sostinkinhappy

Pinspired: A Valentine's Day Wreath

2012-01-27T14:01:00.000-05:00

I made this the other day. Wrapping all that yarn was both therapeutic and mind-numbing, all at the same time. Perhaps it was therapeutic because it was mind-numbing, now that I think about it.

At any rate, The Professor is thrilled with how it turned out and after all, I made it for him. His is the only opinion that really matters.

Here is the picture from Pinterest that inspired this latest spate of craftiness:

Source: remodelaholic.com via sostinkinhappy on Pinterest

Happy crafting, y'all! (I can officially say that now because I live in "Lower Alabama.")

Much love,

M.

My 2012 Resolutions

2012-01-01T19:21:00.005-05:00

I resolve to laugh more, worry less.
I resolve to love more, resent less.
I resolve to listen more, talk less.
I resolve to trust more, control less.
I resolve to pray more, stress less.
I resolve to save more, consume less.
I resolve to teach more, dictate less.
I resolve to move more, sit less.
I resolve to read more, surf less.
I resolve to be thankful more, grumble less.

What are your 2012 New Year's Resolutions?

Halloween..er...trunk or treat

2011-10-26T21:13:00.000-04:00

Today was the ward ~~Halloween Party~~ Trunk-or-Treat Party. There were about 5,875 more people there than I was expecting, but that's OK, because I wasn't in charge. The Professor thought it was awesome that so many people were getting together to celebrate my birthday (which was today). I had to remind him the party wasn't for me, but it sure was a nice way to spend the evening of my birthday. And it was.

Here's the Professor's costume for the night:

And here is Sweet P. (sans her adorable hat, which Mommy left at home somewhere between the place where it was hanging and the car.)

Here's a picture of her costume hanging up. Hopefully I can get pictures of her in the whole thing on Halloween.

Captain Knuckle decided not to dress up this year and spent the evening scaring the little kids with his hand-in-the-candy-bowl trick instead. He cut a hole in the bottom of the bowl and then inserted his hand from the bottom. He covered his hand with candy and when the kids came by to get some, he told them to get a piece - then he grabbed them with his hand! It was quality entertainment.

What I Did Today

2011-10-19T16:28:00.000-04:00

Today, I did nothing even remotely responsible.

I have not read one book.

I have not written one sentence (well, other than these).

I have not cleaned one thing.

Instead, I was inspired by this lampshade I found at Pinterest (via The Pleated Poppy)...

...and then I did this:

I bought an old lamp shade for $1.50 at the Waterfront Rescue Mission Thrift Store (arguably the best thrift store in the area).

I stripped all of the silk off of it (and saved it to make the Professor's scarf for his Halloween costume. He is going as Balloon Boy, or rather, Hot Air Balloon Boy.)

Then I raided my quilting and sewing scraps and did this.

Then I stuck it on a lamp base I had, just because I was dying to see what it would look like with a light behind all the different fabrics. (Don't worry, this isn't the permanent base nor the permanent location for this lamp shade. I think it might go in my office or over the bar area as a pendant lamp - I haven't decided where as of yet.)

I used a lot more scraps than the inspiration project, but it suits me just fine. Looking at it now, I also think it needs some lamp-jewelry around the bottom. I will have to see what I have in my stash. But seriously, look at how happy those fabrics are when they are all lit up by the light!

All in all, it was a nice way to spend the afternoon while Princess P. napped. But now I have to clean up, arguably my least favorite part of being irresponsible for the day.

Pumpkin Cookies (Grain Free)

2011-10-18T15:22:00.003-04:00

Thank you, Sarah over at The Healthy Home Economist! These cookies are amazing and are certainly going to be a hit with the family (if there are any left by the time they get home!)

And yes, they taste as scrumptious as the recipe sounds. (I actually added about another cup of almond flour to give them a bit more body.) YUM!

I am already thinking of really great ways to use this cookie recipe for fall desserts around The Happy House.

While wasting time on Pinterest

2011-09-24T14:47:00.001-04:00

Source: None via Tia on Pinterest

I came across this gem. I sure hope when the Professor gets older, my husband does this exact same thing.

(Have I mentioned I married into a family of Star Wars geeks and my son seems to have inherited the geek gene?)

Lest We Forget

2011-09-11T11:34:00.000-04:00

I will not surrender; I will not submit.

A Letter to My Hair

2011-08-30T15:03:00.000-04:00

Dear Hair:

I give up. You win.

I can no longer fight against what is and what has always been, particularly in the face of all this humidity.

You are curly. I could sort of pretend you weren't when I lived in drier climes, but here in the Gulf Coast? Not so much.

Every day since I moved here you have screamed at me, "Give it up, girl! Put down the flat iron and round brush and just walk away."

So today, you win. Instead of trying to slick back the curly escapees and pin down the naughty waves, you can have at it.

Much love,

M.

Old Endings and New Beginnings ~ Part II

2011-08-26T20:38:00.045-04:00

Neither Carolyn nor I had to work that Saturday. In true sister fashion, when I needed a summer job between my junior and senior year of high school, she helped me land one at the same place she had been working for the past year, Sharpe Photography in Provo UT. Our hours were blessedly normal especially for a high school girl like myself, eight to five Monday through Friday with an hour off for lunch.

The Friday before the accident, we had gone to Arby’s for lunch, the two of us in her car with no air conditioning. We pulled up to the drive-thru to order while Bob Marley’s “Buffalo Soldiers” blared on the radio and the heat of late August radiated through the floorboards. I don’t remember what exactly we ordered, but I remember we both got turnovers. She got apple and I got cherry.

Ever since that day, I can’t eat one of those without thinking of her, belting out Bob at the top of her lungs as we cruised along University Avenue, “If you know your history, then you would know where you are coming from, Then you wouldn’t have to ask me, Who the ‘eck do I think I am.”

We went inside the studio to eat lunch and talk. It started out as just sister talk and banter about boys and college starting the next Monday, nothing out of the ordinary. For some reason towards the end of the turnover, she grew serious and rather still. This was terribly unlike her – she was always moving, like a flashing sliver of light. I think this is why her next question made such an impression on me.

“Munna, do you think it is weird that Mom has twelve kids and not one of us has ever had a major injury or illness? I mean, no one has even broken a bone yet!”

I told her I thought it was actually kind of cool and then she asked, “So who do you think will be the first of us to die? I am pretty sure it will be me and when I die, I want Stairway to Heaven (by Led Zeppelin) played at my funeral.”

We laughed and went back to work.

She came up front at about 4:30 to tell me she was headed out a bit early to go camping with some friends and that she would see me on Monday. She left, trailing more Bob behind her as she exited the front door, letting it slam behind her, “Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival.”

That pretty much sums her up, now that I think about it.

Looking up from the paperwork in front of me, I watched her walk in front of the long plate glass windows at the front of the reception area, her blond hair swinging and flashing in the summer sun as she sang to the passing cars.

She turned the corner and then she was gone.

Old Endings and New Beginnings

2011-08-26T13:08:00.006-04:00

On a crystalline blue, blistering hot Saturday summer evening 22 years ago, my older sister was killed in a car accident on I-15. She was on her way to Lagoon with some friends when the very young and very inexperienced driver came up on some traffic that had slowed down because of construction.

Go figure. Construction on I-15 in the summer time? Some things never change.

The young driver was only going about 55 MPH, but she slammed on her brakes, started to skid and spin, then over-corrected. In the process, the car hit a guardrail, which launched the vehicle into the air and into the oncoming southbound traffic. After rolling several times while airborne, the car hit the hood of an oncoming semi, launched over the top, and then became lodged under the back wheels of the rig.

At some point, Carolyn was ejected through the windshield of the car, even though she had been sitting in the back seat, without a seat belt of course. Seat belts would not have helped much in this case. In fact, if the girls had been wearing seat belts, all four of them most likely would have died. As it is, two of them died - my sister and the driver - and two others who were ejected before the car hit the semi survived - barely.

Thinking back on this, a wry smile steals across my face. No, not about the death and dying part, but the part about where she was sitting when the accident happened.

If Carolyn was ever in the back seat, she always wiggled her way into the middle and leaned forward onto the front seats so she could talk to whomever was up front. Not safe nor smart, but that's just how she was, always wanting to talk, to be engaged in life and whatever was happening up front. The back seat and back of the line was never good enough for her. She was determined to not miss a single moment of life. I can only imagine she was smiling and laughing with that infectious laugh of hers when she was launched into eternity, eagerly leaning forward between the front seats.

Even though she was killed at about 5:00 p.m. that evening, we didn't find out about the accident until late that evening.

She had been carrying fake ID and so the police had a hard time identifying her and locating her next of kin. It didn't help that her body...well, let's just say there was no visual ID made. They only asked for identifying marks below the shoulders to ID her.

Within a few days, we would be having a closed-casket funeral for her, but that morning 22 years ago, none of us knew how different our lives would be within a few short hours. One of my best friends would be gone and my whole world would start to unravel at the seams.

But at 11:00 that Saturday morning...that morning all was well when I stopped by College Terrace where my sister lived to visit a friend. I saw Carolyn getting into her brown station wagon. I leaned over the balcony as far as I could, waving like a mad woman trying to get her attention (or a devoted younger sister, which is sometimes the same thing) and yelled, "Carolyn, Carolyn, CAROLYN - I love you!" She looked up, flashed a huge grin, threw both arms over her head like an Olympic gymnast and said, "I love you too, Munna!"

Looking back, I can remember how she winced in the bright sunlight and was a bit unsteady on her feet. I now know it was because of the alcohol she had been consuming. There were so many things I didn't know about her, but I knew the important things.

She was a devoted sister. She would have moved heaven and earth for me. She was fiercely loyal to me.

She loved me.

That's all I needed to know.

_______________________________________

Ther is more to come later today. I have never written about this before and there is so much to say.

Much love and belief -

M.

Opening Today

2011-08-22T07:55:00.001-04:00

I can't believe I am actually doing this.

Really. Am I am crazy, or what?

Wait...don't answer that question. I am not sure I want to know the answer!!!

Today, the Professor and I set off on a new adventure - home school.

First, let me be honest and say how much I hate the term "home school." It conjures up images of strange, backward children who can't put three sentences together in an intelligent manner to anyone NOT in their immediate family, girls who wear dresses made of calico print fabric their mom picked up for $1 a yard at Goodwill, and whole wheat everything.

Any of you know me at all realize I am so not that type of mother.

Sure, I wear skirts almost every day of my life, not because I think God told me to but because I find them ridiculously comfortable (and definitely NOT made of calico). Sure, I make whole wheat stuff quite frequently, but I also make a lot of stuff with good old fashioned unbleached Gold Medal flour as well. But me, a home schooler?

Not in a million years.

I much prefer the term "home educator" and that we are "home educating" the Professor.

Maybe it is because I have know to much about the school systems here in the U.S. that I really don't want to "school" my wee ones because it smacks too much of...well, the school system. Our schools are currently set up to teach people how to follow orders, respond to the bell, and then move along little darling, move along. This is fantastic if you are hoping to produce workers who follow orders, respond to the bell, and then move along on their merry way.

However, if you want something more for your child, you are outta luck. The vast majority of our current schools are not set up to teach children how to love learning, how to think like an entrepreneur, and how to be responsible for their own lifelong education.

For parents who want more of love of learning and less order following, what choice to we have but to step outside the system and provide this for our children on our own? (That is, unless we are fortunate enough to live somewhere with a thriving charter school that subscribes to our educational philosophy).

Which brings me to my second "let me be honest" moment: Did I mention I just spent the last five years of my life earning a PhD with an emphasis in ADULT education and my dissertation is about GRADUATE education? Did I mention I have ZERO experience teaching at an elementary-aged level?

Did I mention I am scared silly to home educate my son?

I mean, what if I break something? What if I don't do it right? Which leads me to my third and final "let me be honest" moment which is my biggest fear of all: What if this grand experiment simply proves I will never be a good enough mother and my children will be irreparably harmed simply because I am their mother?

I know, I know, I know. I should let it go after all these years and most of the time, I do a pretty darn good job of putting that crappy thinking in it's place. But still...there are moments, like now, where those old doubts and fears creep out of the closet.

So if you are reading this, say a little prayer for me (and the Professor!). I could certainly use all the extra help I can get at this point. This home education adventure feels like a huge test of my ability to parent just as much as it is a test of my ability to teach. The teaching part I have down, no worries. It's the other stuff I am worried about.

Much love,

M.

I'm a Little Tea Pot

2011-07-26T12:15:00.002-04:00

So my sisters-in-law and I were in town yesterday and oddly enough, found ourselves a thrift store. (Go figure. Us, at a thrift store???) One of them happened across this amazing tea pot, tea cup, and saucer. She just wanted the tea cup for her tea cup clock (for $1 who wouldn't want that cup and saucer?!!!). However, when she saw me giggle with delight over the tea pot ($3) and then look longingly towards the tea cup, she generously sacrificed and let me have it. Wasn't that nice of her?

So for a grand total of $4, I now own this charming set. I don't drink tea, but they will most certainly be put to good use at the Happy House. I can't wait to figure out what to do with them. Suggestions? Ideas? Recommendations?

Make New Friends, But Keep the Old

2011-07-23T00:28:00.001-04:00

I was at a thrift store with my sisters-in-law who are here visiting. Imagine that - us, at a thrift store? Crazy talk people, crazy talk! (Not really that crazy, actually. If there is one phrase that defines my sisters-in-law it is thrift store junkies. They always find the most amazing stuff at thrift stores. Can you say hello! GAP pants for $5 that look like they have never been worn and fit like a dream? Wherever they go, they find a thrift store to visit. If I am with them, I get to tag along for the fun.)

At any rate, there we were in a thrift store.

And I happened upon these beauties in the book section. Eleven of the twelve Woman's Day Encyclopedia of Cookery cookbooks. I nearly wept for joy at seeing these for SO CHEAP at the thrift store. While some of them have some yellowing, overall, they are in excellent condition.

Unlike the ones I grew up with.

I read, used, and loved the set my mother owned until the spines were broken and the covers were falling off the stained and sticky pages. These cookbooks define my growing up years in the kitchen and I have longed for a set of my own.

