me why I'm not working in a hospital; and I know enough medical stuff to scare my children.

What Atticus learned from all of this: Listen to that little nudge that says, "DO NOT GO OFF THAT JUMP. No, REALLY, DON'T DO IT."

All [He] Wants for Christmas...

2009-11-23T22:48:00.004-07:00

Atticus tells me that he wants a flame thrower for Christmas. (HA! In your dreams, son.)

But that's his answer every time I ask.

Anyone have any idea how I can give him a "flame thrower" without actually giving him a flame thrower?

Be creative. Think outside the normal parameters. I'm talking about the kind of thing my dad would come up with: a miniature three-legged stool glued inside a cup (a stool sample); a wooden circle with "TUIT" printed on it (an excuse breaker, as in "as soon as I get around to it I'll do _____").

Remember, this is a family friendly blog, so keep it clean.

Find me here!

2009-11-13T22:30:00.002-07:00

Get it? Find me? Oh never mind. Go read my first Guest Blogger post (a repost of something I wrote a while back) here. I feel practically like a celebrity! (Thank you, Gerb, for the invitation.)

My Favorite Spooks

2009-11-02T09:32:00.006-07:00

The Buzzy Bee (J Boo)

The Executioner (Sweet Boy), The Tall Man (Nephew M), and The Knight (Mr. Wiggle Brows)

The Scarecrow (Atticus)

The Mystery Woman

Er...MAN!

Kisses from Little "Bro" Peep (my brother Klay)

Little Bro Peep found his sheep (nephew D)

Sweet Boy and Mr. Wiggle Brows as a girls

And guess what J Boo ate for breakfast this morning?

Notice the chocolate clear down on the waist band of the diaper.
(It was under her arms, too.)
She bathed herself in chocolate, after which I bathed her in soap and water.

Oddities

2009-10-21T22:59:00.002-06:00

In the texture on my kitchen ceiling, right above my sink, there is a Wallace and Grommit type sheep head. I see it every night after I use my asthma inhaler while I'm rinsing my throat and mouth. It's sticking its tongue out at me. I think it's making fun of the way I gargle. (You would too, if you had to see me gargle.)

And miles to go before I sleep

2009-10-04T00:52:00.003-06:00

This was my day today:

*Up at 7:50am to take care of Princess J Boo, who was yelling, "Hey!!" and "Mommy!" from her crib (which is still in our room).

*Started laundry.

*Breakfast.

*Vacuumed the floors.

*Started listening to conference (all radios in the house are turned on LOUD so you can hear it wherever you are, whatever you are doing).

*Mopped floors.

*Cleaned nasty spiderwebs (and spiders) off of cement forms for window wells while my little (or, rather, younger) brother helped finish digging out the first window well that we started together a few weeks ago.

*Had to stop to take J Boo on a walk during the morning session of conference. Missed a couple of talks, but what can you do when an 18-month-old must go exploring that puddle on the sidewalk down the street? She found a lovely branch with leaves on it to take back to Daddy.

*Changed laundry.

*Resumed digging work on the two other window wells while listening to conference.

*Smacked myself in the cheek with a pry bar while digging out small boulders (damn rocks). It hurt.

*Got slap happy because my body was tired from the digging and my brother kept making silly jokes or singing chain gang songs. Surprised to learn from little brother that my dad sings songs while working.

*Finished up the third window well just after the afternoon session finished.

*Finally had a chance to eat something (skipped lunch to keep digging).

*Got in the shower and cleaned myself up enough to be presentable.

*Loaded kids in the car to head over to my mom's.

*All the girls (and kids) went out for pizza while the priesthood holders went to their meeting.

*On the way home, stopped to pick up prescriptions. Wondered how much we spend a year on prescriptions? Decided I don't really want to know.

*Got home to a disaster in my kitchen.

*Sent boys to go get pajamas.

*Chatted with my sister-in-law (who came to hang out with me) while I cleaned up the kitchen.

*Gave J Boo a bath (because she had bathed herself with ice cream twice)

*Asked boys AGAIN to please get pajamas on.

*Read stories to J Boo while chatting with sister-in-law.

*Tried to put J Boo down, but she freaked out because she wanted the milk that she insisted not 2 minutes previously that she did not want.

*Gave J Boo milk and read more books to her.

*Told Sweet Boy and Mr. Wiggle Brows that they absolutely MUST have pajamas on NOW!!!

*Walked SIL out to her car and said "hi" to my just-older brother.

*Said "hi" to Phil and Atticus as they, too, arrived.

*Handed J Boo to Phil when we got inside.

*Rerouted Atticus away from siblings and towards his room with orders to get ready for bed.

*Brushed Mr. Wiggle Brows teeth.

*Brushed Sweet Boy's teeth.

*Read story to Mr. Wiggle Brows and Sweet Boy (Bedtime for Francis).

*Was asked by Mr. Wiggle Brows, "Mom, when do you go to bed?" Answered, "Not until my jobs are done."
"When is that?"
"Pretty late, son."
"When does Daddy go to bed?"
"Whenever he wants to."
Thought of the unfairness of this statement, but remembered some of the talks today about accepting our trials willingly and cheerfully. Must try to be better.

*Returned to the kitchen to assemble soup for the crockpot for Sunday dinner with my family.

*Also made some desserts.

*Cleaned kitchen again. (It never ends! It never ends that way too!)

*Picked up living room for the umpteenth time.

*More laundry.

*Tried to start dishwasher but realized that when Phil fixed the outlet under the sink today, he made it so there is no power.

*Tracked down extension cord downstairs (in itself is a miracle if you've seen my basement and the amount of boxes Phil has with his stuff in them), got dishwasher plugged in and ready to go.

*Sat down to look at family photos that my brother Nihao took two Sundays ago.

*Decided to write this post.

*Still need to wash up and get myself in bed. It's almost 1:30am.

When does the mom get to go to bed?

Eh? Whatcha say, Sonny?

2009-09-27T00:02:00.002-06:00

On Friday I went to a most delightful lunch with blog friends to celebrate suedonym's birthday. While in line to order my food, I was chatting with Geo. I noticed that one of the female servers there was quite pretty--one of those natural beauties who would look great in any situation. I pointed her out to Geo, commenting on how lovely I thought she was. Geo agreed, saying, and I quote:

"Yes, she looks like a star from a foreign film."

I didn't hear the "f" in "foreign," and I didn't hear a bisyllabic word. I heard a monosyllabic word beginning with "p" and rhyming with "corn."

I was understandably shocked, which made me start to laugh. But I lost it completely when Geo said, "I'm trying to think which movie it was."

Geo was confused. Why was I so entertained? Then I said, "Geo! I had no idea you were into [p]--- films!"

"NO, Julie! That's not what I said! I said 'For-eign films,' not [p]--- films!"

Poor Geo. I can be such a tease, and she put up with me so well. I may not ever let her live it down.

Grow Old Along with Me

2009-09-21T22:58:00.000-06:00

When I was about the same age Atticus is now, Grandma B, my maternal grandmother, came to stay with us. She had been living on her own in an apartment close by, but it became obvious that she could no longer be left alone. Mom & Dad moved her in with us. She shared my room. (I had the only other bedroom on the main floor, I had a bunkbed, and I was right down the hall from my parents--it was a no brainer to give her the bottom bunk.)

At first, things went well. Grandma did weird things on occasion, but Mom was able to handle the strange stuff. Grandma liked to work and stay busy, so that's what she did. Unfortunately for me, I came home one day from a friend's house to find my posters torn off the walls and Grandma going persistently through my underwear drawer.

"Grandma! What are you doing?" I asked.

"You're parents told me to pack up your room because you're moving out. And I cannot believe what a messy girl you are!" she answered, obviously disgusted.

I was devastated.

What girl at that age wants anyone, especially her grandmother, going through her personal things? But Grandma was convinced that Mom & Dad had told her to move me out, so that's what she was going to do. She played favorites, and for some mysterious reason I was not on her golden list, so I knew no amount of explanation on my behalf was going to change her mind.

That's how it came to be that I was "roomless" for quite some time. Mom & Dad set up a bed for me in the basement family room, and they cleared out a storage closet for me, but there was no privacy. Even the storage closet door had a metal screen in it, so changing clothes was difficult to do with any measure of privacy. I had four older brothers and one younger, and only two of the five were kind enough to allow me the courtesy of dressing without harassment. It's an awkward age as it is. Having three brothers coming in and threatening to watch you dress does not build confidence.

Is it any wonder, then, that when my other grandma, Grandma A., moved in with us my Senior year that I was more than a little apprehensive? Granted, I was four years older then, and I had my own room in the basement (with a locking door) that I didn't have to share, but the damage was done. I was nervous to be around her. I didn't like being left alone with her, and I hated having to go on walks with her. My "boyfriend" at the time couldn't understand why I was so negative. She was my grandma, after all! But he didn't understand: the woman who thought the oranges on the table were sleeping (because they hadn't moved for so long) was not the grandma I knew and loved. I couldn't risk being vulnerable: what if she "moved me out" like Grandma B. had done?

My grandmothers have both died long since (I was 15 when Grandma B died and 26 when Grandma A died). I can look back on my experiences with more understanding for them and for myself. They couldn't help what they were doing, and I don't believe they would have knowingly hurt me. Will they forgive me for being immature and insensitive? I think so.

My MIL, Gert, has Alzheimer's and is in a care facility now. Recently, we went to visit her. I was nervous. What if all my past feelings came rushing back? What if I froze and couldn't think of what to say to her? Thankfully, I was fine. I can still "see" the real Gert, even if only for a few moments here and there. She may not know who I am for sure, but I'm okay with that. I can honor her, love her, and just be with her without fear.

Because of my experiences with my grandmothers, I recognized the nervousness in my sons as we walked into the center. I worried about how they would react. I needn't have worried. Somehow, they understood what my younger self did not. They were patient, loving, and kind. I think that when I am old and senile, I will be grateful to have them taking care of me.

Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith 'A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!'

Some Family Firsts

2009-09-02T22:46:00.006-06:00

J Boo had her first tantrum (of many). She's entering into the terrible two's early, following the family pattern. Lovely. It's a good thing she's so dang cute.

Mr. Wiggle Brows started Kindergarten. No, I didn't cry, and neither did he. Good times are had every day.

Sweet Boy got his first retainer, although he hasn't had braces yet. Except for the first two, his baby teeth on the bottom have had to be pulled early by the dentist to make room for the permanent teeth. I am not looking forward to the orthodontic experience with him.

Atticus got his braces off. Hooray and hallelujah!! I know I'm the mom and all, but I think he's a pretty handsome kid.

Uncanny Resemblance

2009-08-10T13:17:00.006-06:00

And now a game of who's who...

Things I've Heard at My House Lately

2009-08-07T23:16:00.002-06:00

These are the nice ones. I won't describe the one where Atticus called Phil a Nazi. (I kid you not.)

**************

While going through Atticus' shirts to see what still fits, he informed me that he would not be wearing the nice, hand-me-down sports T-shirts because he's not familiar with the teams.

"So?" I said.

"People ask me who the teams are and I don't know enough about sports to tell them." (spoken with that "duh" tone of voice that only a teenage son uses)

"And...?"

With an exasperated sigh, he replied, "Moooom, you might as well tattoo 'I don't get out much' on my forehead!" He used gestures and everything. I thought I was going to wet myself from laughing so hard. I know, you had to be there, but truly, it was funny.

**************

I took Sweet Boy and Mr. Wiggle Brows on errands yesterday, one of which included the office supply store. Mr. Wiggle Brows found several things of interest, but his favorites, the two that inspired a near melt down, were a packing tape dispenser and.......duct tape.

"But I want my OWN duct tape! I don't want to use yours. I NEED it."

Um, dude, you're not even in Kindergarten yet. What the hell do you need duct tape and a tape gun for?

**************

J Boo says lots of things now, and can get anything she wants from her Daddy by just saying "Thank you!" but she captivated us completely last night when we realized she was singing "Mahna Mahna." Yeah, that one. It was awesome. (That's for you, ~j.)

You'll Be Stone Dead in a Moment

2009-05-27T21:41:00.003-06:00

Today I played a rhyming game with Mr. Wiggle Brows while we were running errands. I was asking him for words that rhymed with "car." We listed several, then I asked him what was the word for the things you see in the sky at night. Once he figured out the word I was after, he said:

"I like looking at the stars at night. Sometimes, after I check to make sure you and Dad are not dead, I go look out my window at the stars."

Should I get him a little hand mirror?

Small Miracles

2009-05-19T21:47:00.005-06:00

A few weeks ago, we had Phil's former girlfriend, Heather, and her beautiful daughter over for dinner. My dear friendsister, Katie, asked, "Wasn't that really awkward for you?"

