Here We All Are

But Didn't You Just Say....

2012-01-21T12:59:00.001-07:00

I do. I realize this will mean eating an awful lot of my words, but the good news is I am pregnant. I am eight weeks along and since my cowardly stomach muscles abandoned ship four weeks ago, I feel I need to hurry and make the declaration before things get awkward.

I feel great, like the best out of any of my pregnancies. Not a whole lot of nausea-- what a nice little surprise for the woman who was pretty freaked out to get pregnant at *gasp* 35. What I do feel is hungry. And also real lazy. Which, you know, pretty much described me before, but now it's a symptom, not a character flaw.

If I had ANY motivation, I would write a little about my feelings and such and the pact I had to make with the dev--DARRON, I mean Darron, to get this baby going but seriously this pregnancy induced laziness is so bad I just don't think I feel like it. It is so hard being me.

Kettles, Packages, and Noodles: Some Things That Make Me Happy

2011-09-20T17:20:00.000-06:00

It's time for a favorites list, isn't it? I think so. Here are some things I'm kinda crazy about right now.

Ok, I was all excited about my local grocery store being bought out by Macey's grocery, which has great prices and selection. I rarely rarely went to the Macey's that was a few towns away because a) it was a few towns away and b) it was crowded! I don't like crowds. I mean it wasn't Walmart crowded, vicious and soulless, but it was always packed. And it attracted couponers like nobody's business so whatever happened to be on sale that week was always sold out. Aargh. It encouraged me to have bad feelings toward bargain shoppers and as a rule I try to not have bad feelings toward any particular shopping constituency. So I loyally frequented my own local (empty but for Saturday nights) grocery store because it was, well, local and empty. When word came that Macey's was moving in, I was so excited to have one close by. Little did I realize that with it would come the crowds I so despise. So it's a good-bad situation. And don't worry, I'm coping, but what I really wanted to talk about before I got mired in all the exposition was THIS!!

Bear River Valley cereals

These!! Bear River Valley cereals, have you seen them? They sell them at Macey's and they are oh so blog-worthy. I had all but cut out cold cereal for lots of high and moral reasons I'm not going into and then I discovered this line. Yes, they are still a processed food, but here is the list of ingredients from this very bag and you can't tell me that your heart doesn't get a little thrill when reading it: Whole grain wheat, evaporated-milled sugar, gelatin. Freshness preserved with vitamin E (mixed tocopherols). Three (THREE) ingredients plus mixed tocopherols which I don't know what they are but I'm trying to bury my head in the sand on that one so don't tell me if you do know. They are more expensive but they are made in Utah and they have far less packaging than normal cereals. There are I think six or so varieties and I am so very pleased with them.

And this... I adore.

Burberry London perfume

I don't know if you know this about me, but I am secretly British. And when I wear my Burberry London perfume it's easier for me to fantasize about walking through the drizzly streets of London with my belted trench and plaid scarf and answering to the name of Pippa. Popping into little bookshops in Notting Hill and having Hugh Grant fall for me. And if you are still buying perfume at a department store and haven't tried fragrancenet.com, you need to. They have awesome prices on so many great perfumes and always have a discount code to use.

But I'm not only stuck in the city. Pippa just as often hails from the countryside and now I've found her perfect address. Edgecombe St. Mary.

Major Pettigrew's Last Stand

If you haven't read this book ohmygosh go do so now! It is easily one of the best books I've read in a long long time. It's so charming. And witty. And biting, but gently so. And perfectly lovely. I will actually read this one again, which I rarely do, because each word is so enjoyable, like an Austen novel, where getting there is 95% of the fun. I'm glad I have a hard copy of this book, it's meant for writing your name in the front cover and dog-earing.

Every good book needs a companion beverage. My recommendation for this fall would be Nutella hot chocolate. I'll give you a moment to swoon ................................. It's simple really; you mix hot milk with a spoonful of unsweetened cocoa powder, two spoonfuls of Nutella, a bit of cream (whipped or not) and a dash of vanilla. It's okay to cry when you take your first sip. Lots of people do.

Here's to you, Nutella, sweet nectar of life. I love you dearly.

I recently got on Pinterest and it turns out it's not really my thing, but the good that has come out of it is my finding this blog: Hair Romance. All those pictures of blond romantic updos you've seen everybody pinning? They're from this blog and they're beautiful.

I estimate that in one year, my hair will be long enough for most of these and I'm so excited and determined not to cut!

I'm also crazy about my little brother getting married last weekend. Or at least, I yanked myself back from the brink of crazy right in the nick of time. I am embarrassed to say I was crying more than anyone there. My mom, the bride's dad, everyone. At one point I was this close to breaking into heaving sobs. I could feel my shoulders start to convulse and push me forward into my own lap but fortunately was able to catch myself just before I lost it. What was the matter with me? I think the reasons are almost to tender to share, but seeing him being joined to someone who knows exactly who he is and loves him with all her heart made my little cup of joy overflow.

Photo by Stephanie Ryan

I mean really. Could they be any more gorgeous? It's like a solar eclipse. You can only look at them through a paper plate with a hole poked in the middle.

Also! I'm uber happy about this new blogger setup. This has been the easiest post I've ever put together. Let's hear it for cutting and pasting! And for a preview function that (imagine) gives a true preview! And for running out of steam by the end of a post......

The Agony and the Ecstasy (except without the ecstasy)

2011-08-31T13:00:00.001-06:00

I sent my littlest off to school last week (waah!) and now my boobs hurt. Let me explain.

Tommy (who has requested to be called "Thomas" at school--What?!) is four. He is my precious. My baby. I baby him. I don't care what people think or say or how awful he turns out, I can absolutely not help it. Darron asked me if I had a favorite kid the other day and I truthfully told him no. He acted all disbelieving and asked coyly, "Really? Not Tommy?" And I can see how he would think that, seeing as how I coddle him and always have my fingers entangled in his golden curls whenever he is within arm's reach and can't stop smelling or smooching him. All signs point to him being my favorite. But it's not that. It's that he's my baby.

When my other kids reach milestones, I feel pangs of nostalgia and sadness. Sometimes faint, sometimes overwhelming, but always tempered with a bit of pride and excitement at seeing them mature and grow. Not so with Tommy. It's all pain. Real-my heart feels like it's being pulled from my chest-pain. He is getting farther and farther away from me, from that little infant I carried and rocked and nursed and cuddled, and in a few short years he will leave me forever. For some other woman. Oh, the issues. I tell him all the time that he can't ever leave me, and then I pretend to cry. Not like a real fake cry, where I want him to think that I actually am, but a big clown frown boo-hoo. He hates it. He doesn' t like to be teased and this drives him nuts. Feeling sort of guilty the other day and rather emotionally healthy, I came up to him and told him all serious that I although I liked to pretend that he couldn't ever grow up and leave me because I would cry forever, I really actually was glad he was growing and proud of how big he was and that I was happy to see him go to school. In other words I LIED right to him. It seemed to make him happy so I felt good about it. But it was a lie. I'm not glad; I'm not proud; I'm not happy. Every bit of me hurts.

He is the last child I will ever breastfeed (sob). You know that feeling you would get (breast-feeders out there) when you thought of your child, or heard them cry, or it had just been awhile since you last nursed and you were ready...that kind of cinching, almost stinging sensation as your milk came in? It's been years for me, but I still get a little residual psychsomatic let-down pain when I think about my babies. I would liken it to a person who loses a limb, yet occasionally gets ghost pain where the leg used to be. And then that pinching feeling travels from my boobs to my heart, and I can hardly bear it, can hardly breathe.

You may be saying, Heather! Why don't you just have another baby? Well, friends, the thing is, I don't want another child, particularly; I am happy with the ones I have. I feel I owe it to them to stay sane and I think four is this mom's limit. And hello! having another would not solve the inherent problem with babies. They grow up and leave you, every time.

Here he is breaking my heart, I mean, going to his first day of preschool and abandoning the woman who gave her blood, metabolism, and short term memory to bring him and his luscious silken curls into this world. He walked into his classroom with a smile on his face as tears slipped down mine and I quickly put on my sunglasses. When I came to pick him up two hours later, I resisted the urge to sweep him into my arms and smother him with kisses...until I reached the parking lot, where I very nonchalantly picked him up, gave him a quick kiss, like totally not overwhelming or needy at all, and then surreptitiously nuzzled his hair. We got to the car and he asked me to put him down now and I realized I'd been standing there for maybe thirty seconds just smelling him and kind of rocking back and forth. Going "mmmmmm".

Who do they think they are, these children that drop from heaven into our arms? Without any warning they sideswipe us with this powerful, terrible love that addles our brains and completely commandeers our hearts. They're tyrants, these ones. Our lives are no longer our own. Our sleep is never again easy. They come, they conquer, then immediately begin leaving us.

A Love Poem

2011-08-12T22:00:00.000-06:00

My love, she is fair,

with her wild tangly hair,

and rows of white pearls when she smiles.

Her alabaster brow enchants me (and how!)

and her backside, it goes on for miles.

Show Us Your...

2011-06-14T22:28:00.000-06:00

So you've noticed I have a thing for ... dot dot dots. Also air quotes. But those don't translate as well in writing. Just know that when you see "this", I'm actually doing "this".

Any subscribers to House Beautiful out there? It's my favorite design magazine. Well, magazine period. Not too whimsical, not too rustic, not too pretentious (are you reading this, Elle Decor?). Just jaw-dropping perfection on every page. They have a little segment called "C'mon, Show Us Your..." where they have different designers send in photos of something in their house--their entry table one month, or their favorite vacation memento another, stuff like that. And of course I lo-o-o-ove it. I don't like the styled, professional shots some of em send in, but I ado-o-o-ore the honest, snapshot peeks into a real life. And as I leaned out of bed one evening to pull a little somethin' fer snacking out of my bedside table drawer, I was overcome...

...WITH OPTIONS!!! And also with the idea for this post. So c'mon. Show us your bedside table. Well, describe it anyway. Oh, and as a bonus, if anyone can outdo me in sheer volume of snacks, I will mail them the treat of their choosing. It will be so worth the validation. And I'll be in the candy aisle anyway.

P.S. Other things on my table: phone charger, Lands' End and Ballard Designs catalogues, tissues, and my Nook. Now you know.

Am I the Only One...

2011-06-04T23:11:00.000-06:00

...who thinks "ex-pat" is the most pretentious word? At first I typed it in the title and then I was all--what? Wait! I hate that word!

I used to be a California girl and proud.

Oh really?! What part?

Central.

What's that? Couldn't hear you.

CENTRAL! You know, FRESNO? The wet European armpit of the Golden State? Two steps up from Bakersfield, but 13 steps below everything else? The jewel of the 99? And speaking of 99, if the thermometer registers anything below that between the months of June and October, it's considered "balmy".

I'm going on my 17th year out here in the promised land. Year One was rough. Brutal. My Beatles sweatshirt and penny loafers (aka my "winter gear") got me through mid-September then it started getting all...cold. Like...cold. You wouldn't believe it. It started snowing and just never stopped for seven months. And you know what? I found I didn't care for it--snow. No, not one bit. People would be out all over campus having snowball fights and playing in the snow and pushing people into the snow (but only if they really liked 'em)...ugh, can you imagine? Horrors!

And then....well....

Like so many other things I've been morally certain about for decades only to find myself making a grand about face-- I about faced. You wanna know what? I realized the cold isn't so bad. It's actually kind of...okay. It's true I've birthed four babies. Weight and hormones in a general tizzy for ten solid years surely had something to do with the change. But change I have. I like a little nip in the air. And the snow is just not awful anymore. I even made a snowman one year. Okay, now that still stunk, and let it be noted that if you throw a snowball at me, you will die--slowly and at a time when you do not expect it--but then I just went inside, got snuggled up in a squooshie blankie with some hot chocolate and extra whipped cream and things just got so so nice again. I find I like winter, I do. Winter's all sweaters and Christmas and long nights and dreams of tropical (yet balmy) vacations and baking and homey-ness. The anticipation gathers during the fall, when the temperatures begin to drop and the urge to make large pots of soup propels you into the kitchen. You know you will have time to read--the great, long epic novels that take full concentration and plenty of chocolate to get through. Because when the sun sets at 4:30, what else are you gonna do? Kids get cuddlier, dessert stops being optional, good night kisses get more interesting more often, the charm of old movies becomes irresistible, and life turns decidedly sweeter.

It's long, I'll admit, and it can get tedious, but then just when you think you've had enough and you must have vitamin D or truly die, you get a day of 45º and weak sunlight and it's just enough, that brief reminder that warmer days are ahead. Several months of hinting, whispering, fluctuating up and down the thermometer, eases you back into the warmth. And how I love that tease of Spring. A time when you never know what the weather will be like from day-to-day. Well of course you could know if you checked the forecast, but some of us like the suspense. I love cardigans, scarves, and sandals together, running from the parking lot into the store because a storm broke out as you were driving and you didn't bring an umbrella, canceled soccer games (and how!), wind and hail and low rumbling thunder. The air is clean and wonderfully breathable again.

And then, just like *that* all that lovely cool is taken down by a quick sweep to the leg by ugly horrid beastly summer. No one likes a bully. Hot, swampy and purely dreadful, it saps the will to live and move right out of your sticky odorous body. Languishing on the couch with the fan on is really the only appropriate activity under such circumstances, but one's children seem to think that one must still feed them. And one's husband finds it more than a little interesting that when he arrives home in the evening, one is still in the exact same spot he left one in that morning, although in shockingly more deplorable surroundings. What has one been doing all day, he may be tempted to ask. And if he gives into temptation and does indeed ask, one cannot even respond in tones of righteous indignation and miffed sarcasm, because the answer is so obviously NOT A DARNED THING.

Except for the sweating, of course. Oh how unattractive! Oh how undemure! Is there anything more uncomfortable than sweat-soaked clothing sticking to sweat-soaked skin? If you can, for whatever reason, spend your days in a bikini I don't think you have room to complain. I myself cannot and do not. Wear a bikini that is. Nor should I. Not only for the purpose of modesty, but for the perpetuation of the species do I remain covered. And not only covered, but cinched, hefted, and redistributed through the use of highly developed undergarments, belts, and pulleys. No innocent young woman needs to know what happens to all her buoyant femininity once the babies come. Because the babies need to keep coming, or so I've heard. Especially if one more of my own darling babes sweetly asks me in a tone of horror what all those gross lines on my stomach/back/legs are. Or if there's a BABY IN THERE!!! Overly curious children don't tend to live long enough to pay off the national debt and absorb all the nuclear waste. Stop poking at me and just SWIM already!!! For those who must wear clothing, summer isn't just hot, it's hellish.

Is it any surprise then that I am secretly grateful for this long chilly drawn out spring we've been having? I will keep the obnoxious smile from my face as you moan about the cold, but know that inwardly I cheer. Oh yes, this Utah girl cheers.

For Mom

2011-05-08T16:19:00.003-06:00

Happy Mothers' Day to the woman who gave me life, my sense of humor, home-cooked meals, my big wide toothy smile, a love of baked goods, confidence, a passion for books, the actual physical inability to refrain from cutting my own hair, piano lessons, my hunger for babies, appreciation of the absurd, apparently most of my mannerisms,

and a desire to be just like her.

I love you Mom.

My Halle

2011-04-09T13:23:00.000-06:00

Halle turned eight in February and was able to be baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ in March. She has been so excited to take this step and make this covenant with her Heavenly Father. We had so many family members and teachers and friends come and show their love for her and their support of her choice and she noticed and appreciated each one. As did I. It was an emotional day for me, partly because I just can't handle my kids getting older, partly because I felt... I don't know, overwhelmed I guess. I often feel awed or even unworthy to be Halle's mother. I feel like I have nothing to teach her, not much I can do to improve what she has already been graced with, like she should have been the mother in this relationship--she'd be so much better at it than me.