Man, I loved these cookbooks. I mean L-O-V-E-D them. The reason? They were part cookbook, part textbook, and part dictionary. What isn't to love about them???? Finding them in tucked in among the other books at the thrift store was like stumbling upon an old friend. I know it sounds sappy, but I almost started crying I was so thrilled to see them there and to find them is such great shape.

I remember reading this section when I was young and realizing that an aspic (even if it was "crystal-clear" and "shimmering" was just Jell-O with vegetables or meat bits in it. I thought it strange then and I still do, all these years later.

See what I mean? This illustration of aspics looks an awful like Jell-O, doesn't it?

Here is a fine example of the textbook aspects of the cookbooks. I remember lounging about on long summer days, reading from these textbooks and dreaming of the things I would someday create from the recipes and the exotic places I would travel to get ingredients. From these ~~textbooks~~ cookbooks I learned far more things that a young girl in Orem, Utah should have ever known about cuisines and cooking techniques of the world.

And the pictures - oh man, the pictures!!! I still love them as much now as I did back then, though perhaps for different reasons.

Bacon. According to my Samoan brother-in-law, everything tastes better with bacon. I just adore the vibrant, vintage-y colors of the photos.

And the illustrations - look at this wonderful illustration! I bet your cookbooks don't have illustrations of dancing people in it (unless you own these cookbooks).

And how about this illustration of a banquet? Dated but utterly charming and hilarious all at the same time.

But the thing I love most about these cookbooks are the recipes found in them, recipes that define my childhood years.

Like this banana-nut bread recipe. (Pecans please, never walnuts. While you are at it, throw in some chocolate chips, too, thankyouverymuch. Call me when it gets out of the oven and I will be right over with an ice-cold milk chaser.)

I love this recipe. I mean I really, really, REALLY love this recipe. Primarily because it makes consistently fabulous banana-nut bread but also because it reminds me of being young and in my mother's kitchen. There was a fair amount of hope in the messes I made, and excitement for where life would take me. Things have certainly turned out far different than I could have ever imagined but the recipes I learned from these books have remained constant and true.

Like all friends of the oldest and best sort should be.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Amazing Man!

2011-07-11T21:41:00.001-04:00

Dear. Mr. Amazing Man -

Happystinkinbirfday! I am so glad I am your wife and that I get to be a part of your amazing life. I am also very glad you don't mind birthday brownies instead of birthday cake. As you know, we have been living in temporary quarters now for nearly two weeks and this is all I could muster. Pathetic, I know, but I will make it up to you when we get down to Florida and I have access to my cake decorating stuff again. I promise.

"Luuuuuuuuke. I am your faaaaaaaaahhhther." (Please note the choice of the Lego Star Wars t-shirt for your birthday).

Even Princess P. got in on the birthday action. She had a great time coloring on your card.

She had a great time eating the crayons, too.

She did not have such a great time when I took the crayons from her. She was rather ticked off at me, actually.

She wasn't very happy about the balloon either. Balloons with NO strings = good. Balloons WITH strings = very, very, VERY bad.

I am so thankful we had this last year together and I look forward to many, many, many more.

Much love,

M.

Confessions of a (Worst-Case Scenario) Contingency Planner

2011-07-10T21:31:00.002-04:00

My little boy is growing up. I hate it but at the same time, I love it! I love watching him reach every new stage of development. What a kid!

Today he lost a tooth. Can you guess which one? The other front tooth next to that gaping hole is very wibbly-wobbly and it shouldn't be long before it comes out as well.

A story about the Professor and his teeth: Last Friday, I took him in to see the dentist at 7:30 a.m. Now why was I there at that crazy hour in the morning?

Well.....he had been complaining that his back teeth were hurting him for about two weeks. Then about a week ago, he started complaining (imagine that! Him, complain????) about his ear and jaw hurting as well. He would not even let me touch that side of his face without screaming as if I was poking him with a needle. After a few days, I finally coaxed him into letting me take a look in his mouth and saw red, angry gums at the back of his mouth.

So when you see red, swollen, angry looking gums what do you think? I immediately assumed the worst case scenario (imagine that! Me, immediately assume the worse case scenario????). He must have a really bad cavity back where I can't see it. There must be an infection all through his tooth and gums and it is eating its way through the bone, making a bee-line for the cranial cavity where it will seep into the subacrachnoid space and then rot his brilliant little brain and then he will die a horrible, feverish death all because I didn't take him to the dentist when he first told me it was hurting. (I am good at worse case scenarios, aren't I? I like to call it "contingency planning." My husband likes to call it, "Woman, You Drive Me Crazy Sometimes." It is one the traits my husband simply *adores* about me! Not really, but I like to pretend it is.)

I called the dentist, described what I saw and what the Professor had been telling me. They made an emergency appointment for the next morning. Next morning, we showed up, me fully expecting the dentist to confirm my worst case scenario. Well, maybe not the full end-game, but that he had a cavity that needed to be taken care of.

The Professor hopped up in the chair and the very nice dentist (especially considering it was so early in the morning) came in, poked around in the Professor's mouth for a bit, asked him a few questions like, "How old are you, buddy?" and "Does it hurt just on this side or over here too?"

After about 30 seconds of peering into his mouth, the dentist said, "Mom, it's nothing to be worried about. He is just getting his 6-year molars. The swelling is just a normal reaction to the new teeth cutting through the gums. His teeth look great, no cavities or any other problems. Just give him some Tylenol to help with the pain."

Oh.

I should have known.

The Professor was THE.MOST.MISERABLE.CHILD when he was cutting his teeth as an infant. It took FOR-EV-ER for them to break through and he cried and whined (surprised?) and whimpered and wailed about each one for weeks on end. His gums were a swollen mess of awfulness and he was not afraid to let his parents know how terrible it was for him. It was horrible. I still shudder to think about those long, treacherous days and nights of trying to find something - anything - to comfort him.

Why would it be any different with his 6-year molars?

P.S. Strangely, the pain being caused by the Professor's 6-year molars was not even part of my "contingency planning." I am so grateful it was just that and not anything related to my worst-case scenario. Give me 6-year molars over cavities and root canals any day of the week!

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 17

2011-07-09T00:52:00.000-04:00

Day 17: A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.

It changed my life. It can change yours, too.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 16

2011-07-07T08:57:00.001-04:00

Day 16: Someone or something you definitely could live without.

Poor birdies.


Every year on Christmas Eve, a bagpiper calls us all to services at that lovely little chapel across the commons.

Our own lamp post in the woods.

Isn't this guy awesome? All the right colors AND has polka dots too!!!

I think you get the idea.

I could live without the snow.

Sure, once or twice a year right around Christmas time is just fine but the piles and piles and piles of it that stick around until mid-April? No thanks.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 15

2011-07-06T14:56:00.001-04:00

Day 15: Something or someone

you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.

Dark chocolate.

I wasn't always so certain about chocolate. Until I tried to quit it. Now I am quite certain I cannot survive without it. This is the reason I have a year+ supply of high quality organic fair-trade cocoa in my food storage. I am that serious about chocolate.


Baked goods.

Mah boy The Professor comes by his love of carbohydrates naturally. I have tried those low carb diets things and let's just say, it is NOT pretty. That doesn't mean I am rolling around in pans of caramel apple cinnamon rolls every day (though that sounds rather nice), but it does mean I have to have some carbs or my brain. stops. functioning.

This man.

I have tried to quit him about a thousand times, but all roads seem to lead back to him. Fortunately for me, he has always been waiting for me to come to my senses and never holds it against me.

And The Dream Goes On

2011-07-05T14:10:00.000-04:00

I know it is the 4th of July parade, Independence Day, our beloved country's 235th birthday. I know. But yet, my son wears green. He wears green any chance he can because it is his favorite color and what better day to celebrate independence than letting your 6 year old wear whatever he pleases?

I snapped this photo of The Professor at the Lovettsville town parade and the look on his face...priceless. He saw an old military deuce-and-half headed our way and just about jumped out of his shorts he was so excited. (It might have had something to do with the piles of candy they were pouring over the side).

He was positively delighted and delightful all evening long, full of exuberance and joy over every little red-white-and-blue tidbit of anything that crossed his path.

Giddy. 

He was giddy. There really isn't any other word to describe him.

He was giddy about everything that day except the flag cupcake cake thingy someone brought to the BBQ, which was just a step above being worthy of enshrinement at www.cakewrecks.com. It had 16 stripes. For the 16 original...uh...yeah, those 16 original thingies. And it had something like 57 stars for the 57....uh...states?

The real story isn't about the cupcake wreck though. It's about The Professor's reaction when he saw it. It was announced that people could start eating the cupcakes, and being the carbohydrate addict he is, he made a mad dash and was first in line. When they lifted the lid, he looked at it, backed up while holding his hands up and solemnly declared loud enough for everyone at the BBQ to hear:

"I can NOT eat that cake! It is the American flag and that would be un-respectful!"

He then darted back to the field to throw the giant frisbees around with his cousins.

I sat there stunned and wordless.

This is my child who knows that National Doughnut Day exists and incessantly reminds me about it during the lead up to it every.stinkin.year (It's the first Friday in June, in case you were wondering. Stop by your local Dunkin Donuts and get free donut!) This is my son who would eat cake, cookies, and bread for every.stinkin.meal with a side of frosting and a glass of chocolate syrup to wash it all down if I let him. Seriously, The Professor NEVER turns down a baked good.

One of the ladies who was there leaned over to me and said, "Did you teach him that or did he come that way?"

Uh...he came that way.

This little boy is the product of generations of Americans stretching back to the earliest European settlers of Massachusetts and Virginia. He is the descendant of intrepid individuals willing to do difficult and dangerous things in an effort to establish this country. His is a heritage of patriots and warriors stretching back to the Revolution who were willing to sacrifice all they had to protect the freedoms we enjoy today.

If they were to examine his blood under a microscope, they would probably find stars and stripes in stead of red blood cells and plasma. Have you ever heard the phrase "he bleeds red, white, and blue"? That's my boy they are talking about.

Yes, he came that way.

And I am very grateful that he did.

The Big Orange Truck

2011-06-29T22:10:00.002-04:00

A sight I am not too thrilled to see. While I am excited for the sugar-white sand beaches of the Emerald Coast, I am going to miss the 'burg something fierce.

The library, all packed up. Yes, I know that technically it is a formal dining room but you don't know me all that well if you think I would actually put a table in there! Books, books, books and more books are far more useful than a formal dining room table. After all, I have a perfectly serviceable dining table in the dining room.

Goodbye, dear office. I spent far too much time in your embrace. And what do I have to show for it? A PhD by golly!

I would sit here at my desk, my feet propped up on the low window sill as I clickety-clacked away on the computer. I could see my neighbor Marie's house from my desk. Marie was the most wonderful neighbor in the world. Good times, good times indeed.

The living room is an official disaster area. I am going to miss those big windows that were perfect for watching the deer creep out of the forest in the evenings and the blue buntings, American goldfinches, cardinals, chickadees, sparrows, woodpeckers, and sundry other bird that frequented our inadvertent hawk feeders (AKA the bird feeders).

My feelings about this kitchen: meh. To small for more than one person to work in. Electric range. Gold hardware. Had to store my appliances in the laundry room. Horrible linoleum flooring. Fluorescent lighting. Should I go on?

The kitchen at the new place is going to be a dream compared to this. Granite counter tops. Convection oven. HUGE refrigerator. Six-burner gas range with a grill insert. Island. Lots and lots and lots of cupboard space. More than enough room for my vintage cookbook collection.

My empty china cupboard. It usually houses the china from my original parents' marriage. I am conflicted about it. Sometimes I love it but sometimes...meh. It's Nortake "Misty" pattern and has 14 5-piece place settings with fruit/dessert bowls, gravy boats, serving platters and bowls, hostess set, salt and pepper shakers, creamer and sugar bowl - everything a person could want in a full china set. I keep hauling it around the country and every time I pare down my stuff I can't get rid of it. I guess it must have some meaning in my life. (Note the perfectly serviceable dining room table in that picture).

Uh...where did all of that stuff come from? Not quite sure how I had all of that stuff stashed in the boy's room.

Manda's old room/plane room/guest room/room where I stash my yarn. (P.S. That bed there on the left? Sooooooooooo comfortable and one of the single best deals I have ever scored. It was a window display bed at a furniture store in Logan. Since it was up in the window always covered by new bedding, they forgot to actually sell it until the manufacturer quit making that style something like three years later. Enter moi!!! I was the first one to come across it after they realized their mistake and I took it home for a FRACTION of retail...it was a savings of $3100. Nice.)

The Food Room. It took three men nearly the entire day to pack this one up. Sorry guys.

Good bye closet! I shall not miss your narrow ways. That being said, do you realize you are larger than the kitchen at my last place?

Yes. More bookshelves means more books. Me + books = Happiness.

Can I say how thankful I am not the one packing all of these boxes? I know we could have done it ourselves and saved some serious $$ but I am so over packing up my own junk and moving it. I think the husband is just as over loading and unloading trucks full of my junk.

Mommy's Little Helper

2011-06-27T09:13:00.000-04:00

I was upstairs making the bed. Baby girl was quiet. I should have known she was up to something.

She *adores* the dishwasher and is constantly trying to climb into it so she can play with every thing. Most of the time, the Chief Parent in Charge of Wee Ones can keep her out.

This time, I failed. (But look how happy she is!)

I guess I am bit distracted by the fact the movers are coming tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. and I don't have a single thing packed up and ready to go. Most of the things are items we use everyday so it's not like I could have done a lot of prep but still...my brain feels like mush. I have a list but that list seems to be getting longer every time I walk past it.

It doesn't help that I stayed up last night until 1:00 a.m. bawling big ol' ugly Oprah style tears about something over which I have no control. My head hurts this morning and I feel very fractured. I am trying to pull it together but not having much success. My soul hurts.

I am trying to remember that the shadow of God's grace covers even this situation and that His plan is always better than mine but I am having a tough go of it this morning.

At least I have her to make me smile, right?

It's Like He's a Real Boy!

2011-06-26T19:06:00.000-04:00

Pigs have started to fly! It's mah boy, out riding his bike. With no training wheels and no wrecks. (But naturally, with vast amounts of whining. I can't wait until he outgrows this phase. Please tell me he will outgrow this phase.)

He loves the license plate his Auntie Amanda brought home from San Francisco. He has declared, "I am going to keep it until I am an old man!" He never whines about the license plate or presents from Amanda.

