How Did YOU Sleep?

When Adam and Braeden got home from camp, Adam had the kids set up his tent in the backyard.  Then he had Mark, Gavin and the triplets run around inside of it.  They thought they were getting away with something but really Adam was using their remarkable energy to beat all of the dust and dirt off of the tent.

Mark decided he wanted to sleep in the tent...with Braeden.  The last thing Braeden wanted to do on Saturday was sleep in a tent.

Sunday night Mark was unconscious.

Last night Braeden said he'd sleep in the tent (so Adam wasn't able to put it away as planned).

They couldn't convince Emma to sleep out there with them.  (Can you blame her?)

It was with some trepidation that I kissed my boys good night.  It was cold outside.  We had all the windows in the house tightly closed (and when you're married to Adam, that's saying something). 

When I went to sleep, I was thinking of them.  Mark mostly.  Since he's my baby, in my mind he's not seven.  He's three.  And I don't know how I feel about letting a three year old sleep in the backyard when it's cold.

At 4:30, I sat up straight in bed, wide awake.  I had heard Mark cough.  He wasn't in our room.  I thought it must be some sort of mother's intuition that had awakened me.  I was ready to bolt outside and rescue my baby from whatever.

Then I heard him sniffle.  (His allergies are back.)

I found him, lying on the couch in the corner of my bedroom.

"Are you OK?" I demanded, pulling Mark into bed with me. 

He said yes.

He said he couldn't find his blanket so he came inside.  He said, "It's not in my room but a spider is in my room."

(Can I tell you how embarrassing it is to me that I have a child who's afraid of a spider?  A spider?)

I was confused.  All the pieces didn't align. 

Adam was awake by then and he moved Mark between us in the bed.  They conversed and Adam told Mark that his blanket was indeed outside...Braeden had come inside for an extra blanket for each of them after Mark was asleep.  I said, "Sleep inside now Mark...it's cold."

He said no (I guess he was considering the spider) and Adam took him outside.  Adam showed him the blanket.  Mark said, "I thought I was losing my mind.  I'd looked everywhere for it."

At 6:00 this morning, Mark woke up Braeden, "It's raining!"  He yelled, "Run for it!"  They dashed inside (they hadn't wanted the rain fly on the tent). 

The bad news in all of this?

Mark and Braeden thought it was a grand adventure.  They want me to go camping with them in a few weeks.

I was kind of hoping they'd get it out of their system.

Treasures

Yesterday afternoon Adam woke me from a deep sleep.  I usually don't nap and that's why.  I feel like I have to tunnel up through the sleep to be normal again.

We were going on a drive.  And I wanted to go.  I just didn't want to wake up.

We were in the car about 5 minutes before I felt like talking was an option.

We had a lovely time.  We went to the beach at Birch Bay.  We ate cookies and investigated the crab shells Grandma Geri found.  (Are they called shells?  It sounds nicer than carcasses.)  Adam wowed us with his rock skipping prowess.  He tried some more to teach the kids (apparently it's a hard fought skill to learn).  We sat on the beach and sifted through the rocks and shells for sea glass.  We watched the beautiful sky.

We didn't take the camera because it was MIA from the camping trip (it has since been located...on the floor of the Saturn).

On the drive home Mark fell asleep stretched across the seat with his head hanging off and the seat belt (still attached) twisted around him.

I'm not sure it was very safe.

Braeden and Emma sang Broadway show tunes and Adam and I joined in a little but it's hard to sing when you're laughing.  Braeden and Emma insert enough instrumentation and falsetto goofiness that it brings a whole new level of entertainment to the songs.

When we got home, Adam had a phone call to return, Mark was comatose in his bed and I lay between Braeden and Emma on our bed, waiting for Adam to read scriptures with us.   The phone call lasted long so we entertained ourselves with a newly invented game.  One of us would close our eyes and open our mouth.  The other one would put their finger inside the first person's mouth and try to move it before they were bitten.

I'm not sure it was very safe.

When Adam came upstairs it was evident he thought our game was strange.  I'm not sure why he would think that...

He climbed onto the bed with us.  Somehow (?) the conversation turned to Emma's derision for the scents of men's deodorant:  Arctic Blast, Pure Sport, Swagger.  (Our men are Old Spice men around here.)

She said that women's deodorants are more aptly named.  Lavender smells like... lavender.  They are real smells.

Then, of course because it was late and a goal those three have in life is to make me laugh, Adam and Braeden and Emma came up with other names for deodorant.  They kept coming up with names that were more and more arbitrary.  And I kept laughing more and more.

My favorites:

Pain
Tuesday Afternoon
Nourishment
Window
Freshly Cut Hair

The point of this meandering description of yesterday?

