Everybody Cries at Church

We all know that kids say and do the darnedest things,...so here are a few gems that our second to youngest has come out with:

--While getting dressed for bed on a camping trip (tent camping), he looked around while I was loosely folding his shirt and pants and then says, "..But, where are the drawers?"

--In church after noticing a slight show of emotion from Mom -- "Everybody cries at church."

--After getting out of bed despite a threat that dad would "spank his bum" if he did. He walked downstairs, looks at Mom and says, "Dad said he would spank my bum if I got out of bed." Dad then asks, "Are you ready for me to spank your bum?" He then nods and turns around expectently.

--At grandma and grandpa's he was playing with his cousins and declares after asked why he was crying, "I've got a baby in my head."

The Early Bird Gets The WHAT?

Worm.

And if you like worms then it definitely pays to be an early bird. I don't actually like worms so a lot of the time being "early" is not very yummy. Take this for example: I am doing my duty and balancing our beautiful checkbook at the beginning of November. Our rockin' cool car (those of you who have seen our car can laugh now) is coming up for registration and so I take care of that because I am just that awesome. The tags don't actually expire until the end of November. So, we get these wonderful rather expensive little stickers in the mail strait away and there they sit...in our closet...for like...weeks. Of course they do, because our cute little stickers that are already on the car are still doing the trick. Well, the end of November does actually come around and those fun little stickers are not in our closet. They are not in our house apparently. They most likely went out with the trash. Tastin' that worm now aren't you? Oh yes. You are getting this now.

When you are chronically early you get to surprise people in their bath robes as they frantically get ready for their dinner guests hoping that they will arrive just a bit late like normal people. You get to sit out in front of office buildings, medical buildings, and school buildings waiting until the door actually opens when you pull on it. You get to sign in and sit in chairs for exorbitant amounts of time, make small talk with lots of different people, get the "wow, your early" look, and my personal favorite: you get lots of free time to examine each plant, tile, scuff, and crack in your immediate vicinity. It is super.

Almost as super as the worm, but not quite.....the worm is a delicacy only enjoyed by those who have special time powers.

Vomit A La Infant

When babies throw up you don't have time to turn them AWAY from you. When babies throw up you usually have piles of dirty laundry and only one last piece of clothing to put them in which of course they burn right through by mid-morning and you end up sitting in front of a sliding glass door that has sun shining through it to keep them warm. When babies throw up your plans for the day get thrown up on as well. When babies throw up they cry and cry and make themselves throw up more. When babies throw up you wish it was you and you sit there every moment they get exhaustion induced sleep staring at them and hoping they sleep just a few more moments because they look so peaceful with their rosy cheeks and eyes fluttering.

Tools of Choice

I decided that Satan is a power tool guy.

So, I am watching this game show, (Yes I know, game shows are lame.), and the wife has to guess what her husbands most important, can't live without, use every day tool is. Of course everyone knows this is the cordless drill. A man is not a man without his cordless drill.

This morning I am trying to figure out just why I am having such a down and dirty problem with this person who shall not be named. The light comes on. A real, honest to goodness light bulb appeared above my head! Good ole' pride! Satan's power tool of choice! His cordless drill. His most important, can't live without, use every day tool!

So I say to that wicked devil, "Put down that drill mister! Lay it aside for today!" I will give that person who shall not be named what she wants. In giving her what she wants I am choosing gentleness in place of a power struggles and power tools.

And so another light bulb appears above my really messy head of growing out hair this morning. God's tool of choice does not even need a battery. His tool is solar powered, perfectly quiet, do the job right every time AWESOME. His tool goes by many names. Give a cheer for love, understanding, kindness, forgiveness. Give charity a great big high five.

The School Year Begins

I have been voyaging across the ocean this summer trying to prove that the earth is indeed round. We have experienced rough seas and strong headwinds along the way but we are now closing in on the horizon. This will be my last regular entry. By my calculations, one week from today, we will have dropped of the edge of the earth.

And so we bid you farewell my friends! Our homeschooling year starts next week and I shall be knee deep in language handbooks and literary analysis with little time and energy for summer pleasures.

Keep a weather eye out, I shall return!

Score - Girls: 1 Boys: 1

I am all for posting pictures of fairies.
They are extremely hard to photograph. I got this one mid-flight. Beautiful little thing.

Well, since I am here I probably ought to write something interesting. Let's talk about snakes.

