Naughty or nice

Unfortunately for Eliza's chance with Santa, this naughty face has been all too common lately. It showed up several months ago. Since then it has become rather common, as has the accompanying behavior.

This has been a hard year for Eliza. I have wondered what to chalk it up to. Middle child syndrome? Terrible Twos/Threes? Or is it just that she got ousted from "baby" position and retaliated in negative ways to get the attention back? She was fully potty trained a year ago, so she doesn't get attention for that. It's Sage who started school this year, and Lily who is first to get immediate needs met. And then there's Eliza--the one that's always stepping on Lily's hands and feet and pushing Sage's buttons. It's been a struggle for me to know how to deal with my first ever Middle Child.

Yesterday my sister-in-law stopped by and she was telling me about her Christmas presents for the kids. She told me that her nine year-old son's Christmas wish was to go on an overnight horseback riding trip with only his dad. So that's exactly what they planned for son and dad to do on Christmas night. How awesome is that? (If only Sage would wish for an overnight stay at Embassy Suites with her mom for her Christmas wish!)

In all seriousness, I think my sister-in-law really stumbled onto something genius--giving kids exactly what they want. Not the "Barbie Diamond Castle Princess Dress Up Lounge" wants but the perfect-activity-to-do-with-just-my-mom[or dad] want. Perhaps it's not a stretch to even call these needs.

Doesn't every kid crave undivided attention from a parent? And not just the time associated with timeouts. [Eliza gets plenty of that kind.] In a moment of honesty this year, I realized that every single time my dad calls on the phone I find myself racking my brain for clever things to say to make him laugh. Even though I'm an adult with kids of my own, deep down I still desperately want to make him proud of the "witty and clever daughter" he raised. I don't really want to go on an overnight horseback riding trip with him, but I know that I still crave his attention and approval.

So last night, Mark and I put out of our minds all of the wrapped presents we have for our kids in order to think about what they really might want/need. And we decided to give each kid the gift of choosing a date with Mom and Dad (separately).

My guess is that Eliza will want to be read to, maybe at the library. And my guess is that Sage will want to go to Lagoon (and we'll say no), and then she'll pick to go to the swimming pool--not the kid part, but the laps pool. And I don't think either of them will mind stopping for a frostee at Wendy's on the way home. And if she could talk, I'm almost positive Lily would ask to be able to climb up and down our stairs (with no baby gate) for an hour. Pure bliss.

And who knows? Maybe we'll see less of the naughty and more of the nice after our parent/kid dates. Or maybe we'll just end up with three requests to go a McDonalds playplace, which is not my idea of pure bliss. If that's the case, I'm asking Santa to send Mark and me to Embassy Suites.

Merry Christmas!

I need intervention

There should be a law that requires that anyone who purchases a candy thermometer must also purchase a bathroom scale. For accountability.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

This year could you please bring my neighbors lots of tasty treats? It’s not their fault that I made such delicious caramels that Mark and I had to eat most of them ourselves even though we knew the only ingredients are sugar and butter and variations of sugar and butter (or is butter a variation of cream?). Adding those pecans to part of the caramels made us feel a lot healthier about eating the horrific number we did. But I have to admit our twin tummy aches didn’t allow for much self-deception about how many butter/sugar blobs is too many for one night. (I’m certain the answer is less than 15, although further testing will have to be done to verify how much less.)

And while I’ve got your ear, Santa, I just wanted to give you a heads up about the number of stockings hanging around our house. There are 15. And lest you think it is a plot by my three greedy kids to rake in more loot, I assure you that they merely represent hours of happy work by two artistic children. And lest you think this a plot by two greedy parents to rake in more caramels…well, I’ll have to think about that one. Anyway, please don’t fill the stockings with anything other than old frozen Halloween candy. That’s what I would do if I were you, knowing that my kids would lick a rock if it were covered in sugar. Even freezer burnt sugar.

