between too little and too much

2011-10-18T13:21:00.007-06:00

The other day, I stumbled across an album of my first few years with Dave. At the end was a pile of letters we had sent to each other, just before our wedding, while living in different towns. Before tucking them away for another who-knows-how-long, I took the time to read them. I was a little disappointed. The letters seem so shallow to me now. So empty and void of...something.

At first, this made me sad. I've often thought of those years as the time we loved each other most. When everything was blissful, uncomplicated, new. But now I realize the way I loved Dave back then is like a beautiful, brand-new book. One with a nice, shiny cover, pages clean and bright. But no words.

The way I love Dave now is like an old book. The cover is smudged and worn. Some pages are dog-eared, some wrinkled from tears. Some chapters we cling to, others we'd like to forget. But our book is still bound and the words are filling up fast.

The way I love Dave now is...more. Rarely blissful, seldom uncomplicated, never new. But more.

on my best day

2011-09-29T13:58:00.001-06:00

I woke suddenly last night thinking of an old friend. As I lay there, I realized I have known her, quite literally, as long as I can remember and memories flooded my mind: playing Barbies at her house when we were very young, playing games and going to dances with her and a large group of friends, long talks about boys.

I remember working as partners in French class, watching as she defended her beliefs (and mine) in an Advanced English Lit class to a wonderful but obstinate teacher who doubled as a debate coach.

I remember sharing a business class to which she once came in late (beaming) with the only excuse the teacher said he would ever accept - she had been hit by an STA bus (luckily she was in her car), and a wild and week-long scavenger hunt resulting, ultimately, in invitations from our dates to the junior prom.

I have memories of accompanying her as she sang at so many events, always with a beautiful voice and a smile. And I have memories of her in college. Although we didn't see each other as much, when we did, it felt like nothing had changed.

The semester my brother Mark died, I ran into her on campus. She asked how things were going and reluctantly I told her my woes. Based on other friends' reactions, I wasn't sure what to expect. College kids are not adept at responding appropriately to tragic situations. But Anna was different. I remember her response, because it mirrored my own emotions. She empathized perfectly and made me feel like my grief was okay.

Among all these thoughts, there was one thing I couldn't remember. I couldn't think of an instance when Anna spoke an unkind word, or was caught up in some silly social drama. I couldn't think when she had ever lacked faith, or complained about anything she was expected to do. I couldn't think of a single time when Anna had been anything less than a perfect example.

For several years after college, Anna and I were out of touch. An occasional Christmas card let us know what was going on, but it wasn't until last year that I was able to keep up more with her life. Not surprising, in the face of her very real challenges, which surpass some of my darkest dreads, it is clear Anna has not changed.

She is amazingly patient and positive, steadfast and stalwart where others would simply give up.

If I, on my best day, could be what Anna is on her worst, I will have made great strides.

a miracle if it did

2011-09-18T19:31:00.005-06:00

Last week we took the kids to Lagoon. Since Max had never been on the Ferris Wheel before, it was one of our first rides. Being more than a little uncoordinated and thus extremely cautious, Max has never been a great lover of heights. The first time we made it up to the top, he expressed some concern about falling down.

I assured him, through a clever combination of probability and science, that falling down was so unlikely to happen, it would be a miracle if it did. Abby agreed. Max still looked concerned, but conceded that I made sense. Dave, (only half listening?) suddenly burst into song: "I believe in miracles...."

I'm not really sure where he was going with that, but it was enough to make us all laugh. Max forgot his fears and here we are a whole week later, laughing about it still.

a new kind of girl

2011-09-11T18:59:00.004-06:00

Back in the 70's, when I was a kid, men blatantly ruled the world. I guess it was somewhere in that decade that the first real wave of feminism hit, but I lived in Spokane, Washington. We were pretty sheltered from the world.

Although I personally was a tomboy, most of the girls I hung out with at recess were not, so I remember doing a lot of girlie-type things, all involving rhymes and chants, and most reinforcing gender stereo-types.

Like those clapping games:

Say, say oh play mate, come out and play with me,
And bring your dollies three, climb up my apple tree,
Slide down my rain barrel, into my cellar door,
And we'll be best of friends,
Forever more, more, more, more, more, more.

And jumping rope:

Cinderella, dressed in yella,
Went upstairs to kiss a fella,
Made a mistake and kissed a snake,
How many doctors did it take?

One, two, three, four....

And cheering:

Boys got the muscles,
Teachers got the brains,
Girls got the sexy legs,
We win the game!

I now know that girls don't have to do girlie things. The fact that I enjoyed hot-wheels and legos and horses more than dolls didn't make me any less of a girl. I know this now. But looking back, it's entirely possible I didn't really, truly know this until I was in college. It's possible I always thought of myself as a little less than perfect because I wasn't the girlie-girl type.

Which is why it made me smile to see two sweet little girls out at recess the other day, in skirts and ruffles and bows, practicing the girlie-girl cheer of a new generation:

Payson High is number one,
We're gonna beat the crap out of 'um!'

Granted, it's not all that eloquent, and their rhyming flat out stinks, but I think their message is clear - no one better mess with this new kind of girl...

apple crisp

2011-08-30T20:19:00.007-06:00

Two little words can turn the mood at my house right around: apple crisp. If you haven't made it in awhile, do it now. It is well worth your time, and your family will love you!

The Best Apple Crisp Recipe I've Ever Made
(and I've made a lot!)

10 cups sliced apples (or enough to fill the pan all the way to the top)
1 cup white sugar
1 Tbsp. flour
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 cup water
------------------------
1 cup oats
1 cup flour
1 cup brown sugar
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 cup butter, melted

1. Preheat oven to 350*
2. Peel apples and slice them directly into a 9x13 inch pan.
3. Mix white sugar, 1 Tbsp. flour and cinnamon together, sprinkle evenly over apples.
4. Pour water evenly over all.
5. Combine remaining ingredients, crumble over apples.
6. Bake for 45 minutes or until apples are tender.

* You can probably use margarine, but I've never tried it. Butter is just so much more lovely.

** I sometimes double the topping recipe, because I love it so much, and I have been known to add some coconut and/or nuts to the topping mixture, which I also love, but my family does not. They prefer their apple crisp pure and unadulterated.

of mice and me

2011-08-26T09:27:00.004-06:00

I have an irrational but well-founded fear of mice. I grew up in the country, where the standard house sat on at least a 1 acre lot. Our house was next door to my grandparents house and directly behind us, my grandparents owned most of at least half the block, on which they raised horses - lots of horses - and 5 acres of alfalfa. If you know anything about horses and alfalfa, you probably also know that mice are a fixed part of this world. We found mice all over the place, and often heard them skittering around at night between the walls.

I have post-traumatic-stress-type memories of teetering on one of those old spinning office chairs, trying to avoid a mouse that popped up in the laundry room and ran dangerously close to my toes, and of finding a dead mouse or two while scooping out grain from the giant bin in the barn. Another time, my brother and I found a mouse in the kitchen, and cleverly managed to shoo it outside and into a giant pickle jar with a broom. I don't remember what happened after that; I was most likely standing on a kitchen chair, yelling at Paul to get it away from me.

Mice continued to haunt me at our cabin, in college, in my first married place. We actually moved from that place not long after finding a mouse. Really. Partially because of the mouse.
I had a bit of a break from mice after that until we moved into our little old house. It seemed mice were everywhere (I saw probably 2 or 3) which is the biggest reason why we now have a cat. In the contest between mice and cats, I definitely hate mice more.

Since the cat's been around, the only mice I've seen are dead; sometimes gruesomely torn apart. I hate them in this form too, but they are easier to avoid and the family knows to shelter me from them as much as humanly possible. After a few months of her being here, our cat had pretty much killed everything that moved and was smaller than her; mice, moths, beetles, birds, snakes, and what not. But occasionally she still hunts one out from somewhere. Last week she twice left dead things by the door, which always makes me fret there are more.

Then on Wednesday of this week she started stalking a space between the kitchen cabinets and the wall. She sat there for a couple of hours, sniffing, looking up and down. I let her into the cabinet under the sink and she did the same thing. A bad omen, I thought.

Last night, in the kitchen, I heard a scratching noise. When I got up to see where it was coming from, it stopped. Later, I opened the cupboard door to throw something away, and thought I saw a tail shoot behind the garbage can. I had Dave check it out. He found nothing; no tracks.

I went to bed and tossed and turned due to a number of things. I heard Dave come in and he soon fell asleep. I fell asleep too, but then woke up to a huge scratching sound. It sounded like the cat clawing the wicker chair, but I knew she was outside. I listened again; it was in the living room. I shook Dave, but he didn't wake up. I heard it again. So loud. I thought it might be a mouse stuck in the basket I keep by the piano. I shook Dave again, but when he got out of bed it stopped. He looked in the basket and shook it around. Nothing. No movement, no sound. He let in the cat. She ate, and went back outside. He offered to go get some traps. I said that was silly, it's late, I'm crazy, we know. But he looked at my face and left for the store.

