That's a Good Day Thursday

What a perfectly normal, perfectly imperfect, perfectly wonderful day.

I snuck in a quick treadmill run this morning. Second one for the week! And that's saying something since I'm just now easing my way back into running since being a lazy bum since Thanksgiving. (Did I just drop three "sinces" in one sentence? Oh yes I did. Oh the shame! The over abundance of "since" AND the no running.) It's quite a relief to see that although my mileage and athleticism are suffering that the ability to run comfortably is still there. There is much work to be done. Sigh.

Speaking of running, I drove into downtown Salt Lake for a lunch date with some of my favorite people, my running group ladies. I almost didn't go. I'm so glad I did.

One migraine later...one handful of ibuprofen and one coke later...

The new home phone is set up. I'm trying to teach the kids about the sounds on the phone, how to use the phone, and phone etiquette. It all seems funny and backwards and exciting. And now my son has decided calling my cell phone is better than walking across the room to ask a question about homework.

Homework is done.

Second quarter report cards have come home. Everyone is doing pretty awesome in an average sort of way. Even Dee who can't seem to stay on task, stop talking in class, or remember to turn in assignments. (Are all third grade boys like this or just my kid?)

Dee finds out he will be getting his Wolf badge in time! (Note to self: We work on Bear more consistently and earlier.)

And in a last ditch effort to get some help with daily chores I dangle the new Lego movie coming out February 7th as bait.

"Complete your chore charts for two weeks straight and I'll take you to see the Lego movie. Popcorn, pop, the whole nine yards."

I want to see it just as bad as they do, but I want my house clean too. It's just too overwhelming for me to keep up with. And for goodness sake, they are old enough to help! Besides they make the messes! I've been trying to step back and hand over more responsibilities and have more expectations of my children. I know it's overdue. It's just easier said than done.

I remember my mom saying over and over when we were kids and doing chores: "A lazy mother does all the work." It didn't make much sense to me. I just figured she was in her room laughing it up behind our backs, eating chocolates, and congratulating herself for raising herself a bunch of free labor, but I believe "slaves" was my word of choice back then. Now I can appreciate the work she put into teaching us to work. And how she was doing the lion's share beyond my limited vision.

So far I have been a "lazy mother". It's just so much easier to do everything and do it the way I like. I have tried so many different methods to get my children to help clean the house. Most of the "methods" were just half-hearted efforts that fizzled into nothing more than yelling. Yelling seems to be my favorite method. Sigh.

Today I dug deep and found the patience to not yell but to teach and guide. It took everything I had not to grab the rags out of my son's hands and just wash the toilets myself *twitch, twitch* but I stood back and talked him through it. And he actually did an excellent job! And he even said it was--GASP!--"fun"!






Jeigh was in charge of dishes. Not only did she unload the dishwasher and put the dishes away, but she also loaded it without being asked and did so while singing her little heart out.

Elle took some coaxing. Every few feet she needed to be reminded to turn the vacuum back on, but she eventually made her way through it. I've found several missed spots *twitch, twitch* but I'm really trying to spotlight effort and attitude versus perfection.

Oh this is hard.

And Cee...well...

And me! Well!

In an effort to reinforce all the positive warm fuzzy feelings of accomplished chores and stellar report cards I suggested we go out and celebrate! (AKA: Mom didn't want to make dinner.)

The cherry on top: My 7 year old daughter breaking out into The Robot while riding home.

Playing "Justin Bieber" with my son:

And Elle and Cee wanting to say their own personal prayers.










Oh and Cee dubbing her big bear as "Daddy" and asking me to put him in her bed so she can snuggle "Daddy" as she falls asleep. (Joe, you are missed as always.)

Good day. Good life. Good nite.

If I sent Christmas cards, you'd totally be on my list!

With a young, growing family we're always looking for ways to simplify and keep costs down, whether it's Christmas Day or just another ordinary weekday. Unfortunately, Christmas cards are one of those "expendable" expenses. And quite frankly, this bums me out! 

I LOVE Christmas cards. Every year I look forward to seeing pictures of family and friends and pouring over the details of their lives if they are doubly ambitious and including a letter. (I guess I'm kind of nosy like that.) In return, I want to share my own life. (I know I'm an oversharer like that.) Never mind that we do this daily through social media. Isn't it fun seeing it all summed up and packaged up in pretty paper and beautiful photos?

So to all those who were thoughtful enough to include us on their mailing list this year: thank you! It means a lot to me. (And Clayton too though he probably wouldn't gush about it like I do.) And in response, may I send out a virtual Christmas card/end of the year summary to you in the form of a blog post? Tacky? Probably. But tacky with all the best wishes stuck to it.

While every year seems bigger and crazier than the preceding, 2013 really was a rather monumental year for us. After ten years of marriage, our little family is moving on to the next exciting and busy (in a different way) stage of life. We're trading in diapers, strollers, and baby blessings for pierced ears, family hikes, and baptisms.