Sincerely,

Me

Lily goes to the dentist

This week I went to the dentist. It was hard to not think of my last appointment. Lily was one month old, and I must have been severely sleep deprived when I made the decision to take her with me to my appointment. What was I thinking—that I would nurse her while the hygienist flossed away?

As fate would have it, that’s almost exactly what did happen. And I was not sleep deprived enough to fail to recognize the awkwardness of that situation.

Lily made it through the hygienist part and decided to be inconsolable right after the hygienist left to go get the dentist. I picked her up and began to nurse her. And who knew, but that mauve-colored dental bibs double for nursing aprons!? A minute or so later the dentist came bustling in. He was busy assessing my cavity-ridden x-rays and I don’t think he noticed the bundle under my bib.

He took a minute to discuss my options (which were get the cavity filled or get the cavity filled). Then, just as I was contemplating bringing Lily out of hiding the dentist stepped on his pedal and my chair began to recline till I was staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. I think Lily has a bright future as an astronaut because she totally multi-tasked during that roller-coaster-like ride and she nursed away without a hiccup.

Now that I was fully reclined I felt much less inclined to unlatch Lily, since I no longer had gravity on my side in the modesty battle. And the dentist’s mouth was moving again. It was hard to pay attention to what he was saying, since my mind was racing with the possible explanations I could offer if (or when) my mid-section began to cry or hiccup or even squirm.

Thankfully Lily was just happy to fill the canteen quietly while the dentist worked. I was almost giddy with relief when the dentist declared me finished (for now) and the chair began to move again.

They are right when they say to not bring your kids in for dental checkups until they’re two. Or at least until they’re done nursing, I’d say.

Awkward

Sage decided that for her daily homework she would draw her own handwriting paper and practice some letters. She made the cutest paper, complete with solid blue lines and dotted red lines. She randomly chose the unfortunate letter combination of U, K and F to repeat over and over again. (Should I slip it out of her homework folder before she delivers it to her teacher?)

It reminded me of the time when she produced this awkward painting, where she selected watercolors as her medium, and then finished up with acrylic paints, which really gave the knight and his trusty steed a noble look. Don't you think?

Half full

Would you consider it a good thing or a bad thing to find your daughter who's had the flu left her mark on the Sam's Club block of cheese?
Good because she's obviously getting an appetite back? Or bad because she may have compromised the entire two pound brick?

I guess, here at Thanksgiving time, the answer should be a no-brainer. I should be happy and grateful. I am grateful. (That she didn't nibble on every corner. That she didn't throw up cheese all over the carpet. That my family didn't mind us hanging out with them even though we probably got every other grandkid sick.)

My goal this Thanksgiving is to be grateful not just for the things that are easy to be grateful for, but to look for the silver lining on the things that aren't easy to be grateful for. I'm working on being grateful for my weight. If there is a gigantic famine, I can hibernate on all the chocolate chips I've stored up for winter while my family starves away around me...

Okay, so it's obviously still a learning process--this being thankful for trials.
But I'm pretty sure it's possible--to always see the glass as being half full.

Six years ago I put up a little Thanksgiving thought and I've had it up near my sink ever since (except for the last month because it's still in an unpacked box). It's crinkled with six years of watermarks, but I'm not done with it because because I haven't yet learned the lessons well enough to not need its constant reminder. And for six years it has been helping me and irritating me (because it refuses to let me feel sorry for myself).

I'm Thankful For...

The mess to clean up after a party
because it means I've been surrounded by friends.

The taxes I pay
because it means that I'm employed.

The clothes that fit a little too snug
because it means I have enough to eat....

A lawn that needs mowing, windows that need cleaning and gutters that need fixing
because it means I have a home.

All the complaining I hear about our government
because it means we have freedom of speech.

The space I find at the far end of the parking lot
because it means I am capable of walking.

My huge heating bill
because it means I am warm.

The lady behind me in church who sings off key
because it means I can hear.