I laid on my bed with the light on, staring at the basket with dread. Nothing. No movement, no sound. He came back, and let the cat in again. She ate, and went out. He set up the traps and blocked the space under our door. He knew I wouldn't sleep, but he quickly did. I tossed and turned about a number of things, but now, also this mouse.

A few hours later I heard it again. I sat up in bed and listened my best. It was the same scratching, the same noise, but not quite as loud, and it was in my room. I turned my head and saw Dave's feet move. They moved back and forth, quite a few times, brushing against the duvet. He was the mouse. I relaxed and went back to sleep, thinking how foolish I had been. Imagination is a powerful thing...

But he left the traps out, just in case. ;)

big blue meanies

2011-08-21T21:01:00.002-06:00

I'm having a hard time sending my kids back to school this year. I'm not really sure why. Except that Abby is starting her first year at the high school and Max his last year of grade school. I guess it just feels like they are growing up too fast.

At home I trick myself into thinking I can completely protect them, shelter them from the evils of the world - big blue meanies and such. But at school they have to face all kinds of madness. Bullies, tyrants, disloyal friends. Okay, so they have never really had a problem with bullies or tyrants, but still! They are my babies, out there on their own.

Sometimes I wish I could still hold their hands, walk them down the hall and make sure their teachers know how truly great they are. Set up play dates with their friends. But I know I have to let go. I have raised them well. Now it's time for them to fly. And I will, they will.

But good heavens it's hard!

one more notch on his DIY belt

2011-08-05T21:29:00.005-06:00

We have lived in our little old house for almost seven years. And for all of those years, we have needed a new toilet. But it was at the end of a long list of things we needed, so we put it off until this week.

Inspired by a recent dream Dave had involving himself in a toilet showroom (with toilets in a vast array of colors and styles) and motivated by a forthcoming marching band sleepover, we decided to take the plunge.

Aside from starting too late in the day (my fault) and then inevitably needing to buy a new water supply line after the store was closed (causing much yelling and I-told-you-so's on my part), Dave heroically installed the toilet himself, adding one more notch on his DIY belt.

Although I have been coveting other people's toilets for quite some time now, I was still unprepared for how much I love our new one. Here are a few of the things I love most: It is really, really, super clean and sparkly. The handle doesn't stick (causing the water to run endlessly in the bowl, or occasionally out onto the floor.) We have gone 2 whole days without having to plunge it.

So forget diamonds. This week, a toilet is a girl's best friend!

the best kind of girls

2011-07-12T23:02:00.004-06:00

I spent 6 hours with 2 teenage girls, shopping for swim suits today. But not for the reasons one would expect. It didn't take 6 hours because they wanted to find the skimpiest suit I would allow them to buy, or because they wanted a certain brand name.

It took 6 hours because I willingly and gladly drove them all over town, to every possible suit-selling store, to reward them for wanting to buy a practical suit, at a reasonable price, that would cover both their boobs and their butt. A noble goal for any of us girls, but especially for young girls of today!

So hats off to these, the best kind of girls - kind, smart, funny and good - right down to the core!

a safe place

2011-07-08T19:13:00.004-06:00

I had an interesting experience last weekend that caused me to reflect on family relationships. After spending several days feeling desperately sad about the tendency of some families to break each other down, I have renewed my commitment to not let this happen in mine. I have come up with a new mantra for myself: our family is a safe place.

That my kids will never know a parent who tears them down, a sibling who condescends, or a dictatorial spouse is my deepest hope and prayer. That our home will provide unending love and hope and respect to all is the biggest accomplishment I ever hope to make.

spreadsheet junkie

2011-06-29T17:03:00.004-06:00

Since I have both diabetes and high blood pressure and am doing everything I can to avoid more medication, I have been monitoring my blood sugar and blood pressure on a daily basis. As you can imagine, this is a drag.

Not only do I hate having to think about every calorie/carb I consume or burn, I also hate writing it down. I've been keeping it all in a notebook, but I find myself not wanting to record the higher numbers; evidence for the doctor that I need another pill.

But I flipped through the book the other day and noticed some interesting patterns - like my blood pressure is always high on Sundays (go figure!). And my blood sugar is high when I first wake up and for a couple hours after I run. Finding these patterns makes me want to find more, so I've decided to throw it into a spreadsheet. Then I can easily sort it by day of the week, time of day, amount and type of exercise, or however else I want.

This thought made me unreasonably happy. Almost giddy. Why? Because I am a spreadsheet junkie. I am addicted to spreadsheets. I love them. Give me a bunch of information, randomly scattered about in my head, or the house, or wherever information scatters, and I will plug it in to a color-coded document, ready to sort and display in a variety of ways.

I first started creating spreadsheets for work, but now they are a daily part of my personal life. My "gateway" spreadsheet was a basic ledger I set up in Excel. It is simple, but much better suited to my needs than any of the money software programs I've tried. From there, I was hooked.

I now have spreadsheets called "run times," "2011 goals," "home improvement projects," "piano attendance," "piano ledger," "practice cards," "diabetes journal," "calorie list," "garden planning sheet," "gardenplanner2," "garden planner large," "garden planting calendar" and the list goes on and on. In fact, those were just the ones that came up in my recent documents list.

Sometimes, while day-dreaming about a new way to set up or sort a spreadsheet, I feel like an enormous geek. But I guess as far as addictions go, spreadsheets are not so bad...

harmonicas and such

2011-06-21T11:28:00.002-06:00

By choice, we live in a very small house. 900 square feet upstairs, 900 square feet down, and a bonus room behind the garage, nicknamed the "Room of Requirement." That is where Max's drum set lives, so technically it's not in the house. But all the other instruments are.

We have collected such a ridiculous number of instruments, that I counted them the other day: 4 guitars, 1 bass. Abby's french horn, trumpet and mellophone, and a flute from my mom. A ukulele, a banjo, and a tambourine. Bongos and cowbells too. A tiny violin Dave's mom loaned us when Abby was four, and an accordion I occasionally pull out of its case. I will spare you the list of harmonicas and such.

Sometimes I'm tempted to get rid of a few, especially the ones we don't know how to play. But then I hear Abby writing a song, or practicing her horn(s). Or I hear Dave and Max discussing some band. Or I play the piano for a couple of hours, until my heart and mind are at peace. Then I know music is the soul of our home and I'm glad the instruments live here too.

14 funfetti-filled years

2011-06-09T18:18:00.001-06:00

From the time Abby was old enough to point at a box, she wanted a funfetti birthday cake. Every single year. Eventually we started to complain. I don't know why. It was only once a year, and it's not like I never baked a cake at any other time. Nevertheless, by the time she was 10, we had teased her into better flavors.

A couple weeks ago, she had a party to celebrate the end of the year. I offered to make some cupcakes but, short on time, told her we would just spice up a mix. We went to the store, to the baking aisle. I was looking for a few other things. When I turned around I saw Abby, her hand on a french vanilla mix, but eying longingly the funfetti box.

I encouraged her to get it; you're only young once. You should have all the funfetti you want!

Note: We added 1 box of vanilla instant pudding and used buttermilk in place of the water. We made our own buttercream frosting from scratch. The "funfetti" cupcakes were really quite good. :)

i am your monster friend

2011-06-06T21:24:00.004-06:00

For some reason, when my kids were little, my mother-in-law was fond of giving them gifts that make noise. Most of them were Christmas things, like a creepy little tree with a Santa hat and big white eyeballs that popped open when you walked past him, followed by an unbelievably annoying voice singing "Deck the Halls" or some such carol. Or a bright red and green angel with yellow yarn hair, wings that beat gently back and forth, and a head that moved eerily around on her body as she lulled you into the Christmas spirit.

But one time, she gave them an extra-large stuffed monster who faintly resembled Animal from the Muppets. He didn't sing, but had two or three sentences he would shout out when roused. He was big, blue and furry, with a black mouth, scary monster teeth and pink (or was it red?) hair and beard. We tried to get them to like him, but they were never too interested in playing with him (What do you do with a monster friend?) and eventually we stuck him up on the closet shelf. He stayed there for weeks, months, maybe a year, until his batteries started to die.

When that happened, he would occasionally call out from the closet shelf, in his gruff monster voice. It only took a few times of him scaring me nigh unto death before I donated him to the D.I., but in memory, he lives on. Just today, I found myself telling the kids, "I am your monster friend!"

hard things

2011-05-22T18:44:00.008-06:00

When I turned 40 I decided to start running. I figured instead of looking back on all the things I haven't done, it would be more productive to choose one of those things and do it. Part of my process was to look at all the reasons I had never run before. Most of them were obvious: A) It's hard. B) It's hard. C) It is really, really hard.

