Grateful Friday

This summer is shaping up to be pretty great. 

The Mariners are even doing a bit better.  Boy Howdy is writing songs about Mike Zunino.  (If you had someone in your life who played you clips of Seattle sports radio podcasts you would know this kind of thing too.)

At night I love to sit on the deck in the dusky light.  It is my favorite time of day.

So far the squirrels have not ventured to the deck to eat the petunias.

Every night feels like the perfect summer night. 

Also, we've had some really good strawberries lately.  Sometimes life is just good.

Adam and I got this chandelier hung:

I made it months ago by stringing a ridiculous amount of wooden beads onto a plant holder (I got the idea online--don't give me credit).  It isn't a real chandelier, just pretend, but I like it and the texture it adds.  I also love that it's no longer hanging from it's temporary spot, the light fixture in my office (used to be school room but I'm finally coming to grips with the fact that I don't homeschool any more (sniff) so I'm calling it my office).

When I showed Emma our handiwork of finally getting it hung, she said,  "Now I can stop hitting my head on it."

We all hit our heads on it when it was in my office.  It was low and right in the way and everytime we ran into it, we would knock beads on the floor.

So this is progress!
 
Finally, I'm grateful that we are getting new across the street neighbors.  They are moving in in late July.  We've met part of the family so far and they seem like our sort of people.  Their kids are approximately the same ages as ours, their two oldest, a recently returned missionary son and an 18 year old daughter who likes Bob Ross (I'm not kidding) are going to BYU in the fall.  They chose PG for the performing arts at the high school.  I think we'll get along.

Not my email

Exciting things have been happening in my email inbox.

For example, a Thelma had a birthday!  Zendental was kind to remember it.

Another Thelma's order has shipped.  I'm guessing that's a part and not a new appliance.  Because if that's a new refrigerator, Thelma Pritchett got a screaming deal on it!

There's been mystery and intrigue.  Delancy Walker, Consultant.  Who is that?  What do they consult on?  Ways to remember your email address?

Things are afoot for Thelma Aniceto.  Potential errors.  Yikes.  (Could an error include wrong email address?  Because I can attest to that error.)

Also, Thelma-I-don't-know, Claire seems to be kicking you out of nature sketching class.  I'm pretty sure you could catch up missing the first 2 classes, but Claire's in charge, not me. 

 I'm happy to report there is a bi-partisan element to the Not My Emails.  We're keeping it balanced and fair over here.

I've started getting these Judicial Watch updates (thanks President Tom Fitton).  They are very right wing.

Not to be outdone by their Republican friends, I have been getting A LOT of these types of emails.

Mostly they are asking another Thelma to donate money.  Emails from Nancy Pelosi and the gang.  I'm sorry the other Thelma is missing out on them.  If she is indeed a proud Democrat, it seems an email from Nancy Pelosi would be the bees knees.

I feel guilty about this one:

mimietmoi's account has not been confirmed by a parent because I'm the one that got this email.  Sorry mimietmoi.  I would have approved if you were my child.  I hope you didn't lose all animals, pets, activity programs, items, achievements, and buddy connections related to your account.  Sounds harsh.  Safety first though, I guess.

Best for last, I've been signed up to unwittingly receive psychic predictions meant for another Thelma.

Exciting times, am I right?  It's going to exceed ANYTHING I EVER IMAGINED. 

Accuracy is key here so it's unfortunate that she has the wrong Thelma.

I'm starting to doubt Bethea's real prowess as a psychic.  As Adam pointed out, shouldn't she have written, "I know you are not the right Thelma, because I'm psychic"?  I know this isn't your correct birthday, because I'm psychic.  I know you are receiving this by mistake, because I'm psychic.

Maybe Bethea just didn't want to show off.

Swindlers

I was under the weather and Emma and Mark volunteered to go to the grocery store for me.  (We needed Dimetapp among other things.  Colds in hot weather are not awesome.)