If I ask Halle to clean her room, or eat her dinner, there's a good possibility it won't get done for a really really long time. But I ask her to do something for her sister, or help me with a chore, or look out for her brother, or sit and snuggle with me for a few minutes--done. Faster than immediately. Before the words have left my mouth. When I say she is sweet, what I really mean is she is sweet times a billion infinity. Every bone in her body, every muscle, every thought, every instinct is caring, gentle, compassionate, thoughtful, affectionate, mild. She is doing her best to make me a better person. Lately, if someone in our family raises their voice in anger or argument with another person, she will turn away and put her hands over her ears. Not rudely, in an "I'm not listening, la-la-la la-la" way, but in a "Your anger is wounding my delicate soul" kind of way. Tell me if that wouldn't shut you right up. You better believe it does me. And makes me feel I should be begging her forgiveness.

The other day, Ava and Thomas were playing in the family room, while Halle and I were reading. The two little ones started to spat and get frustrated with one another. As it began to escalate, Halle put down her book and tried to negotiate a peace settlement. For ten minutes. She calmly and gently talked with them, made suggestions, offered solutions and kept her cool until they worked something out and went back to happy. As I sat with my nose in my book. Had she not been there? Mom's version of peacemaking? I would have heaved a big sigh and because I didn't want to interrupt my reading, given them til the count of three to stop fighting or they would get a time out. And then after the time out, nothing having been solved or addressed, they would begin fighting again. And then I'd be angry because I wanted to read and they'd get mad back and there would be a big scene and lots of contention and a bad afternoon for everyone. Had Halle not been there.

What does one do with a daughter like this? How do I raise her for another ten years and not mess up her perfection? How do I not rub my selfishness and impatience off on her? How can I be the mother she deserves when I'm...me?

Oh how I love my little girl. She is one of the most precious ones, truly an angel among our family of...mere mortals. Happy birthday and Happy baptism day to my beloved child.

It's Day 9

2011-02-12T16:50:00.001-07:00

...of Darron's recovering from ankle surgery and things are NOT going according to plan.

First of all there is absolutely no romantic spooning on the couch while we share intimate secrets and discuss religious philosophy because a) he's high on percocet, b) and itchy, and c) I've got things to do. If you are sensing irritation, that's so weird because Darron said the exact same thing.

We did balance the checkbook. So there's that.

Also in my plan, the house was really clean. Clean and serene. Just how we like it. That's generally part of every plan of mine. I'm like joyfully cleaning the bathrooms and it's all sparkly and bright everywhere and smells nice. Not like stale cumin and wet rags.

We've been watching "Arrested Development" on Netflix six years after the rest of you which I find hilarious and Darron finds a little too "strumming my pain with his fingers" if you know what I mean. You don't? Good. We'll leave it at that then. I no longer attack people on my blog. Just make cryptic passive-agressive references.

I've never been one for sympathy when others are sick. I mean, I think its a good idea-sympathy-I just don't personally possess much myself. I can take care of someone for about two hours, then I start to get snippy and all put-upon. I have a hard time with needy people. And yes, I realize I am a mother and that that is ironic. You got me, Universe. Darron knows this about me because I really don't hide it. He's been freaked out about me thinking he is going to be a wimp through all this so he's all like hobbling around with his big bulky man crutches and 24 lb cast dizzy and nauseated trying to fix himself a poor little bowl of cereal because he doesn't want me to think he's a sissy and then I jump up to help, but it's really less of a jump and more of a reluctant slide turned peppy at the end when I realize my cold dead heart is showing.

Halle turned eight today. On to other things. She is so sweet. We took some of her friends out to a movie and treat and shopped for a baptism dress. I'm sure I'll write a baptism post when the time comes where I can gush about her a little.

Does having a sweet, kind-hearted daughter redeem me? I hope.

This Really Should Be Two Posts

2011-01-20T22:31:00.002-07:00

Or Five. Sorry.

Every so often, I'll clean out my posts list...get rid of the ones I never quite finished, polished, or published and feel I never will. So a-dios to a few ne'er-to-be-seens. Here's a little of what you could have been subjected to, if I'd gotten my act together and you had been so lucky:

On Christmas
"I have my shopping done (mostly) and my decorations up (though empty boxes have been stacked by my front door for 4 days now) and a few Christmas activities under my family's belt. We saw a local ballet school's "The Nutcracker" (bomb: remember how boring that thing was when you were a kid? Really? Perhaps you could have reminded me.), visited a live nativity (marginal success: free hot cocoa does thankfully/barely trump a two hour line), and went on my annual Christmas date with my old college roomies (always successful)."

On Butter
"Hello treadmill, my old friend
I've come to run on you again

Because I see my backside swelling

Where it may stop there is no telling"

On Politics (Step. off.)

"My opinion is this: no form of government will work unless its people behave in a certain assumed way. If the people don't, the government is a poor fit, and neither will the government function nor will the people be satisfied, which is how I view our present situation. At the time it was established, citizens of our country held certain ideals and values (there's that naughty word) that many of us no longer see as important. Given that change, the republic we once established, like an old shoe, no longer fits. And so we are left squirming and chafing, alternately cutting holes for our toes to stick out and binding our feet. And one shouts for "honor" and another for "sanity" and each becomes more and more entrenched in their idea that we must bind or we must cut and all who disagree are socialists and all who think otherwise are idiots, because as any angry 5 year old can tell you, the best way to win is to call someone a name."

Dude, you missed OUT. I worked for a really long time on that paragraph. And there was so much more where that came from. But now I can delete, without any regret. Like when I took pictures of all these, so I could throw them out:

I don't know that I ever told you how lauded I was in the fifth grade. This is picture 2 is a series of 24. 1/5 of Woodrow Elementary's annual budget apparently went for trophies and plaques and assuring me I was a winner.

But what's really been getting under my skin, aside from this news to me and the attendant fallout in my typing identity, is my hair. Oh, you KNEW I was going to say that, didn't you! I try to be all interesting and unexpected and then I go and say that! You KNEW!

Here it is now. Four shots and I still couldn't figure how to look like I was looking at the camera.

Goodness sakes girl, put on some lipstick, you're taking a darned picture. And directly below my hair, my bathroom counter top. I didn't end up wearing that necklace.

Oh and then Halle's Forgiving box.

But here's the present deal- back to the hair (please). I've been growing it out, essentially since this disaster over a year ago and and it is exactly one and one half millimeters longer that it was when I started. That is what is known as extremely depressing. Soooo...last night I couldn't sleepaaaaand....I came up with this great idea in my semi-conscious semi-transcendental state that may or may not involve going extreme blond. Ok it does. Like pale blond, dark roots, kinda Sienna Miller, kinda SJP back when she was SJP. (That's the best I can do. I am so sadly out of it. Ryan Seacrest has ruined E! for me and thus my star IQ.) For your information, the last time I had a great idea in this state it was to homeschool my four children. I may or may not have decided that was a complete crap of an idea. Ok it is. But this one. What you think? Crap? Or Xanadu genius epiphany?

Let's proceed with epiphany shall we? For philosophical purposes. If I do go all 2005, it will take some upkeep (money and time) which I am pretty stingy with. Mostly the money. I am not the type to get her hair done regularly. Or to get pedicures or massages or buy expensive makeup or anything like that. It just kills me really, paying all that money on something that will fade or get cut off. So can I properly maintain the look or would it be more annoyance than gratification? Also as I am "growing it out" remember, will this sabotage those efforts and turn my hair to fluffy straw? There is SO much to think about that I find I am grateful Darron will be gone this weekend. The situation calls for some serious Hot Tamales and my Period Romance queue on Netflix.

And don't forget me and Ikea. Doing our part to smother Mother Earth with our establishment consumer refuse.

Here's panning 30 degrees to the right and a glimpse of my new luscious paneling and cabinetry.

We are finally starting to buy to replace the furniture ruined by numbers 1-3. And rat babies I think. I'll probably post pictures of that all eventually, but I may also probably forget.

I don't get a lot of requests around here and really I don't ask for them. But the two I tend to get repeatedly are: Can I see a picture of your hair? and Whatever happened to your sex post? Well hair and sex are both fine venerable interests so I totally get the curiosity, no question. And I do like to be helpful so now you've seen the hair we can move on to the other thing. Awhile back I posted quite a lot of stuff you never ever wanted to know about me and Darron and our intimacies. Especially if you are in our ward and have to look at him every week in church. I'm sorry I'm so sorry. So it was a little too much for me to have that hanging out there for anyone to just...read. I have no problem talking about private things with people I know, but I just couldn't ever completely relax knowing that was all just sitting out all unprotected and judgeable. So I pulled it. I hoped it had fulfilled it's intended purpose...I really felt strongly at the time that I should post it. But that time passed and so did the post. Here's the gist of it:

Darron and I had troubles adjusting to our intimate physical relations when we were married and for a good long while afterwards. See how I'm being all coy and delicate? Fights, misunderstandings, blow-ups, periods of pointed silence, imagine the worst if you will. And we have come a long way since then, especially in the last two years or so. Many things helped us, but a certain book was one of the most integral in getting the ball rolling. It is called And They Were Not Ashamed . Check out the author's official website too, if you'd like.

We're winding up here, I promise. It's getting late and harder to construct a sentence, let alone space only once. Anything else I can do for you, just let me know. As you know by now, baring my (husband's) deepest secrets and showcasing my own narcissism do not deter me, so no request is too cheeky. Feel free.

What a Year!

2010-12-22T11:20:00.009-07:00

As Christmas fast approaches and it becomes clear to me that I will NOT be putting together Christmas cards/photos/letters in the next two days, the relief is palpable. The house feels brighter, lighter and dirtier. Because not only have I not been taking pictures or composing well-wishes, I've not been cleaning much either. But fa-la-la and ho-ho-ho, here's what we have been doing this year....

Everyone has had a birthday. And I mean everyone. Including Thomas, who turned three in April but refuses to acknowledge it. When he found out he wasn't turning four (his first pick) he just put his foot down and remained two. The others are as follows: Hinckley-9, Halle-7, Ava-5 and fabulous. Darron and I refused to be interviewed for this paragraph, but I would estimate we are somewhere close to last year's age.

Next up: hair. Thomas has perfect shiny luscious shepherd boy locks. I don't know that I've mentioned that before. And with them comes the source of his power. Ava has thick, long, and according to Grandma golden hair that swings from side to side when she walks and flips perfectly over her shoulders when batted with the back of her hand. I am proud to say my daughter is "that girl". And Halle. Shortly before school she came up with the idea to cut her long hair into a cute bob. Whomever says subliminal messaging doesn't work has not met me. Her hair has not yet "come in", so her cut worked wonders with what she does have, and it suits her sunshiny personality. Hinckley was given the go ahead to grow his out, by which I mean longer than a #1 on the electric clippers. We fear a surly attitude and penchant for throwing rocks at kittens will surely follow, but Darron doesn't even like cats and we prefer surl to whine, so we're going ahead. Moi....? Darron voiced a suggestion, for the first time in our entire marriage, that I grow it a little longer. I am all about doing what my husband wants--and immediately--so out it grows. I am also seeing a licensed professional again (for my HAIR) which is a relief to all. Speaking of suggestions, mine to Darron was that he stop shaving his head for awhile. Which, of course, he has. The last time you saw his hair nine years ago it was brown. No longer. He blames the grey and white on me. At least that's all I've done.

...

Our main expenses this year have been food, school uniforms, and Dr. Gordon. We eat food every day. And the kids go to school most days. And we went to the dentist after a (ahem) significant hiatus from dental coverage. I like to imagine he spent it on something nice, like a diamond bracelet for his wife, or an extended European tour for his family, 324 closest facebook friends and their favorite neighbors.

It has occurred to me that "cool houses" cannot be "created". The purchase and installation of a play center from Costco and a basketball backboard does not guarantee that your kids and their friends will use them. You may find that they persist in going to the play at the neighbors' house, complete with a pool, a trampoline, and an endless supply of neighborhood kids.

And speaking of fun, why go to Disneyland when we have a perfectly good "local amusement park" a mere 45 minutes away? Come to think of it, why go to the local amusement park, when we can go to the local-er "fun center" just down the freeway? And then--even better--why the fun center, when there are parks for free all around? They have slides, no swings if we're lucky, and nary a fried chicken finger to be found. The kids have fun and Mom doesn't get weird looks if she sits on a bench and reads a book. AND Dad can still go to work to help support the Gordon Family European fund. Win-win-win. Your nine year old may sadly sigh and look woefully up at you when his friends talk about their latest Disney trip, but in my opinion, sighing is good for children and woe is a sign of maturity.

Our children are perfect, our life is ideal. If you don't want to be us after reading this, you probably read it too fast. And I may have forgotten to mention, but it now occurs to me to tell you that we had a romantic couples getaway to RadioShack last night. Yes, technically, our kids were there, but I tell you, when we locked eyes over the electronic yapping dogs...magic.

A very merry Christmas to each one of you. This season is the perfect opportunity to think about what matters most to us. We love our family, our friends, and our Savior, Jesus Christ. May He guide each of us though our lives as we develop greater trust in Him and a desire to live as He wants us to live. We hope the new year brings joy, love, and peace to each of you. We also hope to find Hinckley's Cub Scout book.

Love and Best Wishes!!!

Darron, Heather, Hinckley, Halle, Ava, and Thomas

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace."

Even Fairies Have Bad Days...

2010-11-08T10:23:00.002-07:00

...and other gems from my C: drive

Newport Beach at sunset

Graduation Day: in which he and she were speaking to one another

I, Hinckley, promise to do my duty

Favorite picture of my sisters (quick, Susie, name the extra!)

...and a sampling of their progeny

A couple o' ol-timers

Cause I never did post "First Day" pictures

And another one

This one goes to school over his mother's dead body.

Cute hubs' (third from right) cute high school reunion

Dad's beautiful family (please let me have these genes please let me have these genes)

Elizabeth's modeling days (secret modeling days)

For merrily on our way we go until we reach the valley-o!

Crazy about this picture! Seinfeld army helmet, matching potbellies, washed out morlock faces, me llllikey!

Um... Salvador Halle's Disney period (are those millipedes coming out of her ear?)

Bags on hooks

And lastly, a little inspiration for things yet to come...

You May Want to Leave Your Shoes On

2010-11-06T15:47:00.000-06:00

Good things are happening in my basement.

What's the complete opposite of this sentence? My basement 3 1/2 weeks ago, that's what. In case you didn't hear about the Great Poo Flood of 2010, let me fill you in. There was a great flood of poo. In my house. In 2010.

3 1/2 weeks ago...

Me: (upstairs in my bare feet, thinks) I need to vacuum the kids' rooms downstairs. And get their laundry while I'm down there. Ok. (walks down the stairs in my bare feet) Vacuum and laundry. Vacuum and laundry. Don't forget. Vacuum, then stay and pick up the laundry. Don't come back upstairs after vacuuming, remember to get the laundry. (walks past the utility closet in my bare feet) Vacuum and--- oh no! Is the carpet wet? Oh no, it is! It feels nice and warm...I bet the water heater is leaking. Well, we were thinking of putting in a tankless anyway, I guess this will be a good excuse. Ooh, it's like the perfect temperature, mmm that's nice. Gosh, it kinda stinks down here. If those kids left the toilet unflushed again...grrr...(opens the closet door in my bare feet as the water swirls lazily around my bare toes. Seeing brown water burbling up through the sewage drain) WHAT IN THE..?!!! NOOOOOO!!!! It's POOOO!!! Omigosh, what do I do? Ok, call Darron. (turns around, heading for the stairs, sees two little ones heading down towards me with wide eyes)

Ava and Thomas: Why did you scream, Mom?

Me: Get out!! Turn around, get out of here! There's poo water! Stay away! Stay away!!! (Drop to my knees, begin walking on knees out along the unaffected carpet, up the stairs, over the tile and hardwood into the bathroom, heft myself onto toilet, then onto counter, put feet in the sink. Wash and scrub. And Lysol.

So by the time everything gets sorted out in the ol' sewer line, the water (if one may call it that) has flooded into every room of the basement. Family room, 2 bedrooms, playroom, bathroom. Everything is pulled out, down to the concrete and studs. And then I walk out leaving just the concrete. ba-dum-ching! (Men are so lucky. I looong to be able to make stud jokes. *sigh*) It hasn't been fun. For me. The kids are fine. But me? Not. Sure, someone else had to clean it up. Sure, we don't have to pay for it. Sure, everyone has been a peach to work with. Sure, I realize I am lucky and still have half a house to live in and food to eat and running water. But my nerves! My nerves?! Already stretched a little thin due to some unrelated circumstances, I find they just cannot handle the constant vigilance of germ patrol, keeping ALL of our stuff crammed into 50% of the space, not to mention ALL of the kids into 50% of the bedrooms. No toys. No video games. No church shoes. Or scout book. And the flies! Aargh! Feeling guilty for complaining. Feeling guilty for not being grateful enough. Feeling guilty for being a shrew.