I then tried to look past these reasons to figure out the ones I could more easily solve: A) It hurts my feet and my knee. B) It's too cold/hot outside and I don't have time. C) I'm too fat; I don't want people to see me, which eliminates running outside or at the gym. I found solutions to these problems fairly quickly. New running shoes helped a lot, and a little ibuprofen at first. I bought a treadmill so no one would have to watch me strain, and I could fit in my runs (mostly walking) without leaving the house.

But then I was back to square one: running is hard.

I am not good at doing hard things. I know this because I have, occasionally, tried and given up. I have always required some natural ability at a thing in order to continue, and running was never my thing. I have accomplished other things, like playing the piano, serving a mission, graduating from college, becoming a mom. But none of those things ever made me simultaneously want to throw up, scream out in pain and cry all at the same time. Running has.

When I decided to start, I started out slow - like one minute at a time slow. I figured I could do anything for a minute. And I could. I did. But in truth, it was hard. I can remember counting down the last 30 seconds of every minute I ran. Gradually I worked up my intervals to 2 minutes, then 3, with an 8 to 10 minute walk in between. I still didn't love it. I never "got in the zone" and forgot to stop, but every minute I gained was a victory. I was taming my beast and it felt good.

In retrospect, running has definitely improved my health. But maybe more importantly, it has improved my attitude toward hard things. A few weeks ago I ran every step of my first 5k. I feel it is one of my biggest accomplishments, ever. Not because it is the most important thing I have done, but because it was one of the things I was least likely ever to do. And by doing this hard thing, I know I can do other hard things as well. Which is a powerful thing to know!

41

2011-05-19T20:36:00.002-06:00

41 pages is a good start on a book. $41 is spent way too fast. 41 carbs is (almost) 2 pieces of bread. 41 days is too far off to think about right now. For 41 minutes I can endure just about anything, even running. 41 years is starting to freak me out.

what could be

2011-03-21T14:58:00.007-06:00

Yesterday was the day my dad was born. He's been gone for years now, but I still miss him terribly. He wasn't perfect, my dad, but he embodied possibility. There was no "I can't" in my dad; there was only "let's try" and "we'll see."

A dream could be one or a million steps away from real life, but either way, it was worth a shot. So what if it ended in a pile of failed attempts? We were no worse off for trying and, no doubt, learned something new along the way.

I hope to instill possibility in my kids, the way my dad instilled it in me. I pray they will (sometimes) ignore my warnings of what will be and embrace what could be instead.

utah in march

2011-03-10T20:32:00.003-07:00

For at least 6 weeks I've felt restless and worn. There have been a few days when I've crawled into bed, fully dressed, to get warm. And then today it was Spring. I know it won't last - not in Utah, in March. But for one lovely hour I worked my land. I could feel the sun through the coat on my back; I could feel it burning my face. As I walked, the ground was soft beneath my feet, not dried out and parched from the heat. Even the weeds were a hopeful shade of green, all mossy and wet. I know it won't last - not in Utah, in March. But for a minute I stood perfectly still, took a breath of fresh air, and felt completely at peace.

o-we-o-s and black binkies

2010-05-11T13:24:00.005-06:00

I love having tween and teen children. They are independent, clever, have interesting, thought-provoking questions and stories, and make some pretty good jokes. But sometimes, I wonder if we are still speaking the same language. A simple question is answered with a resounding, "I AM!" (when clearly they are not), a caveman shrug-and-grunt, or the oft-heard "GEEEEEZ!"

For the most part, I don't let this language phase bother me. I know it's just their age. But it does make me miss my little stinkers and their sweet baby-kid talk...

I actually can't remember when Abby first started to talk, although I know she was very young. I have a journal entry from when she was not yet 2 and had ridden the city bus with Dave. There had been a big thunder storm which she referred to as "raining noises." I also remember her naming the bunny she got for Easter that year. She named him "Bunny." When we pressed her for more, she just said, "Bunny." As the year went on, though, she added a first and a middle name, so that his full name was, and still is, "Funny Funny Bunny."

At 3, her command of the English language was quite good, except for a few problems with speech and schema. Two very frustrating experiences involved our own misunderstanding.

The first was when Dave took her to Dairy Queen where she asked him for an ice-cream cone. Simple enough. He got her the cone, but she burst into tears, refusing to eat it. Several cones later, we realized she actually wanted a sundae, with a cup and a spoon and chocolate sauce. When I explained this thing was called a sundae, she didn't believe me. A "Sunday" is the day you go to church.

The second experience also led to tears. We stopped at a gas station to fill up our car. Dave went in to get some drinks and while Abby and I waited, she told me we needed some "o-we-o." I thought she meant Oreos and told her no, but she kept repeating the request. By the time Dave got back, she was in tears. He asked what was wrong and (like all good Dads) went in and bought her some. But she wouldn't take them. She just kept saying the word, "o-we-o." When Dave took her into the gas station and asked her to show him what she wanted, she pointed to a bottle of oil. She thought the car needed oil and was crying because we couldn't understand her. Poor kid!

Max is the opposite of Abby in so many ways, and language was no different. He spoke only the most rudimentary words until he was well over 2 and even those were simplified; A-da for Abby, Da-Da for Daddy, Ma for Mama, etc. The few things he learned to say clearly early on were all about cars. He loved cars. When he saw one he liked he would say, "Oh, wow!" He loved the Mazda car commercials too and recognized them on the road. Pointing, he would shout out, "Zoom Zoom!"

As he got older and used more words, he struggled with schema too. Once, while traveling, he woke up in the middle of the night, crying for a "binkie." Since he had never taken a pacifier, both Dave and I were confused. We offered him everything we could think of, but nothing worked. When we probed for more information, all he added was the color black. It didn't help. Finally, Dave drove him to the gas station. Max stopped crying, walked over to the Hostess rack and picked up a package of chocolate donuts. As far as we could tell, "binkie" was his word for "twinkie," which Abby always got. And whenever Abby got a twinkie, he got the chocolate donuts so, in his mind, they were "black binkies."

If only our communication problems were this sweet and simple now. I suppose we could still be having schema issues. Like lumping questions in with accusations. But it is heartening to look back and see how far we have come. In a few more years, I will, no doubt, look back on these teenage years and laugh, "Remember how cute it was when the kids would yell 'I know' after everything we told them? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"

stupid presidents

2009-09-16T21:19:00.002-06:00

My son is worried he will be the only one in his class watching "The Obama Speech" tomorrow. It was delayed because our school district opted out the day it was originally shown, then realized they looked like they weren't supporting the President and sent a letter around asking people to send a form if they don't want their kids to watch the President on tv at school tomorrow.

You know, for 8 years we had a president I didn't vote for. I could have "opted out" of supporting him. But I didn't. I supported the stupid Republican president - maybe now we could all support the stupid Democratic president...

After all, as that one annoying country song says, I'm proud to be an American - not I'm proud to be a Republican...

on my best day

2009-09-10T07:42:00.005-06:00

pot roast on sundays

2009-08-10T09:12:00.002-06:00

I don't serve pot roast on Sundays. This may not seem like a big deal, but the big Sunday meal is kind of ingrained in my religious culture. I would say a large number of women in my church have their Sunday dinners prepared before I am typically awake on a Sunday morning. Simmering away in a crock-pot or slipped in the oven just before church, their families arrive home to the lovely aroma of meat and potatoes.

Not mine. When we get home, all things edible are fair game. Fend for yourself or starve. If we haven't gorged ourselves on snacking, I might make dinner later that night but sometimes, I am ashamed to admit, we make cookies or caramel popcorn after church and no one is hungry come dinner time.

The problem with this (aside from the general nutritional issues) is my enormous sense of guilt about my lackadaisical attitude toward Sunday dining. I long ago realized it's not the pot roast I feel bad about, but the event of a big shared meal. Something different and important to mark the Sabbath as special.

In the years that have followed this realization, I have implemented several new "traditions" for Sunday meals (waffles for dinner, leftover day, brunch right after church) but none of them have stuck. Some of them were just bad ideas (leftovers!) but the biggest problem was that none of them really lent themselves to time shared together in the kitchen or at the table. There was nothing special about them.

Another tradition I have been wanting to start is a weekly home-made pizza night. Last week I brought it up again. I suggested we try it on Fridays, but we never know what a Friday will bring, and Saturdays are no better. Dave suggested we try Sundays. I stared at him blankly. Pizza on Sundays? It seemed wrong somehow. But it makes perfect sense for us and it couldn't be worse than waffles or leftovers.

