Thomasina Sawyer

This winter Emma decided that she wanted to grow a small flower garden. She started saving her money for her own gardening tools and plants that she wanted.

At the first signs of spring she was outdoors picking a spot and beginning to clear the weeds and debris. Pretty soon a couple of younger neighbor kids came over to see what she was doing. Soon, she announced that she would have a gardening club. Every Saturday, at a fixed time, all club members should come to my house and weed.

The following Sunday, Emma mentioned to my 11-year-old niece, Katherine, that she had started a gardening club. She told Katherine, in elaborate detail, all the fun things the club members would be doing. Katherine only lives a few blocks from my house and begged to be part of the club. She is now the most faithful member, never missing a single Saturday.

On the weekly weeding fests, the girls discuss what they want to plant. They announced one Saturday that in addition to flowers, they are going to plant carrots, radishes, beets and maybe thyme. The spot the kids were clearing out front is great for flowers, but a tad shady for veggies. So, I recommended they pick a spot out back.

Their response was something like, "Oh can we?! You'll let us have two gardens? We'd love to have a flower garden and a vegetable garden!"

They worked so hard last week in the vegetable garden that Wendell was actually able to rototill the spot.

One Saturday my mom stopped by for some reason and the cousins went nuts wanting to show Grandma what they had done.

"Wow!" my mom said. "What a lot of work you've done! Can I see your hands?"

The little girls thought this was weird, but obliged. Emma's hands were white and clean. Katherine's were caked with mud.

"Yep," Mom said with a giggle, "that's what I thought. You're hard workers."

Emma's greatest strength is showing people what to do and being positive, while not actually doing much work. (She holds a mean rake, though.) What I wonder is, does she know how effectively she's manipulating club members or does she actually think she's helping? Either way, she's a genius!

And, of course, this is a win for me. I get two flower beds weeded and planted and the only stipulation is, they get to plant what they want. Plant away! It's definitely less work for me, and fewer weeds is always a positive outcome.

Friends

Scrawled in chalk across my driveway are the following messages about Nathan (5) written by Anson (7).

Nathan is nice.

Nathan likes ducks.

Nathan is my best butty.

My Baby Girl is Two!

Happy Birthday Annika!

The birthday girl is ready to party!

Opening her first present

Sometimes Mom needs to help.

I ALWAYS wear make up...except for today.

COOKIE MONSTER!!

Elmo, please don't be offended that she noticed you second.

Puzzle Mania

Probably Annika's favorite gift.

Oops. How did that picture of Beck get in here?

He's obviously having tons of fun at the party.

He's hoping for cake. Note the drooling.

This is the cake I made.

Annika loves the cake!

No. I am not pregnant again. I have had 5 c-sections. This is what happens.

Lunch with Mom

Yesterday was my mom's birthday. To celebrate, my older sister Christy and I took Mom to lunch. (I always point out that Christy is my older sister, lest anyone think I am the older one.)

Christy's youngest two children came along 'cause Tuesday's are not her hubby's day off. And Beck came with me 'cause I take his food with me where ever I go and it seems mean to make him go hungry.

Christy's youngest son was jumping up and down on the bench, a normal pastime for an almost 3-year-old. As my sister struggled to get him to eat, it was obvious that she couldn't do anything "right." If she cut his food, it was wrong. If she put his hot food on a different plate, that was wrong. You see how this goes.

"Ah," my mom said sagely, "as a mom you can never do anything right."

"Yeah," my sister and I agreed.

"I feel bad about that, actually," I confessed to Mom.

"Oh," Mom said, pleased that I should want to repent for being such a punk as a kid.

Christy said something off topic that was about her and not about Mom, but we have to excuse her because she had a 3-year-old jumping on her and it is hard to follow adult conversation in a situation like that.

In honor of my mom's birthday I would like to post a list of things my mom did right. In the interest of time I will not post everything that possibly comes across my mind, but the BIG things that have made a difference in my life.

1. She made me practice the piano. In fact, she made all of us practice the piano. There were times that she withheld dinner unless we had practiced for an hour minimum. Even though we thought she was mean and maybe even evil, none of us starved to death and we are all proficient pianists.

2. She was the PTA President in just about every school we were ever in. This was how I knew that education was important to my mom. She was at my school almost as much as I was. She knew my principal, she knew my teachers. She would know if I ever got in trouble before I could have gotten home and confessed, so I didn't get into trouble. She fought to get me into classes I wanted and worked hard to help the school retain the best teachers. When my little sister graduated from high school, the PTA mourned that mom didn't have more kids. They would have loved to have her help forever.

3. Everyday after school mom would sit us down individually and talk about our day. This meant that she would sometimes have to shush my older sister up and reminder her it was my turn. Christy always had a lot to say. When mom asked how my day went, I often began by shrugging my shoulders and saying it was just a regular day. Before long, though, I'd be walking her through the whole day. I don't remember any advice she gave me. But I definitely remember her being there for me to talk to.

4. She taught us the gospel. We said family prayers and read scriptures every night. She taught us to pray by ourselves and bought us our own scriptures so that we could study. We had Family Home Evening every Monday and it was unthought of to ever miss church. Even when we were on vacation we always looked up the local LDS church Saturday night and went to church the next day.

Once my mom packed her pumps, nylons and slip, but forgot to pack her dress. By the time she realized this on Saturday night, there was no time to go buy another dress. Mom went to church anyway. She wore the nicest shirt and slacks she had with her and she wore her nylons and pumps, too. She put her jacket over her lap so it would look more like she had a skirt on, then reminded us that we should always go to church in our nicest clothes. Even though her nicest clothes that day weren't normally church appropriate, it was the best she had and we had no excuses for not getting to church--ever.

5. My mom taught us to be smart with money. She gave us an allowance and responsibility that came with the money. As we got older we became responsible for buying our own clothes, paying for school fees, including extra curricular activities through the school, like choir. If we hadn't planned, then mom might give us a loan. But we got less allowance until we paid her back or we had to work it off, usually in the yard. This taught me how to save and how to plan with my money.

There are at least 32 more things that I could list, but these are the biggies: religion, education, music and money. I'm pretty sure I would be an uneducated, unmusical, spendthrift heathen if it weren't for mom. So, on her birthday--or the day after as the case may be, I say thank you. You have made me the woman I am today.

And the Second Winner Is...

You will never guess what came in the mail the other day. My March issue of O Magazine. Yes, it came after my April issue. Who would know?

As luck would have it, I hadn't read the March O yet, so it is also undefiled. In the interest of time, I reentered everyone from my previous drawing, except Livvy's Mom, who won my April O Magazine.

And the second winner is...Jen from Lords of the Manor.

Jen, email me your address and I'll send it to you right away.

P.S. Lara don't hate me. You lost again.

10 Random Things I Love About Wendell Part 3

1. He trusts me with all the family finances.
2. He likes for me to pamper myself. Whether I need new clothes or just want to get a pedicure, he always thinks I should get it.
3. He lets me shop alone.
4. He's a good dancer.
5. He's a HUGE BYU fan!!
6. He helps with the laundry.
7. When I say, "Is that the thing that goes with the thing?" he knows what I mean.
8. He holds me when I cry.
9. I look forward to growing old together.
10. He always puts the toilet seat down.

Drum roll, Please

And the winner of the April O magazine is....Livvy's mom at Bratty Pratts. Congrats!

Donny's Boy

I have a cousin who attended school with one of Donny Osmond's sons. As it turned out, the two were in the school play. On opening night (it may have been another night, but for drama's sake, let's say it was opening night) there was a lot of buzz among the cast that Chris' dad was back stage.



My cousin had heard a rumor about Donny that he wanted verified by the source himself. My cousin marched up to Donny and asked, "Are you Donny Osmond?"

"Yes," Donny told the boy.

"No you're not," my cousin asserted. "Donny's dead."

"Um..." said Donny, "I AM Donny Osmond and I'm NOT dead."

"Are you sure?" my cousin wondered. Donny was sure.

Later when my aunt bumped into Donny, she congratulated him on his son's role in the play. She went on to explain which role her son had been playing. Instead of returning the congratulations, Donny got a funny look on his face and said, "Oh. That one."

It wasn't until they got home and my cousin confessed his misstep that my aunt realized why "Brother" Osmond had reacted that way.

On Monday I'll announce the winner of my Random Giveaway, so be sure to enter!

Coveting

I have decided to use these shoes as my picture. They are yummy. I actually ordered them from Zappos, just so I could try them on. They cost $155.

I must admit that I never planned on buying them, but I just wanted to know what they felt like, how cute they were, etc.

They were everything I had hoped for. These were the most delicious shoes I ever put on my feet. I just wanted to sit and pet the fake leopard print. Fortunately for me, they weren't really wide enough for my foot. (I have wide feet.) So I sent them back.