The piles of laundry and ironing
because it means I have clothes to wear.

Weariness and aching muscles at the end of the day
because it means I have been productive.

The alarm that goes off in the early morning hours
because it means that I'm alive.

Author Unkown (Printed in Ann Landers 11/22/01)


As for me, I'm thankful for this bunch of ragamuffins.

They may not be very photogenic, but they are the silver lining that makes all the clouds of motherhood worthwhile (even when they sometimes cause the clouds).

There is no ill that won't be lessened when Eliza's tiny arms wrap around my neck for a hug. Or when Lily totters out of my room into the hallway, just to circle around via the bathroom, and peeks her head in with a victorious smile. Or when Sage draws me a picture and crosses out my real name so she can write "M[heart] M."

I am thankful for the father of my three little silver clouds. (Even though he does love cats and playing "Santa Baby.") I am thankful for his love of dark chocolate, his sense of humor, his commitment to do what's right, and his own perseverance through trials (some of which are me).

I am thankful for the scriptures and what they teach about silver linings on clouds (otherwise known as tender mercies) .

Please enjoy this little video when you have a minute.

Doors and windows

I don’t have any clever introduction for this post. And beware, there’s no clever ending either. There’s just a tired, grumpy mommy who’s looking for a tiny bit of sympathy or empathy or chocolate.

I am exhausted from keeping an eye (or two) out for Daughter Number Two this past week. I’m giving her name the silent treatment because I’m so aggravated with her “free spirit.” (“Free spirit” being a euphemism.)

When I was the mother of one sweet little two year old (whose middle name could have been Obedience), I decided I would reserve my sharpest angry voice (and hopefully all other variations of the angry voice) for those scary moments when my child is about to step into the street in front of an ongoing bus. Unfortunately the same technique will not work with Daughter Number Two, since she seems to get (and DESERVE) this voice several times a day. [I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said “We don’t step on Lily’s hands!” And I was a math major, so that’s saying something.]

Here’s Daughter Number Two’s week in review.

7 days ago: Hid in the master bathroom for thirty minutes while we were visiting my parents. [This was the third of such occurrences in the last two months.]

6 days ago: Split open several unfrozen otter pops over the carpet. Covered her foot in several tablespoons of toothpaste. Rubbed excess toothpaste on towels and in corner of carpet in her bedroom for me to find later.

5 days ago: Used her pasty white skin as a canvas.

4 days ago: Accessorized the white molding in her room with yellow highlighter.

3 days ago: Got caught with pen poised above some checks I needed to deposit.

2 days ago: Decorated our front porch with marker. Added finishing touches to her nose and papers from my desk.

Today: Painted a monkey with green paint, using my bedroom carpet as a dripcloth.

Other “projects” include painting faces on pumpkins and bath toys with makeup, decorating Lily with marker, and slathering Vaseline, lotion and chapstick on herself.

What’s a mom to do? Invest in stock for Magic Erasers? Eat chocolate? Blog for sympathy and eat more chocolate? [Done.]

My sister, Danielle, reminds me of a time when Sage was going through a trying phase. I quoted Maria (from The Sound of Music) saying "'When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.' Eliza's my window." I feel blessed that right now I have two other open windows.

And moments when the door opens. (I just haven't caught any of them on camera yet.)

(Thanks to Julianna for taking Sage and Lily's pictures!)

The (dreaded) sound of silence

I think every mom craves silence and yet, at the same time, knows that silence can be very dangerous. This dichotomy in my home is most apparent with Eliza. Nothing is better than the days when she actually naps, aka silence without fear. On the other hand, when she's awake, I have learned to beware the silence. Because too often I find something like this:

Looks innocent enough, right? But a closer inspection reveals the truth.

On the other hand, if Sage is left alone for a half an hour or so, I often find she has arranged things in interesting ways. Here are just a few such "projects" I snapped pictures of.