While we're not trying to rush the youngest member of the family, Lucy (2), we are pretty thrilled to see her developing and changing from a baby to a big girl. It's so bittersweet knowing she is the last little one, but we are relishing each moment and every milestone. This year she graduated from diapers, cribs, sippy cups, and strollers. Now she loves to be the mommy and diapers, feeds, and swaddles anything that will hold still long enough for her to do so.

She will be turning three in January and wants so badly to join the big girls in school and dance. I imagine we'll blink and she'll be doing those things in no time. NO MORE BLINKING! Our "baby" still loves to cuddle as often as she can, sing lullabies at bedtime, and says "I love you!" more than any child I've ever met. Now if she could just learn how to stick with one outfit a day...

Lydia (5) graduated from preschool in May and headed to kindergarten in the fall. I was particularly nervous about sending my little blondie to the "big school", but there was no holding her back. She loves walking with Deacon and Eliza to school every morning. While she plays it pretty cool, she enjoys just about everything about school, even the homework!

It's been especially amazing to watch the non-physical changes in Lydia this year. She is getting braver and more confident in herself. We were so proud of her for dancing on stage this year at her Spring dance recital and December Nutcracker performance.  I marvel (sometimes with fear and surprise, but mostly with awe and amazement) at how this child looks at the world. She is unpredictable and spontaneous and hilarious and artistic. We continue to make progress with her gluten-free diet trying new foods and recipes and I'm thankful she goes along with it so willingly.

Eliza (7) finished 1st grade in a puddle of bittersweet tears, but met 2nd with an eager, happy grin. She loves music, art, helping, chocolate, lip gloss, and playing with cousins and friends. In fact she loves EVERYTHING...except cleaning her room. She embraces life with so much enthusiasm and emotion. It's simultaneously gratifying and terrifying to see your child developing into a mini-version of yourself.

Eliza has grown musically this year. She decided to give dance another go and performed in her dance studio's performance of The Nutcracker. She and I sang our first mommy/daughter duet in our ward talent show. She had zero fear and ate up the limelight while I was, literally, shaking in my boots. Since then we have been asked to sing together a couple of times. Eliza even sang her first public solo in our ward primary program. (We are treated to solos daily here at home.) She has a beautiful voice and it's so fun seeing her love of music in action. She also lost several teeth, got her ears pierced for her birthday, and had to get glasses (which she can never seem to remember to wear). It's fun watching her start these growing pain years and we already admire the beautiful girl she already is.

2013 was especially big for our oldest, Deacon. When he turned eight in January he had the opportunity to be baptized. We enjoyed sharing this very special event with our family and friends. Deacon was excited about joining scouts this year...until he realized it wasn't all camp outs and treats and vowed to not go back until it was. We've "convinced" him to return and he quickly earned his Bobcat badge and will be earning his Wolf in a few weeks (if his mother has anything to do with it).

This year he played soccer again and is also giving basketball a go. While he isn't exactly athletic or aggressive, he has a true love for team sports. He's just happy to be out there, running around with his buddies. And no bird poop on the shoulder or ball to the face (TWO bloody noses in one game!) is going to keep him away. At least not when there are treats at the end. While we question his obsession with Skylanders we see that our son is growing into a fantastic, responsible, little man. He has learned how to clean his room the first time mom asks, that reading is for fun and not just for homework, and that helping others makes him feel good inside. He's just a good kid through and through and we sure appreciate and love him.

While Clayton would prefer I not even mention him in this letter, we would never be complete without him. "Incomplete" is how we often feel since he continues to travel often for work. He has been with Komatsu Equipment Company as an instructor for three years. While he doesn't seem to get to go anywhere too exciting (mostly tiny mining towns in Nevada and other sites in Arizona, Wyoming, Georgia, and Michigan), he continues to impress his coworkers with his knowledge of power generation and electric trucks. He even had the opportunity to help in some training classes with Spanish translation for some Peruvian classmates.

He's actually had the opportunity to use his Spanish a lot this year as we have gained a new Chilean sister-in-law (my brother Colin married Massiel in June this year). He used it again when we traveled to the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico where he served his mission to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. With all that work traveling Clayton has done he was able to accrue enough air and hotel points to cover our trip!

Our little "honeymoon" was incredible! We visited several ancient Mayan ruins, sweated our brains out, drove all over the peninsula, swam in both the Gulf of Mexico and the Carribean Sea, missed our kids too much, went snorkeling for the first time, ate lots of local food, drank lots of Mexican Coke, unsuccessfully tried to avoid the pushy peddlers, and reunited with several wonderful people he had known on the mission. It was an amazing experience that helped us to appreciate even more all the little and big things we are blessed with. And what a way to celebrate ten years of wedded bliss!

Returning to his mission has been a dream of Clayton's for years. Actually we've seen several of our dreams come true this year. When our minivan's slow decline began to look fatal, we had to go shopping for a new family vehicle. Now Clayton finally has that pickup truck he has been fantasizing about for who knows how long. We're still a one-car family, but now we have somewhere to load all these kids and their stuff and four-wheel drive to get us there.

Singing in a "real" performance with my children has always been a dream of mine. I'm grateful Eliza was up for it. Running with my kids was another. This fall, Deacon and Eliza joined me for their very first 5K race! We had a blast running through the Color Me Rad course and the kids were still smiling by the end. I was very proud of both of them!