I love my kids.

I love my husband.

I love our life together.

Next Time He Can Pick The Movie

Last night Mark and I had a date.  Our menfolk are still at scout camp and Emma went on an outing with her grandma. 

So it was the red head and me.

We went to IKEA to scope out bunk beds.  First I checked Mark into Småland.  Gone are the days he gets kicked out for hitting.  I don't think they even remember him anymore (there was a time he was on IKEA probation).  He had a great time and by the time I picked him up he was sweaty and flushed and a little perturbed that they wouldn't let him play dodge ball.  He said, "The only thing they'll let you do with the balls is play catch and throw them in the hoop."

I apologized on behalf of IKEA and fed him meatballs.  And also chocolate cake.  It's great to have a child that feels about chocolate like I do.

We went to look at bunk beds and I don't know about them.  I don't think we want bunk beds.  Mark thinks we do.  We'll continue to deliberate. (And ponder the ramifications of a new surface Mark can jump from.)

I realized that we'd have enough time for a movie when we got home.  We stopped by a Red Box in hopes of renting Diary of a Wimpy kid.  No luck.  I picked the movie Hachi.  I had seen a preview and remembered it vaguely as a heart-warming story about a dog.  It was rated G.  Bring it on.

Mark and I got comfortable on the couch.  We snuggled under the same blanket (the red one...we shun the grey scratchy blanket Adam prefers) and shared a bowl of popcorn.  Everything was going swimmingly.  The dog was cute.  Mark was cute.  He kept snuggling into me and telling me he liked this movie.

Then the dog's owner died.  Mark said, "I don't think I like this movie."

Then the dog went to the train station every day to wait for his dead master to return. Every day for ten years.  Mark was aghast.  He said, "I hate this movie.  This is an awful movie."  And then he started to cry.

He said, "The dog doesn't understand that no one's ever coming."  His little heart was breaking.  Which made my heart break a little too.

At the end of the movie, there was a screen telling the story that it was based on a true story.  There really was a Hachi, in the 20s in Japan.  And he really waited for his master every day like that.

Well that's when Mark lost it.  He pulled the blanket over his face and sobbed.  He said, "That's a terrible movie.  Terrible!  I thought it was bad but then it's true?!?"

I told Mark I was sorry.  I hugged him.  I wiped his tears.  I cursed my movie choice.  I promised him we'd go back and get Percy Jackson the next day. 

He declared he was sleeping with me.

I said, OK.

He was starting to cheer up but then wrapped his wiry arms around my neck and said, "Mom, what if you died? What if I didn't see you for ten years?  I can't even go a week without you!"

Oh boy.

Finally, finally, he felt better.  I told him stories about when he was a baby.  He fell into an exhausted sleep.

My baby.  My little warrior.  He loves nothing more than fight scenes in movies.  He wields several weapons at any given time (mostly made of sticks).  He plans to run a "Survivor Camp" when he grows up.  He can hold his own when wrestling with his teen-age brother.  He's hardy.

Except when he's not.

Then he's the most tender-hearted boy in the world.

And I will never rent that movie again.

But We Made It Home

Last week it was Janet's birthday.  I took her to lunch (well, she drove).  We were going to go to either the Tin Fish or The Diamond Knot.  Either one was fine with me because they're two of my favorite places.  She chose Tin Fish.  It was wonderful.

I've been wanting to go to The Diamond Knot ever since though.  Tonight Emma had her writing group in Mukilteo so we went to The Diamond Knot before.  It was great.  The Old Darby never tasted so good.  (I always get the Old Darby calzone even though I have no idea what an old darby is.)

Before leaving home, I had checked a few times on a map to make sure I knew how to get to the writing group.  I felt pretty confident.

Until I wasn't.  Had we passed it?  Where was I anyway?  Could I turn around here?  Should I?  Or was it still further down the road?

I always call Adam at times like that except, unless he was in the emergency room again, he was out of cell phone range.  Darn.

I turned around, poked around and finally, 15 minutes late, I found it.  Emma was extremely gracious and forgave me every time I apologized in those 15 minutes.  She assured me I wasn't an idiot.

For our entertainment while Emma was in her group, Mark and I had a drive-in movie.  I took my laptop and one of the best movies of all time, The Emperor's New Groove.  I must watch it at least once a year.  (I missed watching it with Braeden though...he makes it funnier somehow.)  Mark and I had a good time and he kept shivering with excitement and telling me how great it was to be together.  A lot of things are fun with Mark (except waiting in line...I think I'd rather have my teeth pulled).

Emma came back when the movie was ending.  We hit the road and right away, I couldn't turn left where I needed to.  Disaster.