On the up side, Darron's never been better. Me taking over as "the neurotic one" has given him a little vacation of sorts.

But now let's talk about the "good things" that have been going on. If my camera were not MIA, I would put up pictures. And I still plan on doing a reveal post once everything is finished and I find the camera, but we're not quite to that point. Probably two more weeks to go. In the meantime, here's a good old fashioned list of the good things: cabinets, paneling, new paint, subway tile, new carpet. Sound yummy? Yes it does. Look yummy? Oh yes, so far. I'm rubbing my hands together with glee.

And then there was Halloween amidst the yuck. Once again grateful I hadn't decided to sew the costumes this year. And as I mentioned my camera was lost, so I wasn't able to take all the beautiful photos like usual which really just makes my heart hurt. They looked so so sweet, every one of them. Here are some pictures taken by a friend, a good mom who brings her camera to take pictures of her children during milestone events like major holidays.

First we have a "phantom" with a dreamy smile and yummy blue eyes

So sad I didn't get a close-up of Halle's makeup and hair. She was quite lavender and glittery. A little butterfly/fairy/sparkly girlthing

And then the cooperation stops. True to form, Ava pretends the camera does not exist. She prefers the unposed "action" shot.

She's a mermaid by they way. NOT "the little" mermaid.

C'mon Ava. U smile, I smile. One two three...

If you aren't normally accustomed to prodigious amounts of cuteness, you may want to look away. I ate this little one up. Then I polished off his candy.

Aargh! I can't take it! My eyes!
I didn't get an official shot of my costume, but 10 points if you can figure it out from those ones up there. I like to call it my "better than a headache" outfit. It's been a week and Darron still won't look at me.

Ho hum, I guess that's all for now. Back to the swamp. Oh, my goal for this year btw is to have Christmas shopping done by Thanksgiving. I'm posting it here for all the world to see because social pressure is a really big motivator for me.

NOW back to the swamp. Don't you want me to prepare some food for you? Come on over. You can roll around on my carpet while you wait.

Fall Anticipation and Disaster Averted

2010-09-29T22:34:00.000-06:00

Don't you love fall? And Hawaii and baby kittens and the smell of clean laundry? I enjoy all the seasons, in moderation, but this year fall is just getting to me. The clothes, the weather, the food, the beauty. It's still fairly warm here, but we're experiencing a nice slow slide down the thermostat that we don't often get in Utah. There is so much anticipation wrapped up in this time of year, so much to look forward to. A new year of school, a new attempt at scheduling and organizing. Real holidays. Now, I am not the kind to get excited for Christmas (sad) but this year is different, I've been anticipating it since June. Don't know exactly why or what for, but I've been so kind of buzzed about it and I think about it ALL the time. Like a 16 year old boy and um, skateboards. I've bought a few gifts already and feel a bit smug and totally on track, a really foreign feeling to me (minus the smugness).

Halloween? I have 2 of the 4 required costumes (mostly) bought. As you may remember from last year, this is also quite unprecedented. I must admit I presently am toying with the idea of sewing Tommy's Woody costume, but such insanity must be at least considered, if only so I can assure others I have not been alien-abducted and replaced by a pod. I also put up a decoration. Darron told me I should decorate for Halloween this year. He tells me this every year. So do my kids. Every year. If I had a dollar for every time I heard "So-and-so has her decorations up! When are we getting ours?" I'd have lots of dollars and I wouldn't spend one of them on Halloween decorations. But I spent a few bucks at Roberts and Dollar Tree and put this out:

Come a little closer, my dears... Thanksgiving is still a bit of a quandary, although I know there isn't that much to quandar, but this holiday actually is causing me stress for the first time, like, ever. You may have noticed me calling you and inviting myself to your house for the big day. If not, check your phone because I totally texted you and I'm bugged cause you didn't respond.

Ooh and crock-pot meals! To change the subject. Don'tcha love 'em? Put your energy into cooking when you have it, early in the day, then you're ahead of the game when 4:30 rolls around. I love being ahead of the game. Again, not a frequent occurrence with me. I tried a couple recipes from this month's Costco magazine. French Lentil Rice Soup yesterday and Hearty Beef Short-ribs today. Tasty. I'm giving this recipe a go tomorrow, because I do love the rotisserie chickens. SO tasty. Plus, I like to make my own chicken stock with the bones. And now I'm just bragging.

And in closing...

Ok. You have your emergency food supply, extra water, toilet paper, clothing, what have you. But what about your emergency pencil, hmm? It's ok. You can use ours.

Wishing everyone an on-track, slow-cooked, emergency-prepared Fall!!!

Where the Path May Lead

2010-08-31T21:13:00.000-06:00

For those of us on facebook, one of the biggest kicks is the ability to find friends from years past. Old childhood pals, who years ago might have been lost forever after life moves them apart, can once again reconnect, reliving those times when friendship was sweet and uncomplicated.

One such childhood friend and I found each other shortly after my facebook debut. I was so excited to hear from Alyson, a friend I met at church when I lived in Modesto, California during part of elementary and junior high school. Who knows what draws kids to one another and turns them into friends? I don't remember how exactly we became friends, but we did. And she was one of my favorites. We went to church together, but attended different schools, so we didn't see a whole lot of each other, yet still managed to become close. She was fun and enthusiastic, sensitive and imaginative. After I moved away to Clovis, we wrote one another once or twice with--you know-- a pen and paper, and even crossed paths briefly at BYU...her going, my coming I believe. I came to her wedding in Utah. She came to my reception a few days before giving birth to her first child. And then... nothing. We got caught up in our separate lives and lost track.

Ten years later...

(Enter the world's largest social networking site. Right? It's the only one I use, so I assume it's the biggest--but I could be wrong, I'm a 34-year-old housewife.)

...We found each other. And as we reconnected, she revealed to me some darkness from her childhood, of which I had been completely unaware. Beginning at the age of 9, she had been repeatedly and continuously sexually abused by her brother-in-law for 8 years, until she physically removed herself from the country (the country!) during high school. To say I was utterly dumbfounded doesn't begin to get close to how I felt. My little friend, that sweet innocent beautiful girl, was living this nightmare completely unbeknownst to me. My heart ached for her. It does now as I write this. I felt sorrow and fury and condemnation and guilt as I thought about her life over those years and how I was completely oblivious and happy and safe in my own home while she battled this monster in hers. I hoped I hadn't been insensitive. I hoped I had been kind when she needed kindness, silly when she needed silliness. I hoped we had had so much fun together that she was able to forget on occasion, just leave her burden for a few minutes and feel as happy as a child should.

My grown-up friend Alyson is an amazing person. She has a loving husband and four precious children. She is adventurous. She is a talented writer and photographer. She has an eye for beauty. And she has a voice. She's started a blog recording her pursuit of justice, her battle and her peace with her abuse. It's called ...leave a trail . I know my readership isn't very big, but I hope someone reading this will find a little more strength or a little more compassion from her words. I have.

I Have Smelled the Future...and It Has Morning Breath

2010-08-15T19:14:00.009-06:00

So what it's looking like is if Darron ever dies or leaves me for some big-haired Utah floozy you will find me at home in my bed watchin' movies and eatin' Hot Tamales. Because I think I've found that that is my happy place. Not my "happy" happy place...that place is a little secluded beach in Maui with a hammock and a lifetime supply of books carried in on the backs of sea turtles. And Darron's invited. If he keeps his mouth shut and gives me a scalp massage. This other place is more my "fetal position" happy place, where you just want time to pass as quickly and mindlessly as possible but also need to satisfy your sugar lusts.

The morning after Darron left for a 4-day backpacking trip---wh-wh-whoa! Waitaminute! Really? BACKpacking? OH Yes. Darron went backpacking. It's true. Big breath, take a minute if you need one. Everyone ready? Ok, continuing...the morning after Darron and Hinckley left for a backpacking trip found me laying in bed prolonging the moment when I'd have to rise and begin the day. Which may remind one of every other morning (and I use that word loosely) this summer that has found me in precisely the same spot, but it was totally different because this particular morning I was contemplating whether or not I was going to brush my teeth immediately after arising, or just, you know, whenever I felt like it...whenever the kids complained. For some reason, that is the first thing to be compromised when Darron leaves. First-thing-in-the-morning toothbrushing. Of course, as my bed began to fill with children, alternately whining for breakfast, pulling the pillow off of my head, and yes, complaining about my breath, toothbrushing was put back on the schedule, and I reluctantly rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.

Housecleaning is the next thing to go. I generally try to keep up with things during the day, at least one big tidy-up around dinnertime, but no, not when there's no one around to care or notice. Meals? If my kids say they're hungry, they get fed. If not, well, they just may not. Things I DID do? That I'm proud of? Shower. On more than one occasion. Scrub two bathtubs. Go to church. Mop part of a kitchen floor that got honey on it. Buy Hot Tamales, which entailed going to two stores because the first sorry store did not carry them. Bathe my children. Now comes the good part. Watch 12 movies. Eat a corresponding number of bags of Hot Tamales. A-a-a-and there you have it. The last four days of my life, condensed, reduced to their essence, and totally, completely wasted.

Ugh. I hate when my husband is gone. Ugh. I hate how whiny I sound when I whine about my husband being gone. And this time, not only was he gone, he was out of cell-phone range. WAAAAH!!

It's not like this when I am the one doing the leaving. I recently got back from my summerly trip to see my family, the one that takes 3 weeks, the one Darron is not invited to, for various and sundry reasons. The kids and I drive around and see all my siblings and parents. I love this trip. We have a grand time and I do just fine without my husband. I mean, I miss him, but I can function, don't have to take up agoraphobia as a hobby, I brush my teeth. What's the deal?

*Sigh*

I miss him.

The Friday Rundown

2010-07-30T10:21:00.005-06:00

This just got too long for a facebook status, so I'm moving things over here. Can I get a....PROJECT RUNWAY HURRAH?!!! And you might want to get ready for lots of caps because my excitement level is pretty high.

It's BACK! One of the only three tv shows I watch, the others being House Hunters International (although I don't care for all the Caribbean episodes, I will watch them, I just prefer the European, Middle Eastern, etc. Even Canada I like. But I'm all burned out on Roatan.), and Your Total Body Workout, an hourlong yoga program on KBYU.

So last night was the big premiere and it did not disappoint. Of COURSE it did not disappoint!Here are the things I loved:

1) Heidi, Tim, Michael, and Nina. In no particular order. Well ok, here's the order of preference: Michael, Nina, Heidi, and Tim. I just love these folks. If we could have an entire episode of the post-runway critiques, I'd be truly happy and have nothing left to wish for. Michael's gift for the outrageously creative and spot on put-down, his hilarious catty-but-not-too chemistry with Nina (don't you hope they hang out in real life? Like all the time? That he just comes to the Marie Claire offices every morning and they have their Starbucks together and look through piles of fashion photos and samples and they aren't mean, just honest and they do that thing where one of them says something funny and then they look at each other and do that laugh.....), Tim's dry, self-aware, spinsterly little persona, Heidi's killer shoes and constant state of pregnancy (just a little disappointing that she isn't this season).

2) The episodes are now 90 minutes and I am NOT KIDDING! Because 60 minutes were NOT enough. 90 minutes aren't either, but it's more and more is better. 90 MINUTES!!! It's like Christmas Day!

3) A really really great guest judge. Selma Blair. Who knew? I'm not that into pop culture anymore, so I didn't know much about her, but she was marvelous. Not afraid to disagree with the other judges, capable of being witty and daring in her taste and remarks, and so clever I am pretty sure she even swayed the others enough to save that "full Italian" guy, the one who made the backwards kimono Friar Tuck bathrobe. I can't specifically remember all the other guest judges, but I'm going to just venture out and say that she is the best one they've ever had. Because quite often, even usually, they are just terrible. Remember Lindsay Lohan? I don't know what her agent had to do to get her that gig, and although it was nice to see her sober, it couldn't make up for the fact that she was Lindsay Lohan and she had NO place being there, nothing to say, no clout or taste. Or ew, how about that little girl from the OC? Summer...I can't remember her real name. Please PR producers, if you are going to take air and face time away from my true love MichaelandNina, make it someone palatable and funny. Like Selma Blair.

Okay, I could go on, but I need to get on with my day. Darron has his 20 year high school reunion tonight and we are actually going for the first time ever, so it's kind of a big deal.

What about you? Is that an "amen" I hear? Any other Project Runway peeps out there? What are you most excited about and how-- HOW are we going to make it through another 7 days until the next episode?

How to Relax, When You're Me

2010-06-09T20:13:00.006-06:00

What have I been doing with myself for the past two weeks? Now that school's out? Oh not much. Get it? NOT MUCH??? It's not actually a joke, it's just true, and absolutely, deliciously, delightful. Here are some of my favorite (and not-so) things I've been indulging in lately...

My Nook. :)

I'm not a technosavant or whatever you call it. But Darron got me this e-reader for my birthday. It's always nice to have a book under thumb. Of course, I still have to pay for them, so I've been mostly catching up on my Bronte and James and the like, the "freebies". Oh, they're terribly boring you're right, but it's reading, and I love it.

A little spray paint goes a long way. Not literally. No, you always need 4x the amount you thought you would. But it does have the power to transform an ugly orange-brown rattan-and-pine tray into this little lovely...

Yes, I did put the "good magazines" on top. And is the guy on this month's Ensign a dead ringer for Kevin Wright or what? Anyone? Anyone?

Next thing I've been into... the closets. Organizing and chucking. Or, in order, chucking then organizing. I don't have all the matching containers and paper lined walls, but the dust bunnies and mismatched sheets have been banished and turns out, we have plenty of Irish Spring soap. I can take that off my list for 15 years.

Oh yeah. Big boys wear Matchbox cars on their bums. They ain't tighty. They ain't whitey. But they're here to stay. Diapers are soooo 8 days ago. As soon as I finished this picture, he came running over and said "Ok, now I want to see my butt!" And who wouldn't. It's under there somewhere, swimming in a sea of yellow Lambourghini.

(Insert cute picture of scrawny little Tommy in his undies. Darron wisely suggested I take it down.)

Now here's what I haven't been doing much of:

Yeah. I think in the last two weeks, aside from my yoga program, I've watched no tv. The only show I actually still record is "House Hunters International" and I like to save it up for a month and watch a mini-marathon. More satisfying that way. I prefer my fantasies to last a little longer than 23 minutes.

When one organizes one's food storage room and discovers one has the better part of a case of chili that will expire in 4 weeks, and then also a half case of refried beans, one eliminates one's interaction with genteel folk and gets down to the business of eating beans.

Oh and I've taken to parking in the driveway. I don't know. Just cause.

What with all the walking around to the front door, I find I just don't have as much time for housework. Two pots: one for chili, one for oatmeal. I did give them the option. Oh, we're regular. Ve-ry regular.

I'd like to entitle this piece "Mom On Hiatus" and I dedicate it to my unwashed, unkempt, Popsicle-sweetened children. Happy Summer Everyone!

Happy Anniversary

2010-05-30T14:32:00.001-06:00

I have heard that for a significant portion of you, your favorite posts are the ones featuring my handsome and persnickety love interest, Darron. If it seems they have been scarce of late, it's because they have. After a minor posting fiasco involving some unedited emotional vomit, I gave myself a stern talking-to about what is mine to share and what is mine to keep to myself. And it has made me a bit gun shy to write about Darron. It shouldn't, but it has. I would rather err on the side of caution than say something that would make people unfairly make assumptions about him. It hasn't been much fun though, because Darron is quite interesting. I mean, I think he is.

But. It's our anniversary. Our 13th wedding anniversary. And my sappy heart feels like it's time for a little tribute to the man who won it all those years ago...