He loves his green shoes. He loves his green anything. If he could wear green from head to toe 24/7 he would be one happy little boy. Maybe that would curb the whining?

I love this punk. Even with his excessive whining. However, I am looking forward to the day when the first words out of his mouth are, "Yes, mom - I CAN do that!"

My True Love Hath My Heart

2011-06-23T10:52:00.002-04:00

Dear Mr. Amazing Man -

I love you. I cannot even begin to count all the ways and reasons I love you. I want to shout from the rooftops what an amazing (and make-me-weak-in-my-knees-just-by-looking-at-me) man you are to me.

I love you but perhaps what I love most about you is your courageous heart.

Few men would have the wherewithal to even take on a task a monumental like dating a girl as mercurial and high spirited as the one you ended up with, much less marrying her. But here you are years and years later. Still married. Still as ridiculously happy as the day we were married.

As am I.

I am ridiculously happy with you. I cannot imagine making my way through life any other way than at your side.

Much love,

M.

Every Pound Has a Story

2011-06-15T22:31:00.001-04:00

I started a new blog. Then I decided I have enough on my plate right now and don't really need another blog to babysit. I made the executive decision to move my first post to that blog to thisa one here. Are you still with me at this point? Good, because sometimes I confuse myself. I figure all eight of my loyal readers won't mind reading about my efforts to get healthy. We all family, right?

So here's the first post from that short-lived and now defunct blog, newly pasted into this one. Enjoy!

_______________________________________________________________

I got on the scale today. However, the scale isn't a great measurement of health and wellness - sure it provides a number but it isn't the whole picture. It's just another bit of data to add into the mix. What really matters is how my clothes fit and what my blood work shows.

(Stepping off soap box).

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatev'.

I know I shouldn't care as much about what the scale says but lately, I DO. (Sorry darling, wonderful, and amazing Teresa Tapp. You have taught me better but just let me be naughty this one...or twice, OK?)

This morning, the scale told me I have lost exactly 10 lbs since May 29.

Hallestinkinlujah!!!

I know much of this has to do with the fact I weaned my little princess completely on that same day. She was well over one year old and I had grown epically weary of GAINING 1/2 - 3/4 lb a week. Yes, you read that right.

I GAIN WEIGHT WHILE NURSING.

I gain weight even if I am eating ridiculously clean and walking 3 miles a day. My doctors (one VCU Rams internal doc, two Johns Hopkins trained endocrinologists, and one Harvard trained ObGYN) are completely baffled by my body. If you think they are baffled, try being me!!! This has happened with each of my babies. At first I was like, "What the Sam Hill?" and blamed it on my poor behaviors because after all, everyone looses weight when they nurse, right? If I wasn't loosing weight but gaining it, then it must be my fault!!! The next baby I was all, "This AGAIN???? What am I doing wrong?" By the third baby I was like, "Oh yeah. 'Lucky' me. *sigh*"

With this last one, after much consultation with doctors, blood tests, and other proddings and pokings, they were able to only determine my vitamin D was almost ZERO but everything else was essentially fine. I finally resigned myself that this is just how it is for me. In the words of one of my esteemed endocrinologists, "Melynda, sometimes we doctors just don't have the answers for why something is happening. We just have to help you manage the symptoms." So I have had to accept and embrace my truth:

I get fat when I nurse.

Managing the symptoms for this little crisis is as simple as eating as well as I can and trying to not get to discouraged. (Meditating on the joyous wonder of baby toes is helpful for that, I have discovered.)

So you lovely lactation specialists and nutritionists can tell me all you want what a great tool nursing is to loose weight. You can tell me all you want that I just need to eat less food, exercise more, and I won't gain weight. You can tell me all you want about how you can't keep weight on and get all skeletal looking when you nurse. Yipee for you! Go right ahead and knock yourselves out.

It won't make a lick of difference to the 39 pounds I have put on over the course of the past year or so since Princess P. was born, even while eating well and exercising fairly regularly. It won't make a lick of difference to my crazy endocrine system that thinks I need to be all fat and happy to make milk for my baby. You can lecture me all you want as you stand there in your size 2 jeans but my reality is this:

I GAIN WEIGHT WHILE NURSING.

On the upside, I have amazingly healthy babies and I wouldn't trade this weight for one moment of nursing them.

That being said, can I tell you how excited I am that I have lost TEN POUNDS?

Smooches -

P.S. Dear Teresa: I started bootcamp this week. I can't wait to post the results in 11 more days! I sure love you, even when I am cursing your name at 5:30 a.m. in the morning.

My Babies Be Fish

2011-06-13T10:19:00.001-04:00

Our new place has a pool. (Not this pool mind you, this is the pool at the condo we stayed at during our house hunting trip.) The Professor was holding his breath under water when he was about nine months old.

The Princess isn't far behind. She *LOVED* sticking her whole face in the water at the pool and blowing bubbles, much to dad's amazement. (He's a combat diver so my babies' love of the water comes naturally.)

Did I mention how excited we are about the pool at our new home?

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 13

2011-06-09T09:29:00.000-04:00

A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough days. (Write a letter.)

Dear Mr. Rutter:

You don't know me but I know you.

Your music is the soundtrack of my life. I am perfectly convinced the angels of heaven were singing your music when baby Jesus was born. I am equally convinced that if I ever make it to the pearly gates, I will be met by concourses of angels singing your music.

When my sister died, you were there.

Where my babies were born, you were there.

At Christmas. At Easter. For all the high holidays, you were there.

But of all your music, it is your Requiem I cherish most. It is perhaps one of the most sublime works ever created by the human hand.

Thank you for being you. You make this world a better place.

Much love,

M.

Saving Dinner One Egg at Time

2011-06-08T22:03:00.001-04:00

Some days, it is a breakfast for dinner kind of day. Today would be that kind of day.

I keep meaning to get some pictures of our trip to the gulf posted but then I get busy writing or snuggling a baby girl who has FOUR teeth coming in all at the same time or cleaning or cooking dinner or reading (why must I love to read so much!!???) or sorting through stuff to get ready for our move in 20 days. I thought it was 21, but it turns out the movers will be here on the 28th not the 29th. But I promise, I will get some pictures of our vacation up sometime this week.

And I promise I haven't forgotten about the 30 Days of Truth thing either. In fact, Mr. Amazing Man won't let me forget about it - he told me he has been enjoying reading what I write. I guess since this blog is primarily for him, that is a good thing. (Love you, husband.) If he is really lucky, I might even finish my next installment of that 30 Days thing sometime this week as well.

But back to the matter at hand. I am busy - almost as busy as I was during that last push before submitting my dissertation.

So tonight, we had breakfast burritos made from the delicious eggs laid by the free ranging ladies over at Drury Farms. The family gobbled them up and I was able to get back to my aforementioned activities rather quickly.

Three cheers for the incredible, edible egg!

The Beer and Bologna Boys

2011-05-24T10:32:00.001-04:00

So the other evening I was at WalMart.

This pack of five guys got in line behind me. Each of them had a case of Budweiser beer, a loaf of bread, and either a package of bologna or a jar of peanut butter.

These pictures have absolutely nothing to do with my story about the Beer & Bologna boys. They are simply ones of the Professor taken earlier that evening. I was trying to get him to smile. He kept telling me, "I am smiling!!!!!" Me thinks we have a communication problem.

Back to the story. So the Beer & Bologna boys are in line behind me. Obviously some of them have already their fair share of Buds for the evening and they were a bit rowdy and rough about the edges.

There was one obvious leader/chief instigator. He was loud. Really, really, really, really loud. He was intent on teaching his posse about how to "hit up a woman" when he wanted to "git with 'em."

(Come on, Professor! Please smile for Mom!)

The ring leader's number one piece of advice? Make sure they have nice teeth.

"I ain't gittin' with no one who has black, nasty teeth. I take care of mine and she's gotta take care of her's too. Nasty teeth are one of the best ways to tell if she's worth gittin' with."

Whew. Glad he cleared that up for me. Here I was thinking that one of the best indicators of a person's worth was their values and integrity. Silly me.

(The Professor never did smile. In fact, that last pained expression was his best effort at smiling for the rest of the evening. It kind of reminds me of the look that was surely on my face as I stood in line listening to the Beer and Bologna boys discuss how to catch a girl).

Simply delicious.

2011-05-16T23:25:00.000-04:00

Holy cow, do I ever love this time of year, especially here Virginia. Tonight for Family Home Evening we indulged in a ferry ride across the James River to Surry to pick strawberries.

There were very few other people there, making it ideal for my boys to run up and down the rows with nary a care or word from moi. The Princess was not too content to sit in her stroller as we all had a good time, so I carried her on my hip as I picked. I must apologize to Farmer Steve because I think she picked a fair number of leaves as I tried to get to the berries (oops).

What these pictures don't capture is the gentle breeze blowing the heady scent of wild rose and honeysuckle across the fields or the warm setting evening sun.

It was simply a delicious way to spend the evening.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with the four gallons of fresh berries we picked.

2011-05-07T22:14:00.000-04:00

Here at my amazing sister-in-law's. I love it here, but I am so ready to come home!

I miss my king-size bed.

I miss my cat.

I miss my neighbors.

I miss my Mac computer.

I miss the sound of freedom that kicks off my day every morning (Monday-Friday).

I can't believe I am going to admit this out loud, but I miss my minivan, too.

Yes, it is true. Pigs have started to fly and that one place has frozen over. It has taken me a year to finally warm up to the idea of driving a minivan, but I really miss the seat heaters, the sun roof, the power doors. I miss the head room and leg space.

Don't get me wrong, the moment we don't need the minivan any more, I will get something else, but for now, I have come to peace with the fact I drive a minivan. It also helps that I discovered its color isn't minivan metallic gray but OPI's "Shiny Dancer."

Conversations with The Professor

2011-04-27T10:30:00.001-04:00

Me: Do you know what I am doing tomorrow, son?

The Professor: You are defending yourself.

Me: (Laughing). Well, sort of. I am going to go tell a bunch of people about my dissertation and then they are going to ask me some questions about it and I have to defend my answers.

The Professor: Oh. So what is your career going to be?

Me: My career is being mom and I love that job more than anything else. I just earned this Ph.D. for fun and entertainment.

The Professor: Entertainment? I don't remember it being funny.

The take away from this conversation with my six-year old son: He doesn't think I had much fun earning this degree and still isn't quite sure what it is that I learned how to "do."

Not to worry, son. Most adults don't understand it either.

The End is Nigh!

2011-04-23T22:00:00.001-04:00

It's so close.

All the announcements have been addressed - they are just awaiting a stamp before being sent off.

This is really happening. It's a bit surreal but oh so delicious, all at the same time.

Tomorrow morning, I schlep the kids and carry-on baggage across the country so I can graduate in a week or so. The next time I sit in this chair, I'll (hopefully) be a Doctor. Mind you, "not the kind that helps people" (thanks, son!) but a doctor nonetheless.

I have no clue what comes next. I wish I could figure that next part out.

Any suggestions?

You Must Come Live at My House

2011-04-21T12:29:00.001-04:00

I picked up this beauty during my visit to Historic Jamestowne yesterday. Let's just say those colonial women had great taste in pottery glaze colors. It's a handcrafted replica of some of the Surrey-Hampshire borderware archeologists have discovered during their digs there at the site. I simply adore the color and it looks great in my red and white kitchen with Ms. Thang (below).

(This is not a replica of a colonial chicken. I found her at Goodwill a few months ago).

Who Do You Think You Are?

2011-04-20T23:29:00.002-04:00

(Surry Ferry from Historic Jamestowne)

When I first moved here in August of 2008, I immediately fell head over heels in love with this place. There is not one thing I do not love about living here. Well, except maybe that huge spider that was waiting outside the garage door the other day. But other than him, I love this place. I immediately felt at home - like I belong to this area of the world from about Williamsburg down to central North Carolina. I told every. single. person about it, too. Repeatedly. I am certain they probably grew weary of hearing about how much I love living here!

(Historic Jamestowne was in rare form this morning and there was no entrance fee, huzzah!!!)

I will come right out and say that I got all teary-eyed on my way home from voting in the elections that fall. I remember driving home from Waller Mill Elementary, the brilliant early morning sun filtering through the riotous fall leaves. As I pondered how fortunate I was to exercise my right to vote as a member of America's First Congressional district, my soft, smushy heart was overcome with gratitude to those who had sacrificed so much to make it possible. I felt almost mystically connected to the land like never before. At the time I just shrugged it off as just a overly emotional, stressed out, Melynda-moment.

(A "shaggy pine" at Historic Jamestowne this morning. )

As I have been exploring my lineage a bit more, I have discovered I have hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of ancestors who were born in this exact area, grew up here, married, raised families, planted gardens, laughed over dinner right here in this area.

(Met this nice lady this morning. She is not my ancestor, but her rooster was lovely.

As I search my Grandmother Mollie's genealogy, names of places like Brunswick, Albermarle County, Goochland, Gloucester, Savage's Neck, Hampton, Northampton, Williamsburg, Accomac County, New Kent, Louisa, Hanover, Essex, Bristol, Richmond, Elizabeth City, Chester keep bubbling up. Places I have been too and locations I recognize. Places that are sometimes no more than 10 minutes from where I sit. While at times there is an infusion of someone from Pennsylvania, Massachusetts or Georgia, over and over again all the roads lead back to Virginia, Virginia, Virginia, Virginia.

(Ambler Mansion or what's left of it. So lovely and haunting).

Thanks to Dad 1.0, I grew up with the family folk lore that on my mother's side of the family, I was descended from drunken Irish potato-famine refugees (which I am) and back-water North Carolina hill-billies (which I am). But that doesn't tell the whole story.

In addition to those potato loving refugees and hillbillies (from whom I inherited my deep appreciation of blue-grass), I am also the descendant of brave, intrepid and people. People with enough courage to get on those teeny tiny boats back in 1607 and 1608, sail across an ocean to uncharted land, and establish Jamestowne. I am a descendant of people with the fortitude and tenacity to survive the Starving Time, people who then went on to carve out a heritage in the wilderness of this great land. I am descendant of some of the earliest Virginians like Savage, Littleton, Tucker, Hope, Allen, Page, Hearn, Smith, Andrews and Williams.