Pet's have come and gone in our house. The one and only snake ever admitted was a garter snake named Scales. I have to admit that my aversion to snakes, spiders, and lizards has been cleverly educated out of me. Now, instead of a scream of terror and stomp of the foot, I ask myself, "Gee Whiz, I wonder if that is a Rabid Wolf spider?" I'll even go so far as to carry the eight legged thing out of my house in one piece. Now that's enlightenment. Score one for the boys.

Tooth Fairy Dialogue

Our youngest daughter Joyce lost a tooth a couple of months ago. Tonight she wrote the following note:

Dear tooth fairy,

You haven't come to my home in 2 or 3 months. I now know you are most likely doing more important things like going to little people's homes. But can you please try to come in the next week.

love,

Joyce

PS - What is your name

Toothfairy's response:

Joyce,

Thank you for your note. You are right; I have been very busy.

But, you are very important too. In fact, you are my last stop tonight, so I can honestly say that I saved the Best for Last.

I am sorry if I have made you feel bad. You are wonderful and I love collecting your teeth.

Some of the brightest stars in heaven have come from your teeth -- that's right, the brightest little smiles make the brightest starlit skies.

Thank you for brightening my days and your nights with a piece of your smiles.

With Love,

Lucinda

(The tooth fairy)

El número Seis

Wow. So I am standing on the 'Brink of Total Despair' today and I read this article. I know there are many who wonder what in the world is wrong with me. I am sure that an answer like, "Oh, my very best friend that I have known since I was born just got hit by a giant freakish dragonfly and won't be around much longer.", would actually make sense. The real answer is a bit boring actually. The real reason I have been on the verge of drowning for the past year is all about having a baby.

Okay okay. Settle down. Yes, I know women have babies all the time. I know that in Utah you know at least, oh, enough women to fill a Walmart parking lot on a Saturday night that are pregnant and enough to fill another with the ones that just had babies. Ya, I know, my story isn't original, and I like original. Oh Well.

So, I am reading this article and it lifts me up enough to get my shoes on and go for a walk. I pretty much stalk out of my house with quite a little attitude. By the time I am walking back home I am slightly sweaty, slightly pink, and slightly happy. Happy is a miracle. Even slightly.

Sometimes a walk feels impossible. It feels like there is absolutely no way I can stand up and walk out the door. There may as well be an iron grate covering my front door with heavy lock on it, and I don't have the key.

So, here is a part of what I read today: "At one moment, we are filled with the Spirit, we see the grand horizon, we tearfully promise God that we will give all we have and are to him. Yet, there is often a slow, grinding down in our lives. What we feel in the morning has been pounded out of us by the afternoon. What we resolve on Sunday, we forget on Tuesday. The world is too much with us. We are weary. Sometimes our hope is dimmed. The thing we wanted very most, is the thing we don’t receive. The effort, which cost us much and at one time seemed to promise so much, ends in failure. The child of our hopes and dreams disappoints us or rejects our teachings.

We can be true and hopeful when prayers are answered and the crops come in, but what about when we kneel in need and seem to hear only the echo of our own voice?

Sometimes in our life we face trials, clearly identified and difficult--death, sickness, financial reversal, the abuse of a family member. But, often just as trying, is the long, tedious, wearing down of every day. The job that needs to be constantly redone. The relentless undoing of our dreams. All the things that work away at us may dim our intentions. We mean to be steady, like a river, and instead we dry up under pressure like a river in Arabia.
Many moments of our life we may just feel dead inside, dead like autumn leaves that blow randomly along a gutter. We cry out to the Lord, “Breathe life into me.”

Oh baby. Sometimes God gives me the key to that iron grate I have in my head. Sometimes he unlocks something for me so I can make it one more day. Grace is what I wanted. Grace is what I still need to learn. So I say, along with those parking lots full of women, "Carry on my sisters. One more day."

To read the entire article:

http://www.meridianmagazine.com/lineuponline/080810grace.html

Boots

I grew up in Alaska. I like saying that because that statement always gets a response. "OOO, Alaska! Neat!!" Neat if you like snow I guess. Neat if you love moon boots. I remember calling time and temperature to see if my mom was going to make me wear those fabulous boots that belong on the moon. 25 Degrees.

That was the cut off. Below 25 meant having to start my walk out with moon boots and above 25 meant I didn't have to play the shoe game. Below 25 degrees? Not a problem really, I devised a system. Tromp out the door with a smile and a wave, walk out of sight (of mom :)), hide ugly moon boots in the snow for later, put cute shoes on, and continue on my way with a another big smile on my face. I did all of this standing on ice and snow with bare feet by the way. Socks are for wussies.

