Just a Thought

Grocery Store Madness

2011-07-25T16:56:00.000-07:00

I was in the grocery store this afternoon. With all 5 children in tow. Thinking to myself: "What things do I need?" Needing to THINK, because the ever-so-handy list that I had diligently made was sitting on the front seat of the Suburban on the OTHER side of the parking lot. So, row by row, I pushed my cart. And row by row, it got heavier. Not with groceries. With children.

Surely there are other mothers who take their broods with them when they go places, aren't there? Surely there are other moms who save on food money because once they load the children into the cart there isn't ROOM for food?!? I'd like to believe that there are other moms who: a) stay at home because they don't want to go insane prematurely by taking their children with them; or b) mom's who drag their children around because they (the mom's) need to develop more patience.

I think I'm of the "needing patience" variety. I suppose I could do my grocery shopping all alone in the middle of the night. Would't that be nice. Actually having energy to go shopping all alone in the middle of the night. But that begs the question... "When do I sleep?!" Oh yeah. I WOULDN'T!!! By the time 7:30 PM rolls around, I am so tired from chasing children - or being chased by children - leaving the house is almost the LAST thing I want to do. Almost.

Our arrival back home signaled time for chaos to begin.

Esbe took a drink through a straw of some liquid that had been left on the table and sucked an earwig into her mouth. The earwig, not liking being sucked into someone's mouth, pinched her - prompting spitting and the ensuing cry from shock.

Sweetie Pie started wailing because someone blinked. I'm dreading puberty with her.

Bud wanted a drink, and immediately forgot how to ask politely.

Bug tipped the ironing board over on top of herself, getting stuck.

Boo got hungry, and cried because she needed to eat.

Somewhere in the middle of this, the phone rang.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to unload and put groceries away, shoo the kitten out of the house because Bug can't open the door and she's the one who brought the kitty in to show me... AND put out all the immediate fires of attention. All without loosing my temper or laughing at the bug bite or crying myself because sometimes crying is contagious... I truly believe that the Good Lord Above has a sense of humor. He wouldn't have given me five children otherwise.

Personal Relationship

2011-07-24T00:08:00.000-07:00

I have always been taught that Prayer is just another way to develop a personal relationship with Heavenly Father. Tonight, I heard a prayer that puts MY personal relationship on a totally different - and by different, I mean... I'm not sure I have this close of a relationship with my Heavenly Father... level.

I was watching Sports Center tonight with my Hubby for our date night. One of the highlights was a Pastor in Nashville, TN who was starting the beginning of a NASCAR race with prayer (how is it that NASCAR races can start with prayer, but school can't???) The portion of his prayer that was highlighted went something like this: "Dear Lord, Thank you for my SMOKIN' HOT WIFE and my two children (insert child's name here) and (insert other child's name here) ... Bless this race to go smoothly and without accident... In Jesus Name; Boogedy, Boogedy, Boogedy, Amen." And I'm not making the boogedy, boogedy, boogedy part up.

I had no idea Jesus was named Boogedy, Boogedy, Boogedy.

All I can say is: That is ONE CLOSE RELATIONSHIP. I mean, I was always taught to talk to Heavenly Father as a friend... I'm not sure I'm there yet - having heard this prayer. I would never stand in front of a congregation and pray for my "SMOKIN' HOT" ANYBODY... Although I would laugh really hard if someone prayed like that in church. And added the Boogedy, Boogedy, Boogedy part.

This one's for...

2011-07-21T19:39:00.000-07:00

Jill. And her eternal love for S'MORES... Several weeks ago I was in Target looking for the PERFECT birthday present for Bud. (Turns out it's a miniaturized baseball mitt and ball...) As I wandered, my thoughts turned to S'mores. (Kinda hard NOT to when every single display has one ingredient or the other stacked on top!)

And then I found them. StackerMallows. (They're new from KRAFT...) Marshmallows that look as if someone took all the air out of them and squished them flat. So I bought some. And then they sat. In my cupboard. Right next to the Brownie mix. Just BEGGING to be turned into S'Brownies. Chocolatey Fudgey Gooey Brownies - topped with Marshmallows, topped with crushed Graham Cracker, and drizzled with Chocolate.

Tomorrow we're eating them. After I get the crushed Graham Cracker and Chocolate Syrup to drizzle them with. And then, I'll take a picture of them so you can see what they look like and hopefully NOT drool all over your respective computers or desks or phones...

Now... Who else just gained 30 lbs???

Ode to the end of an Era...

2011-07-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

Our fantastically fabulous babysitter is leaving us. She's headed to college. I don't know what we're going to do. She's been our babysitter for the last 4 years. Exclusively. Why do I love her?

She doesn't take any guff from any of the children or let them tell her things that we don't normally do.
She doesn't tolerate fighting from the children.
My house is always clean when I get home.
The TV is rarely on when I come home, instead, she's reading a book or studying.
She can drive.
The children love her. I mean... the children LOVE her!
She knows how to work my wood cookstove.
She has been the Easter Bunny to my children.
She doesn't let me pay her, no matter how hard I try.
She's my friend.
She's become part of the family.
She's someone that my children want to be like when they grow up.
She's smart and has ambition.
She's not afraid to tell me that she really DOESN'T want to hold the baby because baby is really small... but then she holds baby anyway because she can see that I need a fourth arm.
She IS my fourth arm...

I'm really going to miss her.

So... T.J. Westerberg. May the force be with you as you head off to college. I get first dibs when you get home. After your mom, that is. And I promise to send fudge and packages and call often.

There is Madness in my Method...

2011-07-15T10:26:00.000-07:00

I am a person who functions much better when I am organized. There are some, my DSH (dear sweet hubby), who would successfully argue that I am not an organized person. Most would be on spot with that argument 99.99999% of the time. I am, however, trying to become more organized. In ALL areas of my life - not just the diaper bag part of my life. And yes, the diaper bag is organized. If it doesn't go on the baby's bum or isn't used to wipe the bum, it's not in the bag. I don't want to have to dig for an essential.

But. I digress.

In an effort to become better organized in my grocery shopping, I set up a numbers system for my menu. I have 36 different breakfasts (soon to be 37 since I invented a FABULOUS breakfast this morning...); 25 different lunches; and 115 different dinner ideas. (Yes, you read that correctly. 115 DIFFERENT dinner ideas) Theoretically, I can have a different Breakfast and Dinner every day for more than a month. (I can go 3 months without repeating the same dinner! Theoretically.)

Here's how it works.

Each menu item has a number attached to it. At the beginning of the month, I sit down with my handy-dandy-list of ideas, and ask random people (sometimes I'm at work) to pick a number between one and whatever the highest number is. Sometimes, they think they're winning something. They're not. (If no one wants to play, I draw numbers out of a jar... Or close my eyes and point to something. It's really quite entertaining...) I'm just planning my menu. I'm not allowed to repeat the meal, and try really hard to put meals next to each other if they're going to use a lot of the same ingredients - that way I'm using leftovers and don't waste food. I start with the first day of the month and put the first number down. Sometimes, if I know that I won't be home and there will be a babysitter, I'll put in a meal that doesn't require cooking (I'm not taking time to teach a babysitter how to operate my wood cookstove. Sorry. It's not in the contract.). Once a week "Smorgasbord" falls on the menu. (Some people call this "Cafeteria Night". It's really just a glorified name for "Left-Unders" (Left Overs means that it's become a science experiment. Left Unders means its been in the fridge under 4 days.))

Once the menu for the month is complete - (and I have to add here that I have two separate seasons for cooking: Wood Stove and Barbecue. I do plan in crock pot days because I want to make sure that my children eat, but we cook exclusively on a wood cookstove or on the barbecue (amazing what you can make on the barbie!)) then I plan out my grocery list for the month. I end up shopping at the grocery store twice monthly for a cartload of stuff - and hit up the store weekly for milk and fresh veggies. I have a form that I use to determine what I need; it's divided into categories.

Why do I do this? Because as much as I love grocery shopping (and I'm totally serious. I LOVE grocery shopping!), I am not insane. Yet. My children are all still young enough that I'm NOT carting them all over the store. And I'm NOT pushing one of those oversized-hard to push-never wants to turn-shaped like a car carts. Boo is the only one who gets to go. Sometimes I have to take Bug or Bud or Sweetie Pie or S.B. or ALL of them, but those are the days that they all go to bed early, and I bite my tongue to keep from yelling. So I have a list. I also have a budget. It's just over $300 for the month. If I have a menu, I keep within my budget. If I don't have a menu, I have to listen to "What's for dinner?" and "When are we going to eat?" (this last because I spend too much time trying to figure out what's for dinner...). AND, if I don't have a menu, I may as well forget about the budget.

The beauty of my system is that anyone can do it. And it can be personalized according to what your family will eat. The bonus of the system is that you don't have to eat macaroni and cheese 3 nights a week because it's now 15 minutes before bed and no one has eaten. And yes, I've done that.

If you'd like copies of my list, click HERE and send me an e-mail. If you want my menus because that's easier, click HERE and send me an e-mail. If you want recipes, let me know in the e-mail. Not only will I send you my lists, I'll send you my grocery form that you can personalize monthly. It's fun. You should really try it. Looking forward to hearing from you!

Date Update...

2011-07-13T17:33:00.000-07:00

I was right. The date to the dentist will NOT be on the tops of my list. Ever.

I have a good dentist. Really I do. I am not, however, one of those people who hates food (is there really a person like that?). As a result, I did NOT get my milkshake, and I couldn't feel my left eyeball until close to 4 PM. Something about numbing the entire face so that they could put a crown on a tooth... who knew?!?!?

I was a source of entertainment for Andrew who kept asking me to smile... because only one side of my face would comply.

Now, I am left with feeling in my face, a sore mouth, and an inability to eat solids until my teeth stop hurting. I'm sure I don't want to eat the baby food in the pantry, but yogurt may get old... hmmmm... maybe I'll have a smoothie for dinner.

So we went to a popular restaurant for lunch after my root canal and 6 fillings (yes, there really were six...). I ordered fresh salmon. It wasn't fresh. It just tasted really fishy. I'm an Alaskan. If I can taste the fish odor, it's not fresh. (If ANYONE can taste the fish odor, it's not fresh!) I did something I have never done before, and sent it back for a replacement dish of Cheese Enchiladas. Really what I wanted was the sweet corn dessert that they put on the enchilada dish, but the enchiladas were perfect too. Too bad my mouth hurts too bad to eat it! Maybe tomorrow...

Ah well. I am now off to the kitchen to see what I can come up with for dinner for my children who are convinced that they are starving to death.

Forgettable Dates

2011-07-12T22:35:00.001-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, my dear friend Jill asked a question about dates on her blog. Her question was along the lines of "what do you do on a date with your significant other - what has been your favorite date - how do you make time for yourself?"

I have an answer to the first question. It's more than likely NOT going to make it on the list of favorites. How do I know this when I have yet to GO on the date? Simple. I have to have a root canal. My significant other has to have his teeth cleaned. We scheduled them so that they are concurrent with each other. His will be, undeniably more pleasant than mine. I've never had a root canal. I'm not looking forward to it.

Our last date was also to the dentist. It's also not on the list of favorites. It ended with me sitting in the dentist's chair for what was supposed to be a 1 hour cleaning for a total of 3 hours. Now. Before you go judging me for poor dental habits, I have to clarify a couple of things. I have, in the past, in the recent past, not had good dental habits. I now brush AND floss at least 3 times daily. Secondly, I haven't been to the dentist in several years. Moving lots does that to you. Spending the majority of the last 5 years pregnant also does that to you. Being pregnant leaches calcium that would ordinarily go to your teeth... it's killer all around. So...

Lucky me, I get another date with my husband... to the dentist. Maybe this time he'll buy me that lunch he promised last time..... I think I want a milkshake.

Tender...

2011-07-11T00:02:00.000-07:00

A few months ago A and I took the children to spend the afternoon with my cousin and her family. We had THE MOST DIVINE pork roast I have ever had. I love pork roast. I grew up eating pork roast baked in the oven and loving it. This was, however, the most tender roast I have ever eaten. Hands down. And it was cooked in the Crock Pot. Her secret? Milk. It also turns out that Martha (yes, THE MARTHA) knows a thing or two about cooking too...

Turns out that not only does Milk do a body good (pass it on...), it also does a Pork Roast good. It's not something that I would ordinarily think of as a tenderizer - and I'm not sure how it works. I do know, however, that it's one of two ways that I'll cook my pork from here on out! (The other way is Cafe Rio way, but that's for another post at another time...) Now - I have to add here that I don't cook my pork roast in the crock pot. Ever. It's way too dry for me, and there are few things worse than a dry roast...

Tonight, I cooked the same tender roast - albeit with a different flavor - this was my first time cooking pork in milk, after all - as my cousin did. A informed me that I should NEVER, and I mean NEVER cook a pork roast in the crock pot any other way (unless it was Cafe Rio way...).