Don't forget to enter my Random Giveaway if you haven't already.

Photo Op

Beck is 3 months old.

Perfect time for a photo session at Kiddie Kandids.

GQ Baby

Cool folded arms look. Don't mind the sweater's all pulled up around the middle.

Wrinkled forehead close-up

Surprised-that-they-stuck-some-random-teddy-bear-next-to-me-so-I-won't-fall-over look.

This is the, stick as many fingers in your mouth as you possibly can, shot.

Falling over, hoping not to puke, crooked smile look.




Overall, an awesome photo shoot. Especially for such a little guy. Which shot is your favorite?

Don't forget about my Random Giveaway. It may not be a Big Give, but I still think Oprah would be proud. You have until Sunday to enter.

Credit

I like to think of myself as "advanced" and "mature" but sometimes, I've just got to be egotistical and petty.


Yesterday, a friend of mine came by my house. We were visiting and I wanted her to see Annika's new skill: knowing her colors. "Watch this!" I said and I began pointing at things and Annika accurately said the color. She knows yellow, red, pink (a favorite), white, blue, green, purple (another favorite), black and brown.


"Yea," my friend said, "isn't Allison great?"


What, I thought, who is Allison and what does she have to do with Annika knowing her colors?


"I wish," my friend went on, "that she had be the Nursery Leader when my son was in Nursery*."


You're kidding me, I thought, you are seriously going to give credit to a nursery worker who sees my child max 2 hours a week, but often as little as 6 hours a month due to illnesses picked up in nursery.


Can't I get some credit here!


I am with her all day everyday. Wendell and I have been drilling her...I mean teaching Annika her colors for months. Sure, my mom and Allison reaffirm what Wendell and I are teaching her, but neither of them are with Annika the amount of time Wendell and I are.


Annika isn't even 2 yet and she knows her colors!!! Sure, I should deflect credit and say it's a God-given talent, but IF I'm deflecting credit, I'm certainly NOT deflecting it to the nursery worker.


So I got show-offy and said, "Ooo, here's something else Annika can do. Come here, Sweetie. Where's the letter O in this word?"


"Right there," Annika said pointing to the "O" on our basketball standard.


"Can you touch it?" I asked. I didn't want for there to be any mistake. Annika knows the letter O.


"Yea-ah," she said in her squeaky almost two-year-old voice. And touched the O. My friend gasped.


"Yea," I said nonchalantly, "she's learning the letter A, too, but she doesn't get it right all the time, but we're working on it."


There. You can't credit Allison with that one.


Pettiness over.


Don't forget to say, "Hey," in the comments of my Random Giveaway so you are entered to win.

(*Mormon 101: Children ages 18 months to 3-years-old attend Nursery for about 2 hours of church, allowing their parents to attend Sunday School and Priesthood or Relief Society meetings for that time. The children play with toys, sing songs, are taught simple lessons about Jesus and being nice, etc. as well as fed a snack.)

Jenna's Random Giveaway

This may seem like a strange thing to do and it does come with a story. But first the giveaway! I am giving away a brand new copy (no I haven't read it) of the April 2008 O Magazine. To enter, leave a comment between now and Sunday. On Monday I'll announce the winner.

Here's the story. I picked up a copy of the February O Magazine just for fun and thoroughly enjoy it. I must have raved about it to Wendell, 'cause a few days later he called me from work and told me to check my email. I found an email from Wendell that said, "I hope you have a good day. I love you." And below was a subscription order for 2 years of O magazine. (Isn't he thoughtful?)

I was so excited, but I knew it wouldn't come for several weeks, so I planned on picking up at least the March issue, which was all about money and I really wanted to read that. (It's my private obsession to read about what to do with money.) On March 7th, I had my evening to myself. I went and got a pedicure (Annika, who's 23 months, calls them, "Mama's silly purple toes." Cute, huh?) and then went to pick up the March O Magazine.

Perhaps you're already ahead of me here, but the March issues were no longer on newsstands, April was out. (Why do they call it the March magazine if it comes out in Feb?) I went to a couple of different stores and the library looking for a March copy. Meanwhile, since April was out, I bought it because I'd rather have something to read than nothing but I really, really wanted the March issue.

At the recommendation of the librarian, and I have to admit Wendell also suggested this first, I went to Barnes and Noble and, behold, they had TONS of the March O Magazine.

Now evoking Murphy's Law, my new subscription starting with the April issue arrived on Saturday. I suppose I could try to return the magazine, but that seems kinda weird. I'm sure they'll just think I'm cheap and I read the magazine then brought it back. In fact, it might not even be returnable. Anyhoo, I find myself with two brand new April 2008 issues of O Magazine and I only need one. So if you'd like to get a copy, save your $4.50 and just post a comment.

I've Never Had One of These

I've had two thumb suckers, but never this...

Beck is a FINGER SUCKER!

Party and Intro

With the Blogapalooza coming up, I just can't get enough of blogging parties. Here's one at 5 Minutes for Mom that you should check out.

For my new bloggy friends visiting from 5 Minutes for Mom, I'd just like to introduce myself.

I'm Jenna. I'm 31 -years-old and I have 5 kids: Emma-8, Anson-7, Nathan-5, Annika-almost 2 and Beck-3 months. I have a Bachelor's degree in Communications from Brigham Young University and yes, I'm Mormon. (Though the name of the church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Mormon's just a nickname.) My hubby, Wendell, and I met in high school and we've been married 10.5 years.

I need to lose weight and get my house organized. I'm really involved in my kids' school. I volunteer twice a week in my boys' classrooms (once in each boy's class), I'm on the PTA board as the Education Commissioner and I was appointed to the School Community Council.

I'm a stay-at-home mom spending my mornings with the babies and my afternoons helping with homework, piano and chores. I play the piano and I love to sing. I'm currently reading Peter Walsh's It's All Too Much. If you want to know more look at this post or this one.

The Piano Player

A few months ago, I ran into Bishop Morgan, who was my bishop my freshman year of college. I couldn't actually remember his name, but I grabbed him and asked if he'd been a bishop of a singles ward at BYU in 1994. He had and as it dawned on him who I was he said, "Yes, yes, I remember you--the piano player."

This was really weird for me. I'd forgotten I'd even played then. Fast forward to last Sunday. I was handing Beck off to Wendell so I could go play the piano in Primary.* A woman in my ward who I would describe as "an acquaintance" asked me, "So what's your calling now?"

"I'm the Senior Primary Pianist," I told her.

"Oh," she responded with an element of surprise, "I didn't know you played."

************

I took piano lessons for all but 2 years from the ages of 4-17. This was a requirement in my house. (From 8-10 my mom decided she'd teach us, but it mostly turned out that we didn't really have lessons for that period.) By the time I was 14, I was studying at BYU with a professor, who was then the Keyboard Department Chair. My older sister, Christy, and I have always been very competitive. She was much better than me at piano, so I didn't put in as much effort as a should have. If I couldn't best her, then why kill myself trying?

Still, I was pretty good. I accompanied the ward choir. I went to solo-ensemble festival not as a singer, but as an accompanist. I played for my high school choir, for Young Women's, for special music numbers in church. Really, I played a lot.

But if you'd asked most people who knew me, even then, they would have told you I was a singer. That was my label, my forte, my love. Plus, I was a better singer than my sister, or at least that's what people told us. A couple of months before graduating from high school, I talked my mom into letting me quit piano lessons. I got fake finger nails. And I kept singing.

In college, I didn't exactly quit playing the piano. I would occasionally slip away to the practice room in the basement of the dorms and play. But the more voice lessons I took and the better choirs I got into, the less and less people knew I played.

It's now 1998. Wendell and I are married an living in the new Wyview married housing. One Sunday, there was no one to play the piano in Relief Society, so I volunteered. I opened the hymn book and began with some prelude. For the last 4 years, I'd only been playing sporadically, so I was, understandably, a bit rusty. My flubs were too much for one young woman to handle. She crept up next to me and said, "Hey, I'm a piano major. It's OK. I can play now."

Embarrassed, I relinquished my spot at the keyboard and took my seat. And I never played publicly again for 8 years. When people asked if I played the piano, I'd actually say no. I had no piano in my house (until 2002) and my talent deteriorated more and more.

In, January 2007 I got the call I'd been dreading. A member of the Primary Presidency** needed someone to play for the Baptism Preview+. Since Emma would be baptised this year could I please play so they didn't have to have an accompanist come for the tiny meeting. She'd given me a lot of warning, more than a week to practice, so reluctantly, I agreed.

I played just fine at the meeting and got the surprised reactions that I played and played well. Two weeks later I was called to be the Senior Primary Pianist. This has been a delightful year. I'm getting better and better at the piano all the time. And I practice regularly.

