For My Mom

Adam's smarter than I am (is this news to anyone?) and he has a link to some pictures on his blog if you're interested.

Oh, and thanks for giving birth to me and for a great childhood and for still raising me.

Happy Birthday To Me

For my birthday I think I'll go to...Disneyland.

Today's the big day. Emma and Braeden are dressed and bouncing off the walls and chittering and chattering in excitement. Adam's out cold and Mark growled when Braeden tried to wake him up.

In Mark's defense, it was 6:30 in the morning.

I had a typically bad hotel night and so did Braeden. I guess he couldn't get that excitement energy calmed enough to sleep.

I wish I had the internet connection sufficient to post some pictures. Yesterday we had a great day.

About every ten minutes driving around this city I think, I can see why people would live here! (when I'm smiling in sunshine, looking at amazing plants everywhere or the ocean) Then minutes later I declare, "Why does anyone live here?" (That usually happens when we're on the freeway or circling a never ending parking garage.)

We've sort of fallen in love with Santa Monica. That will happen if you're eating divine pizza at California Pizza Kitchen (everything tastes better when you're having lunch at 2:00 in the afternoon and you're famished) on Santa Monica Blvd. and Sheryl Crow's Soak Up The Sun comes on the radio.

We watched kite surfers yesterday. They amazed me.

We also visited the Los Angeles Temple grounds. It's a quiet oasis of calm and flowers and plants. We didn't want to leave.

Also yesterday we went to the Getty Center. We enjoyed the art in the museum but really loved the gardens and architecture outside. (Again, I wish I had pictures!)

When I return to the land of clouds and fast internet connection, I will post some pictures...

For now, the happiest place on earth (and my impatient 10 year old daughter) are calling my name.

Not A Bad Beginning

I'm writing to you from our hotel room with s-l-o-w internet access.  It reminds me of dial up days of yore when I used to have a magazine nearby when I was using the internet.

We didn't tell the kids until we were walking out the front door that we were flying rather than driving.

Mark had only flown as a baby and didn't remember the adventure so it was exciting for him.

He took about 15 pictures out the window.

Of the wing.

Adam and the two other kids sat across the aisle from us and the least friendly man in America sat next to me.  He was thrilled when we passed our book bag across him and when Mark had to get up mid flight to use the bathroom.  I was delighted when I saw that Mark took a picture of him so we could remember his jolly face.

After we landed we got our rental car and headed to the beach.  It was not warm and not beach weather but if you're in our family and slightly unhinged when it comes to water enthusiasm, that didn't matter.  I'm the black sheep (cold sheep?) of the family so while they jumped in the waves I went to sit in the car to get warm.

So that's our trip so far.  Unless I die of old age before the pictures load, I'll publish this post.

Critiquing the Brothers Grimm

Today in teaching Mark school, I read him the story Rapunzel. It got a big thumbs down. Mark's enjoyment of a story is directly related to the violence contained therein. (I'm not proud of this fact, but there it is.)

When the witch cut off Rapunzel's hair and tricked the prince into climbing up the braid, Mark was alert, anticipating the altercation. When "in his pain and grief the prince leaped from the tower", Mark was disgusted and dismayed. He said, "I thought he was going to fight her." After all, what self respecting hero of a fairy tale doesn't wield a sword?

The prince did nothing to sway Mark's opinion of his worth. At the end, when Rapunzel and the now blind prince finally reunite and she restores his sight with her tears, "he took Rapunzel back to his kingdom, where they were greeted with great rejoicing..."

Mark was filled with contempt. He said, "He should have taken Rapunzel back to her mother."

I couldn't argue with him. (Although I'm always a little disgusted with the mother in the story and her thieving greedy ways.)

Sorry Grimm Brothers, we had a much more favorable review of The Valiant Little Tailor. Now that was a story.

Ordinary Day

Today I was driving home from Target (where I must go because I've sworn off Wal-mart, forever). I was replaying in my mind the excursion. It was nothing out of the ordinary. But "nothing out of the ordinary" with children on board is anything but ordinary.

First we stopped by J.C. Penney's. I had to make a return. A quick little painless return...at the register near the door. Emma and Mark wanted Webkinz. No, no and NO. Are you kidding me? Then they wanted to just look at the Webkinz. Just look. Yes, they'd stay together. No, they wouldn't crash into any other hapless shoppers. (not my first time in a store with these hoodlums)

I relented. I was finishing my return and heard them then saw them loping towards me, each with a Webkinz in tow. One they wanted, needed, had to have.

No.