Last night we tried it. After a nap and watching a movie with the kids, I started the dough and then called everyone up to help. Abi made the sauce - with full control over seasoning. Max helped with the veggie prep and put on the cheese. Dave was in charge of the meat (sausage) and I sauteed the flavor (onions, garlic, peppers). The pizza turned out beautifully!

It took some tenacity, on my part, to keep everyone in the kitchen, but over time I think it could fulfill all my Sunday meal dreams: family togetherness, a meaningful meal and (start to finish) no more than an hour and a half.

It may be a little unorthodox, but I think that makes it even better!

the all-american housewife

2009-07-24T19:10:00.008-06:00

I've been thinking with fondness lately of the All-American Housewife. The June Cleavers, Marion Cunninghams and Ethel Mertzes of the world, dolled-up in delightful dresses and perfectly polished pumps as they served their husbands three squares a day and washed all the dishes by hand.

I wouldn't trade my life today for the lives that they lived then (I'd be more of a Lucy Ricardo if I did), but I'm beginning to admire them more - for taking a moment each day to dress up, for wanting to take care of their homes. I admire them for waiting patiently at home, for keeping a dinner plate warm. For growing geraniums and mopping their floors, for ironing everything they wore. For wearing white gloves and polishing silver, for making elaborate jell-o molds. For putting their families before everything else, and spreading their beauty around.

I'm grateful that now all this is a choice - pants or a skirt, stockings or not - that ironing and jell-o are an option. But I do find joy in baking bread and making jam and greeting my husband at the door. And at these moments I think the housewives knew best. A happy home is a happy life and I should do whatever it takes to make it so.

Maybe I'll start wearing dresses more often...

queen of the house

2009-07-21T20:13:00.006-06:00

I am not a cat lover. Or a dog lover. In fact, I really don't enjoy any animal small enough to put its genitals on me. This may sound absurd, but I grew up with horses - fifteen hand, thousand pound horses. They didn't come in the house, I changed clothes to ride them, and there was absolutely no way they could pee on me. Cats, on the other hand, can and did pee on my sleeping bag, and claw and bite without provocation; the only dog I remember once ate all my crayons then puked them up in my toy box.

This is why I was "allergic" to cats until a few years ago when the kids found a kitty hiding in our back yard. After Max named her and told the neighbors she was ours, I consented to let her live in the shed where she would keep the mice and birds away. That lasted a few days until other cats began eating her food. We then moved her to the garage where she had food and water and a nice place to sleep. A few weeks later we installed a cat door so she could go in and out as she pleased.

Come Fall, the cat sat outside the window while I taught piano, meowing regularly and clawing the screen. Inevitably my students stated the obvious, "I think your cat wants to come inside." "Yes," I replied, "but she isn't allowed in the house." "Why?" they asked. "Because. I'm mean." "Oh," they said. But, as it turns out, I am not as mean as I seem. The first truly cold day ended the "outdoor" cat arrangement and cleared the path for Gigi Harriette Quincompoix, Queen of the House.

It wasn't an easy transition. It took weeks to accept that the cat loved me best. (Why?!) But gradually she won me over. I eventually became desensitized to finding cat hair in my house (Yuck!) and at some point allowed her to sit on my lap. Now I cannot imagine our home without her. She has taught Abi to empathize, sympathize and love unconditionally and has served as a younger sibling to Max. To me she has shown unwavering devotion and Dave she allows to believe he's the boss.

So I find her today with a swollen right jaw and my heart is filled with fear. Ridiculous, I think. So stupid! She is just a cat. But this cat is a part of our lives and to lose her will break all our hearts.

I really hope she's okay...

indestructible bread

2009-05-08T21:03:00.003-06:00

After searching for a really great bread recipe meeting all our family requirements (quick and easy to make in a mixer, at least some whole wheat, no powdered milk or wheat gluten blah, blah, blah, moist enough to not crumble, and tasty enough to please the kids) I finally found a recipe for "Fabulous Homemade Bread" on allrecipes.com.

The first time I made it, I scaled it down from 6 loaves to 2, so the recipe turned out with ingredient amounts like "3 tablespoons and 1-3/4 tsp. brown sugar." I rounded to the nearest tablespoon. The dough still looked good, so I let it rise. Perfect! I punched it, rolled it and put it in pans. I covered the pans and went out to lunch with my friend, forgetting to throw it in the fridge to slow the 2nd rising. Two hours later I returned to flat loaves. I baked it anyway and it was great!

The second time I made it, I activated my yeast around noon and then unexpectedly had to leave the house. I stuck the rising yeast in the fridge and remembered it around 7pm. I threw in the other ingredients to see if it would work. It did and it was great!

The third time I made it, I started the yeast and left it to sit for 5 minutes as instructed. Two hours later I remembered the yeast. It was big, but still bubbly. I mixed it anyway, adding two or maybe three times as much flour. It was a little less flavorful, but still great!

So, if you if you're interested in an indestructible bread recipe, here it is:

Fabulous Homemade Bread (2 loaves)

1. Stir the following ingredients in a mixer bowl and let rise 5 minutes: 3 Tbsp. warm water, 2-1/4 (or one package) active dry yeast, 1-1/2 Tbsp. whole wheat flour, 1 tsp. sugar.

2. Add the following and start mixer on low: 2/3 cup oats, 2/3 cup whole wheat flour, 1-1/2 cup warm water and 1-1/2 tsp salt.

3. Add the following and gradually increase mixer speed to speed 2, mixing until the dough clings to the dough hook and cleans the bowl: 4 Tbsp brown sugar, 2 Tbsp honey, 4 Tbsp vegetable oil, 3 cups flour (or more, as needed, to get dough to clean the bowl).

4. Transfer bread to a greased bowl, let rise for about 1 hour or until double in size.

5. Punch dough down, roll into a log and cut in half. Tuck ends under and set loaves into 2 greased bread pans. Let rise again until double in size.

6. Bake for 25 minutes at 350 degrees.

a good lesson

2009-05-04T21:22:00.004-06:00

I spent several hours today digging up raspberry plants I allowed to spread too wide. I knew a couple years ago I was supposed to keep them in check, but I so hate to dig up a growing thing, that I let them all go.

So now my arms are scratched from elbow to wrist. My fingers are tender from thorns. My back is aching and my shoulders are sore, but the raspberries seem so happy now; they have so much more room to grow.

Overall... a good lesson on repentance.

i am sleeping

2009-04-24T06:16:00.010-06:00

I tuck in my children, too late as usual, fall asleep on the couch, watching t.v. with Dave. I wake up and drag myself up the stairs, then fall asleep reading, propped up in my bed. I wake up and put down my book and my glasses, turn off the lamp and close my door.

The cat starts meowing (I hate her, I'll kill her) but after 5 minutes, she goes away - bored. I fall back asleep for a couple of hours, then a myriad of noises wake me once more. It's 2:45 but Dave's not in bed yet. I go to down to see if he's asleep in his chair.

He isn't, he's working, I go back to bed. Irrational worries pile up like laundry. What if the roof leaks, or the wind blows that tree down, what if it lands on the house or the shed? I sing soothing songs to myself, in my head.

I'm sleeping again, but then someone's snoring. I grope for my ear plugs (they're gone, I can't find them), knock down the clock and it clangs on the floor. I pick up the clock, make sure it's still ticking, look at the time, it's 5:04. A few minutes later, the cat is meowing and I hear the birds chirping, so I go let her out.

I fall asleep (easy), then a cell phone is ringing. A few seconds later, I shove on Dave's back. Ten minutes later, the cell phone is beeping. He gets up again, how can he live without sleep?

Soon footsteps are pounding up the stairs, in the bathroom. The door squeaks...and slams shut.

The shower is running, it's calming (I love it!), I'm asleep once again till the water goes off. Drying her hair now, searching for hair clips. She remembers we're sleeping and closes our door.

I can still hear her, I should just get up now. But I'm tired, I am sleeping, just a few minutes more...

this egg stinks

2009-04-12T21:21:00.003-06:00

We dye eggs every year. Some of us put in more effort than others, us being Abi and Max and I, others being Dave, but there is always an egg or two that is the "cool" egg. The great idea. The star.

This year I came up with the idea to make our egg-selves, which I thought was pretty darn cool. But then I noticed one of Dave's eggs was missing. I asked him where it was and he said he didn't know. Being a bit OCD-esque, I checked every cup until I found it.

As I lifted the turquoise egg from its long-lived bath, I read the words Dave had quickly etched in wax, "He who finds this egg stinks."

Cool. The great idea. The star. Without even trying...

a poem inspired by the "free milk" man

2009-04-01T08:01:00.004-06:00

In this day and age
isn't it strange
to offer free milk
from a van
with a man
standing on the street corner?

he thought i was hot

2009-03-30T15:15:00.005-06:00

I went to the store today and passed a young guy who caught my eye and looked me over, up and down. I thought at first my shirt was undone or maybe I had stuff in my teeth, but no...