(Statue of Pocahontas at Historic Jamestowne. Not a relative of mine, but my relatives sure would not have survived if it had not been for her tremendous work to build bridges between cultures in this area of the world).

It has been a bit surreal as I have uncovered this part of my family history. When we moved here in 2008, I had absolutely NO idea that nearly a full one-fourth of my ancestors were descendants of people who immigrated to Virginia in the 1600 and 1700's. I was 100% ignorant to all of this. As I sit at my computer and keep finding yet more family here in the Tidewater area, I marvel at the almost tangible connection I have felt to this place without even knowing why.

(New baby figs at Historic Jamestowne. Too bad I won't be around when they are ripe.)

I think I am finally beginning to understand why I feel so much at home in the Tidewater.

(New baby Virginians at Historic Jamestowne. Too bad her dad isn't around when she is ripe for a diaper change.)

I heart Colonial Williamsburg

2011-04-11T22:09:00.000-04:00

I love the outdoor shops over by the magazine. I always want to buy something, even though I have plenty of stuff already.

I love finding relatives buried in the Bruton Parish cemetery.

I love Bruton Parish. I love that a relative of mine donated the land on which it is built. I love being able to run my hands over the back of the benches where George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and John Jay sat.

I love coming around a corner and finding a man knitting. After all, knitting used to be primarily men's work. I still haven't been able to convince my boys to let me teach them how to knit though.

When I asked him what he was making, he said, "I get asked that a lot but I won't know until I am done!"

I love the men and women who are more than willing to tell you about the history of the place where you are standing and how to find the nearest drinking fountain (discreetly hidden away from Duke of Gloucester Street).

Look ma! He's talking to me.

I love these oxen. I learned more about them yesterday than I ever thought I would need to know. These fellas are not necessarily true to the time period. Turns out the breed they used back in the day are too tempermental to stand around and let hoards of people take pictures and pet them all day long.

I love all of the side passages and little gardens tucked beside and behind the houses.

I never get tired of hearing the fife and drum corps, even if there are not many in number on this glorious Sabbath day.

Did you know that the fife and drum corp members are all taught by the older kids, just like back in the day? Did you know the waiting list to be in the lottery to join the fife and drum corps is seriously six years long? Did you know they marched in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade recently?

Meh. Traitor. I know he is just an actor, but still - Benedict, sir, you were a putz. Traitor. I wanted to stick my tongue out at him but something in my semi-adult mind prevented me from doing it.

Oh, and the wisteria is starting to bloom too which explains the heavenly scent all about Williamsburg lately.

I met someone ridiculously cool there yesterday - he was literally up a tree with his young son. I cried and acted like I was a 15 year old Beatles fan. If I had it to do all over again, I would have turned to his wife and given her a huge hug and told her, "THANK YOU for sharing your husband with the world."

I know it isn't easy to be married to a man who loves his country more than life itself. She has sacrificed so much for all of us - I wish I had had my wits around me to tell her that.

Who Do You Think You Are?

2011-04-05T22:06:00.000-04:00

Agnes Ellen (Hayes) Page 

About 1894 - 26 April 1929

Black River, North Carolina

Date of Birth: Do not know

Age: 35 years

The Cause of Death was as follows: Ruptured uterus due to fast presentation of the baby.

_________________________________________________________________

I have babies. I have babies fast. I have babies really fast. I have babies really really fast.

Turns out it runs in the family.

Without going into to much boring (or gory) detail, I am glad I listened to my gut last year as I was getting closer to having Princess P. The docs here in the 'burg just did not seem to understand me, nor appreciate the gravity of the matter at hand.

But something deep inside of me ~~whispered~~ shouted, "FIND ANOTHER DOCTOR!" I did. Dr. Isaacs was a God-send, a truly gifted individual with the hands of a surgeon but the heart of a midwife. She listened, she researched, she consulted with others. She trusted me and she trusted her instinct. Consequently both me and my baby girl made it through the last eight weeks of the pregnancy and delivery alive.

My great-grandmother and her little one did not fare so well.

When I was pregnant with the Princess last year, I did not know how my great-grandmother died. I just discovered this information within the last month or two. All I knew was I had a deep feeling of unease and (what I thought was an irrational fear) that something would go horribly, terribly, and tragically wrong if I delivered Princess P. naturally as I had my other babies.

It was not just the fact that I have rapid labors, it was also the surgery I had 5 years ago plus the fact my babies come 7-14 days early. The doctors here in the 'burg simply would not consider delivering before 39 weeks for any reason. I kept telling them, "I will never make it to 39 weeks!!! If you let me go that long, this baby is going to be born at home or on the side of the road!" (And I will most likely die. I never told them that part though, because I did not want to sound like a crazed hormonal pregnant lady, even if I was one!)

Like I said, I did not know my great-grandmother died in childbirth because of a precipitous delivery. I wonder if I had had this information a year ago if the doctors here in the 'burg would have listened more carefully to me. It would have save me the trouble of driving all the way to the far side of Richmond for doctor's appointments but it also means my baby girl would not be a VCU Ram either.

Hallestinkinlujah

2011-04-01T22:34:00.000-04:00

And this ain't no April Fool's joke either.

My dissertation is really in the hands of my committee. I submitted it yesterday.

Did you catch that? MY dissertation is in the hands of my committee. My DISSERTATION is in the hands of my committee. MY DISSERTATION IS IN THE HANDS OF MY COMMITTEE!!!!!!!!

(Pinch me, is this real?)

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 12

2011-03-30T23:47:00.000-04:00

Something you never get compliments on.

That's easy.

My ability to be patient.
(Or should that be my INability to be patient?

Either way, patience is not a virtue of mine.)

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 11

2011-03-30T23:39:00.001-04:00

Something people seem to compliment

you the most on.

My mad homemaking skillz.

Yes, I am that woman. I knit. I sew. I cook. I bake. I can. I make jam. I let my boys rolls around in blue chalk. I repaint old furniture. I recover secondhand chairs with funky fabric. I make throw pillows from old flour sacks. I have mastered the art of couponing. I make my own vanilla. I make a fish taco that makes grown men weep with joy. I make my own bread.

And I love every minute of it.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 9

2011-03-29T19:43:00.004-04:00

Someone you didn’t want to let go,

but just drifted.

I've never been too good at keeping friends for long periods of time.

Maybe it has something to do with moving around all the time when I was young. Maybe it has something to do with moving around all the time now that I am older. Maybe it is because my brothers tormented me by warping my nickname "Baby" into "Bay-bah." Maybe it was because I was fed far too much powdered milk while living on Guam.

Who knows why, but what I do know is that I could probably drop some serious ka-ching at a therapi$t uncovering the many reasons.

At any rate, in no particular order, here are three peeps I didn't mean to drift away from. My intention is that after I am done with this PhD, I can spend some more time reconnecting with them in more meaningful ways than over Facebook or the occasional emails.

 Amy. 

We were really great friends in Junior High School.
Then in high school...well, high school happened. She's grew up to be an amazing woman with an amazing heart which isn't surprising since she was an amazing 13-year old with an amazing heart. (And she married an island boy so she has to be really cool, too).

 Penny.

She was a big part of my life during some pivotal moments back when I was still trying to figure out who I was and where I was headed. We started drifting away from each other in the mid-nineties for some reason. Who knows why. All I know is that I am very glad we reconnected. She's still just as fabulous as she was 18 years ago. And I bet she can still cook up some pretty awesome Mexican food.

 Steph.

You know how there are people in your life that just seem to weave seamlessly into who you are and what you are doing, regardless of what paths either of you have been
traveling down?

That is this courageous warrior woman.

We first met in grad school while we were working on
our MS degrees in Instructional Technology.

We really connected around graduation and were close for quite some time.

We became personal fitness trainers together.

We both became T-Tapp certified trainers.

Then my PhD happened.

In the last five years, I feel like I have lost contact with everyone, including myself. I have high hopes for this next year as I recuperate and reconnect with my old friends and my old self. Hopefully they will all take me back.

Another Post About Nothing

2011-03-27T18:17:00.000-04:00

No, really.

This is another post about nothing. My next day o'truth post is about friends and I simply did not want the picture of that man close to the pictures of my wonderful friends.

So I am putting this post in here, simply to take up space and give them all a little bit of distance. Silly me, I know.

But that's just how I am.

(Whistling random songs...)

So here is a second post about 
nothing at all.

Except passing time and taking up space.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 8

2011-03-26T09:04:00.000-04:00

 Someone who treated you like {poo}.

'Nuff said. 

The end.

A Post About Nothing

2011-03-26T08:10:00.004-04:00

No, really.

This is a post about nothing. I simply did not want the picture of ^that man^ as close to the pictures of my beautiful children as they were. After all, it is my job as their parent to protect them from people like him, to be a buffer between them and CrAZee.

So I am putting this post in here, simply to take up space and give them all a little bit of distance. Silly me, I know.

But that's just how I am.

(Whistling random songs...)

So here is my post about nothing at all.

Except passing time and taking up space.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 7

2011-03-24T08:45:00.002-04:00

Someone who has made your life

worth living for.

This glorious creature. 

And this one.

(There is another one, but I don't think she would like it very much

if I put her baby picture up on my blog. But if I had her permission, it would go right here.)

Who Do You Think You Are?

2011-03-23T13:22:00.009-04:00

I love the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Have I mentioned that before?

Currituck, Kitty Hawk, Rodanthe, Hatteras, Ocracoke.

When I dream of escape, I dream of drifting dunes and a big yellow moon hanging over the Atlantic. I dream of warm moist sea air seeping into me and loosening me in places I didn't know were tight. I want to move there and stay forever and ever and ever amen. I would even put up with the hurricanes to be able to claim the Outer Banks as home.

One pesky problem: No family lives there. Well, at least no immediate family.

I recently discovered my deep-seated affinity for the Outer Banks and this area of the country is organic. Turns out my peeps were some of the earliest Virginians, as in settled Jamestown in 1608, had children on Isle of Wight in the 1620's, established Elizabeth City and kept spreading down into North Carolina, ending up in Wilmington. It wasn't just one or two ancestral lines either, but multiple lines of people that settled in this area in the early 1600's. My grandmother Mollie was the first in my family to move away - she moved out west and so that is where my mom is "from." That's where I have always claimed to be "from."

Turns out that is not the whole story. While I will always love the Rocky Mountains and count myself a daughter of the high desert, there is something about the Tidewater/Outer Banks area that speaks to me deep down in the sinews of my psyche.

When I visit the OBX, I experience a cellular level recognition and I can feel my soul revive a bit more with every hour I am there. I would like to be able to stake my claim and say, "This is where I am from." I know it certainly feels like home.

I guess in a way, I can say this is where I am from. Turns out I have all kinds of extended family from Richmond to Wilmington and I am about as Southern as southerners get with a patriot's pedigree that stretches back four centuries, thanks to Grandma Mollie.

Turns out I am just 

a southern girl gone home.

Much love,

M. 

It's a New Dawn, It's a New Day

2011-03-20T11:15:00.000-04:00

Whew.

Glad that week is over. I don't think I have cried that much for so many different reasons since I was like, 13 years old. Seriously.

I have 12 days to get my dissertation turned in to my committee. Still one more chapter to write. One other to rewrite. Then put it all together and fix the !@#$$ citations that Zotero is giving me grief over. Mr. Amazing Man is gone all this week (starting at 2:00 p.m. this lovely Sunday afternoon) so I get to do this last full week of dissertation stuff as a sort-of-single parent. *sigh*

But, hey. Things could be a lot worse. I won't even list the myriad of reasons why or how they could be worse for fear of bringing them about. Just a hat tip that things could be worse and then move right along.

I painted my nails on Thursday. Wednesday? I don't remember what day. All I know is the next morning as I was putting Penelope in the car seat, I noticed my nails are the exact same shade as my car. Errr...minivan.

I suppose knowing the color of my van is "Shiny Dancer" by OPI should make me feel slightly better about driving a minivan. It did for a moment. Then I realized my nails were Honda minivan metallic gray.

Much love,

M.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 6

2011-03-16T12:44:00.006-04:00

Something you hope to never have to do in your life.

Forgive the hair and the eyebrows in that picture of me from April, 1992. I have no excuse for either of them. And the shirt button up to my neck? What's that all about?

I have avoided this day for a long time because I haven't known how to write about this topic.

Most people have responded to this theme with, "Lose a child." I would say the same thing, except it has already happened.

You see, in that picture there, I am seven months pregnant with my first daughter. I had her in June 1992 and parented her for nine deliciously happy months. Unfortunately, I allowed my culture and my religion to convince me I was not a good parent simply because I was single and that she deserved more than me. So, in spite of my better judgment and because I trusted people I have since learned I should not have trusted, I relinquished her for adoption.

Yes, she is with a good family. They have loved her well and taught her well. For that I am grateful, especially since that outcome could have been far, far worse.

But I still lost her. 

She is still just as gone as if I had buried her that blustery March evening exactly 18 years ago today. My arms are just as empty and my heart just as sad as any mother who has lost a child to death.

However, instead of condolences and gentle caring treatment by my culture, I get blame and shame heaped on me that I chose this, that I should be happy about it, and that frankly, I deserve this pain. There are some who say I should be proud because I made such a courageous, unselfish choice and that I should be grateful to have been relieved of the "burden" of parenting on my own.

Make no mistake about it. I was not courageous. I cowed to the cultural belief that a single parent = a bad parent. I was not unselfish - I chose my church leaders' good opinion of me over my daughter. I was not relieved to no longer be parenting my precious daughter. My daughter was never a burden to me. Quite the opposite. There is not one single thing I regret about how I parented her during the eight months and twenty-nine days she was with me. Nothing.

I am not proud, not in the slightest. I am not grateful.

I have spent every day over the past 18 years wanting to undo what I did by relinquishing her for adoption, wishing I had had the courage to be selfish on behalf of my daughter. I wish I could have had the courage to tell every single one of those people I am enough.

But what's done is done - it is what it is. She deserved a mother that would fight to the death for her, that would move heaven and earth to be with her.

Instead, she got me.

A Girl I Once Knew

2011-03-08T20:38:00.001-05:00

Most people who know me now didn't know me back then and back then I was...how do I say this? I was into the fashion and beauty scene. So much so that I dropped out of high school and went to beauty school.