It was raining and dark and before long, I was lost.  Not irrevocably lost, I am marginally familiar with the area, but still.  Lost.  When I realized I was going the complete wrong way, I turned around.  As I did so, Mark said he was "in misery".  He said, "I am thirsty."  I pulled over at the nearest McDonald's for a strawberry banana smoothie.  At the rate we were going it could be weeks before we made it home, so I figured we needed provisions. 

By the time the smoothie was gone, we were home again.  Phew.

Despite the assurances my children give me, I think I really am an idiot.  I get lost far too often.  It is demoralizing.  At times like this, I remind myself that I do have other talents:

--I can pop really loud bubbles with my gum (Mark kept having me do it during the movie and I never failed to impress him).

--I almost always know what the weather forecast is.

--I can find things that my children (and Adam) can't find.

--I can tell when bread or cake is done baking by the smell.

OK, that's all I can think of.  But I feel better all ready.  I mean, I have talent!

Bless Those Boy Scouts and Their Rules

Before the scout camp trip could happen, a trip permit had to be filed at the scout office.  Adam enlisted me to drop it off.  The scout office sort of scares me, kind of like going to Big A Auto Parts used to scare me when I was in high school and my dad needed me to pick up a part.

I don't belong there.  The people are frightening.  It has a Twilight Zone vibe.  Stuff like that.

A persnickety woman (in a scout uniform) checked over the trip permit with a clucking tongue.  She made x marks with a red pen where there were errors.  She said she'd "let it slide".  Oh thank you scout office baroness.  Your benevolence is only matched by the attractiveness of that outfit.

Maybe I'm bitter because she asked me how old my husband was (one of the omitted items on the form...more tongue clicking and head shaking).  I said 37.  She said, "Oh, I would have guessed over 40."

The only basis she had for this assumption was looking at me.  Thanks a lot.

Anyway.  Scouts and their rules.  They don't mess around.  All the i's must be dotted and the t's crossed.  Or else.

Yesterday Adam joined Braeden at scout camp.  And although I was trying (really I was) to be happy, I was struggling.  I had experienced a hit to my pride.  And which is worse, wounded pride or the self loathing that follows when you realize you have wounded pride?  This shouldn't matter to me.  I hate that this matters to me.

I really needed Adam.  He is the voice of reason when my mind ventures over into the irrational.  He is the stabilizer.  Always.  And he was gone.

Last night at 10:45, the phone rang.  I don't like it when the phone rings that late.  It's never a pleasant social call.  It was Adam.  Adam who was supposedly four hours away and in a place with zero cell phone coverage.

He said, "Don't worry.  Everything's OK."  (He knows how I feel about phone calls late at night.)

"I am leaving the emergency room though," he said.  My heart started to stutter in its beat and he told me it was one of the scouts (not Braeden) with a sprained wrist.  "I'm bringing him home.  And Braeden.  We'll go back tomorrow."

The scouts have this rule that a leader can't be with a boy alone (unless the boy is the leader's son).  So Braeden got to come along.  They got home at 1:30 a.m.  I'd moved all the stuff Mark had stacked on Braeden's bed.  I dismantled Braeden's pillows from the fort Mark had made in the family room.   I would have put a mint on his pillow if I'd had one.  I was happy to see my boy.  And Adam.  This morning I got to have a catch up session with Braeden.  He told me all about his week thus far.  I hugged him and kissed him and told him to stop scratching his mosquito bites. 

I told Adam all about Everything.  He made me feel better.  Of course.

I sent them off this morning.  More kisses and hugs.  See you Saturday.  This time I mean it.

Decisions, Decisions

Today I could be melancholy.  I am filled with dread that school starts in two weeks.  Adam reminded me last night that we know sending them to school is the right thing.  "They'll be fine," he said.  "They'll be great."

I know.  It's me I'm worried about.

Today I could be lonely.  Adam's going to scout camp until Saturday.  Sigh.  I like Adam home.

Today I could be worried.  Some of my family merits worry.

Today I could enjoy the weather.  It is going to be a perfect Seattle summer day.  With a cherry on top.

Today I could be happy.  I have pleasant tasks to fulfill...read to Mark, listen to him read, plan his school, work more on scrapbooks (I'm slowly getting caught up!), water my flowers.

I don't know which one I'll pick.  I might as well go with the last one though.  Happy is good.

 

Vindication

The other day Adam called to tell me he was heading home from work.  I said, "I have buyer's remorse."

He said, "What did you do?"

I told him about the boy who came to the door selling magazine subscriptions.  There's a sign over my door.  It says, "One gullible woman lives here.  Whatever it is, she'll buy it."

Because I can't resist kids.