How? Well... first, I should have seared my roast in a cast iron pan in olive oil and butter with some kosher salt and pepper. But I didn't. Next time, I will. Instead, today, I just put the roast into a small crock pot (it wasn't a big roast), sprinkled a package of pork gravy mix on top, and added 3 cups of whole milk. Personally, I don't think the pig cared if it was whole milk or 2% - but I had whole on hand, so used it. And then, I turned the pot to low and let it do its magic for 5 hours. Then... I turned the roast to high, and let it continue to cook for another 1.5 hours. It was tasty. Very Tasty.

Next time... I'll take a photo, use the drippings from the roast to make gravy, and see how well that works. I'll probably also use Martha's recipe as follows:

This delicious recipe is courtesy of Stephane Reynaud and can be found in his cookbook "Pork and Sons."
YieldServes 6

Ingredients
1 Boston butt (3 1/4 pounds)
8 3/4 cups milk
3 cloves garlic
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 sprig fresh rosemary
2 dried bay leaves
Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Place pork in a large Dutch-oven. Add milk, garlic, thyme, rosemary, and bay leaves. Cover, and transfer to oven. Cook until milk comes to a boil, about 45 minutes. Uncover and continue cooking until milk is evaporated, about 1 hour and 15 minutes.
Discard herbs and serve pork hot or cold with milk sauce.

ENJOY!

On Dinner, Cattle, and Floors

2010-06-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

I know. Odd combination. We'll start with Dinner, since it's the first thing that happened.

Last week I pulled out a recipe for Spicy Hot Chinese Chicken. (I only call it that because I can't spell Szechuan with any sort of positiveness that it's correct.) I had the intent of making my SHCC last THURSDAY, and gathered all the ingredients. It was in the middle of cooking rice in my electrical skillet - definitely NOT something I would recommend because it turns it into Uncle Ben's dried rice; but something we were doing because I didn't want to build a fire in the wood cookstove. I was being lazy. ANYWAY... back to the dinner. Right in the middle of this, A decided that he was in the mood for Bejing Beef from Panda Express. So the Spicy Hot Chinese Chicken went back in the pantry, and out came the Bejing Beef.

The NEXT day, we had Spicy Hot Chinese Chicken. It was divine. The flavor was well worth the wait. If only I could feel my tongue. I will definitely make this again, however, because I have small children and a sensitive tongue, I will reduce the amount of red pepper flakes that I put in. Try it as you desire - make it as hot as you want. It's worth it, and truly tastes as if you've been out to dinner without leaving the house.

The recipe comes from my dear friend, Heather, who ALSO reduces the amount of red pepper. I should have talked to her before making the dinner.

Super Spicy Hot Chinese Chicken
6 chicken breasts, cubed
3 T cornstarch
6 tsp. sugar
6 T soy sauce
3 tsp. white vinegar
1/3 c. oil
1 1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes
1 bunch green onions, sliced thinly
1 1/2 T fresh minced garlic
1 1/2 tsp. fresh orange zest

In a large bowl, combine the first 5 ingredients and allow to marinate. (15
minutes or so ought to do it.) Heat oil in cast iron skillet (you really can use
whatever pan you want, I use cast iron because that's ALL I use. I like it a
lot.) and add red pepper. THEN, add chicken mixture. Cook over high heat until
chicken is cooked through. Add remainder of ingredients and cook for 1-2
minutes. Serve over rice. Serves 6. It's worth it.

Now. Cattle. What was lost, is now found. And has celebrated its final day as a living, breathing, bovine. Because we don't know what caused the bovinus in the freezerus' to jump the fence, they have been turned into Hamburger. Literally. That and roasts. Some steaks, but not many. I think they're probably wondering how this all happened. Seriously. One minute they're eating grass in a nice pasture; the next, they're wandering 1.5 miles from home, and shortly after that little jaunt, they find themselves staring death in the face. And oh, what deliciousness they are going to be. A and I decided that it was too much a liability issue for us to keep them around. We can't take the risk of having them get out again, and if they were to damage someone else's property... NOT WORTH IT. Let this be a lesson to all the other cattle that may end up at our house. Don't jump the fence, or you'll end up in the freezer.

Floors. Several months ago we decided that we were tired of the way our floors looked. They were far too dirty and since they were raw wood, I couldn't scrub them. A did some work for a friend of his who is a floor re-finisher, and traded having our floors re-finished. They're currently being sanded and finished. I'll post a photo as soon as they're done. Let's just say... I DO sweep my floors on a regular basis. It just didn't look like it when they applied the sander. Nothing like bringing out your "I'm a terrible housekeeper" thoughts like having your floors sanded down to fresh wood! Since we're not at home right now, I'll have to get back to you later with more updates.

Until then, Keep the Faith. Hold to the Rod. Choose the Right. Primary Answers.

Dancing with Cattle

2010-06-01T00:24:00.000-07:00

When I was a young girl - I don't know how old I was, I was just a lot younger than I am now, we used to have Friday Night Movies at our house. This was combined with Friday Night Date Night, in that we had tiers of movies that we were allowed to watch. The first was ALWAYS a cartoon. Everyone could watch that. The second was known as "THE BIG KID'S MOVIE". You had to be a certain age to watch that one. The third was the movie that only Mom and Dad got to watch. In their bedroom. With the door shut. And no interruptions. It wasn't a terrible movie, just one that the much younger people in the house weren't allowed to watch. Pretty sure none of us wanted to watch those movies anyway. They always seemed to be things like "Masterpiece Theater" or something equally boring to a young person.

But I digress. Really I brought up movie night because we had an incident at our house today that reminded me of movie night. One movie that we watched when I was a youngster was an old Groucho Marx movie. The scene was a party. and Groucho was dancing with Greta. He said to her, "I could dance with you 'til the cows come home... On second thought, I'd rather dance with the cows and wait for you to come home!" It was funny then.

Not so funny tonight when A comes into the house and announces to me that "Our cows are gone." I thought he was kidding. He wasn't. They jumped the fence, and we don't know where they are. You'd think that bovines of considerable girth would be easy to find. They're not. We're hoping someone turns them in. Kind of like lost and found, only not.

The girls are distraut. L is going to be COMPLETELY dismayed and upset (after asking about baby first thing in the morning, he looks for the cows. He likes cows.). We're maintaining faith that they come home in the morning. Sort of like cats. Or dogs. Only bigger.

I'll keep you posted on cattle.

And just so you know... dinner was hot. More on that later. Now, it's way after my bedtime, I still have a television to take apart (we're having our floors re-finished... I'll post photos on that later), and I'm tired. And I think C may wake up from her total comfortable state in a short while, and she'll want me. It's nice to be wanted.

I'm Back...

2010-05-27T13:42:00.000-07:00

I had to take a short and totally unexpected break. See, our computer got terribly ill, and I didn't want two things to happen: 1 - I didn't want to share the virus. 2 - I didn't want whomever had invaded my computer to have access to my information. One of those backdoor things. So... We took the computer to the computer doctor, and three days later, it came back.

Needless to say, one would think that I'd have tons of fodder to post about, but I don't.

I will tell you what's coming up though:

- A book review on a book that I JUST finished: I just have to gather my thoughts about how I felt about it.

- My thoughts on home-schooling and why we are going to continue on that path.

- A recipe that sounds really great: I'm trying it on my family for dinner tonight - You'll get the dinner review.

- Along with that - I'll post my thoughts and ideas on how to get a picky eater (we just got one of those at our house after 4 years of NOT being picky...) to eat. Starvation is a thought, but not really an option.

So... rather than waste any more of your precious time, I'll share my thoughts on ONE of those topics... tomorrow.

Inspiration

2010-05-20T05:00:00.000-07:00

Inspiration comes from some odd spots sometimes, I think. And it means different things to me. I am inspired to do something. I am inspired to BE someone. I am inspired by something or someone. I want to do better because of an event that occurs around me.

I have found the inspiration and desire to stick to my weight displacement program through watching meaningless television shows and wondering "why can't I be in that kind of shape?" I've also found it through blatant honesty as shown HERE. I'm not certain that I would be able to put my weight on a blog! Mostly, I find my desire to stick to my personal weight displacement program through personal thoughts of wanting to do and be better.

I find inspiration to read my scriptures and stay spiritually fit through the example of my Mother. For as long as I can remember, she gets up early in the morning and studies her scriptures. I'm not there yet. Someday, I hope to be. I know I COULD be there if I only put my scripture study over my personal reading.

Recently, I have found inspiration and awe and admiration and longing to be more like her through both a video I watched, and a blog that I found. But let me back track here... several months ago - in the middle of my pity party for one, I read about a couple who were in a terrible plane crash. Both of them survived. I have no idea what he does or did, but she is a fellow blogger and was featured in an LDS publication. I was inspired to be more like her when I read the article about her grit and desire to be the best she can be. And then, for MOTHER'S day (of all days...), my Mom sent me a link to the new Mormon Message "My New Life". I cried. I cried again today when I watched it with my children. I cried today when I watched it with my husband. It was truly that touching.

Nie is an amazing woman. I'm 100% confident that there are days when she has her own personal pity parties for one, but I am also confident that those days are few and the parties are short. She doesn't strike me as a person who lets herself feel too discouraged for too long. She has found her inspiration in knowing who she is, and not only understanding it, but BELIEVING it. There are days when I, too, am like that. Those days are more and more frequent than the pity party for one days. I have come to understand that it is up to ME how I feel, and, as I have come to know, it's true that I am indeed a Daughter of my Heavenly Father - and HE LOVES ME!

Isn't that a marvelous feeling? To know that YOU are loved by the MOST supreme being EVER?! Not only that, but HE wants YOU to become like him! While that thought might, on occasion, be depressing, the more we understand about HIM, the more we learn and understand as parents about ourselves and what is expected of us. I personally feel that the more we allow ourselves to be depressed over the little thing of which we have little to no control, the easier it is to allow Satan (that evil snake) to take control of our minds and we find ourselves doing and saying things we NEVER would say if we were truly in our proper frames of mind.

I don't think Nie lingers on her issues too long. I want to be more like her.

Her blog is definitely worth reading. You can find it by either clicking HERE, or by going to the side bar on this page and clicking on "nienie". I challenge you to find something in your life that's a trial. Do what you can to turn those feelings of being tried into feelings of being blessed.

Remember: If I ask the Lord to take away my trials, I also have to ask Him to take away my blessings. I'm pretty sure I'm not willing to give THOSE back. They say you should walk a mile in someone else's shoes before judging them. There are certain people whose shoes I'm positive I would NEVER fit in to. Nie is one of them.

I want to be like Nie. From the inside, she is one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen.

You Cook on WHAT?!

2010-05-19T07:30:00.000-07:00

We just passed 8 months. Well over a year ago, A and I were in an antique store. He was raving about the beauty of the stove he had just found, and I was wondering where we were going to put it until we tore our kitchen up so we could put it in. It was PERFECT! The stove was sage green and looked as if it came straight from the factory. There was no doubt in my mind we would purchase it.

We left the antique store empty handed.

We spent the next three days doing research into OTHER stoves, even going to an antique stove warehouse where we saw stove stacked on stove stacked on stove. And then, after visiting "OUR" stove at least three times (we did the same thing with our house before purchasing it, by the way), we finally brought it home. Getting it in the house was a two man job (people in our ward don't answer the phone when we call...the first thing we ever moved into our home was an antique piano; that was a FOUR man job.), but move it in we did. It sat in the sun room as a great conversation starter - "Hey! My GRANDMA had something like this!" "Wow! That thing is in AMAZING shape!" "Are you really going to cook on that?!"

Finally, after 6 months, we called the same poor chap who had helped us move it into the house and asked him to help us move it into place in the kitchen. He must have forgotten how heavy it was, because he agreed. The stove sat, unusable, for another couple of months, until the hottest day in September 2009. It was on that day we finally put the last piece of pipe in to connect the stove to the chimney. And then we fired it up. Literally. We had pizza.

Because it took so long for us to get our stove in place, I learned several things about cooking. First: you can cook ANYTHING on the barbecue. Second: I love my crock pot. Third: Who says you can't make macaroni and cheese in an electrical skillet? I also learned that the most frequently stated comment to owners of an antique WOOD cookstove is: "My Grandmother used to make the BEST meals in a stove like this. I've never had a better meal."

I don't know about my grandmother's wood cookstove, as far back as I can remember she's had an electrical stove. I CAN, however, tell you about mine. Yes, I am 35 years old and I cook on an antique wood cookstove. My day starts with firing up the stove. On really hot days and during the summer, we give the stove a break and barbecue. If I have good, dry wood, I can get the oven hot enough to bake bread in within 20 minutes. Some days, the oven never gets that hot - like the day I made brownies and baked them at 120... for FOUR hours. Hey. They weren't burnt!

Cooking on an antique wood cookstove is really no different that cooking on an electrical or gas stove - except for the fact that you can't rest your hand on the side of the stove when cooking, and if one burner is on, the entire stove is on. I can regulate the heat by opening and closing dampers, or by adding more fuel to the flames. I can bake a loaf of bread in the same amount of time that a regular stove bakes bread, and I can roast the BEST chicken you'll ever have in your life. (I can also burn my buns on the stove - but that's another, more embarassing post.) A and I have commented that we really should teach our children about electrical stoves; that way they aren't TOO backward when they go to college - and it is for that reason that our glass-top stove sits in the basement where the children use it as a pretend stove for playing house. It's not plugged in, nor does it have an outlet that it COULD be plugged in to. Instead, it sits. In exhile. Not even next to its old friend, the refrigerator (of which we have two - both down in the basement and really not that convenient to the kitchen...)