Plastic spoons dressed in Polly Pocket clothing

A beanie baby strapped to a ballet slipper

A leopard getting a bite to eat. Of eggs.

Two dogs with puzzle pieces on their tails

A dog clipped into a two-ring binder.

Lily enjoying a neck pillow

The little old carebear that lived in a shoe

A leopard taking a nap

The entire leopard is stuffed in one of Sage's socks (Trust me, this took a while.)

Princess wearing...something

Leopard taking a nap in his ziploc sleeping bag, with a puzzle pillow

A sleepover

Belle's new do

These reptiles are getting a drink from two straws


Sorting, sorting, sorting

How can two kids be so different?

Lap of luxury

We moved into our new house last weekend and now we are living in the lap of luxury. At least that's how I feel every time I use my GARAGE DOOR OPENER!!! Never mind that right now I'm sitting next to a chain smoker at the library computer, borrowing the internet for now so I can post enthusiastically that I LOVE HAVING A GARAGE!!! (Can you believe they don't even include that in the square footage of a house? Hello?!?)

As for Mark, I think he'll agree that we are living the high life just as soon as we locate our towels and get up a shower curtain.

Lily loves the four full-length mirror-closets where she can dance and play and wave to her newfound "twin."

Eliza and Sage go out each day on treasure hunts in the expanse some people call a backyard and found balls (6) and old receipts and a squirrel statue with a broken ear and they pick grape tomatoes and grapes and line them up in their "clubhouse" (our empty shed...no lawnmower yet).

The only treasures I harvested today were 94 spaghetti squashes that the sellers left behind. Perhaps it's the new zucchini here in Utah. Except I've never heard of spaghetti squash bread or cake. But I did unpack all my bread tins, and my heart did a little leap of joy. Maybe it's time to see if zucchini and spaghetti squash really are cousins.

Speaking of spaghetti, Sage came home from kindergarten with a detailed narrative about one of the rules her teacher outlined for the class. No noodle sleeves. It took me a while to realize Sage was talking about "spaghetti straps."

That's all for now. I can't take the thirdhand smoke fumes any longer. Back to the lap of luxury. Where Mark and I play music at 10pm at night just because we can, and we encourage the kids to jump off the couch again and again, and where we head downstairs every couple of hours to make sure the garage door opener is still working. Just because we can.

Packing shmacking

This weekend is our big move. Our ninth move in seven years. How is the packing going, you ask? Well, I'm blogging. So obviously, it's not going very well.

I've lost my best roll of packing tape already. (Either packed into a box on accident or hiding in a Dora backpack with my cell phone and other things Eliza likes to cart away while I'm not looking.)

Sage has been relatively helpful. She is currently on a mission to earn quarters to buy fancy pencils at the pencil machine at her school. She will do anything to earn a quarter, including pack a box. Unfortunately, she feels that two minutes of haphazardly dumping things into a box deserves at least a quarter. Haggling over her wages has proven to be a major liability in my productivity. Plus, how do you pay tithing on a quarter? By having mom up the payout to twenty-eight cents, so three cents can go to tithing, leaving a full quarter for that stupid 5 cent pencil from China? No wonder I have only packed four boxes. (Half of which I have opened to get something out of them later.)

Sage has also been making labels for the boxes. The problem is we have discovered that small post it notes are not conducive to big words written in large, wobbly letters.
Take, our "kitchen" tag, for example.



Lily has been relatively helpful in the packing process. She has spent several hours crawling around and peering in boxes and sucking on their corners and shaking them to test their sturdiness--or just to sharpen her teeth. (Better that than sucking on the spaghetti sauce mix and butter package in the shopping cart earlier this week.) Who needs Baby Einstein when you've got your own personal jungle gym of boxes?!?

The (only?) good thing about this being our 9th move is that we have learned to save our boxes, and most of the boxes still have labels on them. So by reading the labels on the empty box, I know that although it seems improbable, I will be able to squeeze my wok, my crockpot and half of my tupperware collection into the "Eggs" box.