I've bought overpriced cookie dough that turned out really awful greasy little cookies.  I've bought Girl Scout cookies that are delicious but about $25 per cookie.  I've bought about 1 cup of caramel corn from a (cute uniformed pint sized) cub scout for $16.

As I relayed my latest purchase to Adam he gently chided, "You can just say no."

I said that no, I really can't.

Then, because he's Adam and the best possible sort of husband, he made me feel better about my weakness for peddling children.  He told me it was a nice thing I did.  (The kid convinced me that since I didn't want any of the magazines, I could have it sent to "the troops" in Iraq.  Troops?  If you're reading?  You're welcome.) 

Tonight Adam was home from work and we were upstairs.  He was telling me about his day and making me laugh and I was telling him that I didn't really want to go make dinner. 

The doorbell rang. 

I said, "You go answer it.  It's going to be a boy selling magazines.  You tell him no."

Amazingly it was a boy, a nice boy, one that we know.  He was selling coupons.  I stood on the stairs, out of sight, to hear Adam.  I would have bet great sums of money (that I don't have because I've spent it all on fund raising children) that Adam would not be able to resist.

And he was not.

We are now the proud owner of a card that cost $20 and has identical coupons to the ones we get in the mail anyway.

I told Adam, "It's not so easy is it?"

Adam said, "I couldn't say no.  They seem like good coupons."

"Of course they are," I said.

And that my dears is when I felt vindicated.

My Mom's A Thoroughbred

 my mom with Double A (Ammon Alejandro--grandchild #19)

When I was a little girl, the sporting events we watched were horse races.  The Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont Stakes all raced across our TV screen.  I have always liked horses....and thoroughbreds.  Luke was a thoroughbred.  He was my dad's horse.  He was a bay with long slender legs and intelligent eyes.  Luke was gentle and fast and smart and my favorite horse I've ever ridden.

(Especially compared to one of the last horses I've ridden, Templeton.  Templeton bucked me off.  Hard.  It wasn't fun.  Templeton was Tabor's horse.  Was he named after the rat in Charlotte's Web? Because he reminds me of a rat.  I'm over it though.  I'm not bitter.  I've forgiven the rat horse and my dad and brothers for thinking it was a little bit funny.  Really.  Water under the bridge.)   

I digress.

I admire thoroughbreds.  And my mom is a thoroughbred.  In the dictionary, besides horses, thoroughbred can refer to: an outstanding or first class person or thing.

My mom.

Also, my mom is the most thorough person in the world.  Thoroughness defines her.  One thing she can't tolerate is a "half-done" job.  It irks her.

For ten years my mom taught high school business classes-- accounting, keyboarding, computers, etc.  She taught very well.  She was thorough.  You'd better believe it.

Now she's moved on to working part time as an accountant and double overtime as a mother and grandmother. 

The other day I was talking to my mom about my efforts in teaching Braeden to type.  She gave me some good advice and she told me she's teaching Desi keyboarding this year.  I said (not for the first time) that I wished we lived closer and could benefit more from her grandmothering.

The next morning my mom called me.   She told me that she wanted to teach Braeden keyboarding too.  She would email him assignments and he could email his work back to her.  She'd already ordered him a book.

I readily accepted her kind offer.  I felt so grateful to my dear mother--grateful that Braeden was going to really learn to type.  If my mom senses one of her children or grandchildren need help, she's like Secretariat coming down the home stretch at Churchill Downs.

She's a thoroughbred.

Check It Out

Even if I weren't a guest there today, I think you should check out Looking in the Mirror.  It is the blog of my beautiful and talented sister-in-law.  She is wise in encouraging us all in a direction we should go.  Being happy. 

There are way too many places in the world that show us lies about how we should look and what's important.

We don't have to listen.

The Runaway

We have this fork.  It is supposed to be used as a relish fork...for spearing pickles and the like.  It was living in the back of a drawer for years, unused, until Mark and Emma found it.

They take turns using it every time we have dessert.  So, often.

Yesterday we were eating slices of Emma's pink birthday cake.  Mark had already dug into his cake when Emma remembered the fork.  She got it.  Mark said, "It's my turn."

To which Emma replied, "You already started eating."

I didn't get involved.  Sometimes I don't have the stamina for fights over forks.

Mark got up and left the table and walked right out the front door.  We all stared at the closed front door for a few seconds and Braeden called out with all the tender concern of an older brother, "Make good decisions!"

Cheeky boy.

Emma calmly kept eating.  Braeden said, "What if you never see him again, Emma?  Will you feel guilty?"

Emma shrugged.  Mark was looking in the window.

Emma said, "Was I ever dramatic like that?"

Oh, my sweet daughter.  Not past tense. You are dramatic like that.

We weren't even done with our cake before Mark came back to the table and huffily started to eat his cake again.  I think it was a wholly unsatisfying runaway experience for him.