At this year's Baptism Preview, it was a given I'd be playing. (Anson will be baptized in November.) They requested a harder song and gave me less notice. As I ran through the song a couple times as prelude to this meeting my Bishop stopped and said, "For someone who says they don't play very well--you sure play well."

I smiled as I made a big goof and said, "It's a lot like riding a bike, Bishop. It just comes back to you."

(*Mormon 101: Primary is the Sunday meeting for children age 3-12. In wards with a large Primary, the kids are often divided into Junior Primary for 3-7 year olds and Senior Primary for 8-12.

**Primary Presidency: 3 women lead the Primary as the Primary Presidency. The presidency is comprised of the President and her two counselors. They meet together regularly to discuss the needs of the children, assign teachers to their class, provide training for teachers and teach other religious study during Sharing Time.

+Baptism Preview: Mormon children can be baptised (by immersion) starting at the age of 8. The Baptism Preview is a small meeting for the children who are turning 8 that year and their parents. The children are told what they need to do and expect at their baptism as well as given information about the mid-week programs that begin at 8 such as Cub Scouts and Achievement Days.)

Things That Make You Go, Hmmm

Why is it that Amish Friendship Bread starts are always given in Ziploc bags? Do the Amish really use Ziplocs? And why does the bread call for instant vanilla pudding? I have trouble seeing the Amish using instant anything, let alone pudding.

I think Amish Friendship Bread may have as much to do with the Amish as French fries have to do with the French.

This is a picture of the Amish, not the French.

Spoiled

On Saturday Wendell wanted to go the season opener Utah Blaze game (Arena Football League). Because he was working early shift from 9-5 his schedule was open to get to the 7:00 game. However this would mean that I'd have to watch the kids from 8:45 am until after 11 pm. To say the least, this makes for a long, trying day.

I agreed that he could go to the game on one condition: every minute he spent away from the family after work, I'd get to spend by myself on his day off. He was gone 5 hours and 45 minutes. Oh, delight.

As it turned out Anson had a bladder infection and had to come home from school, so I only got 5 hours and 15 minutes, part of which was spent getting his prescription. That aside, I had an amazing time!!!

I made a plan, which is crucial. I don't know how many times Wendell has said, "Go out and spend an hour alone." I say, "yea!!" then drive around for 45 minutes and come home early having no idea what to do with myself.

Just to be clear, I wasn't actually alone. Beck was my little buddy on my special day since I was going to be gone so long. So here's what I did with 5 hours and 15 minutes at my discretion.

1. I took myself to lunch! There is this noodle place I'd been eyeing. I told Wendell I wanted to go. He told me he'd been and it was terrible. (When I told him after my day that's where I went, he told me that he really liked that place. Weird. He can't remember anything.)

2. I ran a couple of errands. Not special, but I had a whole hour to kill before Anson's medicine was ready, so I may as well.

3. Fed Beck in the car in the Rite Aid parking lot. I was not going home AT ALL during my special time. No matter what.

4. Picked up Anson's prescription and ran it home.

5. Went to IKEA. This was my big thing. IKEA is not very close to my house, so I don't have many occasions to go. I actually had a hard time kinda fighting the urge to rush. Whenever I do get out it seems I have a deadline. But I had hours to kill this time. I bought the stuff I came for and had fun looking at other stuff.

6. Fed Beck at my Mom's house and visited.

7. I decided I needed a snack. I thought that an apple would be healthy, so I went to Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory and bought a caramel apple coated in white and dark mini chocolate chips. I'm sure it was good for me.

8. I went home. I was happy. I was refreshed.

I can't wait to do it again. In fact, Wendell went to a basketball game for 1 hour 35 minutes tonight. I can't wait for Friday! I think I'll get a pedicure this time...

10 More Random Things I Love About Wendell

1. He mows the lawn.
2. He shovels the walks in the winter. (When I had to do this after his elbow surgery, I became much more appreciative.)
3. He does an incredible job at outdoor grilling. YUM!
4. He fulfills all his church callings.
5. He believes in me and believes that I can do anything I put my mind to.
6. He loves to read.
7. He's interesting to talk to.
8. He thinks it's cute that I talk to myself.
9. He makes great omelets.
10. He raves about my cooking.

Grown Up

Shortly after my friend's 42nd birthday, she sat in my car and sobbed. "All the things I wanted to do with my life... I've failed. Now I can't do them. I'm too old."

At 15 years her junior, it felt ridiculous for me to console her. Not only were my 30's stretching out before me, but I had 20's left to go. I remember trying to tell her stories I'd read about people, notably older than she, who started a new business, tried new things. I tried to explain that she wasn't to old to learn new skills.

It is strange, though, as a child you dream of what you want to do when you grow up. You finish high school and head into college thinking that you have to make this decision by the time you're 19. I remember how heavily these decisions weighed on me my freshman year of college. I picked a major, Communications Broadcast with an emphasis in Sales. I finished college, got a job and put Wendell through school.

After I had Emma and no job I tried to find some kind of relevance to my life. Stay-at-home momhood hit me hard. I tried my hand at a couple of MLMs and started up more than one business only to find no success. When Emma was in 1st grade, I went to my first PTA meeting. Soon I was signed up to do the Carnival, help with Reflections and more. And I felt a kind of coming home.

For now, volunteering fills that void that I had previously experienced. I know that I'm helping my school. During an average school year, I probably spend 5 hours a week at the school or in some volunteering basis. And I'm happy. But I also know that this is not all.

At 31 and with my 32nd birthday approaching, I wonder what I'll be when I grow up. There is so much that I could do. So much that I could give. I simply try to keep my mind and my heart open to possibilities. Knowing that whatever I do must fit the parameters of my life (work around my kids' and hubby's schedules) or I won't enjoy it. But knowing that there will be something, constantly something to look forward to. And I'm glad that I have 60 more years of my life to do it in.

Thank You Notes

On Valentine's, I helped put on a party in Emma's class. I was in charge of the treats and I brought sugar cookies, frosting, red and pink sprinkles, M & M's, and mint chips. Today I got a pile of 'thank you's' from the class. Here are what a few said. All spelling and punctuation is original.

Dear, Mrs. Wood, Thank you, for the cookies and the Toppings they were so good. I would of ate all of them if I could. from Colin Allred

Dear Mrs. Wood,
I'm sorry I could not come. But the cookies sounded so good! I wish I could have tasted the cookies. Sincerely, Rylie
P.S. I was sick not at some other place.

Dear Mrs. Wood Thank you for the cookies! Even though I never ate my cookie my parents enjoyed it. It was fun decorating cookies, I enjoyed that.
Emma's classmate, Samantha Baumgarten

Dear Mrs. Wood,
Thank you for the cookies! I liked the cookies. And I like the heart shapes.
Emma's nextdoor desk, Elina

Dear Mrs. Wood,
I loved the cookies! They made me hyper.
from, Hallie

Dear Mrs. Wood,
I didn't get to hyper after the cookie but thanks.
From, Emily W.

Dear Mrs. Wood
I loved the cookies I said the pepermints where bacon cuse I love bacon.
from
Logan

Dear Mom,
thank you for the yummy cookies. I love you!
love, Emma

Wanted

Best Friend Wanted: One friend around my age with kids of similar ages. Must live nearby. May enjoy any of the following--scrapbooking, literature, music, kids, volunteering, shopping. Reasonably fashionable. Minimum relationship requirements--must hang out once monthly sans kids, weekly phone calls, summer monthly activities with kids in addition to regular activities. Must not be overly depressed and must have a good sense of humor, love to laugh and have fun.

Chores

Over the past, oh, five years since I've had children of a helpful age, I've been terrible about assigning and following through with chores. When the house was so messy that I just couldn't stand it anymore, then I'd insist that everyone clean until it was clean-ish. Invariably, during one of these sessions a child would ask, "Whose coming over?" Unfortunately, they knew full well that we generally didn't clean unless someone was coming over.

After church Wendell might say, "Oh, the Home Teachers* are coming over in a half hour." Then we'd try to clear the toys and clothes and books from off the couch and the floor so the HT would have a place to sit and hopefully wouldn't trip on the way in. We'd often have a look out so I could shut the vacuum off and put it away as they knocked on our door.

In my defense, the situation did not stem from a lack of trying. I had chore charts galore. For a while there it seemed every family home evening** was yet another attempt to keep our house clean. And at first it would be very exciting for the kids. They'd do chores for two solid days, easy. Then it got less fun and the rewards seemed less rewarding and once again it was just me trying to keep the house clean by myself.

After a lot of trial and error, we've found a system that works. IT WORKS!!! Each child has a list of chores posted on his or her door. Each chore has a value in "X's." Beneath the list is an "X" chart, which is just a series of boxes (8 x 11) from off of an Excel spreadsheet. There are 88 boxes total. When the chart is filled in, the kids can redeem it for a prize from the prize box. The prize box contains toys, books, games, jewelry, etc. each item with of value of $4-$7.