I love explaining to other people how we regulate the heat in the stove. It's even better listening to our four year old explain to people the same thing. And I love using cast iron. It's an even heat, keeps my food hot even when it's not on or in the stove, and it's the easiest clean up in the world. The original non-stick.

The other day we had some friends come over to purchase eggs. They had never been inside the house before, and her comment was "You really DO cook on an antique stove! They told me, but I didn't believe it." The stove is perfect in our kitchen. It fits with the house. And it does. It looks like it's always been there. The best benefit is that I never have to worry about power outages. I'll always have a way to cook and bake and heat my home - no matter WHAT the weather. (As long as I have access to our wood, I've got heat and cooking energy.) Everyone should have an antique wood cookstove.

So... the next time you're in the area, stop by for some fresh baked bread. Or the best roast chicken you've ever had. You won't be disappointed.

Breakfast... the IN Thing

2010-05-18T08:44:00.000-07:00

I've never really been a breakfast person. Something about having to get up and fix it that early in the morning - and then having to EAT it... has always made my stomach turn - just a little.

As a teenager, I was convinced that Hot Chocolate and Toast WAS the breakfast of Champions. I'm still convinced that true champions really drink hot cocoa. Recently though, I've become obsessed with eating SOMETHING for breakfast. I think it's because I've read so much lately about breakfast being key to helping people lose weight and that it's the kick off for your metabolism... and let's face it. Unless you go by something like "SLIM" or people call you Anna and they mean that it's really short for Anorexic... MOST people would admit to having a few pounds that they're trying to dodge. Or get rid of. Or just plain LOSE.

I am NOT the exception to that train of thought. After having had three children in the last four years, I feel like I have at least 10 pounds that are just hanging on. Reminds me of a song that my Dad found on the internet (or somewhere) by a group called Homer and Jethro - one of those "Punny" Songs; the words of which are: "Let me go, Let me go, Let me go. Blubber. Let me scat like a cat 'way from you. You're too fat in the first place, you know it's true. You're too fat in the second place to..." And thus my obsession with breakfast begins.

Mostly, I've become obsessed with smoothies. They're easy, they're nutritious, and they are using up the frozen fruit in my freezer before I want to replenish my stock this summer. Interestingly enough, I've discovered that I'm actually hungry at lunch time when I have a small breakfast. Shocking how that works. I'm not sure if I've actually lost weight over the last few weeks, but I certainly feel a lot more energized in the morning!

Several weeks ago I attended a Relief Society Conference. One of the classes was on nutrition and weight loss and how breakfast really helps in that endeavor. I've never considered myself to be "Fat". Nor have I thought that I have a weight problem. I am, however, inspired by a blog that was mentioned during the class - More Chins Than a Chinese Phone Book... VERY inspiring. The name alone got my attention. This young woman is amazing in her quest for weight loss. I think I'm a slacker when it comes to MY idea of weight loss!

Last night I had a wild hair and went downstairs to ride the exercise bike. Probably the SECOND (and I'm not kidding about that) time I've ridden it. We've had the bike for four years. I definitely am feeling it this morning, and I only went 2 miles. Yes. I AM incredibly out of shape.

I had breakfast this morning. I think I'll go ride my bike.

Meanest Mom in the World.

2010-05-17T05:00:00.000-07:00

It's official. I AM the Meanest Mom in the World. I know this because my children told me so. In fact, they're on the campaign trail to make me PRESIDENT of the Meanest Mom Club.

It all started with chores. I am a firm believer in teaching children to work. My belief is that if they're old enough to MAKE the mess, they're old enough to clean up after themselves. As a result, we have chores. All of us. Saturday is chore day at our house; the deep cleaning, once a week kind of chores.

S, who is 8, cleans the two bathrooms; folds her own clothes; cleans her bedroom; and picks up fallen limbs outside. She is learning not only to clean and to clean well, but to not complain. She's pretty good about doing her chores - especially when I suggest that there is a special reward for the first (and I'm included in that "first") to finish their chores.

M - at four - ALSO has four chores. Hers differ from S's in that she vacuums the stairs (the only nailed down carpet in the entire house) and straightens the shoes and boots in the entry way. She ALSO cleans her bedroom and folds her own clothes - on occasion she helps with the limbs and S has the additional chore of helping A split wood (a chore that she DOES complain about). M is NOT motivated by the suggestion of a reward.

I generally take care of the rest of the house: clean and sweep the kitchen; sweep the living room; wash, dry, fold and put away all the laundry NOT for S or M; you name the remaining chores, I'm responsible for them. I'm the MOM. I wouldn't expect any different. (For the record, chores ARE added as children get older and better able to accept responsibility; S will have added chores next weekend.)

The announcement that I was "JUST SO MEAN!" came with such vehemence and force that I HAD to stop and look at the little person making the accusation. She was determined to let me know how she felt, and she was letting. me. have it. So... in the middle of cleaning, I stopped and said, "I am SO sorry to hear that. What makes me so mean?" (In reality, I knew EXACTLY where she was getting her ideas - I'd just spent the last 20 minutes telling this particular young lady that she wouldn't be getting dinner until she finished vacuuming the stairs). It was all I could do to NOT laugh during the following exchange.

M: "You're just so mean because Heavenly Father created us to love, and you're not letting us love! You won't let us eat dinner until we're finished with chores, and that's JUST NOT LETTING US LOVE!"

Me: "You're right. Heavenly Father DID create us to love, and I DO love you. How Heavenly Father created us has NOTHING to do with the fact that you have been asked to vacuum the stairs, and you're not getting dinner until you are finished with your chores. Please go vacuum the stairs.

M: "Do you know why we can't eat?!"

Me: "Because you haven't finished your chores?"

M: "No. We can't eat because you're just so mean. You won't let us eat until we do our chores!"

I thought so.

She just didn't want to vacuum. Our conversation ended with a lot of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. M was doing all the weeping and wailing. She retreated to the top of the stairs for continued weeping... Until I told her that I wasn't going to listen to the crying any longer, and her two choices were now to either do her chores without crying, or go to bed. Crying wasn't an option.

Miss M. did her very best to negotiate a different consequence. "Can I help make dinner as one of my chores?" "Nope. Please go vacuum the stairs." "Can I just eat and vacuum later?" "What do YOU think?" Until finally, in defeat, she hung her head and said, "Fine. I'll just go vacuum the stairs."

While it may seem a bit depressing to have a FOUR year old nominate you as Meanest Mom in the World, I'm actually quite proud of the nomination. It means that I'm doing my job. I'm NOT giving in.

Four days ago, S and I had a conversation wherein she placed HER nomination. It was over piano practice and school and me sitting NEXT. TO. HER. while she did her assigned work. I wasn't going to sit there the entire time. Let it be said that if I were able to sit undisturbed and help her the entire time, I would. Unfortunately for S, I am the mother of FOUR children, with the youngest demanding the majority of my time.

The following lecture was an eye opener for her.

"Just because I don't sit and focus my entire world around you and only you, doesn't mean that I don't love you. YOU are important to me. Unfortunately for your EGO (try explaining what an ego is to an 8 year old in words that you understand too...), you are also the oldest of four children who ALL demand my attention. This means that you are expected to do more things on your own and to stretch and grow accordingly. Just as I did for you when you were a baby, and just as I did for M and for L, I HAVE to respond when C starts to cry. It's how she learns that I will do ANYTHING to make sure she's happy. If I had always put your pants on you when you were younger, would you do it for yourself? (The answer was a loud, NO!)

After a few more questions establishing that the reasons I don't do everything for her is so that she can learn and grow - and reminding her that Heavenly Father works the same way... in addition to telling her - again - how much I loved her, piano practice continued. Without me.

All of these things I learned from my OWN Mom - who was ALSO the Meanest Mom in the World. Not only did I have chores, I HAD to eat all my dinner. I HAD to do my homework. I HAD to eat OATMEAL. I HAD to keep curfew. I HAD to learn responsibility. I HAD to get a J.O.B. and I had to do all of that while going to school and taking violin lessons (which I paid for) and being in the Anchorage Youth Symphony and playing volleyball and maintaining my active social life and whatever else was going on in my life at that time.

Consequences, like those I give my own children, were real and stated. Break curfew? Come home 1 hour earlier the next time I went out. I missed curfew once. Not do homework? Fail my classes. (And my parent's weren't afraid that I'd have a poor self esteem if I failed.) Not eat my oatmeal? Eat it cold. Not get a J.O.B.? No driving (can't pay for fuel without money!), no movies or other fun things (again... the money issue.) and no higher education. I am the second oldest of seven. My parents didn't have money! Now that I'm a parent, my children are learning the same things.

I'm in good company in the Meanest Mom in the World club, and I won't withdraw my membership. Not if it means that I raise my children to be good, law abiding, hard working, religious, responsible adults.

The hard thing for my children? ALL of my friends (and consequently my children's friends moms) are also members of the Meanest Mom in the World club.

I'm in good company.

Building Fences

2010-05-14T17:35:00.000-07:00

For some, the statement "building fences" means that they're putting up walls between something or someone or an idea that they don't like. For me, it literally means: BUILDING FENCES. Today, on perhaps the hottest day of the year thus far, the family - all of us over the age of 3, put up a fence.

I never realized how much work putting up a fence could be. Before I go into further detail, I have to do a little explaining on what our property looks like. Put your Imagination caps on, and picture in your mind the following.

2.25 Acres of land with an old Victorian looking house at the top of a hill. The house is yellow, and was built in 1922 if that helps. For those of you WITHOUT an imagination, just add color. Here's the house. It looks a little bit different now - this is just AFTER A whacked all the bushes off so that they weren't sitting on the house. This is the view of the house from the road. To the Left of this picture is a hill that slopes at approximately 50 degrees. To the right is the already existing pasture that the bovines have eaten down to the dirt.

It is the field to the LEFT of the house that we are going to discuss here. Remember that angle? It got steeper today when we had to roll 350 feet of field fencing UP it. The farther we rolled it, the steeper the hill got. Funny how that works... not only did the hill get steeper, the fencing got heavier. Especially when we had to move it around the fence posts because the fencing seemed to want to roll DIAGONALLY from where we wanted it to go. It was truly hard work.

I have a new appreciation for my husband. He is a finish carpenter, who not only does beautiful work, but he has a desire to continue to learn - if he doesn't know how to do something, he figures out a way to learn it. Take fencing - for example. Two years ago, we didn't have any fences on our property. We were the proud owners of two hogs (pigs are pets, hogs are food), and two bovines. (Or, as the children called them - DINNER.) Blessed with friends who had property, we weren't all that concerned about where to keep our animals, until we decided that we wanted to have them on our farm. So... long story short - A bought a video, watched it, and built a fence. He doesn't need the video now, he just builds fences.

I am amazed. He leaves the house in the morning, works hard at whatever he is working on for someone else, and then comes home and fixes things here in our home. And it's not easy things, either. Building a fence is NOT easy - no matter what they say, or how easy A makes it look. I am that much more grateful for the work that I have to do here at home. Cleaning the house is so much easier than rolling field fencing UP a hill.

I'll take my house anyday.

Motherhood... A Seemingly Thankless Job.

2010-05-13T09:39:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I spent an entire day griping to myself about how thankless my job as a Mother was. There I was, sitting there folding laundry, feeding children who never seemed to say thank you and instead spent the entire day fighting over who was touching whom, trying to make sure I had a hot dinner on the table for a hungry husband at the end of his work day, folding MORE laundry, putting it all away only to have someone TAKE SOMETHING OFF - leaving me with yet MORE laundry...

I complained in my head about the status of my house and how it seemed that I was the only one who EVER picked ANYTHING up. I continued to complain about the fact that I was awake half the night changing poop and doing dishes and folding still MORE laundry...

And the list went ON and ON and ON.

Just in the middle of my extreme complaining to myself, it suddenly hit me. NO ONE CARED. First - no one cared, because no one else was listening! (Talking in your head helps a little with that...) Even if they HAD been listening, no one would have cared because they weren't INVITED to my little PITY PARTY. (People don't bring gifts to those anyway - so why invite them?!) And then it happened.

I started to think to myself about all the things I would miss out on if I DIDN'T have children.

If I didn't have children, I wouldn't have those sticky hugs that only little people can give. I wouldn't realize the joys of teaching children how to clean up after themselves - and the thrill that occurs when they FINALLY figure out how to clean up ON THEIR OWN! I wouldn't have the sleepy "I Love You, Mommy" that comes in the middle of the night when I'm tucking them in for the 39th time. I began to realize the blessing that it is to ME to be a mother.

Now. Let it be said right here and right now that I have some VERY dear Friends (and some Siblings) who haven't YET experienced that joy. For them, it's a struggle. One that I will NEVER understand fully. My heart hurts when I think of the joys that they have yet to experience. Perhaps, it was for THEM that my selfish eyes were opened to the joys that I have. I think it may have been for THEM that my pity party was brought to an abrupt halt.