A long time ago, before wrinkles, varicose veins, and mummy tummy on her part, and gray hair, IBS, and professional styling on his, a boy married a girl and had a big huge cake. (10 points if you can identify the "extras")

How did the two of you come together? We met at BYU-- where the name of the game is find an eligible young man to marry pronto before you go back home where the only Mormon boys are the ones you knew when they were 14 and you can never ever forget that-- and our stars collided. Several times, actually, because one star didn't make up its mind as quickly as the other and because they kept getting in fights and making big scenes and all sorts of uncomfortable and adolescent drama.

What attracted you to one another? For him, it was my physical appearance. Yep. Very deep, my man. For me, it was that he was the first person to intrigue me enough to continue to accept his pursuit. I was (am) intensely shy and he didn't let that get in the way. He was polite, treated me with respect, talked when I couldn't, and carefully courted me until I had fallen in love with him without realizing it was happening.

Were you soul mates? Ha! Don't make me laugh. My baby is sleeping in the next room. Not even anything remotely resembling that. Ha! We were attracted to each other, in lust *AHEM* love, and wanted to get married. Is he my soul's mate now? A thousand times yes.

What was your marriage like in the beginning? If I say dreadful, that does not count as emotional vomit. It absolutely was and there is no way to make it sound better. Darron actually makes it sound worse. We had a horrid first year followed by an only marginally less horrid second year. We fought about everything and if my calculations are correct were only actually speaking to each other for only 14 of the 730 days in question. Main sources of conflict: family, sex, money, employment, religion, schooling, friends, movies, what constitutes a "breakfast food", the color of my toenail polish. I am not making this up.

So, um, are things better now? Yes, thank you. When "they" say marriage is work, "they" are making it sound a little too easy and way too fun. We worked and strained and sweated and toiled those first few years to move through our immaturity and selfishness and emerge problem-free and blissfully happy. Oh now, that's just my little joke. We still have problems. But they are exponentially fewer and father between. He still drives my nuts and I still make him furious, but you know, it just ain't the end of the world anymore. And on occasion, we'll give each other the silent treatment, just for old times' sake and to keep the home fires burnin.

What would be your advice for other married couples? How did you know I love to give advice? It's my favorite, right after being right and bossing people. My message to the world is this: if you have problems in your marriage, you are not alone. It took me awhile to realize this. I think many people wonder if they are the only one who struggles in their marriage. Now I know there are plenty of people who have "easier" marriages than we have had, are more "compatible" with their spouse, have had fewer fights and frustrations, and that's fine. Probably even great. Way to go, you guys. But that's not us, and comparing one's marriage to someone else's is fruitless and even detrimental. I am truly proud of what God has helped us build over the course of 13 years. We have come far. You just have no idea. It is hands down the biggest accomplishment of my life.

Happy Anniversary to my absolute favorite person in the whole wide world. You give me a reason to get up in the morning and brush my teeth and put on pants. Cause you have to know I don't necessarily do that when you are out of town. I love that I can talk to you and think I know exactly what you are going to say and then you bust out with this amazing bit of wisdom and I'm left speechless, staring at you like some adoring groupie. I love being your adoring groupie. I love that you continue to exceed my expectations, as a husband, a father, and a human being. I love that you are loving, funny, sensitive, solicitous, and courageous and that for some reason you like to hang out with me the best. I love that you teach our children to treat me with respect, through your example and your standing up for me when they don't. I love that it is so easy to turn you on. I love that we laugh at the same parts on "Seinfeld". I love that no matter what you will always be on my side, because with you there, I feel like I can do scary things, like ride roller coasters or raise children. I love that you love God and that you take the responsibilities of the priesthood so seriously. I love that you are completely masculine. I love being with you and knowing we will continue to get better together. That thought alone gives me more joy than anything else. I love that 14 years ago, you thought I was cute enough to ask out.

And am thankful I had the sense to say yes.

"That" Mom

2010-04-11T15:59:00.000-06:00

Every now and then I get the urge to completely overhaul my diet. I'm not the healthiest eater-- not the worst, but not the healthiest. I likes me butter. The biggest incident was when my sister introduced me to the tv show "You Are What You Eat" on BBCAmerica. Not sure if it's still on, that was several years ago, but if you can find it?....WATCH IT!!! You will not be sorry. Not only is it informative, eye-opening, inspiring, and scary, it is entertainment at its best. Oh my gosh is it ever. I guess in the UK it's ok if you blatantly insult some one's lifestyle, intelligence, personal appearance, smell, and poop, which may make you think twice about visiting, but really is refreshing when you watch it safely from your own home one ocean and two-thirds of a continent away. And the participants are not afraid to grab their fat and shake it for the before shots. (That's for you, Susie. Actually it's all for you. It's like the producers had a wormhole to your mind. But I digress...)

So periodically something like this show comes along and makes me realize how lousy I eat and how much I could help my family by cleaning up our diet. My husband wouldn't be too cool with it, but I am the only cook in the house, so... :) More vegetables, whole grains, etc. etc. I don't have to tell you. But lately my musings have taken me further. Ava has mild allergies, which we recently discovered are affecting her more than we thought. So I'm reading all this stuff about what causes allergies, why it is more of an epidemic than a fact of natural life, alternative treatments (alternative to taking a pill every 12 hours for the rest of her life), you know, real subversive annoying stuff like that. Oh and by "reading" I mean "googling" of course. Which academic research has led me to questions many things and come to the realization that if I were an energetic, intense, driven person I would completely and thoroughly overhaul our diet. Move away from wheat, positively eschew anything processed or refined, grow my own darned vegetables, and spend my entire waking life preparing food for my miserable and mutinous family. Because I want to be that mom. The one that tells her son's kindergarten teacher that he can not have any birthday/holiday class treats EVER because "we're gluten-free" as the son sits crying at his desk while the rest of the class bounces off the walls in mass cupcake ecstasy. Maybe just a tiny step back from that mom. Cause I'm pretty scared of her and I'd like to have a head start if needed.

Do you ever feel that way? As more and more research reveals that 80%-ish of our bodily woes are liked caused or worsened by poor diet and ingestion of harmful things? Obesity, cancer, depression, hormonal imbalance, depression, allergies, chronic fatigue, acne, stinky poo, hair loss, I mean, it's more than a little freaky, yeah? And, yes, I made up that statistic, but it just feels right. A massive lifestyle overhaul makes sense, it does completely and utterly and my heart buys into it, but my butt just doesn't. My lazy butt. I don't know if you guys have met. Generally this is how it goes.

Heather gets big brainstorm idea.

**I Know!!!** Let's sew all my family's clothes for the year from scraps of fabric I have laying around in my craft cabinet! And purses, too! I'll make purses!

(or)

**Hey!** How 'bout I keep a spreadsheet of all of the food I buy and then use and update it every time I cook or shop so I can keep track of what comes in and out and know how much of what we go through! You know, to simplify things around here!

(or, here--here is a good one)

**I've got it!** I'll empty out ALL the closets and cabinets at the same time! Then I can organize all our stuff according to use frequency and proximity. I'll divide the stuff into categories, subcategories, then create a floor plan to scale of each room and it's potential storage capabilities. Each item will be entered onto a master li--"

But at that moment, in ambles my big old lazy butt.

"Hey, I'm gonna go lookit facebook, 'kay? Then prolly a nap."

My grand schemes are doused and deflated like that. All my fire and ambition...gone. Kaput. I am all talk and noooo action. So although I feel like a complete diet transformation is a really really great idea (really!), I know deep down I will never go through with it. I'll buy a few extra fruits and vegetables and take it easy on the Cheez-its this week to keep the guilt at bay and in a few more weeks I'll completely forget what it was I was so worked up about. And go back to what I usually do...naps, facebook, and poor nutritional choices.

What do you do to find motivation in the face of a huge insurmountable undertaking that will suck the joy out of living, create four times the work and cost five times the money, and cause your children to openly despise you and secretly buy white bread and marshmallows to eat under their beds at night? Anyone???

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

2010-03-16T10:10:00.002-06:00

In the wee small hours of the morning
When all the world is fast asleep...
That's when I miss you most of all.

It's after midnight when I come in to check on you before going to bed. The house is completely still. You are long asleep. Your blankets are still in place where I tucked them hours earlier, covering your shoulders. Your face is relaxed and I am amazed at how small you look. I can see the baby face that is usually hidden these days by your big kid expressions. Your cheeks look fuller than during the day, your lashes long and dark against them. I feel a sudden urge to place my cheek on yours, as I did when you were a newborn--it was so soft, unlike anything I could think to compare it to. I kneel on my knees, lean in, and lay my cheek against yours. Oh! Still so soft! I can smell your baby scent again: your skin, your hair, your breath. It is masked these days, it seems, by kid sweat, dirty clothes, hair, and teeth. I forget, sometimes, that it's still there, underneath all that. You are still just a baby, although you seem so big. Nearly three years old. My hand reached up to stroke your silky baby curls. My breathing slows and quiets so that I can take yours in. I feel wetness on your cheek and realize I am crying.

I cried so many times during our first nights together, as I cradled you in my arms those years ago: from pain, from overwhelm, from frustration, from all the reasons that seem to crowd into an exhausted mind with inadequate sleep. Even after three other children, the wave of hormones and consuming fatigue still came as a shock. You cried with me, maybe from fears and confusion of your own, to relieve your own stresses of the day, of being in a new environment, of having to learn new things, of being poked and prodded and tickled and kissed and wiped and washed. As I held you, the motion of the rocking chair soothed us both, sending you back to sleep, so I could then go back to sleep. Nights eventually settled out--my hormones, your appetite--and we fell into our routine. Once a night, you would wake and call out for me and I would come to you.

With your older brother and sisters, I regretfully admit that I did not look forward to these midnight rendezvous. I just wanted to get back to sleep as quickly as possible. And did. My goal was for eight uninterrupted hours of sleep and I actively worked towards that with each one. Of course, I enjoyed the bonding and intimacy that such quiet shared moments afforded, but in the back of my mind I anticipated the future, when our nights would be quiet and still again. With everyone in his own bed, fast asleep. Although on occasion God would see fit to open my eyes to the miracle we were sharing as mother and child, a determined mind is hard to reach, and I fear I made myself unreachable much of the time.

But with you... You know at the time, I didn't know you would be my last. Didn't even suspect it. During pregnancy and your first couple of years, I just assumed there would be more babies to come. I had none of the "last child" anxiety of some moms who know they are holding their last infant, trying to carefully savor and remember each "last" experience with them. No, that was not part of my plan. I fully expected to try for more in a year or two in our usual pattern. But as I held you and nursed you and rocked you, something told me to hold on a little tighter and a little longer, to commit to memory the scent and the feel and the spirit of this angel in my arms, and as I listened and did so, my vision was expanded and I could see us as we really were. Mother and child! Few times in my life have I felt so powerfully the manifestation of God's love for His children. Of His love for you, one of His most precious and perfect creations. Of His love for me, entrusting me with you! Of His love for both of us in joining us together in this divine eternal relationship. Of the love He gave me for this tiny little person, love so intense it could not be physically contained and leaked out my eyes. I truly felt that those nights together, we stood, or rocked, on sacred ground. Many nights we just sat-- alone together while the world slept-- your feeding long finished, and I marveled in the moment, feeling so unworthy, yet so capable of being your mother and fulfilling the deepest yearnings of my soul.

How many mothers have felt this indescribable connection to their child? Many? Most? I would guess all have that would let themselves experience it. How could a feeling be so universal, yet so intimately ours?

Tonight I lay as close to you as I can, holding on so tightly to these memories that I hardly dare breathe for fear of disturbing them. My heart is so full, yet physically aching for the chance to be there again, in the quiet of your old nursery. What I would not give for one more sleepless night with you, for just one more precious hour to return to our rocking chair with you curled into my chest and my arms wrapped around your tiny body breathing in your scent and your perfection. I know this can't happen, that time must move forward and on toward other experiences. But as the years continue to distance me from the font of memories, I ask God to allow me to always keep this one. In the most protected and hallowed recesses of my heart, may He find a place for it and protect it there, that I may never forget what it felt like to hold you, my angel baby, close to my heart in the wee small hours of the morning.

A Bit and a Bob

2010-02-11T12:29:00.003-07:00

A couple of things. First, the shallow. I'm old. Middle-aged, actually. Those older than me will kick and protest (thank you), because they know what that makes them. Mm-hm. Those younger than me will just roll their eyes and say...uh, yeah.

You know what I realized my face looks like these days? Stage makeup for the middle-aged. You know, all the cliches, the undereye circles, the frown line between the eyebrows, the deepened laugh lines, and the narrowed nose and deflated cheeks whose facial fat has sought a more southerly clime. So I google-imaged it, just for fun.

Here is the frumpy, frousy, probably Irish housekeeper, whom they keep around mainly for comic relief.

Here is the middle-aged spinster before spontaneously deciding to go to Italy on holiday.

Here is the mother of the ingenue. Which I technically could be. For I was but an ingenue myself when I met her dashing father.

In church several weeks ago, the statistic was given that of our entire congregation, only 10% was over age 35. Now, I am not yet in that decrepit minority, but I'm pushing it. My husband is in it, and my continued association with him I feel is having deleterious effects on my face. Especially in the mornings. And the evenings. Whenever he's around. 10%? I need a Tums.

Ok, the next thing. This is way more fun and not offensive to the elderly. Big things are happening in my living room. This beauty

arrived on Monday, along with THIS....

Ooh, it makes me excited to get up in the morning. Not that my four demanding starving children aren't enough to excite me, it just makes me even MORE excited to get out there and POUR SOME MILK!!! WOOO!!

I have attempted my own version of this window treatment and as soon as I can figure out how to hang it, you will get pictures of the whole thing.

That, friends, is what's known as a teaser. Or in other words, it's not done yet.

Sincerely,

the

It's like looking in a mirror.

Heather Doesn't Live Here Anymore

2010-01-22T12:48:00.004-07:00

If there's one thing I hate to be, it's presumptuous. So what exactly was I thinking when I gave myself the blogger/google moniker of "HeatherIsHere"? This: I was trying to be clever. Never a good start to anything I say or do. My blog title is "Here We All Are" so Heather is Here... get it? I know you do, it's not subtle.

Well, that name just sticks in my craw. Every time I post a comment, I cringe to see it black and white. A small swell of embarrassment washes over me and I think I even blush a little. Heather is here! Here I am everyone!!! Aren'tcha glad to see me? I'm here, I'm here, now the fun can start! I'm going to say something! And hold on, cause whatever I say is going to be momentous and stupendous because I am here! It is quite mortifying.

So to ask the million dollar question...Why not change it? Well, here's the deal firstly. That's who I'm known as. (That's as whom I'm known?) When friends see that name in their blog comments, they know it was me. You know, when actresses get married, they keep their screen name and only privately change their name, because we would get all confused and stop going to see their movies. Who the heck is Julia Moder?

I had considered originally being just "Heather". I like my name (thank you Mom) although it is wildly popular among the born between 1974-1979 set. Which means every single person not named Heather has a sister named it. Which makes for a lot of "Heather" commenters out there. I didn't want people to have to decipher which "Heather" it was that was leaving all these stupendous and momentous comments on their blogs. So I fancied it up and now I'm here. Blushing and cringing and presuming. SHE'S HERE!!! START THE PAR-TAY!!!!!

Then like an uninsured driver it hit me. With just a minor change, I could go from being brash and self-absorbed to being withdrawn and reticent. Which I love. Folks, here it is, here I am, here we go...

HeatherWasHere

She was?

No one noticed when I walked in. No one noticed when I slipped out. No hi's no good-bye's. So much more my style.

Heaven

2010-01-04T22:43:00.002-07:00

7 new books waiting be to read.

Mmmmmm..............

Our Christmas Letter

2009-12-23T11:47:00.000-07:00

If you are like my husband, you think Christmas letters are the ultimate in narcissism. If you are like me, you truly enjoy hearing a little harmless bragging of friends. So for the first group, do what you normally do, ignore the post, just skim down to see the pictures, and have yourself a merry little Christmas!!! The second group, read on....