If I'd thought for a minute Mark would go further than the front porch I would have gone hurtling after him though.

I can't go long without this boy.

Entertaining

This blog makes me laugh, every day.  Catalog Living.  The fictional world of Gary and Elaine.

Here's an example of their offerings:

Bon voyage…

In her annual end-of-season ritual, Elaine sent the outdated summer cushions out to sea.

Halve a Happy Birthday

Yesterday was Emma's half birthday.  11 and 1/2.

She spent her morning mostly like this:

It's one of her favorite ways to spend her time (mine too).  And she's reading on my bed because my room is clean(er)?

Freja came for lunch:

For her birthday gift, Emma wanted a membership to the computer game, Pixie Hollow.  Of all three, she's the least interested in being on the computer.  I thought it was a passing whimsy she'd give up on, but no.  That's what she wanted.

And it's what she got.

 Later, we had pedicures:

Very fancy...but it will be a long time before I get another pedicure.  My pedicurist was a masochist.  My feet still hurt. 

Aside from the occasional eye rolling, eleven-and-a-half is a marvelous age for my girl to be.  She's great company.  Even when we're sitting side by side reading books, it's better because she's there with me.

I love this girl. 

Friends

Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget.

Friends.  I can't say enough about how marvelous they are.  But you knew that.  What's really wonderful is to have friends that invite you over on one of the hottest days of the year.  (Friends who have a pool.) And then to make it even better, they also invite some of your dearest friends over as well.  (Including one you haven't seen for months.)  I was grateful to be part of the group.

 

If I had to sum up Friendship in one word, it would be Comfort.

  ~Terri Guillemets

Not As Unhinged As We Thought We Were

Some people around here let their grass die in the summer--come October, when the rains return, the green grass will too.

Adam is not one of those people.  Every year, he valiantly and carefully waters our lawn.  Every year the inevitable brown patches break his heart a little bit.

It's doesn't dampen his drive to dampen the lawn though.

Saturday we were watching The Good Guys on hulu.  (I can't in good conscience recommend The Good Guys to you.  At different times Adam and I have laughed so hard our oxygen intake was seriously compromised.)  Adam would set up the sprinkler in one of his complicated patterns then set the timer.  We'd pause our show (why we never watch TV, only hulu) and he'd go move the sprinkler.

I went out with him on one of his irrigating ventures.  We were looking at the stars (I grew up under a star spangled sky with nary a pollutant light so when I say we were looking at the stars I mean, not really.) and considering planting a tree in our yard and talking about an enlarged bed along the side of the house.  We walked into the house while I was telling Adam I wanted the side of the house to be symmetrical.  If we planted a big hydrangea bush (like I want to), I want to plant two big hydrangea bushes.

Adam set the timer and we settled back into our show.

When it was time, Adam went back outside.  He came right back.  He said, "The sprinkler was turned off."

"Turned off?"

"Turned off."

"The hose was kinked?"

"No.  It was turned off.  Did I turn it off?  Did you see me turn it off?"

"You must have turned it off," I said.  But I didn't remember him turning it off.

"Do you think someone came around the back of our house and turned it off?" Adam wondered.

"No, you must have turned it off.  But we were talking about hydrangeas and walking in the house, remember?  You didn't stop to turn it off."

Adam and I looked at each other.  We were either going crazy and losing our memories or someone was playing tricks on us.  Either way it was a little unsettling.

I moved away from my red chair by the open sliding door to the other side of Adam on the couch.

Just in case.

Every few minutes, I'd ask, "Is the sprinkler still going?"

Adam would say yes.

We decided we were losing our minds.

Last night, Adam was outside again, arranging his sprinkler.  Our neighbor, Om, stopped his car and called to Adam.  He told Adam that the night before they'd driven by and thought we'd accidentally left our sprinkler on.  He'd walked around to the back of our house and turned it off.

Hurray for good neighbors that look out for us!

Hurray that dementia is not knocking on our door...yet!

A Jewel In Summer's Crown

Today we skipped the last swim meet so we could go...swimming.  (We had a lot more fun than we would have at the swim meet.)

In answer to my what-should-we-do-to-soak-up-summer query, Adam's mom, Geri, suggested the river.

The River!  Of course!  Why hadn't I considered the river?  It's one of our favorite summer places and since we've been here, there and everywhere this summer, we haven't gone one time.

Until today.  At first we were going to spend the day going to the peninsula but when I thought about just how long it would all take...in the van...(Have I mentioned how much time we've clocked in that jalopy?) I felt like crying.

Plan B was the river.  Geri and cousin Raelyn joined us.  They're pictured here with Emma.