In addition to regular chores, the kids have Saturday chores as well, which is, as it should be, more labor intensive. On the Saturday of the third week of the new chores, I announced it was chore time. My announcement was followed by obligatory grumbling. But once they got to cleaning...attitudes changed. That week both of my boys individually told me that they love Saturday. (This pronouncement was either during or just after finishing the chores.) I can't be happier. And they seem to feel an obvious sense of accomplishment. And I'm pleased as punch that there are a few things I no longer have to do:

Sort the kids' laundry
Clean the kids' bathroom
Empty the dishwasher
Vacuum the living room, family room, kids' bedrooms or hallway
Dust

Can I even tell you how much more I get done in a week not having to do these things? It's heaven.

(*Mormon 101: Every man in the ward has at least 2 families that he and a companion (just like missionaries) visit each month. They offer a spiritual message, visit with the family and leave with a prayer. If the family is in need of something during the month, they may call on their home teachers to help them. This is one of the main ways that we take care of each other.
**Family Home Evening: Every Monday night (or other night as chosen by the family) is set aside as a special family night. The family gathers together and sings songs, have a lesson with an uplifting or helpful message, play a game or some kind of activity and have a little treat. It is an incredible amount of fun and a great way to address the needs of specific family members in a non-threatening way. We encourage everyone who can, a member of our faith or not, to have a special family night once a week.)

Cinkle

Last night at dinner Annika was quietly singing, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" to herself. As everyone at the table got quiet, she suddenly burst into a new version, "Cinkle, cinkle in the poootty!!" she sang.

We all laughed so hard that she added a 2nd verse, "Potty, potty, in the potty, in the potty, in the potty."

Ah, potty songs...

10 Random Things I Love About Wendell

1. When I'm with him, I feel beautiful, attractive and feminine.
2. He's a great dad.
3. When he's home he does 50% of the diaper duty.
4. He laughs at my jokes.
5. He goes to work and works hard so I can stay home.
6. He is supportive of my dreams and ambitions.
7. He does the lion's share of the dishes.
8. He's romantic.
9. He's smart.
10. He's taller than I am.

A Giggle and A Heck

On Sunday Beck giggled for the first time. I was tickling his chin which made him smile and smile, then he laughed! So cute! He would love little old ladies who come up and say "Coochy, coochy, coo!" Beck would smile and laugh.

Last night Annika was looking around the kitchen and suddenly her little hands went up to her mouth. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, "Where heck towel went?" Now it was my turn to have a hearty belly laugh.

Update 2/21/08: "Heck" is now a fixture in Annika's vocabulary. She has also said, "Where heck baby?" and "Where heck flowers go?"

At moments like these I am so glad that I don't swear, although I'm thinking I may use "heck" too much.

'How Can I Help You?' Is Not a Rhetorical Question

We got a new Relief Society President several months ago. Since she'd been serving in Canada where her husband was Mission President for the last 3 years, she decided that it would behoove the Relief Society Presidency to go around and get to know some of the sisters. I was on the list.

So shortly after Beck was born the RS Presidency came for a visit. We had a lovely chat at the end of which they asked me if I had any questions. "Will you have a nursery for Enrichment meeting?" I wondered.

"No," came the quick reply of the counselor over Enrichment night. "If we did a Super Saturday* or something like that, then yes, but for regular Enrichment night no."

"OK," I said, "I was just wondering."

As they left, they handed me a paper. "This is to fill out about you and your interests. Don't be shy about your talents!" one of the counselors encouraged. They told me when they'd be back to pick the paper up and cheerfully left. The final question on the paper asked, "What can we do to help you?"

Normally I'd leave a question like that blank. After all, I'm self-reliant. But a light bulb turned on. I wrote, "It would help me if you would have a nursery for Enrichment meeting. I don't think you need to have any nursery for the optional mid-week activities, but for Enrichment it would be very helpful. Wendell works late every Wednesday, so I would have to pay $10-$15 to go to Enrichment, and sometimes it's just not worth the money it would cost me."

There was an Enrichment meeting coming up in January--a talent show and the RS President picked up my paper just in time. Surely, now that she knew what help I needed there would be a nursery! But the talent night came and went without one, so I didn't attend.

I think that my absences at these meetings have been noticed. In fact, I've been asked to sing with a group for the next meeting. "Will there be a nursery?" I asked the Enrichment board member who called me. "Wow. Um, I've never thought of that. We should look into that," she stuttered.

"Yea," I said trying to make my case, "Wendell has to work until at least 8:00 every Wednesday and he burns on Thursday, which means he works from open until close, so it would be really helpful...."

She cut me off, "Hey, the Young Women** won't be having an activity that night so, why don't you call one of them? That would be easiest."

So, although I never actually agreed to participate, she is dropping by music for me to learn it.

Feel free to call me on it, if I'm wrong, but the church manual+ says that there should be a nursery for Enrichment meetings. There are admittedly not many young mothers in my ward, but even if I'm the only one who needs it, shouldn't there be a nursery? I mean why should it cost me $15 to go to a non-optional RS meeting, when it's not costing anyone else? And just to vent, why bother asking what you can do to help me and then not do anything about it?

Grrr.

(*Mormon 101: Super Saturday--half day Enrichment meeting usually focused on a variety of craft activities.

**Young Women: Girls between the ages of 12-18. They meet during the third block of church and have weekly activities.

+ Church Manual: To make sure that the Church programs are run the same everywhere in the world, each leader is supplied with a manual about their callings and instructions from the Church Leadership in Salt Lake City about how they want the particular group to function.)

Expression

After dinner tonight Nathan (5) said, "Do you know the expression, 'Throw in the towel and call it a day'?"

"Yea," I said, "I know that expression."

"It doesn't mean that you have to throw a towel. You can just go do something else."

When Lying is a Good Idea

The questions have nearly stopped about Beck's name and where it came from (a list of baby names we liked) and if it's a family name. But periodically, I do still get asked and I think I may start lying. I mean, isn't it so much easier to say, "Yep, Beck is my Grandmother's maiden name," and I'd have all the little old ladies of the world nod their heads in agreement that that is a good reason to name a kid Beck?

I did this once in college, lied I mean. (OK, I lied more than once, but this is the story your getting at the moment.) My best friend Emma and I moved to off campus housing our third year of college. We were both 20, but most of the women in our ward were older. It seemed like every conversation in Relief Society* and at social functions began, "On my mission..." Emma and I grew weary of that, so we concocted a plan.

There was an upcoming social and we'd only know a fraction of the people there. Emma was fluent in Italian and French thanks to living in Italy for a year when her dad was on sabbatical from the BYU Chemistry Dept. Emma and I decided to say that we were returned missionaries. Emma eventually picked Italy, since she knew the mission that covered the area where she lived. Since I didn't know a foreign language, I decided to say I served in Denver, Colorado. My great-grandma lived in Loveland, so I knew parts of Colorado well enough to wing it. And off we went.

When Emma and I met people we'd introduce ourselves with our names, mission and major. Sometimes we'd just say, "On my mission..." to begin a conversation so we'd sound cool. Eventually, we met a guy who seemed really cool. "So where did you guys serve your missions?"
"Italy," Emma said. "Denver, Colorado," was my response.

"Seriously?" he said suddenly turning his attention to me. "Denver north or Denver south?"

"North," I said not missing a beat but beginning to panic. He clapped his hands in excitement. "I had friend who served there! Her name is .......... Do you know her?"

I pretended to search my memory. "No. I don't think I know her."

"When did you serve?" he said pressing me for more details. "You have to know her. If you just got back, then you were serving at the same time."

I racked my brain to come up with a plausible answer, but it took me too long and the pause was obvious. I don't remember if it was Emma or me who started laughing first. But one of us got the giggles and pretty soon we'd both burst out in hysterical laughter. The poor guy had no idea what was so funny.

With red faces, Emma and I admitted that we weren't returned missionaries. We were only 20, but we wanted to be "cool." He didn't think our faking was funny or cool. He thought it was stupid and juvenile. And now that we'd been "had" we couldn't pretend to be RM's** any more. But it was fun while it lasted.

(*Mormon 101: Relief Society is the women's organization of the LDS church. The third hour of church is the Relief Society meeting, where we are instructed spiritually. There are also quarterly enrichment activities as well as optional mid-week activities with different focuses if a person is interested.

**Mormon 101: RM is short for returned missionary.)

Back in the Day

Reflecting on a special lunch posted on a different blog June 18, 2006...