We have had a wonderful, stable year. No houses being built, sold, bought, or given up. Only one auto purchase. No businesses being begun or left or teetering on the brink. We have learned many a lesson from recent years and are extremely grateful for what we have. Here is where we've been the past year:

Hinckley was baptized in April. His milestones are always a little difficult for his old mom, but full of joy still. He is a normal 8 year old boy, who tries as best as he can. I love that about him. He struggles and he learns and grows in capacity. Of all my children, he challenges me most in my parenting skills and I appreciate that. Hinckley loves to make good choices, be an example, and have responsibility, which makes him so perfectly placed as our oldest child. He loves to laugh more than anything and we love to hear him. He is currently involved in wrestling, where he works hard and is learning confidence as he increases in skill. He likes school--mostly the fun stuff, you know, lunch and recess and friends, which makes us happy that he is so well-adjusted.

Halle is going for the Miss Perfect crown. I had to give it up, see, when I married and became Mrs. Perfect. She is happy, polite, and a good student. First grade has been great because she gets to be at school all day long with friends and adoring teachers who hand out candy. Candy and snuggles are her fuel, her air, her reason for being. If you see Halle, give her a hug, you will make her day and be her new favorite. Candy works too, but mom prefers the hug route. Halle is also a regular girl, prone to fits of whining and overwhelming emotion, but I don't know what that's about, never having gone through it myself. She recently began gymnastics, and if there were a stronger word than adores, I would use it here: She ADORES it.

Ava. Oh my. This little girl of mine. Where did she come from? She's vivacious, spunky, a bit deficient in the attention department, squirmy, and completely loveable. I guess certain genes skip generations. She is a mystery to me and definitely adds a special dynamic to our family. Everyone is her friend which has put me in some uncomfortable situations, but I need to be uncomfortable sometimes, right? Ava is in preschool, and although she loves it, likes just as well to stay at home and play with Tommy, her little compadre. She doesn't like the hugs so much although her little body was just made to hug, but she will let you scratch her arms as long as you don't try to snuggle too much while doing it. Not that I do that.

My baby Tommy keeps growing and I am just not cool with that. Seriously, what do I do? He thinks he's a big boy and resists my efforts to keep him curled up in my lap while singing lullabies in the rocking chair all day long. I'm at a loss. Two years old is not old enough to abandon infancy in my opinion. Tommy is best buddies with Ava and sounds like her little clone. He walks around singing "Jacob! Jacob and sons! Aa-aa-aa-aaaah!" from "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat", which is their song du jour (du month). He imitates her tantrums, her drama, her love of showtunes, her everything. When Ava is at school, and the second fiddle gets some attention, he likes going to Target and Costco (who doesn't?) where I bribe him with hot dogs to love me. I mean, what I meant to say is, I get us hot dogs because we are hungry and it is lunch time. He absolutely loves going to nursery at church, loves to take naps, and loves to get his hair cut.

Darron has has a good year. His business has settled down and he has recently begun to have some more flexibility again in spending family time with us. He has a stellar staff that he can trust to manage things well if he is away, for which I am most grateful. He has had two callings in church that have helped him grow and expand as a person, widened his perspective, and deepened his love for and testimony of our Savior, Jesus Christ. He has become more conscientious as a father and husband and we all love him so much for it. One of his best qualities is his desire to be better. He is an inspiration to me. His current hobbies include wrestling (now that Hinckley is involved), the smoking of meats, eating sushi with me, and flag football.

I, too, have had a wonderful year. I never thought I could be so busy, and I may not be handling it perfectly, but I am handling it. Just don't expect me to remember anything you tell me. Or to be somewhere. Or do something. I feel like I have grown as a parent and a wife and a person. My church calling, too, has forced me to grow and be way out of my comfort zone, but I am grateful for the push. My blessings are great, are real, and are humbling. I have felt the love and presence of my Heavenly Father this year and feel like we have become closer. I am grateful for the stability our family has experienced and the wisdom we have gained. I don't know what the Lord has in store for our family next year, but I feel better equipped to deal with it, blessing or trial, than I was last year.

Our love and best wishes to all of you, our loved ones, this Christmas Season. I hope you feel the love of our Savior in your lives, that you allow Him to enter your heart and fill you with joy. We love and appreciate all of you in our lives, past or present, for what you have added to them. May you have a wonderful new year filled with blessings and peace. We love you!

Darron (not pictured), Heather (camera shy), Hinckley, Halle, Ava, and Thomas

In Which I Did Not Learn My Lesson

2009-12-15T13:09:00.007-07:00

Alright alright, I fixed it! It still needs a little tweaking (around the ears and up top) and I am just resigned to the fact that it ages me a few years. So now I'm 36. Could be worse. Of course I haven't had to face it first thing in the morning yet either....hmm...

Here is where I got my inspiration:

The lovely Kris Kardashian-Jenner. This could be me in a few months. I love that it is a versatile look. I get bored wearing my hair the same way for a long time. If you didn't know that already. Plus her eye makeup is so nice.

Mrs. Beckham's is shorter and absolutely adorable, but for some reason I am never comfortable with short short bangs. I have issues with my forehead. Some have problems with their mothers, mine are with my forehead. It's complicated. But isn't she darling?

See the thing is, I just didn't go all the way. I couldn't commit to shaving my temples. And I think therein lay the problem.

What Would Anne Do? or in other words, I Have An Announcement to Make

2009-12-14T10:17:00.013-07:00

I'll give you a hint. This is what it looks like in the morning.

And frankly, there's not much improvement during the day.

(Clearly taken before I had a chance to conceal and pluck.)

I did it finally. I gave myself a really really bad haircut 4 weeks ago. I'm not saying the others were perfect, or even great, but they were liveable. This one is just dreadful. All out dreadful. It looks like a wig, a bad sixties wig. Remember Hayley Mills in "The Parent Trap"?

The Susan look. Picture it in brown and you have me. I'm not posting a photo of it done and styled because I don't want to hear any false compliments. You all are too nice. My friends would tell me I looked great if I went back to my Mowgli bowl cut 2nd grade roots. Which is not completely unlike my current look, come to think of it.

And also I am doing penance. Because one of the first thoughts that came through my head after the foul deed was done was "What would Anne Shirley do?" And that is to look myself in the mirror everytime I come into the bathroom to remind myself how ugly I am. Of course, I am talking about the Anne Shirley of the book, who gets a scarecrow cut after she dyes her hair green, not the Anne Shirley of the movie, who gets a cute little bob. I am six months and a good licensed cosmetologist away from a cute little bob.

But such is life. At age 20, this would have devastated me. So I have to keep my perspective. I have a lot less pride at 33. I mean, I have my pride, but it doesn't keep me in the house under my covers like maybe it should. So in another month or so, I will allow myself to be seen and photographed, and who knows... maybe even cut and styled by a professional.

Other happenings, because life has unnaccountably gone on since the Great Hair Debaucle of 2009:

We had a fun trip to the mall to see Santa. Trademarked Santa. You know, the one who doesn't allow you to take pictures of him with your own camera because He wants you to buy a package for $29.95 that includes 2 8x10s, 4 5x7s, 16 3x5s, and 132 wallets? Yeah, that one. So here are the kids BEFORE we got to the jolly old licensed elf...

Tommy asked for a blue truck. Ava, for makeup people (go ahead and ask. The answer won't make any sense either). Halle, for a Bratz doll. (me, after: I thought you wanted one of those Liv dolls, not a Bratz. her: I do, but I didn't think he would know what it was. Ahh, the faith of children). Hinckley (and I quote), a Thames and Kosmos Dangerous Book for Boys Classic Chemistry set. With carbine-action two-hundred shot range.

Will Santa deliver? That remains to be seen. They certainly look like they would be on the nice list. A lesser mother might be tempted to point out that looks can be oh so deceiving. But I am not a lesser mother. I rock, folks. You would too if you looked like me.

Can ya dig it, babay?

A Resolution and Some Fun

2009-11-03T16:30:00.001-07:00

If you know me very well, you may know my feelings about living in Utah. I like it. Really. I know that sounded like a setup for a wisecrack, but I really have grown to love living here. I moved out here from sunny (foggy, muggy) central California after high school to attend BYU, got married along the way (somewhere between Baker and Barstow) and have been here ever since. Fifteen years ago, my friends.

Before I moved here I was of course, like any self-respecting "non-Utah Mormon" completely and superciliously prejudiced towards Utahns. Believing and passing along Mormon lore and gossip like it was the latest Ensign edition. Next to canon. And being from California certainly didn't help things. Californians, along with New Englanders, are born with a sense of superiority, which just further intensifies the longer you live there. Not that there's anything wrong with that. If there is anyone I haven't so far insulted, hang on, I'm getting there.

Over the past 15 years, I have come to terms with my Utah issues and love being here. I think there are benefits and challenges to living anywhere and we just try to take advantage of the benefits. Our kids' school alone is one reason we would never want to leave. There is nothing to compare to it anywhere in the world and we are so grateful we get to experience it. But that's fuel for another post. There is one thing about Utah that really irritates me. Maybe not irritates as much as makes me a little sad. I was talking to a friend the other day about how she likes going out of state when she's pregnant because they--strangers-- make such a big fuss over her. People offer completely unneeded assistance, hold doors, make special accomodations, etc. How absolutely lovely. Now you all know how I feel about pregnancy. I LOVE it. On me and on others. And here in Utah, you are 92 % of the time within 10 yards of at least 34 pregnant women. And there is a 85 % chance that you yourself are also in the baby way. Which tends to dilute its uniqueness. As well as the assistance and recognition you receive from others. Not necessarily because you need it, but because you deserve respect for carrying out such a special task that means everything to our human race. AND because you are beautiful. Beautiful people should always get special treatment. I think it was Darwin who said that.

And it isn't just the pregnancy thing. I love visiting my parents in California because without a doubt, as soon as I cross the border out of Utah, people will start commenting on me and my family. "Oh, they are so beautiful, are they all yours?" (no one asks that in Utah, see) And when I answer yes.... "FOUR children! How amazing/brilliant/lucky/young you are! And you look so great! How do you manage that, you must be so busy." And I bashfully admit that I don't work, but that I am a full-time mom and I get back... "Good for you. That is the best thing you can be doing!" I mean for real! Strangers are really nice to moms and pregnant women outside of Utah. Supportive, helpful, complimentary, supernice. And my question is, why are we not the same way here? The answer is of course so obvious, because we are just too darn busy with our own mess of kids or grandkids to notice someone else's. But this is a sad sad excuse.

So here is my latest resolution. I am going to take notice of other people with children. I am going to say nice things and be helpful and make them feel great because they deserve to feel like they are doing something really amazing and important, even if most people around them are doing the exact same thing.

Now I know I have just added potential further ammunition to the anti-Utah arsenals some of you may be stockpiling. So be it. We totally deserve it on this one. Just be gentle, is all I ask.

And just for fun, here is my top 5 list of Utah Tall Tales - things that you persist in believing about us:

1. Utahns are 2 years behind in fashion and 9 in hairstyles. I would deny this if I could, but just for the record, whenever I go anywhere out of state, I get complimented on my Utah hair. It seems women of all geographies hunger for a little more volume. Bouffants Without Borders. I think it could do very well. I don't think it is as much as being behind, as willfully setting our foot down. We've found what works for us and we are sticking with it. Would that you could be so bold.

2. We are the land of multi-level marketing. There will be no denial, only a massive effort to pull you down with us. We may start the ideas, but you all go to the parties, too. I know this to be true. My mom's mailbox is always overflowing with invites.

3. We have obnoxious accents. So do you. See, it all depends on your point of view. Oh and by the by, I spent the first eight years of my life here listening for people to call it "American Fawrk" and was bitterly disappointed. Although I did once ask a person who grew up in Lehi which southern state she was from.

4. If you move to Utah, you have 2 years to get a) a full-size SUV and b) a boob job. Uh...well...I...mm...ah... I'm pretty sure this is completely true.

5. Utah Mormons are totally different from non-Utah Mormons. And so deserve your scorn. In my humble experience, the makeup in my wards are generally half and half. Half Utah native/ half not. And adherence to the above "Tall Tales" is no indicator of someone's pedigree. So there.

Halloween Fun

2009-11-02T21:19:00.008-07:00

Gotta get these up quick for my mom, before Halloween is too far past.

Here's Darth! Could be any little boy behind the storebought (Ebay bought) mask

But the eyes give it away.

Halle is thrilled to be wearing makeup, but manages to remain in character.

Little Pocahontas

Here it is... the big homemade skefuffle. She is a white HORSE, not a pony, for those who may have asked

And very happy to be

Practicing for senior portraits...

I thought Tommy would be nuts about his costume. He loves trains, loves to sing about the "engine driver pulling the lttle throttle", but he kept trying to trade this cap out for his BYU baseball hat. You can imagine how Darron felt about that. So it took awhile to get a smile.

But I finally fell upon the age old ruse "What are you going to get tonight?"

"Candyyyyyy!"

"Are you going to eat lots of candy?"

"YES!!!!!"

Getting set

Let's go!

Much love from us to you!

Make It Work, People

2009-10-30T20:44:00.001-06:00

I do it every year. No, that's not right, I do it every other year, because even I am not that stupid that often. Intermittent stupidity, that's what I have.

I don't know if it's in my genetic makeup. I'd like to blame it on genes, but I may have used up that excuse on too many other things, like my continual desire to change my haircolor or my inexplicable aversion to team sports. This one may just be me.

Here's the underlying problem. I am 100 percent, utterly confident in my ability to do anything. Anything, you name it. Figure out instructions, power tools, math problems. Fix a toilet, a roof, grammatical errors. Build a shed. Sail a boat. Cut hair. Assemble a swingset. Grow a garden. As long as it does not involve making phone calls, I can do it. At least, that's what my inner voice tells me. And that inner voice calls to me each year come September..... Heather (she calls in her siren voice).....you should sew your children's Halloween costumes....that's right, sew them...it's not that hard, you can do it...imagine how cool they will be....those storebought ones are so ugly and cheap....you'll have so much fun and the kids will really appreciate it....they'll think you're the best mom ever...the best mom ever...the best mom ever...

And every other year I am smart enough to smack myself in the head so that my inner voice will shut up.

But then another year goes by and the frustration and overwhelm and lost hours of sleep fade into the lore of ancient fuzzy memories that seem so sweet in retrospect and then Boom! I'm pregnant again. Whoops! Same nostalgia, different outcome. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, Boom! I'm crouched over my sewing machine with my hands gnarled and stiffened from gripping the seam ripper, my eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed and staring in hopeless frustration at piles and piles of little used up bits of fabric and thread and trim as the clock ticking on the wall grows louder and louder and my temper grows shorter and shorter and my children get hungrier and hungrier and I swear to myself one more time that I will never. Again.

See the problem is, although I have complete confidence in my abilities, I don't actually (air quotes) "know how" to sew. Or any of those things listed up there, actually. My mom tried to do her duty in passing on her sewing knowledge. I actually "made" two "dresses" during my preteen years. A little blue and white sailor number, the inspiration for which has completely abandoned me. Pollyanna, perhaps? An old Gene Kelly movie? I don't recall sailor dresses being popular in the late eighties, but who knows. The other was a floral cotton sleeveless drop-waist tea-length dress with (wait for it) doilies sewn to the pockets. Mom, remember that one? We ate lunch at that Nut House place in Oakhurst (possibly...is that a town?) that was an old house/restaurant/shop that was all shabby before it was chic and they had this dress on display and I loved it and you thought that it was your big opportunity. To teach me something of value. And then I kicked and screamed and pouted and frumped and tried with all my adolescent might to make you rue the day you tried to teach me to sew. Did it work? Did you rue that day, Mom? I think there was a steady stream of rue flowing through our house for a good number of years. Ah, memories.

So I can sew a straight (ish) line. Wind a bobbin. Thread a needle. Whatever. But just where did I get the idea that I could go all Project Runway and whip up the elaborate costumes envisioned in my head? No pattern (who needs it?!) no skills (how hard could it be? I went to college, I can figure it out) nothin' but the sense I was born with to see me through. And lots and lots of candy. Although I've sworn off, or at least down, for the time being, so that's a real handicap. And sad.