I made a list and they came home with everything on the list, my change, and this:

Yes, Fruit rings and Apple dapples.  They saw an opportunity and seized it.  Carpe Cereal!  Weird names and weird capitalization and more sugar than I usually allow for in cereal (unless you're a missionary home temporarily...I may have bought Reeses Puffs...that was the exception).

At least I didn't have to go to the grocery store.

What animal am I?

The other day at lunch (I love having my kids home for lunch!) we were chatting about who knows what and the conversation turned to Braeden, because we miss him.

Mark said, "He is really just a big puppy."

And it's true.  Braeden is lovable and adoring and curious and sweet and puppy-like.  Also, he's wise and compassionate and I'm not sure that's puppy-like but whatever.

"What animal am I?" Emma wondered.

A cat.  Definitely.  She loves to nap, she is disdainful of people when she doesn't want people and she can be sweet and purring sometimes too.  Also, have you ever seen a startled cat?

Emma.

"What about me?" Mark asked.

We decided he's a goat.  He'll eat anything and he can be destructive (see: the Farmer's Insurance commercial about the "billy goat ruffians"?).  Also, I love goats.  They are cute and Horace is my favorite pet ever.

After deciding he was a goat, Mark did his best fainting goat impressions.

Adam, of course, is a bear.  We all know that.

No one can decide what animal I am.  Mark voted for Mama Bear (like he said, "You love the Papa Bear") and Emma thought I was a horse.  What?

She said, "You're reliable and steady and sometimes you freak out."  (Apparently this is Emma's opinion on horses.)

Later, when Adam was home, he thought maybe I was Piglet, as in Winnie the Pooh's friend.

That sort of works, if Adam's Winnie the Pooh.

That sort of sums up our marriage.

I think we'll need Braeden to weigh in with his opinion.

Adam and I are also trying to decide which Jane Austen character I am most like.

I've decided he's Colonel Brandon with maybe a little bit of Mr. Knightly.  I would like to be Anne Elliot because she is awesome.  Adam said I am Marianne Dashwood (first Piglet and now Marianne Dashwood?!?).  I protested that she is sort of ridiculous but like Adam pointed out, she gets Colonel Brandon in the end.

I guess this is all to say, we're not wasting our time over here.  We're figuring out important things.

Also, if you want to be happy for the rest of your life, marry someone who will discuss Jane Austen with you.

Tethered

Saturday we celebrated my grandma's 90th birthday with a party.  It was a lovely day.  I went early to help set up and decorate.  My mom said I was being bossy and my cousins, Will and Homer, teased me about my bossiness.  (I was telling them to put things there...no there...no, there.) 

What can I say?  Decorating brings out the bossiness in me.  Ask my children who have moved 10 million pieces of furniture in their young tender lives.

It was fun though.

I took zero pictures but Emma took this picture of my grandma and me:

I posed for several other pictures and probably look terrible in them so I will look at Facebook in apprehension for the next little while.

I did find this on Facebook and it's pretty much perfect.

That's Morgan, Enoch and me, behind the flowers.  I should carry a bouquet of flowers around at all times for pictures.  It boosts my photogenic capacity.

At the party I enjoyed seeing cousins and aunts and uncles and catching up a little with them.  There were a lot of little kids running around and Marianne and I, the two oldest grandchildren, commented on how much we love not having little kids running around anymore.

It makes social gatherings more enjoyable.

I met my Grandpa Dahl's first cousin.  Apparently she grew up with my Grandma Jaynes.  (My family tree does not branch very much, geographically speaking.)  My siblings and I had lined up to meet her and later I heard her tell someone she had met "all the Dahls."  Not quite, but she had met several....

I saw some of my mom's cousins as well as one of her aunts.  I saw Nene and Andrew Knudsen.  I introduced Emma to them and pointed out to her that the Knudsen family were our Jorgensens.  "Ohhh," Emma said knowingly.

Nene asked, "Do you have a redhead?  I saw a tall kid walking around and I thought, he looks like he belongs to Thelma."