So are jackets in Jr. High. I remember walking to the bus stop in 10 degree weather in the dark (because that is what you do in neat places like Alaska) in nothing but a cute t-shirt. No jacket because jackets aren't always cute. I am not sure if I hid the jacket along with the boots but I am sure that I was wearing those cute white Keds and no socks, because socks and jackets are for wussies.

A walk to the bus stop was cold (even with moon boots and winter jackets), dark (that is what a really neat winter in Alaska looks like), and would occasionally resemble a zoo train ride. My favorite animal to chat with on the way was the moose. I would run into those darn things when walking in the dark, through the woods (because that was the best place to hide the boots and jacket) at least once every other month. (Let's do the math shall we? That would be 9 months of winter, because neat places like Alaska have nice long winters, divided by 2 equals about 4 times of stopping short because I just almost walked right into the side of a very tall, brown, hairy animal that liked to be called Bullwinkle.) Great thing was: I didn't care. I wasn't scared. My heart rate didn't even go up. I remember stopping, looking up, and saying "Oh, Sorry.", and turning around to go the long way to the bus stop...after chucking the boots and jacket of course.

Just Call Me Bond or Jones or Sacajaweya....No, I like Bond...James Bond...

The two hardest people to find on earth are hairstylists and babysitters. Correction on that: Good Hairsylists and Good Babysitters. There are plenty of people who want to cut your hair and watch your kids but I would just as soon try and find someone to fly me to the moon than take a pair of scissors to my head or be responsible for a quiver full of children.
Finding a good bread recipe can also be a bit of a challenge....kind of like finding the lost city of Atlantis or life on Mars. Well, after a long and gruelling search through rain forests and deep caves I have found the ultimate bread recipe so you won't have to! Aren't you all so GRATEFUL?

5 c. very hot water
1/2 c. oil
1/2 c. honey or 3/4 c. sugar
1/2 c. gluten
1 Tb. salt
2 Tb. apple cider vinegar
3 Tb. instant yeast
3 c. white flour
10+ c. wheat flour

Add the following: water, oil, honey, gluten, salt, vinegar and 10 c. flour. Mix until moistened. Let rest for 10 minutes. Add yeast and mix. Add white flour and remaining wheat flour (about 1-2 cups) to make a soft dough. In a bread mixer, this is when the bread cleans the sides of the bowl. Knead for 5 minutes. Do not let rise.Divide into 4 loaves, shape in oil not flour. Preheat oven to warm. Turn off oven and place bread to rise in oven. When the bread is 1" above the rim of the bread pan (about 10 minutes), turn oven on, with bread in it, to 350 degrees. Bake for about 30 minutes or until golden brown.

There it is. Rachel: Do not make this bread yet. I am bringing you a loaf tomorrow. Don't be jealous everyone else, Rachel has the plague...you can read about it on her blog, she deserves bread. She deserves more than just bread, but that's what I've got right now my honey!

P.S. Credit where credit is due: Jen and Becky....YOU ROCK!!!!

The Good Ship Lollipop

Forget the stupid no sugar wagon! Who's stupid idea was that anyway?? Certainly not mine. I prefer cruises anyway. I just hopped on board the one with a 24 hour dessert bar. They place a box of chocolates on my pillow each night. There are no swimming pools, just dark movie theatres with refillable buttered popcorn, Mr. Pibb, and an unlimited supply of Dots.

Besides, Cold Stone called last night. They were worried about me...thought I had been in an accident or something. The flowers they sent were delicious. Sort of like chocolate ice cream with brownies, caramel, and fudge mixed in.

So, if you are disappointed in me, I DON'T want to hear it. If you really care about me you will send me a triple dipped gourmet apple smothered in two kinds of chocolate, caramel, and rolled in giant chunks of candy bar.

Four in Six

4 in 6 women think they look like beached whales when wearing anything by Abercrombie and Fitch. 4 in 6 men think passing gas is something to smile about. And my oldest son brushed death 4 times in 6 years and I am about to tell you all about it.