Seeing my children and their talents, personalities, and senses of responsibility growing is a dream come true too. I find myself almost daily saying aloud how awesome it is to be starting this stage of life. It was really hard to let that baby stage go, but it's a huge relief as well. It's liberating to have everyone walking, talking, dressing, pottying, and feeding themselves. While they may not do it well sometimes I'm just happy we're making progress. The future is looking pretty bright!

I've made a bit of progress this year too. Lo and behold, I've actually stuck with this little running hobby of mine. This year I celebrated my 32nd birthday by running from my doorstep to my sister Erin's doorstep, a total of 24 miles. A friend joined me for the second half and we were met with a banner and balloons at the "finish line" of Erin's driveway. A month later I completed my first full marathon, a harrowing experience as I had been so ill the week of and the freezing spring rain poured through the entire race. By the time I reached the finish line it was with incredible pride, pain, and relief that it was over. I vowed to never do that again. Unfortunately I had already registered and paid for two more races. So in August I ran a second (terrible, terrible) marathon and in October a third (slower, but so much more pleasant!) marathon, making three full marathons in five months' time. I've since sworn off full marathons, but am already signed up for my first triathlon, my first Ragnar relay race, and a half marathon next year. Stupid or ambitious, even I'm not sure some days.

As painful and lonely as long distance running is, it doesn't really compare to having to be a "single married" all the time. In fact I run to deal with being "on duty" all the time. It's gotten a lot easier to have Clayton gone so much, but we sure do miss him when he is. I continue to serve in the primary presidency in our ward and Clayton is the assistant pack leader. And when we're together we try to squeeze in a few family adventures whether it be going for mountain drives and hikes or trying new recipes in the kitchen. This year we made some traditional Yucatacan food, homemade corn dogs, canned applesauce, and homemade vanilla.

Right now our life is homework, Tooth Fairy visits, Saturday ball games, being lucky to get through only ten verses of scripture a night, coloring books, hanging up coats for the hundredth time, hotel rooms, phone calls goodnight, sticky fingers, and animated movies. But we love it. It's funny how one second it feels like everything is broken and a mess when the next second I find myself thinking "Life is good" and meaning it.

Life IS good. And we appreciate the friends and family that help make it that way. Along with our Heavenly Father and Savior who bless us more than we deserve. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and yours from us! Much love and well wishes!

There's Nothing Funny about Potty Training

Little Cee woke up this morning and decided it was really, truly time to potty train. Actually, she's had that in mind for awhile. It's just now, we're all on the same page. And home long enough to do it.

She's been using the toilet all day with no accidents! #1 and #2!!! Hooray!

*Please don't let this be an April Fool's joke! Please don't let this be an April Fool's joke! Please don't let this be an April Fool's joke!*

After it took me almost a year to potty train older sister, Elle, I'm trying not to get my hopes up. I HATE HATE HATE potty training. It really has to be the worst part of having a baby. Honestly, I think I would rather go through labor and delivery again instead of potty training. At least with labor and delivery there's a time frame. And drugs. Lots of drugs.

Wish us luck!

In other news, it's Spring Break and we are having loads of fun with Daddy off of work. Last weekend we headed up to Hometown, Idaho and spent a few days with our families. I have mountains of memories of playing with my many cousins as a kid and I love seeing my children making those same memories with all their little cousins. It was fun watching them split off into their respective age groups and busy themselves in pairs or trios.

They got to pet horses in Tiny Town, Wyoming. They "helped" the uncles build a tree house at Ya-Ya's. Lots of running around Grandma and Grandpa's big yard. Decorating eggs. Lots of yummy food. Two Easter egg hunts. A late-night barn dance. An impromptu talent show. And Mommy and Daddy pointing out lots of "this happened there" sites along the way. 

Life is very, very good.

Ahhh Croup!

On Saturday evening, right before dinner, the 6 year old, Jeigh, threw a shoe up in the air (???). What goes up, must come down. On her face. A nice big bruise immediately began to form on her left cheek. Ouch!

Not twenty minutes later, child #3, Elle, was sitting in the bathtub and sprung a leak. A bloody nose! Just from sitting in the tub.

Not five minutes later, I lifted the baby of the bunch, Cee, from the tub and began to dry her off. As I did she began to wheeze and cough that croupy, barky cough.

What the--?! Ten minutes before I had put a perfectly healthy two year old in the tub and pulled out a toddler with croup? Is that even possible?!

So within a half hour time period, all three of my girls were crying or bleeding or both. What is going on here?

Fortunately, the bloody nose dried up, and the bump is gone leaving behind a nice little shiner, but the croup remains. And I know it's croup because I took Cee to the doctor today. Fever, coughing, crying with pain, complaining of everything hurting, no sleep. I could take all that, but that heavy, labored breathing was freaking me out. Even if it was a "waste" of twenty dollars for a co-pay, I needed to make sure she was okay. Which she is. It's just one of those darn "wait it out" things.

You know you're a mom of multiple children (I would even boldly say three or more children) when you can't remember just which of your children had what in the past.