She has a point. Heather sent Phil a "Dear John" letter while Phil was on his mission. I think it was hard on Phil, but they remained friends. When I finally came into the picture, I thought it was a bit odd that they would still want to spend time together. My mom thought it even stranger. But I accepted it. After all, she was married, and I had some guy friends too, though I wasn't as close to them as Phil was to Heather.

We kept in touch with Heather off and on for a while. She was kind enough to invite me to social events, which I appreciated, even though I couldn't always attend. She was my nurse when Sweet Boy was born and was one of the first to hold him. It was comforting to have her with me in the hospital--not at all as weird as I thought it might be. She always was a little intimidating to me: tall, beautiful, and confident. (And her singing voice is gorgeous.) Still, I liked her, though our friendship was maintained more through Phil. Then she moved to Nevada and we lost track of one another.

After some life shaking events, I came to understand Phil's relationship with Heather a little better. Suddenly, so many things became clear to me. I had an all new appreciation for Heather and felt the kind of connection with her that comes through shared experiences. I wanted to reconnect, to talk to her again, but I didn't know how that would happen.

Then I got more involved in Facebook. Imagine my delight when Heather sent me a friend request! We began to chat and send messages back and forth. When we arranged a time for her to come visit us with her daughter, I was thrilled. And I wasn't disappointed: we had a wonderful evening. She took as much delight in my children as I do (or at least she pretended to). I was sad to see her go but grateful to know that we have reconnected.

****************

At the end of April, I went to Women's Conference at BYU. I knew that one of my aunts and her daughters, some of whom I haven't seen for a very long time, would be there. I knew that the chances of running into them were pretty small, but I still whispered one of those "wishing" type prayers that I might run into them.

You can imagine my joy when I discovered them Thursday morning sitting two rows behind me in the Instant Choir rehearsal! I could hardly believe it! We embraced, we visited, we had our pictures taken together, and I figured that would be it until I saw them at a family get-together that was planned for Friday night. I hoped I'd see them again during the two-day conference, but decided one small miracle was all I would hope for. Not so! They were sitting about 5 rows down from me during the closing session on Friday! It was amazing.

****************

Those chance miracle meetings were not the only ones I experienced at Women't Conference. There was one woman I had been thinking about several days before the conference that I haven't seen in a few years. We used to live in the same ward about 11 years ago, and the only time I ever see Shauna is at Women's Conference. But I wasn't planning to sit in the section where all my friends from that area usually sit. I sent a wishful thought heavenward that I'd see her there but didn't expect anything, until I saw her walk right past me in one of the classes I decided to attend. I got to talk to her for a few minutes and share with her some memories I have of her doing sweet things with her children. I don't know why Heavenly Father allowed me to "run into" Shauna there, whether it was for my benefit or hers, but I felt loved at that moment.

Directly after that class, while waiting for the next class to start, I decided to make a pit stop at the restroom. While waiting in the line, I saw a woman come out of one of the stalls, and I nearly passed out from shock! "Leisa?" She turned, and it was indeed Leisa, one of my dear, dear friends from high school who ended up marrying one of my cousins. I hadn't seen her in probably 15 years or so, and we run into each other in a small bathroom in the Wilkinson Center with 30 other women waiting in line? Not a coincidence.

It was also no coincidence to find out we were both going to the same class that hour. She was in need of some direction for a difficult situation that I ended up having personal experience with. I firmly believe that the Lord put us in one another's paths so that I could ease some of her pain. (At least, I hope I did. I tried to.)

****************

Thinking back on these interactions with dear friends and family, I realize even more how much God loves each of us. We are His daughters. He knows exactly what we need, and even sometimes gives us things that we really want. Logically, I should never have run into Leisa, Shauna, or my cousins and aunt. Social norms tell me that I shouldn't be friends with my husband's former girlfriend. God knows better for me: he gave me these small miracles because he loves me and knows what I need. He has always known, even if I haven't.

Because I would SO love one of these...

2009-05-19T12:43:00.003-06:00

I can totally see Mr. Wiggle Brows and J Boo riding in the back and loving it. And I wouldn't have to hook up a bike trailer! If you, too, want a chance to win one, click on the link and follow the directions.

You know you're tired when...

2009-04-19T18:23:00.002-06:00

...you find yourself falling asleep during choir practice, and you are the accompanist.

Oh yes, I did.

And I was playing parts at the time.

At least no one caught me.

Making Mistakes

2009-04-12T22:49:00.004-06:00

I don't do Easter baskets.

I know, I know--I'm robbing my children of a great American {*ahem* pagan *ahem*} tradition, not to mention a sugar high. (I already got the look of shock from Pflower this morning.) I just don't want my children thinking that Easter is bunnies, eggs, and candy. I want them to associate Easter with the amazing gift of the Atonement. I want them to know that Jesus lived, died, and was resurrected for them.

**************
A few weeks ago, Sweet Boy called home from school. He had been there less than an hour, so when I saw "P-- School District" on the Caller ID, my heart did a giant leap into my throat.

SB: {teary voice} "Mom?"

Me: "Sweet Boy! Are you okay? What happened?"

SB: "My backpack is gone!"

Me: "Gone? What do you mean? Was it stolen?"

SB: "I don't know! I thought I had it on my back--it felt like it was there on my back--but when I got to school and went to take it off, it was just gone! I looked everywhere, but it's not there. And I won't have a lunch today because my lunchbox was in there too!" {breaks down into tears}

Me: "Oh, Sweet Boy! It's okay. You won't go without lunch because I'll bring you another one. It will be okay--we'll find your backpack. But in the meantime, I'll make sure you have lunch today."

SB: {sniffing loudly} "Okay. Thanks, Mom."

I hung up the phone and got J Boo and Mr. Wiggle Brows loaded in the car to do the drop-off at preschool. I told Phil what happened, and he offered to drive by the school on his way to work and see if he could see the backpack outside. I planned to do the same on the way back from my drop-off duties. Neither of us saw anything.

When I returned home, the thought came to me to check Sweet Boy's room before starting a 2nd lunch for him. Lo and behold, there was the backpack, hanging on the hook where he keeps it in his room, lunchbox and homework present. What a relief! Sweet Boy was so happy to see his backpack (and even happier to see his lunch). He laughed when I told him where it was and was a good sport when his classmates teased him. Happy day for Sweet Boy, happy day for mom.

Later that evening, as Phil and I were getting ready for bed, Phil asked THE QUESTION.

"So, what do you think Sweet Boy learned from this experience so that it won't happen again?"

(Can I tell you how much I detest THE QUESTION? It always feels so patronizing. When I goof up, I don't really want to verbally rehash the painful lesson learned in order to "prove" that I learned something. And the kids don't like it either. Some lessons are meant to be learned privately.)

Here was my response: "He learned that his mother loves him enough to make him another lunch if his gets lost so he won't go hungry to school. He learned that it's okay to make mistakes, and it's good to be able to laugh at yourself when you do."

It stopped Phil dead in his tracks.

And it got me thinking about making mistakes.

Not long after the backpack incident, Sweet Boy was scheduled to take part in a violin recital. He was nervous. When we got there that night, I could see him getting more and more agitated. He got teary and told me, "What if I make a mistake? I'll be so embarrassed, and then I'll burst into tears, and I'll be even more embarrassed! It will be just like the fiddle contest!"

The recital started, and I did my best to help ease Sweet Boy's fears. There were several performers before it would be his turn, and it worked out great. Every single performer made some kind of mistake. I'm sure the people around me who could hear my whispers were annoyed to have me pointing out the mistakes to my little boy, but I needed him to see that everyone makes mistakes, and it's not the end of the world if they do. He began to relax a little.

Then Lorien's oldest son got up to play his pieces. He sounded great! But part way through one of his songs, he forgot where he was and had to stop completely. His mind went blank, and he could not remember where he was in the music.

"Whoops, I forgot where I was," he grinned, sheepishly. Then he picked up his bow, found a different starting place, and finished the song.

I leaned over to Sweet Boy and said, "See, C-- goofed up big time. Did you notice how he responded? He just said, 'Whoops,' and started over. Maybe, if you make a mistake, you could say, 'Oh poop!'" He started to giggle. (I had to play to that potty humor streak that boys have.)

"Or maybe you could say, 'Oh poop nuggets!'" That got him laughing even harder. He was no longer near tears, and he got up and played his best. No one noticed his goofs, and he didn't get embarrassed, and he didn't cry.

Not long after that, we attended the Draper Temple dedication. During the program, President Monson made a mistake in his conducting and announced a song from the choir that they had already sung. President Uchdorf stopped him, he corrected the error with a bit of humor, and went on. I leaned over to Sweet Boy and said, "See? Even the prophet makes mistakes sometimes." He smiled.

And I prayed silently in my heart that he would remember these mistakes--the ones he made, and the ones others made. I prayed that he would remember that making a mistake does not mean the end of the world. Mistakes can be handled with humor and grace. Making mistakes is an opportunity to learn, grow, and repent.

**************

So I don't do Easter baskets. A mistake? I don't think so. Because my children will know that, because of the great and powerful Atonement, they can make mistakes and still return to live with Heavenly Father. Because of their relationship with their Savior, mistakes can be rectified. Because of the Savior's gift of blood, sweat, death, and then life, they, too, will live again, even if they have made mistakes. And no amount of plastic eggs, chocolate rabbits, or jelly beans will teach them that.

Fashion Fil, Part 2

2009-03-19T22:23:00.001-06:00

Remember this post? Well, Phil's coworkers went one step further. They have a "Name Phil's Style" contest going on--written up on the side of Phil's filing cabinet.

Awesome.

Booger Air

2009-03-05T09:38:00.004-07:00

I was talking with Mr. Wiggle Brows this morning about wind. This is what he told me:

"When the wind goes in through your mouth, it's still wind. But when it goes in through your nose, it turns into booger air."

I think I actually blew some booger air onto my shirt from laughing so hard.

Just a Flesh Wound

2009-02-23T22:11:00.004-07:00

As requested, here are some "after" pictures:

That steri strip is driving me bonkers!

But not as much as the rash from the dressing adhesive. This is the biggest patch of it (about as long as my hand and three fingers wide):

I told them I had a tape allergy. (And no, that is not boobage showing. It's my left shoulder, thankyouverymuch.)

On a tangent, here is what Sweet Boy and Too (Mr. Wiggle Brows) were doing tonight with a blanket.

Upon emerging from the cocoon, I asked Too (Mr. Wiggle Brows) if he was now a butterfly.

"No. I'm a biskeeto!"

Falling among Cutthroats

2009-02-18T14:20:00.000-07:00

Notice my lovely, scar-free neck:

(Yes, I know--there are wrinkles and a double chin.) Sadly, today is the last day that my neck will ever look this way again. Tomorrow I fall among cutthroats to have part (or possibly all) of my thyroid removed. (See what a haute nodule will get you?)

I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing. The only other surgery I've ever had was a C-section, which really wasn't that bad. I wonder how many jokes I can make about the surgery and the resulting scar?

On a lighter note, Phil has requested that I use nicknames for the kids instead of just initials. You might have noticed them on the sidebar. I'm still toying with a couple of them, but Atticus is definitely a keeper. Sweet Boy could also be Lego Lover. Too might be too confusing, but I haven't come up with an alternative. And I may shorten J Boo to just Boo. Who knows?

I'm sure the anesthesia tomorrow and the subsequent pain meds should enhance my creativity.

I Believe in Autonomy

2009-02-06T17:37:00.002-07:00

This is what T-- chose to wear today.

I know I'm fashion challenged, but I had hoped my children would have slightly better fashion sense. Then again, I'm not this bad.

Giving Pause

2009-01-23T09:30:00.004-07:00

A couple of Sundays ago, T-- decided to bring Tootie Fruities (or "Fruitie Tooties," as he calls them) to church for his "snack." In the middle of sacrament meeting, T-- started rubbing one of the cereal pieces all over his face and then tried to rub one on my face as well. I couldn't figure out what he was trying to do. Then he leaned up to my ear and whispered, "Smew my face, Mom!" Um, what? He repeated it. Ohhhh...SMELL my face. Ah. Got it. "Okay," I said, still a bit confused, and sniffed his cheek. "Does it smew wike Fruitie Tooties?" And, lo and behold, it did! Do they make Tootie Fruitie cologne for 5-year-old boys? Because T-- would be all over it.

Last night, about half an hour after A-- was supposed to be in bed, he comes running out of his room, all excited. "MOM! MOM! LOOK!!!! I solved it!" He had a Rubik's cube, completely solved. He'd been reading a book that Phil gave him on how to solve the cube (without taking it apart, which is how I always solved them) and he got it! I was so impressed! I never could figure those things out. Even more proof that A-- is waaaaay too smart for his own good (or, rather, for my own sanity). What a great kid.