 In a rare turn of events, it was a hot enough day that even little desert rat me got into the river...for awhile...then I read.

This picture, purposefully far enough away that you can't really see me, begs the question...wow, are you really that pasty white?  Apparently so.  I look like I'm glowing I'm so white.

Since Braeden was four and Emma was two, a particular rock in the river has been known as Hippo Rock.

Hippo Rock

Do they love swimming at the river or their dear mother more?  I don't want to ask.

Adam used to swim them out to Hippo Rock like he was the fox and they were the gingerbread man.

Then he taught them to use the current to help them swim to Hippo Rock.

The natural progression in their tutelage was to dive off of Hippo Rock (I'm utterly helpless in all of this teaching except I offer up a bunch of Be Carefuls that no one seems to appreciate.)

This year all three kids were practicing their dives.

Mark was as enthusiastic as he was unstable:

Emma:

Braeden:

really...you can't tell?

And, with the grand-daddy of dives, Adam:

Adam asked me for a plastic bag for underwater pictures.  I said, "I hope it doesn't ruin the camera."  

He said, "Me too."

He seemed really concerned.

Good news!  It didn't ruin the camera.

Better news, it was a happy, happy day.

Emma's Seventeen Magazine

I was telling my mom about the trials of shopping with Emma.  (Actually shopping with her I love...shopping for her is awful.)

My mom said that when she was a teenager she didn't buy anything unless it was in Seventeen Magazine.

We've been trying to find some new shoes for Emma.

Besides a few shining moments, shoes and Emma and I have had a rocky relationship her entire life.  We never like the same thing and since I'm the one with the credit card, I get the final say.

And because I don't want to buy Emma something she won't wear, she gets the final say.

See the trouble?

We've looked at several stores.  Everything I liked, Emma didn't.  I'd say, "Why?  What's wrong with these shoes?"

To which Emma would reply, "I don't know."

It was a lot of fun.

A few days ago, Emma saw some shoes she liked.  I said, in a hushed tone, "I like them too!  Could it be possible that we agree?"

Emma said, "Well...I don't like them."

"Why not?!?"

Emma shrugged.

It should be noted that Emma has many other good qualities.

When we were in Nevada, Desi had some new shoes.  I told Deseret I liked them.  Emma told me she liked them.  I felt a renewed sense of hope.

We went on a quest to find shoes like Desi's.

Desi found her gems at Kmart.  (Kudos to Desi and my deep appreciation that you didn't get your shoes at Nordstrom.)  We were going to the mall anyway and I didn't want a Kmart detour.  I convinced Emma that Sears owns Kmart so they may have the same shoes.

They didn't.

But Emma saw some that were almost identical to all the others she'd rejected.

She decided they were good.

I said, "Are they like Desi's?" (I couldn't remember anymore.)

Emma said, "Well, not exactly...but I like them."

I almost pointed out that they were essentially like all the others.  I almost pointed out that I liked the new shoes.  But then I remembered.  And I quickly bought the shoes before Emma sensed that we were agreeing on shoes.

Deseret, if you're reading this, understand the deep influence you have on Miss Emma Jayne.  Keep being the fabulous girl that you are.

There are really no other influences I'd rather have for my girl than her three sweet cousins with golden hair, blue eyes and boundless talent.

None.

(Maybe because I grew up being influenced by their stellar mother.)

If They Don't Win It's a Shame

Today we root root rooted for the home team.  They lost.  Which, I think, surprised no one.  The boys of summer seem to disappoint this year.

We had a bit of trouble along the way.  Minutes before we were leaving, Mark had a spectacular crash on his bike.  He was going over a jump with some neighborhood kids.

Mark shouldn't go over jumps.

Hannah, the sweet girl across the street, knocked on the door and presented the sobbing bleeding boy while her brothers nobly brought up the rear, one with Mark's helmet, one with Mark's bike.

Good kids.

I patched Mark's leaks with bandages and told him he'd be OK, (which he was doubting) because we needed to GO.  We were going to be LATE.

I'd been having contact problems all morning that were going from bad to worse.  I felt like I was being stabbed in the eye.  Ouch.

No time to worry about it though.  We had to GO.

I was driving along and couldn't take it any more.  I took out my contact (I'm not sure what my end game was there) and realized there was a rip in it.  That's why it felt stabbing.

Me driving in Seattle is scary enough for everyone involved when I have both eyes so I turned back home.

Then we were really late.  Our plan was to pick up Adam at work and have lunch before the game but that turned into a scamper through the McDonald's drive thru.  (Ew.)

Also, Adam couldn't utilize his keen free parking skills because we were too late and they were all taken.

You can't be uncheered by Safeco Field though.  It's a happy place.  Even though we sat in the sun and Mark (who was still out of sorts) thought he would die from the heat.