The doctor asked me if Cee had had croup before.

Uhhh???

I can remember when Elle had it. But that's only because it was our first bout with croup ever. It was Thanksgiving night. I rushed her to the ER in Arizona convinced she was dying. I left the ER at 3 in the morning and as I drove home I saw lines of Black Friday shoppers waiting outside of all the department stores. And I miscarried the next day. Black Friday. It was pretty memorable.

I know we've had several episodes of croup and Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease and penicillin allergic reactions and dairy anaphylactic reactions and pneumonia and roseola and staph infection and H1N1 and rounds of diarrhea and snotty noses and gastric bugs and sleepless nights and loads of laundry and jugs of Gatorade and pots of chicken noodle soup before and since then.

I just can't for the life of me remember who and when. I blame it on all the sleepless nights.

Sheesh! My kids' immune systems are going to be made of titanium by the time they reach adolescence.

Summer, of the 1998 Variety

Joe is coming home today! He's been out of town all week and I can't help but laugh at myself as I clean the house from top to bottom in preparation for his arrival. When we were dating, I used to spend hours getting myself pretty for him. Almost 9 years of marriage later and I spend hours getting the house pretty for him. Either way...I'm out a few hours.

I like to listen to Pandora when I'm cleaning. Today, I set it on the "Moves Like Jagger" station and bustled about wiping and vacuuming like a crazy woman. Usually this station plays peppy, Top 40, energy-inducing kind of songs. Today it took a different direction and escorted me on a trip back to Summer 1998.

That was quite the summer.

17 years old.
I worked at a boy scout summer camp.
This was the first time I was away from my parents for any kind of an extended amount of time.
It was also the first time I was around...*gulp*...boys. At least boys I wasn't related to.
I met a lot of really interesting people...(*gulp*...boys).
I grew out my bangs.
Lost 30 pounds.
Learned about "ska" music and eyeliner.
"Broke up" with my best friend over a lot of silly stuff.
Experienced my first kiss.
Endured my second kiss.
Listened to the "Romeo + Juliet" soundtrack over and over again until the CD skipped from being overplayed.

Summer 1998...
Now there's a story worth telling...

If I could just get over the awkward, the "soooo highschool", the embarrassment of doing and saying stupid things just for the sake of being young and stupid.

I Wear Running Shoes to Therapy

I started running last year because I was fat.

And I was fat because...Well, I'm still figuring that one out. But don't worry about me; I'm working through it with the help of therapy.

I see my therapist 3 to 4 times a week. And I always wear my running shoes. A ponytail. And spandex.

My therapist doesn't talk much. She just listens as my brain sifts to the rhythm of my running shoes hitting the pavement. Some days "therapy" is just getting away from the kids, the house, the daily grind. Running mindlessly to loud, pumping music. My mind idling on song lyrics, craft projects, to do lists.

But some days--like today--we have break-throughs.

Today I ran past a wild rose bush. Cheery red and yellow blossoms snagged my peripheral vision. They flagged my memories down and instantly conjured a childhood image.

A daddy daughter date.

A Saturday morning. I don't know how old I was, but lucky me, I was going to go to a church breakfast with my dad. Just him and me.

Dressed up, we stood next to the wild rose bush that grew in our backyard. Near the grey bricks of the garage. The bush was wild and prickly and repulsive most of the year. But every spring, it imparted a peace offering: hundreds of bright, happy red and yellow blossoms.

I could smell the sun baked blossoms as we posed for a quick picture. My mom was there too. I remember her breaking off a few flowers to place jauntily in my dad's pocket. And a few blossoms to tuck behind my ear. Fragile, homemade boutonnieres for our special date.

Like the brilliantly colored petals, everyone was cheerful. The excitement of this petite rite of passage imprinted on my young mind accompanied by the sight and fragrance of floral reds and yellows.

This vivid memory, a memory I haven't reflected on in years, flooded my mind within milliseconds of catching sight of the bush. As I rushed past the blossoms, the warm, musty smell of sun baked wild roses waved me on, patting my back, and sealing in the reminiscence.

As I continued on my running path, savoring this cherished memory, I marveled at how quickly it had risen to my conscience. At how vivid it was. And again at how swiftly my mind and heart synchronized afterwards.

And just like that something gave way within me. Almost physically I felt it.

Forgiveness.

It was an instance where the circumstances of the moment harmonized. The music on my playlist was rather melancholy. I was feeling particularly receptive after being worn down by the effort of the first few miles. This was the one and only wild rose bush seen on my entire four mile journey.

There was a release. Of hurt, of anger, of bitterness. A grudge held against parents who made so many mistakes, left back on the trail, laid down to rest next to the rose bush. It was a sudden and enlightening realization that all parents are guilty of negligence and error as they struggle to find their way through parenthood. That there was no point in making them suffer for it anymore. Whether they realized I was doing it or not. Whether I realized I was doing it or not. And a hope that my own children would be kinder to me than I had been on my own mom and dad as I would inevitably have my own grievous faults in raising children.

All that from running.

I started running because I was fat. I keep running because I am healing my body, mind, and soul.

(And it's a heckuva alot cheaper than seeing a real therapist.)