I had a birthday recently (the big 3-0) and my mom wanted to take me out to lunch. She took me to Red Lobster largely because I've never had a lobster. "Oh," Mom said, "it's like shrimp...only better. If you like shrimp, you'll love lobster." When we got to Red Lobster, we looked at the menu for a lunch with lobster tail. The closest entree choice was a major platter with lobster tail, two kinds of shrimp and crab legs. However, we could also get a whole Maine lobster. My mom pushed for the later option.

"It's taken you 30 years to get a chance to eat lobster. You'd better get the whole thing!" So I did. (Although, I felt pretty silly when my mom ordered a pasta dish for $8.99 compared to my whole lobster for $24.) The lobster came out, eyeballs and all, and I didn't like it. Seriously, I love shrimp. I like lots of kinds of fish, (tuna, cod, salmon, halibut, mahi-mahi) but lobster is NOT my thing. As I valiantly tried to eat my $24 lunch, I wished I had started with the platter that had at least the two kinds of shrimp I KNEW I liked.

Annika's First Prayer

The other day Annika (22 months) and I were having a late breakfast. We had prayed with the kids in the morning before they went to school and blessed the food. So when I came back, it never crossed my mind to bless it again.

So Annika and I begin to munch and she suddenly folds her arms and says, "Daddy's arm better." I looked at her a bit dumbfounded. She wanted to pray and she wanted to pray for Daddy's arm to get better. (He had surgery just a week and a half ago.)

I folded my arms and tried to help her say a prayer. Some of the words she'd say and some she wouldn't, but by the "Amen" I was pretty proud of her. A few moments later she folded her arms and prayed again, determined to do it by herself. She said, "Father, bless Daddy's hurt arm... better." Then she finally ate her food.

The Anti-Cupid

I hate Valentine's Day. I HATE it. I can not express to you how much I hate Valentine's Day. (Perhaps I should have begun, "How I hate Valentine's let me count the ways..." but cheesy poems are part of the reason I hate Valentine's Day.)

It's true that me, a normal, pleasant, rational person, is the Scrooge of Valentine's. I hate how hard it is to get a restaurant. I hate how hard it is to arrange babysitting. I hate over-priced roses and heart shaped boxes of assorted chocolates and Hallmark cards. I hate that we have to buy each other gifts. Isn't Christmas, my birthday, his birthday, mother's day, father's day and our anniversary enough? Now some random day we have imposed romanticness and we must buy gifts.

The biggest problem of all is that I never know what to get Wendell. I hate shopping for him regularly (remember my problem at Christmas) now I have to get him something that represents love.

So what are you getting your hubby for Valentine's? (Warning: I might steal your idea and get Wendell that too.)

Food Rules

Saturday, an amazing woman from my ward brought over a cute baby outfit and a casserole. A casserole!! My baby's 2 months old and she still realized I would love a dinner. So I scrapped my own dinner plans and heated the casserole, per her instructions.

There are a couple of picky eaters at my house (Emma and Anson), but I don't want to name names so I'll just hint that they're 8 and 7 and plenty old enough to be mature about being fussy. I put a tiny portion of casserole (about 1/4 of an adult size serving) on each of the kids plates. It was a burrito casserole comprised of bean and cheese burritos and smothered in a yummy meat sauce.

Anson asked how much of it he was required to eat, I told him half and he dug in. Emma opted to eat her squash and zucchini first, then try the dish. Unfortunately, when Anson was done he announced, "I can't believe I just ate that..." At which point I cut him off and declared he was dangerously close to a penalty. But even him saying that much put Emma over the edge and she was going to die rather than eat a bite of that burrito.

Side note: I have a few rules about food and my kids. Rule #1, You don't have to finish. Rule #2, You have to try new food. Rule #3, if you want seconds of anything you must finish your vegetables first. Rule #4, if you say that a food is yucky, gross or in any way malign the food you will be required to finish all of it that is on your plate. Rule #5, If you continue to complain about a food after receiving Rule #4's penalty, you will be served more of that food, which you will also have to finish. (No one has actually ever experienced Rule #5.)

After Emma finished her veggies, I asked her to take a bite of the casserole. I searched for a good spot that had beans, tortilla and meat sauce with none of the yucky cheese and asked Emma to take a bite. When my back was turned she announced that she had done it. This seems suspicious and upon further examination of her plate I discovered that she had smeared the bite around, but not eaten it.

As I picked up her fork to reconstitute the bite, Emma freaked out. Freaked Out! Tears and everything. "OK," I said, "you have reacted enough that you now have to eat the whole thing." After I let that sink in a moment I couldn't help but say, "Now I bet you wish that you had just eaten what I'd asked." She nodded tearfully, but her mind was racing.

Before long she began to form a Plan B and thought she'd test it out.

E: How long do I have to sit here?
M: Until you eat the whole serving.
E: What if bedtime comes?
M: You'll have to go to bed late.
E: What if I sit here all night?
M: I guess you'll be tired.
E: What if I'm still sitting here in the morning?
M: You'll have to eat it then. If you wait that long you might even miss church. That would be a bummer.
E: (crying) What if I sit here forever?!?
M: That would be a very long time. I think you'll eat it before forever.

This may have been the longest meal known to man. She later admitted that she thought she could wait it out, that eventually I'd relent and she wouldn't have to eat it. She was wrong. What finally got her eating was when I got ice cream out for the rest of the family, but didn't dish her any because she hadn't finished her dinner yet.

"I can have ice cream when I'm done, right?" she said with an element of panic in her voice, now fearful that she had something else to regret.

"Of course," I said, "just as soon as you finish."

The boys and Annika were done and cleaned up before Emma gagged down her last bite of casserole, but she did it. Mid way through she even said, "Mom, I'm really sorry that I didn't obey." I have never seen a more pure example of godly sorrow.

"I know sweetie," I said with compassion and love, "but you still have to eat it."

She nodded a little and replied, "I know."

She was proud of herself when she finished and I think, like Anson, she couldn't believe that she'd eaten it. It was a pretty awful situation for me as well as Emma, with all those tears and a heart wrenching apology. But I stuck to my guns for this reason: she'll never put up a fuss again. Ever. She'll eat at least a bite or two of whatever she's dished without complaint or insult and that is totally worth surviving one sad dinner.

The $100 Question

When it's winter, car sales are slow. So I thought it prudent in January to trim back a bit, financially. One of the ways I was going to trim things was to spend less on groceries. When the month was over, I assessed how we did.


We spent $100 more on groceries than usual. What?!? Now I'm left trying to figure out what happened. Could it be in part because I have 2 babies in diapers instead of 1? Could it be that Annika is actually eating enough food that her consumption must be factored into meal plans? I did do a fair amount of "stocking up" this month, was that too much?

These are the facts: 1) we waste very little food, 2) we don't buy expensive food--no pre-grilled chicken strips at my house, or Lunchables, or most name brands when generic is just fine. (Gosh, there aren't many facts are there?)

With how well stocked our food storage room and freezer are, I think that this month I'm going to buy milk, bread, eggs, fresh produce and stuff I run out of that can't wait. (Example: Yogurt can wait, sandwich meat can not. Ice cream can wait, diapers can not.)

Hopefully, March 1st I'll be sitting here having spent a lot less on groceries.

Defunct

On Friday I had a great idea to take a picture of some flowers Wendell gave me for no reason at all and blog about it. I was going to say, "Everything's coming up roses, and daisies, and those funky green things on the side."

On Saturday I was going to write about taking all five of my children, by myself, mind you, to an art museum. And it went great! No one shouted. Nobody touched anything. And whenever I asked the kids to do something, they were very obedient. When we were leaving Nathan (5)said, "I thought that would be boring, but it was really fun!" And everybody begged to go back again when there are new exhibits next month. It was a proud moment.

Late Sunday night, after I heard about Pres. Hinckley's death, I was going to blog about him. Wendell and I watched a TV program about him that night and I couldn't help crying. Not so much about his passing, but about all the good he did in this life. The temples he got constructed, the saints* he visited in distant lands, who treasured this once-in-lifetime opportunity to see the Prophet. If I could only do a fraction of the good he did in his long life...

On Monday, Wendell had surgery on his elbow. I was going to take pictures of him in recovery with his sad swollen arm, so he could laugh later (and we could all laugh now!).

But none of that happened. I have become a defunct blogger. I keep missing day after day. Not that I don't have things to say, oh, believe me I have things to say. In fact, I often talk to myself. When people point out that I'm talking to myself again, I simply say, "I have to talk to myself. I'm one of the most interesting people I know!"

I guess life just gets busy sometimes. And in my defense I've been trying to organize. Generally speaking, this seems futile, but we're having success with my new bracelet/necklace hooks, our new laundry bins and our new chores. Oh, and Emma didn't get a very favorable grade in math this term so, in addition to her regular homework, I'm trying to spend an additional 2-3 hours per week just on math to fill in the holes she's acquired.