Time Number One: Husband driving from Seattle to Utah after being awake for over 3 days without sleep blacks out with his eyes open with oldest son in the car. (Age 2)

Time Number Two: Walking to the park on a very busy road frequented by semi trucks going 60 MPH I look away for a split second to run through a sprinkler that is spraying water onto the sidewalk while oldest son runs into the road to avoid getting wet. At the moment there were no cars or trucks going by for the first time in the year we lived there. (Age 5)

Time Number Three: Cousin pushes oldest son into a deep canal for fun and oldest son sinks. He felt something push him up far enough to grab a branch and pull himself out. No, he couldn't swim. In fact, he wouldn't even get his big toe wet at the swimming lessons I signed him up for the summer before. (Age 5)

Time Number Four: Falls out of the "bucket" of a back hoe as it is moving forward. The driver of the back hoe said that he felt something push his leg down with a good amount of force and was able to drop the bucket and stop the back hoe just inches from oldest sons head. (Age 8)

4 in 6 people reading this will have at least 4 of their own near death stories and they will know at least 6 men who show no signs of growing into the level of maturity it takes to pass gas without the applause of the other men in the room.

CANNON BALL!!!!!

We all know that I declared independence from sugar for the 4th of July. What we didn't know was that the road would be covered in brownie batter.

So, I am ridin' along on my no sugar wagon and all of the sudden I get the urge to sprint over to the edge and start bouncing up and down like you would on a very springy diving board. I knew that if I was goin' down I was gonna go down in style. So, I get a nice high bounce, tuck my knees up to my chest, hold my nose with one hand, throw the other hand up into the air, and scream WAAAHOOOOO!!!! at the top of my lungs. I land in a big gooey pan of cheese cake brownies.

Who knew the edge of a wagon could be so forgiving. It also has a ladder. I am using it to climb BACK ON THE WAGON so as I can ride on through to August. Wish me luck ya'll.

GI-dee-up!

The Proof Is In The Pudding

(--Response to "I'll Park Here")

While I may pass up a parking stall on occassion; when I park, I park straight, within the lines, and all the way to the front (or back depending on direction). My parking jobs have been admired for their perfect symmetry and I'm sure that more than one carpenter has secretly pulled out a measuring tape just to satisfy the urge to verify the perfect park job.



So,..while the content and message of the previous post are generally accurate --despite no recollection on my part of picking up the mail and immediately proposing -- one cannot argue with the level of commitment to my stall or exactness of my park job. The type of exactness that is the envy of others who have parked their cars less carefully and now find themselves with dings in their doors, slashes in their tires, or who find themselves vacating their stall altogether.

Maybe Hollywood IS more romantic,...but no one can argue with perfect results.

I'll Park Here!

Driving into a parking lot with my husband can be excruciating. The way I see it, there are two kinds of people in this world: the decisive and the indecisive. I am proud to announce that when choosing a parking spot, I am decisive. Paul on the other hand will pass perfectly good parking spaces only to pull into one that isn't any better than the 10 he just snubbed.

Picking a wife however is a little more involved, even for the resolute. There are consequences to passing by 10 perfectly good potential wives only to pick the next one that comes along because you are suddenly afraid that if you keep going you might not get one at all. It's a good thing my husband had the good sense to pick the best option right from the start. I will have everyone know that he deserves the beating he is about to get as I describe the details of "The Worst Proposal in History".

A little background: Paul gets home from his mission with only one thing on his mind.....date as many girls as possible and kiss them all. (Sorry hon, blogging isn't for the faint of heart!) He meets me. We date. Yep, just me. Poor Paul just dated little ole' me. Before he knew it I was telling him that I was done being pals. Translation: If your gonna pick this parking space you had better do it because it isn't going to remain available much longer. Well, under duress the poor guy had to make his move....and here is how it went.

We just got back to his house from some place that isn't important enough to remember. He checks the mail. He gets a REJECTION letter from the Y. He turns to me and says, "So, what would you say if I asked you to marry me?"

(My thought: "Oh, ya, get a rejection letter from the place that actually HAS an endless supply of girls you can date and kiss so just settle for the one sitting in front of you!) (Next thought: "What a baby! Probably can't even pick his own stinking parking spot without help.") (Last thought: "Well...he is awfully cute....)

My answer? "I guess you would have to ask to find out wouldn't you?" He did. I did. End of story? Not even CLOSE!!! If the story ended there it wouldn't even BE a story!

THREE MONTHS later my sweet husband is still halfway in and halfway out of the parking space. He hadn't REALLY decided what he wanted, he was just stalling. (Pun Intended)

I hand him the engagement ring back and tell him he can keep it. Well, he has a nice heart to heart with his dad. He prays. I won't go into detail here, it isn't my moment to share, but I will say this, I look really good in a wedding dress.