 I'm meeeeeeeeeellllllllting!  

(To add insult to injury, Mark was too tall for the playground at Safeco Field and just so you know, slumping shoulders and sad eyes from a grumpy red head do nothing to soften the playground gestapo's heart.)

And even though the Mariners lost, abysmally, we still had a good time.

We were at a Mariner's game!  Ichiro made a heroic catch!  There was almost a grand slam!  (We'll take what we can get.)

I was sitting next to my true love on a sunny summer's day.

Life is good. (And it helped that we went through the McDonald's drive thru again on the way home and I got a Diet Coke to wash down the remaining kettle corn.  I may or may not have eaten my weight in kettle corn today.)

Summer's Lease Has All Too Short A Date

I've always loved autumn.  I get a little shiver of excitement when I see school supplies and fall decorations in the store.  (This year's a little different with the whole school supply thing...oh, have I mentioned that?)

Still.  Autumn.  I love it.  I love everything about it.

I must give summer it's due though.  Summer is good.  Swim team is ending and a few weeks stretch ahead of me before school starts.  I want to squeeze as much summer goodness as I can out of the remaining days. 

I'm a planner so my mind is whirring.  What should we do?  What should we do?

Really.  What should we do?

Leave me a comment.  Tell me the best thing you've done with your children in the summertime.  (And it can't include a road trip.  I'm road tripped out.)

Thanks!

Caution: Neurotic Woman in the School Supply Aisle

When most women do school shopping for the first time, it's when they have a kindergartner or even preschooler.  It seems friendlier to me.  Fat crayons and blunt scissors.  My list included flash drives.

I assembled my courage and school supplies lists and headed to Target.

It was all going fine, I was tossing packages of pencils and pens and glue sticks in the cart but then some things started to trip me up.  Silly things.  Like rulers and notebooks.

Which were best?

Suddenly it seemed like a Big Deal.  I wanted Only The Best for my children.  And truly, how do you determine which is the best possible ruler?

I got a hold of myself and two of the cheapest rulers and moved on.

I was soon flummoxed again though.   Emma's (extensive) list included a small school box.

I had no idea what a school box was, let alone a small school box.  A box the size of a school?  (a small school?)  Did the teacher mean a pencil box?  But she didn't list pencil box.  On a list so exact that it spelled out the exact type of dividers (8 pocket vinyl with slanted pocket), it seemed unlikely the teacher would write school box and mean pencil box, right?

I didn't know the answer.

Panic started rising in me.

How was I going to do this?  What business did I have sending my children to school if I didn't even know what a school box was?

I called Adam for his take on the flash drives.  (Anything remotely related to computers= Adam's department.)  I told him what I was doing.  I said, "This is hard for me."

"I know," he said.

And he did, which helped.  He knew when I said it was hard, I didn't mean pondering the imponderables like 1) what are Flair pens? 2) Why does Emma need 4 of them? and 3) Why are they all sold out?  Adam knew that I meant getting school supplies made it more real: buying them notebooks and pencils I won't see them use.  They'll fill their composition books with things I won't be correcting.  When someone says, "Get out your science book," it won't be me.

And that's hard.

I stopped by my friend JoLyn's house on the way home.  She exudes calm, always.  She told me to take one step at a time.

So I will.

Also, I remembered a story my mom told me.  When her friend Nene's son was leaving for a mission, Nene wrote on index cards things Andrew had done that made her glad he was leaving.  When she spoke in church, she'd refer to the cards when she felt like crying.

Maybe I'll do the same.  I did just buy 200 notecards...

Permanently

I am never leaving home again.

You can take my keys to the van...and the house for that matter.  Because I'll never drive the van again.  I'll never lock my front door. 

Because I'm never leaving again.

Except for today.  I have to go to Costco, Albertson's, the library, Target...

And Adam was a little bit deep-sighing-why-did-we-pay-the-money-if-they're-going-to-skip-practice? about us playing hooky from swim team practice today.

Never mind.

It was nice while it lasted.  All twelve hours.

Back To The Beginning

I love being in Salt Lake City.  Beneath the big hair and manic drivers lies the reason:  the desert and mountains.

The valley my ancestors walked to.

Their stories (as familiar to me as Goldilocks and the Three Bears) swirl around me and hold me up if I ever feel like faltering.

In my mind's pared down version of things, the Salt Lake Temple is a beacon and the paramount feature of the landscape.

Adam and I were married there.

My parents were married there.

Both sets of my grandparents were married there.

When I look at the Salt Lake Temple, I feel courage.  I feel gratitude and motivation and clarity.  Everything that matters to me in my life, matters more because of the Salt Lake Temple.