During one of his violin lessons a few years ago, S-- came across a fermata. He got all excited and said, "Oh! I know what that is!! It's a one-eyed penguin!" To that point, I'd never really seen his teacher laugh much (she's very shy), but she was nearly weeping with mirth that day. It made my whole week. And every time I see a fermata, I will think of S-- and his sense of humor.

All these things remind me that I need to pause occasionally and just enjoy my children for who they are, to really live in the moment and love what is happening now, rather than hope for better times to come. Even if these things aren't "funny" to someone else, they made me laugh. I need to do that more often.

On that note, what better person to remind us to embrace the moment than Nie Nie? Go bid on some sweet stuff in preparation for the benefit concert for her family.

Must Be Genetic Part 2

2009-01-14T22:18:00.002-07:00

I had to look back in my archives to make sure I hadn't already told these stories in this post. Fortunately, they weren't there, so we're clear.

Several years back, my mother's side of the family had a reunion in Star Valley, Wyoming, where my grandparents raised all of their children. My Uncle Lloyd was, at the time, still running the ranch. My mom decided she wanted to take some of her grandchildren out for a tour of the ranch. While walking along, pointing out the sites, Mom said, "See those animals over there? Those are boy cows. You call them bulls. Now, see these things on the ground? These are called little bullsh!ts."

When my sister was about 3 years old, Dad overheard her expressing her frustrations over a broken doll thus: "Hells bells, Matilda! Can't you fix this?"

Dad asked, "Now where in the world did she learn that kind of language, Leah?"

Mom was curiously silent as she washed up the dishes....

And one of my own, that I know I've told many of you already:

When A-- was about 2 or so, Phil was called to be a Ward Clerk in our church. He needed to be set apart, which they wanted to do in a very tiny office in the building. After our church meetings ended, we went to the designated room. Phil and the two men who were assigned to set him apart took their places. I sat on a chair, holding A-- in my lap. During the middle of the process, right when things were quiet, A-- dropped his sippy cup. Imagine my horror when he said, "THHHit! Thit, thit, thit!" (He had a lisp.)

I quickly revised my at-home vocabulary. But A-- had (still does) a long memory for things we don't want him to recall, and the next time I dropped something at home and said "shoot," A-- piped up and said, "Mommy, you uthed to thay thit! But now you thay thoot!" Yes, thank you, son, for remembering my faults and shortcomings. Lovely.

And now you know the rest of the story...or at least parts of it.

Must Be Genetic

2009-01-13T14:11:00.002-07:00

I took my mom shopping for a couple of hours today. While in the car, she asked if she had ever told me the milking story about her grandparents. It wasn't one I could recall, so I asked her to repeat it.

Not long after her grandparents were married, they were out in the barn. Feisty little Grandma had just finished milking the cow when the cow kicked the bucket over and spilled all the milk. She was pretty upset and said, "Why, you dirty bit@#!"

Grandpa, who was very mild-mannered and kind, replied, "Now there, Hattie, I thought you knew the difference between a cow and a dog!"

Putting the Drag in Dragon

2009-01-07T10:02:00.003-07:00

T-- got a Christmas gift from his friend. It was one of those fizzy egg things that dissolved to reveal a little toy dragon. T-- was so excited! We got the warm water ready in a bowl and dropped the egg in. The fizzing brought excitement (on T--'s part) but also added the smell of cheap soap to the air. Ugh.

Eventually, the dragon was revealed. I rinsed off the nasty soap stuff and started putting the wings and tail on. As I looked at the dragon legs, I said, "Wait a minute. They put a back leg on as a front leg. This can't possibly be right!"

Then I took another look. And another. And I suddenly realized that I was holding Puff the effeminate dragon. Yes, our dragon was a drag queen.

Awesome.

Fashion Fil

2008-12-29T23:15:00.004-07:00

About a week and a half ago, Phil (or Fil, as he refers to himself) came home from work all excited about something. He told me that one of the IT guys at work had announced that the next day was going to be Dress Like Fil Day, complete with contest, and would I be willing to come down and be the judge?

Of course, I said "yes."

How could I resist? You see, Phil would make a great candidate for TLC's What Not to Wear. Stacy and Clinton would have a heyday if they saw his side of the closet. His clothes take up more space than mine do. But his daily wardrobe consists of three main staples: cargo pants, rugby/polo shirts, or long sleeved sweaters with a single horizontal stripe across the chest. A button-up shirt? Only under duress or on Sundays with a tie. (Thankfully, he doesn't wear the cargo pants to church.) Argyle sweater? Not on your life. Scary (sorry honey) sweaters from the 80s? Definitely, but only to company parties or to a really "nice" function.

Ten years ago, one of our neighbors said Phil reminded her of Steve from Blues Clues. I had no idea who she was talking about. We didn't have cable, and A-- was too small to know about Blue, so I bought a video tape of Blues Clues just so I would know who "Steve" was and what he dressed like. Our neighbor was spot on: Phil dressed just like Steve. Ten years later, he still does.

Wanna see the pictures? Of course you do.

Notice the ziplock baggie duct taped to the middle guy's pants because he doesn't own a pair of cargo pants. That's creativity, friends.

Can you tell they're all a bunch of enginerds/computer geeks? Uh-huh.

Phil is the one in the front, kneeling. The other three were the winners for the three categories: Best Dressed (clothes matched most closely with what Fil would wear), Most Articulate (best Fil impression), and Next GQ Model (best Fil pose).

It was awesome. And Phil was a great sport. Actually, he was more like a very enthusiastic sport about making fun of himself...one of the things I love best about him. What a guy!

One of the BEST Santa letters...

2008-12-25T21:59:00.000-07:00

This is S's letter to Santa for this year (written at school), errors and all:

Dear Santa,

Thank you for last years Skippyjon Jones book, How to draw dragons and other fantasie creatures, and the lego dumpster. I really liked the dumpster I could turn a knobs on it to make it dump, raise, and turn the machine. For this years presents I want a vulcan ebf-25 dart gun, a star wars plug'n play game, and a hypersonic operations aircraft legoset.

First, I want the vulcan eBF-25 because it can shoot very far and has a stand so you do'n't have to hold the heavy dart gun. It can shoot 3 darts per second! I can also hold it against my chest and shoot it It comes with like 60 darts.

Also, I want the star wars video game because I can bring it around to my friend's house and other houses like my relatives. The plun'n play video game would improve my eyesight and my relfexes.

In addition, I want the Mt61-hypersonic aircraft becauswe It has a quick-deployment platform, Flying ailien reserch center and twin-Attack cruisers. It would improve my building skill, imagination and my love of fiction.

I deserve all these things because they would improve my skill, eye-focus, imagination, building skill, reflexes, and self-defence. I also deserve these things because I would share these things with my family and friends.

To conclude, I would really like to have the vulcan ebf-25 The star wars the clone wars game and the Mt-61 hiper-sonic aircraft this year for christ-mas. can I have these three presents this year? Have a merry christmas!

Sincerely,
S

My Point Exactly!

2008-12-14T22:34:00.002-07:00

Overheard tonight at my parents' house:

S to A: You contradict everything I say!

A to S (in a very snotty voice): No I don't!

Hubby Tag

2008-12-14T11:08:00.006-07:00

Because I aim to please...

What is your husband’s name? Phil

How long did you date? 5 months dating, 4 and 1/2 months engaged. But my dad knew him longer than I did (Dad picked him out for me when I was in 8th grade. We didn't meet until I was 20. Long story.)

How old is he? 40

Who eats sweets? Both of us.

Who said I love you first? Um...I think I might have, but I can't remember. I do remember almost introducing him to my former seminary teacher as "my fiance" on our first date. Luckily, it came out as "my ffffriend." I knew before I met him that something was different about him and that it would be significant.

Who is taller? Definitely him.

Who can sing better? I do. But, thankfully, he can at least carry a tune. One of the best times I ever had was telling him that I had told the music person in our ward that we would sing a duet. He nearly keeled over until I told him I was joking. But I had him going for a while.

Who is smarter? We are both smart, but he remembers more of the fun math than I do, since he actually uses it every day. We were both Engineering majors, but then I switched to English, which is what I got my degree in. However, I was one class shy of a Math minor. Go figure. He's a damn good tech writer, though.

Who does the laundry? Me. All of it. If he ever decides to "help," he'll wash, dry, and put the whole mess in a mountain on the bed for me to fold later. He will not fold. So I'd rather do it all myself and fold as the clothes come out of the dryer.

Who pays the bills? Me

Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? He does. But I used to.

Who mows the lawn? He used to, but I took over so he could spend more time on the basement. (And in case you are wondering, no, it didn't mean more basement time for him. It meant more yardwork for me.)

Who cooks dinner? Me. In the old days, he would cook on Sunday to give me a break. Those days are long since gone. Kinda sad, now that I think about it.

Who drives? When we are in the same vehicle, usually he does, but not always.

Who is the first to admit they are wrong? I am...because I detest confrontation. He's more that willing to admit fault, however, when he's wrong. I just do it first because I want to get it over with.

Who kissed who first? He kissed me first. But he took his own sweet time about it.

Who asked who out first? Well, neither one, actually. My parents arranged our first date. (We doubled with them. Really. And it was fun.) After that, he asked me out.

Who wears the pants? We both do. I hate wearing dresses and skirts. Very butch of me, I know. Maybe that's why I also have super short hair? Dunno. I've never explored that part of my personality.

Friends who should do this: Anyone who wants to. No pressure.

Snort-Worthy Words

2008-12-04T20:45:00.002-07:00

I went to parent-student-teacher conferences today with A--. He's an excellent student with a few predictable concerns. His math teacher said that although he's very smart, her only concern is that he never stops talking. And while A-- can talk and learn at the same time (how?), others around him cannot. In contrast, A--'s choir teacher praised his lack of conversation with a boy who constantly talks to A-- during class. I was, frankly, shocked to hear this. A-- is the child who never stops talking at home. Never. Taking him shopping is a mind-numbing experience because the questions come, literally, about twenty a minute. He can't even stop long enough to hear my answers.

On our way home, I quizzed A-- about his behavior. He assured me that he doesn't talk when his math teacher is talking, which is good because, as he said, "Even I have to listen to figure out how to do that stuff." When I asked him why he doesn't talk during choir, his response nearly caused me to bite my tongue off trying not to laugh out loud....

"Well, I have to use my mouth for other things during choir. It's too busy to talk."

Getting her land legs

2008-12-01T09:27:00.004-07:00

"Hmmm....I wonder what's in here?"

"Maybe if I move my knees a bit closer..."

"And closer...."

"Whoah, now! That's different..."

And...she's UP!

And getting better every day.

I'm so not ready for this. (sniff)

Conversations at My House

2008-11-20T17:00:00.004-07:00

Seriously folks, this just happened. I typed it as I witnessed it, so my apologies if it feels disjointed. I know I missed a couple of things because, hey, I can't type that fast anymore.

S: {sigh}........{siiiiigh}

Me: What's wrong?

S: A-- won't let me play with J--. {sigh}

Me: Why?

S: Because he says my jobs aren't done. That I can't play with her until my jobs are done.

T: Yeah, he's trying to be in charge, and he's not in charge. Mooooom, A-- is eating crackers on the chair!

[We don't allow food in the living room.]

Me: A--, no food in the living room. And you are not in charge. [He hears this phrase hundreds of times every day, literally.]

T: Mooooom, come and see. He's still doing it.

A: But look how I'm doing it. I'm not making a mess!

Me: [Seeing that he's holding the bowl of crackers clear up to his chin] Food stays in the kitchen. You get greasy fingers on the chairs when you do that.

[no response from A--]

T: I want to watch Curious George!

A: No. I picked this show.

T: But I want to watch Curious Geoooooooorge! [bursts into tears]

then....

T: I want to turn the TV this way.

A: No. I'm the one that chose the channel, I'm the one who's watching it, so I get to decide. I'm the only one who gets to watch because I chose the show.

Me: No, you don't. As long as you're eating, you have to stay in the kitchen, so the TV gets turned towards the kitchen. And everyone gets to watch.

S: [from the bathroom] So when it's movie night and you don't pick the show then you don't get to watch, A--.

A [yelling]: Guess what, S--? You're not in charge! So shush!!!

Me: [thinking, not saying] Now that's the kettle calling the pot black.

S-- comes back and he and A-- then engage in a viewing battle wherein both of them sway back and forth like pendulums, A-- in front of S-- and telling S-- that he can't watch because his jobs aren't done. Now who's trying to be in charge and play police?

A to S: I'm going to tell your friends that you watch Curious George.

S: [yelling] A--!!!! Please stop! Please don't tell them that I watch Curious George. It wouldn't be nice.

A: [in that snotty voice] So? I'm going to tell them anyway. Go get your jobs done.