I'm sure with all that going on, you're shocked that blogging fell between the cracks. But then again, maybe that's happened to you too.

(*Mormon 101: Saints is another word for member. Our church's official name is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. So we call each other saints, but we have a very low threshold for sainthood.)

On a Scale of 1 to 5

Six years ago when Wendell and I moved into our current ward, we were invited to take a marriage relations class in place of Sunday School during the second hour* of church. During one of the exercises we were asked to rank certain things on a scale of 1 to 5 where five meant you agreed the most and 1, you agreed the least.

After doing this individually, you were to compare answers with your spouse. Wendell and I had a few different answers, but one in particular surprised me. The sentence said, "You know who is in charge of your family." I gave this sentence a 5 while Wendell gave it a lower number.

"What?" I asked quite shocked, "You gave a 2 to knowing who's in charge?"

"Yeah," Wendell replied.

"Why?" I wondered.

He looked at me a bit sideways. "Sometimes I think that you think that you're in charge."

I let out a little laugh. "I AM in charge and I know it," I said pointing to the 5 on my paper.

(*Mormon 101: We meet on Sundays for 3 hours of church. In most places, Sacrament Meeting is first lasting and hour and 10 minutes. During this hour we take the Sacrament similar to
Communion in other churches. The second block is Sunday School and usually lasts 50 minutes. The final block is Priesthood/Relief Society. Where the men and women meet separately to be taught according to our different needs. There are also other church activities that go on during the week, but Sunday is the worship service. Most mid-week meetings are fun activities that often include a spiritual message.)

Jealousy

For the first 3 weeks of Baby Beck's life, Annika seemed pleased as punch to have him here. She called him "Baby Beck, Mmmuh." The final sound being her puckering up her lips to kiss him.

But week 3 everything changed. At first I couldn't understand why, but then I realized the source. For the first 3 weeks, I was almost never alone. Either Wendell or my mother were here helping, which meant in large part, taking care of Annika.

Once I was on my own, however, Annika was disappointed that she was no longer the center of attention. Or at least frustrated that she had to share my lap.

Her most frequent requests were diaper changes. Every single feeding when I needed to change Beck, Annika would follow me into her room where the diaper change table is and begin begging.

"I poopy," she'd say pulling at her diaper, "I wet."

If I didn't change her right away she'd have a full out tantrum right there on the bedroom floor.

I've done my best to read to her while I nurse Beck, but when I'm trying to get him latched on, I need just a moment before I can read. This has led to a new jealousy.

"Baby Beck eat," Annika observed. "Baby Beck eat Mama's milk. I eat."

There's almost a questioning inflection in her tone, yet it's really not a question, it's a demand. She wants to nurse too.

"No," I tell her, "Annika's a big girl. She eats bologna and cheese and crackers and ice cream. Annika doesn't need Mama's milk."

She'll think about that for a minute then lay her head right by Beck's. "I eat," she suggests again.

I keep reassuring her that she's the big girl and that I can still snuggle her. I read her probably 40 books on an average day, so I really don't think she's lacking attention. But even 8 weeks later, she's not quite used to the fact that she's not the baby any more.

Wednesday Woes

Wendell is a finance manager at our local Honda store. So his shift varies: Monday-Early; Tuesday-Off; Wednesday-Late; Thursday-Burn; Friday and Saturday alternate early and late.

Now Thursday's are the days I used to dread. "Burn" means working open to close. From 8:30 am until 8:00pm or so. (Tonight Wendell got in at 9:55pm so 8:00 is really theoretical.) It certainly makes for a very long day for me. But for some reason, Thursday's just haven't been that bad. It's Wednesday's that are terrible.

Just for an example, at 6:00pm I have dinner cooking, the baby is starting to fuss and Nathan's just informed me that he has a big lump on his leg. So I put him on a kitchen stool in his underwear to take a look. He has "seed warts" also called molluscum contagiosum or some such. They are a vicious fast spreading wart that, in order to kill, you must scoop the "seed" or the middle of the wart out before they get big. The big ones are the ones that continue the vicious spread. Anson had this when he was four so I've got all the tools I need. Unfortunately, Nathan has probably 40 on the insides of his thighs.

So I'm dealing with all this at dinner time when Wendell calls. Please remember to record American Idol and could you pause the BYU basketball game. (Or was it the other way round.) He's in a jovial mood half joking about stuff and I'm examining seed warts. Nathan's being really brave so I decide to scoop a few out. (The dermatologist gave me a special tool for this that's really sharp.) After I do this, I think, I'll go record the stuff on TV.

But I never think of it again until 9:55 pm when Wendell walked through the door.

In fact the evening got so out of hand that I called my mother at 8:45, when my kids are normally in bed and begged her to come help me. Nathan still had his piano to practice. Annika didn't have PJ's cause of a diaper issue this morning. Emma and Anson had just finished their homework and piano and the baby had to be fed again. Right now.

I had rounded up something for Annika by the time my mom got here. The baby was half fed and I was barking so many instructions to Emma and Anson that they couldn't even complete one task before I'd already asked them to do another.

My mom is a saint. She got the kids to bed, helped tidy my living room, loaded my dishwasher and wiped down my counter and stove. Then she left. I dished myself a half cup of my new favorite ice cream, Dreyer's Slow Churned Chocolate with Oreos, into a chocolate covered ice cream cone. I went down stairs and sat in the rocker-recliner with every intent to watch one of the many Oprah shows I've TIVO'd but haven't had time to watch. Then Wendell walked in.

When I realized my mistake, I apologize all over the place. Please don't hate me, I said. I forgot to record anything. Suffice it to say, Wendell was far from pleased. What I want to know is why all my Wednesday's seem to turn out like this? Hopefully Thursday is more promising.

Blessing Day

Today was Beck's blessing day. He looks a bit worried about it.

Wendell, Me and Baby Beck

I hate the pictures of me on blessing day. It's always the consummate "before" picture.

So the Bishop stands up and announces that we will having a baby blessing today. And he looks at Beck's name and says, "I won't tell you the name, I'll let Brother Wood* reveal that in the blessing." Honestly, I think he had no idea how to pronounce Cohen and rather than massacre it, then hear it correctly when Wendell said it, he just let Wendell do it.

The blessing was wonderful and very sweet. I wrote notes like mad and Wendell didn't change the name, so that went smoothly. But after Sacrament meeting, all of the these church members, especially old people, kept coming up and asking what the baby's name was. My interchange with Sister Wilkes was a typical one.

SW: So what did you name him?

J: Cohen Beck; Cohen Beck Wood.

SW: And you're calling him Beck?

J: Yep.

SW: Is that your maiden name?

J: No, it's just a name we like. It's kind of funky.

SW: Yes, it's...interesting.

(When I was taking voice lessons at BYU from my uncle [he taught in the MDT department], he was playing songs for me and wanted me to pick one. "Do you like this one?" he asked. I cocked my head and nodded slightly, "It's interesting," I said. "Ah," said my uncle, "interesting is a euphemism for something you don't like, but you don't want to offend anyone. Never say something is interesting. Say that you like it or don't.")

I don't know how many times I got that reaction, like someone had a bad taste in their mouth just from saying his name. I keep wondering if I wouldn't have been peppered with so many questions if the bishop hadn't added to the oddity of the situation, by making Beck's name so mysterious. On the bright side, the bishop didn't stand up there and call him Colon.

(*Mormon 101: We have no paid clergy in our faith. All of the work is done by members willingly volunteering their time. Fortunately, church responsibilities, or callings, are rotated among the members. Part of what makes this system possible is a lay Priesthood. Any worthy man can hold the priesthood. This authority allows the member to perform special religious ordinances such as giving a baby a name and blessing, baptising, etc. Therefore, as long as the father is a member in good standing, he usually performs all religious rites for his family.)

And I'd Like to Thank All the Little People...

First, I'd like to thank my parents for giving birth to all 10 lbs 7 ozs of me. (Technically, my dad did not give birth to me, but thanking my parents for conceiving me somehow seems inappropriate.)

And I want to thank my mom for finishing college and getting her degree in English. This has facilitated my writing skill and infused me with a vocabulary of big words.

I'd like to thank my dad for teaching me how to use a computer, including spell check, since I got his spelling skill which means that I am unable to spell any of the big words I know how to use.

Most importantly, I'd like to thank Laurie from My Priceless Treasures who gave me this award.

Laurie is a friend of mine in real life and her blog is awesome. (It is, unfortunately, private since her husband's line of work has something to do with drugs.) Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Please picture me wearing a (modest) $8000 red dress with $800 red and white pumps. Picture me clutching a microphone, shaking slightly with excitement. And while you're at it, picture me looking like Halle Berry.

Does anybody else have a problem with the "s" in this award. It appears to say "Your blog is a treasures" which is odd. Whoever designed this, wasn't from around here...