I've decided that my next packing project (other than banning myself from blogging) should be to take down all my decorations. Then maybe it will dawn on me that instead of preparing baked goods for neighbors I should be preparing baking dishes to be trucked to a new neighborhood. Or instead of planning the menu for the "thank you" meal I provide my mover friends, I should pack so they actually have some boxes to move. I had an emotional battle this morning when Sage plopped all my bread tins in a box. I haven't taken them out yet, but I did label them on the outside, just in case. It's an illness, I think.

I need to remember that this is not spring cleaning time, but rather fall cramming. Maybe I can award myself a quarter per box I pack. To be donated to our mortgage fund.

I hate moving.

But I LOVE new houses!!!! The edible and inedible kind.

2039

In honor of Mark and me signing our names fifty times today and seeing the year 2039 written out for the first time ever, we decided to decorate house cakes for Family Home Evening.
(Our real house actually looks a lot like the cake house, just with about 1800 more square feet. It's also a little more expensive to come by, but I have faith it will be worth it.)

Killjoy

There are some days that I feel my middle name should be Killjoy. At least to my kids.

It’s hard for them to understand that I would like to see them live to adulthood (though I might regret it when I’ve got three teenage girls living under my roof).

I know they think I'm being mean and unreasonable in outlawing so many of their good ideas. And since I'm starting to get a complex about it, I'd like to present the evidence to you, for some reinforcement.

Here is a sample of some of the events I've put my foot down on in the last week.

...A toddler sifting through a 5 gallon bucket of flour.

...A preschooler putting her hands or feet on the baby twenty times each day (Actual quote heard in the car: "Lily laughs when I put my toe in her mouth!") I will refrain from quoting my response.

...A kindergartner wedging an exercise ball between my bed and the window and inviting her sister and friends to try out her homemade trampoline.

As well as being the recipients of my lecturing, Sage and Eliza know how to reverse the roles.

Just this morning, at the breakfast table, Eliza told me, “Mommy, it’s not your job to take a bath with an alligator."

And Sage has spent the last few days playing "school," where she is always the teacher. (The exercise ball-trampoline stunt took place at "recess.")

I enjoy a good time as much as my kids do, but I tend to reject the "activities" that involve excessive cleanup, germs, or gravity-defying moves.

And while I'm not willing to compromise on some things (like putting toes in the baby's mouth), I think I could ease up a little--particularly those that require extra preparation or cleanup on my part.

Like eating breakfast in the garden.

Or letting the kids use straws more often (which is synonymous with asking for puddles of milk on the table).

Or have "kitty day" like my mom sometimes did (where we got to eat without using our hands).

Or letting my kids help me cook.

With aprons, though.

Because when it really comes down to it, I know I'd rather my girls remember how much fun we had in these special (fleeting) years together, rather than how sparkling clean my kitchen floor was.

Okay, I admit it; the floor is only sparkling for about thirty seconds every third day. I guess my real hope should be that I can cover up the memories of a constantly dirty floor with memories of how many fun activities we did in the kitchen together.... Like letting the baby sift through the flour bucket so I am forced to sweep the floor??? Hmmm.

The girl who didn't cry wolf

Today I heard Eliza calling "Mommy, help!"

This is what I found.

And to serve her right, I left her there while I went for the camera.

Once she had been extracted and sterilized she chuckled and said, "That was a good one."

Show and Tell

What is elementary school without the timeless tradition of Show and Tell? Is there any kid that doesn't love bringing some treasure from home to brag about? On the other hand, I can't help but wonder if there is any teacher that does love Show and Tell?

This month I've had a chance to rethink Show and Tell, what with the kindergarten teacher's invitation to Sage (and her 23 other classmates) to bring an item to show every day of their Colors unit this month.