That being said, I have a story to share.

Almost a year ago, as A and I were contemplating TIMING for our next child, I found out that said CHILD wasn't WAITING for our timing. I was unsure of how to react, and probably reacted badly for one who loves children and doesn't mind being pregnant. Take PROBABLY out of it. I DID react badly. As I was going about my cleaning duties that the Portland Temple one night, griping about being pregnant when, "Gosh Darn it! I WAS ON THE PILL!" I had an epiphany. (That's code for "GOD YELLED AT ME") I heard - in my minds inner eye; the UNselfish part of me - "Don't You DARE be ungrateful for this child. She is coming to you for a reason - and YOU NEED HER." I went on to hear, "You have siblings who are unable to have children at this point and for reasons that you don't know. STOP being ungrateful for the GIFT you have been given."

You know, when you're YELLED at, you generally listen. It was humbling for me to have that experience. And it taught me a lesson in being grateful for ALL my children. I'm not perfect. I still spend more time that I should griping and complaining about what they're NOT doing, and not enough time being grateful for what they ARE doing. That being said, I am truly grateful for my children. I'm grateful when they don't argue and fight with each other. I love seeing them put their arms around each other and tell each other how much they mean to the other. I love watching L give baby C a kiss (it's absolutely the sweetest thing you've ever seen). Mostly, I love learning from them.

I guess Motherhood has its rewards after all.

WHAT?!?! Was HE Thinking?!?!?

2010-05-12T19:39:00.000-07:00

Do you ever wonder to yourself (because wondering out loud might cause a few funny looks...) "WHAT?! was the Lord THINKING?!?!?!?!?"

Happens to me all. the. time.

For example. I know that He knows me a LOT better than I know myself, because now I am the Mother of FOUR children, when last year I was just the Mother to three, and had no immediate plans of being mother for FOUR.

And sometimes I wonder if I'm borderline institutionalizable (is that even a word?!) because we're homeschooling. It's been rough. And by rough, I mean downright difficult. S has her own little ideas on what she thinks school is, and they're obviously NOT the same as mine. Next year we're going to sit down and go over what WEBSTERS thinks is the definition, and we'll see if the two are one and the same. And then we'll come up with our OWN definition, and we'll work from there. Next year we're going to have an actual SCHEDULE, if it kills me. And we'll stick to it - when I KNOW it's killing me. Spending all day with all of your children is supposed to be fun, isn't it?

Now I know why it's so important for a Mom to take a break from her duties and responsibilities as a parent and do something different once in a while. And I'm beginning to understand what leads some people to drink, and what leads others to abuse. It's the very avoidance of taking an actual break! I love ALL of my children. There are some who try my patience more than others. For those, I have learned to hold my breath a little longer and count a little higher. And then I put myself into time out before I lose my temper. Occasionally, I do lose my temper and yell. And then I tell the children that we don't yell in the house.

Over the past year, I have learned that not only does the Lord have a sense of humor (hence the four children), He also knows me intimately well. Just when I thought I couldn't do it (whatever "IT" was) he sent me a dear friend who is an example to me and, quite honestly, an answer to prayers. In my mind, she has the patience of Job (she might disagree with me), and the ability to help me see the trials in my life for what they really are - blessings.

So here I am, wondering - again - WHAT was HE thinking?!?

He is allowing me to grow in ways I never thought possible. When I look back at the challenges I've had throughout my life, I realize that each and every one was given to me so that I could have a learning experience. After all, HE can't do my learning for me. He gives me experiences, and what I chose to do with them determines Who and What I become.

So... this fall, I'll put on the black and white and be a Volleyball Ref. (Something I've secretly wanted to do almost my whole life.). We'll slaughter animals for the freezer. I'll take inventory of what fruits I've managed to freeze and harvest. I'll make jam. I'll make apple cider. I'll teach piano lessons. I'll continue to keep my house clean. Maybe I'll take a few more pictures (that's what I really want to do).

Really what I'll do is to count my many blessings. I'll name them. One, by one.

For now, I'll make more of an effort to write my thoughts down. Anyone have a few pennies? I've got a few thoughts to share. Immediately? I'm going to change my clothes. HIS sense of humor just manifested itself when Baby C decided that she didn't want to get my clothes dirty and barfed. RIGHT DOWN MY CLEAVAGE. And then, she smiled. I love her.

Ode to the Perfect Summer Salad

2009-06-06T22:34:00.000-07:00

Shake and shake the ketchup bottle.
First none will come...
And then a lottle.

That has absolutely nothing to do with the Perfect Summer Salad, but since it's been going through my head since I read Code Yellow Mom's blog (and her ensuing posts on Ketchup), I thought I'd share it.

Since the summer is shaping up nicely - despite the fact that we're burning a fire in the wood stove today (I get chilled easily...), I'm looking forward to more of my favorite summer meals. Barbecuing on the grill. Pasta Salad. Fresh Fruit. Fresh Veggies. Less inside mess. In our house, we believe in cooking outside as much as possible during the summer. There are two reasons for this - and neither of them have anything to do with the environment. The first is that we don't have a stove in our house. We took it out to install an antique wood cookstove - that's not currently attached to the wall. The second is that it's cheaper to cook outside than it is in. And I'm cheap.

One of my friends called me tonight to ask for a summer recipe. It's a tried and true pasta salad that is perfect for entertaining. It makes a TON of salad, and has a good blend of fruits and meat. Not to mention, it's D. Licious. Should you choose to make this salad, be prepared to pass out the recipe - and to eat a lot...

Perfect Pasta Salad

3 c. shell pasta - cooked according to package directions
4 c. cooked, diced chicken meat
2 (16.5 oz) cans pineapple tidbits, drained (drink the juice)
2 c. diced apples - any flavor, although tart is best
2 c. diced celery
1/2 c. finely chopped red onion
1/2 c. (each) chopped red and green peppers
2 c. red grapes (cut them in half, they won't run when you're trying to eat them)
2 (8 oz) cans water chestnuts, drained
1 small jar pimento (they only come in small here...)
1 1/2 c. cashews

Dressing:
1 c. mayonnaise
1 c. Prepared Coleslaw Dressing

In a really large bowl, combine all ingredients except cashews and dressing. Just before serving, toss the dressing in with the pasta mix and add the cashews. This is delicious the next day too.

I first had this salad at a wedding reception... I took some home with me (the hostess was my Mother in Law - it was acceptable to take left-unders home...), and then proceeded to eat nothing else for the next week. It was, indeed, that good. This is saying a lot for me, since I do NOT eat left-unders very often. It's like licking your plate to prove that the food was good.

I realize this is not much of an ode - since the definition of an ode has something to do with singing, but I'm pretty sure those who eat it will sing its praises... hence, the ODE. Enjoy!

NOT a Lazy Mom

2009-03-19T12:54:00.000-07:00

"It is a Lazy Mom who cleans up after her Children."

It was those words that greeted me when I walked into a class on teaching your children to work. And my first thought was, "Hey! Them's fighting words there!" And then I started to listen. This was, after all, a class on teaching your children HOW TO WORK. (Those can also be fighting words, depending on the house and the children.)

I learned to work at a very early age. I'm not sure WHAT that age was, but I have distinct memories of hiding in the grape arbor eating all the strawberries that I was supposed to be weeding and thinking that I was so smart because Mom couldn't see me shirking my work. What I didn't know at the time was that the second floor kitchen window provided the PERFECT view into the grape arbor, and I wasn't really hiding. Mom could see EVERYTHING. That little story aside, I am truly grateful that I got in trouble for not working and that my parents insisted that I learn how.

Having children of my own, the struggle comes in how do I teach them to pick their own toys up and help keep the house clean without feeling like the Wicked Witch of the East (I would say West, but I just went to see WICKED last night, and my view on her Royal Greenness has changed) vs It's a WHOLE lot EASIER to send them outside to play and just clean the dang house myself. Less fighting and less crying (yes, sometimes that's my crying that I'm talking about) and it gets done a whole lot quicker.

That thought about being a Lazy Mother just really got me though. I've never considered myself to be a lazy mom. That's almost the ultimate oxymoron. Mother and Lazy should not even be spoken in the same sentence! Until I started really thinking about it. I want my children to learn to work. Teaching them to do that is Hard! How many times does one really have to show someone else how to do something until that someone else can do it on their own??? (only about a bazillion, but who's counting???) And really. What mother has that kind of time? So it really is easier to clean up after your kids. BUT. What does it profit the kids, and think of the time you can spend doing things you really WANT to do if your kids are doing what you DON'T want to do, but end up doing anyway because no one else is doing it?

Here's my thought. Spend the time now teaching your kids, and then sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labors.

How? It's really quite simple - and difficult at the same time.

Change your attitude. If your children see you griping and complaining about the work that needs to be done, they're going to gripe and complain. If you have to fake it until you make it - do it. Your kids don't need to know that you 're really a big faker. And, if they see you enjoying (even if you're really cursing under your breath), they'll start enjoying it too.

That's the first.

Second. Give them ownership of something. Make them totally responsible for something. And then, LOWER YOUR STANDARDS... DRASTICALLY. Remember how you used to shove everything in the world under your bed just so the floor LOOKED clean? They're doing the same thing. And to them, it's clean. You've grown up and are no longer hiding things under the bed because you don't want to clean up - they'll eventually figure it out. And if they don't, then start doing surprise inspections under the bed. It does wonders for getting things out from under the bed. This works really well for kids under the age of - oh, 20...

Third. Give them their own supplies. When you go to work, they give you everything you need to get the job done. Do the same for your children. Mine are seven and three. I went to the local discount store and purchased rubber gloves for the seven year old, cheap sponges for both of them, towels to make into aprons, towels to do the dusting with, and a bucket for each of them to keep their supplies in. Each bucket also has an individual envelope that has their chores in it - labeled with their name. Then - and this was for them the most important part - I had a friend make them some name tags. Now, when they do their chores, they're wearing their name tags to show that they're employeed by our family. And they LOVE IT! I had my seven year old doing ALL her chore in the same day because she was so excited to wear that name tag.

Fourth- use positive encouragement. Have your children inspect something that you're working on; and then use the same standards to judge their work. Whatever you do, DON'T FIX IT YOURSELF. If you give in to this evil, you'll spend a lot more time convincing them to do their chores. They'll get it into their cute little heads that "Mom will just fix it if I don't do it all." And that's a trap that you want to avoid like the plague.

Finally. Give them age appropriate chores to do. Each child is going to be different: My seven year old wanted the chore of cleaning the downstairs bathroom. Since that's the one that gets used the most, I was 100% willing to let someone else take ownership of that chore. And now... she's got it. In her little chore envelope, under "Clean the Downstairs Bathroom", she has a card that lists out exactly what I expect of her. I showed her what I expected, and now the chore is hers. No longer will I clean the bathroom. At the end of the week if it hasn't been cleaned twice, she's the one who will be up cleaning, not me.

While it can be a little discouraging for a long time - be patient with your children. The whole threat of "I brought you into this world, I can sure take you out of it too" lands mothers in jail when they act on it. Not to say that I haven't been tempted. But if I can teach my children to love work, I can truly turn into a lazy mom.

Now... where are the bon-bons? I want to sit and watch my favorite show.

The HICCUPotamus - a FABULOUS Children's book

2009-02-20T09:26:00.000-08:00

This is one of my favorite kid's books. It is marvelously illustrated, and has terrific rhymes. They may not all be words, but it is fun enough to want to read it over and over again.

I find this book to be perfect for kids of ALL ages (including adult), and love it because hiccups are spontaneous. They come spontaneously, and they leave just as quickly. This book is about a little hippopotamus and his friends and how they discover hiccups. I love the full color illustrations and the fact that each little character has so much personality.

One of my favorite features of this book is the character sketches at the end - I'm sure those are meant for the Adult kids reading this book... they make me laugh every time.

I give this book a 10 - meaning that it was a must have on my shelf to read over and over and over again - from the first time I read it.

The HICCUPotamus, by Aaron Zenz can be found at Scholastic book fairs around the country.

Word of caution: reading the book may very well cause the reader to develop a bad case of the hiccups themselves. Read with caution...

Another super easy bread recipe

2009-02-19T09:33:00.000-08:00

This is one that was given to my by my sister in law. I like it because you only let it rise one time and it goes together really quickly. For those of you who like the smell of fresh bread or love the taste of home made rolls without a lot of time, this is the perfect recipe. I've put rolls on the table from start to finish within 45 minutes (depending on how hot my wood stove is to rise rolls next to...)

Divine Dinner Rolls (also makes really good Cinnamon Rolls)

3 eggs
1/2 c. sugar
1 T salt (yes, that really is how much you need)
1/2 c. oil

1 c. warm water
3 T yeast
1 t. sugar

1 c. warm water
3 c. flour
1/2 c. warm water
3 c. flour

Combine the yeast, water and sugar in a small bowl - let soften for 5 minutes. In a mixing bowl, combine the eggs, oil, salt and sugar. Blend well. Add the yeast mixture and stir. Add the second cup of water and the first three cups of flour (I have added this as two cups whole wheat flour and one cup of white flour for wheat rolls), blend well. Add the remaining 1/2 cup of water and the remaining flour. Mix again. Dough will be sticky. Let rise until doubled and then knead on the counter - I always add an additional cup (at least) of flour. Roll out immediately and shape into the rolls that you want. If you let this rise again, expect miniature bread loaves instead of rolls with you dinner. Bake at 350 for approximately 15-18 minutes or until rolls are golden brown.