Any wonder why I lose my patience by the end of the day?

The Cutest Spooks

2008-10-31T17:12:00.005-06:00

Want to see some cute spooks?

Here's my virus-free E Male, A--. See those awesome braces? (No comments from the peanut section, please, about the condition of his shirt. I swear it was clean when he left the house this morning.)

And our resident Death Eater, S--, striking his most fearsome poses, complete with shop-made wand and staff:

We can't forget our traditional ghost, T--, who made sure everyone knew he was "a stary dhost" (scary ghost) as opposed to a nice one.

Little J-- charmed everyone, of course. (Who wouldn't be charmed by such a cute cat with that cheesy grin?)

And, last but not least....Where's Waldo?

See him? No? Hmmm. Look harder....

Why, he's hiding right there behind that cat. See the one whose ears are being forced straight out by her headband thingy? (Um...not my favorite look for her.)

Hope your Halloween was safe and happy!

One of these things is not like the other...

2008-10-20T21:44:00.003-06:00

One of these things just isn't the same:

This van was in the parking lot at the fiddle contest.

Yeah, I thought so too.

Getting all misty over...

2008-10-15T17:13:00.002-06:00

My twelve-year-old son reciting (from memory) this Robert Frost poem:

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I spent the rest of the drive back home (he recited it for me while I drove him to school) thinking about the roads he will have to choose between in the future, praying that his choice will make all the difference, and feeling blessed that I have such a great son.

Potty Training and Poetic Justice

2008-10-05T09:07:00.004-06:00

Last night I was at my parents' house, hanging out with the girls and the kids. My sister came out of the bathroom, complaining about the mess that one of our nephews had left in there. The offender's mother rolled her eyes and apologized. "He has the job of cleaning the toilets at home for that very reason. His dad calls him 'The Rainbird.'"

So my sister mentioned that I had taught my sons to sit down from the moment they began potty-training. Yes, it's true. My sons belong to the Secret Sitter's Club, as does their father. And he was taught that very valuable skill by his mother, who would listen outside the bathroom door and tell her husband and sons to please sit down because she could hear that they were standing up. (She would also notice when someone had spent extra time in the bathroom and then serve peaches for dinner. I tell you, it was a long time after Phil told me about this before I could comfortably use the bathroom at my in-law's house.)

After explaining that background to my SIL, I told about the time my MIL, Gert, was watching A-- for me at her house. He was about 3 and 1/2 or so and was potty trained. I went to pick him up and had to wait longer than usual for Gert to open the door. When she finally did, she was wearing her yellow rubber gloves. She apologized profusely for making me wait.

"I'm sorry it took me so long. I was in the bathroom, cleaning."

Then she said something that shocked me, because she is such a prim and proper lady.

"I am so glad you have taught your son to go to the bathroom properly! I am sick and tired of cleaning pee off the walls and floor around the toilets!"

Apparently, Phil's brother, who was visiting with his children (four of whom are boys), didn't pass along the Secret Sitter's Secret. He had brought along a fleet of his own "Rainbirds."

I have laughed long and hard at that story for many years, feeling pleased that my sons haven't created really horrendous messes in the bathroom for me to clean up.

Enter: Poetic Justice.

As I was finishing my story, I heard T-- calling from the bathroom: "MOOOoooooom, I needa WIIIiiiiipe!" My sister offered to help him, but he adamantly refused. I guess I was the only one he would allow into the inner sanctum.

I went into the bathroom, took one look at him, and thought (thought, not said, I'm careful around my kids), "Oh sh*#!" Literally. It was all over the seat, down into his underbunders, and all over one of his hands. He took one look at my face and started to cry. I reassured him that it was okay, just an accident, and we'd get it all cleaned up.

By the end of it, I'd thrown away said pair of underwear, put said child into the tub, disinfected said toilet, and run home and back for clean clothes and kid-friendly shampoo.

I feel humbled.

But if I cannot

2008-10-01T09:57:00.003-06:00

A few weeks ago, I took my oldest two sons, A-- and S--, to watch my dear friend's daughter compete in the Special Olympics. It was an amazing experience for me. I spent most of the time we were there wiping away tears. Who knew you could feel the Spirit at a sporting event?

As we watched these incredible souls compete, S-- started to ask questions. "Why is that person so excited even though they didn't win? Why did that man keep swimming, even though everyone else was done a long time ago?" So I told him (or tried to, through my tears) about the Special Olympics Athlete Oath: Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.

Fast forward to this past weekend. S-- and A-- both competed in the Utah State Fiddle Contest. S-- was one of maybe 15 children in the Small Fry division playing fiddle; A-- was one of three in the Junior Guitar division playing, well, guitar of course. I was proud of both of them for even getting up there--neither one has ever played in a contest, and only S-- has played in public before (once). In spite of a few relatively minor mistakes, they both played quite well. Nothing spectacular, but nothing horrible either.

When it came time to announce the winners for the Small Fry division, they had all the children come up on stage. They handed out Certificates of Participation to every child until they got to the last four. S-- was one of the last four. They handed out the 3rd place trophy (not to S--). the 2nd place trophy (again, not to S--), and finally the 1st place trophy (still, not to S--), and told the kids that was it. S-- stood there completely bewildered. I could read his thoughts (and his quickly crumpling face): "Do I stay up here because they didn't give me anything? Do I get something special? I don't know what to do." I watched him fight so hard not to cry and I felt helpless. Thankfully, someone in the audience yelled out, "HEY! You forgot one! The boy in the red shirt!" So the officiators checked their hands and, sure enough, there was S--'s certificate. All they said was, "Oh. Oops, I guess we forgot one."

I was livid.

S-- came back to his seat next to me and spent the next hour and a half (at least) sobbing quietly into my shoulder. This is the boy who came home crying from his very first Pack Meeting because not one person acknowledged him as being a brand new Cub Scout. Other boys were brought to the front and introduced as new Cubs, but not S--. He didn't want to ever go back. I couldn't blame him. It took a lot of gentle persuasion to get him to agree to even attend another Pack Meeting, let alone participate. Given that background, and after all he's been through in the last year or so, I just knew that S-- would never, ever want to compete in another contest again, no matter how good he gets.

We had to fill out a survey about our contest experience. The first question was, "What did you like about this experience?" S--'s answer was, "Nothing." Then, at the bottom of the survey, was the question, "Will you participate again next year?" I expected he'd say, "No, never again." But he didn't. My brave little boy bounced back. His answer? "Maybe." I was never so proud of him as I was in that moment. (Well, except for when he was standing alone on that stage, trying not to cry.)

I thought back to our experience just a few short weeks ago and remembered telling S-- about the Special Olympics Oath. I didn't think he got it. Or maybe he always had it in him. Because even though he didn't win, he was definitely brave in his attempt.

He'll be back.

Fun in Richfield?

2008-09-26T12:25:00.003-06:00

And behold I do labor exceedingly today in preparation for our return to the land of my father. And I do take my husband and my children to the lands in the south for, behold, two of my children doth wish to participate in this:

And I do wonder at my juxtaposition of scriptural language and old time folk music....

And it's even for a good cause

2008-09-21T17:00:00.003-06:00

So I decided to submit a post for this. (If the powers that be decide to include it, and you buy the book, you'll find out which one.)

I can't wait to read the book, whether I'm in it or not. It should be AWESOME. There's nothing better than making people laugh, especially if it's for a good cause.

Ain't Love Grand?

2008-09-19T09:31:00.005-06:00

After reading c jane's update this morning about Nie Nie and Mr. Nielson, I thought another love story was worth linking to as well.

This is my brother and his wife.

Aren't they a great looking couple? (No, Kim, you are not allowed to argue that.) Here is Kim's latest post. I thought it was awesome, and I'm absolutely thrilled that he and Lesleigh are so happy together.

Wha?

2008-09-13T10:47:00.003-06:00

This was the cover for the latest Scouting magazine that came to my house. I know many of you get it too, so it's not anything new. But is anyone else as disturbed by what my husband calls "The Pedophile of the Month Scout Master?" The catch headline says, "This man can fire up your guys." Are you kidding me? How many innuendos can be inferred by that line alone? Yikes.

By the way, the firing up is in reference to reading.

And none of my guys found the picture to be inspiring.

At all.

The Story Behind the Nickname

2008-08-22T09:44:00.005-06:00

I know some of you have asked how I got the nickname of "Pottymouth," so I thought I'd share it with you. The tragic events chronicled by our dear c jane have put my thoughts back to the story, and I thought it was probably time to finally share.

The story began in March of 2004. Some of you remember me referring to it in this post, so I won't rewrite the details. (There were other details to the story that I didn't include and won't include for Phil's sake.) Suffice it to say that the experience was hell. There is no other way to describe it: pure and utter hell. It sent me into a deep depression that I couldn't get myself out of. Thankfully, I finally recognized what was happening and was able to get medical help. Phil got better and I got stronger.

The following summer (2005) was Girls' Camp, and I was a newly called advisor to the 14- and 15-year-old girls (the Mia Maids). I wasn't able to go up the whole week, but I went up for the last two nights, one of which included a testimony meeting. I'd had over a year to think about my experience and wrap my brain around what had happened and how I felt about it. When it came time to share my feelings, this is what came out of my mouth (essentially):

Sometimes life can be, well, shitty. There's no other word for it. But this is what I have learned to be true: the mists of darkness that Lehi talks about in his vision are real. I've felt them; I've experienced them in a very real way. I testify to you that the only way to get through these mists of darkness that life brings--the only way--is to hold fast to that iron rod. Hold on to it for dear life, literally, because you won't survive otherwise. I've been through hell this past year or so, and the only way I survived was to hold on tight to my faith in the Savior and in His restored gospel. Even when those mists separated me from my ability to feel the Holy Ghost, I knew that I would make it because I was clinging desperately to my faith that Heavenly Father is in charge, that He loves me, and that everything would work out the way it was supposed to.

I got a lot of flak about my choice of descriptive adjectives that night, but I stand by what I said. It's all true. Life is shitty sometimes. We feel overwhelmed. Why is this happening to me (or to him or to her)? I'm not a bad person, so why is this bad thing happening to me? I think these are natural questions to ask when we are facing hard times. But God never promised that the righteous would never be tried and tested. He did promise to stand by those who keep their faith and endure to the end.

I'm not a bad person, I don't think, but bad things have happened to me. Things I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. However, I know that God lives and that He loves me. Me. Imperfect me, with all my faults and foibles. I also know that that Jesus Christ lives, that He died and was resurrected, for me. Me. He wants me to be able to live with our Father in Heaven again. What an incredible gift! I know that the Holy Ghost is real because I have felt his influence in my life. Maybe I don't always feel it, but I know it's real. And because I have felt it, I know everything will be okay in the end. Maybe not now, maybe not next year, but it will be all right eventually. And whatever happens, I know that God will help me through it. It is this knowledge that got me through the events of the last year.

I listened to my beautiful little girl squealing happily yesterday morning and smiled when my husband said she sounded like a happy bird, because birds (and darling babies) make me think of Stephanie. But as sick as I am about what has happened to Stephanie and Christian, and as heartbroken as I am imagining what their sweet children are feeling and thinking right now, I know that whatever happens is part of God's plan. He will make it right, somehow, someday. Stephanie's birds will fly again.

Because I know you want it

2008-07-29T22:48:00.003-06:00

Here's a picture my brother took on Sunday of me and little J--. For some reason, he thinks she looks like me as a baby, but I'm not so sure. Below is my baby picture for comparison.

What was that again?

2008-07-24T08:34:00.002-06:00

True story:

A relatively new nurse was taking care of a man who had to have an oxygen mask. While she was in his room, he asked her, "Could you please check to see if my testicles are black?"

She thought, "What???" but said, "I'm sure they are fine."

He persisted. "I really need you to check and see if my testicles are black."

She reassured him, "No, that's not what you're in here for. I'm sure they are fine." (Thinking: "I do not want to see this man's testicles.")

Still. "No, really. Could you please check to see if my testicles are black."

"Okay, I can see that this is really important to you." So she pulls back the blanket, lifts the man's gown, and checks.

"Sir, everything looks just fine."

He gives her a scathing look, pulls his oxygen mask off, and says, "Listen very carefully. I said, 'Could you please check to see if my test results are back.'"

"Oh."

Favorite Toys

2008-06-28T22:09:00.004-06:00

As a mother of four, I've watched my children latch onto favorite toys. Each one so far has had definite preferences from the time they were very tiny.