Cute Baby Things and Kid-isms

Beck smiled at Wendell the other day. A huge, cute cheesy smile. I'm a little jealous. He spends most of his time smiling at my...well, his food, let's say. That is how I can tell he's done eating, he starts smiling. But only rarely does he smile at ME.

He has started cooing, which I love and I guess that will just have to suffice until he realizes how much fun I am.

Annika (21 months) has start speaking more and more clearly. She used to call Nathan, "Date," but now she calls him "Nate." (Thank goodness she still calls Anson, "Ansie.")

On Tuesday after we dropped Nate off for school she called out. "See ya, Nate. Have fun, Na...than." She repeated this over and over as we drove to the mall to go for a walk. We have rules at my house and kids under two should not be able to talk that well. I think Nathan called himself "Nay-nay," until he was three. (Wendell always loved this 'cause "nene" in Portuguese means baby. Wendell served his mission in Brazil, so he speaks "Pork-a-gese" as my kids call it.)

When Annika was born, Anson said "no thank you" whenever we offered to have him hold her. Later he told me that he "didn't like babies." But I think he's had a change of heart. This summer as Annika learned to talk more and more Anson started giggling and would say, "how cute," under his breath. Since then he likes her more all the time, partly because he's having so much fun teaching her to say things.

So far he's taught her to say, "super hot," and when he asks, "what does an Anson say?" she yells, "AYE!" and punches her little fist in the air in a taekwondo move that Anson taught her.

I still don't know where she learned to say "tah-tah" when people leave. Yesterday she was yelling at us, "Hey, don't! That's wude!"

One last kid-ism and I promise I'm done. The other day Emma was frustrated with a book my mom was loaning her. "This book is so boring. At first it was interesting and exciting, but who knew that this part would have so much vivid detail?" (Apparently, vivid detail is boring. Alas.)

This Might Be a Dirty Joke

My sister Christy and I look particularly dissimilar. I'm 2 inches taller with lighter hair and darker skin. She's the thin sister, while I'm the fat one. She has small feet and hands with thick finger. I have huge feet, hands the size of plates and thin-ish fingers.

After I had my first baby, Christy and my mom convinced me to go to their OB. Christy told me which doctor she liked best and after meeting her, I agreed. Christy had just had a horrific miscarriage and I was pregnant with Nathan. So when I saw Dr. Kline, I reminded her that I was Christy's sister.

Dr. Kline knew exactly who I was talking about, but couldn't believe the relationship. "You mean, your sisters-in-law, right?"

"No," I insisted, "we're sisters. Our maiden name is the same and we're even biologically related."

"Oh," she said with a real lack of conviction. It was like she just couldn't believe it was true.

Fast forward about 9 months. I had just recently had Nathan and Christy was delighted to be pregnant again. It was Christy's first appointment with the pregnancy, which requires an internal exam.

So Christy's chit-chatting with her feet in the stirrups and reminded Dr. Kline that she was my sister. She gave the doctor specific details about my pregnancy that she would remember (yes, I was the dumb-dumb who got pregnant on a cancer medicine, but that's a story for another post).

"Oh," said Dr. Kline as she looked up, "I even recognize the similarities now."

"So that's where we look alike, huh?" Christy joked without ever missing a beat.

Dr. Kline blushed, but she, the nurse and Christy all burst into hysterical laughter.

Sisters

I have two sisters. One is older than me, the other is younger. Yes, this makes me the dreaded middle child. We don't look at all alike, my sisters and I. If you say we do, well, you are lying.

My older sister is Christy. She's 33. I used to torment her by saying that she was one year, ten months, 29 days, three hours and three minutes older than I am. She always insisted that we were two years apart in age and essentially, we are. Christy is a natural brunette with fair skin and angular facial features. She is an amazing pianist. She teaches my boys piano lessons. She was born for this job. Despite the fact that we have no brothers, Christy is in her element with boys.

Christy is one of my best friends. We talk everyday. This is probably why she is nominated "Most Likely to Drive Me Crazy." She was born organized and is an overall clean freak with a high level of energy. She's been married 12.5 years and has 4 kids ranging from ages 11-2.

Andrea is my younger sister. She just turned 29. She is about 2 years 8 months younger than I am (note that I never went to the trouble to figure it out exactly). Like me, she was dark blond as a kid and has light brown hair as an adult. Like Christy, she has fair skin (I'm comparatively olive), but where Christy's features are angular, Andrea's are round and soft. Andrea is one of the funniest people I know. She has a dry wit about her that is both cutting and laughable.

Andrea and I talk several times a week and we agree on nearly everything. She is THE BEST person to take shopping. If you want to find the cutest clothes and have the most fun known to man--go shopping with Andrea. Unfortunately, Andrea likes to shop with Christy more than she likes to shop with me. I wish I could figure this out, but I just rack it up to being the slighted middle child.

Andrea is an amazing pianist (can you tell that both of my sisters are better at piano than I am and I'm jealous). She also has magic hair that looks perfect everyday. You don't want to know how much time she spends to make her hair look perfect, but it is dumbfounding. She's single and lives with my folks, which they love and it drives them crazy simultaneously. She wants nothing more in the world than to get married, but for the moment it's not in the cards. She also works full-time at a high-tech software company.

If they were to describe me they would say that I am the tallest, fattest and smartest of the sisters. They are both jealous of how smart I am. This doesn't mean that I'm the best writer--that distinction goes to Andrea who majored in English. But I could best them at an IQ test, math test, science test, etc. I'm book smart. I had a better GPA and ACT than either of them and I passed more advanced placement classes than both of them combined. They would point this out, because they are jealous. (Not unlike my jealousy over their piano playing ability.) They would say that I am a good singer and I would say I'm not better than either of them, just more trained.

They would tell you that I'm the family rebel. I moved out the city once and I pierced my ears when I was 18. Ooo, and I had a boyfriend in high school (he's now my husband). This is very rebellious for my family. They would tell you that I'm loud, annoying and I like to talk to strangers. Pretty much nobody makes me nervous, unless you invite me to a blogapalooza, then I'm terrified. But sit next to me at the doctor's office and be prepared for me to pepper you with questions while telling you my whole life story. They think this is weird because they are not extroverts.

They would probably mention that I've been married 10.5 years and I have 5 kids 8 years to 6 weeks old. They would probably make fun of how fertile I am and how I've accidentally gotten pregnant a couple of times. Then they would say that I'm a great mom, but a terrible housekeeper. I hope that they'd stop talking now, because really this is all too much information.

We all live within 5 blocks of each other for maximum friendliness and ease of driving each other crazy. You might not think that was a good idea, but we like it. At least most of the time.

Get the Biggest Rock

We had Stake Conference yesterday and today and at the Saturday session my stake president* told this story:

There was a man who was a missionary in Africa. Where he was serving there were lots of rivers with swift currents, but very few bridges. The people there taught him the safest way to cross the river.

First, you get the biggest rock you can; the bigger, the better. Then you heft the rock onto your shoulder. Then you can wade out into the river. When the currents are swiftest, the weight of the rock will keep you grounded and stop you from being swept down stream.

Pres. Stoddard concluded with this, "We need the weight of responsibility to keep ourselves from being swept away in the current life."

Doesn't this have so many applications? I thought especially of giving our kids enough responsibility. Even if the responsibility we give them feels weighty, it just means that the kids will be less likely to be swept into the current of what's popular rather than what's right.

(*Mormon 101: A bishop is in charge of a ward this is equal to a pastor or reverend being in charge of a congregation. A stake president is in charge of many wards--in my stake that's 13 wards/branches.)

Car Thing

On Monday Wendell almost missed my little sister's whole birthday party because of problems with his car. (He needed a new battery and cables.) Today, sitting in my driveway, we have a new car.

By new, of course, I mean new to us. It's a 1995 Civic Coup. The biggest perk is that it's automatic. When Wendell bought his '93 Accord he reminded me how infrequently I used his vehicle, so it would make no difference if it was manual, which I don't know how to drive.

Ever since I've needed his car on a couple dozen occasions and we've both cursed the car that I can't drive. So, wa-la. Just like that we have another car. To be honest, I've lost track of how many cars we've owned in just the (almost) 6 years that we've lived here. I guess this is what you get when your hubby works at a car dealership.

But this I can promise you, every single car--except one--was a smokin' good deal.

Jeanie

I was at a meeting this morning and connected with a woman who was in my ward when Wendell and I lived in Spanish Fork. As we were catching up she informed me that her daughter Jeanie, who I was friends with, had brain cancer. She's had some surgery and is doing alright.

Jeanie is a 27-year-old SAHM with 4 kids 4 and under. She has a blog here about her family and here about the cancer. She's been through a lot and I think she's really amazing.