No, seriously. Stop laughing. I really did. Well, I didn't exactly drop out of high school to go to beauty school, but eventually I did go to beauty school after I had dropped out of high school. Are you thoroughly confused now? So am I. Or at least I was back then. But I didn't really know how confused I was back then but I know it now.

At any rate, I have long adored all things related to being a girl - the hair, the makeup, the nails, the skirts, the ribbons, the perfume. You get the picture. However after my first son came along, that girl took a long vacation. Then along came another boy. Between two boys and flitting around the world of academia, I thought that girl was gone forever.

I am happy to report that with the arrival of Princess Penelope, the girl I once knew is making a comeback. I had no idea I had missed her (or her love of flamboyant nail color) so much. Next up: Cutting 12" from the hair but that will have to wait until after the dissertation is finished.

P.S. I graduated from beauty school. In fact, it was there that I decided my mind was a terrible thing to waste and within two months of graduating, I had enrolled at the local community college and the rest, as they say, is history.

(This dissertation avoidance moment brought to you by "It's Bouquet With Me" by OPI.)

I done et some, it wuz good.

2011-03-05T10:34:00.001-05:00

I am such a mean mom.

I require my son to earn money and then save some of it for his mission and college. He already has a sizable chunk saved (for a 14-year old). However, he has been slacking off on his savings these last two months. Right now, he needs to be saving $64 a month to meet the long term goal.

The other night, we talked about his savings-slacking behavior. We agreed that to continue having cell phone/DSI/Wii privileges, he needed to come up with a plan to earn that amount, based on the list of "Money Jobs" we have posted on the refrigerator. (Yes, I am that Mom - I don't just hand the kids money, even though we might have it. They have to earn it. Cruel, cruel, cruel mommy.)

He came up with what I think is a brilliant plan. Do all the windows weekly. Change all the sheets on the beds in the house every week (and launder the dirty ones). Sweep the front porch and deck every week. And here's the best one: Make bread.*

Yes, that bread in the picture above - that is his handiwork.

I cannot tell you how proud I am of this kid.

_______________________________________________________________________
*These are in addition to his normal "Because you live here and I am not your maid" chores like keeping his room clean, doing all of his own laundry, keeping his bathroom "Mom clean" (as opposed to "Dad clean"), garbage duty, making dinner weekly, clearing the table. etc.

Coming Up For Air

2011-03-03T16:19:00.002-05:00

I am 28 days away from turning in my dissertation, whether I think it is ready or not. I have looming deadlines I have to meet (40% of my committee is retiring at the end of the semester) and so I have little time for anything else other than writing, thinking, nursing Princess P., and trying to (barely) keep up with the housework too. Gotta love being in a traditional marriage whilst raising three children and trying to write a dissertation too.

I haven't forgotten about my 30 days of truth telling, I am just doing them on my own time. This next one is all about something I hope I never have to do and I am not sure what to write since it has already happened. I am just not too keen to write about it here in my happy place, thankyouverymuch. I have other places to do that kind of writing. So until I screw up my courage, I will just let it be.

Plus my daily word allotment is all used up writing my dissertation.

A nifty trick I have discovered is if I paint my nails then put a few nail color drying drops by OPI on them, I can get to typing fairly quickly with no mooshes or dings to the nail color.

Just a little bit of dissertation avoidance behavior. Not much. Just a bit.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

(Today's post brought to you by Maybelline's Timely Turquoise).

Happy 40th Birthday, Carolyn!

2011-02-03T15:11:00.001-05:00

My older sister would have been 40 today but instead, she remains an eternal 18 years old.

I cannot imagine what she would have been like at 40. Frankly, I do not know how we could have survived her molten presence for that long in our lives. (Said as I smile. She was certainly a firebrand and destined for things far greater than this ordinary and temporary mortal existence).

While I cannot imagine it, I wish I could have found out what she would have been like at 40, surrounded by children as full of sparks and fire as she, children who inherited her charming dimples and gold-flecked eyes. I would have loved to see her as a mother.

One night when we were in our early teen years there was a huge storm. Thunder and lightening and driving rain pounded our house there in north Orem for what seemed like hours. Neither of us could sleep. In the early hours of the morning, it seemed as if the world split apart when lightening struck our neighbor's house. I was terrified and started crying. Carolyn, being the big sister/protector, jumped into my bed next to me. We then lay side by side, her warm body pressed against my shaking one talking and giggling until I fell asleep.

I think she would have been the same kind of mother - a fierce protector of those she loved. Devoted. Willing to comfort those in need of comfort. And always ready with a story or a joke to help you deal with your fears.

Gosh, I miss her.

And if she would have been 40 today then that makes me...old.

30 Days of Truth Day 5: Something You Hope To Do In Your Life

2011-02-02T14:38:00.004-05:00

I hope to own a family farm.

There, I said it. I want to be a farmer. 

I want to be a farmer like Joel Salatin at Polyface Yum. More than just a farmer, I want to be a steward of my own land. I want to coax green growing things from the soil. I want to raise my own animals with care and love. I want to have my grandchildren come spend the summers with me and help me collect honey from the hives and pick fat, juicy apricots from the branches of trees that are so full of ripe fruit the tips bend down to kiss the ground. In the sun-drenched kitchen, I want to be able to teach my children and their children to properly sauce tomatoes, make dill pickles, strawberry jam, and bake up divine peach cobblers from things we have grown. On early spring mornings, I want to sit at my front window and gaze at steam rising from freshly plowed fields. I want to smell the acrid smell of burning weeds from the ditches. I want a soft brown, velvet eared cow that thinks my back porch is her own private Idaho.

I want a garden...I want a huge garden of heirloom plants, edged with Shasta daisies and purple cone flowers and with rows of sunflowers as a back drop. Moulin Rouge, Ring of Fire, Velvet Queen, Claret Hybrid, the Mongolian Giant, and the Russian Mammoth would all have a home in my garden. I want a huge herb garden with mounds of basil - the Siam Queen, purple ruffles, globe basil, sweet basil, and Magical Michael. And tomatoes...Nebraska Wedding, Lemon Drop, Red Zebra, Beam's Yellow Pear, Amish Paste, and Trucker's favorite. Cabbage, corn, beets, cucumbers, squash in all it's variety, beans, berries, onions, garlic, lettuce, melons, carrots, potatoes, peppers, watermelon.

And flowers. There will be acres of flowers.

I don't need 400 acres - 50 or 60 well situated ones would do just fine.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 4

2011-02-01T15:36:00.001-05:00

Day 4: Something you have to forgive someone for.

I have not forgotten this little project...just got into some deep thinking about Day 4.

You see, forgiving others has always come much more easily than forgiving myself. I am having a really hard time trying to think of someone I have not forgiven....yes, {believe it or not, big brother who likes to lecture me about our father}, even my ex-father who was so pathetisad he landed his backside in the Big House at the Point of the Mountain.

I have truly wrestled with today's topic. Who do I need to forgive?

I think of a person that maybe I need to forgive...but then I remember that they, too, are human just like me. I cannot see inside their head and so maybe, just maybe their craptastic behavior is linked to their unseen sorrow and pain, just as is mine on occasion. (OK - more occasions than I would like to admit.) And when I start thinking of them in that way...I am not angry at them any more. Sure, I might get hot under the collar for a day or two about something but invariably, the lyrics from a hymn creep into my heart and mind, "Who am I to judge another when I walk imperfectly?"

Forgiveness is about judgment. It's about me judging the behavior of someone else and deeming it less than acceptable and requiring something to mend the brokenness they created in my heart. I know there is a time for righteous judgment and there is a time to call a spade a spade, but even when I cry out for justice, I find myself wishing mercy upon the other person as well. And this fine balance between the desire for justice and mercy...I have found that without one, there is not the other. As Catherine of Siena said, "The pearl of justice is found in the heart of mercy."

My heart has not resided in this Zen-like state my entire life and I do not even know what brought me to this place. All I know is that I like being here much better than I like being in that other place where my life is full of angst over wrongs perpetrated on me by the witting and unwitting alike.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 3

2011-01-15T09:49:00.000-05:00

Something you have to forgive yourself for.

Man...only one thing? I have a laundry list about a mile long and we could be here a long, long, long time. This could easily turn into a Step 8 confessional and good golly, I will spare you the gory details and try to keep it short. Well, as short as a verbose SAHM/pointy headed academic longing for adult conversation can keep things.

The main thing I have to forgive myself for?

Not trusting my mothering instinct all those years ago. For believing the words and advice of a man that while well meaning, was misguided and driven by motives that I do not even want to comprehend. It was the worst advice I have ever been given. PERIOD.

On two separate occasions about two separate things, he gave me The World's Crappiest Advice that will continue to to impact my life and the lives of all my children into the eternities. Instead of trusting my newly forged mother's heart that was screaming, "No, no, no, no, NO, NO!!!", I believed a man when he told me he knew better than i did. That she would be better off, that I would be better off. Turns out he was dead wrong. All things considered, I do not think either of us is "better off" (whatever that means)...we are just different and lead different lives. Not better off just different.

The other thing he gave me bad advice about was that Mr. Amazing Man was "too old" for me. I totally dumped the most incredible man I had ever known - the man who when the very first time I laid eyes on him, I knew I would someday marry and have his green-eyed baby girl - I totally dumped this beautiful man who made my heart sing because this other person "knew better." It broke my heart to break up with Mr. Amazing Man all those years ago but I was trying desperately to do the right thing and follow the advice of my Bishop.

Turns out he was wrong about that as well. Not only is Mr. Amazing Man not "too old" for me, he is my ideal companion, perfectly suited to deal with this slightly crazy, high-spirited, opinionated, independent, intelligent woman who cries far too easily, and trusts far too readily.

But back to the matter at hand.

I have not yet found that elusive grace to completely forgive myself for trusting in the "arm of the flesh" instead of trusting the word of God in my heart. While I am able to maintain some sort of acceptance & peaceful rest from this burden, the lightness of the soul that comes from true forgiveness of one's mistakes...I do not know if it is possible in this lifetime. I am trying though. I really am.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 2

2011-01-12T13:22:00.000-05:00

Day 2: Something you love about yourself.

Oh man, really?

Didn't you read that last post? Can't we talk more about that again?

Hmmmm....does it have to be something I love love about myself or just something I am kind of happy with?

Love love you say? We might be here a while....

Um.

Uh.

Errrrr....

Well, I have always loved my hair. I love its unapologetic brunette color. Sure, I can try to make it other colors (and while going to beauty school at Bon Losee back in the day, I tried just about every color out there!) but it always returns to its roots, not pun intended. My hair is happiest a deep dark chocolate brown color (Redken Shades EQ 3N if you must know). As much as I love my sister's blond locks, I feel like I won the hair lottery.

Pretty vain, eh?

I also love that I read so broadly and so much. It can be said that I collect books like some women collect shoes. The reason I love this is because reading has opened up an entirely new world to me and satisfies the insatiable curiosity in me to always want to know more, to want to know why, and to understand how. I don't even want to think about the kind of small, narrow woman I would be without my love of reading. I love what it has done to me.

30 Days of Truth ~ Day 1

2011-01-08T12:48:00.000-05:00

So, in response to my new friend's challenge (read more here: http://thelolaletters.blogspot.com/2011/01/30-days-of-truth-list.html ), I am going all in on this one.

It is not going to be easy, it certainly will not be pretty, but it should be interesting. And interesting is what it is all about, right?

So to kick it off, here is my first response.

Day 1: Something you dislike about yourself.

Me, not like something about myself? Hahahahahahaha! What is there not to like?

OK. Done joking around. In actuality, I am very hard on myself and find a myriad of things that I do not like. I have a deeply ingrained feeling that I am never enough, will never be enough, will never qualify or measure up, will never "arrive." Even if I can look around me and actually see with my own eyes evidence that indicates otherwise, I still feel this way. For some reason, I lack the ability to see myself as others see me and even when they tell me (over and over and over and over again) that I am inherently lovable, capable, competent, talented, etc., I don't see it. In fact, I think they all have rocks in their heads.

Perhaps this is the thing I dislike about myself the most. I wish for one moment I could feel like I was enough instead of like I never measure up.

That and I don't like the fact I am a lousy at sports in general. Some people got it, some people don't. I definitely fall into the "don't" category.

Evolution of Smile

2011-01-06T15:11:00.001-05:00

Man, how I love this little creature that has graced our home. She's nothing short of amazing. And her smile...it sends me over the edge every time.

Even sloppy carrot smiles are da bomb, I am telling you.

And when she gets those pudgy fingers involved in the action, it doesn't get much cuter. Except if you could hear the squeals and giggles and adorable little baby girl sounds she makes - then it gets insanely cute. (P.S. Girls do make way cuter sounds than boys. Sorry, sons. It is true.)

Then her eyes start to crinkle up around the corners, just like her daddy's do when he smiles.

And when the belly laughs start to fade, the smile lingers behind in her eyes.

The Professor, the Police, and Santa Claus

2010-12-24T23:31:00.007-05:00

I can't stop giggling.

I am not sure I will ever be able to look back at this memory tonight and not have a grin cross my face that goes from ear to ear.

Tonight, the police on base got word that Santa might be landing over at the air strip. They needed some "help" listening for him, so they dropped off one of their police radios at every home on base with small children so they could assist in the Santa Watch. While we waited, the Professor and I tracked Santa on NORAD. I was about to send the restless Professor to bed when across the air waves we heard he had finally arrived!!!

The Professor started jumping up and down, eyes wide with excited wonderment and his hand covering his mouth as he squealed, "He's here, he's here!!!! He's really here!!!!!!!" The police were able to talk to Santa and count up all the reindeer. When they announced that Rudolph was with Santa, the Professor about passed out with joy.

While this was all delightful to witness, the best was yet to come. Santa announced he needed to get on his way and so all the kids needed to get to bed so he could come to their house.

The Professor became a dizzying blur as he dashed up the stairs, made a cursory pass at brushing his teeth, dived into bed as he said his prayers AND the family prayers all while yelling, "Hurry, hurry, hurry!!!! Everyone has got to go to bed RIGHT NOW so Santa can come! Hurry, hurry, hurry!!!!"

Seriously. If I was ever in doubt of how fast that child can actually move when motivated, I am no longer.

Tonight will be one of my most treasured Christmas memories, courtesy of the base police and an exuberant 6-year old boy I call the Professor.