In reality he was probably checking out my whole-wheat pitas, but I'm pretending he thought I was hot. ;)

happy birthday mom

2009-03-28T21:08:00.005-06:00

Today is my mom's birthday. Since I am not the type to say these things out loud (we are not a touchy-feely family) I will write a few things here that I have always loved about my mom:

* She allows me to be who I am.
* She supports me in everything I want to do.
* She taught me choice and consequence but never says, "I told you so."
* She loves me when I don't deserve it.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

i think of my dad

2009-03-18T22:16:00.004-06:00

Now that the weather is warmer, I have a list of big projects staring me in the face, daring me to put them off another year. And when I think of big projects, I think of my dad. And I really, really wish he was here...

So in honor of his would-be birthday this week, here is a short list of the projects Dave and I remember most, in no particular order...

Cooking a turkey in the old wood-burning stove at the cabin one year.
Taping the Endeavor's numbers on with duct tape the first year at the Bonneville Speed Show.
Water-witching in the back-yard on Barker. Presumably there was a reason for this...
Tractor-pulling.
Putting a stem on Dave's orange Bug to dress it up for Halloween.
Paul's Dodge Do-More.
Packing all our belongings on a flatbed truck and hauling them 800 miles home, in an early October snow storm, just to avoid renting a truck.
Installing a push-button starter in Dave's bug to by-pass the actual starter (it was quicker than fixing it.)
Taking the whole family to the bowling alley on a school bus.
Countless last-minute musical numbers at McCombs Family Reunions.

And the list goes on and on...

expecting nothing, hoping for the best

2009-03-13T20:22:00.004-06:00

If I could just be perfect in every way, I would be really, truly happy. But in the meantime, I would settle for having a green thumb. My husband has a green thumb (and he doesn't even care), my mom has a green thumb, my grandpa had a green thumb - he even grew his own grapes to make his own wine and had a whole plant room right in the house. I always liked going in there. It was like entering a foreign land, with vines and cacti and the smell of hot peppers...

So for the last 4 or 5 years I have been trying desperately to learn how to garden. It may be the constant reminders from our church about the importance of provident living, or the 9 million ads and articles about sustainable living, or maybe it is just who I am, but I really want to grow my own food. Flowers too, of course.

Over the years I have gathered enough advice (good and bad) to put together my own gardening book, but I am still not a success. I have had a few good crops here and there, but it's been hit and miss at best. At times I have sat in my garden and cried with frustration over plants that just wouldn't grow, soaker hoses that had burst into geysers, mildew on squash leaves, holes in tomato leaves, dry ground, flooded ground, too much or too little sun...

But this year, I think I have finally learned. I am expecting nothing, hoping for the best and experimenting however I want... expandable peat pots here I come!

fat jeans

2009-03-03T21:58:00.003-07:00

The moral of the story is, never buy a pair of fat jeans. (Story itself has been omitted because it is too painful to tell.)

the right thing

2009-02-24T22:11:00.002-07:00

If you have ever read "Bridget Jones Diary" you may find it surprising that Bridget Jones is one of my most favorite characters. It's not that I drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney or think of 136 pounds as excessively fat, but I completely relate to her "verbal diarrhea."

I have long known I speak my mind too freely, voice my opinion at times I should not. I often prep myself before heading to work or social gatherings, thinking "I'm just going to keep my mouth shut, I won't say anything, I'll just keep my mouth shut." It has become something of a mantra to me.

And yet rarely a day goes by when I don't regret at least one conversation I've had. If I could choose one trait or skill or talent to have it would be to always say the right thing...but sadly this talent eludes me.

chuck e. cheese for grown ups

2009-02-21T21:45:00.004-07:00

Our kids have been curious lately about Las Vegas. I guess this is because so many people talk about going to Vegas, commercials talk about things staying in Vegas and let's face it - the photos you see of Vegas would seem pretty enticing to a kid...or anyone, really.

Since we are in St. George this weekend and had some free time, we decided to take them down to Mesquite and give them a taste of what they are missing. We went to the Casablanca buffet for dinner so we could walk through the slot machines to get there.

Just walking in the building made the kids uncomfortable. Abby hated the smokey smell (it was getting stuck in her new shirt) and Max's face looked like he expected the devil himself to jump out and grab him. In hind sight, we probably should have prepared them more...

Nevertheless, we had a nice chuck-a-rama style meal and discussed why we avoid gambling. At the end of the conversation, Abby's eyes lit up and she said, "I know what this is. It's like a Chuck E. Cheese for grown ups!"

I've never heard it put better.

such a poor example

2009-02-15T21:04:00.006-07:00

Abby has been participating in a missionary experience with the youth in our ward for the last month or so. It has been a great program; the youth seem to love it and are learning a lot.

This week is "power week" meaning they are living (somewhat) by mission rules. No tv, no music (except church music), up by 6:30, in bed by 10:30, attend all church meetings and have personal study each night. She has been firm in her commitment to follow all the rules.

I, on the other hand, have found it a little taxing. As it turns out, there is a large dose of mother's guilt that comes from watching tv when your 12 year old is upstairs avoiding it. Likewise with music, computer and such. I actually found myself saying today, "I can't wait until Abby comes home from her mission." Such a poor example!

when they come

2009-02-11T19:09:00.003-07:00

I had another piano student start lessons today. I taught her before, for several years, and by the time I quit teaching she was getting pretty good. She still struggled with reading music a bit, and dynamics were more practiced than natural. When she came today, a year and a half later, I asked her what she has been working on. She responded with a beautiful piece that she taught herself, learned from music, but played from memory with proper fingering, hand position and dynamics. It was lovely and nearly moved me to tears. Teaching may sometimes be difficult, but the rewards, when they come, are so great!

to all my fans :P

2009-02-09T19:13:00.003-07:00

I will be locking my blog down at the end of this week, so if you want to keep reading it, please comment or send me an email so I can invite you to it.

Thanks,

music to my ears

2009-02-02T16:47:00.005-07:00

After taking more than a year off from teaching piano, I just started teaching again today and I am amazed at how much I have missed it! I have always liked working with kids and find great satisfaction in teaching just about anything, but the sound of a little person learning to make music is...well, music to my ears.

it seemed like a love song

2008-12-22T14:28:00.005-07:00

I may have already mentioned this in a previous post, but neither Dave nor I are romantic. In response to my concern for his comfort the other day, he responded, "We have been married so freakin' long - if I'm uncomfortable, it's my own fault." It seemed like a love song to me.

christmas card

2008-12-15T22:41:00.001-07:00

in lieu of an actual christmas card, this is our family update for the year. enjoy.

water mellon recipe

2008-12-07T22:51:00.006-07:00

Every few years my kids find my scrapbook and look through the scraps of my life. My favorite scrap from all 39 years is a cookbook written by my Kindergarten class. The fact that it's in its original state, typed on a typewriter with purple ink, makes it pretty great. But add to that the names of the kids I knew all my life and recipes for things like "Pickle" and "Toast" and it might be the most valuable thing I own.

Here is my favorite recipe from the book:

Water Mellon

1 t. sugar
2 t. oil
1 t. powder
7 black seeds

Mix it up in a bowl. Let it get cool in the refrigerator. That's all.

what it should be

2008-11-25T20:56:00.003-07:00

As much as I hate to admit it, Thanksgiving is not usually my thing. I tend to spend more time on dinner menus, shopping lists and travel plans than I do giving thanks. But this year is different. Thanksgiving, this year, is what it should be: a daily appreciation for the people who make my life rich, a resounding knowledge that all I have is a gift, and a deeper understanding of the well-worn phrase, "There, but for the grace of God, go I."

during church service

2008-11-23T16:23:00.001-07:00

There are some things you really shouldn't do during church service. Scratching a parent's scalp with both hands is definitely one of them...

sounds like a super hero

2008-11-17T18:20:00.006-07:00

Last night I went in to say goodnight to Max. As a pleasant surprise, I didn't step on or kick a single thing on my way across the 4 feet to his bed. I mentioned this to Max and he said, "Yeah, Dad helped me clean my room. He hung up my clothes while I talked about school. We worked some some stuff out."