It always starts out so good. A month before Halloween. I'm drawing patterns and doing muslin mock-ups and basting and draping and it's all so Fashion Institute of Technology I could just wrap myself in my smug little fantasy and quit my day job. Then I hit trouble. Followed shortly by The Wall. A small problem, involving seam removal, new cutouts, and two broken needles, snowballs rapidly into a meltdown of my entire concept and a shaking of my self-confidence and a flood of memories of "the last time". It is not pretty, dear readers, not pretty at all. Remember the ghost outfit that made my sweet 5 year old look like a klan member? The princess dress that required my 3 year old to lose 2 pounds before I could do up the back? The cowboy chaps that had to be stapled on to keep from falling off? What am I doing? What was I thinking? (Insert smallish mental breakdown)

So we close the curtain on our little vignette and allow our heroine to regain her inner strength and resolve. But it just doesn't happen. She postpones. And procrastinates. And mulls. Rues even. But doesn't sew much. There's a whole month until Halloween, what's the rush? Well here leads to there and all of a sudden it is two days until Halloween and she realizes that her daughter's preschool program is slated for the day before Halloween, which actually gives her only one day and she has to start sewing at this very second or her innocent and unsuspecting daughter will be going as her big brother. If big brother has any clean shirts, that is.

A big frenzy ensues, as you may imagine, a big messy frenzy, with fur and feathers and yarn and glue and spangles flying. And from it emerges a costume. A so-so, serviceable costume that if I'm lucky, looks ok from 10 feet back, and if I'm real lucky, stays on while they stand still for pictures, and if I'm really really lucky.... actually, I've never experienced really really, so I can't imagine what it might entail. Flying or invisibility, maybe? Gee! But I've also never sent them down the catwalk--I mean out the door-- naked, or with last year's costume on, although I have come very very close. And they always seem to be happy. But they're kids and its Halloween, so I can't take the credit there. Somehow there always seems to be a Halloween miracle, things get wearable in the nick of time, and I think it is that lack of showtime disaster that keeps me thinking I can do it again. What else could it be? Is that what it will take to teach me a lesson I will never forget?

You know what it is? I think you might. And I hesitate to say it because my inner voice will have a total field day with it. Unless it came from her...? But here goes: I like it. I do. I like it. I like the creation and the drama and the setbacks and the problem solving and the hundred little triumphs and the thrill of seeing something that I made slide off the shoulder and up the rear of the little girl walking in front of me. That's hard to beat, right? And then that little girl turns around and says "I look so beautiful Mom, don't I!" and I feel like the best mom ever.

Just like she said I would. I hate it when my inner voice is right.

Here It Is

2009-10-06T23:39:00.002-06:00

The answer to your most burning question "Heather, does your husband really believe you will one day kill him?" Yes. I was not kidding when I first shared this disturbing news, several months ago. And now I lay bare my soul:

Last night my dear husband and I were involved in our usual nightly activity. Watching House in our bedroom. In this particular episode, an apparently devoted and happy wife turns out to have been slowly poisoning her husband, in order to kill him. This turned my mind to a certain incident of several months ago...

It all began one night when we were both asleep in bed. I woke up thinking I heard someone throwing up. The air vent in our bedroom leads directly to the girls' room below and we can hear quite clearly everything that goes on in there (making it so much easier to keep up the "Mom knows everything" racket). Not my favorite 2 am sound, I admit, but best to catch it in the early stages. Or I don't know, maybe I was just imagining things...I'll ask Darron if he heard it.

Me: (whispered and a little urgent) Darron! Wake up!
Him: (startled and panicked and jumping away from me just a bit.) What?
Me: (wondering if his instincts have already told him something is wrong. What a sensitive dad.) Did you hear anything? That sounded like barfing? I thought I heard someone throwing up.
Him: (confusedly and breathing a little quickly for 2 am) No, I didn't. But I'll go check. (Runs from the room.)
Me: (Wait a minute, Darron doesn't run. Thinking...) Hmm. Hope things are okay down there. *yawn* Gosh. He's sure taking a long time. (Lays back down on pillow) If there was throwup, he'd come up and get me. *yawn* I'll just rest my eyes until he gets back. I'll need my strength if I'm going to be up all night with barfy kids. Hmmmmm... (falls asleep)

What I didn't know was his version of the terrifying events:

Him: (woken from a sound sleep by the woman your instincts tell you is about to kill you, as you have secretly known for a long long time. Panicked and awaiting imminent death, but perhaps only after a lecture...? "For 12 long years I've had to live with your...." something along those lines) What?
Me: (urgent and confusingly off topic) Did you hear anything? That sounded like barfing? I thought I heard someone throwing up.
Him: (realizing he is not about to be destroyed and chopped up into small soup-size pieces with that big knife his wife received for Christmas from her mother. Not tonight.) No, I didn't, but I'll go check. (Exits speedily but clumsily, trying to calm his anxious breathing, and really to get some space between him and his loving devoted wife. Thinking...) So not tonight, I guess. That's good. There's that BYU game I'm going to on Saturday, would have sucked to miss that. Hmm. My reflexes aren't what they should be, that's surprising, I'll need to work on that. If she wakes me up first, it could really make the difference.

Yeah, so a few days later, we were just sitting there doing--I don't know--something, when he pipes up with this revelation:

Him: You remember the other night when you woke me up to tell me you thought the kids were barfing? (deadpan) I thought you were waking me up to kill me.
Me: (even more deadpan) Why would I wake you up first?
Him: Yeah, see, that's what I was thinking, too! Doesn't make sense, does it?
Me: Well, I certainly don't think so. But I tend to question the entire murderyouinyourbedoranyotherlocation scenario as a whole, so I wouldn't take that as a sign of our simpatico. How do you envision me doing it?
Him: (quickly) With a knife, like that Bobbitt lady. Wasn't she the one who cut off her husband's ***?
Me: Yes, Lorena Bobbitt. Huh. So after dismembering you, then I take the knife to the rest of you? Is that how it goes? But why? Why would I do it?
Him: (truthfully) I'm hard to live with. You've had to put up with a lot from me. I just think one day you are going to snap.

Sigh. You know, you work so hard at a marriage, trying to get the other person to believe that you aren't going to murder them in their beds and then something like this happens, that makes you see just how far you still have to go. It's a little frustrating, to be quite honest. Yes, Darron has his quirks. But I do like him, still. And I am not a sociopath. And I have a deep and abiding fear of prison that maybe I need to let him in on, to give him a little peace of mind.

So back to our House-watching. They didn't give this wife any sort of motivation, which kind of bugged me, and I asked Darron about it. He said something about never being able to tell... what did that mean? So I asked him in a very level, non-confrontational-type way if he really thought I was going to kill him, or was he just being funny. I really needed to know. He answered that he did believe it. That I had the "personality". And the voice. Then he smiled at me and turned to go brush his teeth.

There you have it. I can't fight that. And I won't anymore. If he's okay with it, so am I. See that's what marriage is all about. Planting ideas in someone's head and then cultivating them through your paranoia to fruition. I was so misguided for so many years, but now I see the light. Shining off the surface of my big shiny kitchen knife. Sleep tight, Darron.

My New Favorite Quote

2009-10-01T20:01:00.004-06:00

You know the one I spent a day and a half searching for?

"A happy home is but an earlier heaven." --Thomas S. Monson

On Schedule

2009-09-29T21:30:00.000-06:00

I was so anxious for summer to be over. Not necessarily to get my kids out of my hair, which sounds like a lie, but isn't, but just so we could be on a schedule again. I'm not huge on schedules, but I'm not exactly free-wheeling and spontaneous either. I told you I have no yellow in me, so any fun I decide to embark on must be planned, plotted, and coerced into being. Thoroughly exhausting. The path of least resistance (which I majored in) involves just letting it be, man. So the summer consisted of lots of letting be. Outings, exercise, housecleaning...let it be. Hair and fingernail trims (theirs and mine)...let it be. List of projects to do when free time presents itself...let it be. It's summer, man. Relax. Why you gotta be so uptight?

But enough of that. I need some discipline again. My abs need some discipline again. My kids need to change their underwear every day, it's just time. We need a schedule. So hooray for September, here we go again. We've got the school thing, we've got the church thing, the household thing, the exercise regime, the nurture your kids thing, we've got it all. And all I need to succeed is a schedule. Here goes:

7:20 Get up

7:25 No really, I mean it. Get up!

7:30 Ok, they're pouring their own cereal and milk. It's harder to clean up a gallon of milk than pull your lazy butt out of bed. That's what you get for watching "just one more" episode of House.

7:35 Make lunches. No bread. Plan B: little bags of croutons and almonds. Same food groups.

7:40 Scripture reading. Never seem to get more that 3 verses. I should consider that a challenge, but I haven't taken myself up on it yet.

7:45 Hair (theirs; mine must wait, along with my teeth. Waitaminute! Ok, brush teeth. Apologize to Hinckley for telling him his breath is atrocious).

7:55 Recheck homework because I can never quite remember if I did it the day before.

8:00 Gather everyone. Grab quickly and hold firmly.

8:05 Family prayer and hugs and kisses and goodbyes and last reminders called out the door as Dad, Hinckley and Halle are sent out.

8:10 Use up 10 minutes deciding which exercise video I have time to do, the hourlong, the 30-minute, or the 20-minute.

8:20 Check email. (ok, and my blogs)

8:30 Reconsider the exercise decision, now that I've wasted 20 minutes.

8:35 Remember I have preschool carpool, begin to panic, tell Ava to get dressed while I shower. Shower. Half-shave. The other half can wait for tomorrow.

8:45 Hair and makeup. It takes some effort to get me looking like this. Call to try and find volunteers to help with PE Testing this week, starting today. Leave a lot of messages. Email the whole class. Looks like it'll be me going today.

9:15 Change Ava's clothes, because I am just not ready to send her to preschool yet in an "I dressed myself today" outfit. Not until I have proven to Miss April that I am not a neglectful mother. Which being late will definitely NOT prove. Everyone get in the car!

9:25 Stuff slower children into car and frantically but positively encourage them to get their buckles on as I back out.

9:26 Pull car over because Tommy, who has tricked me into thinking he was buckled up is now jumping up and down on his carseat. Get Tommy actually buckled up and back onto the road. Pick up carpool kids.

9:43 Arrive at preschool/Miss April's house. Haha. Never been late. I hate being late. Drop off Ava's "mystery person" bag of goodies.

9:46 Realize I forgot to put Ava's "mystery person" information sheet in the bag of goodies and will need to go back. Mentally adjust my daily timetable to allow for stupid mistake.

10:00 Visiting Teaching, just one today, must take Tommy since babyswapper is out of town.

10:45 Arrive back at preschool with information sheet in hand. Knock on door as I realize Miss April will not answer the door during preschool, nor will she answer her phone. This actually pleases me, however I would have ben more pleased had I realized this an hour ago.

11:00 Home again home again. Jiggety-jig. Put Tommy in his bed, hoping he will take a nap an hour and a half earlier since this will be the only opportunity for a nap until 3:45 today and I have to appear in public with him so would rather not have him screaming and flailing.

11:10 Listen to Tommy alternately scream, sing, and declare he's all done with his nap (clearly) while I eat breakfast. And clean the kitchen. And the bathroom. And check my email (still no volunteers). And pack a lunch for Tommy and Ava, since we won't be home for awhile. Give myself a pat on the back for realizing this.

11:34 Tommy falls asleep.

11:35 Wake Tommy up, head to preschool.

11:45 Wait for kids to get out.

11:49 Kids are 4 minutes late coming, which according to my math will make me exactly 19 minutes late for PE Testing.

11:55 Stuck in construction on drive home. Stuck behind "cautious driver" on drive home. Make a wrong turn while driving home. 24 minutes late.

12:04 Drop last kid off, turn around and head for school. Open juice boxes and hand them and tortillas (still no bread) to 2 toddlers behind me. Stuck in construction, despite my attempts to find a new "construction-free" route. 27 minutes late.

12:29 Arrive at school, park, shuffle kids along to the gym, entering exactly 30 minutes late.

12:31 Talk with PE teacher, who says enough people showed up to help. Ok. Hang around uselessly for a minute. See the ridiculousness of this. Take kids hands and walk back out the door amidst shrieks and wails. Musn't neglect the proper prep and build up of change of plans.

12:48 Back home, ironically making excellent time, renewing my faith in the cosmic joke. Place Tommy immediately in bed, hoping that he won't feel his 60 seconds of sleep earlier should count as his nap. Laugh silently. Tell Ava to go downstairs for quiet time. Feel grateful that this is something she loves.

12:53 Still no email responses.

1:15 Start a batch of bread. (Out, remember? I did.)

2:15 Pull out scriptures and journal.

2:16 Read them and write in it. (Didn't think I was going to, did ya?)

2:42 Eat lunch. Clean kitchen. Get Tommy, who I forgot had already napped today and has no intention of doing it again, out of bed to go play with Ava.

2:55 Shout down the stairs for Ava and Tommy to get their shoesies and get in the car.

2:57 Act surprised that they haven't come up yet, run downstairs to shoo them out. They really don't need shoes.

3:22 Arrive at school, a little too late for Hinckley's tastes. Try to explain my new idea of getting there after the first slew of cars have gone, so I can find a good spot without having to get there 20 minutes early, since they generally don't come out until 15 minutes after school ends. Convince no one.

3:40 Home. Unload. Settle. Mediate. Bounce.

3:45 @#&@%!* (homework). And chores.

4:15 Begin to fill out a computer survey for an upcoming seminar I am attending which asks such perplexing and invasive questions as "What are you passionate about?" or "What is your favorite quote?" Feel boring and dispassionate and unread and completely stymied. Start googling. For ideas! For ideas. Not just random googles. Come on now.

4:30 Continue the above and the above that for the next two hours. Yes, really.

6:20 Start dinner. Salad and garlic bread, easy peasy. Start laundry. Monday is laundry day, if you didn't remember. Like me.

6:40 Darron home. Burn garlic bread because it is in my genetic makeup. Dinner.

7:20 Get kids ready for visit to Meemaw and Boompa's (don't ask) for Family Home Evening. Everyone is mannered and behaved, even Darron. Meemaw provides dessert, which soothes and calms everyone on the ride home.

9:30 Home once again. Superquick condensed bedtime routine. Don't ask if the kids brushed their teeth, tonight we'll just assume. Who needs a bath? No one, as long as we keep our distances.

9:45 Back on the computer to suss out a killer quote. Still on that. Darron watches House without me because he is highly rude and filled his survey out in like 15 minutes. Start this post.

11:05 Bedtime. Past bedtime, but this is when we always seem to get there. Feel thankful that I like two out of my three pillows and that my mattress is firm. Feel thankful that the neighbor's dog is not barking. Feel thankful that I have a busy life that is filled with family and purpose. Feel thankful that my 4-week cold is gone and I can breathe through my nose. Sleep.

Summer is so overrated.

It's Always Fun for Everyone...

2009-09-27T16:32:00.010-06:00

....When Grandpa Comes!

My dad was out for a few days to catch the Cougars and to catch some grandkids and it was great timing, since Darron was out of town I got a little help kid-wrangling. Which made me think a little hike would be just perfect for us. And it was. My older kids didn't have school on Friday (just another reason it is the greatest school in the world) so we busted Ava out of preschool (don't tell Miss April) and headed for the hills. We went up Timpanooke Trail (a very very little way up) in American Fork Canyon.

It was a beautiful fall day. Sixty degrees, sunshine, chipmunks chattering, kids getting along.

I don't know why they look so miserable, they really did have a good time.

Tommy kept the trail cleared of rocks. How can I harness this tendency at home....?

Ava was in it for the juice box. Mission accomplished.

Everyone wanted to take a picture of the pretty little meadow and valley where we stopped for lunch.

Mmmm lunch.

It was a lovely outing. We enjoy living so close to such a beautiful place. We love our Grandpa, he is a great sport and great fun whenever he comes.

Last Leg

2009-09-17T13:28:00.010-06:00

Of our two week trip.... Norco, California to stay with my sisters Susie and Erin and my brother David. At the time Erin and her family were living in Susie's guest house, and David was living with her as well, so I got to hit three for the price of one.

Susie's house of course is known as the party house. She is the fun aunt, the adventurous aunt, the up for anything anytime anywhere as long as there is food aunt. And don't worry, she's bringing the food. I have never heard Susie say "I can't do that, Whitley is sick/Shelly is napping/I have placenta previa/etc." She just likes to do things. So I was interested to see how being 7 months pregnant might affect her. Not much, it turns out. Don't believe what you read in her blog. Erin, also 7 months preg, at least had the decency take a nap. Uncle David came home every night to pay attention to the dogs and children. All dogs and children love Uncle David.