Naive mom that I was, I assumed that because A-- was a boy, he would like cars. Not so. He ignored every car and truck I put in front of him. A-- loved fans. I mean he really loved fans. And extension cords. He was the only 2-year-old I knew who had his own fan and his own extension cord. One of his favorite games to play was to hook together as many extension cords as possible, plug his fan into the very last one, and then plug into the wall. For some reason, he found it fascinating to get the fan as far as he possibly could from the outlet and then turn it on. He would do this at my parents house for hours. (They have a huge lawn and lots of power cords, so he could get the fan pretty far away.) He also had a baby doll ("Baby Gus") that he played with a lot. Unusual toys for an unusual kid.

S-- was the Matchbox/Hot Wheels car kid. He would spend hours when he was just tiny "parking" every tiny car he could lay his hands on. At first I was worried that he might try to put the cars in his mouth (choking hazard), but he was too consumed with lining them up. We found some books that came with little cars that quickly became his favorites, especially the "Wash Me" book. It came with a tiny VW bug car. In our house, to this day, VW bugs are referred to as "Wash Me Cars." S-- was obsessed with Wash Me Cars. Eventually, he outgrew little cars and moved on to Legos. Good for him, not so good for my bare feet. Have you ever stepped on one of those pieces with your bare feet? Ouchymama, that hurts.

T-- came along and picked up S--'s cars, but his preferences were on a slightly larger scale. We found Little Tykes to be a good resource for him, until he decided that forklifts (pronounced "fork-fifts") were where it's at. (Have you ever tried to find a toy forklift? Yikes.) Luckily, I found a really nice wood one last year for Christmas that he absolutely loves.

As for little J--, who knows? Will it be cars? dolls? power tools? I can't wait to find out.

So why blog about favorite toys? Well, because I, too, have a favorite toy. I've had it for as long as I can remember, and I still have it. And it's still my favorite.

I have a thing with marbles and marble runs. I remember being fascinated by them when I was very tiny. There's a picture somewhere of me and my younger brother at Christmas with these marble toys (his was blue, mine was pink). They were plastic columns with sections that had marbles inside. You could move the marbles from compartment to compartment, as I recall. I loved it. Sadly, it no longer exists. But I still have my Tumble Tower. I still play with it.

So how about you? What was your favorite toy as a kid?

I Married a Grandpa?

2008-05-22T10:48:00.003-06:00

I married a grandpa. Or, at least, he's suddenly turned into one.

When Phil and I were first married, his driving made me slightly nervous. He was very impatient with slow drivers. If someone wasn't moving fast enough, he'd tailgate. If they turned, Phil would speed up and drive as close to them as possible, just to show them that they were moving too slow. Drove me nuts. Does the person even know that you've just taught them a lesson and shown them that they are too slow? Are they thinking, "Wow. Thanks, mister. I had no idea I was driving too slow for you." Of course not. But he continued to do this.

Other family members noticed that Phil was a bit of a lead foot on the road. I even had some ask me, "Does Phil always drive that way? Or is it just when he's in a hurry?" Nope, it was all the time.

Phil referred to me as "the hissing snake" because I would suck my breath in through my clenched teeth when he would get too close to a car. (You tried it just now, didn't you. Sounds like a snake, right?)

Then Phil read this. Granted, it was my own fault for recommending it. He had been telling me that I needed to drive differently because I was wasting gas, so I told him to look up that article in the RD. I thought he'd find it interesting, but I had no idea he'd take it so seriously.

The next time I was in the car with Phil, we were driving to IKEA to get J--'s dresser. I couldn't figure out who was driving. My lead foot husband had disappeared and was replaced by some grandpa driver. He wouldn't go above 55 on the freeway. In the carpool lane. We had people honking, flashing their lights, and gesturing. I was mortified! I tried my best to slouch as low as was pregnantly possible and figure out where Phil had disappeared to. I tried to appreciate the irony. I tried to look at things positively: at least he was being careful. But all I could think was, "Oh no! I married a grandpa!"

You know how people say that they start to resemble their spouse after being married for a long time? I didn't used to buy it. But guess who's starting to drive more aggressively. Yup.

At least Phil hasn't started hissing at me.

Guess Who's Smiling?

2008-05-06T11:21:00.003-06:00

Isn't she cute?

2008-05-03T23:15:00.003-06:00

This is what's cranked in my van these days:

I never thought I'd enjoy bluegrass stuff. And then A-- and S-- started learning it on fiddle and guitar. I'm such a sucker for things my kids are doing.

Sandwich Toppings

2008-04-29T17:53:00.002-06:00

On Saturday, Phil made sandwiches for lunch for everyone. I got tuna. He made the usual for himself and the boys: ham, cheese, and bacon bits, with olives and dill pickle relish for himself and A--. (Yeah, I know. Gross. Weird taste runs in the family: Phil's mom used to make peanut butter and TOMATO sandwiches. Disgusting—I know because I tried it once.) Little J-- got formula in a bottle.

As we were finishing up, Phil asked T-- if he liked his sandwich. T-- nodded hesitantly. Phil said, "That's good because I put in an extra ingredient in your sandwich that you've never had in a sandwich before." I started getting worried because T-- doesn't always like new foods and can be turned off to things he used to like if he thinks they're somehow different.

T-- asks his dad what it was that was new in his sandwich, to which Phil replied, sweetly, "Oh it was love."

I paused only a moment before I started laughing, "Yeah, T--. Because Mommy never makes your sandwiches with love. Of course. Even though Mommy makes you lunch every day, I never make it with love. Nice one, Phil." He was mortified.

I should be able to get plenty of mileage out of that one.

She Made It

2008-04-04T15:39:00.004-06:00

Yes, the rumors are true. Baby number 4 fooled me in every way. Not only did she come on April 1st, but she fooled me into thinking I'd get a nice, short, smooth labor (my last labor, start to finish, took about 6 hours). This one started at 2:30 am with my water breaking (my first thought was, "Oh, this is SO not even funny") and ended at 8:36 pm when she finally made her way out. Yes, folks, that would be EIGHTEEN HOURS. She also fooled me into thinking she'd be somewhere in the 7 lb range, like all three of her brothers. Oh no. She was more than a pound bigger. My sons were 7 lb 4 oz, 7 lb 4 oz, and 7 lbs 7 oz. She was 8lbs 10 oz. Awesome. To top it off, she developed a fever and her biliruben count is up, so although I got to come home last night, she's still in the hospital in the level 2 nursery. We should be able to bring her home in a couple of hours from now, I hope.

I feel like I've been hit by a Mack truck. My body is exhausted, and I feel the onset of a cold coming on. It's been quite a week, let me tell you. But it's all worth it. She's beautiful, don't you think?

[Update: We brought her home yesterday afternoon. She's doing great!]

A Slice of Pie

2008-03-31T10:14:00.003-06:00

With an unfinished basement and this baby coming soon (I hope), we are short on space. Friends and family have been incredibly generous with gifts, and I have nowhere to put all of these lovely things. I decided a few weeks ago that I needed to get a dresser.

Those of you who know my family know that furniture is something that we don't just go out and buy. Why buy something you can make? And the quality of furniture that comes out of the family shop is unbeatable. However, I know that Phil doesn't have time to build anything right now, and my dad's health is such that I couldn't in good conscience ask him to do it either. So I had to start looking at (heaven forbid) furniture stores. Yuck. I looked almost everywhere. I even got Phil to go with me, and he was absolutely disgusted with the quality (or lack thereof). Finally, I decided to go online and look at Ikea. (Some of you remember this post, so you can understand my desperation.)

Well, folks, I ate a huge helping of humble pie this weekend. We took the boys and went for our first ever visit to Ikea. Granted, some of the things we saw were not "shop quality," but we were amazed by most of the things we saw. Phil the Engineer was absolutely floored by the European efficiency of the store design. We fell in love and came home with this, in blue, and these.

Saturday evening, Phil and the boys started putting together the dresser. I worked on other things, but I was listening carefully from the background as Phil worked. This is what I heard:

"Wow."

"These Europeans are incredibly efficient! Why can't we do this here?"

"This is absolutely amazing."

Over, and over, and over.

At last, I had to come in and see exactly what he was talking about. First, he showed me the instruction manual. It was all pictures—no words. It was so well done that T--, the 4-year-old, could figure out what they were supposed to do next. That's impressive. (Granted, T-- is a very smart, mechanically-minded boy, but he's still only four.) Next thing to impress Phil was their cam lock screws, followed by the finger joints in the wood, the efficient use of steel in the roller hardware, and how they predrilled the holes in the pieces so accurately. Coming from Phil, who is an accomplished carpenter in his own right as well as an engineer, these words of praise do not come lightly.

Because Phil is a carpenter and knows what it takes to make furniture, he added some extra steps to the assembly process: we glued all the joints before tightening the hardware. That meant extra time, but it makes the dresser far more sturdy and stable that it would be if we'd assembled it according to Ikea's instructions. Even though the dresser is made of pine (not the hardest of woods—it dings very easily), at least it won't come apart when we move it. For what we paid for it, Phil and I were quite pleased with the quality.

Now, all was not romance and roses. The honeymoon ended very quickly when we tried to put the first assembled drawer into the dresser and discovered that Europeans are not as perfect as Phil believed. It didn't fit. We could get it in, but it wouldn't shut all the way. From that point on, Phil's praise turned a but sour. However, as we discovered this morning, it was only one drawer that had a problem, and Phil can fix it. (I feel sorry for those who don't have the knowledge and training to make such a fix—that would be a royal pain in the patootie to have to return the dresser after you'd spent that much time putting it together, and it's a mistake that you wouldn't find until you were nearly finished.)

So I'm enjoying my slice of humble pie today (in the form of a blue dresser), and I take back every bad thing I ever thought or said about Ikea. They must be pretty amazing to impress my quality-snob husband. Yes, the quality isn't "shop quality," but it's pretty darn good for the price.

My hat's off to you, Ikea. Thanks for solving my storage problem.

My Little Romeo

2008-03-24T13:13:00.002-06:00

I had S-- in the car the other day. I asked him about who he played with at school and what they were doing at recess. You know, the usual mom line of questioning. S-- tells me about playing with his best friend (a girl) and someone named Emily from her class. Then I heard a long sigh from the back seat and this comment:

"I really like her face."

Um...excuse me?

"You really like her face? Whose face?"

"Yeah...Emily. I really like her face." (another sigh)

"Oh? What is it you like about her face?"

"Well, she has these freckles...and I really like her eyes."

"Okay...what color are her eyes?"

"I don't know. But I like her eyes. She has these glasses that bend but don't break. And she has this kind of creaky voice."

"And you like her voice?"

"Yeah."

"And her freckles and glasses?"

"Yeah. I just really like her face."

Well I'll be. My son is a sucker for freckles and glasses that bend but don't break. And creaky voices.

This last Friday we happened to see Kacy's Maggie, who is in S--'s class, waiting in the school gym for SEP's. I decided to ask S-- about Maggie later.

"So do you ever play with Maggie?"

"Yeah. I like to play with Maggie. She likes to wiggle her eyebrows. It's kind of creepy."

"Creepy?"

"Yeah, but in a good way."

"Creepy in a good way?"

"Yeah. I really like it when she wiggles her eyebrows."

Amended list: S-- likes freckles, bendy glasses, creaky voices, and creepy eyebrows. Potential girlfriends take note.

Joy Cometh in the Morning

2008-03-04T12:09:00.002-07:00

We made it. After a month of worry, doctor visits, tests (including yet another one of these), several priesthood blessings, and many tender mercies of the Lord, Phil is feeling better and is back to work.

I cannot begin to thank you for your thoughts and prayers. Those first two to three weeks were very hard on me emotionally, but although "weeping may endure for a night, ... joy cometh in the morning." The experience was hard, but I found peace in unexpected places. Because I know that others out there are struggling with their own challenges, I wanted to share the scriptures that helped me the most:

John 14:27

D&C 121:7-10

Proverbs 3:5

Thank you, friends, for your concern and your prayers. No one should ever have to go through something like this alone, and you became my rock, even though I may not have reached out directly to you for the support.

Fear Not

2008-02-09T14:27:00.000-07:00

"How are you?"

The simple words from my dear friend constrict my throat, but her next words fill my eyes with tears that I struggle to keep from spilling:

"I've put both your names in the temple."

The meeting begins, and my mind drifts back to March 2004.

**********

It began with a phone call from my husband at work: "Will you miss me when I die?"

The question sent me into a panic and began what can only be described as a month-long hell. Something was wrong, but none of the doctors could tell me what it was. Phil experienced disturbing hallucinations, extreme sensitivity to noise (how do you keep a 5-month old baby from crying? or 7- and 4-year old boys quiet?), and slept over 20 hours a day, every day—for 4 weeks. He remembers maybe 2 weeks of the entire month. I will never forget a single, hellish moment.