Enjoy!

Wharp Speed Ahead...

2009-02-18T13:46:00.000-08:00

No, you're not experiencing a time wharp. I accidentally posted two posts that were supposed to wait until the end of the week. When I re-set the time, they posted today anyway, only with a different date. So... if you want to wait and read them later, feel free. Otherwise, take a break for the next few days, I know I will.

It Went REALLY Fast...

2009-02-18T12:30:00.001-08:00

IT was a maroon color with a white background and a custom paint job. A small bell hung near the front tire, just for luck. The Indian painted on the front inspired countless questions, and the Eagle on the back was lifelike. It was truly a case of love at almost first sight. The Man riding it looked dangerous with his black leather jacket and chaps. His helmet sat - backwards - atop a dirty rag that covered his head to keep it warm. I was intrigued. What kind of a man could own such a machine? And was I willing to jump with both feet into a relationship with him? And then, the invitation.

While I was in love with the idea - A MOTORCYCLE... (and the man), I was also scared to death of it. After all, I had never been on the back of something that could go that fast and didn't require a seatbelt. I stared at it for a long, long time. He assured me that it was perfectly safe and that I wouldn't get hurt - or, worse yet, DIE. Still, I was apprehensive.

Finally, and at the last minute, I agreed to just sit on it. And then, He fired up the engine. That alone was enough to make me want to get off. It was LOUD. And SCARY! And I just knew that I was going to fall off. Still, I strapped on a borrowed helmet and held on for dear life. Slowly (although it seemed like we were going 60 MPH in a 15 MPH zone) we pulled out of the driveway. I held in the scream when the bike suddenly lurched forward with a burst of power. Instantly I felt the exhilaration of the wind blowing across my face... and the pain of a bug slamming at 35 miles per hour into my forehead. I was hooked. I burst into laughter. With sheer joy, I clung to the back of this Man with whom I was rapidly falling deeper and deeper in love. Around the block. Through the streets of the small town. Up the hill around the zoo. Around curves that made my heart leap into my throat. I wanted to close my eyes, but something stopped me. This was too much fun.

I could hardly wait to get back on after dinner was over. I wanted badly to ride again. To sit back and enjoy the wind cruising past my hair. To lean against the saddlebags and almost - but not quite - fall asleep... this was the life.

This wonderful man who introduced me to the thrill of the road bought me my own set of leathers. It was the ultimate in committment for me - even better than an engagement ring; it meant that he wanted me - and only me - to ride on the back of his most treasured possession with him. We eventually got married. For our first trip together, we rode the bike 500 miles. My seat hurt. To pass the time I counted the little white lines in the road. I sang songs. When it rained, I got wet. Still, I loved it.

We sold that bike less than a year ago. Even though it was just a toy and not something that we needed, I cried. I was surprised at how I was affected by this loss - for to me, it truly was a loss. We may never have THAT BIKE back, but eventually, we'll get another. We'll make more memories together with it. I may never have MY FIRST BIKE again, but I will always have the memories associated with it.

This post brought to you by the writing contest at Scribbit. Check her site out - it's really cool!

Busy...

2009-02-16T08:00:00.000-08:00

"If you want something done, ask a busy person."

Someone told me that I should record my schedule from the past few weeks - because no one would believe that I could do it. After much thought and retrospect, I've decided to do just that. Because I don't believe that I have survived so well...

Two weeks ago (February 1, 2009), I started working long hours at the Portland Oregon Temple. At the same time, Mr. Snicklebutt started working LONGER hours - also at the Portland Oregon Temple... and times that were NOT the same as mine. He works from 7 am - 5:30 pm. I work from 8 pm - 4:30 am. This means that he leaves our house at 6 am, and I leave the house at 7 pm. In effect, we have 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening with each other. Some may find this wonderful - I find it stinky. I like being able to spend a few minutes (or hours) with my spouse discussing the day and what went well and what didn't and how the children were and why I'm so dang exhausted. We haven't had that time. In a few minutes, I'll explain what this has done for our relationship.

My day begins at 7:30 in the am. And yes, for those of you who are friends with Math, this means that I am getting to bed somewhere around 5:30 am and getting up two hours later. This is not always a pretty sight as one 7-year old can attest. Thankfully, (or should I say, MERCIFULLY) I am able to go back to sleep sometime around 8:30 am. This too is very short lived, as I am more than likely awake again around 11 am. Unfortunately, this is when the day really begins. I do laundry, dishes and play with children. Then, if I'm lucky, they take naps, and so do I. Nap time is ALWAYS over at 2 pm when aforementioned 7-year old is finished with school. Then it's home to help with homework (or the quick trip to the grocery store), and clean the house and then make dinner and maybe get in the shower to prepare for work... then off to work as soon as Mr. Snicklebutt gets home and feeds the animals and we bring wood into the house. Sometimes I make cookies and occasionally I make bread during my few waking hours as well.

Don't add the hours of sleep, you'll get tired too.

How has this affected my relationship with Mr. Snicklebutt? Strangely, it's brought us closer together. We are realizing how important it is for us to spend time daily with each other. We are also realizing how important it is for us to communicate clearly - and the importance of treating each other as if we are the most important part of each other's lives. As I leave a note for Mr. Snicklebutt in his work bucket nightly, I'm finding little ways to tell him that I love him. And I'm finding those notes in his pockets when I do the laundry. This says a lot to me. It tells me that he's paying attention to those notes (except the one that he threw away thinking that someone was just putting garbage in his bucket...); and it tells me that he finds me important enough to want to pay attention to those little notes.

I am eternally grateful that this work is rapidly coming to an end. I'm tired. No, I'm exhausted. On the other hand, I don't want this closeness to end. I don't want these last few weeks of becoming close and paying attention to the little things to come to an end. And as I type this, I realize that it doesn't have to. It is, however, one more thing that I'll find myself doing... and it's all worth it in the end.

Through the Lord's Eyes

2009-02-15T22:47:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I had an epiphany. All at once, I started seeing a few people differently. Maybe it was because I had been really struggling with some events that were going on in my life (still are, just aren't top priority anymore); maybe it was because I stopped looking at myself so much and started to think about others a little more. Whatever the cause, the effect is that I started to see things a little more like the Lord may see things.

We all know people who may not top the world's "top 10 best list" (whatever that list may be - looks, talent, etc.). Sometimes, as mortals, we make judgements on those people. Personally, I'm guilty. I have come to understand that I am NOT responsible for making a personal "top 10 best" list unless I am making that list for myself.

It all started in December. We had some terrible weather and I started working longer hours. Mr. Snicklebutt stopped working (he's in the construction industry and that particular industry basically ceased to function as a money making scheme) and someone tried to point out to me a few of my faults. No one likes to have their faults pointed out, but with enough love and tact, it can be successfully accomplished without the recipient feeling like a total loser. Not so in my case. I quickly ended the phone call feeling lousy. The odd thing was, nothing of importance was said! The sentence started out "I have a few concerns about..." Immediately I went into defense mode and decided that I did't want to listen anymore. And then, I started to make a list. It was a top ten list - only it was all negative. A list of things that I was feeling. A list that said without saying, "I'll show you!". And for two months I used that list as fodder for how I was feeling.

Until a few weeks ago when I simply stopped caring. Sure, the issue is still there and eventually the Elephant that is standing in my living room is going to need to be invited out. HOWEVER... I am no longer as emotionally attached to said elephant, and I feel that I will be able to invite him to leave. It won't be easy - have you ever tried to get an Elephant through your door??? But I feel that I will be able to address the issue without all the emotion that caused me to so vehemently make a top ten list.

Why the change? I started looking for ways to change. I looked in the mirror and realized that I didn't like myself. I didn't like the way that I was causing myself to feel over something so simple as a comment... "I have a few concerns..." It was literally wearing me out. I was exhausted. I was spiritually, emotionally and mentally exhausted. After all, carrying around an Elephant for that long can be wearing! And, I started to look at the situation through the Lord's eyes.

I was standing in line at the grocery store when I saw a woman who wasn't at all attractive. Not at first. The longer I stared, and yes, I was caught staring, the more I was able to see her for who she really is - a daughter of God. I don't know this woman. I've never seen her. She could have been carrying what seemed to her to be the weight of the world on her shoulders. But in an instant and for an instant, she was absolutely gorgeous. It was an "Ah-ha" moment. I had the distinct impression that I was in the wrong for judging someone else. I may still feel that they are in the wrong for wanting me to change, but it's all a matter of pride.

Am I willing to let my pride go and listen to the thoughts and feelings of another, or do I want to always do things my way? Do I want to see if there are other ways to do something, or do I always have to be right? And what would the Savior do or say? Mr. Snicklebutt suggested to me that we invite the person with whom I have an issue over for dinner. At the time, I wasn't ready to listen to that small prompting from someone who knows me well enough to know that really I want to forgive them and to love them as the Savior does. Perhaps now would be a good time to let go of my pride and extend the invitation.

There are two ways of looking at things. One is through the eyes of the world; with their top ten lists and ways to change other people. The other is through the Lord's eyes where everyone is equal and loved for their differences. My desire is to continue to see through the Lord's eyes... and perhaps then, I'll become the person that He wants me to be.

First Ever! Share the Love...

2009-02-15T15:44:00.000-08:00

For the first time, EVER... Just a Thought is going to be participating in this contest that comes to you courtesy of my sis, for whom I am accepting the challenge.... I'm probably NOT the third on her list, but you never know...

For my sis, this was all about Single Awareness Day and for a friend of hers. For me, since I've missed the headline on her blog, I've decided to take this one step farther... SO... Let the games begin!

The first 3 people to leave a comment on this will receive a hand made gift from me during this year. When and what will be a surprise. There's a small catch...You knew there would be didn't you? Post this on your blog then come back and leave a comment, telling me you're in. In other words, you have to participate too.

So... pass this site on to all you know, and good luck!

Tasty Honey Wheat

2009-02-11T13:28:00.000-08:00

And that's putting it mildly...

Now, I know that there are some out there who are still making bread. Maybe not Fiona, because she's so incredibly busy, but I wouldn't put it past her with all the talent that she has... this may just be one of her hidden ones.

Anyway... I got a wonderful bread recipe from my sister, and then played with it because I found that I didn't have some of the ingredients that her recipe required. The end result was a divine Honey Wheat Bread that you can actually taste the honey in!

It's really simple and makes wonderful sandwich bread.

My Sister's Wheat Bread - Modified

2 T dry yeast
2 c. warm water (warm being if you run it over your forearm it's not hot and it's not cold...)
3/4 c. honey
1/3 c. melted butter
1 1/2 tsp. salt
2 c. whole wheat flour (no, I did NOT grind this myself...)
3-4 c. bread flour

Dissolve the yeast in the water (I sometimes add 1 T. sugar) and let it sit for 5 minutes. Add the honey, butter and salt and blend well. Stir in the Whole Wheat Flour. Add the Bread flour one cup at a time until you have a stiff dough (I did this by hand, and used all 4 cups of flour). Let the dough rest for 15 minutes. Turn out onto a floured counter and knead the dough for 10 minutes, adding in flour as necessary to keep it from sticking to anything. (I added up to 1 additional cup of flour). If you are fortunate enough to have a Bosch food mixer, just add all the bread flour at once and let your mixer do the kneading for 8 minutes or so. ( I tried this with my Kitchenaid, but it made it really hot, and I had to stand there to keep it from bouncing off the counter. I'd rather knead by hand.)

Place in a greased bowl and turn to grease the top. Let rise in a warm spot until doubled (anywhere from 1/2 to 1.5 hours, depending on the warm spot). You can tell if it's all ready to mold into bread if you place your two first fingers in the dough and it leaves an indentation.

Mold into two loves, place in loaf pans, cover and let rise again. Bake at 375 for 30-40 minutes. Bread should sound hollow when tapped.

Give it a try! I dare you.

The Memory Keeper's Daughter - fiction

2009-02-10T13:49:00.000-08:00

It has been said that the average millionaire reads 1 non-fiction book every month. I'm not sure I have that kind of time. (Evidenced by the fact that I am still NOT a millionaire...) It has, in fact, taken me nearly 3 months to read the one non-fiction book that I started out to do a book review on. In that time, I have decided that I would like to do four book reviews a month. This is the first. The other three will include a children's book (for those who still read them), a young adult book (because I still read them - they seem to be nearly without smut...), and a non-fiction book (which will, probably be the last in the monthly series).

It took me two weeks to read The Memory Keeper's Daughter. Not that it wasn't a good book, it just wasn't as riveting as I thought it might be when I first picked it up. This book was written for adults (no, there aren't any steamy scenes in it) and is based on the story of two families who are linked by one girl.