Despite the fact that Max did little to help clean his own room, this story makes me happy. Imagine a dad who has time to tuck in a boy, hang up his clothes and solve his social problems all in one night. Sounds like a super hero to me!

makes a mother proud

2008-11-09T21:10:00.005-07:00

Abby hit 12 a few months ago and seems to have grown up over night. She is smart, talented, beautiful, and although she experiences the usual ups and downs of junior high life, she makes a mother proud. As she rushes from one activity to another, diligently managing her time, I watch in admiration and wonder if she still belongs to me at all. She's come a long way from the halo-haired girl clinging to bunny and bottle...

socialized healthcare please

2008-11-06T17:49:00.006-07:00

My husband recently changed jobs to take advantage of a great opportunity, but because it is a start-up company he is working as a contractor. The company offered to compensate him for the cost of our health insurance, but there is no group policy available. We worked with an agent to get quotes for individual health insurance and, like responsible citizens, filled out an application well in advance of our previous policy expiring. We figured it would cost us about four to five hundred dollars per month.

Unfortunately, if you have any health problems, no matter how slight, you are not eligible for individual health insurance. Somewhat ironic I think, but there it is. Because he takes a monthly medication and sees the doctor quarterly, my husband was denied coverage. We can get coverage for our children (they only go to the doctor once a year) and possibly for me (although they do have some questions about the appendectomy I had 7 years ago - is it possible I have another bad appendix?) but I am fed up with paying insurance premiums for people who never use the insurance. Mathematically, it just doesn't make sense...

payson perks

2008-11-04T15:33:00.003-07:00

People often give me a hard time for living in Payson. "It's so far" they say, "how can you stand to drive so far?" "Payson?!" But when I stopped off to vote on my way home from work today, I walked in, gave them my card, selected one of 5 open voting boxes (computerated, btw, not chisel and stone) and was out the door 5 minutes later. I also saw two people I knew in the parking lot. Sometimes small towns can't be beat!

the perfect pumpkin plan

2008-10-28T19:45:00.007-06:00

Every year we carve pumpkins. When my kids were little, I made a big deal out of it. I wanted them to truly love it. We talked about it for weeks ahead and took long, involved trips to the pumpkin patch. Once there, I would gently advise (read obsessively control) the pumpkin choices of my children to ensure a good variety of shapes and sizes within our allotted budget.

At home we would struggle with the kids to help them understand the scientific truths about pumpkin carving. (There are always icky pumpkin guts in the middle of the pumpkin and you can't cut out everything around the eyes and expect them to magically float in the middle.) Some years we had arguments and tears over who got to carve the biggest or extra pumpkins. It usually turned out to be more work than it was worth.

But this year, I implemented the perfect pumpkin plan. I sent Dave to get them. He came home with one for each of us, all of them large and desirable. I didn't have to think about it one little bit ... and even better: I can hear Abby getting the table and pumpkins ready as I write. Life is good!

bon appetit!

2008-10-22T21:54:00.004-06:00

Until you have cracked over a hundred eggs and shaped several hundred cookies by hand in one day, you may not understand the term "scratch bakery." Now that I have done this, I say to you all, eat at Flour Girls and Dough Boys! Hand-crafted, whole food ingredients and still less expensive than many chains. There may be a wait, but it is definitely worth it.

My recommendations: all the cookies, all the breads, the mint brownies, the lemon bars, the cakes, soups and sandwiches...and the pastries. All fresh and divine. Bon appetit!

true max fashion

2008-10-20T21:00:00.003-06:00

While working on the kids' Halloween costumes tonight and reminiscing about Halloweens past, we remembered the first year Max was old enough to talk at Halloween. He was so cute dressed as a little tiger (or maybe it was a fireman...or Thomas the Train). Anyway, he was so cute and everyone was excited to talk to him and give him candy. But, in true Max fashion, he wanted nothing to do with these people. With a look that reminds me exactly of my dad, he would look up at them as if they were completely insane and say, "No thanks, I have candy at home."

without abrupt change

2008-10-15T17:03:00.007-06:00

My brother has a friend who says everyone who wants a driver's license should be required to take marching band so they can learn how to merge. I whole-heartedly agree! I spent an extra 30 minutes driving home this afternoon due to a long line of stop-and-go traffic. I thought for sure I would ultimately find a huge pile-up or men working in the middle of all lanes.

But after the 30 minutes, I saw the true source of delay; a sign reading "right lane ends ahead." Ignoring the cars who were doing their best to stop me, I drove an additional mile or maybe more before I ultimately had to merge. And, despite the glares from the car behind me, I had no problem fitting in to the left lane when the right lane actually ended.

My question is this: why do some people interpret the meaning of "merge" to be "slow down to a crawl and move over as far in advance as possible." The true definition of merge is "to blend or come together without abrupt change." Maybe UDOT could print that on the sign instead.

political hooey

2008-10-12T22:35:00.005-06:00

Remember the old adage that says we should never talk politics with family and friends? I really miss that old adage! But, since people seem bent on sending me their political hooey, here is my response…

I am sickened by the state of our political system. I find the concept of dumping millions of dollars into slander ads and personal attacks despicable. I long for the days when presidential candidates reeled off empty promises and slogans of hope just to uplift the American people; when the media was either blissfully unaware of scandals and lies, or sufficiently bribed into silence. At least then people wanted to vote…

I also feel we spend too much time analyzing the faults of our candidates. After all, we have to have a president and there are very few people who could live up to our expectations. And if they could, would they really want to be our president? So let's keep the personal dysfunctions personal and move on to the issues and facts.

Alas! Facts are elusive in the political world. I see very little presented in a reasonable way, but am bombarded daily with emails and videos; sensationalized materials designed to excite fear and dread. With no references or credits, or educational purpose that I can see, I hold no stock in such stuff. Give me a long, involved, dreadfully boring, un-biased pamphlet instead!

so tired, so young

2008-10-09T17:48:00.003-06:00

People (usually strangers or people I've just met) often remark on how tired I look. They also say I look young; much too young to have a 12 year old daughter. I've always found this odd. I don't usually feel really tired. And how can I look so tired and so young at the same time? But I finally figured it out - I look tired because people think I am 28. Since I am actually 38, I must look as though I haven't slept in about ten years. While discussing this with a friend yesterday, she suggested I get a button that says, "I'm not tired, I'm just old!" I'm seriously considering it.

shed a little light

2008-10-05T18:57:00.002-06:00

In our tiny little house, is a tiny little family room down the steep stairs in the basement. With low ceilings and poor lighting, it has sufficed but never satisfied me. Aside from putting in new carpet and removing some gnarly wood paneling, we haven't done much with the room in the four years we have lived here. A few weeks ago (or was it months?) I finally got around to painting the rest of the walls and hung some bright and colorful curtains, but still the room lacked. Then today I brought in some lamps. I put them back in the corner and immediately the room felt better. We have sat in the lamp light all afternoon, tucked in, warm and tight. Max says it feels like we are modern pioneers, like we are more of a family. I guess it was high time to shed a little light...

a word

2008-10-03T21:08:00.003-06:00

I am currently reading the book Eat, Pray, Love. It's okay; I don't love it, or eat it or pray for it either. But last night I read a passage that has been milling around in my head ever since. During an extended stay in Rome, the author finds that she loves the city but somehow feels she doesn't fit in. Her friend tells her this is because her "word" doesn't match the city's "word." They then discuss how every city and person has a "word" that sums up their overall mindset or attitude. After thinking about this for a few minutes, I decided my word is "worry." I'm not proud of that, but there it is. Even my husband agrees. We haven't figured out yet what his word is, but I'm sure he has one. I really like this concept. It makes me want to figure out more words. Like the word for Payson, or Utah. Any ideas?

sense of satisfaction

2008-09-27T22:21:00.003-06:00

In an effort to conserve water last year, Dave decided to pull up the grass in the little strip of space between the sidewalk and the curb in front of our house. We originally planned to put bricks in the space, but summer turned to fall, fall came quickly to a close and we filled the space "temporarily" with a portion of the big pile of pea gravel we had left over from a previous project. (In case you are wondering, 5 yards of pea gravel is probably more than you can actually imagine.) The pea gravel looked slightly less than okay in the space, but with winter around the corner, we decided it was a better choice than mud and vowed to put some pavers in first thing in the spring.

To make a long story short, we finally finished our pavers today! It took several more hours than I had hoped, my shoulders are sagging from lifting 200 pavers (some of them more than once) and thanks to the heat of a Utah September, I sunburned my face and neck. And yet, I have a sense of satisfaction I haven't felt in awhile. To completely finish a project is a beautiful thing!

the trees are in the ground

2008-09-24T20:32:00.002-06:00

I was waiting to write about my newly planted trees until I had photos of them, but in truth, my husband is an amazing photographer so I rarely pick up a camera.
You will have to take my word that we successfully researched, purchased, waited for digging approval, and planted three trees last week in honor of my dad and brothers.
We now have a beautiful Yellow Poplar (aka Tulip Tree) in our backyard and two fruit trees, an Asian Pear and a Peach, planted in the "orchard" area.
I am very excited to watch them grow and am grateful to my loving husband who, in more truth, did all the digging and planting. Thanks again to my in-laws for this beautiful gift!

sunday morning

2008-09-21T09:15:00.001-06:00

Nothing beats a Sunday morning with no pre-church meetings.