Paul and I have been married for 14 1/2 years and I am still waiting for a re-do on that proposal. Something a little more chivalrous...involving a bent knee and roses. Let's skip the driveway and rejection letter this time.....I want the Hollywood version baby!!!

My Declaration of Independence

From Sugar. Yep. Would you like an slice of watermelon to chase down the last two months of brownies? Yes sir, I sure would!

I am joining a fine group of ladies in our quest to conquer the cookie. July 4th to August 4th. Make it a month and get a prize. Can anyone say "Swedish Massage"?

If you want to join our fun little group of women on a mission please just hop right on board and let me know...."Hi, my name is ______, and I am a Sugar Addict."

Confidence and Dignity....Gone!

So, for some of us this website can be a pat on the back..."Oh, I am SO beautiful! I look just like ...." And then there are some of us who had better just skip it. I mean Paul Simon is a great guy....but does anyone want to actually look like Paul Simon?

Someday I am going to forgive Ken Craig for this tragic incident but for now I will be billing him for my therapy. For your convienence we can set up a direct deposit into my bank account....

Finding the Right Path

How do you find the right words to explain an astronomical event in your life? This will be my first attempt...and depending on how this goes, it may be my last! I can write silly stuff. I can occasionally hit on something meaningful. But this....we will see.

After graduating high school I moved to Alaska. Had a great summer. Sometime in August I thought I would mosey on down to the University and start college. Did that. After some housing difficulties I was given a room at the University dorms. These particular dorms were reserved for Seniors mostly. They had waiting lists a mile long. I got in anyway.

I moved in on a Saturday about a month and a half after the semester started. Early the next morning one of my roommates came in all dressed up and smiley to say goodbye. I asked her where she was off to in that perty dress. She said church. I said "Can I come next week?". I still think about the look on her face to this day. After she reeled her mouth off the floor she said sure.

I went. I obtained a copy of the Gospel Principles manual. I read it that week. I really wanted to find "my church" so I was pretty motivated. I had already tried a good many churches. I don't even know why I was driven to go to church. My heart just searched and the rest of me tried to follow.

Saturday night came and I could not go to sleep. I was so tired but my whole being couldn't rest. I was disturbed in a very real way. Around midnight I remembered reading about fasting in that Gospel Principles book. The moment I decided to fast I felt sure that was what needed to be done. I fasted to know if this church was "my church". I had never fasted before and only vaguely remembered the nuts and bolts of such an undertaking. I still smile at myself for downing all kinds of water thinking that food alone was the goal. How cute of me! :)

I remember sitting in that chapel and watching the Branch President stand to announce something. I can't explain how I knew this, but I knew it without a single shred of doubt...that man standing at that pulpit was a man of God. He had God with him somehow. I didn't have the vocabulary to explain it, I just knew.

After the meeting that same branch president immediately walked up to me and asked me when I would be baptized. I announced, "Today!". He laughed and told me there were some sister missionaries that could help me with that.

I took those discussions in one week. What a baptism day I had. The adversary wasn't too pleased and made sure my day was the worst day I had ever had to that point in my 18 years. Well, I made it to my baptism. President Green baptized and confirmed me. He told me in all his years he had never felt the Holy Ghost stronger. I didn't realize what he was really saying until many years later.

I have been a member of "my church" for about 15 years. What a cool life I have had in that time. Exquisite in it's joys and pains.

Our First Meeting -- the REAL Story

So, after deliberating over this for about 30 seconds, I've decided that there are truly two sides to every story. Fortunately for anyone reading our blog, I am here to give 'the rest of the story' (--Maybe my last name should have been Harvey).

Just to provide a little background to this story -- In my early high school years about 90% of my physical stature was made up of lips and teeth (that's another way of saying I had an alligator mouth and a hummingbird rear end,.....which is another way of saying I was a little kid with a BIG mouth -- not a foul mouth,..just a BIG one). I was just the type of kid who other kids loved to pick on -- never willing to back down, and never able to back up what I was able to dish out. In fact, I think I spent more time climbing out of garbage cans during my freshman year than I did in class. At one point I was even mounted on the gym wall by my belt loop. The only element of the situation that I could console myself with was that it took nearly my entire P.E. class to get me up there. It didn't occur to me to let the fact that the whole class was willing to hang me up there bother me.