It starts on a snowy night with the birth of twins. One, a perfect little boy. The other, a little girl with Down Syndrome. This is the story of her parents. Her birth parents, and the Mother who found herself with a baby that the father didn't want. What I found interesting about this particular situation is that the father was the doctor who delivered the twins, and the birth mother was told that the little girl had died. Through a series of events, the father was rendered unable to fix his lie. This is the story of how that lie eventually destroyed their marriage.

It is also the story of how a little girl was fought for. How she succeeded in life despite her challenges and difficulties. It is also the story of a nurse who found herself with a difficult decision to make and who chose one that, in my opinion, was the right one. A mother who found love - eventually, and learned to forgive the mistake that she had not had the choice to decline.

In the end, it is the story of a family who is re-united, though not in the way that I expected, and, probably, not to the satisfaction of many who will read this book.

I found this to be a well writen book - somewhat slow in parts, but a good read none-the-less. While I would not give this above an 8 (that would mean that I HAVE to have it on my bookshelf for additional reading again and again), I would score it as a 7.9. It was good enough to finish and I would recommend it to people.

If you are so inclined to read this book, you can find it at your local library. The Memory Keeper's Daughter, by Kim Edwards.

Starting Over...

2009-01-26T23:22:00.000-08:00

Starting Over... for the third time.

For the past three months I have been without a computer. During this time, I thought about what I wanted to say on this blog. I even almost wrote some of those ideas down! Unfortunately for me, I did not.

What comes to mind now is an event that happened just before the Motherboard went out on "The Beast" (our original computer). Even though it happened in November, I still feel that it applies today. It's called: "Five Kernels".

The Snicklebutt family has a marvelous tradition at Thanksgiving time. After we stuff ourselves with the traditional Turkey and homemade stuffing complete with Pumpking pie, Apple Pie and whatever other delicious desserts are on the table; and after the left over mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and yams are put away; the dishes are cleared and the family gathers in the living room - because if we sit at the table for one more minute we are absolutely going to burst... and please, don't put that plate of pie right there - it's in front of me, and I have a fork.

Once in the Living Room, we pass around the unpopped popcorn. We call it, Five Kernels. Each person in attendance takes five kernels of corn, and then the tears start. What is it about having corn in our hands that makes us cry? It's the thought of all that has happened over the past year for which we are grateful. I submit to you that I am nearly always the first to cry, and that all of the participants mention at some point how grateful they are for their families.

This past year I have had much to be grateful for.
1. I am grateful that we live on a farm. Having hogs and chickens and beef on the hoof has helped immensely with our budget. I love seeing all those little brown eggs in the refrigerator and knowing that I can get some of our pork out of the freezer and not have to worry about shopping for meat at the grocery store. We have been richly blessed.
2. I am grateful for our Children. They help me to put things into perspective. As hard as it is for me to see my littlest grow up (he's crawling and has teeth already... today he decided that he was ready to tackle climbing the stairs - he's 6.5 months old...) still, I am thankful that they keep me on my toes and keep things in perspective.
3. I love our wood stove. Despite the rumors circulating that our house is always cold - it isn't - this stove that we have right now does a wonderful job at keeping the house warm. Even the "cold corner" is fairly warm in the morning.

The list goes on. As this new year is just starting (already, where has the time gone???), I am ever more grateful for my Savior, Jesus Christ. No matter where I am or what I may be feeling - He is always there.

Sunday I was sitting in Ward Conference listening to the speaker - and wallowing in my loneliness - when I was suddenly reminded of so many who are truly my friends. I am richly blessed. Not just in friendship - when I feel alone (even surrounded as I was by others), I know that I have a Father in Heaven who loves me. Several months ago, Mr. Snicklebutt made the comment that even if no one else wanted to be my friend, he would ALWAYS be there for me. He made this comment when I was feeling sorry for myself. I am truly blessed to have a spouse who feels my needs and does his best to help me fulfill ALL of my desires.

And now, since this is the New Year and I am notorious for making and breaking resolutions, I have decided to add to my post a few of my resolutions.

1. I resolve to do better at posting my thoughts - not because I think that I'm all that and a bag of chips too, but because writing is theraputic for me, and I find that I am better able to let all my stress out when I put my thoughts down in some form or another.
2. I resolve to actually accomplish my goals: read the Book of Mormon before July, lose 15 lbs before March, read one non-fiction book each month... stick to my budget and to the menu; not just to the idea of a budget.

I would also like to sincerely apologize for not posting for the past few months. I lost a computer and had no desire to go to the Library to share my thoughts. We now are the proud(?) owners of a laptop which should help me to be a little better at staying on top of things. And, as soon as the other computer is up and running, I'll truly be able to be on top of things.

Thank you for continuing to follow... if there are things that you want to read about, please send me a comment!

Friends

2008-11-03T13:00:00.000-08:00

I have a lot of friends. Most of my friends are better friends to me than I am to them. I admit that I'm really not a very attentive friend, and sometimes that rolls over into "Rotten Friend". But still, I have a lot of friends.

One of my good friends, Fiona, doesn't like blogs. Can't say as I blame her. Really. It's incredibly addictive to check someone's blog on a daily basis (it's like looking at a terrible car accident as you drive by - sometimes you just can't help it), and that in itself is a terrible time waster. So... as an addict to one who is NOT addicted... I don't know what to say.

Back to Fiona though. I think the world of Fiona. She is incredibly talented (I wish I had HER little finger...) and amazingly smart, and fiercely loyal. And you don't mess with Fiona. Not even a little. The smaller they are... the more spunk they have. Fiona has spunk. Perhaps that's why I like her. She's a small package with a big punch. And we've been through a lot together.

Fiona was my neighbor from the first time I really got my own true pay rent and live in a bunch of houses that are all connected by one door and a whole bunch of people apartment. We were both doing laundry, and she thought that my laundry looked suspiciously like her laundry since we both wear the same brands... And then the friendship deepened.

I was chauffeur to her and her husband taking them to the airport the night before my oldest daughter was born. I've seen her slide down the side of a mountain - not because she wanted to, but because it was the "easy" way down (I'm sure she would insist that it was NOT the easy way down...). I was there when she graduated from College... the first time. And she has been there for me. More times than I can count.

Fiona and Chad (her husband) were there during some of the darkest moments of my life. The were literally directly across the hall when I needed someone to talk to or to make sure that I was eating or to take care of a child when I desperately needed it. They let themselves in to my apartment just to keep me company. I did NOT find this to be an intrusion, only the greatest show of friendship and love that I could find at that time in my life. Chad even helped me to put up an obnoxiously large Christmas Tree... and he would check in on me as he was leaving for work to make sure that I had eaten that day (no, I did NOT have an eating disorder - just a lot of loneliness and stress and other emotions that sometimes get in the way of a good meal...) In fact, Chad and Fiona flew home from a cruise because I needed a friend and someone to offer me support. It was and is their friendship that has helped me through some really tough times.

Fiona is remarkable. She finds time during her busy life to make a quilt for each of my children (and they all love them...). She works and raises two small children of her own. Yet - through all of this, she still finds time for other people.

I want to be more like Fiona.

Wasting time...

2008-11-03T08:47:00.001-08:00

And loving it. I'm an avid reader of Scribbit, and found this "work waster" on her blog. I've tried lying to the poll to find out how long I would survive, or how long I would fall apart, but when it came right down to it, honesty is still the best policy. These are my results. How would YOU do??? (And if it's less than 9 seconds, you earn a kudos bar, because at least you tried...)

54 seconds

Created by Bunk Beds.net

I know this post has NOTHING to do with the last few, but sometimes you just need a "not so serious" break. This is mine for today. And now, I'm back to trying to find the floor in my living room. Break time is over.

Are you living a Celestial Life???

2008-11-02T13:00:00.000-08:00

Two or three weeks ago, Mr. Snicklebutt asked me if I thought I was living a Celestial Life.

I still don't know what to think. My immediate answer was... "No." I mean, really. What does it mean to live a Celestial Life? Am I perfect when it comes to reading the scriptures? No. Do I write in my Journal every day? No. Do I have food storage? Yes. Do I go to church on a regular basis? Yes. Am I a basically good person? Only when I'm alone or with someone; and then only on days that end with "Y"... Do I keep the commandments? Yes.

So why would I have difficulty answering "yes" to the question of "Do you think you're living a Celestial Life?" when I am following the most basic of the basics to a near perfect "t"? Let me explain. First off - the term "Celestial" conjures up in my mind visions of perfection. I'm so far away from perfection, that I often feel that I most certainly will NOT catch up. Therefore, from that angle, I am NOT living a Celestial life.

If I look at a Celestial Life as one in which I would open my doors freely to Christ or Heavenly Father and allow them total access to my home and my life - I think I'd still have to say no. I'm not the greatest housekeeper, and I'd be mortified if they saw the true nature of the Craft Room and all her dirtiness. If I can look past that and look only to the good things in my life, then I do feel that I'm living a celestial life. For the most part.

Makes you think though - doesn't it?!

I think my Guardian Angel went on strike.

2008-11-01T22:41:00.000-07:00

At first I thought my G.A. had died, but then I thought that was too morbid - besides, aren't angels supposed to be around forever?

Now- you may be wondering what makes a person think that their Guardian Angel has died; let me tell you. Two Fridays in a row of something not so nice happening, and an entire WEEK of awful; pretty much convinced me that my G.A. had died. Or at least gone on strike.

Last Friday (the one BEFORE Halloween) had a series of rather unfortunate events that just felt like the beginning of the end. It all started on Monday. Now, I like Monday. It's a good day, and I don't generally have much to do with the house still (most of the time) being clean from the weekend. This particular Monday though... Mr. Snicklebutt was out of town. Not too abnormal, he returned that afternoon. And left again on Tuesday. I stayed home from work on Tuesday so that I could be with the little Snicklebutts; Tuesday night - thinking I would get some sleep - it never happened. Each of our three little ones got up sometime in the middle of the night. Two of the three went back to sleep. I will, however, admit freely that the couch is NOT meant to sleep three people next to each other - no matter HOW small they may be! The third little one is two. She was up at 6:30 in the AM and didn't want to go back to sleep. Needless to say... Work Wednesday night (I work from 10 pm through 2 am) was a killer. Thursday, Mr. Snicklebutt got home to a very tired wife, who left for work shortly after he got home. And then... it was Friday.

I should mention that I clean toilets at the Portland Oregon Temple (men's locker room) for a living, and while most of the time the toilets aren't terrible, all week last week someone had left a mess all over three of the three toilets that I have; and the three urinals weren't much better!

Back to Friday. I found an excellent place to purchase pumpkins, and while at work, volunteered to get pumpkins for the other 7 people on staff. All in all, I needed to take 25 pumpkins to work Friday night, and we had a family halloween party to go to. So... I asked Mr. Snicklebutt if I could take his truck. I am NOT a tall person, and I drive a Toyota Corolla. Mr. Snicklebutt drives a Dodge Ram 3500 Dually. I don't see so well when I'm driving his truck. After much admonishing me to "Don't Wreck the Truck..." I assured him that I knew what I was doing, and that all would be well... and then, I drove out of the driveway and PROMPTLY demolished the side of his truck. I hit the mailbox. The unmoveable mailbox. The mailbox won. The truck now has a major hole in the side of it. My name is now... MUD.

Add to that minorly major disaster, and work was an adventure all on its own. I had a light burn out in the locker room... where it had previously been on. And I walked past another custodian vacuuming and then walked past his vacuum (twice) and the cord of his vacuum spat sparks. I know that this was all NONE of my doing, but it sure felt like the world was in her own personal conspiracy!

Saturday was a better day. In fact, the week following the truck incident was pretty good. Until Friday. We had a church Halloween Party/Chili Cookoff (which I was late to, so my chili didn't get into the judging...). On the way home, I turned the corner and heard a soft "KaThunk". I immediately pulled over and checked the trunk to see if there was hot chili all over the back of the trunk. And... there was. And it was hot. I suffered 1st degree burns scooping the chili out of the back of the car and on to the side of the road. It looks like someone tossed their chili on the side of the road. Shaking out the rag so that I could continue mopping only served to get chili into my hair and all other surfaces not protected by clothing. I had a measly 1 quart left of delicious chili out of the entire 10" Dutch Oven... I'm protecting it with my life.

I was half an hour late to work.

Maybe my Guardian Angel just doesn't work Fridays... If my G.A. doesn't come to work next Friday, I'm going to have to officially fire him.

Let us ALL Press On

2008-10-02T23:59:00.000-07:00

There's just something about fall and the pungent smell of apples and the crisp feel to the air that makes me happy. Don't get me wrong - I happen to enjoy all of the seasons mostly equally, but I especially love fall.

Some of the leaves are starting to turn, and they are the most beautiful colors! Perhaps one of the reasons I love fall so much as an adult is because I never really saw it for longer than a week as a child. Autum in Alaska arrives just like Spring does. Quickly and without warning. One day you'll see green leaves on the trees; the next you'll see a couple of trees that are starting to turn; the next ALL of the trees will have turned, and the next day practically you'll see naked trees. As a result, there's not much of a chance to enjoy the beautiful fall colors that other people can brag about.