Happy "Will You Marry Me?" Day!

Nine years ago today...

...he showed up on my doorstep wearing his Sunday best. It was almost nine o'clock. I had on my baggy, blue and white striped pajama bottoms and my favorite green sweatshirt. He asked if we could go for a walk. I looked into his eyes and I just knew.

I begged for a moment to dash upstairs and change. There was no way on this green earth that I was going to be asked the biggest question of my life while wearing gnarly pajama pants. This occasion at least called for a pair of jeans.

Jeans on, we walked out of the house I shared with four other girls to "our" bridge. The one where we had walked many times before sharing memories from our childhoods, complaining about unjust college professors, discussing what we would change about our future lives, laughing at stupid jokes, planning the size of our families. ("Fifteen children", he had said. I just laughed and fell even more in love with him, hoping I could be the one to "help" with those fifteen children.)

That night we stood close together on the bridge. Three and a half months earlier we had stood a little farther apart, sharing our first dance on New Year's Eve, just as the countdown to midnight had begun. During that timorous dance, he trembled so badly that I couldn't help wondering if he was going to fall over in a dead faint right there on the dance floor. Now, he was steady and I was the one shaking.

Maybe it was the blowing wind...Maybe it was the jitters... Maybe I couldn't hear him over the sound of my teeth chattering (that was definitely one detail I had never included every time I had fantasized about this moment) but none of his words really registered in my head. I only remember him pulling out the ring box and looking at me, expecting a reply.

Ever true to my awkward and floundering nature, I made some goofy comment about, "Shouldn't you be on your knee or something?" 

On his knee he went, more words, and after another impetuous hint from me that he should slip the ring on my finger it was official. We were engaged.

(Never mind that my mom had already called the temple to tentatively reserve a wedding date.)

April 15th.

While the rest of the world dreads "Tax Day", I affectionately remember the day my husband asked me to be his wife.

I love you, Joe! Happy "Will You Marry Me?" Day!

Peanut Butter Candy (Like They Made in Elementary School!)

Back in my elementary school days all the kids were absolutely nuts about this stuff called Peanut Butter Candy.

Me...Not so much.

I was everybody's best friend in the cafeteria on Peanut Butter Candy days because everybody wanted to trade something for that distasteful little chunk of peanut butter and chocolate.

Funny how your tastes change as you get older.

When we blessed Cee a couple of months back, my cousin Melissa (who eats gluten-free by the way) brought a panful of Peanut Butter Candy to the luncheon afterwards. People were practically elbowing each other out of the way to get to that pan of chocolaty, peanut buttery goodness. The little kids hardly stood a chance, unless they could reach from under the table and bypass the crowd of adults vying for a piece...or two...or three.

After the blessing and luncheon were over and everyone had gone on their merry ways, Joe and I talked about what a beautiful day it had been. Sure, we blessed our baby and all, but his lasting impression of the day???

Must. Have. Peanut. Butter. Candy. Recipe.

So I asked my cousin for it.

If I had only known how simple it was to make...I'd probably be trying to lose twice as much weight as I already am.

I made some yesterday. In fact I made a double batch yesterday. A pretty rotten thing to do to myself whilst in the middle of a weight loss journey. But I was a very good girl. I ate a few pieces, sent half with my sister who was visiting for the day, and half to the neighbors who had sent over some roast beef for dinner the night before. (Never return a dish empty, I say.)

Since I can't make a habit out of making these little bits of heaven, at least I can share some heaven with you.

Elementary School Peanut Butter Candy

3 cups Rice Chex cereal (for those who eat gluten-free) or Rice Crispies cereal, crushed (I've tried both ways. I thought the Chex made it a little more crunchy than the Rice Krispies did.)
1 cup creamy peanut butter (I bet you could use crunchy too.)
2 TBSP softened butter
1 and 1/4 cup powdered sugar or confectioner's sugar
Chocolate chips (I use semi-sweet, but you could use milk chocolate.)

Combine first four ingredients in one bowl. Mix thoroughly then press firmly into 9x9 pan.

Melt chocolate chips in double boiler: Fill bottom of pot with inch of water. Heat to boiling. Place glass bowl over pot of water and pour in chocolate chips. Turn down heat on pot. Chocolate chips will melt quickly. Stir every so often until chocolate is completely melted and creamy.

Pour chocolate on peanut butter layer. Smooth out chocolate. Then just try to resist Peanut Butter Candy while the chocolate cools and hardens. Place in fridge hoping to speed up the process.

Devour. Or share with your neighbors after daintily eating a piece or two...or...Don't.

I'm linking up my peanut buttery, chocolaty memories, recipe, and good behavior with Amy at Involuntary Smiles for Time Out Tuesday.

Size Does Matter

Every so often I come across a worn, yellowed sheet of paper.

It just seems to magically turn up as I am sorting and filing paperwork.

It's a receipt.

From a small town jewelry store.

For the engagement and wedding ring set that Joe purchased the day he asked me to marry him.

On April 15, 2003.

Eight years ago today.

That ring set cost all of 735 dollars.

Do you know what that price tag means to me?