Culture Shock

2008-09-16T18:04:00.003-06:00

Last winter I sold my soul to the devil and took a job in the corporate world. Having mostly worked in nonprofit since graduating from college, it has been a shock to my system. I regularly disagree with the business decisions made by the company and whine about needing more positive feedback for my team. Things that were once my strengths (openly sharing the information available to me with others, speaking candidly about how I feel on issues, advocating the rights of people) have now become my weakness. It has been nice to have the extra income, but I really have to wonder if I will ever adapt. Can a person truly adapt to a foreign culture, or will they always feel a little bit homesick?

remain unaware

2008-09-11T21:57:00.006-06:00

Yesterday I was stopped at a light and noticed a child in the next lane over. She was sitting directly behind the driver's seat and was pulling at the mother's hair with her toes. The mother seemed not to notice, which made me wonder what has gone on in my own back seat all these years.

Perhaps it is best to remain unaware.

only one aunt

2008-09-08T19:53:00.006-06:00

For a variety of reasons, my husband and I only have two kids. Having both grown up in big families, we occasionally think it would be nice to have a bigger family, but usually on holidays. (It turns out that Christmas just isn't the same with 4 people and neither is Thanksgiving.) For the most part though we live by the slogan, "one for each hand, one for each parent" and consider ourselves lucky to have two great kids. But the other day Max asked me if his cousins would be the aunts and uncles of his future children. I said, "No, only Abby will be your kids' aunt." I then attempted to explain that whomever he marries may also have siblings, but I don't think he heard me due to his complete and total dismay at this news. He just kept repeating over and over, "My kids will only have one aunt; that's so sad! that's so sad!!" Since we often ask our kids if they wish we had more kids in our family, and Max's answer is always a resounding, "NO!" I attribute his disappointment to the greatness of his many aunts and uncles. Unfortunately, there is no chance of more siblings for Max, but maybe the cat will live a long time...

spread through the sky

2008-09-06T19:59:00.005-06:00

In lieu of sending flowers when my brother passed away, my husband's family sent money for me to buy a tree in his honor. I was touched by the gesture at the time, but as the weeks have passed, I have had more time to think about the meaning behind this beautiful gift. The idea of planting a tree in honor of someone I have lost gives me hope beyond what I had originally imagined. I look forward to planting the roots in the soil and watching the branches spread through the sky, linking heaven and earth. I was so moved while choosing Phil's tree that I bought one in honor of my dad and my brother Mark too. I am planning to bury some of my sadness along with those roots.

grossly underestimated

2008-09-04T17:14:00.001-06:00

I firmly believe that the social, emotional and mental benefits of a good haircut are grossly underestimated in our society.

clouds on the mountains

2008-09-01T21:38:00.002-06:00

I planned to plant a tree today, but a storm rolled in last night providing thunder and lightning and rain until well after noon. At first I was a little disappointed, I have been wanting to plant my tree for weeks, but before long I was baking cookies, snug in my home with the clouds on the mountains like a winter-time tuque.

the wheel keeps on turning

2008-08-29T21:32:00.003-06:00

When my life gets too busy and I am struggling to keep up with things, I feel like my life is a merry-go-round, the old kind that took several kids to get it going. The faster you ran and the harder you pushed, the better the ride would be, providing you could run long enough and fast enough to make the leap and land on top of the wheel.

I've come to recognize this feeling and trust that it means I need to let a few things go. As soon as I do, I am able to make the leap and the ride is fine again. But for the past few weeks, I have felt like I am just getting started. I push and push and try to run, but the weight of the wheel is too much; I have no momentum.

I know I just have to keep pushing, taking one step at a time. With each push I will feel a little stronger, the momentum will build and soon I will be ready to leap again, but right now it seems so much nicer to just lay down on the wheel and stare up at the sky...

think, think, hope.

2008-08-27T21:52:00.008-06:00

What you can't see in these photos of Abby and Max is that they are trying to slingshot a splat ball through a triangle shaped window of a giant tee-pee frame. Thus the looks of intense concentration (Max) and dubious hope (Abby).

*Giant tee-pee paid for and provided by Uncle Linds. Thanks!!!

*We ultimately held a contest to see who could launch the ball the farthest. Even without any practice, Dave was the king.

kidney karz with a "k" and a "z"

2008-08-26T20:53:00.007-06:00

As a rule, I try to avoid doing business with any company that deliberately misspells a word in its name. Businesses like "Kountry Kitchen" kind of make sense, as I can see they may be going for visual alliteration, although I've never actually heard of such a thing. But I have never understood the logic behind misspelling both words (Kountry Korner) or changing an s to a z (Kidney Karz) for no reason at all. Nevertheless, we had an old Volvo we needed to get rid of and decided to donate it to Kidney Karz last week. We chose this organization mostly because kidney disease seems to run in my family, but I was so impressed with their service. We were able to sign up online, fill out all the necessary forms and two business days later our Volvo was towed away without any trouble at all on our part. Quick, easy, painless and now we have donated 83 cents per dollar to a worthy cause and our driveway is open wide for skateboarding again. The moral of the story? Never judge a business by a misspelled word!

holy facebook!

2008-08-25T21:40:00.004-06:00

I think I was the only one in the world not using Facebook before tonight. I had someone send me an invite this morning and thought, "okay, I have a few minutes." The next thing I knew, I had 17 friends and 25 emails in my inbox. It seems like a great way to stay connected to people, so I am excited to try it out. If you are reading this and you haven't joined yet, maybe you should give it a try. It kind of reminds me of being at a party, but without the fattening food and the stress of trying to smile all the time.

waves of sadness

2008-08-24T19:23:00.002-06:00

Another problem with losing someone you love is that waves of sadness come crashing down at random moments in time and, regardless of how long they last, all that registers in your heart and mind is an overwhelming sense of loss. To some this may seem like a negative thing to say, but for me it is a sign that although the person is gone for now, he never will be forgotten.

first day of school photos

2008-08-23T19:03:00.003-06:00

A picture really is worth a thousand words. But, to be fair, Max got the "mean" teacher this year.

parlez vous french horn

2008-08-21T18:50:00.004-06:00

Abby went to her 2nd day of Junior High today and came home with a french horn. I encouraged her to try it based on an NPR piece I heard that made it sound like if you mastered the french horn, you could probably own the world. She is bright and talented and has always shown a strong interest in owning the world, so it seemed like a good fit.

As soon as I got home she pulled it out of the case and by the time we sat down to dinner we had found a series of 23 tutorials on playing the french horn, learned how to control the pitch by the angle of the hand in the bell and Abby was experienced at emptying spit valves. We also knew how to play the notes F, G and A, although the actual playing of said notes requires a subtle variation in the embouchure which may take more than one night to nail down. Even for Abby.

I already suggested to Max that he go find his headphones and Dave quickly left the house to mow the lawn.

mixed messages

2008-08-19T20:56:00.002-06:00

My sister brought ice cream for Abby's birthday a few weeks ago and we just remembered it was in our freezer. The flavor is malted vanilla (think the inside of a whopper) and it is a gourmet brand, so I decided to go the extra mile and make some home-made chocolate sauce to go with. The recipes I had all called for evaporated milk or sweetened condensed milk, both of which I ran out of back on December 24th, so I decided to see what Allrecipes could offer. With two little words in one search I came up with exactly the recipe I need. Ironically, this was posted just below the recipe:

1 Rule of a flat stomach: Cut down 37 lbs of stomach fat in 3 months by follwing this 1 rule.

I'm not going to pay any money to find out what the "1 rule" is; I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with eating chocolate sauce.

lost

2008-08-18T21:21:00.004-06:00

My husband bought tickets for the whole family to go to Wilco tonight at Red Butte Gardens. It was a sold out show, we were all excited, but when it came time to go the tickets were lost. We couldn't get in with just a receipt, so we didn't get to go. Dave was sad, I was sad, the kids were sad, though technically I think the kids and I were mostly sad for Dave.

a tinge of regret

2008-08-17T19:57:00.007-06:00

Last night my husband and I caught the last half of "Legal Eagles" on t.v. This is one of my favorite 80's movies, but last night we were so distracted by the state of Debra Winger and Daryl Hannah's eyebrows that we found ourselves discussing the demise of the brow as if it were another horrible moment in history. In the end, Dave decided the demise was a direct result of the women's rights movement while I blamed Brooke Shields, but regardless of who caused it to happen, I'm sure every woman who survived the 80's looks back on her caterpillar brow with more than a tinge of regret.

twelve is the scariest number

2008-08-14T19:24:00.003-06:00

One time I had a guy stalking me. He was developmentally delayed and had decided I was his girlfriend, so he never caught on that I wasn't interested. My friends and family thought this was hilarious, especially when he asked my dad if he could take me to the Monsters of Rock concert. My brother thought it was so funny that one night he came home pretending to be the guy. He rang the doorbell and called out so convincingly that when he opened the door and walked in the house, I freaked out, screamed at him to "Get out!" and was on the verge of throwing a cast iron frying pan at him when I realized who he was.