In the aftermath of that experience, I learned exactly how clinical depression feels. I found out what it's like to not be capable of feeling anything. I could not feel the comfort the Holy Ghost brings. I felt completely alone, completely hopeless, utterly exhausted. Anti-depressants finally helped. But it took me over 2 years to stop feeling like I was the only one who could be responsible—the only one fully capable of taking care of the kids, the homework, the house. Even though Phil never repeated the episode, I could never completely relax back into my role as equal partner. I was constantly on edge.

Medication, blessings, time, and faith put me in a better place. Last year was the first year that I did not notice when March came and went. I finally felt like things were smooth again.

July 2007 came and with it a new hell. Manageable, but still hell. Surprisingly, I felt calm and peaceful. I knew our family would make it through. Phil was with me; we were fighting this attack on our family together this time—equal partners. Even though we were dealing with something horrible, we found joy in the strength our family was discovering, and we were excited to find that we would be adding another child to our little family.

January 28, 2008. Phil is away on business in Taiwan. He calls me that morning (or evening, where he was) to tell me he'd spent some time in the ER. I was worried, but he assured me he was fine and it wouldn't happen again. He was wrong.

The next day Phil was admitted to the hospital for the same problem that sent him to the ER the day before. His coworker called to give me details and to reassure me that Phil was going to recover fully (he was able to give Phil two blessings, both of which promised healing). This same coworker watched Phil collapse at work in March of 2004, and he noticed some eerie similarities: Phil not knowing how he got back to the hotel, asking if the hospital thing was just a dream or if it really happened. We communicated often over the next several days. Rich was literally a gift from God. He comforted me, and he took care of Phil for me. This time, as opposed to last, we got a solid diagnosis. Thankfully, we also got clearance for travel home.

Phil arrived home on Friday evening, February 1st. In a little over a week, we've seen a doctor (who confirmed the Taiwan diagnosis) and started a treatment plan for the main problem. Phil has spent the week sleeping all day, every day. He says things that are just a little bit "off." And I find myself reliving the hell of March 2004. This time, I'm 8 weeks away from my due date, and, because of the potential harm to the baby, my body is not able to depend on medication to avoid the brick wall that is clinical depression. I'm tired. My emotions go very quickly from anger to despair, annoyance to tears. I fight to hold on to what I learned last time: God loves me, He knows what I'm feeling, and He will not abandon me.

**********

Elder Holland's statement stops me in my tracks. He talks of families—of couples—having to face the trials and the dangers of the world for as long as the world has existed. He tells me what I have been struggling to do all week: "Fear not."

Fear not. The hardest commandment in the entire gospel—at least for me.

Fear not.

But I don't know how, or even if, we'll get through this.

Fear not.

But I'm sinking.

Fear not.

But I don't know if I can do this again.

Fear not.

But I...

Fear not, little one.

Okay.

I'm listening.

I'm trying.

'Til We Meet Again

2008-01-28T11:17:00.000-07:00

I can't explain why I feel the tears so close to the surface today, but I suspect it has something to do with imagining the joyful reunion President Hinckley is having with his beloved Marjorie. What a great man.

An Essay in Existentialism (from my 2nd grader)

2008-01-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to post this since Thanksgiving but haven't until now. I hope you love it as much as I did--spelling and all.

The Death of Tom Turkey
by S--

Tom Turkey was getting quite fat. He new that Thanksgiving was comeing and that was the day they where planning to kill him. They also wanted his five red fethers and his ten orange fethers and his fifteen green fethers too. They wanted all his pretty fethers. He had a plan also. His plan was to peer throu the window right that day and see when the day before he would get killd so he could clime up on the tree and jump over the fence. So he went over to the window and all the sudden out of nowere a mashene gun shot him and paintball gun shot him dead and that was the end of Tom Terkey.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Names...

2008-01-07T19:43:00.000-07:00

When my brother and his wife and kids read about this experience, and since their family missed out on the fun, they decided to join in the game. On Christmas Eve, they gave me the following note:

We heard about your naming dilemma, and we were feeling a little left out. So we thought of a few names that we are sure you will like equally well. We even alphabetized them for easy reference.

Aphrodite

Brunhilde

Clarabelle

Dorcas, Drusilla

Ernestine

Fredrica

Grizelda

Hepzibah

Imelda

Jezebel

Karma

Ladybird, Lulu

Magnolia, Miep (see Anne Frank)

Nessie

Odette

Permalua

Queenie

Rumisarah

Sheba

Tallulah

Ursula

Velma

Wilhelmina

Xena

Yolanda

Zarathustra

Love, K--, S--, B--, E--, A--, D--

Thanks, guys. I'm still laughing.

Any ideas?

2008-01-03T11:53:00.000-07:00

Phil and I have a work party to go to in a week. We have to bring 2 gifts, $25 each, of the "nice" White Elephant type. I'm not very good at coming up with ideas, so I'm appealing to you, dear readers, for help.

What's your best idea for a funny yet useful White Elephant gift?

Lunch for Today

2007-12-29T15:48:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of Azúcar. I didn't get to meet all of those who were there (opposite ends of the long table and all that), and many escaped before I got pictures, but here's proof that I actually showed up:

What a lovely group of ladies. Thanks for the invite, Azúcar!

Hazmat Haircut

2007-12-22T21:20:00.001-07:00

Remember this?

T--, the 2-year-old in the story, is now four. He still hates haircuts. Phil, ever mindful of the missionary skill of resolving concerns, came up with the solution.

T--'s concerns: 1. He hates it when the hair falls in his eyes, and 2. He hates hair in his mouth.

Of course, I figured if he'd just calm down and not scream both problems would be solved. My resolution hasn't yet worked. Apparently, success means having the ability to relax during torture.

But if you give a man/kid the right tools, he can do anything. This last haircut, we had the best haircutting experience ever in T--'s lifetime. Don't believe me? Here's proof:

Give the kid goggles and a face mask and he can survive the worst torture his mother can dream up. Do you think we're prepared for a nuclear attack?

What's in a name?

2007-12-17T08:51:00.000-07:00

Apparently, a lot--but only if you're a girl.

When I was pregnant with my sons, we would get the "have you picked a name" question as soon as people found out we were having a boy. Except for A--, whose name we picked out within a week of finding out he wasn't a girl, the other two didn't have names until about 2 weeks before they were born. When we told people that we didn't have a name picked out quite yet, they would respond with something like, "Oh, okay." Nothing else.

The responses have changed dramatically this time.

I should have clued in at Thanksgiving when we told my family (at least those who didn't check their e-mail) that we were, indeed, having a girl.

"So, have you picked a name yet?"

"Well, nothing's set in stone yet. We have one we've liked for a long time, but we're not positive that we'll use it."

I should have just said, "Yes, and we're not telling."

We were suddenly inundated with a flood of girl names. I didn't like even one. Each time I said, "Ummm, I don't think that one would work," we'd get even more. It was like some contest to come up with something bigger, better, trendier--we have to name this child NOW, before the pumpkin pie is served! Her parents are obviously incapable of coming up with a suitable name, so we MUST take over!

I couldn't believe it. My family has never weighed in so heavily on a name.

Now, I'm more of a traditionalist when it comes to picking names. The cutesy, trendy, McWhatsit type of names are just not for me. And we have to be careful with our last name, something I assumed my siblings were cognizant of. (We can't use Rob, Robert, Robin, or anything that is synonymous or that could be derived into something synonymous with thievery or dishonesty. If you know my last name, you'll understand why.) So when one brother suggested Maya, I couldn't believe it. Maya? Am-I-a (insert our last name here)? No. Absolutely not. Then we got trendy name after trendy name after trendy name. I had no idea my siblings were so into pop culture names. When I tried to stem the flow by hesitantly suggesting the name we've had picked out for a girl since we knew A-- was coming, we got a stony silence, followed by more suggestions. (sigh) I know that girls are a rarity in my family, so I could chalk it up to the novelty, but my hell. If you like these names so much, use them for yourselves or save them for your grandchildren!

I thought perhaps this was an isolated incident.

Not so. I mentioned to a girl who used to be one of my Young Women, who asked the name question, that we sort of had a name but nothing certain yet, and she did it too, along with more than one of my current Young Women. Granted, the names they were suggesting were somewhat more in line with my traditional taste, but my goodness! I never once got suggestions for names when I was expecting my boys.

Isn't the naming of a child sort of a personal thing? A right reserved for the parents? I never give suggestions for names unless I am asked specifically to do so, and then I usually loan out my favorite baby name books. But when people find out I'm having a girl after three boys, I get suggestions I never asked for. (Granted, not everyone has responded that way. But I'm shocked at how many people have.)

Perhaps I should come up with a really awful name to tell them and watch the shocked expressions on their faces. Maybe that would stem the flow. I know! I could resort to the name we joked about giving one of our boys.....

Jack Ashby
(It's almost as good as Jack Schitt.)

Random things overheard at my house

2007-12-04T09:50:00.000-07:00

When S-- saw the printed ultrasound picture of the baby's spine (he didn't attend the ultrasound with the rest of us), he said:

"It looks like a lizard.....Are we having a lizard?!?!?"

At random times during the day, especially if he is displeased with one of us, T-- will declare, pointing his little finger forcibly at the offender:

"You're FIRED!"

I have no idea where he heard it or how he knows to use it so appropriately, but it sounds awfully funny coming from a four-year-old. (And if I comb his hair just right, he has that Trump do to go with it.)

The night before the ultrasound, as we were getting ready for bed, I mentioned to Phil that it was a good thing we'd left the boys' alarm clock on since it would get them up and ready to leave right when we needed to.

Me: "If they're already up and going, it won't be a problem to be out the door by 8:30."

Phil: "Why would we need to be out the door by 8:30?"

Me (looking incredulously at him, trying to decide if he was teasing and realizing he wasn't): "Are you SERIOUS?!?!?"

Phil: "Huh? ........ OH. Yeah. I forgot about that."

I nearly threw my wet washcloth at him.

I'm Thinkin'

2007-11-21T10:11:00.000-07:00

PINK!!!!!

Just when I thought I knew everything about him...

2007-11-12T12:19:00.000-07:00

Phil came home and told me he'd gone shoe shopping the other day. With a male coworker. For stilettos.

I'm not kidding.

They were testing some flooring products at work and decided to check durability when put to the stiletto test. What's an engineer (in touch with his sensitive side) to do? Go buy stilettos, of course.

Where?

ShopKo. Rich remembered that his wife mentioned a shoe sale going on at ShopKo.

Picture this: two engineers going stiletto shopping. Can you wrap your mind around the idea? (Neither could I, frankly. I'm still in shock. Phil had me weeping with mirth as he told the story.)

I asked Phil, "Didn't you feel uncomfortable at all?"

"No. Not at all."

(That's my guy, I'm tellin' you. He's a total stud.)

When Phil and Rich first arrived, the aisle was empty. This didn't last long. All at once, a whole group of ladies descended on the very aisle that they were shopping in. The women never left. (Can you blame them? How often do you see something like this happening in Utah?)

I would pay good money to have heard their thoughts as they witnessed the conversation:

"Hey, Rich! These black ones look really sexy. Try them on!"

"Great. Do they come in pink?"

He slips them on over his white sports socks and takes a few steps. (Are you picturing this yet?)

"Oh, dang. They're just a little too small. Check for a bigger size, would ya Phil?"

"Got it."

At one point, the sales person came to check on them. (Again, I'd pay through the nose to know exactly what she was thinking.)

"Can I help you find something?"

"No, thanks. We're good."

Yeah, I bet they were.

Um.... what was that again?

2007-10-26T16:19:00.000-06:00

So last Friday I went in to my doctor's office to have some lab work done.

(Yes, that means what you think it means. 17 weeks, April 4th. Thank you.)

Before I made the drive out there, I called to make sure there weren't any special instructions and to make sure the lab was open. The receptionist, whose English was not so good, answered my question this way:

"The glucose test? Yes, you come fasting."

"No, it's the quadruple screening, not the glucose test."

"Yes, the glucose test?"

"No. The quadruple screening test."

"Yes. The glucose test."

"No. The quad screen."

"Hold on please." (no kidding)

I was transferred to the lab technician, who (thankfully) knew exactly what I was talking about. She answered my questions and recommended that I call my insurance company to make sure they would cover the cost of the test.

Phone call to the insurance company followed thus:

"Hi. My doctor has me scheduled to have the quadruple screen done today, and I want to make sure it's a covered procedure. I have the billing number right here."

"Thank you. I'll check on that for you. One moment please."

(hold music.......)

"Ma'am? Thanks for holding. My computer shows that this is a test done during pregnancy and that it is covered, as long as you are not doing it for cosmetic reasons."

(silence) "Um... excuse me?"

"The test is covered as long as it's not for cosmetic reasons."

(laughing) "Uh, yeah. Okay. I got pregnant for cosmetic reasons. That's a good one."

(no laughing--at all) "Yes, ma'am. The test is covered as long as it is not performed for cosmetic reasons."