On the way back to the van Mark earned himself a lecture on gratitude by telling me I'd ruined his life because he only has three Webkinz and it is all my fault.

Our next stop was Target. Somehow, Mark at Target is like trying to keep track of 15 puppies at once. How can that kid go in so many directions? I gathered a few pairs of pants for Emma to try on. I sent her over to try them on. My task? Keep Mark still. Emma was too shy to request a fitting room. I got her settled and told her to come out and show me the pants. I turned back to Mark who was scaling the side of the cart. We waited. And waited. I untwisted Mark from various pursuits.

And we waited.

Finally I went back to the dressing room (with Mark's hand planted firmly in mine).

"Emma," I called, "Have you tried the pants on?"

She emerged happily from the dressing room, fully clothed in her old jeans. "I tried on both pair." She was triumphant, reveling in her efficiency and speed.

"I wanted to see you in the pants."

"Oh."

"Remember when I said, 'come and show me'?"

"Oh."

This time I yanked Mark into the dressing room. He voluntarily put his nose in the corner so he wouldn't see Emma change. He stood stock-still. A miracle. The pants fit. One pair was selected for their comfort. We moved on.

Next stop was miniature toiletries for travel. Mark said he needed deodoring. Emma, long suffering, corrected him. "Mark, it's deodorant."

"I think it's deodoring."

"Mom, tell him it's deodorant."

"Mom, I think I need some deodoring. I might have used Braeden's before. Maybe. I think I need some...deodoring." (now I think he was just trying to bug Emma)

"Mom! Tell him it's deodorant."

Then we reached the candy and candy was the bribe to make them feel better about having to shop with me instead of stay with Grandpa like Braeden got to do.

So they got candy. Mark selected a big bag of M & M's. I told him he could share with me and he was willing. Emma chose pink Bubblicious gum, strawberry.

We made it to the van. Emma popped a mighty square of Bubblicious gum into her mouth. The scent transformed me back to the Starr Valley school bus where I spent 2 hours of each day during elementary school (an hour each way). The bus was airless, scorching hot in the seat by the heater, drafty everywhere else. It was bumpy with melted snow from boots swirling on the floor and ruining ill-fated dropped homework papers. It was loud and it smelled exactly like Bubblicious gum. It's funny how smells can transport you.

And funny how memories can remind you that even if you have exasperating children on trips to Target, at least you're no longer on the Starr Valley school bus for two hours each day.

The mission of the United States is one of benevolent assimilation. (William McKinley)

Awhile ago I read this post.

I didn't get it. I didn't get not loving IKEA. Then it occurred to me that maybe there is an ethnic explanation. My heritage is largely Scandinavian (and I don't mean largely because I have large relatives--which I do but that's not what I mean).

Anyway.

Is it because of my lignonberry loving ancestry that I love IKEA?

Because here's what I'm not: Irish. And here's what I don't get: St. Patrick's Day. It makes no sense to me as a holiday. My non Irish mother used to make us non Irish pancakes dyed green for breakfast on St. Patrick's Day. It was our nod to a holiday we didn't get.

I have a basic understanding of who St. Patrick was. I know he died on March 17. What I don't get is why that should prompt Americans to wear green, march in parades and dye their rivers (and pancakes) green.

But I am OK with that. I still have IKEA. Which I understand. I am deadly with an allen wrench. I know my leksvik from ektorp.

And I did pinch every single one of my non Irish, non green wearing family members this morning before they were aware of the date.

You've got to love the assimilation of cultures in America.

Happy Birthday to Us

Adam and I are celebrating our birthday (birthdays) soon. On the same day. This is a big year too because it marks the fact that we've known each other for half of our lives.

When people find out we have the same birthday...same year and everything...they say, "Really?" Then they say, "How neat."

To which we say, "Not really."

Sometimes it's hard to decide what to do to celebrate. There's a lot of, "Well it's your birthday too," that goes around.

Adam said something once that I liked about our birthdays though. He said we were in the same MTC group in heaven. It's kind of silly (much like a lot of things that are said around our house) but it led me to imagine a scenario where we were heading off to earth on March 23, 1973 to our various families. He to Washington...me to Nevada. Maybe we decided we'd both go to BYU so we'd be sure to find each other. (It was probably my idea to come up with a meeting spot since I'm the planner.) Then maybe (since I also tend to be the worrier) I was anxious that we might not meet...might not recognize each other. I can imagine Adam looking at me with his calming brown eyes and telling me not to worry. It would work out.

And as usual. He was right. It worked out.

And having the same birthday is not altogether a bad thing when Disneyland offers free admission on your birthday this year.