Christmas 2010 Letter

2010-12-21T10:10:00.001-05:00

Merry Christmas 2010

I hope this Christmas/New Year’s letter finds all of our friends and family enjoying a wonderful and peace filled holiday season. It is always such a wondrous thing to reflect on this last year and to celebrate the gifts we have been blessed with. Here’s an update of our comings and goings:

Mr. Amazing Man: He is still enjoying his job, especially the fact he gets to come home for lunch every day. However, I think he is ready for a change and is really looking forward to the new gig in Florida this summer. He really stepped it up this year around the home front taking care of all the things I couldn’t because I was (a) pregnant, (b) recovering from being pregnant, or (c) preparing and completing comps/dissertation proposal, which was almost as bad as being pregnant. Honestly, if more men could be like him, all would be well in the world. I am so grateful my two boys get to learn what it means to be a real man from such a great example.

Me: I spent a lot of time this last year lounging about being pregnant with our new little one, Princess P., and then recovering from that most unpleasant of pregnancies. In my free time, I pretended like I was a PhD student and on my birthday in October, I successfully completed my comprehensive exams. I was also able to get my dissertation proposal turned in to my committee last week. As always, I am trying to loose weight, be healthier (mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually), and spend more time with my family. Any tips you have in those regards would be greatly appreciated.

Captain Knuckle: Now a 6’-tall 14-year old, Captain Knuckle is in the 8^th grade and was recently ordained to be a Teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood. He gets good grades, makes his bed, and takes the garbage out without being hollered at too much. Even though he is 2” taller than me, he still lets me hug him in public and gives me a kiss before he leaves for school every morning. Since he has never outgrown his adorable dimples, girls want to date him but he is relieved (as am I!!!) that we have the rule of no dating until he is 16. He has a job doing after-school care for a family here on base and is reveling in the $300-400 a month he is pulling down for playing with a couple of kids for a few hours a week.

The Professor: Oh man, where do I even start with this kid? As always, he continues to help me grow in ways I didn’t know I needed to grow. He is gaga-crazy in love with his new little sister and has perfected the fine art of calming her down. He is six years old and in 1^st grade but has the vocabulary and comprehension skills of a much older child. I frequently have to remind myself that he is only six years old. Being rather agenda driven like me, he always has a plan and a project in the works, usually an illustrated book of some sort. It is delightful to see the combination of Grandma Rose’s authoring talents and Grandma Penny’s artistic abilities come together in such a hilarious little boy. On another note, I haven’t received any “does not share well with others” notes from school yet but we still have another six months to go! The only real concern his teacher has is “He certainly seems to draw a lot of pictures of things blowing up.” Yeah, I know, Mrs. First Grade Teacher Lady. Has he shown you the one of the mushroom cloud full of monkeys yet? That’s a good one.

Princess P: What can I say about this sweet treasure other than holy cow, how did we get so lucky to have her join our family? Named after her two grandmothers, she has brought untold amounts of joy to our family since was born on May 10. Now a roly-poly seven month old, she is currently sitting on my lap playing the “how many times can I throw this toy on the floor before Mom stops picking it up?” game. Honestly, I could play it forever if it means she will keep squealing with delight when I give the toy back to her.

That just about sums it up for this year! You can always follow along on our adventures at www.sostinkinhappy.com - I promise to update it much more frequently this next year (it’s one of my New Year’s resolutions).

Much love and Merry Christmas from our Happy Home to yours -

2010-12-20T22:46:00.001-05:00

Dear Captain Knuckle:

I love you. Even when your Spanish teacher (who speaks waaaaaaaaay to fast!) sends home your most recent test in an envelope.

I think we are both grateful that my love for you is in no way dependent on your G.P.A.  You could fail Spanish a million times over and I would still love you. That's just how I roll.

Much love,

Mom

Thanksgiving Goodness

2010-11-25T20:25:00.005-05:00

Last year, I didn't get Thanksgiving. I was lounging about the bathroom floor, driving the white bus every half hour or so. My family was gone to my sister-in-law's wedding in UT. I was home alone.

So this year...well, Mr. Amazing Man tried to make me NOT do Thanksgiving because I am trying to finish up my proposal. Hahahaha. Joke is on him, right?

And I actually did a good job at not doing it like I have in years past. No homemade rolls (gasp, I know! But Mrs. Rhodes and I had a long chat about it. She's OK with helping out this year). No piles of frog-eyed salad (gasp! How are my boys surviving? It is tough to be sure). No homemade pecan pie (Costco has a passable version). No lemon artichoke dressing. No invities (he was very firm about that one...he didn't want me killing myself off and not being able to get back to writing).

But after totally missing out last year, I had to do something. A girl like me who adores cooking as much as I do sit on the sidelines entirely this year? Whatev', husband, whatev.

The star of the show! A lovely tom from Avery's Branch Farms. I have never met nor eaten a more delicious bird. We *love* their chickens and dairy so it shouldn't come as such a surprise their turkeys are equally amazing!

Mr. Amazing Man watched "Throw Down with Bobby Flay" the other night. Without me. With a bunch of other military guys. (I know, I thought it was hilarious too.) Back to the matter at hand: he liked how Bobby Flay cut the turkey. So he carved ours up the same way. Perfection.

The first time I have put a table cloth on our china-red table in...years.

Sweet giblets! This sausage pecan and cherry stuffing was crazy good. Don't ask me for a recipe. I made it up as I went. Basically, it's a regular tasty sausage dressing with some dried cherries tossed in for good measure. (The sausage came from piggies at Avery's Branch Farms. Yuuummmm. P.S. Their bacon is out of this world!!!)

Butter. Sweet, delicious, yellow butter from the lovely ladies over at Avery's Branch Farms.

Sweet potatoes with GIANT marshmallows on top. Never made these before. Wow. Wow. Woooooowwww. Now I see what all the fuss is about.

Delish. Uh, can I have some more please?

Dear Bobby Flay: I knew I loved your style before today but now...now I am wondering if you will adopt me. Sincerely, A Lover of Your Cranberry-Blackberry relish. Amen.

Roasted garlic half-mashed Parmesan potatoes. They are all mine. Stay away. (And yes, that lovely golden orb of tasty goodness is butter from Avery's Branch Farms. And no, this is not a commercial for them. I promise. They don't really know me from Adam. I just buy my milk and poultry from them).

But the best part about Thanksgiving was the company. She's all mine. Stay away.

Much love,

M.

"The Creator and Creations" ~ Penelope Jones

2010-11-13T15:37:00.001-05:00

So my mother-in-law, Penelope Jones, painted this.

It was a paint by number one of my hilarious sister-in-laws picked up from a yard sale and gave to her for kicks. She started painting it. Then she got bored after she painted Jesus. So she painted people at the table that she thought were interesting.

I love this woman. Her wit and talent are boundless. She never ceases to amaze me.

(P.S. She has some art displayed at the current installation at the Springville Museum of Art. Stop by and admire it if you get the chance.)

Five Pillars

2010-10-25T15:46:00.000-04:00

This is Mr. Amazing Man's sister's turn of the century farm house, nestled amongst more modern abodes in Spanish Fork. His sister is pretty darn cool. As are all of his sisters. Collectively all of the women in his family call themselves the Miss Fitts. We think we are hilarious.

Virginia creeper. In Utah. Funny story: She had been tearing that out of her flower bed till I told her, "No, no! It's lovely in the fall - train it to grow up that pillar there." She did. And it is lovely in the fall. That's not that funny of a story after all, is it?

His sister knows how to do things up proper for a holiday. I love these ghosts. I know when they make their annual appearance, Christmas will soon be here.

One of these scarecrows won a contest there in Spanish Fork. Or maybe both of them did. If not, they both should have.

See that black thing back in the left hand side of the screen? That's the garden bong. The Samoan and the garden bong are the cause of many a fine gastronomical delights at Five Pillars.

I miss my family. I miss eating dinner with them outside, cozied up around the tables as Manda reads questions off of Trivial Pursuit cards. She is one smart cookie. I hardly ever get questions right but she does all the time. Just a hint: Never go up against her when playing Jeopardy. She will win. Every time.

Welcome. Yes indeed, all are welcome at Five Pillars.

The Professor's "Illustrated Pop-Up Guide of Extreme Disasters", Part I

2010-10-14T10:16:00.000-04:00

So the Professor came to me yesterday with a book idea. The title of the book, "The Illustrated Pop-Up Guide of Extreme Disasters." Here's what he has done so far:

A railroad track, on fire. After being blown to pieces and a part of it washed away by a river.

A bunch of small fires that become one big fire with so much smoke you can't see anything at all.

An electricity storm. The brown things are the transformer stations and the yellow is all of the electricity flying through the air between the transformers.

A bomb that lands in the ground.

A "thing" of exploding poison gas.

The house catching fire because of a firestorm in the sky.

And dynamite. Lots and lots of dynamite. (He has been making these and will stealthily sneak into the room, put one on my desk, and then make a made dash for the door as he giggles uncontrollably. It's hilarious).

This morning he told me he has a few more disasters he needs to illustrate before he starts working on the pop-up parts of the book. "Like what, son?"

"Oh, you know. Tornadoes, earthquakes, hurricanes, and a plane falling out of the sky. Stuff like that. But don't worry mom, everyone in the plane will have a parachute so they are OK."

Oh. Everyone has a parachute? That's great, son.

__________________________________________________

Dear Gentle Readers:

I do not know from whence springs this recent fixation with disasters of all kinds. I am working hard to subvert the Jungian psychologist in me so as to not over-analyze it all. I think it might have to do with all of the museums we went to over the last week.

Much love, M.

Captain Knuckle Gets a Life

2010-10-13T15:21:00.004-04:00

Captain Knuckle earned his Life rank! What a proud mama am I. What a lucky mama am I. How on earth did I get lucky enough to win the parenting lottery with this kid? And when did he get so stinkin' tall?

A Rose by Any Other Name

2010-10-02T21:16:00.002-04:00

Penelope Rose is also known as Ms. Squish.

Baby Sister.

Princess P.

Poppy.

Little Penny.

But the one I love most of all is Gorgeous. That's what her daddy calls her.

Lest We Forget

2010-09-11T11:44:00.000-04:00

          "It is for us the living, rather
          that we here highly resolve
          the these dead
          shall not have died in vain--
          that this nation, under God,
          shall have a new birth of freedom--
          and that government of the people,
          by the people,
          for the people,
          shall not perish from the earth."

Abraham Lincoln, November 19, 1863, Gettysburg

I will not surrender; I will not submit.

Be Still My Beating Heart

2010-06-29T12:10:00.002-04:00

I love this boy. 

That is all. 

And that is enough. 

It's a Hard Knock Life

2010-06-25T23:00:00.000-04:00

It's tough being a 13 1/2 year old man-child. Especially one who has to perform at a swing dance concert with five gabillion girls and only one other boy.

But wait. Did the MC just say there was dessert when this ordeal is over?

Even if there is dessert, it is still tough being 13 1/2 year old man-child who has to perform at a swing dance concert. "Mom - do you think those girls are going to laugh at me?"

No son, not too much. But at least you don't have to dance with a guy unlike the girls who have to dance with other girls, son. You should be grateful for that much.

On This Memorial Day

2010-05-31T10:16:00.000-04:00

" Your exertions in the cause of freedom, guided by wisdom and animated by zeal and courage, have gained you the love and confidence of your grateful countrymen; as they look to you, who are experienced veterans, and trust that you will still be the guardians of America. As I have the honor to be an American, and one among the free millions, who are defended by your valor, I would pay the tribute of thanks, and express my gratitude...

"Although your private concerns may call for your assitance at home, yet the voice of your country is still louder...Never was a cause more important or glorious than that which you are engaged in; not only your wives, your children, and distant posterity, but humanity at large, the world of mankind are interested in it; for if tyranny should prevail in this great country, we may expect liberty will expire throughout the world. Therefore, more human glory and happiness may depend on your exertions than ever yet depended upon any of the sons of men. He that is a soldier in defense of such a cause, needs no title; his post is a post of honor, and although not an emperor, yet he shall wear a crown--of glory--and blessed will be his memory!"

--A Freeman (as appeared in the New England Chronicle, Nov 1775).

Thank you to all who have served in the military. I am honored to be counted among the free who have been protected by your sacrifice. --M.

"Is life so dear, or peace so sweet"

2010-03-24T11:15:00.002-04:00

"The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable — and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come!

"It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, “Peace! Peace!” — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!"

Patrick Henry – March 23, 1775 to the Virginia House of Burgesses at St. John’s Church in Richmond, Virginia

And let us not forget the shout from outside the window that broke the silence following Henry's impassioned speech:

"Let me be buried on this spot!"

Edward Carrington, an ordinary American

A Letter to My Husband

2010-03-17T08:26:00.003-04:00

Dear Husband:

I grossly underestimated the volume of work you do around the house. Not only that, the boys miss you and so do I. The laundry pile is taller than The Professor and the bed hasn't been made once since you left. Then again, I am usually in it so that might explain things. (The bed, not the laundry pile. There is no explanation for the laundry pile.)

I know you are busy saving the free world from certain doom and destruction and all that stuff, but please hurry home soon. I feel terrible that you are sleeping in the woods while I enjoy this huge bed all by myself.

Sincerely,

Your ever loving wife

A Quick Study in Human Behavior

2010-03-07T18:47:00.001-05:00

Scene: It's after dinner. I am at my computer, feeling sorry for myself because I have a head in my ribs and tiny feet dancing on my bladder and keep asking Mr. Amazing Man, "When will this ever end????"

Captain Knuckle wanders in, hands in pockets, slouching like only a teenaged boy who is bored on Sunday evening can be.

Me: Hey, son. How are you?
Son: Good. Sort of. (Which interpreted means: I won't let him play Medal of Honor on the Wii right now so he is moping around hoping I will change my mind.)
Me: Oh. Are you bored?
Son: Yes. Wait - NO! I am definitely not bored.

See, he has learned that when he tells me he is bored, I have a list of about 10 things he can do to get "un-bored" in a hurry. This list includes things like doing laundry, cleaning the litter box, scrubbing walls, etc., etc. I think you get the idea.

He is such a smart boy. It only took him 13 1/2 years to figure out to never tell Mom that he is bored. I can always find more productive ways to spend his time if he isn't careful.

Like emptying the dishwasher.