It is a symbol of the humble and simple man my husband is. He doesn't need money or possessions or "bling" to illustrate how capable or manly or important he is. He didn't feel the need to go into thousands of dollars of debt just to prove something to me or the world. With that small ring he gave me his heart, his love, his loyalty, and his life.

I cannot claim to be so consistently pure of heart as he is.

Sometimes I look at this ring I wear on my left hand and get a little wistful, maybe even slightly jealous when I see my sisters and friends with their big fat bands and diamonds.

Sometimes I want something fat and ferocious on my finger too.

Maybe someday I will.

But can I tell you something?

I think there is a reason that yellowed piece of paper keeps "magically" reappearing in my pile of paperwork.

I need a reminder.

Of the good heart my husband has.

Of how simple and precious life and love and marriage can be.

Of what is truly important.

Funny how one little $735 gold wedding band set can be worth more than a whole pile of diamonds.

Happy "Will You Marry Me?" Day Joe! I love you!

Christmas at the House of Dreams {2002}

The Christmas season of 2002 I lived in a very large, very old, creaky, drafty house with four other college girls.

The house was in appalling physical condition. When you walked upstairs you felt a little dizzy as the whole upstairs was shifted ever so slightly at an angle. A very narrow stair case led down to a dark and dank basement. Unless I had laundry that needed to be done, I rarely went down there out of pure unadulterated fear. There was a large dirt-filled recess at one end that would have been the perfect place to stash bodies.

As if that wasn't enough to spook a bunch of single girls, a large attic-like room full of sticky cobwebs, piles of ancient insulation, and inky-black mysterious space lurked strangely in the middle of the house.

Whatever the house lacked in charm, warmth, and safety, I found in my roommates. I had lived with other roommates in other apartments and houses before, but these four girls became my sisters. We just clicked. We called our strange twisted abode the House of Dreams. We stayed up way too late most nights talking about anything and everything, simply enjoying each others' kindred spirits.

That Christmas in the House of Dreams we decided to swap names for a roommate gift exchange. Chelsea had picked my name and I believe I had hers in return. Sadly, I can't for the life of me remember what I gave her that Christmas, but I will NEVER forget what she gave me.

Although we were a bunch of single college students, we had pooled our money to buy a real Christmas tree for our living room. The five of us gathered near the glow of its twinkling lights on the predetermined night before the Christmas holiday to exchange our gifts.

My gift was the last to be given. Chelsea handed me a stack of papers and envelopes, varying in size and shape and color, carefully tied with a ribbon.

As I untied the ribbon and began to investigate my lapful of envelopes, I realized these were letters written by dozens of people for...me.

I was stunned.

How had she done this without me knowing? How had she managed to get so many people from so many different areas of my life (family, church, school, work, high school, etc.) to cooperate with something like this?

And how had she known this is exactly what my heart and soul needed at that time? She could have spent hundreds of dollars on a gift for me and it would not have meant nearly as much as this simple stack of letters did.

If you have read my blog for long, you already know I tend to be a bit of a weepy person, but I was out-right sobbing as I began to silently read some of the letters. They were brimming full of love and inspiration and friendship and encouragement.

I tried to read a few quickly, not wanting to hold up our little roommate Christmas celebration and hoping to absorb the rest in private later, but was quickly encouraged to read my letters out loud. As I did, immense love filled the room and each of my dear sister-roommates became emotional as well. We were up for hours that night reading letters and expressing gratitude for the goodness in our lives.

That night will always be one of my most magical and treasured Christmas memories. It was the pinnacle of my living experience in that creepy old house with those wonderful women.

I still keep my stack of letters tucked away in a box and every couple of years I start reading them again letting the love and the memories of The House of Dreams wash over me again.

Those Dear Dimming Memories

(Ethel Blanch Green)
When my great-grandmother was a single young woman, she was a nurse transferring up to Port Angeles, Washington. Her travels were made increasingly difficult as she had become quite ill. By the time she reached her destination she could hardly walk, but still needed to transport her self and her trunk and bags to where she would be boarding.

A handsome young servicemen leaped to her aid, sweeping up her things, and escorting her to her new residence. This gallant handsome hero had made quite the chivalrous impression. He became my great-grandfather some time later.

(Ira and Ethel Bourm on their honeymoon)

Back to present day...

Joe and I were talking about our respective family histories. Joe began to comment on how remarkable my great-grandparents' first meeting was. I was surprised it had made such an impression on him and encouraged him to expound on what he meant.

"Well, you know, how she was a nurse and didn't she pass him on an air flight vision test even though he couldn't see very well just because she thought he was handsome? And she accidentally gave him too many shots. And then how they snuck off from a dance to a boat right before he was called to war..."

And then I couldn't hear him anymore because of how long and loud I was laughing.

As wonderful as Joe remembers how my great-grandparents' first meeting went... No, my great-grandparents did NOT meet on the set of the movie, Pearl Harbor.

Seeing Red at a Blue Christmas

All the great music has to be my favorite part of the holidays. I sure wish we could listen to it all year long. I suppose then we wouldn't really appreciate it, right?

{sigh} Ooookay.