We began with some horse ridin', courtesy of Uncle "Go For the Nerd" Christian, also a fungi. (Sorry, it's the nerdiest joke I know.) Ava was born ready.

Halle, summoning her courage

She always finds it.
Tommy is just happy the dogs aren't out. And no one is fighting him for the Princess scooter.

Whitley expressing herself. Through the medium of ribbon. Get in Shape, Girl! (You know the feelin')

But back to the dogs. These are some dogs, y'all. They require a bullet-proof vest AND bicycle helmet.

The next day was beach day. Aaaah. I love the beach. A little sand...

A little surf

A little seaweed

A little crab
A little Del Taco

A little cousin bonding

LOTS of fun!

Thanks to Susie, Christian, Gavin, Whit, Shelly, Erin, Wyatt, and David. We loved staying with you and can't wait for next year to do it again!

Clovis Vacation

2009-09-15T21:17:00.011-06:00

The next few days were spent in Clovis at my mom and dad's house. We have never been here when it wasn't full of cousins, siblings, and sewage (what?). Each child got their own room, which has its many benefits, mom having a bed to herself and getting to sleep in because her children couldn't find her and anyway they like Grandma's idea of breakfast a whole lot better than mom's, being the only one I think needing mention. My mom is a fantastic host and the best grandma. My kids think Grandma and Grandpa's house is the best place in the world. Swimming pool, giant cookie jar, trips to the candy store, Grandpa's fascinating talent with a ballpoint pen, it is a grandkid paradise. And it ain't too bad for me either. My mom thinks she needs to mother me and take my children off my hands when I come home. She's always telling me to go take a nap. Miss Bossy.

So we had lots of pool time...

Aforementioned trip to the candy store. I had the rootbeer barrels. Ava likes a little sour. And yes, I catch the irony.

Tommy will be seen with this sucker for the next three days.

Halle has never EVER been this happy. EVER.

Hinckley looking dashing.

And hopped up.

The kids roaming about.

Me and Mom. We do look alike.

Me and my gaggle. I've won several baby shower games because I know what animal that refers to. Do YOU? 10 points. Don't feel bad if you don't, I'm really really smart.

Clovis was so fun. Got to see my parents, got to see my old friends, a great trip. We head for Susie's next...

Visiting Vegas

2009-09-15T19:45:00.017-06:00

So I mentioned earlier that my camera busted while on our family trip, trapping my pictures inside it. Essentially. 3 months later, it is fixed and I have the proof of our fun times, right up until I tried to take this photo, at the beach.
Kind of hard to look at, right? Eww, scroll down.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. It all started in Vegas. The kids and I drove to my sister Elizabeth's house to stay for a few days. I'm not one of those people who likes to do lots and go places and have a jam-packed vacation schedule. And when you have 8 small children paired with two (pretty tired) adults, sometimes the best thing is to just lay low. We managed one or two outings a day, including my highly anticipated first ever trip to H&M--withOUT kids! (!!!) We went to a very cool neighborhood park. Being from Utah, where very cool neighborhood parks do not exist, we were all impressed. Tommy liked it.

Halle liked it. But she also likes Hannah Montana so you know she ain't picky. (Wait a minute-- I like Hannah Montana...)

Ava doesn't impress easily.

The snake pit was fun. Kai is digging something. Or has just finished and is getting off to go somewhere else. My camera has the looongest lag time.

We went to a splash park one day. Lots of fun here. Hot Vegas fun.

In her defense, it was really bright. Hi Kate!

Chase trying to ignore me. What kid doesn't like to have their picture taken?

Oh yeah.

So we had lots of cousin fun, lots of heavenly pizza and frozen custard.

Vegas: Done.

Clovis: Next installment...

Big News

2009-09-14T16:36:00.001-06:00

After a 3 week hiatus from the computer, I am back. That's it. That's my news.

Well, I noticed.

And things are a lot better around here. For one thing (and there's only one thing) I have high-speed internet now. Oh. Yeah. After spending approximately 2/3 of my day waiting for pages to pull up, the speed at which I now navigate is nearly reckless! I don't know how to handle it. I can see your pictures on your blogs! I didn't know so many of you had kids! Or soundtracks. I sent out an email and it worked on the first try. The weather right now is cloudy and rainy, a used-to-be death knell for any internet usage (stupid Verizon wireless card--oh yeah, I'm naming names!), but I am whizzing right along at the speed of high-speed. I've got Gmail, Allrecipes, and Blogger all pulled up simultaneously and my connection has NOT, I repeat, NOT frozen, forcing me to restart my computer. I haven't had to restart my computer all day, come to think of it. Glory be.

I would like to say I got much done during my enforced computer exile. I would like to say, but I won't.

As an aside, I hear a few of Darron's friends have been heckling him about my other post. You know, the SEX one. I just have to say, I love it. The heckling and the fact that his friends read my blog.

Is This How June Cleaver Felt?

2009-08-07T14:50:00.000-06:00

On a different note, are there some kids you just don't like? Not your OWN. Geez. Like certain friends of your kids? Sometimes it's hard to be charitable.

Calm down. If it was YOUR kid, I certainly wouldn't be posting this.

Ava's Birthday!

2009-07-15T11:18:00.034-06:00

Happy Birthday to Ava! Ava turns 4 today (but we're celebrating it tomorrow, so maybe don't mention anything to her yet and yes, I realize this is the last year I can get away with this)!!
If you don't know Ava, you are missing out. Here's how she came to be:

I had a nice, pleasant, untroubled pregnancy, if you don't count my being a grouchy, bad-tempered, ornery shrew most of the time, which I don't. I have never felt so out of control of my emotions and it was a little frightening. A portent of the child to come?? I hoped not, but feared so. About a month before my due date, my sister Elizabeth got married in Vegas. And that's all the explaining I'll do for that. Hee. I was so worried that I would end up giving birth to my child somewhere in the deserts of Utah, Arizona, or Nevada, take your pick, that I sent Darron alone to represent the Millers. He came and went, the knot was tied, baby remained firmly inside me and I felt a little sheepish for being so overly cautious. (Um yeah, sorry for missing your wedding, Elizabeth. Still.) So when Darron was invited by a friend to fly to California and golf for a few days two weeks before I was due, I was torn. I did not want him to go, obviously, but how would I feel if nothing happened and he just missed out on a fun weekend (a little vindicated, actually, but that's not something I care to admit). How would he feel? Could I handle the "I told you so"s that would be sure to follow for a really long time? Hmm... Well, I'll tell you what I did, after working it out in my semi-disturbed, overwrought, hormonally agitated brain, I did the thing that all women do although it has been proven never to have worked in the history of the world-- no, not once. I left it up to his conscience. Even now, I sigh at my stupidity.

The first night he was gone, I put the kids in bed and laid down to read. After a few minutes, I began to feel something. I had been induced with my first two kids and so had never gone into labor on my own and didn't know what it was supposed to feel like. But, if I were to guess, I would think it would be just like what I was feeling right then. I tried not freak out and to stay relaxed and talk myself out of it. After an hour or so, I called Darron to relay my suspicions and share my burden of fear with him. We came up with a plan that I should wait awhile, then if it didn't stop, alert his parents that I might be needing them to come get me that night. I took a shower and painted my toenails because I read in a book once that you're supposed to do that before you go to the hospital. I had to pee a lot, for some reason, and when I would, an unexpectedly large amount always came out. And then they got harder and faster, the contractions. So I called my mother and father-in-law, at 1:45 am. They arrived a half hour later and I was in the car before my father-in-law could even get out. We arrived at 2:30 and worked our way through the impossibly slow workings of hospital admittance. I couldn't get an epidural until my midwife came. I couldn't call her until the paperwork was complete. I couldn't complete my paperwork until I could recall the last date of my first missed period. WHAT is the point of pre-registering, I ask you!!! End of story, I gave birth to little Ava Maren, in a hospital bed, sans epidural, squeezing the bejeebers out of my poor mother-in-law's hand, so she could not sneak out, while my cell phone rang incessantly in my purse (Darron, from the airport, calling to tell me the next flight out wasn't until 11:30 that morning).

Ava was a beautiful, healthy, 8lbs 4oz. She had a mop of black curly hair and dimples on the tops of her cheeks. She was beyond gorgeous (in a few days anyway) and still is, I admit. Like my others, she was a quiet, sweet, easy-going infant, shy, pudgy, hesitant. Her hair lightened but remained thick and abundant. She has retained some pudge, thankfully-- mostly in her cheeks (all four), but with a generous amount everywhere else. She is remarkably curvaceous, if one can use that term to describe a preschooler, and leaves her father and me worried about her teenage years. She will give us some trouble, that one.

She is exuberant and effervescent. She lives in a world of fairies, princesses, and mermaids. Her favorite animals are pretend worms, pretend horsies, and real kitties. She loves to sing and act out entire scenes of her favorite movies. We enjoy taking tea together and she will recommend her poisonous tea as highly as her delicious tea and get offended if you only want the delicious tea. I secretly believe the delicious teapot is empty because I have never actually been given any. She is very knowledgeable in the science of reading one's personality and gender from their eyelashes and eyebrows. Works for humans and animals, real or pretend. Ava loves (in this order) Ashley, her Primary teacher; Morgan, her cousin; Marissa, a friend she played with once a year ago, but seemingly can't get out of her head; Grandma, and who doesn't love Grandma?; various strangers who pay attention to her while we are out, ie cashiers who ask how old she is, then act amazed when she tells them she is 3 and her birthday is after mom's on July 15th, and we're going to a KITTY ZOO!! where she can pet the real kitties and Morgan's gonna be there and yesterday when she went to Morgan's house Morgan pushed Toby and he cried but then Dawn put him in bed and Morgan got in trouble and cried and we had a snack and-- then I cut her off because that is really the only way to get Ava to stop talking. You can see why I don't make the list. And we are not going to a kitty zoo for her birthday. Does YOUR town have a kitty zoo? I have skillfully convinced her that she wants to ride horses, those we do have, but sometimes she forgets that's what she wants to do.

We love having Ava in our family. She livens us all up and makes the dinner table a rowdier place. She pulls me out of my shell and makes me uncomfortable in good ways. If you know Ava, you love her, even if you missed her birth, and chances are she loves you too. Barring anyone with mean eyebrows. Happy Birthday little Squimes (skw-eye-mz). Thank you for being a wild card in our otherwise predictable lives. We love you!!!

A Little Clarity

2009-07-08T15:49:00.001-06:00

I had one of those grocery shopping trips that makes you want to, I don't know, try out long-term fasting as a new hobby, give up your children to the traveling monkey show, or perhaps both. My (wonderful, patient, talented) dad was here painting my kitchen cabinets. I assisted. Pictures may follow if I ever get my camera fixed. I took one child, yes, a mere one fourth of the entire force with me to run errands. The rest stayed behind to be babysat by Dad. I chose Tommy because I feel a bit guilty now and then that I don't do anything with just him. He's the youngest, the most volatile, the least able to listen to reason or respond to threats, so if I'm gonna pick just one to accompany me somewhere, it rarely will be him. But guilt gets even the best of us (and sometimes even me) so I thought we'd share a little one on one while getting work done at the same time. After a solid four days of running wild and free with few designated meals and no baths that I can recall, my kids needed some Mom attentions in a big way, especially the little one.

We had four errands on the list: grocery store, bank, Lowe's, Costco. Each stop was meant to be brief, in and out, no time for getting bored or distracted or working up a tantrum. There was the plan. Here was the reality: 90 degrees, lunchtime, naptime (for me), naptime (for him), the day before the 4th of July-- a day of shopping frenzy, especially at Costco. I didn't know this and would not have gone, had I. I despise a frenzy, in any form. I shop only out of necessity, and barely tolerate people as a whole. Group. Of people. And especially when cranky, which by the time I reached Costco, I was. Tommy had reached cranky immediately after his sucker from the bank teller ran out. I normally do not let my kids get suckers from the bank, the doctor's office, the haircutters, anywhere. I am cruel and unusual, but I do not like dealing with the inevitable fallout. And stickiness. They hardly ever ask anymore, and Tommy has no idea these things are even a possibility. But he did mention to the bank teller (a young 20-something female) that he had a sticker. A gift from the cashier at Albertson's, which is kind of a big deal, because he has been deathly afraid of stickers and their inexplicable power of ... sticking, but the cashier offered one and Tommy actually considered it for a moment, then said yes, just as I finished saying in that obnoxious mom voice "He doesn't like stickers". Yes, clearly. So the cashier overrode me and gave him one. He let me put it on his shirt in the car, which is kind of a big deal. It couldn't be covered by the carseat buckles, yet had to be centered on his shirt, which caused minor confusion and drama until I figured out what he was crying about, but problem solved and we pressed onto the bank, where when Tommy proudly told the teller "I have sticker". She misunderstood and stupidly asked "Oh? You want a sucker?" Stupid. Stupid stupid. Tommy's eyes popped out incredulously, the little sugar-deprived angel. Things like this just don't happen to him when his mom is around. "Sucker??? Candy???" He couldn't believe his luck. I couldn't resist muttering rather petulantly, but let's face it, defeatedly and pointlessly, "He actually was telling you he had a sticker." But some people just hear what they want to hear and do what they want to do and that girl wanted to ruin my afternoon, so what could I do? Well, that sucker lasted all the way into Lowe's, the nail and screw aisle, where I was searching out a very specific screw. And washer. When time ran out. My sticky, red-chinned, sugar-saturated two year old gave me his soggy sucker stick and demanded another one. And if I had had one, I would have given in, but that's neither here nor there, so I had to use all my powers of entertainment and distraction (which are considerable) to keep him occupied until we finally got the heck outa Lowe's. I would have just skipped Costco, but I really needed milk, and I envisioned this whole run in/grab milk quick/dash out scenario, which seemed rather doable and slightly heroic, so we went for it. But alas, 3/4 of Northern Utah County had decided to buy hot dogs and fruit trays at this exact moment in time and it was a mad mad mess. Tommy and I did not appreciate it. So with him shrieking and crying to get down, holdyou, ride in the cart, do it buckles! and me trying to manoever the teeming and rather rude aisles, we wended our way, taking a full hour to pick up a mere $100 worth of items. We parked it at the end of the longest line and worked our way to the front. When our turn came I was so bedraggled and distracted the cashier had to ask my twice for my membership card. He was one of those efficient, college-age kids, clearly too smart to be working as a cashier, and needing everyone to know it. Probably a business major. He rang my order up so quickly I hadn't even gone over to the paying side of the line when he said " Your membership has expired, you want me to just add that on?" I did some quick mental math, or at least tried to access the quick mental math part of my brain which was shut down at the time since the survive Costco with a flopsome and wailing toddler part of my brain had taken over all control, and fuzzily determined I would not have enough money to buy the $100 Executive, which I now had, but might be able to squeeze the $50 Gold, only running the card would tell for sure. I said I would get the $50 membership, but he quickly told me he could only renew what I had and was I getting it or not? while impatiently and pointedly looking at the endless line behind me. I told him I didn't think I had enough money, but to go ahead and try it. With thinly veiled (I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt here) disgust he finished the transaction in record-breaking, business major time and held out his hand for my debit card. I gave it to him and said helpfully, "I've been having trouble with my card, so you may have to enter it manually" (This was the reason for my bank stop earlier, I had ordered a new card). He looked at me and without missing a beat or breaking his withering eye contact, swiped the card and said "It seems to be working just fine". Like I was making it up. Then he looked down at his screen and said, "It didn't go through". I said, "I know, its been having problems, I ordered a new one today, I'm sorry for the trouble." What am I doing apologizing to this kid? I'm pathetic. "No," he replied, "it was DECLINED." No hushed tone of false tact and sympathy, just blatant disapproval toward this frantic and harried mom who seemingly has no control over anything in her life... her checking account, her mind, her screaming, spitting child. "Can you pay for it in any other way?" "No," I said, "that's it. Could I leave the cart here and come back with cash? (Back to the bank. Yay!)" "Don't you have a check?" Deep calming breaths. "No, I don't have any way of paying for it right now. Can you put it in the cooler until I get back?" "Are you coming back?" Charitable thoughts. "Yes, that is why I am asking you to keep my things for me." "When will you be back?" The little twirp did not believe I would come back. I was fuming but dangerously close to tears (always?!!), so I assured him I would be back within an hour and left with Tommy streaming baby curses in our wake.