Methinks I Need to Work on My People Skills

2010-03-02T17:06:00.000-05:00

I asked Captain Knuckle to fetch me some ice cream from the upright freezer in the garage. This is what he brought me.

In case you can't read a 13-year old boy's Sanskrit, this is what it says:

"No authorization to open if you are not a slightly angry pregnant mother."

These Three Guys Walked into a Bar...

2010-02-24T15:02:00.001-05:00

OK, so they didn't walk into a bar. It just sounded like a funny title for a blog post. And right now, I need all the funny I can get in my life.

But have I mentioned lately how much I love these three men in my life?

They take such good care of me, especially in my "delicate" condition.

On Monday, I was having on of my more "delicate" ~~moments~~...ahem, I meant days. After dinner, they disappeared as I retreated to my bedroom with my Stay-Puf marshmallows and Nilla Wafers. If I could have had my way, I would have locked the door to and not opened it again until about 10:00 a.m. the next morning.

Unfortunately, I haven't gotten around to calling the base maintenance folks to come fix the lock on my door so the best I could do is slam it shut. Not that anyone was around to hear me except the cat. He jumped about 3 feet in the air and that made me feel somewhat better.

About 30 minutes later the men folk reappeared, each one bearing a dozen plump, juicy roses.

The little one brought me pink.

The middle one brought me white.

And the big one brought me red. They laid them in my arms like I was some beauty queen (which I certainly don't feel or look right now considering I only have 11 more weeks to go in this pregnancy) and told me how much they loved me and appreciated all I did for the family. Then they each kissed me before retreating downstairs for some male bonding over season three of the original Star Trek series.

Now don't get me wrong - flowers can't fix everything that ails a girl but knowing that the men in my life love me even when I am a big fat stink pot made me feel a lot better.

Sincerely,

A very pregnant and uncomfortable M.

Financial Advice: My Favorite Get Rich Scheme

2010-02-04T08:51:00.000-05:00

Advice so obvious even SNL gets it.

Happy Birthday, Carolyn!

2010-02-03T11:38:00.003-05:00

Today would have been my sister's 39th birthday had she stuck around long enough here on earth. Unfortunately, when she was 18 years, 6 months and 23 days old she went through a windshield of a car and ended up on the other side of eternity. But you know what? I think that is exactly what she would have wanted her ending here to be like. She left this earthly life just as she lived it: a white-hot shooting star trailing spit-fire and sparks, hell bent on rocking the boat, challenging the status quo, and never ever taking the easy, quiet path.

I was just 20 months younger than her and we grew up sharing bath time (that's me on the right - I sure was cute, wasn't I?), bedrooms, toys, clothes, fights, and friends. As we got older, we continued to share our bedroom, clothes, fights, and friends, but upped the ante with cars, lockers at school, and jobs. When she died the Saturday before my senior year began...it was like losing a limb. I was exactly two months shy of turning 17 and I hardly knew how to function. Living without her constant, daily big-sister presence in my life was like trying to learn how to walk again.

She was quite the big sister to have and perfectly suited for the role. (That's me and her in the picture above on Christmas morning 1977 when we were living on Guam. I didn't crop my little brother from the photo because (a) he's just so gosh darn adorable! and (b) he's one of my favorite brothers.) There was something magical about her; everyone that met her adored her. She had a special tenderness for the elderly and was a fierce protector of the disabled. When she was angry, the gold flecks in her crystalline blue eyes would deepen to a dark amber. When she was happy, it was like basking in the warmth of a full sun in the spring.

Speaking of the spring, whenever the snows there on the mountains in Utah Valley would finally start to melt, we would forge a note from our mom (sorry Mom) and skip school (sorry again Mom) so we could head for the foot hills. (That's her at her high school graduation, exactly three months before she died in the car accident. If I could just pan to the left a bit in the photo, I could actually point out the spot on the mountain where we spent much of our school-skipping time). Finding our favorite secluded spot, we would shed our winter clothes for the swim suits underneath and climb up on the hood of the car and soak in the newness of the season. Those were good times. Good times indeed.

She had an impish grin, cavernous dimples and a quick-silver temperament. Above all though, she loved each and every one of her siblings - all eleven of us - with a fierce loyalty that I have yet to ever find equaled in another person (that's her above with Elly, baby #8). She was always our protector and our champion. It wasn't our big brothers who came to the rescue when the neighborhood bully would start picking on us - it was her. It was always her. Scrappy and bird-thin as she was, she always kicked the dog-snot out of anyone giving her siblings grief.

She was the third of twelve children that came in quick succession and the oldest daughter. Watching out for us was a full-time gig. (That's her and Ang, baby #9. My mom was raised Catholic and then joined the LDS church. There was never any hope that our family would be small.) Aside from keeping us from getting beat up by the meanies in the neighborhood, her chief role was to entertain and instigate. While I was the quiet, studious, obedient daughter, she was the one who was always finding new ways to make us laugh and more elaborate plans to get us into trouble with the parents. While I was the voice of caution and prudence, hers was the voice urging us to throw off the bow-lines and explore uncharted territory.

She was magnificent. It is on days like this that I am the most grateful for my understanding of the supernal victory Mary discovered the morning she found the empty tomb. Jesus Christ conquered the grave and my sister will continue on. The sting of her death which remains even all these years later is swallowed up in this knowledge.

So today, I wish my big sister a happy birthday, where ever she might be.

His One Flaw and an Easy Fix

2010-02-02T20:36:00.001-05:00

Finally! I have discovered my husband's one flaw. (Seriously folks, I didn't think he had any others aside from me, the perpetual thorn in his ever lovin' side).

But I digress: his one flaw is that he snores. Yes, I have discovered after nearly 8 years of marriage that even super heroes snore. Not loudly and not all the time. In fact, it wasn't until my pregnancy induced insomnia that I ever noticed it all that much. But now....Now it drives me to the brink of insanity on a nightly basis.

Since I am at heart a lazy person and I really really really like my bed and don't want to haul my bee-hind out of bed in the dark of night go find somewhere else to sleep, I have spent many an hour studying him by the light of the alarm clock as he lays there, peacefully snoring in dreamland. From my studied hours, I have been able to ascertain that he only snores when he is (a) sleeping on his back and (b) his right arm is tossed carelessly above his head. Not his left (as pictured above) - that doesn't induce the snoring. It has to be his right arm. If he is sleeping there with his arms across his chest or to his side he doesn't snore - only when that pesky right arm is draped across his head.

In the past, I have poked and prodded and made him roll over to get him to quit snoring. It worked tolerably well except for the fact I had to wake him up and girls, let's face it: Even husbands need their beauty sleep. He works so hard for us during the day I always felt so guilty waking him up to make him roll over because his snoring was bothering me - it didn't bother him one little bit.

So over lunch yesterday I was teasing him about finally discovering his one flaw (which is fortunately not a fatal one). He said, "Hey, next time I start snoring, just move my arm and see what happens instead of waking me up to roll over." Brilliant! What a simple, elegant solution!!! Now why hadn't I thought of that? (Just goes to prove that one can be a pointy-headed academic and still not be all that smart, if you know what I mean...)

Last night was the first night for me to try our little experiment. Much to my delight and amusement, it actually worked! He starts snoring, I gently remove his arm from above his head and place it across his stomach. He stops snoring. Rinse and repeat as needed.

So I guess this means that he really doesn't have a flaw after all. He just needs me even more in his life to keep him from snoring if for no other reason. Right?

New Years Resolution

2010-01-12T09:04:00.001-05:00

To do less of this...

So far, it hasn't been working very well.

Mainly because of this...

She's getting bigger and gosh, it hurts to walk even a couple of miles. And when I do, I spend the next two days in bed because of contractions. It is a tough thing to admit that I can't get around like I used to.

Plus, Mr. Amazing Man has taken to called me "Oh She Who Bears Fruit." Yeah buddy, that's about all I can do right now and its all your fault.

2009 Year in Review

2009-12-31T08:42:00.000-05:00

Mr. Amazing Man
The Job: We both feel very blessed to have had the chance to live together under the same roof as a family for the entire year and fortunately for both of us, we haven't tired of it yet! I love his new job because he comes home for lunch and dinner every day and doesn't have to wear body armor to work. I think he tolerates the job for the same reason. Plus, I don't think he really minds the five minute walking commute through the woods either. (Seriously, it takes longer to get in the car, buckle up, back out the driveway, and drive there than it does to walk).

The Family: As expected, Mr. Amazing Man continues to be an equally amazing husband and father. He has really stepped up over the past four months while I have been so wretchedly sick (not that he was ever a slacker before but he has really outdone himself this time!). He took care of all the household responsibilities while making sure I was as comfortable as possible.

Me
School: It started off well but got derailed in the fall by my unforeseen "health issues." Fortunately, I have been gifted with wonderful friends who keep reminding me that I have come too far to quit now and with an equally wonderful adviser who reminds me of the same thing. Plans to graduate in May 2010 have been bumped back to May 2011, but that is alright, all things considered. I feel pretty good about tackling comps this spring and moving forward with things.

The Family: Our little souvenir from our long-awaited and well deserved family vacation to the Outer Banks, NC last September is due to join our family in May 2010 (the primary reason for not making graduation deadlines this year). Discovering that we were expecting was a wee bit of a surprise. OK, you can stop laughing now. Yes, we do know what causes this and yes, at 37 (me) and 49 (Mr. Amazing Man) years of age, we are old enough to know better too.

Honestly, I was certain we were done having children – I have two beautiful, amazing, and wonderful boys that keep me busy. Captain Knuckle is nearly as tall as me and the Professor just started all-day kindergarten one week before I found out. I was supposed to graduate with my PhD on nearly the same day this baby is going to be joining our family via a planned c-section. I had given away anything and everything baby/toddler related not more than two months before. I was at peace with my life as it was and actually getting a bit excited to welcome in the next phase of my life. I mean, I had a plan and it was a really good plan. I thought.

I planned. God laughed. At least it is a good joke though.

We were all delighted to discover last month that we are having a girl & made the easy decision to name her after both of her grandmothers. So far, the pregnancy has been totally different than my others. I was sick pretty much from the get go and everything had me driving the proverbial "white bus." I seem to have turned a corner now with that & only have random bouts of illness (usually precipitated by riding in the car with Mr. Amazing Man - he tends to forget sometimes that he isn't in Kosovo any more, Toto).

Captain Knuckle
School: Turned 13, is in 7th grade. Just earned the rank of Star in BSA and has all his merit badges to qualify for Life, just has to wait for the time requirement to pass. Is still his charming, affable self. Seems to be navigating the horrors of junior high with his self-worth and integrity intact. Is getting braces on Monday so that might change.

Got his first love note. Questioned me about dating - I told him he couldn't date until he had served a mission, graduated from college, earned his SF tab, HALO jump wings and SCUBA dive bubble and then I might let him go out on a date. Just teasing. Sort of. Honestly, he was pretty relieved when I told him to tell the girl he couldn't date until he was at least 16 and even then it was only group dates. Got in his first fight. Got his first bad grade ever but continues to do well in his core academic studies. Continues to be the most phenomenal big brother. Won't stop growing - he left for the summer wearing a size 12 and is now in a size 18/men's medium. Is starting to get past the all knees and elbows phase he was in last year as his muscles begin to fill out (something he is very proud of). He is also exceptionally proud of the mustache and chin hairs he is starting to sprout.

The Professor
Has a vocabulary and conversational skills that are astounding for a five year old, if you can get him to talk to you. He not only uses $5 words, but uses them correctly in context. Drove his pre-school teachers crazy because he wasn't cooperative with them. Thinks that all-day school is too long and has decided that he should stay at home with me so I am not lonely all day. Has finally warmed up to me and will snuggle with me!!!

Hobbes
No family update is complete without a line or two about our fantastic family cat, Hobbes. He truly is the most companionable of pets I have ever encountered. I swear, he thinks he is a dog though - right down to the tail-wagging, fetching of toys, and running to the front door to check out who is knocking on it. If he could figure out how to bark, he would.

My Two Joys...er, Boys

2009-12-24T09:25:00.002-05:00

Finally! After waiting all month long, the Professor gets to demolish the annual gingerbread house. And eat it for breakfast. Aren't I a good mother?

Me, in gingerbread. At least me right now in my life. Googly eyed and perched on the edge.

What goodwill towards men looks like when you are 13 and it is too early in the morning for anyone but an overly excited 5-year old to be awake.

Ah, there's the boy I love and adore!

And my one attempt at doing something festive with the boys this year. Let's just say it was a bust in the house-decorating division of my life, due in large part to my inability to do more than lay around and be horrendously sick.

Much love,

M.

The brave men of the Green Beret

2009-11-10T16:12:00.001-05:00

Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying,
Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?

Then said I, Here am I; send me.

Isaiah 6:8

This scripture is read at each one of their funerals. I hope to never hear it until I am old, stooped, gray-haired and surrounded by great-grandchildren. Watching the memorial services for those killed at Ft. Hood reminded me of this. None of the fallen were Special Forces soldiers, but each of the answered when our country called, "Here am I; send me."

I love this kid. I really do.

2009-11-10T10:22:00.001-05:00

The Professor is insisting that wearing one red shoe and one blue shoe to school is "hilarious" and will make everyone laugh. Lacking the energy to argue with a 5-year old, guess what he is wearing to school today.

2009-09-23T11:33:00.002-04:00

The other day, I got distracted and left the butter on the counter. This is what I found when I came back.

I honestly wish I could have frozen that butter in time - the little finger swipe out of it was so perfect and told such a story. When I asked who did it (knowing full well that it was the Professor as he is the only one in the house with fingers that size), he immediately piped up and said, "It was me Mom. I just couldn't help myself and my finger...it just slipped. It was sooooooooo good."

I just love that little guy. I really do. He makes me smile every day.

A Rose By Any Other Name

2009-09-18T10:39:00.003-04:00

Back in the early spring, when the ground was first waking up around here, my friend Sam gave me this Rose of Sharon tree. I found it one afternoon on my front porch along with a Japanese Maple and instantly knew it was from him. ( A quick phone call to my neighbor Marie confirmed this as she was good friends with him too and had received the same thing). It was small - like 6 inches and literally just a stick in the mud, a cutting with maybe 4 or 5 leaves. It has lived on my back deck for the summer, sheltered, pampered, and well loved because Sam gave it to me.

