Today

Today was a day I started out with a knot in my stomach.

Today was a day that I feel like I'd just like to sit and stare at a wall for awhile until I relax.

Today is a day that I walked and talked with Janet during swim team practice because I needed both...the walk and Janet.

Today was busy.

Today is a day that Adam's picking up the pizza and we'll eat on paper plates.

Today is a day that I had two phone conversations with two sisters who have my back.

Today is a day that I got two emails from two sisters-in-law who sent me their love and support.

And that makes today, my friends, a pretty good place to be.

The Brute Squad: An Investment In My Future

There's a rally cry around here that always gets a response. I call my Brute Squad and they come running.

I'd like to say that my children always come running every time I ever call them but a lot of you who read this blog know better so I can't lie.

For some reason when I need The Brute Squad, they come gladly. I think they enjoy a challenge.

When you marry a big strong husband and your genetic gene pool is no slouch either, you get some strong kids.

Today's torture (I mean work but as the summer goes along it really is feeling a bit like torture) was cleaning the boys' room (cue dramatic and ominous music). The only place that rivals their room for mess is Emma's room (cue dramatic and ominous music).

Since I have a whole lot of Other Things to do that are making me lose sleep (and frankly I need my sleep, beauty and otherwise), I wanted to get as much done as possible on the boys' room. We unearthed all sort of "treasures" and vacuumed dusty corners and sorted endless legos and bionicles and you don't even want to know.

Braeden decided that he wanted to rearrange the beds. I don't like our boys' beds for many many reasons. Reason number one is that they are heavy behemoth things, impossible to move. Last year when I called the Brute Squad, we couldn't budge the beds but had to wait until Adam got home before we could vacuum behind them and retrieve stray socks.

This year I called the Brute Squad. They came. We conquered. I feel repentant for complaining about how much food they can put away. Those kids are handy to have around.

The beds were parallel and we wanted to move one of them 90 degrees to be perpendicular to the other bed. We had barely enough room for them to work that way but not enough room for the turn.

There's a reason I failed my driver's license test the first time I took it and it's called parallel parking.

I'm thinking Mark won't have a problem.

Mr. Spatial Awareness talked us through which direction we had to move everything. We ended up needing to move another big piece of furniture.

It looks like this, it's as tall as me and full of toys.

I didn't want to unload the toys so I stood on one end, put Emma on the other end and told her to put her shoulder into it. Braeden was in the middle, guiding us and we moved it without unloading a single toy.

Lovely lovely strong children!

I'll keep buying gallon after gallon of milk at Costco. Fuel for furniture movers.

Calgon, Take Me Away

Do you remember those Calgon commercials where everything was falling apart and the woman would say, "Calgon, take me away" and land in a bubble bath, relaxing.

It doesn't work in real life.

I have Calgon moments 10-20 times a day.

This morning, I was doing some math with Braeden in our completely disheveled school room that I'm in the process of cleaning--out with the old school books and materials, in with the new, dusting the tops of the tall bookcases, stuff like that...it's scary.

It's nowhere near a good learning environment.

Emma came in meanwhile wondering if I'd seen her notebook, you know, the yellow one with...and then she stalled, gesturing her hands, trying to think of how to explain it to me.

Emma has several thousand notebooks in her possession so I had no idea what she was talking about.

Then Mark came in the room saying simultaneously that he was hungry and he wanted to tell me about a movie he'd watched last night and he wanted to practice his talk for primary.

Braeden kept telling me that his math wasn't making any sense.

I tried to keep my voice calm.

It was not hard math. He's pretty good at math. My patience was stretched nearly to its capacity. Just when I felt like I was going to lose it, the phone rang.

Emma answered it.

Then handed it to me.

It was our sweet Relief Society president. She's on her way to Utah and the other counselor is also gone so she wanted to tell me about a sister in need. She's been trying to get ahold of her and suggested I try her visiting teachers for help in reaching this sister in need.

I called the visiting teacher. I left a message, asking her to call me back. I started to leave my phone number and then midstream, I. Could. Not. Remember. My. Phone. Number. My friend Stephanie's number kept coming to mind but mine was lost in space.

I fumbled on the phone, admitting I couldn't remember my number. She has a stake directory, she'll figure it out.