"Uh, okay. Thanks for your help."

I thought maybe my sense of the comedic was flawed, until I told the lab tech who did the blood draw. She nearly snorted the entire contents of her sinuses while she poked my arm.

(So my timing needs a little work. What can I say?)

It's Just How They Come

2007-10-22T08:59:00.000-06:00

I had my three sons in the car with me the other day. It makes for a great captive audience and some pretty interesting conversations, as follows:

Me: So, A--. About this birthday party you have tomorrow. Are you the only boy invited?

A--: Yeah.

Me: Does that embarrass you at all? Won't it be awkward?

A--: No, not really.

S-- (interrupting from the back): You know what's embarrassing, Mom? Going to a birthday party at Build-a-Bear and being the only boy there! Talk about embarrassing! (dramatic sigh accompanies this statement)

[Editor's note: S--'s best friend is a girl. He went to her birthday party in June and was the only boy invited.]

Me (pretending to be exasperated): What am I going to do with you S-- boys? You and all your girlfriends....sheesh! I'm going to have to beat them off with a stick!

A-- (getting defensive as only 11-year-olds can): What's the matter with having girlfriends?

Me (laughing): Nothing at all, son. Nothing at all.

I hope T-- was listening carefully.

Sixteen is going to be sooooo much fun at my house. I can tell already.

Contracts and Apologies

2007-10-09T13:26:00.000-06:00

Some of you know my oldest son, A. He's a very, VERY bright boy with a strong personality (to put it lightly). Unfortunately for him, he comes from two families with genetic tendencies to have very bad teeth. He did not inherit my teeth: I never had to have braces and all four wisdom teeth came in straight with plenty of room...yeah, I know. I'm sorry.

So when the dentist showed me the x-rays of A's teeth, even I could tell where things were headed. Visions of what all that money could buy went flying out of my head to be replaced with visions of silver wires and retainers. A's visions were completely different. He could see no reason why he should get braces.

"I'm okay with how my teeth look. I don't care if they're crooked. I don't want braces."

Knowing A the way we do, we knew that if he felt pressured into getting braces, he'd never cooperate with the orthodontist and would put us through years of guilt. ("I never wanted braces. You made me get them. You never listen to what I want.") We also knew that if he didn't get braces now and wanted them later on, we would be the ones who would get blamed for his decision. ("It's your fault I didn't get braces. You should have made me get them when I was younger.") The kid is a natural lawyer and can debate with the best. We knew we'd lose.

Solution? We drew up a contract and had A sign it with me and his orthodontist as witnesses.

I'm serious.

Here it is:

I, the undersigned, A. A. S., hereby declare that I have had the benefits and drawbacks of getting braces, as well as the benefits and drawbacks of not getting braces, explained to me fully. I further declare that I fully understand the ramifications of my decision either way.

I declare that, should I choose to get braces at this time, I will strictly follow the care regimen prescribed by my orthodontist to the best of my abilities. My parents will cover any costs incurred if I choose to get braces at this time. I further declare that, should I decide not to get braces, I accept full responsibility for that decision and will not blame my parents at a future time for not making me get braces. I will cover any costs incurred if I choose to get braces at a later date.

I understand that my decision is final and do hereby indicate my decision below by signing the appropriate line.

I have decided to get braces: _____________ Date: _________

I have decided not to get braces: __________ Date: _________

Witnesses: __________________________ Date: _________

__________________________ Date: _________

I know, I'm not a lawyer and any good one would probably see plenty of loopholes, but it was the best I could do. And it worked. A will be getting a tinsel mouth in 2 weeks and his orthodontist was so impressed by the contract that he asked for a copy.

Just so you know that A isn't all about debate and control, let me tell you what he did on Sunday.

We spent Sunday afternoon at my parents' house. Except for the brother who lives in Texas, all my siblings were there, so we had a lot of grownups and kids around. The nieces and nephews in the family range in age from 20 on down to 3.

A (11), along with two other cousins close to his age (S & D), went outside to play with D's soccer ball. Eventually, they were joined by my brother (who is huge and bald), his wife, and three of his children (ages 14, 17, and 20), all of whom decided to play on a team with my S (7) against A, cousin S, and D. My little T (3) came out during the "game" to play with his big brothers, although he was mostly just watching. (Keep in mind the age and size differences between the two "teams.")

In the course of the game, several things happened. First, the Big People's Team started playing very aggressively and were ignoring the rules set up by the Smaller People's Team, who was out there first and had the right to set up the game the way they wanted it. Second, T got hit in the face by the soccer ball (by accident). Third, the Smaller People's Team decided they didn't like the roughness of the game and chose to take their ball inside and play board games rather than play against people twice their size.

To make a very long story short, A was accused of several things, including smart mouthing the adults on the Big People's team over the accident involving T's face and the soccer ball. (No, T wasn't seriously hurt.) The adult accusing him was absolutely furious. I tried to get said adult to talk things over with A, with me present, but the adult refused and left before I could get A in the room to discuss what happened.

Here's the thing. Once I pieced together what happened by talking to A, my S, cousin S, and D, I realized that A had done nothing wrong. Regardless of what happened or who was at fault, an adult had stormed away feeling like A had been disrespectful. So I had to make A call and apologize later that night.

It was absolute torture to him. The thing he values most is being Right, and to have to admit a mistake (especially when he wasn't "in the wrong") was pure hell for him. I dialed the number and had A say, "I'm sorry I was disrespectful to you this afternoon." He nearly broke down. I got choked up too because, in spite of all his efforts to come across as rough and tough, my A is really a softy down inside.

It makes a mom proud.

The BEST Momsong EVER

2007-09-27T12:41:00.000-06:00

I've seen the second half of this song, but thanks to my dear cousin, I now have the whole thing. I absolutely love it! I wish I could talk that fast.

Stooopid Product and a Recipe

2007-09-24T21:23:00.000-06:00

Stainless-Steel Knorks

The convenience of a fork and the function of a knife in one simple and safe utensil! Set of 2 durable, stainless-steel knorks feature a 4-pronged fork with a built-in knife on the side. Great for everyday use or for travel, and offers a safe alternative to knives for young children! Dishwasher safe. $12.98

Does anyone see any problems with this?

I already use the side of my fork as a knife if the food is tender enough.

Why would I want "a built-in knife on the side"? Won't I cut my tongue on it?

How can putting a knife in your mouth be "a safe alternative....for young children"?

I'm just sayin.'

And because Pflower's husband and the G-man requested it, here's the recipe for the "freakin' amazing" potato salad (their words, not mine), exactly as I made it (happy now, Lo?). You could eat it with a knork.

Potato Salad

9-12 medium sized, new red potatoes, peeled, cubed, and boiled just until tender (about 30 minutes, but check them at 20)
9 eggs, hard-boiled, chopped
2-3 tablespoons of onion powder (because I can't eat raw onions)
3/4 C dill pickle relish
3 tsp salt
3/8 tsp pepper
1 C light mayonnaise
2 1/4 C prepared Ranch dressing (I used Kraft Buttermilk Ranch)
3 tablespoons prepared mustard
Real bacon bits (about 3/4 cup, I think--just eyeball it until it looks good)

While the eggs are boiling, start peeling and cubing the potatoes. Put them in a large stock pot. Cover the potatoes with water (about an inch over the top of the potatoes) and put on to boil. By the time you finish with the potatoes, the eggs should be done.

While the potatoes cook, peel the eggs and chop them up into a large bowl. Add the remaining ingredients.

When the potatoes are tender (but not mushy--don't overcook them), drain the water and add them to the rest of the ingredients while they are still hot. Warm potatoes absorb the flavor of the dressing better.

Mix all the ingredients thoroughly. Cover and refrigerate until serving time (the longer the better).

NOTE: You could add 3 small onions or 18 green onions, chopped, if you prefer real onions to onion powder. If you like the crunch of celery in potato salad (and I don't), you can add 6 stalks of celery, chopped. (Of course, if you do either of these things, it won't be exactly the same way I made it the other night.)

The Stuff of Nightmares

2007-09-05T09:24:00.000-06:00

This is a true story. It happened to some friends of ours. (I have removed the names in order to protect the guilty parties, but I have left the story exactly as it was told to us.)

Saturday morning, Young Daughter comes up to her mother and says:
"I heard a funny noise in your room this morning. I couldn't hear it very well so I put my ear up to your door so I could hear it better. It sounded like EEEE eee EEEE eee EEEE eee EEEE eee EEEE eee EEEE eee EEEE eee EEEE. What was making that noise?"

Mother told her maybe it was a mouse.

Better set a bigger mousetrap.

Etymology

2007-09-02T21:24:00.000-06:00

At Sunday dinner tonight, my brother was telling A-- that he needed a haircut.

"You're starting to look like a hippie." (This from the brother who shaves his head and grows a goatee just so he can look intimidating.)

S-- asks, "What does 'hippie' mean? ......."

"Is it short for 'hypocrite'?"

Ah, my child. Wisdom beyond your years....

A walk down memory lane

2007-08-28T21:08:00.000-06:00

Remember this?

Well, this is a video demonstrating the strength of the fence that Phil helped design. No wonder Phil fought it and lost....

My sweetie, the mighty plastic moldsman/engineer! Too bad he wasn't part of the film.

Here Comes the Sun

2007-08-23T20:17:00.000-06:00

Or should I say son?

My eldest is having one of those days today. He dawdled until the last possible second this morning before finally getting ready for school; he came home and lounged around watching TV and bugging his brothers after school instead of doing his jobs; and he fiddlefarted around in his room instead of getting ready for bed. When he came out to get on the computer and discovered that his user is disabled, he began his conniption fit.

"Why can't I get on the computer? S-- was just on the computer."

"As I explained earlier, you haven't cleaned your room, finished your homework, practiced your guitar, or completed your daily jobs. Until that's done, there will be no computer time."

"But S-- didn't get his practicing done today and you still let him on the computer."

"That was your dad's decision, not mine. If you have a problem with it, go talk to your dad."

(huffily) "Fine."

Instead of taking up the issue with Phil, A-- proceeds to turn on the TV while I'm brushing S--'s teeth. When I'm finished, I return to the living room, unplug the TV, and lock the plug in the lock box.

"WHAT???? I CAN STILL WATCH TV! YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT NO TV!"

"A--, that's been a rule since last year. If your jobs aren't done, you don't watch TV."

"BUT THAT WAS MYTHBUSTERS!"

"I know. That's really sad that you decided not to complete your jobs earlier. Now you'll have to miss it."

"BUT MOM, I HAVEN'T WATCHED TV FOR WEEKS AND WEEKS!!!!!"

"Don't even start with me on that one, A--. You've watched TV every day now for several weeks. All summer, in fact. Don't give me this garbage about not watching TV for weeks and weeks."

"BUT IT'S TRUE AND YOU KNOW IT!!"

"Not even, son."

Now the little self-righteous tirade begins.

"You know, I think you're determined to do everything you possibly can to make my life miserable."

(I refuse to answer.)

"And you're not doing anything to persuade me otherwise."

(Still not speaking.)

"I don't want to talk to you ever again."

(Given his attitude at that moment, I was thinking that'd be nice.)

"You know, Mom, the scriptures say that 'men are that they might have joy.' Well, I'm not feeling any joy at the moment."

(Thinking, but not saying, "Yeah, buddy. The scriptures also say 'wickedness never was happiness.' Bite me.")

He decided to "punish me," I guess, by sulking in his bed. No loss on my part, I'm tellin' you. Put that attitude to bed and give it a rest.

In other news, scattered s#%t showers are still present in my neck of the woods, but the umbrella seems to be holding up. My dad is doing much better. The situation with Phil's mom is still up in the air. The family has a lot of tough decisions to make in a short time, but everyone is working together and making the best of things. The shocker situation is something we'll be dealing with for a while. All I can say about it is that it's one of those things you never, ever want to see happen in your family. However, I can see the Lord's hand in everything that has happened, past and present, preparing us to handle this storm. We will be fine.

Thanks to everyone for asking how we're doing and for checking in from time to time. It means a lot.

When it rains, it pours

2007-07-28T16:49:00.000-06:00

I'm tired and empty.

Although the weather has been dry, this month has been full of storms for me and my family. Afer a month and a half of getting little to no sleep, my dad went in for back surgery to fix a pinched sciatic nerve. Surgery went well; he came home for a few days, only to go back again because his kidneys stopped working. (We got the call at Peef's house during the farewell party for Lucky. Nothing like that kind of phone call to put you in the party mood.) They flooded him with fluids, stopped several of his medications, and got everything going again. He's home again and doing fine.