I love that there are people in the world that know me well enough to think Mark must belong to me.

When I was working in the kitchen, an elderly woman stopped by to ask about the lemon drink we were serving.  My mom hightailed it off to find out the recipe for her (my aunt Mary had made it) and I stayed to chat with the woman.  She leaned heavily on her cane and asked me how I was related.  I introduced myself as Thelma which always gives me street cred with my grandma's friends.  I said,  "I am her granddaughter."

She said, "Well you are very lucky."

I said, "Thank you and I know."

Being the granddaughter of Thelma Louise Wood Jaynes makes me about the luckiest person I know.

Grateful Friday

A few days ago I was outside weeding.  It was warm and sunny and I walked into the house sweaty and with dirt under my fingernails.  I stuck my watering can in the sink and turned on the water to fill it up and I went out on the deck to check on my plants.  When I came back in the house, the water was a trickle.

Just then, Emma called from upstairs, "Um...Mom?  We have no water."  She was just about to get in the shower.

Adam, of course, because this is always how these things happen, was unreachable (he and Mark were whitewater rafting).

So I googled it, like you do.

Google instructed me to check the PRV.  What now?  Just so you know, that's the Pressure Reducing Valve.  I know where the electricity, phone, cable, and gas go into the house.  Not the water.  (I know, I know.)

So I called my dad, like you do.

He told me about the green box in the yard, flush with the grass.  Yep, I have one of those.

He said, "Call the city though."

So I called the city, like you do (eventually).

The guy said nonchalantly, "Oh, that could be that water leak up near you.  I've got guys working on it.  Call me back in an hour if you don't have water."

So I waited, like you do.

I managed to wash my hands in the trickle which helped me feel a lot better about everything.

Emma's friends came over and she said, "I apologize for my mom and me and our appearance.  We don't have water."

And it's true.  We looked rough.

After awhile, we had water again!  Happy day!

So why am I telling you this mundane story that is really more of a non story?  I just want to remind myself of how grateful I am for water.

I don't even think about it.  I get drinks, I wash my hands, I bathe, I run the dishwasher and washing machine, I brush my teeth, I water my plants.  I turn the water on a million times a day and don't even appreciate the miracle.

On my worst days, I usually still have running water.  Amazing!  Wonderful!

There are only three things women need in life:  food, water and compliments.

Chris Rock

A happy little cloud

Either boy could pull off the Bob Ross hairdo with enough time to grow their curls and a pick.

For example, the last Halloween Braeden was home:

Can you believe how little Mark was?!?  Me either.

Emma is the one who loves Bob Ross though.  She watches him on Netflix.  Quite a bit.

I told her that this summer, when she isn't working, I want her to do something creative.  I told her I would buy her supplies (within reason).

She got a gleam in her eye.  "Will you buy me paint?" she asked.  "Bob Ross paint?"

"OK," I said tentatively, not sure what I was getting into.

One trip to Hobby Lobby later, she had a start on what she needs.  (I say a start because she wants everything.)

Thankfully I could use my 40% off coupon for what I got (a Bob Ross starter kit--not cheap) and I made her buy the rest.

Yesterday afternoon she sat down to paint.  I was amazed by her painting; the first thing she's ever painted since she was a little girl with one of those messy strips of Crayola watercolors.  Now, it's oil paint (Bob Ross brand, the only kind she would imagine using.)

The girl who used to run to her room and slam the door because she couldn't write her letters perfectly, was of course not happy with it.  It was all wrong.  "Bob Ross makes it look so easy," she lamented.

"If it were easy, everyone could do it," I said.

I thought I would need to dust off the pep talk I used to give her (back when she was six and her g's were not as flawless as she liked--even though they were better than anything I could do) that only Jesus was perfect, but she kind of sighed and said, "Well, thank you for thinking it looks nice."

I am the queen of good enough but I like Emma just the way she is.  Someday her perfectionism may even spread to her wanting to keep her room clean....