Another time, a friend of mine took me into an old abandoned school to prove it wasn't scary. He showed me the gym, then walked me around a bit. On our way back through the gym, I noticed a body hanging from the basketball hoop. It turned out he had planned it all and the body was only newspaper stuffed into clothes, but I nearly wet my pants.

But the scariest thing I have ever experienced is watching my daughter turn 12. Last month she took over the bathroom, spent most of her birthday money on clothes and started shaving her legs. She is a good girl, smart and confident, but I may never feel more frightened than when I see boy after boy watching her walk, blissfully oblivious, beside me.

i wish it wasn't so

2008-08-13T20:40:00.006-06:00

I looked out the window and what did I see?
Apricots rotting off the apricot tree.
August brought me such a nice surprise,
Apricots rotting right before my eyes.
I could take a bowl full and make some jam,
But I've already made jars and jars of jam.
I wish it wasn't so, but it seems to be.
Apricots rotting on the apricot tree.

hope on the road

2008-08-12T20:12:00.001-06:00

There is something incredibly hopeful about a pack of 8 year old boys in scout shirts riding their bikes down the middle of the road.

at the end of the day it all falls apart

2008-08-11T19:31:00.001-06:00

At 6 o'clock this evening I wound up my work day planning to fix a quick dinner, spend quality time with my kids and then put on my new running shoes for a jog around the block. At 6:45 I sat down to eat and decided it was too hot to run outside but I would go to the gym. At 7 o'clock my kids had fled and I flopped down on the sofa. At 7:10 my husband talked about mowing the lawn and I envisioned myself in a healthy weeding workout. At 7:15 I thought about changing my clothes but it seemed like too much trouble. At 7:20 my daughter asked me to take her to the store. At 7:25 I knew my running shoes would not make it out of the box. I'll probably go buy some ice cream.

thanks for the memories

2008-08-09T23:50:00.000-06:00

By an odd twist of fate, I had the chance this weekend to see dozens of people from my past. I saw aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, old best friends, old boyfriends; some people I never thought I would see again. This was an amazing thing for me, not because people had changed, or because they had not, but because when I stood back and looked around, I saw little pieces of me. These are the people who shaped me. Through the experiences we have shared together, both good and bad, they have made me who I am. As a reasonably upstanding citizen, I am grateful for their influence and example. They have served me well and if I could go back in time, I wouldn't change a thing. Except for maybe my hair...

graveside remarks

2008-08-09T23:45:00.000-06:00

Several people requested copies of the remarks I gave at my brother's graveside service. Here they are...

If you have ever heard the song about Henry and Liza and their broken bucket, you know it is long and tedious and quickly becomes tiresome. Grief is much the same way. When we lose someone we love, regardless of how close we have been to them, there is suddenly a hole in our lives. It may be a big hole if we live with them or work with them and see them every day; it may be a tiny hole if it is a distant relative or friend from the past, but there is always a hole.
The problem with the hole is that despite the amount of faith and hope we have, there is very little we can use to plug the hole. Like the bucket, we can think of things that may help temporarily, but inevitably it will come back to the fact that what we really need to plug the hole left by the person who died is the person himself.
Nevertheless, death is a part of life. It is part of our Heavenly Father’s plan. In order to learn and grow, we must experience all the joy and sadness that makes up our earthly lives. Without these experiences, we would never know the glory that will come from holding fast to the rod and enduring to the end.
Fortunately, we are not alone in our sorrow. We can take comfort in the same words spoken to a prophet long ago, “Peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and afflictions shall be but a moment; and then, if thou endureth it well, God shall exalt thee on high…thy friends do stand by thee, and they shall hail thee again with warm hearts and friendly hands.”
There is no doubt in my mind that Phil endured his afflictions well. I know that as we stand here now, enduring our own afflictions, the warm hearts and friendly hands of all those who have loved him and gone on before have hailed him again and will stand by him and us until we are all reunited.

i don't know dinner

2008-08-06T17:30:00.000-06:00

I like to cook, I really do, but coming up with something for dinner every night is beyond me. On a good night, I think up something on my way home from work and once I've got a plan, making dinner is a snap. But typically I don't think about dinner until my kids have said they are hungry several dozen times and my guilt-siren is blaring. At this point I begin to ask the dreaded question, "What should we have for dinner?" Inevitably the answer is, "I don't know." So, at long last, I have written a recipe for "I don't know." It doesn't taste very good but the instructions are simple:

1. Open the fridge.
2. Stare absent-mindedly at the middle shelf.
3. Close the fridge and open the freezer.
4. Repeat step #2.
5. Close the freezer and open every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen.
6. Close most of the cupboards and drawers and reach for something you can snack on.
7. Eat enough that you are no longer hungry.
8. Pour your kids a bowl of cereal.
9. Vow to prepare a well-balanced meal the next night.

priceless

2008-08-05T21:38:00.001-06:00

During the years that I drove my old Volvo wagon, the radio never worked. As a result, whenever I drove my kids somewhere, we passed the time singing or talking. Last year I replaced my old wagon with a shiny new car complete with a radio, cd player, auxiliary plugs for our I pods and laptops. But old habits die hard and while driving Max to Science Camp last week, more often than not we found ourselves with the music off and the conversation on. Since it was an hour away (we spent nearly as much on gas as we did on the camp) we covered all kinds of subjects and one day we made up new lyrics to a song that kept us laughing through several long stop lights. We had a great time, but I didn't realize how valuable it was until this morning during a short 5 minute ride home from swim lessons. Max said, "I wish I was still going to Science Camp this week. The ride was a lot longer."

an ice-cold cup of unbridled enthusiasm

2008-08-04T20:54:00.000-06:00

On the plane yesterday, I sat in front of a woman that spoke so loudly she woke me from my fitful, head-bobbing sleep and I was unsuccessful at drowning her out with my headphones. From what I could tell she had paid for her drink and true to my critical self, I found her irritating. But, with nowhere to go and nothing else to do, I gave myself up to eavesdropping. As I listened, I became more and more intrigued by her enthusiasm for things. Like restaurants. She loves restaurants. Loves them! LOVES them!!! And the London Times. She thinks it is a wonderful paper. Wonderful! WONDERFUL!!! She cheered out loud when she read that a professional sports star was negotiating a contract with her favorite team. Woo! Woo!! And she cheerfully pointed out that she works ten hours a day. Ten! TEN!!! She loves her job and wouldn't trade it, despite beginning each day with a 6:30 meeting that for some reason requires her to wear a hard hat. By the end of the flight, I liked this woman. Of course I wondered if I could order the same unbridled enthusiasm from the beverage cart lady, but I could tell it ran deeper than that. I have thought about her all day...

there's a hole in the bucket

2008-08-03T21:40:00.000-06:00

If you have ever heard the song about Henry and Liza and their broken bucket, you know it is long and tedious and becomes really annoying after the first couple of verses. This pretty much sums up grief too. When you lose someone you love, regardless of how close you have been to them, emotionally or geographically, there is suddenly a hole in your life. It may be a big hole if you live with them or work with them and see them everyday; it may be a tiny hole if it is a distant relative or friend of a friend, but there is always a hole. The problem with the hole is that despite the amount of faith and hope you have, there is very little you can use to plug the hole. Like the bucket, you can think of things that may help, but inevitably it will come back around to the fact that what you really need to plug the hole left by the person who died is the person himself.

baby it's cold outside

2008-01-23T20:36:00.000-07:00

I hate this time of year. It's cold, it's dreary, there is little to look forward to. Spring is too far off to dream about and Valentine's Day is no consolation if you have been married for more than a minute. The best part of premarital Valentine's Day was the hope of a secret admirer or a declaration of love from a soul mate. But my admirer is no longer secret. And my soul mate makes me oatmeal on an ordinary weekday morning, which is way better than a nasty candy heart that says "be mine". And, so! The winter weeks loom ahead and I struggle to find purpose in getting out of bed and the cat hunts the heating vents like a thing possessed...

nothing to say

2008-01-13T20:19:00.000-07:00

I have succumbed to peer pressure (or whatever kind of pressure it is that is caused by my young children being more creative and tech-savvy than me) and started a blog.

Ironically, I can think of nothing to say. I spent more of my "free" time thinking of a title for this blog than I have spent on anything else in days.

But in time, I may think of something... and now I will have a place to say it.