I'm enjoying seeing the leaves turn colors here. Not so much at our house - the evergreens stay, well... ever green. It's the leaves on the trees downtown that are fascinating to me. They're starting to turn the most brilliant shades of red and orange; and there's the deep purple of the plum trees... it's all beautiful. If only there would be a constant barrage of that white stuff that falls in other states. Then, I might consider this to be heaven. Right now, it's close, but winters just don't cut it. (Heat wise, I'm not complaining. We've had our wood stove burning for at least one night of every month so far this year.)

Then there's the smell of apples that I love so much. Mr. Snicklebutt has been working on a cider press that we purchased for less than $1.00/year of its life. It's in remarkably good condition for being 134 years old, but it does need a little bit of work. So... he's re-building the baskets to squish the apples in. Once he's finished, we'll put the press to work and make our own cider. It is, after all, cheaper than that $6.00/gallon stuff we can find at any other farm! We will probably can the stuff too. It would be better for us to store it on our shelves than in the freezer - no matter how delicious the frozen concentrate may be.

So... before it gets too late - let us all press on... and get some good cider in addition to the great fall memories!

When Life Takes Over

2008-10-01T23:33:00.000-07:00

Life... a simple word with so many different meanings. For example: Life can be the beginning of something - bringing a child into the world gives it life. Or, life can be simply the things that we do on a day to day basis.

In this case, MY LIFE refers to the day to day things that I do (or don't do as the case may be...). This past week, LIFE has meant that I have spent nearly every waking moment canning and processing food for my food storage. The moments NOT spent doing that were spent either picking the food to process it, washing the food to process it, keeping the kids from eating the food that I intended to process, feeding the baby, and feeding my children. Not much of the "NOT canning and processing food" moments was spent cleaning the house.

It has, however, been productive. I have discovered that I need to take breaks. I love canning and processing food, so taking this break from the OTHER life that I lead (that of being a full time wife and Mother and Housekeeper and Chauffeur and whatever else being a Mom entails) has been good for me. I have come to realize that I rather like sitting on the couch and reading books to my children. I thoroughly enjoy preparing a good sit down meal for my family. And, I like having a clean house.

Why does it matter so much to me that I have a clean house? It has been my experience that if I want to have the Spirit of the Lord dwell in my home, I MUST have a clean house. Quite simply, He will not dwell in unclean places. That's not to say that He has been absent from our home this past week, I have done a fairly good job of making sure that things have stayed on the north side of clean, but it has been harder for me to maintain that cleanliness that I feel is required to invite the Lord to be a guest. And it shows in the way my children treat each other and how they treat themselves.

So as much as I enjoy taking this break from life, somehow I need to figure out a way to fuse the two lives together. Perhaps that's a job for Wonder Woman...

It's a GREAT Harvest

2008-09-29T23:47:00.001-07:00

Mr. Snicklebutt and I have a confession. We're addicted to canning.

He's addicted to eating whatever I can, and I'm addicted to canning. In fact, today I'm officially so far behind I may never catch up.

Numbers will be changed to reflect the TRUE amount of canning I have done in the past few weeks, but sufficieth it to say that today alone I canned 6.5 quarts of pear sauce and at LEAST 18 pints and 4 quarts of pear butter. And now I know why I NEVER make pear butter. I'm just now getting the kitchen clean for round two tomorrow.

I'll post tomorrow on the effects of the canning...

Right now, I'm seeing the screen wobble again. Something about too little sleep...

MUST CAN MORE... MUST CAN MORE...

Who am I?????

2008-09-28T01:04:00.000-07:00

What do you mean, WHO AM I???

Well, here it is - Sunday... again. And weeks have flown by since I last posted - mostly because I let life get in the way of life, and needed to take a rejuvenation break. But that's another post for another day... look for "When Life Takes Over" coming soon.

Two weeks ago, I was talking to Mr. Snicklebutt on the telephone, and he mentioned that a friend of ours who lives in Florida commented on our personal blog spot. His actual comment wasn't posted, but it was something along the lines of this: "Your wife needs to put more pictures of herself on the blog for people who don't know who she is." I laughed. Seriously. I am forever the photographer, and, as happens, never the photograph-ed. Not that I don't LIKE having my photo taken, I just find that I look extremely dorky if I hold the camera out in front of myself to take the picture. So I don't do it.

His comment, however, has made me think. Who AM I? Really. Do I know who I am? I've been thinking about it for the past week or so. What defines ME? What makes me, the person that I am today? Is it my childhood? Is it the experiences that I had as a missionary in Ukraine? Is it the fact that I am a wife and a mother? What makes me, well, ME? So I've been on a mental quest to define myself.

I was born in Alaska. I am the second oldest of seven children (5 girls, two boys). I play the violin. I love crayons. I considered myself to be a fairly decent student (terrible study habits, but a decent student nonetheless). I served a 19 month mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in the Ukraine. I am a mother. I love KFC chicken. I like my eggs fresh, and fried over easy (unless I'm in a restaurant, then I ask for them to be fried over medium - that way they always turn out right, instead of just the wrong side of sunny side up; although I did go through that phase too...). I like living on a farm. I LOVE canning and preserving food. I am a master fudgeologist. I love making jam. I like hiking. I love making friends - even though it's not always easy for me. My favorite television shows are MONK and PSYCH - they just make me laugh. I collect miniature oil lamps. I love cooking on a wood stove. My ideal house is the one that I live in, and I hope NEVER to move. I love working with the Young Women of the church. I like to read. I enjoy scrapbooking, but more than that I just love getting together with friends for a great gab fest - even if I don't get anything accomplished, it's relaxing enough for me to just hang out with great women. I love learning. I love photography. My favorite food is Russian. I love my kids. My biggest pet peeve ever is people who come for dinner and graze before the rest of us have a chance to get to the table; it makes me feel as if they aren't really going to sit and enjoy the dinner with the rest of us - or as if they feel that they can take over a carefully planned meal and stuff themselves before the rest of us can try it. I love cooking.

And I could go on for hours with what I love and what really bugs me. My question, however, is this: "Do all the things that I like (or love) really define me? Are there other inner things that define to other people who I am?" My answer is a resounding YES! Above and beyond the fact that I am a daughter to two very wonderful people and a loving wife to a magnificient husband, I know beyond anything else who I really am, and it has very little to do with my likes and dislikes, my loves and my hates. More than anything else, I AM A DAUGHTER OF A HEAVENLY FATHER! He loves me. He wants me to succeed. He wants me to develop divine qualities that will help me to be like him. All of my likes and loves and dislikes and hates are qualities that I have that HELP to define me, but they are not me. They are a PART of me, but they are not me.

It's taken the last few years of my life for me to truly understand who I am. I was raised with the song, I Am a Child of God - and by two parents who taught me that I could do anything I set my mind to doing. It took, however, some difficult trials and some extreme heartache and pain before I truly understood what I had known all my life. I am a DAUGHTER; a CHILD of GOD! How wonderful is that??? During the most trying trial of my life, my Mother had the wisdom and the foresight to ask me, "What are you going to do now?" And without missing a beat, or truly understanding what I was saying, I said to her, "I don't know. Before I do ANYTHING, I have to find out who I am again. I have to take some time to just be me." And so I did. But I am just now understanding that what I REALLY did was to define qualities that help me to be happy and to be me.
Who we are is determined by our eternal potential and what we are aspiring to become - Gods and Godesses. I am especially grateful for the difficult times and trials and blessings and, dare I say it without being cheesy - PEOPLE who have helped to shape me into the woman that I am today. It is through all of those experiences that I have come to understand who I am. What I like and what I do is my role. I hope to play it with the same grace that I see other women of stature playing. And, one day, I hope that I can SEE in myself the woman that I know I am.

So, who am I? I am Mdme. Sloopy Snicklebutt. Daughter of a Heavenly King. What else is there???

Monday, Monday...

2008-09-15T23:39:00.000-07:00

Well... it's Monday. Again. And today, I am officially 20-13 and 354 days old. Tomorrow is my 20-14th birthday, and there is no one here to celebrate it with me. Mr. Snicklebutt is in Arizona on his way to California and then hopefully home, and the children are too young to do anything about a birthday.

Birthdays growing up were never really a big issue at our home. My most memorable was the birthday that my parents decided we were going to celebrate the way the Irish supposedly do and the birthday person was to hand out gifts to everyone instead of receiving gifts. I was the only one that they did that for. I'm not sure if I was a selfish child - I like to think that I WASN'T, but... the things parents will do to teach their children.

My second most memorable was my first year at college. Happened to be that I was so incredibly sick that I spent all day in bed wishing that I was home with Mom's chicken noodle soup. At midnight I called Alaska to let everyone know that I wasn't waiting any longer for them to call to wish me a happy birthday. It took an hour for them to call me back. AND to compound the terrible day, the box that the family was sending for my birthday was extremely late. I think I got it for my brother's birthday.

I told Mr. Snicklebutt that it wasn't really a big deal that he was going to be gone for the big 20-14; but the more I think about it, the more certain I am that I lied. It would be nice to just spend the day with him and to wake up to him telling me that he's glad I'm there with him. BUT... oh well. Instead, I get to spend the day baking my own birthday cake, making pearple (cross between apple and pear) sauce, taking care of children, cleaning the house, trying to get life organized enough to teach a class for Enrichment (of which this is my first one as the leader, and my entire committee has bailed...) SO..................

This sounds like an incredible pity party. Maybe it is. Don't we all have days when we just want to sound pitiful in the hopes that someone else is having a rotten day as well and we can be rotten together? Not really. But it sounded good.

I will admit that having a birthday sure beats the alternative... at least from my perspective.

A Rose by Another Name...

2008-09-13T21:54:00.000-07:00

Would still smell like a rose. And some roses don't have an odor. I know. I have about 20 DIFFERENT varieties of roses here at my house. Don't worry, I have no idea what they are, they were all here when we moved here, and my job is to not kill them. My children are the ones who discovered that while they ALL have thorns, not all of them "stink".

But really, I didn't want to talk about roses. What I really wanted to ponder on is names.

Before we went to the hospital to have our second baby, Mr. Snicklebutt and I had already picked out two names. One for a boy (just in case), and one for a girl... (also, just in case). This last time, we had a name for a girl... (just in case), and we were in deliberation on a name for a boy. I didn't like the name he REALLY wanted, and he didn't like the name I REALLY wanted, so we had decided to not worry about a boy name until we found out the gender of our baby.

It would have saved a lot of time if we had just come up with a name before we got to the hospital. But then... none of the names that we had considered seemed to fit. It took us three days to come up for a name for our little D.F.

So why the struggle with a name for a boy? I have come to the conclusion that a name is something that you give to a child that they can never get rid of. (They can try, but their name will always be there...) A girl child has the option of changing her name a little - when she gets married, she can either keep or drop her maiden name; as a middle name or even as a hyphenated name (not my choice of an option, but hey - it happens). A boy child on the other hand - that's his name for life! This knowledge became so much an integral part of our decision to name our little guy that it was almost a battle to decide what we wanted him to be known as. The name decision came down to a name that really sounded strange to me. I didn't want to have any sort of a way for people to make fun of our child's name, but then again, I didn't want to give him a name that other people would wonder what we were thinking about. So... after much deliberation and some arguing and some debating, we decided to leave the name alone. I would pray about it overnight - there were some surface issues with the name that I was concerned about - and then make the decision in the morning.

End result? Our son is named after a concrete company. He has a good solid name. It's one that has taken me some time to get used to, but it seems to fit him - strangely... His first name is LeGrand. He is definitely "The Large". Everything that he has done has seemed to be LARGE.

I wonder often though - what causes a person to name their child after fruit? Or after a day of the week? Or after a CAR??? What really is in a name? Is it just a series of letters strung together to make a word, or is it something that is to be treasured as it used to be?

I was named after the wife of a friend of my parents after the friend was killed in a plane crash. The wife is still alive and living in Florida, I think... I have two sisters who are named for virtues. I have a brother who shares my Dad's first name as his middle name. I have neices who are named after grandparents. I have a daughter who is named after a favorite great-aunt - and then we found out that we have MULTIPLE Great-Aunts who all share the same name... So what is it with names?

I know the history behind my name... Do you know yours? Does your name have a special meaning? Is it spelled the way it is because of language nuances? Why is your name important? What makes you... well, YOU!?

Wednesday's Words of Wisdom...

2008-09-10T22:05:00.000-07:00

The time has come... The time is now. Marvin K. Mooney, will you please go now???!!!

Not really. But every time I hear the phrase: "The time has come, the time is now..." I think of that Dr. Suess book with Marvin K. Mooney in it. And I wonder - has he gone yet? Better yet, where is he supposed to go?

Of all the things to wonder at, I wonder at the marvelous nature of babies. The miracle that they are. I am always amazed at the little things that they do - from the first time they smile at you to the first words that they choose. A good friend of mine from college used to say frequently:

"A child's face can say a lot... especially the mouth part!"

I'm inclined to agree. This afternoon, D.F., our youngest, opened his mouth and laughed for the first time. It was such a marvelous little noise! I've been trying all day to get him to repeat it with no success. I'll keep trying. I find that there are few things greater in life than the true love of a child. D.D. has been trying to get me to play with her on a more regular basis. I am almost ashamed to admit that I have forgotten how to play. She is teaching me how to be a child again. And me at almost 34 years old.