As a result of my size (or lack thereof) I missed out on a lot of opportunities in sports and the like. Looking back, that may not really have been a bad thing. However, in the back of my mind I always longed for the day when my physical stature caught up to my peers.


Fast forward to October of 1992. I had just returned from my LDS mission in the Southern Caribbean. I was 21 years old. My physical stature had finally caught up to where (at least in my mind) it should be, and I was brimming with confidence. But, apparently that was misinterpretted and as Misty explained so eloquently, I came across as being 'Too Sexy' for just about anything -- at least as first impressions go.


Now to the meat of the story -- A friend of my brother (who was also a friend of mine) and I decided to hit the Village Inn for some refreshment after a volleyball activity. We chose the Village Inn because of the fact that it was probably the only non-convenience store where the dining room was still likely to be open -- oh! and the fact that it was only a few blocks away.


Upon being seated my friend began chatting with one of two girls seated in the booth directly behind him (in front of me). He obviously knew these girls and started helping with their homework. Meanwhile, I just sat back and tried to figure out if I knew the girl whose back was to me -- she looked like someone who I had gone to high school with, but the sum total of side glances still left me questioning. And,...I was not angry, nor was I scowling (just wanted to throw that in for clarification sake).


After an hour or so, my friend Ken along with the two girls (whose names I still don't think I knew) suggested going sledding. I had to be at work the next morning at 6am so I politely declined. Then Ken's sales tactics came out in force and, long story short, we ended up going sledding. The odd part about the sledding is that none of us had a sled. Therefore, we poked holes in the bottom of a few kitchen garbage bags and wore them like over-sized pairs of Depends. Fortunately we didn't use them like a pair of Depends -- I think that would have been a relationship killer, but maybe it's just me.


By this time I had had a chance to determine that Misty was definitely not the girl I went to high school with, but she was still a bit of a cutie. Additionally, she (and her roommate Kathy) had exhibited a sense of adventure and spontannaety and was, therefore, deemed worthy of my presence. So, after the sledding and some hot chocolate back at their apartment, I decided that 3:45am was just the right time for me to head home for a couple hours of sleep before work. On my way out the door I asked for the girls phone number. Obviously under estimating my superior mind powers, they heckled me about not writing it down and said I would never remember the number without a written note (and we all know how that one turned out, eh?).


Anyhow, the larger point is this: Despite any protest to the contrary, I knew Misty liked me from day one. The love part took a few more days, but I think it was close enough to call 'love at first sight."

Our First Meeting

I am sitting at a booth in a Village Inn IN Anchorage IN the middle of winter (or was it the beginning? Actually it WAS the beginning of winter -- it had to be because I joined the church in December AFTER meeting Paul. Paul, however, had NOTHING to do with my joining the church because he refused to talk to me about the church and didn't even come to my baptism! (but that is a story for another time....)) with a cup of hot chocolate and some 100 level college book sitting in front of me so that I could at least look like I was there to "study" more than just the cute guys that were hanging around at 11:00 at night.

I look behind me at some point and see Paul. He is sitting there all slumped down in his orange Village Inn booth with a scowl that just screamed, "I'M TOO SEXY FOR THIS JOINT!". Oh yes folks, you read that exactly right, my sweet husband was Mr. Snobby Pants. I turned back around and rolled my eyes. I honestly don't think I have ever told him that....oh well, he will just have to read it on my blog.

Skipping ahead two hours, one drive, and absolutely no love lost we are now sledding down some hill behind some building somewhere with nothing but plastic garbage bags around 1am. (Yes my dear children, 1am is much too late to be out I don't care how old you are!) Now I am looking over at Mr. Snobby Pants and he has transformed into Mr. Goofy Pants, literally. He has pulled his "sled" up around his chest and is walking around like an old man and gumming his lips. You better believe I rolled my eyes again...sorry hon.

Another two hours later back at my dorm (Yes Yes Yes my dear children, 3 am is MUCH to late to have ANYONE at your dorm for ANY REASON WHATSOEVER!!!!) we are all watching a movie. Paul leaves early and I go to bed because the cutest guy there leaves. I mean really, what is there to stay up for? He says he will call later the next day (which is technically the same day but we are talking teenager/young twenties here and the meaning of time is different from the rest of the world) but I didn't believe him and frankly didn't care....sorry again hon.

Well, I am sure that everyone reading this knows full well that he did call back. Several times actually. He, at some point, even stopped asking for me AND my roommate and dropped the request down to just me. There is so much more to the story....15 years worth...but this is just the beginning, and beginnings are what it is all about baby!