Everyone I hold most dear is linked to me forever because of the Salt Lake Temple.

I can't sleep because in a few hours, Adam and I will join my parents and siblings and their spouses in the Salt Lake Temple (except Olivia and Edgar, who are home with their newborn and sorely missed).  We're celebrating my parents' 40th anniversary.

But it feels like a lot more than that.  More than I can express.

Maybe I'm just too happy to sleep.

Love

What a happy and holy fashion it is that those who love one another should rest on the same pillow. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

Today is our 15th anniversary.  I'm in Nevada (coming to you live from the speedy internet access at my little big brother Enoch's truck wash) and Adam's in Seattle.

How did this happen?

When planning the trip it didn't seem like such a big deal.  "It's only a day,"  Adam said.  Only a day.  But it's a day I wish I was with my love. 

For he is my love.  Truly.

Here's what else:


1-I love every single thing that comes out of my mother's kitchen.

2-I love my brand new nephew Ammon Alejandro.  I think I'll call him Double A.  I don't know if it will stick.  He's tiny and precious. He appears to weigh nothing but when I was carrying him I felt like I was carrying something very weighty indeed.  Something priceless and holy.

3-I love that when Marcos woke up, disoriented and grumpy from his nap, he lay his sweaty body against mine and we rocked until he felt like facing the world.

4-I love making cookies in my mother's kitchen.  Using the same measuring spoons that I used when I was nine.

5-I love seeing the jumble of cousins spilling into and out of every crack and crevice at my parents' house.  They adore each other.

6- I love that Enoch had his employees fix my brakes.

7- I love that when Enoch needed to order the part for my brakes he called and asked my dad instead of asking me what kind of brakes I have.  He knows me.

8-I love seeing my baby sister, fresh from the rigors of childbirth.  Vulnerable and as tough as nails.  There's a lot to admire in that girl.

9-I love that Tabor made my mom laugh so hard at lunch yesterday that she spewed lemonade.

10- I loved Isaiah's succinct and matter of fact story about what happened to his pet toad.  "It got real sick and then it died."

11- I love that earlier Jennifer found the escaped toad in her kitchen and refused to take Enoch's advice to let it go outside.  Because Isaiah loved the toad.

12-  I love the 1/2 inch long braid Katie made in Ruby's hair.

13- I love that my girl and Marianne's girls have bonded with our cousin Margaret's girl who reminds me of Margaret in every way.

14- I loved seeing periwinkles on the early morning walk with my mom.

15- I love that my dad fixed my screen door handle and presented it to me as an anniversary gift.

16- I love driving with Marianne.  It seems really natural to be by her side on that road, again.

17- I love ice water.  (It's been in the 90s here.)


If you're reading this Adam (and if you're not, why aren't you?), I love you.  Happy Anniversary.

Chains do not hold a marriage together. It is threads, hundreds of tiny threads which sew people together through the years.

 ~Simone Signoret

 

Gasp!

This has been quite a day.

Adam talked to his mom this morning and learned that his brother and sister were on the scene of a tragic accident yesterday and administered CPR for over an hour to an eleven year old girl that in the end, didn't make it.  (I'd link to one of the newspaper articles but I'm in a hotel room with poky internet access.)

I have an eleven year old daughter. 

And we've been to those same ice caves where the accident happened dozens of times.

I can't get it out of my head.

Then Adam was given a new church calling.  His heart and soul are tied to the boys he was with before.  He had tears in his eyes when he told me about the change.  My heart and soul are tied to Adam. 

(So then I had tears in my eyes.)

Speaking of Adam, he chides me for gasping.

I'm a gasper.

He gets scared when I gasp and then irritated with me when I gasp because I, say, dropped a piece of paper,.

Today, we were driving home from church and my mom's cell phone rang.  It was Olivia.  My mom gasped loudly on the phone and my heart just stopped.  Fear clutched me.  What was wrong with Olivia?!?!?!?  Every hair was standing on end.

I get now why Adam objects to me gasping.

Here's the thing with Olivia though:  she had her baby!  A tiny baby boy named Ammon.  (I'm starting to think that in our family we are frugal with names...we use them two or three times to get all the use we can out of them.) Olivia doesn't have babies easily and she's a hero.  I'm thrilled because we are on our way to Nevada and I'll get to meet the new little one when he's still a new little one (a rare treat).

I do feel bad about something though...when I talked to my poor groggy little Olivia tonight, I teased her.  She's usually sharp as a tack and would have come back at me with a zinger but she's exhausted and has had a harrowing time.

And I teased her.

I'm sorry, little sister.  I love you.  I won't tease you again until you've had at least 24 hours to recover.

(And Adam, I'll work on that gasping thing.  I think my mom shaved several years off my life.)