There is one song that I just can't bear to listen to ever again. As soon as I hear that infamous, stop-and-go, croony buildup of "I-I-I-I-IIIIII'llll have a..." I can't seem to shut off my radio quick enough. Then I shake my head and start laughing with the memory. If Joe is in the room we laugh together.

It was Christmas 2004.

Joe and I were living in our second apartment since we had been married. It was an upstairs unit in a four-plex community that we managed. I was pregnant with our first baby who was due in mid-January (coincidentally the exact same due date as this fourth baby). Both Joe and I worked nights; he as a detention deputy at the local jail and me as an emergency department technician at the local hospital.

Since we both worked nights, our sleeping schedules were a little off-kilter from the rest of the world.

Below us lived three single college guys who came and went at all hours of the day and night. For the most part we all got along and tried to respect each other regarding noise.

Until...

One morning, just as the rest of the world was preparing to wake and get ready for the day, Joe and I were laying in bed preparing to fall asleep after a long night of work. We snuggled in and waited for sweet slumber to take us away.

All the sudden we heard...



...being played full-blast. And it wouldn't have so bad if the college guy wasn't competing with his stereo with loud and high-pitched backup singer "Ooo-oh-ooo-oh"s through the whole thing.

Joe and I just stared at each other in disbelief...and busted out laughing.

It was the most hilarious thing we had ever heard from any neighbor...until we realized this was our early morning crooner's favorite Christmas song and we were treated to countless encore performances...that morning and at odd hours over the weeks to follow.

Sorry Elvis. I love your soulful, hip-twisting ways, but I NEVER want to hear that song again.

I Kinda Miss the Days When...

If I was being honest (and please forgive me ahead of time if I am being too honest for your tastes, but...) I kinda miss the days when...

I imagined I had bucket loads of patience.

I only had to worry about feeding one mouth.

I could work out at 4:30 am in the morning or 11 pm at night because I could count on catching up on sleep later.

I didn't pay $70 to fill up my gas tank.

"Quiet" was normal.

The floor hardly ever got dirty.

I stayed up late giggling with my House of Dreams roommates.

It didn't take as much effort to focus on metaphysical material.

A first kiss was something to lose sleep over.

I sang duets with my sister all the time.

Every possibility seemed possible.

Life seemed really difficult, but it really wasn't.

My bust line only needed a gentle reminder from my wire bra.

I could watch TV without worrying about what little ears might hear or little eyes might see or little mouths might repeat.

I was full of endless energy and adventurous ambition.

I had homework, late nights, early mornings, a work schedule, a piece-of-hud car, my eyes on about three different guys, loud music, a flat tummy, no money, no time, every excuse, and a little bit of self control.

This would be the part where I would interrupt myself with a big fat "BUT" (and not the one I seem to be toting around these days)...

Can I just wallow in a little reminiscing for a bit and kinda miss those days without the optimistic repercussions?

P.S. Feeling a little swap silly? Make sure to sign up for my first swap! Think Christmas ornaments.

Pretty Darn Precious Potty Training Post

We are in the midst of potty training at our house this week.

Don't worry! I won't be posting any "specimens" today. Looks like I am a little stuck on a tangent though, don't you think? Sorry about that. I'll try to up my classiness in the next several posts.

Anyway! Potty training. Don't you just loathe abhor fear love potty training? Me too. I would much rather go through labor and delivery again than potty train. At least that pain has an end, usually under 24 hours, and there are drugs available if it gets to be too much. There are no drugs for potty training. Heaven helps us.

Really I can't complain too much. Elle is training like a champ. Can you hear "Eye of the Tiger" playing in the background too? She may be the easiest yet, so I will count my blessings and pray that the yellow tide does not turn on us, as potty training so often does.

In relation to potty training, I was looking back through my Face book memories the other day and found this little gem.

This is Elle's big sister Jeigh at the very same age doing the very same thing, potty training, just two short years ago, even the very same time of year. Daddy Joe was entertaining her in attempt to keep her on the potty. This is the resulting memory. We like to call it Jeigh's Snowman of God Potty Song.

(Normally I don't condone posting pictures or videos of my children in "compromising" situations, but this is just too cute not to share and short of seeing the toilet behind her, nobody would know what she is doing besides singing her cute little two year old heart out).

Enjoy!

Magic Mom Moments and Muddy Buddies

People ask me all the time if my kids ride the bus to school. When I tell them no, the response is usually the same: "Oh that's too bad. What a pain to go back and forth." And it is a little bit of a pain as I go back and forth a total of four times a day (twice for Dee who is in full-day Kindergarten, twice for Jeigh who is in afternoon Preschool).

But why would I want to send them on the bus and miss out on mornings like this morning?

This morning, like any other morning, I pulled up to the school. Dee was sitting in the front passenger seat. Usually he bounds out the door before I can hardly put the van in park. This morning, he lingered. I don't think he was sad or reluctant. He just lingered. It was a sweet moment, that I didn't want to end, but that school bell has no patience for sweet lingering moments.

I prompted him to go. After a quick hug and kiss, he did. As he ran to the building he turned and waved to me. Ran a few feet, turned and waved. Ran, turned, waved. Ran, turned, waved. The whole way to the gate.