The first day was "Brown Day." I had visions of digging through my souvenirs from other countries so Sage would have something awesome to show. My excitement was short lived, as I discovered that Sage was dead set on bringing her stuffed dog.

On “Purple Day” we forgot to bring something, but Sage proudly related to me that she showed her class a purple crayon from her backpack. She was excited to tell me that another girl ALSO shared a purple crayon. What fun that Show and Tell must have been!

On “Blue Day,” when I was unpacking Sage’s backpack after school, I found at least 20 blue toys in there! With wide eyes, Sage claimed she had no idea how they got in there. Whether that's true or not (aka not), Sage's teacher couldn't have enjoyed Sage's 20-piece-show very much.

By "White Day" I was wondering when the Colors unit (aka "Dig Through the Toy Chest Each Day") would end. I jokingly suggested that Sage bring a bag of marshmallows to school. Her eyes lit up before I realized that my joke was her idea of heaven. It wasn't hard to imagine Sage imagining herself carefully distributing tasty marshmallows to each of her classmates. We resorted to Plan B instead. Another stuffed animal.

There really is nothing like Show and Tell--where each kid gets to produce a crayon, a junky old toy, or a piece of lint and bask in the limelight for thirty glorious seconds. It seems almost therapeutic. I bet even adults could benefit from some Show-and-Tell therapy every now and then. (As for me, I'd probably have a hard time choosing between my Lisa Frank binder from fifth grade and my old retainer to show.)

{screaming}

I JUST found out that the offer we made on a house yesterday was accepted. Two minutes ago.

What the heck were they thinking?!? Don't they know we're just kids?

The thing that keeps going through my mind is that now we have to buy a lawn mower. That feels very....adult-ish. Especially for someone who's been buried in a juvenile fiction book (Fablehaven) all day. And who decided against veggies for dinner tonight just because.

I think Sage prayed us into this situation. She is SO sick of "house hunting," even in spite of the many outrageous bribes we offer for good behavior...and that we deliver regardless of behavior.

The best and worst of the bribes (to the kids and the parents respectively) have been two Disney princess microphones that play only a (very) few stanzas of "Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo." I'm genuinely surprised the batteries aren't dead by now, for the number of times they've been played. My thanks goes out to Disney for making the "on" button also function as an "off" button. (Though heaven knows they are "on" much more than they are "off" during house hunting.) And (no) thanks to Disney, I often wake up in the night with those 4 measures of "Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo" floating through my head.

Sage and Eliza like to play duets with their microphones. They do a countoff, and try to start them at the exact same time. This usually results in Eliza's going off 5 seconds after Sage's. But occasionally they are close enough to bring total chaos to the back seat...not unlike the chaos that comes when they don't have microphones. Without the microphones, they suffer and we suffer. And with the microphones we suffer. This is what I call parental sacrifice. They better buy me a beautiful coffin some day.

Though I joke about Sage praying us into this soon-to-be-home-owners situation, Eliza literally did. Here's a quote from her morning prayer today: "Please help us find a house with all kinds of cool stuff."

Cool stuff, huh? Well, Eliza's easy to please. As long as the Disney microphones move in with us, Eliza will be happy. But cool stuff this house does have....including a dog run (snort snort), a large swingset, a huge yard, and plenty of room for GUESTS and visitors. (And this time, Heather, you won't have to sleep on our living room floor, and your friends can have the entire dog run to themselves!)

So mark your calendars, my friends. It's time to plan a trip to beautiful Salt Lake! And please bring your lawn mowers.

It's time

Ecclesiastes 3:1

"To everything there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven"

Our Ecclesiastes:

A time to house hunt and screech to a halt in front of these signs [much to the dismay of my kids]

And a time to refrain from blogging and checking any websites that are not Utahrealestate.com.

A time to be grateful for the husband's job and promotion,

and a time to learn how to manage at dinner without the husband.

A time to hold back sniffles

And a time to hold back giggles

A time to back up computer files [oops...that time was actually two weeks ago]

and a time to be grateful for computer geek friends. [Really grateful.]