The Day From You-Know-Where

When does a day begin and end? By a 24 hour clock it begins at midnight, but so often I'm still awake then. Yet I'll tell you how Wednesday went on a 24 hour clock. It was quite the day.

12:00am Still up with the baby.

1:00 I finally get to bed.

2:40 Annika wakes up screaming. Wendell goes in checks on her, soothes her and puts her back in bed. But as soon as he lays her down she is screaming.

3:15 Annika is still screaming and has finally awakened the baby.

3:38 I am only half done feeding the baby but I just can't take the screaming anymore. I go in and sing the lullaby she's screaming for (bye-o, bye-oooooo). As soon as I quit singing she's screaming again. I put her in my bed. "Baby Beck!" she yells. I scoop up Beck, my Boppy, diaper changing supplies and shut off the light. I finish feeding Beck in the living room.

4:20 I lay Beck down in his bassinet and I scoot Annika over and go to sleep.

5 something-ish I get kicked in the head two or three times and move Annika.

6:45 Annika is up and talking loudly. I kick Wendell and Annika out of bed.

7:07 I get Emma out of bed to take her shower.

7:23 I get Anson up and dressed. I feed the kids breakfast, check backpacks, brush hair, look for shoes and socks.

7:52 Emma and Anson leave for school.

8:05 Nate gets up, blah, blah, blah. I feed the baby.

9:07 Nate goes to school, I frantically get in the shower.

9:45 I leave for the OB office for my 6 week check. Because of the snow I know I'm going to be late for my 10:00 apt.

10:05 I get to the OB office.

11:20 I get home and Wendell walks out the door to volunteer in Nate's class. I feed the baby.

12:15pm Nate and Wendell get home. I'm on the phone with a friend of my from high school (we actually go back to about 5th grade) whom I haven't spoken with in a year or so.

12:45 I feed the kids lunch and Wendell leaves for work. All heck breaks loose. Annika is into everything. The highlight of her trouble was when she got a butter knife, dipped it in the butter and buttered her hair.

1:30 My mom comes over to pick up Nathan for "reading lessons." Nathan comes upstairs from playing Lego Star Wars with a suspicious wet spot in a suspicious place. Keeping in mind that I have called him upstairs twice suggesting that he go potty before Grandma get here. I send him to the bathroom and to change his pants and underwear. He looses Lego Star Wars privileges until Saturday. He's pretty mad/upset when he leaves.

1:50 I call my sis to beg her to pick my kids up from school, because I'm feeding the baby and I don't think I'll make it. Anson didn't take boots to school which was my fault. Eventually she says she'll go, but by then I think I can make it too.

2:10 Go to the school to pick up Emma and Anson.

2:15 School lets out.

2:30 Still no sign of my kids. I must have missed them some how, but there are no more kids coming out and very few cars left in the lot. They're walking home in the snow. As I pull out of the parking lot my cell phone rings. It's my sister. She came late to pick her daughter up and spotted them walking home. Anson was knee deep in a snow drift (in his new tennis shoes) just for fun.

2:35 I get home and chew the kids out for walking while I was waiting at the school for them for 15 minutes.

"Sorry, Mom," Anson says, "but we usually walk home."

"Yes," I reply snipily, "but it doesn't usually snow a foot!" (OK. I exaggerated a little. It was probably 8-9 inches. Still--that's a lot of snow in half a day.)

2:45 Mom drops Nathan off from reading lessons and picks Emma up. Thankfully my mom will take Emma to her art lessons, so that's one less thing I have to do.

The rest of the afternoon goes moderately smoothly with kids doing homework and piano and yes, Anson got his turn at reading lessons too.

4:05 Annika is down for a nap, but is screaming. I need a nap too so I hop in bed, shut the door and pile the covers up so I can't hear her.

4:20 I wake up to Annika screaming, but I feel more rested.

4:35 Mom brings Emma and Anson home. I'm feeding the baby. The phone rings. Emma gets it. It's Anson's friend Haden. He wants to play.

"Do you want to come over Friday?" I ask.

"No," he insists, "when my mom comes home."

"OK." I say. "You can come over for a bit tonight." (I'm picturing after dinner. But I'm also SURE that Haden's mom will call "when she gets back" and we'll work out the details.)

5:20 We're having leftovers. I have 3 kinds of leftover soups from the last couple of days. I have the choices laid out on the counter. Each child has told me what s/he wants and I have the bowls cued up for microwaving.

5:25 Haden shows up. Cindy and I talk about the confusion. Cindy is hoping to take Anson to her house, but Anson hasn't eaten or practiced his piano yet. I agree to keep Haden for a few minutes so the boys won't feel so bad. We set up a Friday play date.

Then Cindy and I promptly visit for the next 25 minutes. "Gosh," she says at the end, "it's about time for me to take Haden home." I am secretly hoping she will do this.

5:50 Cindy leaves promising to be back in 15 minutes.

5:55 I put Annika in her high chair and feed her soup. I heat mine up and in a few minutes Emma comes in. We say a quiet prayer together while the boys play.

6:25 Emma, Annika and I are completely done eating and I'm cleaning up the kitchen.

6:35 Nathan comes into the kitchen asking about dinner and I reheat his soup.

6:45 Cindy finally comes back admitting she'd forgotten about Haden.

I eventually got Anson fed and have him play his piano. I forget to have Emma do spelling or have Nathan do his home reader.

7:30 I get the kids ready for bed.

7:55 I call Wendell who is just leaving work. Halleluia. This awful day is almost over. Wendell doesn't want to eat leftover soup and stops by a Mexican restaurant to pick up dinner he would like.

8:00 I call the kids in for scriptures and prayer, which is, thankfully uneventful.

8:20 I send the kids to bed.

8:22 Wendell walks in the door. All the kids get out of bed to kiss Wendell. After that I tell Wendell about my frustrating day and we watch TV while I feed the baby again. Blog.

At 12:00am I am still up, but not for long.

Thus ends the most brutal day I've had for in a while.

Sales Tactic

I went to Barnes and Noble to buy a book for my little sister's birthday, which is on Monday. As I'm checking out the man says, "Do you have a membership?"

J: No

M: Would you like to buy a membership and get 10% off every purchase?

J: No, not...today.

M: I'm sad. (He said as he looks at me through his eyelashes with a slight pout.)

J: Why?

M: (Big pout with lip jutting out.) I want you to buy the membership.

J: (surprised) Oh. Unfortunately, I only come in to buy books 3-4 times a year as gifts.

M: (No more pouting.) OK.

When I told Wendell about this story he about died. "I should try that," Wendell said dripping with sarcasm. "The next time someone doesn't buy a warranty I should say, 'I'm sad. I want you to buy the warranty.' Good grief!"

Broken Resolutions

I was looking back at last year's resolutions and it was pretty depressing. I don't think I accomplished one. On the other hand, I had no idea how 2007 would unfold. The goal that cracks me up the most was my weight loss goal. I talked with exuberance and confidence that by the end of 2007 I would be within 10 lbs of my goal weight.

Instead of loosing weight; I gained. With the notable weight gain, however, came a baby that I didn't foresee having. So the year turned out entirely differently than I had pictured. But it was wonderful. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

When I was starting to write my goals for 2008, I was so depressed that I had to do SOMETHING to make me feel better. So I wrote down all the things I did well in 2007, even though many or most of them weren't on my list.

*We put enough money in savings to pay for our baby. And if you knew how bad our insurance sucks then you would recognize this was a feat!

*We started an emergency fund. I found a local credit union that had really good interest rates on CD's AND it will allow you to make additional deposits.

*We paid down some debt.

*I volunteered in Anson's Kindergarten class once a week. Then I volunteered in Anson's 1st grade class once a week and Nathan's Kindergarten class once a week. (In Nate's class I actually go in every other week and Wendell takes every other week so one of us is in there weekly.)

*I started an upper grade/advanced lower grade reading program. We ran it as a pilot program Jan-May then started it up for it's first full year in Sept.

*I helped with Reflections.

*I helped with our school carnival which, by the way, grossed over $10,000. That $$ amount is not a typo.

*I was appointed to the School Community Council.

*I'm the Education Commissioner for our school PTA.

That makes me feel so much better. So my house looks like crap because I never got it organized in 2007. And I gained 20+ pounds. And I'm still not reading my scriptures everyday...well as a family we read it everyday, but me, personally, I'm inconsistent. And I didn't exercise AT ALL my 3rd trimester. BUT. I still did a lot. And that makes me feel better.

Happy New Year!

The moment the clock stuck 12:00 this is what my kids were doing.

Emma's beating a tambourine.

Anson's blowing on a train whistle.

Nathan's playing a harmonica.

Annika's got the "clapper."

Most importantly, they were all making noise!

Happy New Year!