I watched.
I waved back.
I audibly uttered "I love that boy!" to nothing but an empty cold van.
I {almost} cried. How can he seem so big and so small all at the same time??

I clicked a mental pic. I want to remember the grey hood pulled up over his head. The batman backpack, almost as big as he is, bouncing on his shoulders. His big scrunchy grin that helps him keep his broken glasses on his nose. The flailing arms and legs and coat that surely one day he will coordinate. How he pointed to the school when he got close to make sure I knew exactly where he was headed. How small and sweet he is. How big and wonderful he is getting. How much he loves and trusts me at this moment. Why would I ever want to miss out on this?

I'll send him on a bus when he's fourteen and he thinks I am a dork and walks out the door with a sullen look on his face and a surly comment under his breath.

Can we just stay in Kindergarten forever?


P.S. I mentioned Muddy Buddies in my post yesterday. It always surprises me that there are still people out there who have yet to know the chocolaty, peanut-buttery, crunchy goodness of Muddy Buddies (or Puppy Chow or "Tummy Yummies" as my little brood calls them). Here's the recipe. You are welcome.

Muddy Buddies

(This recipe can easily be doubled...Go ahead and double it...you know you want to!)

• 9 cups of Chex cereal (I like a mixture of rice and corn)
• 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
• 1/2 cup peanut butter
• 1/4 cup margarine
• 1/4 tsp vanilla
• 1 & 1/2 cup powdered sugar

Measure out cereal into a large bowl (make sure you have a lid that fits). Combine chocolate chips, PB, and margarine in microwave-safe bowl and microwave for 1 to 1 and 1/2 minutes stirring after first minute. Remove from microwave, add vanilla, and stir well. Pour chocolaty goodness over cereal and stir until all pieces are well-coated. Add powdered sugar. Cover and shake it like a Polaroid picture until all pieces are "dusted". (You may want to add more powdered sugar depending on how you like it.)

If you don't have a bowl handy or just want to save yourself some time on dishes later, try using a large Ziploc bag for your shaking. (Unfortunately, this means you can probably only do one batch...at a time.)

I like my Muddy Buddies "aged" in the fridge for a couple of hours or even overnight.

So.darn.good.

You can take the girl out of the thrift store...

...but you can't take the thrift store out of the girl.

Oh the glorious day I had yesterday! Thanks to this bold and creative lady over at The Rowdy Stroudy's, as well as her tales of her forays into the wilds of Good Will and nearby consignment shops (read here or here), I was hankering for a visit to a thrift store. Practically drooling. I haven't been able to find one in our new little town yet. What is an obsessive-compulsive thrift-store addict like me to do?

This week, we have found ourselves in our hometown preparing to attend the funeral of Joe's family member. We have also found ourselves with a little time on our hands. Joe took the boy and I took the girls. Off we went on our merry little ways, me with my mom as my trusty shopping partner, eagerly anticipating an afternoon spent basking in thrift-store glory.

And I was not disappointed.

I have scratched my itch. (For a few weeks at least.)

I could feel myself becoming increasingly giddy as we went from thrift store to antique shop to bagelry to thrift store to fabric store to thrift store! What a perfect day spent!

May I share my spoils with you?

$4.00 for shoes my husband thinks are "Uuuugly!". So what? I think "so ugly they are cool" and the tread has ZERO wear AND they fit me. That is a miracle in and of itself for the Jolly Green Giant Boat-Feet Pregnant Lady.

A Chinese Checkers wall hanging from an antique shop. Oh, the memories of Sunday evenings spent with family at my Grandpa and Grandma Miles' house...

$2+ for a string of Halloween lights. I paid a little too much if you ask me, but when lit up they are pretty cute. Halloween, here we come!

25 cents per book! (for hardcovers, for Caldecott winners, for practically brand-new, for classics like Amelia Bedelia, Spot, and Berenstain Bears!) The kids and I are excited to add to our growing collection.

$1.00 for an addition to my Christmas decorations. I have this weak spot for shabby chic metal deco. This tree opens up and holds a candle. Love the metal! Love the color!

Did I mention my weakness for metal decor? That goes double for lanterns and bird cages. Oh look! Something that combines all three! I must make it my own.

Metal, again. But copper-ish metal! Ooooo! I have no idea what to do with this, but at a $2.00, I imagine I can figure out something cool.

I have a dream...that one day I shall live in a house of my own. And on that day, I shall paint and accessorize and decorate and design a room full of soothing blues and earthy, rich, chocolaty browns. And upon that day, this plate shall rest in that room, completing the ambiance in that room as nothing else can. Aaaaahhhh...

I love games. I love old stuff. I love old games. Especially ones that come in cute little vintage-looking suitcases. Especially for $2.00. Backgammon anyone?

And don't let me forget, the garbage-bag full of back-to-school clothes for the kids. I've got to take advantage of it before they care that their clothes are used. But that's for another post, another day...

As for this day, it was fantastic. Amazing how a day digging through another man's trash can be so treasured. I think even my little hoarding hobby heirs had a good time...