Food for Thought

Who am I kidding? Food for my increasing thighs is more like it. So, here it is: I feel like a whale as usual. Let me clarify....I only feel like an ocean mammal from roughly 2 months after having a baby until about 6 to 12 months after I am done nursing that baby. Problem: I will nurse for around a year. So, 2 months plus 1 year plus another 50 weeks....way to long to be busting out of my pants. My pants....right. I am not actually IN my pants. I am in maternity pants and I AM NOT PREGNANT.

Let's get down to the nitty gritty shall we? How do you overcome a sugar addiction? For Real. And, how do you eat healthy when you only have one hand to work with most of the time? And, how do you afford to buy fruits and vegetables every couple of days? And, how do you find the energy to keep eating healthy when you can't even keep underwear on the 3 year old? And, how can we be expected to eat fruits and vegetables that "taste like soap" anyway??? I mean, if they tasted like they were suppose to I could see eating the good stuff all the time...but as it is the good stuff tastes "sub par" in a very big way.

Who has the real answers to my questions??? I am asking you with my brain and my blog....somebody help!!! :)

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Let's be friends. Let's be there for each other. Let's be happy. Let's be compatible. I am a 3 month old sweet talker. My mom calls me Chubba Bubba, Nugget, and Lover. I like music from Barney to Chopin. "I enjoy milk, insightful cartoons, and long walks in the playground." I love to lay next to the ones I love, and just relaxing after a long day of growing. However there is a vacancy in my life. I don't have a female companion near my age. If you want to fill that vacancy, I would like to talk to you. I have hardly any hair and big beautiful eyes with long eyelashes and very kissable lips and cheeks. Let my mom know if you are interested!

Blogs, Babies, and Bunnies...OH MY!

Blogs: Embarrassing admission number one: When I first heard of "Blogging" I said and I quote, "Online journals? How stupid! Nobodies gonna want to do THAT!" Well. It is a good thing I don't play the stock market.

It has also come to my attention that some people drive Mercedes blogs and some people have stuck with the stripped down version of the Ford Tempo. Oh, and blogging has become just another way for me to throw my kids, my house, my baby, and my better judgement under the bus so I can wax philosophical and play comedian. It is okay though, I will just add it to my list under reading good books and watching Seinfeld.

Babies: Ya, had one. 3 months ago. Actually he is an elf. Santa wants him back before Christmas.

And Bunnies: Bunnies....don't have one. However, I have two imaginary friends. It seems that I am always wishing I could walk beside my shelled friend and eventually win the race but find that I throw myself after that stupid long-eared fellow who won't listen to reason and insists on hopping at break neck speed and then collapsing along side the road somewhere unable to go on. I call these spurts of energy my "phases". There's my "running phase", my "vegetarian, vegan, raw phase", my "purify our home and throw out perfectly good DVDs phase" and so on and so forth.

I had better go and look up the word "moderation" again, I keep forgetting what that means....

OH MY, I love my little online journal thingy, what a SMART idea! EVERYONE is going to be doing this in the future!

Day Trips

So, I am sitting by a river trying to remember to actually look at the river a little and notice how pretty it is when my 11 yr old perceptive daughter asks me if i am okay. Am I okay? Immediately I turn my head nodding yes and realize that my face is tense, my eyebrows scrunched down, I am squinting. Basically I am giving myself a nice headache from all that tension.

I tell her that I really am okay, I am just worried one of these six children is going to go head over heels into this rushing cold water, but other than that I am great. I really wasn't meaning to sound sarcastic. Other than that I really am great. But, what happened to the time when I could sit by a river and see the river. Now I see fast moving murky water. I see myself shoving the baby into the 13 year old's arms and diving in after the 3 year old praying I can find him before he drowns. It is so ridiculous it is just barely on this side of CRAZY.

Oh well, Crazy is as Crazy does I guess. And Crazy does trips to the river with 6 kids. I know. I asked and Crazy answered.

1 Year Anniversary: A Different Perspective

I think my wife's description of the event lacks somewhat in communicating the gravity of the situation being described. I will attempt to, perhaps, clarify:


It was a sunny day in June (hey, one year ago -- imagine that) in Carpinteria and we were enjoying the day at the beach with the family. And I mean, the WHOLE family -- Mom and Dad, their 10 children, their 10 children's spouses (of which my wife is one), and the 50+ grandchildren and great grandchildren.