Sam is a 67-year old man who lived around the bend from us and is five-year brain cancer. I took an instant liking to him because he reminds me a great deal of my New and Improved Dad (Can I still call him that? It's been nearly 10 years since he has taken on that role in my life...) Back to the matter at hand: I first met Sam in the frosty early mornings of last November as we collected pecans from the abundant and prolific pecan trees near our home here on base. At about 6:30 a.m. on my way home from my daily walk, I would stop by the ones on the corner of Magruder and the main gate road to collect them and invariably, he was there every morning too. The friendship was cemented when we discovered we both had an interest in green growing things. He has taught me a great deal about living in the moment, letting go of old grievances, and just being. When his cancer was first discovered, they told him he had 2-3 months to live but here he is, laughing and living as if each day was the most perfect day in the world because to him, it is.

I was sad when his wife of 40+ years retired and they moved off base this summer. I will miss him this fall. When he gave me this Rose of Sharon cutting, I had no idea what it would look like, what it would turn into and was delighted when it started blooming this week. I mean, look at that flower! Look at the big fat pink bud, those glossy green leaves. Just lovely.

I don't want to just give it away when we move - it's too valuable to me. I know I still have two more years before we have our next assignment, but I am already trying to figure out what to do with it.

Hmmm...I wonder, do Rose of Sharons grow in UT? Maybe my New and Improved Dad will like it.

Photographic Evidence

2009-09-13T08:57:00.005-04:00

Remember the note sent home from pre-school back in June? Remember how I mentioned I had scores of pictures of the Professor that embodied the "does not play well with others" attitude of the note?

Well, here is the latest to add to my collection, taken on our recent vacation to the Outer Banks, NC.

I don't think I need to say one more word.

Lest We Forget

2009-09-11T09:46:00.004-04:00

"It is for us the living, rather
that we here highly resolve
the these dead
shall not have died in vain--
that this nation, under God,
shall have a new birth of freedom--
and that government of the people,
by the people,
for the people,
shall not perish from the earth."

Abraham Lincoln, November 19, 1863, Gettysburg

On Lifelong Learning

2009-08-29T07:41:00.003-04:00

President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency: “We will have to make some hard choices of how we use our time. … But remember, you are interested in education, not just for mortal life but for eternal life. When you see that reality clearly with spiritual sight, you will put spiritual learning first and yet not slight the secular learning. …

“… And since what we will need to know is hard to discern, we need the help of heaven to know which of the myriad things we could study we would most wisely learn. It also means that we cannot waste time entertaining ourselves when we have the chance to read or to listen to whatever will help us learn what is true and useful. Insatiable curiosity will be our hallmark” (“Education for Real Life,” Ensign, Oct. 2002, 18, 19).

Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “A few of the basic attributes needed to become a lifelong learner are courage, faithful desire, humility, patience, curiosity, and a willingness to communicate and share the knowledge that we gain. …

“My dear sisters, don’t ever sell yourself short as a woman or as a mother. … Do not let the world define, denigrate, or limit your feelings of lifelong learning and the values of motherhood in the home—both here mortally and in the eternal learning and benefits you give to your children and to your companion.

“Lifelong learning is essential to the vitality of the human mind, body, and soul. It enhances self-worth and self-actuation. Lifelong learning is invigorating mentally and is a great defense against aging, depression, and self-doubt” (“The Journey of Lifelong Learning,” in Brigham Young University 2008–2009 Speeches [2009], 2, 8–9).

Quittin' Time

2009-08-28T15:44:00.004-04:00

My Visiting Teachers are going to be here in 45 minutes and so I did a quick "pick-me-up" of the house and pulled out the trusty Hoover. I made it through the living room, the we-aren't-sure-what-to-call-it-but-technically-it-is-a-formal-dining-room-but-it-currently-houses-Mr. Amazing Man's-computer-and-book-collection room, the entry & the hallway before this happened.

This particular Hoover has been across the country and back several times, seen me through a child and graduate school and only recently has developed the nasty habit of not turning on. So in a fit of ingenuity that only a Special Ops. soldier can muster up, Mr. Amazing Man rigged it so that it will turn on and off...but only when I plug it into the wall or unplug it from the wall. It hasn't been a problem until I sucked up my shoe lace this afternoon.

Aside from the mad dash down the hallway to unplug the Hoover and the acrid smoke hanging about my office, it isn't really a problem now either. It is more funny than anything. And as my dear sister-in-law always says, funny goes a long, long way.

I took the event to signal that I am done for the day. Even the laundry is going to have to wait because I am going to go play Lego Star Wars with the Good Professor. That beats vacuuming any day of the week.

In the Eye of the Beholder

2009-08-24T13:57:00.009-04:00

Remember that shell-of-a-bug from that other post that set me to dreaming about Hawaii? On the other side of the tree, this is what I found staring back at me.

A wee bit spooky at first, but lovely nonetheless, wouldn't you agree?

As I worked my way around the tree, I encountered a mass of...I don't know, some green growing thing that grows on trees. Moss? Lichen? Perhaps I need to call my New & Improved Dad and find out if he knows. He knows everything there is to know about green growing things seeing as he is a plant doctor.

At any rate, this yet unidentified green thing (UGT) was mesmerizing.

And what!? Tiny mushrooms growing on the side of the tree??? As a daughter of the high desert, I am still startled and delighted by the abundance of green life here on the east coast. I mean, come on. How cool is it that my tree is growing miniature mushrooms?

Travel Plans

2009-08-24T07:40:00.004-04:00

This morning as I was watering my plants, I noticed this guy. Errr...what is left of him anyhow.

And I thought to myself, "I know that feeling."

And then I thought, "How did he do that? How did he get out of his shell and leave it behind, perfectly intact and just disappear? Where did he go?"

I know exactly where I would have headed. Hawaii.

How about you? If you could shed your skin with the apparent ease of this critter and escape for a while, where would you go?

Working Mom

2009-08-21T15:36:00.004-04:00

I noticed this little feller sitting there by the bird feeder looking a bit disheveled. The pin feathers sticking up on his head, the wing feathers all skewampy. Something told me he was a fledgling. Then over hopped mama.

At first, he just danced around, turning this way and that. I could almost hear her sighing and saying, "Son, open up you mouth! It's lunch time." It was like watching the avian version of "airplane" or "choo-choo train" at feeding time.

"Come on son, just open your mouth and eat already. Do I need to set the timer?"

"If you don't open up right now, I am going to put the wii away for the rest of the day."

Finally, he listened to his mother and had his lunch.

Let me tell you, that was one hard working mother.

A Love Letter of Sorts

2009-08-21T08:53:00.007-04:00

Dear Mr. Amazing Man -

I knew it would be difficult to sort through those boxes of papers. I just wasn't prepared for the searing, crushing, and soul shredding process it turned into.

I am not sure what was worse: the letters from my mother over the course of about three years in the early '90s, stunning in their terseness and acerbic lack of any mercy or tenderness for her oldest living daughter. Or the letters from my bio-dad while he was in prison for child molestation, not signed "Dad" but with "Prisoner #" with the return address of "The Cell of....". Or the pictures of my precious Boo Bear tucked in among the other things. Or the faded letter from the Bishop requesting my presence before a disciplinary court for possible excommunication. Or my first marriage license and pictures from the day I married M.

I think it was the letters from my mom. After reading about 15 of them, I finally stopped opening them to pour over the pages of her hastily scrawled words. I kept hoping that one of them would simply say, "I love you. That is all. Love, Mom" without any theological grandstanding or belittling or moral lecturing but...

I finally gave up.

Blessedly, throughout the process, I would find card after card from you tucked among the deleterious content in those boxes. Thank God for you. Like a bas relief, you became very apparent. Over the past 16 years, you have been the golden, shining thread that weaves through my life. Your love for me is my rock and my refuge. As I sorted through the other items, my soul became hungry to find that next card, that next letter, that next note from you. I knew when I slipped it from the envelope and opened it up, I would be greeted by nothing but love for me and belief in my abilities to overcome the struggles in my life. Your letters and cards were the Balm of Gilead to my wounded heart yesterday afternoon.

You have never flinched as I have slowly unwound the knotted life I have lived. You have always believed that the wounds and scars I bear make me more beautiful, more human, more humane. You have never doubted my ability to overcome all of this. You see in me what even my own mother cannot or did not see.

___________________________________________________

I can see my reflection in the computer monitor... my forehead drawn together, my lips pulled tight, tears brimming over already puffy eyes. And the headache - the headache that only comes from crying oneself to sleep and waking to tears again in the morning.

This morning, I threw out the letters from my mom, mainly because neither of us need to be reminded of how awful that time period was between us. I think she would find it embarrassing to read how hurtful she was in those letters because she is not that same woman. And for me...well, it still hurts nearly 20 years later to re-read them.

I threw out the letters from my bio-dad.

I threw out the letter from the Bishop.

I threw out the license and pictures from my first marriage. I used to think that Captain Knuckle would want them but he has enough of his father, me, and him together that he doesn't need to see the ones from that overcast day in April 1995.

The pictures, letters, license, and summons now sit on the curb, waiting for the garbage man to pick them up in a half of an hour.

But I kept the pictures of Boo. And needless to say, I kept the cards from you.

I love you. Thank you for loving me all of these years.

Much love -

Your adoring wife, M.

A Resolution: Lose 1000 lbs.

2009-08-17T16:54:00.003-04:00

Yes, you read that correctly. I decided today that I am going to lose 1000 lbs. The plan hatched as I cleaned out a closet in preparation for The Amazing Ms. A. to come live with us in October. I realized I had a lot of stuff that I really didn't need, just tucked away in places that are far to convenient and out-of-sight. Staring at the mound of stuff in the middle of the room, I realized I really needed to let some things go so they can bless someone else.

Hopefully some of the 1000 pounds will be stuff currently attached to my hips and thighs, but the vast majority of it will come from all unused, unneeded, unwanted stuff stashed around my house. Every thing is fair game - books, clothes, household goods, plants, new stuff, old stuff - everything but the kids, the husband, and the cat. Unfortunately, I don't live in a place where I can even remotely consider holding a yard sale, so most of this stuff is going to be donated to my favorite local thrift store. Maybe I will sell some of the stuff on eBay, maybe do some consignment shop stuff with the boys clothes they have outgrown, or maybe I will give some to the neighbors. All I know is 1000 lbs. has got to go.

I will keep a running total on here just for kicks and try to get pictures of the piles of stuff before I haul them away. I have no idea how long it will take for me to reach this goal. Should I even set a date or just keep working until I do it? The perpetual student in me wants a deadline but I am not sure. I will have to think about that for a couple of days.

Wish me luck friends, neighbors, and countryman. I am about to embark on a serious dejunking of the family homestead.

The Good Professor Knows How to Work It

2009-08-17T09:24:00.004-04:00

Look at those yummy chocolate brown eyes, those lips, the cheeks! How does a parent say no to that face?

"Susan" fully extended

2009-07-05T14:04:00.002-04:00

"Susan" fully extended 2, originally uploaded by sostinkinhappy.

My first ever Faroese shawl. It was a lot of work but I learned so much! I can't wait to try another one.

A Note from The Preschool Teachers

2009-06-24T19:39:00.007-04:00

Yeah...tell me something I don't already know. I have piles of pictures kicking around where he looks 2 parts ticked off and 3 parts fed up with the rest of us humans in his life. He has been like this since the day he was born. Please, don't take it personally.

Overheard today

2009-06-11T11:54:00.003-04:00

The Good Professor: I really don't like to be nice to B. He always wants to build tracks that don't connect.

Mr. Amazing Man: This is why you don't have any friends.

The Good Professor: Yeah! I'm so happy!!!

Me thinks I need to work on the social skills with him, don't you?

2009-06-04T08:29:00.002-04:00

The Good Professor: Mom, I love you so much.
Me: I love you too son. You are my favorite 4-year old on the whole planet!
The Good Professor: You feel just like dough.
Me: Dough?
The Good Professor: Yeah, all squishy and soft.

I think it is time to step up the weight loss efforts. What do you think?

The Proverbial Family Tree

2009-06-02T08:31:00.006-04:00

Many moons ago, before Mr. Amazing Man and I were married, I was at his mom's house playing "Star Wars Monopoly" with his family. I was still smarting from the residual effects of the dissolution of my first marriage and frankly, was a wee bit of an emotional wreck. Fortunately, my eventual in-laws are a kind, forgiving, and most importantly, funny group of folks and can find humor in just about any situation.

So there we were, playing a friendly game of Monopoly, me losing terribly like I always do at that game. At one point, I picked up a card from the community chest that said, "Obi Wan leaves you $100." My newly divorced brain interpreted that to mean that Obi Wan had left me -- as in divorced me -- and I had to pay $100 for the divorce.

I read the card out loud as "Obi Wan leaves you" and then tossed my $100 into the community chest with a resigned sigh. It wasn't until a turn or two later that MaryAnn turned to me and said, "Wait a minute - what did that card say???" and went rummaging through the stack for it. I was soon to learn that Obi Wan died and left me $100, like left me an inheritance of $100. He didn't divorce me, he died. I didn't have to pay $100, I got $100. One can only imagine the loud laughter and teasing that has ensued to this day.

Before all of you fall of your chairs laughing at me, I have to defend myself in saying that I had a very deprived childhood in that my mind was not stuffed to the hilt with Star Wars minutia. Also, I had not yet joined with the clan-who-spent-hundreds-of-hours-recreating-Star Wars-movie-scenes-with-small-models-and-their-dad's-hand held-8mm-movie-camera-while-nearly-setting-their-sister's-hair-on-fire. How was I supposed to know that Obi Wan was that old guy who dies in one of the movies? There were a lot of people who died in those movies.

So this whole story is to illuminate the fact that the family I married into are a bunch of bona fide Star Wars geeks. Like wait in line at premiers in costumes kind of geeks. (It's really quite charming actually). I also tell that story to give context to the incident that occurred this morning as I was folding laundry. From the living room, I hear The Good Professor singing his ABC's to the tune of the "Imperial March" from Star Wars. It only makes sense that he has taken a liking to all things Star Wars since he is Mr. Amazing Man's son. And has the same first name as one of the main character of the movies. And his middle name is the first name of one the actors in the films.

All I can say is my little apple didn't fall far from the family tree. Not far at all.