Phil and several of his siblings had a "family meeting" of sorts with his mom and some geriatric specialists at LDS Hospital just after my dad went in for surgery. They got the lowdown on his mom's mental state, and it's not exactly rosy. We're probably looking at early stages of Alzheimer's. She's going to need a lot more help, and she's going to have to accept it from people besides just Phil's sister (who lives next door to her). There is talk of a care center. All of this brings back painful memories of both of my grandmothers, who had problems with dementia and lived with my family when they were having those problems. This will be a long, hard road for everyone.

The final storm was something that must remain confidential. Let's just say it was shocking, to say the least. However, the storm will not break us. It's just made life heavy for a while.

Forgive me if my comments are lacking in wit, wisdom, or sense. I find that I have been turning inward for several months now as if in preparation for this month. I know everything will be fine. We will weather the storms. But for now, I'm hunkering down and holding on.

What I did on my summer vacation

2007-07-08T22:00:00.000-06:00

What I did on my summer vacation was go all the way to Salt Lake City. And stay in a hotel.

With a swimming pool downstairs.

The end.

No, just kidding. (About it being the end--not about going to Salt Lake City.)

Truly, we did. We took our three boys, stayed at the Shilo Inn (in spite of its sad history), and had a wonderful time. (I've been told, however, that when you take your children with you, it's not called a vacation but a trip.)

My favorite part was taking the boys to Lagoon and discovering my surprising love for roller coasters. I think I have scarred A-- for life by riding with him twice on the Wild Mouse and laughing hysterically both times while body slamming him every time the car turned a corner. S-- was terrified by three things: the huge swing that is Turn of the Century, the ferris wheel (seriously terrified), and the Sky Ride. T-- and S-- were both scared spitless after I forced them to go on the Terroride with me, but they both wanted to go back and do it again, so I guess there's hope yet for my cautious S--.

My least favorite part was taking the boys to Lagoon, a.k.a. the string bikini capital of Utah. Yuck. I haven't seen that much skin since who knows when. And it wasn't just the young teenage vixens--oh no. Trust me, ladies. Even if you have a body that looks that good, a bikini isn't the most flattering thing to wear at an amusement park. Then again, given the amount that we paid to get in, I guess we ought to have expected some type of show.

Hogle Zoo was also on the itinery for the Pottymouth family. The animals were, well, animals. What else did you expect?

(A--, above, looks uncannily like his mother. Poor kid.)

(A rare specimen of the Homo Sapien variety, sleeping soundly on a bench.)

(See those lovely cankles?)

The Hill Aerospace Museum was awesome. Some of those airplanes are ginormous! Of all the boys, however, Phil was the most enamoured of the steely birds. They have a hands-on room where kids can explore the physics of flight and sit in a real flight training cockpit. (I had wicked fun teasing T-- while he sat in there. I kept turning the lights on and off and he couldn't figure out how he was making it happen. I am so mean!)

The best part of the whole trip was coming home. It was lovely to not be too far away, and it was nice to have some time with the boys without any interruptions. But my bed was absolutely heavenly to fall into when we got back. There's no place like home.

Bumper Sticker Vacation

2007-06-30T22:15:00.000-06:00

We just got back from a four-day-vacation with the boys this afternoon. I'll have to blog about it later, but until then, let me share with you the bumper sticker we saw while driving about:

My labrador retriever is smarter than your honor student.

Phil nearly wet himself laughing.

This is my favorite:

My kid can beat up your honor student.

So how does your favorite bumper sticker read?

Hi. My name is Julie and I'm a furniture snob....

2007-06-19T12:00:00.000-06:00

I'm a shop teacher's daughter. For my whole life, the smell of sawdust, Fullerplast, and sweat has been comforting: it represented a day of hard work and beautiful results. Unfortunately, it also meant my induction into furniture snobbery.

As a child, on the rare occasions when my parents needed a couch, we would make a trip to the furniture store where Dad would proceed to embarrass us. Grabbing a piece of furniture, he'd shake it vigorously, exclaiming, "This is a piece of crap! Look at the joints! Look at the doors--they're not even level! Even my 7th grade students could build something better than this." Meanwhile, we'd skulk behind the nearest couch, trying not to look like we were related.

"Dad!" we'd hiss, "There are salespeople right there! They'll hear you! You're going to get us kicked out!"

He ignored our misery and continued criticizing the couches, cabinets, and chairs. And rightly so. They were poorly built.

As a result of this unintended educational experience, I am highly suspicious of furniture stores and the quality of their merchandise. If I want a nice table, a china hutch, or a roll-top desk, I can have Dad or Phil build one for me that is exactly what I want. Why would I want something that everyone and their dog already has? Who needs a hutch with a piece of plastic for a back? Piece of crap, if you ask me. And don't get me started on those hunks of junk that they call "bookshelves," available at your local ShopKo, Walmart, or Target. Now, I understand that they have their place when you have limited funds, but then again, a piece of furniture is an investment. Why spend that money on something you'll have to replace--again and again--when you could get something that will last you forever?

Needless to say, I was not among those who were near wetting their pants over the opening of Ikea. Pre-fab furniture that is trendy, put-it-together-yourself stuff has no appeal to me. (My dad's favorite quote for several days after reading this was "Ikea is Swedish for particle board.") No matter what the salespeople tell you, particle board, even if it's made of hardwood, is still just sawdust compressed and glued together. It is not stronger than hardwood in the long run. Particle board shelves will sag visibly under the weight of books. Why would I want a couch built out of something that sags under the weight of books? (Even if I hear that they have great meatballs.)

Piece of crap, I tell you.

See . . . I told you I was a furniture slob.

Arrrrgh!

2007-05-25T15:28:00.000-06:00

My pirate name is:

Mad Dog Cash

Part crazy, part mangy, all rabid, you're the pirate all the others fear might just snap soon. You're musical, and you've got a certain style if not flair. You'll do just fine. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

Yeah, I know it's been done before, but for some reason "Mad Dog Cash" strikes me as hilarious.

No more pencils, no more books....

2007-05-25T15:01:00.001-06:00

Wanna see how I made it onto the "Coolest Mom" list today?

This is what I did to A-- before school this morning.

I must say it looks pretty awesome for an amateur do-it-yourself hairstylist like me. Of course, I had ulterior motives: I agreed to give him a mohawk for the last day of school if he'd let me buzz his hair for the summer.

His teacher wasn't pleased. She gave him a dirty look and made him comb it out before the final school assembly. So we redid it after school. I'm not sure which version I like better.....

Any votes, Sanjaya?

Exclusive Interview from Yours Truly

2007-05-22T09:59:00.000-06:00

I know, I'm slow getting into the game. Azucar mailed me questions a month ago, but when I tried to post the answers, Blogger ate my brilliantly pithy composition. I haven't dared to try again until now. But here goes:

Tell me about your kids, how many do you have and what is one unique thing about each of them?

I have three boys: A--, S--, and T--. (Good thing we didn't name the third one something that started with an "S," eh?)

Let's start with A--, my oldest. He was born a lawyer. Seriously. From the time he could talk, he could debate until the cows came home and went back out to pasture. It's his favorite pastime. (Well, that and pestering his younger brother S--.) Not only that, he's really good at it because he's that smart. Being his parent is intellectually exhausting. He loves a good joke, is talented at making flatulent noises with his knees, and can be fun to talk to. A--'s personality is like an excellent salsa caliente: delightful and stimulating but with a kick to it that can bite you in the bee-hind if you don't watch out. And he plays a pretty good guitar for a beginner.

If I'm going to compare children to food, S-- would be like rich milk chocolate (the good kind): smooth and sweet. He is passionate about all things Lego. (His greatest ambition in life is to become a Lego set designer. I bet he'll do it, too, because he's that smart.) He plays violin but prefers fiddle music to classical music. He is the answer to my mother's prayer for a blond-haired brown-eyed grandchild. He is a sensitive, compassionate peacemaker. And everyone knows you can't have hot salsa without something chocolate to soothe the palate.

T-- is like a chocolate-covered cinnamon bear. He's sweet, but he has a surprising kick to him that you don't expect. His current passion is stealing my kitchen screwdriver and taking apart his toys. One toy was too noisy for his taste, so he took the screw out of the battery cover, removed the batteries to the trash can, and screwed the cover back on. "Look, Mommy! I fixed it!" He's a softy when he realizes he's hurt someone, but it doesn't stop him from playing hard. His favorite questions are, "What today is, Mom?" and "Where are we doh-ing?" He is darling.

What is your favorite music group of all time and have you ever see them in concert?

I can't say I have a favorite music group of all time. I love music, but I think my taste is a bit eclectic (eccentric, maybe?). I don't know if it says much for me that the only concerts I ever attended were Dan Fogelberg and The Nylons, both at BYU, and a few Voice Male concerts here locally.

I've played classical piano from the time I was four, so of course I have a love and appreciation for Mozart, Chopin, Bach, and Beethoven. I also like anything a capella, especially if the singers are male. (Barbershop quartets can be amazing--cheesy, yes, sometimes, but their harmony is incredible.) Some of my other favorites include Billy Joel, Huey Lewis, Dan Fogelberg, The Nylons, Voice Male, Inside Out, Manhattan Transfer, Elton John, the Proclaimers, Jim Brickman, Jon Schmidt (someday I want to be able to play "Waterfall" the whole way through--memorized), and David Lanz. I'm not a big fan of country music (too twangy for my taste). I try to be open to new music, so if anyone feels a burning need to enlighten me, go right ahead.

How did you know that your husband was The One? Did anything go 'wrong' on the wedding day?

Hoo boy, that is a question! My dad actually picked Phil out for me when I was in 8th grade. I knew nothing about it. Dad taught Phil in high school and was quite impressed with him. To make a very long story short, Phil and I were set up by my parents after many near meetings. I knew before I met him that something was going to happen, but I didn't know what. Our first date was a double with my parents. (Yes, you read that correctly.) I felt completely comfortable with him. It was like coming home after a long, hard day and putting on your favorite, most comfortable shoes. We were married 10 months later. We're going on 15 years this summer.

The only thing that went "wrong" on the wedding day was my forgetting my bouquet when we went to the temple. The only pictures I have of it were from the reception. Somehow, it doesn't bother me. Okay, wait. I remembered something else. Phil forgot his gift for the groomsman and went to get it right before the reception started. He was late getting back, and my brothers got endless joy out of teasing me about being a jilted bride.

Do you harbor a secret desire like being an artist, or a rockstar?

I used to want to be a model, an electrical engineer, and a concert pianist. Now, my secret desire is to have the means to hire a maid service. I hate cleaning my house.

What is your biggest pet peeve?

Can I list more than one?

Inconsistency. It bugs me when people say one thing but do another. I don't deal well with hypocrites.

It bugs me when my clothes aren't folded just so. Drives me crazy.

Meanness. I get so upset when people are unkind. I had more than enough of being on the receiving end as a kid at school. There's not much I hate more than a bully. Cruel gossip is just bullying in another form.

Ahhhhh. That feels better. Thanks for the questions, Azucar. It was fun.

May I help you?

2007-05-17T08:58:00.000-06:00

So we went to the park the other night with our neighbors for a picnic dinner. It was a beautiful evening--not too hot, not too cold. The kids were having a blast playing on the slides and stuff. The adults were chatting and munching while keeping an eye on the kiddos. Our menu included sandwiches, watermelon, and some dill pickle potato chips. (Yes, really, they do taste quite good. No comments from the food critics, please.)

As we are talking, a young boy comes riding up on his bike. He can't be more than about 10 or 11. He stops his bike, climbs off, and starts prowling around our picnic blanket where we are all sitting. He circles like a shark, getting closer and closer, finally stopping next to me and Phil.

Phil: "Can we help you with something?"

Boy: "No. I want some chips. Can I have some of those chips?"

Phil: "No. But thanks for asking."

Boy: "Please? Can I please have some chips?"

He's standing so close to me that I could have pantsed the kid. I'm not comfortable.

Phil: "No, but thanks for asking."

Boy: "Please can I have some chips?"

Phil: "This is a private party. No."

Boy: "Pleeeeeeease?"

Phil ignores him. He climbs back on his bike and proceeds to say "Baby, baby, baby!" in a taunting voice to our neighbor's toddler who is in tears because of a minor fall. I wanted to smack him.

At last, he rides off.

What the hell was that? I was SO bugged. The kid wasn't starving. He obviously lived fairly close because he had a school t-shirt on proclaiming the name of the school next to the park where we were. Where were his parents? What kind of idiot kid walks up to a bunch of strangers (adults, no less) and asks for food? Hello?!?!?!? I should have told him, "We peed all over these chips. Still want some? How about a poopy diaper to dip them in?" The kid would probably have accepted, just so he could have some of those chips.

On a lighter note, my 3-year-old son proclaimed, loudly and repeatedly, while swinging, "Well-tum! Well-tum to da Wal Mart!"

Now you all know where he likes to shop.