A time to put away chocolate and make lots of trips to Dad's orchard

[Your photo still makes me drool, Kelly S.]

And a time to ignore the dishes and go outside with the kids

[Because you might find them outside painting themselves with your fabric paints.]

The birds and the bees and bugcatchers

The other day my sister-in-law was in town, visiting from Las Vegas. I babysat my niece and nephew while my sis-in law took one of her sons for a special outing that’s become a tradition in their family. She took him to Temple Square for lunch and a talk about eternal families and the birds and the bees. (I love this picture they took of themselves from the Joseph Smith Memorial Building.)

This made me think about my own plans for this chat, what with Sage having what seems like a preliminary round of PMS in her little dramatic 5-year-old life. I remember my own special chat with my mom (or at least the first round) came after I posed some awkward questions during a scripture time on Mary’s becoming pregnant with baby Jesus.

As for our family, we have been avoiding scripture topics like "Mary's conception" since I have no specific ideas about how to carry out this “Mother Nature” chat. Except that maybe I already have…rather poorly.

Earlier this month my kids were playing with a neighbor girl and we passed two box elder bugs that were, um, “stuck together.” The neighbor girl piped up, “My mom says that when two box elder bugs are stuck together, that means they’re married.” As I considered this, I was surprised to hear Sage’s quick reply. “My mom said that when two box elder bugs are stuck together, that means they’re having a baby.”

I cringed, not knowing exactly how to amend the lesson Sage had so carefully committed to memory. I do not remember ever saying that. Except, apparently I did. Nice work, self. Way to think through that one carefully.

And, speaking of the birds and the bees, last week at a nice park, Sage and her box elder bug friend spent an hour collecting treasures in a little bug catcher. When it was time to go, I noticed Sage waving around a shiny package that turned out to be a condom wrapper. It wasn’t until a mile down the road that I thought to inspect the contents of the bug catcher (what with the shiny package being empty and all). My heart sank when I peered into the little cage and noticed there were, not one, but two used condoms inside the bug catcher. Red ones.

The cup of hand sanitizer (or “hanitizer” as Eliza calls it) that I emptied onto each girl’s outstretched hands was not enough to dull the stomach ache I got as I thought with revulsion about not just the lack of manners, but also the casualness of too many people today. Just last week I read an article in the paper about a new sex-ed pamphlet in the U.K. that promotes casual sex and includes a section called “An Orgasm a Day.” The world wants to teach my daughters that adventure is a package of red condoms and a midnight stint in the park with a boyfriend, and that happiness can somehow be found in unchaste behavior.

My kids are growing up in a world where they WILL learn about the birds and bees at a young age, whether I like it or not. And since that’s not a subject I’d like to leave to the maturation or sex-ed teacher’s discretion, or to their friends, and CERTAINLY not to Hollywood, I need to make sure that they learn about it from me.

Although I may have handled the box elder bug conversation awkwardly, at least my girls will learn about the birds and the bees and eternal families (and maybe what they found in their bugcatcher) from someone who loves them to death. Someone who can (and will) promise that they were welcomed with joy to a family that wanted them. Someone who would give anything for them to find true happiness.

Temple Square sure seems like a good place to begin.

Deja vu

Do you ever feel like you're just repeating exactly what happened two and a half years ago? Just maybe with different colored bathroom tile?



And then there's other times when you think, "How could this possibly have happened at all?"

For example:

Eliza climbed on the table and stepped into a warm candle. On purpose.


Sage getting gussied up.


One of Provo's patriotic parades last year. They were singing "Three cheers for the red, white and blue."


I found this picture on our camera. Photographer and perpetrator: Sage. Way to incriminate yourself.


Sometimes it's not enough to just wear a Mardi Gras mask in the middle of July.

I guess this just proves that it's bound to be a very repetitive and very interesting next two and a half years.