Two of my favorite phrases are. "Mommy, will you pin with me?" (substitute the word spin for the word pin, and you'll understand my reluctance - I know that my equilibrium is incredibly off since having two babies, I'm not sure I want to find out what the third has done for it!) My second favorite is having her hold her arms out to me and asking me, "Mommy, will you dance with me?" What mother can resist a dance with a two year old? Especially when said two year old is wearing said mother's highest pair of heels so that she can be just like mom? I certainly can't. I can, however, refuse to "pin". I just don't like the feeling of having the room spin around me...

So my advice today - it's free. You don't have to pay for it - or even take it, for that matter... it's simply this. Enjoy your children. Take time to "pin" or dance with them. LOVE them. Because soon enough they don't want to "pin" or dance or even talk to you. Sometimes they don't even want you to love them. Do it anyway. Your children depend on it.

Tales from a Tuesday...

2008-09-09T20:31:00.000-07:00

Have a baby, or pass a kidney stone?

And how appropriate - since the story here began on a Tuesday... Actually, this story has happened on a Friday when I thought I was going to be hosting a luncheon at work and my daughter made other plans; on a Wednesday when I least expected to welcome a second daughter; and finally, on a Tuesday - when Mr. Snicklebutt and I chose our son's birthday. (How I feel about that is still very conflicted, but not knowing the gender of our little one made up for the confliction of having picked his birthday for him.)

I have had many requests over the years to tell my own personal experiences in giving birth. I start by stating the obvious...Every woman is different and handles pain differently. For example: I have a dear friend who has birthed three children - all of them at home. I have sisters who have (in total) birthed 11 children, some with pain medication, some without. So... this is truly my own experience.

Of the three children that I have, Boobie Sneezy is the only one that I birthed 100% without pain medication requests. Her birth was - in my own personal opinion - relatively easy. My water broke on its own at 3:30 in the morning on the day that I was supposed to host the Thanksgiving luncheon at work. I ended up leaving voice mail messages for at least three other people and delegating. And then I was upset that I couldn't be there. I threw up once during labor and required air because I didn't know how to breathe; what woman really does? But aside from those little snafus everything else went well. I went home the day after she was born, and took her grocery shopping the day after that. She is also the only one of our children who, when she was born, caused another person to quit his job in the maternity section and move to another area of the hospital to work. Apparently, they should ask the kitchen help if they have ever heard a woman give birth before sending them to deliver meals to new mothers in the maternity section of the hospital. He hadn't. I missed my hospital meal that night...

Our second, Dorfus Dorky, was an experience. I suffered major back pain throughout the entire pregnancy, and was, in fact, on percoset and some other pain medication for the majority of the pregnancy. Still, when it came time to go to the hospital, we elected to go for the "natural" route. I would have to say that D.D.'s labor experience was a real trip. Literally. About 20 minutes before she made her appearance, I told the midwife that I needed something to take the edge off of the pain - the back labor was killing me, and I wasn't sure if I could handle the pain much longer. So...they gave me something. I can't remember what it was, but it was a real trip. It made me so incredibly loopy, I will never forget it!

Labor started when my water was broken; at least that's how I always look at labor - when the pain hits, the labor begins. No pain, no labor. So after being in the hospital for many hours and not progressing beyond the dilation of 5 that I was when I came in, the midwife on duty decided that perhaps I just needed to go home. I assured her that if my water was broken, I would probably have a baby. She decided to let the next midwife on duty decide if she wanted to do that, and, at 9:30 in the morning, the next midwife did. An hour and a half later - we welcomed Dorfus Dorky into the world.

So the labor... First off - I was on penicillin for the majority of my labor because D.D. decided to come 28 days early and the Group B Strep test results weren't in yet. Add to that the medicine that I got to take the edge off, and I was higher than a kite. Still felt the pain of delivery, but the pain of being stitched up was nonexistent. I remember that I had to go to the bathroom before delivering D.D. and asked the nurse if I could go to the bathroom before being hooked up to the monitor again. She assured me that would be fine, and then waited to see if I needed help. After watching me sit there for a few minutes looking REALLY stunned, she asked if I still needed to go. The following is the conversation we had.

"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I forgot how to walk."
"You just put one foot in front of the other..."
"Which one do I start with?"
"Which ever one you want..."

She probably thought I was the craziest woman she'd ever seen, but I managed to get through it all. I slept a lot immediately after D.D. was born - the drugs made me really tired...

When our third, Dumbo Farcus was born, I mentioned to the midwife that I did not want to be loopy like that again. She made a note of that, and we progressed. Based on my past history of having babies early and rapidly, my midwife made sure that I was at the hospital when my water broke by breaking it herself. And then we started waiting. I was expecting a baby within an hour or two, and when nothing happened - not even dilation - I found a book to read and took a nap and walked the halls and did jumping jacks and did all sorts of things to entertain myself. Mr. Snicklebutt, the love of my life, was bored out of his handsome gourd. He went to the bank for an hour or so. He came back. He took a nap and bugged me and took a nap and bugged me and pestered me and drove me crazy until I sent him away from the hospital to get himself something to eat with strict orders to NOT COME BACK UNTIL HE WASN'T BORED!!! I'm still surprised that he came back...

And so he did. And then immediate boredom set in again. Sometime around 4:15 in the afternoon (my water was broken at 10:32 in the morning), Mr. Snicklebutt mentioned to me that he needed to feed the animals on our little farm. So... knowing that the 1.5 hour drive was inevitable, we asked the midwife to check for progression. Only having moved 2 cm. in dilation, I told Mr. Snicklebutt that he might as well go home to take care of the animals - nothing was happening. And so, he did.

And then things started happening. I bounced on a birthing ball to try to get things going - and then couldn't get up because the contractions were coming so hard and so fast. I had one contraction that lasted for 7 (and yes, you did read that right) minutes. Seven LOOOONG minutes. Once the contractions started coming, they didn't stop. One right on top of another until little D.F. made his appearance. I should note at this point that I am anti-shots in the spine, so all of this laboring is being done without the benefit of pain medication or any other medication... At 6 pm, I called Mr. Snicklebutt to find out how long it was going to be before he got back to the hospital. He was still at home. Hadn't left. I mentioned that he MIGHT want to think about hurrying back because things were happening. And so, he did. Meanwhile, back in the hospital, I was on the bed facing the wall because I had climbed up on the bed that direction and then couldn't move. Literally. I was stuck. The contractions had come so fast and so hard that I could not move from the talking on the phone position I had been in. I was lucky to have made it to the bed! The L&D nurse who was in there was a true trooper. She rubbed my back the entire time Mr. Snicklebutt was gone. He walked in the door just minutes before 7 pm. And just barely before I asked the doctor for something to take the edge off the pain so that I could maybe breathe.

So... she checked me and found that I was dilated to 7 cm, and gave the o.k. for 50 cc's of something. Again - I have no idea what it was. Thankfully, it did NOT make me loopy. It also did not kick in until after our little one was born. D.F. was born at 7:12 pm. It took us three days to come up with a name for him. Recovery was pleasant - I didn't feel a thing. And Mr. Snicklebutt missed all of the boring transitional stuff. He came in just in time to watch our son be born and to cut the cord. I missed the cord cutting ceremony - I was facing the wrong way.

Would I prefer to give birth under anesthetics? Probably not. It may make the pain less, but think of all the fun stories I would miss out on! I do find it pretty exciting to be able to feel all of the everything that comes with giving birth... but then again, I'm one of those few women who recovers quickly and who doesn't need anything for pain after the baby comes too... For me - giving birth is a blessing to be experienced, not a pain to be dealt with. I would never judge another woman for using pain medication through the entire labor experience - I have never felt her pain. For me, it's just no big deal...

In case anyone's wondering... I'd rather have a baby than pass a kidney stone. But that's a story for another time...

A Monday Moment

2008-09-08T21:10:00.000-07:00

What was your WORST, really embarassing moment???

Well that would have to be wetting my pants in the seventh grade. I was in Ms. Fuller's science class and had finished my test early. Unfortunately, I had also had a lot to drink, and had neglected to take the time to go to the bathroom. Also unfortunate - when I went to ask Ms. Fuller if I could go to the bathroom because I had already turned in my test and I REALLY needed to go, she told me no. So... I sat back down and did the potty dance in my chair.

I can still picture it. That's how traumatized I was. I'm sure no one else remembers that I wet my pants as a seventh grader, but I remember. I was sitting three rows from the back. Philip Jensen sat next to me and Carmelita Laska sat behind me. I don't remember who sat with her. I do remember that our table was on the right hand side of the room, and it was next to the sink. I can even smell the room still if I think about it hard enough - a little like formaldhyde and chocolate. Kind of sweet, yet stinky. And not quite sterile. Not quite that hospital smell...

At any rate - a few minutes passed, and without me meaning to - I mean really. Who ever means to wet their pants when they're in the seventh grade? I certainly didn't. I was mortified to find that I was all of a sudden sitting in a puddle, and there wasn't even a drink around that I could blame it on. Philip was nice enough to get up and get me some paper towels. As soon as the bell rang, I BOOKED it out of class with my notebook covering my rear and what I hoped was all of the wet spot. I went home in my P.E. clothes.

I will be eternally grateful to those who sat around me for NEVER mentioning to a soul that I had wet my pants in Ms. Fuller's science class. It could have made for a humiliating story passed around the entire school. I think that all of those sitting with me knew that it could have been them, and that's the reason that it wasn't passed around. I would LIKE to think that it's because they all liked and respected me, but this was Jr. High, and I don't flatter myself - even if it WAS the truth. Carmelita became one of my better friends in high school - Philip just became one of the class clowns and we got along. Still... only a true friend never tells a soul that you wet your pants when you were in the seventh grade. Thanks Philip.

Not Just a Missing Person...

2008-09-07T19:45:00.000-07:00

Today being Sunday, I thought I'd ramble on about something a bit more on the "spiritual" side of things - something that I've had on my mind a lot lately.

The other day I saw a bumper sticker that said:

"Some days all I want to be is a missing person."

I laughed; which, I assume, was the reaction that was warranted from the sticker, but it's stuck with me for a while now.

After my initial reaction, I started thinking that there are days when I feel exactly the same way. After all, a missing person is constantly being sought after. There is a lot of attention paid to finding that person who is missing. Don't we all have days when we feel like we're that bowl of leftover, cold oatmeal waiting to be found and reheated (or thrown away - because even then someone would be paying attention to us!?). I know I certainly have had days when I wondered if there really was someone out there who knew where I was and what I was doing - and not in that creepy way that you hear about on television.

Then it hit me. I DO know who I am, where I came from, and what my purpose is here on this earth. Instead of wondering when it's my turn to be a missing person and have someone to search for - perhaps I need to find that person who feels like a missing person. I know that I have a Father in Heaven who knows me intimately. He knows who I am and what I'm doing. He knows my needs. He hears those personal, private conversations that I have with my husband - and the needs that I have and concerns that I have; He passes on some of those needs to other people who can best help me. If you REALLY think deeply about it - God is the ultimate Stalker, Eavesdropper, and Philanthropist. And NONE of that is creepy. He watches over us. He listens to us. He gives us things that we need; and if we really wanted to know, He tells us that too!

The whole point here is that none of us truly is a missing person. We may have days when we feel like we WANT to be a missing person - with someone to look for us and to try to find us. We're not, however, truly lost. We have someone who knows where we are at all times. All we have to do is to ask. And on those days when I feel like I want to be a missing person - really all I want to do is to be a runaway. Far, far away from my problems and the life I've created for myself - no matter how good I think it may be. So... instead of having a bumper sticker that reads:

"Some days all I want to be is a missing person..."

Perhaps we should have bumper stickers that read:

"Some days I just want to be a runaway..."

Unfortunately for the runaway (or perhaps it's fortunate...) there will still be someone who cares about you; someone who is always searching for you; and someone who wants what's best for you. And, unfortunately for the runaway - the problems that you're running away from will still be there when you get back. Only now, you've procrastinated working through them and perhaps they're a lot larger than they were.

For me, the "problems" that I would want to run away from aren't really problems - they're blessings with a trial attached. And there are days when I've wanted to give ALL my trials back to the Lord and tell him that I am on vacation. Problem with that is this: If I give all my trials back, I also have to give back the blessings that come with the trials. The personal growth. The learning. And the chance to NEVER DO THAT AGAIN! I think, in the long run, I'll take my trials any day.

And on those days when I just want to be a runaway - I've found that a long hot bath and a very heavy snowstorm in a cup are just what I need.

Madam Sloopy Snicklebutt???

2008-09-01T16:44:00.000-07:00

Yes, indeed, I have chosen a random name from a delightful book series, Captain Underpants... A bit juvenile, perhaps, but after looking high and low for a name for my blog - a way to creatively express myself - it's the best I could do.

As for a by the by - you'll not find Madam Sloopy Snicklebutt anywhere NEAR Captain Underpants - she truly does not exist. But what a great nom de plume!