What she probably can't figure out is how the rest of the Relief Society presidency can possibly feel comfortable going out of town at the same time and leaving me in charge.

The one who doesn't know her phone number.

I took a deep breath and went back to the school room. I pulled Braeden and Mark, who were wrestling, apart and sat Braeden down. I said, "OK. This is hard so you have to pay attention."

Braeden said OK and sat down obediently.

Then I realized I'd been doing the math wrong. I'd missed a number. I fixed it and Braeden said, "Oh! Now I get it."

So it's one of those days. But Calgon won't come and take me away.

I've already tried.

I Don't Know Mark, You Tell Me

Sometimes when Mark complains it is bitter and caustic. Like early in the morning at the pool when he's dragged along to swim team practice and would rather be asleep in bed.

Sometimes when Mark complains he's downright amiable.

Today I gave him a project. He didn't like it. Olivia gave me one of those snazzy new Gospel Art Kits that's bound up like a notebook and in the interest of my ongoing quest for more shelf space, I was having Mark remove the old pictures out of page protectors in bulky binders.

He complained pleasantly as he did it. He'd tell me that his hands "were getting tired" then he'd get distracted and ask me about one of the pictures. Then he'd sing and hum a little then tell me, "This is going to last forever."

I mostly ignored his complaints, busy with my own project and relishing the time to answer his questions about pictures of Jesus and hear his explanation of who the Army of Helaman was.

Then he said, "Why do I have to do this Mom?"

I absently said, "Because I asked you to."

He said, "Is this good parenting?"

I looked up at his impish smile. "What do you think?" I asked.

He said, "I would say, no, this is not good parenting."

I shrugged and so did he and he kept taking the pictures out of their protectors.

I would that everyone could be so agreeable in their grievances....especially Mark, early in the morning, at the pool.

Fourteen Years Ago Today

and yes I said yes I will Yes --James Joyce



no comments on how young and fresh faced we no longer are

Grandpa's Boy

March 2007

Mark has always adored both of them. He got his red hair from one grandpa and his name from the other one.

From both grandpa's he got the inclination to build.

I'm convinced either grandpa could build or fix just about anything.

Mark loves Legos. He loves tinker toys and Bionicles and puzzles and blocks and complicated marble runs.

And he loves to build things from IKEA.

Today I was constructing a little IKEA project and Mark found me on the floor in my room...pieces of wood and hardware scattered.

I think he started salivating.

He sat down and grabbed the instructions and pored over them like they were an engrossing novel...not that Mark reads engrossing novels. He reads instructions.

(At a ridiculous age Braeden wondered how checks and balances in the government worked...at an even younger age Mark was fascinated by the DVD that came with the Dremel tool with pinewood derby tips and tricks.)

Soon Mark was telling me the next instruction and finding the appropriate hardware and insisting that he do the hammering and screwing in of screws.

I sat back and marveled at the differences of my three children. And the similarities of my Mark to his grandpas.

I have to think he got his affinity for wielding an IKEA allen wrench from his mother though.

Day 25

I think (think) I made dinner on July 8. I'm pretty sure I did although I don't remember what I made.

Then I made dinner today.

25 days later.

Will I start a pattern here? Making dinner every 25 days? Because if that's the case, I'd better get thinking about what I want to make on August 27.

So what do you make after a 25 day hiatus of dinner making?

Well, Adam actually made it. But I'm counting it. He grilled shrimp and steak. I bought steak because we had some at my parents' house that was goo-ood and I was in the mood for more.

Then I plucked a huge and ripe zucchini from my garden. After parading it around my kitchen awhile showing off to my children and Adam that I had grown such a fine specimen, I sliced it up and fried it like my mom used to.

I added a frappe like my mom used to make (I think I sense a pattern). She used to blend vanilla ice cream and orange sherbet and 7-up together and call it frappe. My dad would tell her that you shouldn't mix citrus and dairy and I must say to my dad, "Oh yes, you must."

It was a grand feast...as it ought to have been after 25 days.

I decided since we hadn't had quite enough calories for one meal, to make a bread pudding with leftover blueberry muffins that I'd made for yesterday's swim meet.

Lovely lovely summer.