It was mid-afternoon and our youngest son (of whom you may have read in an earlier post) was pretty well tuckered out and sitting under the beach umbrella wrapped in a towel and being watched over by misc. family members giving us a chance to hit the waves together.


After a while we started getting the hang of the boogie boards and were getting pretty good at judging when to kick-off to catch the wave at just the right time. About that time a wave-of-unusual-size was headed our way. I shouted at her to start paddling. What ensued was a comedy of errors that will remain a part of family lore for ages to come:


We misjudged the wave and as a result ended up both being put in the figurative 'washing machine.' When the spin cycle had finally finished I stood up and gathered my board and began heading back out for the next round. Strangely, so did Misty. We were about belly-deep in the water. Then came the realization of her current state of undress. She stopped, looked around, and crouched down a little further into the murky water. As her body appeared to shrink, her eyes became as big as saucers. "Oh my gosh, honey!! I think I lost my bottoms!" Shear terror went across her face and she verified her predicament.


She then instructed me, in no uncertain terms, that I should go back to camp (as we were camping there) and get her other pair of swim bottoms.


Now, I, being the practical person I am began looking for the missing article -- After all, these were part of a rather expensive swimming suit. I looked around, wading in this direction and that, while Misty screamed frantically to "GO BACK TO CAMP!!! GO BACK TO CAMP!!!" The noise of the surf couldn't compare to her shrill screams of horror as her head bobbed in the surf and she worried that the next wave might flip her head-over-heels and expose her to even more humiliation.


After several minutes I gave up the search and began heading back to camp to retrieve the coveted bottoms that she had requested. Meanwhile, she's still screaming.


It was the incessant screaming that caught my brother-in-law's attention as I was now dashing through the sand to get back to camp. Not being one to ignore a person in distress (unlike some people I know) he told my sister --who just happened to be wearing a pair of shorts over her own bathing suit-- who came to the rescue running through the surf, wielding her own shorts over head and shouting (amidst laughter) -- I've got Bottoms!!!

My 1 Year Anniversary

Exactly 1 year ago I lost something. I don't have a picture for this entry thank goodness. It is always so interesting to me that the thing we worried most about never happens and the thing that never crossed our minds as being a problem all of the sudden becomes a very big problem.

Take this for example: I have been all worried about losing my sanity everyday for the past....13 1/2 years (hmmmm...that is funny, that is my oldest child's exact age....weird...) and I haven't actually lost that completely, I am pretty sure. However, one year ago today, while boogie boarding for the first time, I lost something completely different.

My sweet husband went searching up and down the beach for it. I was stranded in the water...waste deep...surrounded by family members. He never found it. Go figure. Big ocean. My sister-in-law came to the rescue, running toward me, fighting waves to reach me, swinging swimsuit bottoms above her head, laughing her guts out, shouting to me, "I have bottoms! I have bottoms!"

--Well, at least one of us did. Happy Anniversary!

Tales of a 3 Year Old Prophet

Amidst the chaos that is mealtime with 6 children, our 3-year old got up from his chair licking tomato soup from his fingers -- he's not quite sold on the practicality of utensils.

When questioned regarding the state of his soup-soaked hands he replied, "My father trusts me with my fingers in the soup," still licking the soup from his hands and working hard to get what had dripped down his arm and was now half way between his wrist and elbow.

Somewhat surprised we questioned him further. He matter-of-factly reiterated his previous statement, modified slightly, "My father told me he trusts me with my fingers in the soup."

Not recalling having ever told him that, Dad then asked, "Did I tell you I trusted you with your fingers in the soup?" A single emphatic nod was his reply.

Since Dad did not recall ever having made such a statement, another question followed, "Who's your father?"

Reply, "The one in Heaven!"

After laughing a bit and feeling a little bit proud of ourselves for being such great parents as to teach our children about Heavenly Father to the point that he would feel such a closeness he follows up with:

"My Father also told me he trusts me with a saw."

So, there you have it folks, God himself gave the go ahead. If you happen to see our little man out "using the saw", don't worry, he has permission.....

Fine, I will start

"Blogging", but only because I have been mocked and ridiculed, scorned and laughed at....or really just because I am now feeling out of the technology loop that everyone else seems so fond of. If blogging were the great and spacious building, I guess I would have just bought myself some real estate.

So, get ready everyone, I am going to be your next favorite blogging fool!