I did return. I first dropped Tommy off, directly into his bed, returned to the bank and got everything sorted out. We have milk. And a renewed Costco membership, Gold. And as I drove back home in silence and retrospection, my mind began to wander back to my days of cashiering in a grocery store. I was a 21-year-old newlywed, in my last year of college, cashiering part time at Days Market in Provo, a small locally owned grocery store where you would recognize all the regulars. In all the wisdom and maturity that is to be found in a 21-year-old, I was quite judgmental of my customers. When someone's credit card was declined, I was inwardly annoyed-- how could they not know that was going to happen? Couldn't they add? When someone had screaming kids, I was bothered that they wouldn't or couldn't control their own children. Why have them if you can't keep them quiet? And I suddenly remembered one woman in particular, a regular. She would come in once a week or so at 9:55pm, 5 minutes before the store closed. She must have been a professional of some sort, she was always wearing a suit and dress shoes. She would slowly do her grocery shopping as we were shutting down the store, covering the produce, counting out the tills, straightening the shelves. We would all be incredibly antsy to be done with work and every minute after 10 that she was there was one more minute we had to wait. We would all glare at her and whisper about her while she shopped, Why does she always come so late? She is so slow! I can't believe she is so rude. Doesn't she realize we all want to leave? When I rang her up, I would be all false smiles and thinly veiled disgust, but inwardly full of horrible judgments and offense.

This is the woman who came to my memory as I drove home. And I finally saw her for who she was. A woman who worked until 9:45 every night, wore uncomfortable shoes all day, then had to fit in her shopping before she could go home and take them off. She probably liked shopping there with us far less than we did, but she was never rude, never complained to our manager, never had her credit card declined, and took all the abuse that a bunch of self-righteous post-adolescents could deal out. I have added her to my list of people who deserve my apologies.

My anger was diffused; I gained a little clarity. I may still avoid a certain cashier's line at Costco in the future, but that's just being smart, right? I can forgive someone, but protect myself from their unkindness and further humiliation at the same time. I ain't made of stern stuff. And I do need to eat. The monkey show is still a possibility, but only if they're accepting frantic harried moms. I can stand on my head.

Been A Long Time

2009-06-23T21:01:00.002-06:00

In many respects.

I have had an eventful two weeks. Two Mondays ago I loaded up my kids, got in the minivan, and headed west for California. There was a lot of planning and thought before the actual heading, but not too much, I couldn't chance realizing I was doing a stupid stupid thing. Not until I was at least in St. George, too far to turn around. My plans called for a stop in Vegas to visit sister Elizabeth and family, then on to Clovis to visit the parents, continuing down to Norco, to see sisters Susie and Erin, and brothers David and Daniel, back through Vegas, then home two weeks later.

I am not an adventurous person. I realize this goes without saying, Mom, but some readers may not have ever met me. I do not plan things. I do not instigate social or recreational outings. I may even go so far as to avoid them. But I hafta say, I was pretty inspired. By her. http://connecticutaly.blogspot.com/
Yes, YOU Alyson! Alyson is an old friend from junior high (Modesto days) who just boggles my mind with her adventurous spirit. We had a facebook reunion last fall and I am back to thinking she is the coolest and I want to be like her. Except she has a weird fascination with ghosts and dogs and I say P.U. to both. But she has no qualms about packing up her four kids and just heading out of town for an adventure. Crazy. But she is the coolest and so she got me thinking....

Next inspiration. My old friends from high school decided to have a little reunion of sorts. Not an official class thing, just people we like. So. If you weren't invited, I guess you can make the necessary assumptions. I was involved in Drama during high school. Mostly because my friends were and I'm a follower. And dance and academics. Same and same. So if you were a dramatic dancing scholar at Clovis High in the early 90s, and are my friend on facebook, you should have been invited.

So with the inspiration and the motivation, I organized this little trip. Pictures of the family trip will follow in a later post, mostly because they are stuck in my broken camera and I can't get them out. I don't know what to do about that. My gifts lie in other areas. So for now, just the reunion.

I am waiting to be emailed a picture of the whole group (anyone?) because I didn't get one with my camera, but here are the few I have. These are people who were really important to me during a formative time in my life. I can't believe the blessings I had in the form of wonderful, strong, good friends during my teenage years.

Here are Kasie and Annette (and Kasie's husband Jared, but we've only spoken a few times. I don't consider him formative. A trooper-- yes, for coming, but formative-- no.) Did I ever tell you we were voted "Best Friends" in high school? Oh yes. Best. Friends. So of course, we slowly drifted apart, but here we all are again, and don't we look happy? (I was happy behind the camera.) I love these girls. Kasie is an aspiring writer and mom of four. We were in the same ward at church, she befriended me when I moved to Clovis in 8th grade (don't read too much into that, she befriends everyone) and nipped off my budding melancholy with her attentions. Annette, who recently had the good fortune to move to Utah from Southern California where I promptly never visited her, also has four kids. Hey, did you catch that? We all have four kids!!! Jinx!!!! We are so cute. Annette had a thing for British punk and against pink. She was soooo anti-establishment. She married her high school boyfriend (one of them... hee hee) Dave, who was also present, but you know, Dave doesn't like the camera. Or me. Kidding, I think. Hope.

Nextly we move to these three. Chai is first. The Asian one with the Asian name. She was a year younger than me, and like a sister to me. Only we got along and didn't sneak into the other's closet when they were out and steal their clothes. At least, I didn't. Dewi sits on the right. Dewi was an actress. I think the majority of us were just messing around, but she was good. And intimidating. And so much fun. I think of her as one who actually took advantage of their high school days. She's an engaging, witty, gifted girl. And I have to say it shocked me (but only for a second) when I learned she had married the man with his arm around her. Who was also a high school friend. Jon. Jon was also witty, but more acerbic and frightening. To me. Because I was a mouse, not because he was mean. I scare easy. Jon was hilarious and quick and is a perfect match to little Miss Dewi.

And then we have Shannon. I love my Shannon. I think that part of my heart will always be with this girl. I had not seen her in many many years, so it was so amazing to see that she had not changed at all. We're bosom friends. And big fans of each other.

For some reason I didn't get a picture of Kasey, the other Kasey. She was there with her husband, too, whom I had never met. Kasey recently started a wedding cake bakery with her sister. She was a brainy, creative, responsible type in high school so I guess she decided to just go with that as an adult.

I had smart, hilarious, accepting, happy, understanding, generous, caring friends in high school. How many people can say that? How lucky I was to be in the company of people who built me up with their own confidence, cared about me when I didn't care much for myself, had fun with me and loved me. I love my old friends.

And then, three of my high school teachers were there, the ones that organized our school plays and productions, and that was mostly just weird. Mrs. Kehler, Mrs. Mennucci, and Mrs. Rigby. Of course you still call them Mrs. even though you are 33 now. And you find yourself stunned that they aren't like 70, because when you were in high school the teachers were so old!!! and if you add 15-20 years on to old, you get 70. They all looked exactly as I remember them. It took me back a little. But I'm sure it's just as bizarre for them to see a bunch of rotten ingrate 16 year olds you taught just last week parading around talking about their children and careers and wrinkles and such. They are all such strong women, great role models who cared about what they did. That makes a big impact on a student, and it certainly affected me. Great great teachers and people, I can't say it enough.

It was a fun memorable nostalgic evening. I could have stayed all night. I could have stayed all week. I think when you die, one of the greatest gifts of heaven will be to have all of your happy memories back, as bright as the moment they were made. You will have full access to the far reaches of the brain where they are stored safely in some unreachable dusty vault. The pain and angst will have faded, or at least your perspective will be such that you won't be troubled by it anymore, and all that will be left will be glad, joyful, appreciative, sweet. And that describes my reunion perfectly. What a lovely lovely night. Thank you so much to all those who came and made it that way. I love you all. Still.

In Other News...

2009-05-14T14:05:00.003-06:00

This afternoon Diamond Sparkle Eena was seen lunching with an unidentified older woman at the kitchen table. Diamond Sparkle Eena was wearing a layered assortment of shirts, an apron, and a green corduroy skirt, paired with mismatched black shoes. The woman wore jeans and a tee. The ladies dined on Ramen noodles, a green salad (none for Diamond Sparkle Eena, thank you), and toast with jam. Overheard was discussion on whether Ursula was indeed a human, or an octopus. After some debate, and an explanation of what an octopus was, Diamond Sparkle Eena declared her to be a sea witch, and the conversation moved to other topics. As the pair came to the end of their meal, a small skirmish broke out as the woman informed Diamond Sparkle Eena that she would be taking a nap in five minutes. Apparently, there was some opposition to this plan expressed by Diamond Sparkle Eena, who took to the floor in protest. The woman was seen crouching down and speaking to the upset girl, which did much to mollify her, and shortly said pair rose hand in hand, left the kitchen and headed down the stairs, where, one may confidently assume, Diamond Sparkle Eena laid down her sweet head, snuggled up to her blankie, and went promptly to sleep.

Mothers' Day

2009-05-10T18:36:00.009-06:00

Happy Mothers' Day! My biggest dream as a child was to become a mother (sorry Darron, you can be sure wife was waaay up there, too). How often do people get to realize their biggest dreams? Here are my little angels, my little headaches, my little comedians, my little worries, my biggest blessings:

Hinckley: The Guineau Pig. Absorbs our parenting mistakes with the greatest of ease. Destined for a few more once he hits puberty. I have lots of new ideas planned...

Halle: Pure Sweetness. She gives me what I lack.

Ava: Squeaky, Squawky, Squimey. Won't hold still for a picture. Tommy: Cherubic. Although he runs with a rough crowd.

I was blessed with a mom who wanted to be there. We were a screaming obnoxious bunch of ingrates, yet I never doubted that she was doing what she wanted to do. I hope my kids know that about me. I am doing what I want to do, what I have always wanted to do, what I was meant to do. I offer no apologies (today), exceptions, addendums. I love being a mother. May God bless each of you women who are striving and nurturing and learning and waiting and becoming. Happy Mothers' Day.

And This, Dear Reader, Is Why I Do Not Garden

2009-04-27T22:29:00.005-06:00

Three days ago, this wilted, weeping tomato plant was the picture of health sitting next to his robust brothers on a bright red display wagon in between the eggs/OJ and frozen dinner aisles of Costco. He caught my eye as I wheeled past him. Nearly full grown. Little tiny yellow tomato babies already growing on the vine. Potted. Caged. All I would have to do to get red mouthwatering perfect tomatoes of my own this summer is to set this out on my deck and wait patiently with my pepper grinder. (To put pepper on the tomatoes. Before I eat them.)

The maddening thing is I have NO IDEA what I did wrong. Darron said it's that I bought it. Obviously. He likes to make little jokes about my black thumb. Point out my dying houseplants, my drooping and browning chinese palm, the mutant yellow fungus that took over bromeliad and scared the bejeebers out of me when I discovered it, my orchids that have fallen off and never come back, so that I just have pots with green stems curving to the right artistically placed throughout the house. Ha ha ha! We like to have our fun.

But seriously??? What did I do? I know NOTHING about plants. And the vast mysterious world of gardening is like the mind of a teenage girl to a teenage boy. Utterly unfathomable and too overwhelming to try. Was it too hot? Too much sun? Too cold? Was there a frost? I don't know? And would it matter if there was one? Is it because I didn't water it? In my defense, it has rained the past two days, for all you snickerers out there. But maybe that wasn't enough? Or too much? Is it lonely? Does it need a mate? Does it need fertilizer? Is it in shock? Was I supposed to plant it and it only looked like it was meant to stay in the pot? Should I have put ladybugs on it? They sell them in bags at Home Depot, I've seen them. I just didn't know what they were for. Tomato plants?

Darron thinks I should take it back to Costco for a refund. Sometimes I think he doesn't know me at all. Take it back? And what would I say? I'd like to return this tomato plant. Can I ask the reason, ma'am? It died. I don't want a dead tomato plant. Was it dead when you bought it? I can't imagine it was, although it may have been feeling poorly. So YOU killed it? I honestly don't know, if I did, I didn't mean to. You didn't mean to? So you deliberately [here they would diagnose the cause of death, which would be apparent to every other person in the warehouse except me] underwatered/ overexposed/ withheld love/ attention/ Mozart and you are telling me that you "didn't mean to" kill it? I'm sorry ma'am but I just find that hard to believe.

And then they would confiscate my card and take my umbrella and flip it inside out. Which I've heard is very insulting in the UK. Yeah, I probably won't be taking it back. But I won't be throwing it out either. I live in perpetual hope that my seemingly dead plants will one day come out of their hibernation and live again. Because they might not be really dead, just faking until they can get away from me. I can totally see them doing that. They're probably all in cahoots, laughing at me when I turn my back. And I know who the ringleader is... that smarmy date palm I got at Walmart. He came from Walmart, for heaven's sake, I know the blighted, yellowing leaves are just an act. (Seriously, what causes yellow, splotchy leaves? Anyone?)

I Wish...

2009-04-26T22:00:00.003-06:00

I just read a post on a friend's blog and I won't be able to sleep until I get this out.

Fifteen years ago, a friend in high school saved my virtue. We were not great or close friends, mostly we knew each other because we were both LDS and had friends in common. We had a class together our junior year, a history class. The teacher was known to push the boundaries a little, which made him extremely popular and me extremely nervous.

One day we were watching a film in class regarding the French Indian War, I believe. Is there such a war? Regardless, we were all watching and two characters in the movie began ahem enjoying each other, which quickly led to some partial nudity. I sunk down into my chair and started to freak out a little. What should I do? I couldn't leave, what would people think? I would be too mortified, my biggest goal in high school was to not stand out. But I couldn't stay, how could I live with myself, knowing I had been such a coward? Everyone knew I was Mormon (including my teacher) and I didn't want to reflect poorly on what I professed to believe. I was stuck and torn and fearful.

All of a sudden, Becky Phillips turned around from her seat ahead of me in the next row. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. Are we going? her eyebrows said. We simultaneously stood up, and relief and gratitude swept over me as she stepped over to the teacher's desk and told him we would be going to the library. He gave her a hall pass and we left.

We didn't say much to each other, other than "omigosh I can't believe he is showing that in school" kind of stuff. It wasn't a turning point for our relationship, we remained just sorta friends, but it was a turning point for me. At a time when I didn't have the courage I needed, God sent me a friend who did. I saw the power of moral integrity in action.

I wish I was more like Becky Phillips, who has changed her name to Rebecca Wisor and runs a kick-butt blog over at http://olderandwisor.blogspot.com/. Check her out if you feel like being inspired. She has a full and complicated life, but she keeps it real and she keeps me laughing. And her creativity will blow. your. mind.

The Discovery of Ether and Other Important Findings

2009-04-25T09:32:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was my own birthday. Hooray! I actually love my birthday, but I'm getting over it, slowly but surely. You know how it goes. It can't be about me all of the time. Sigh. I actually had thought I would post some old pictures of me. Of all my Citizen of the Month plaques from Woodrow Elementary, my 5th grade (and 6th!) Spelling Bee Runner-up trophies, my Participation ribbon from 4th grade track and field day (the ONLY sports award I shall ever receive). I recently took pictures of them all so I could throw them out, because... come on now. But as fate or laziness would have it, posting them was waaaay too much work. It would involve a storage unit, a scanner, and finding cords and such. Does that spell birthday fun to you? Even typing the words is bo-ring, so you'll just have to take my word for it. I have won many many awards.

So instead you get a speech. No, not my 5th place in the district informative speech from 6th grade on the discovery of ether (Topic: What historical event would you most liked to have participated in? Thanks for the suggestion, Dad. And for telling me what ether was.) Not my campaign speech for Student Body Secretary in 5th grade (it involves changing hats back and forth and really must be seen to be fully appreciated. Thanks again, Dad.) Not the speech I wrote as Catherine of Aragon in 10th grade drama class (no awards here, just some heavy-hitting, over-the-top acting and the only other speech I remember giving. No parental influence either. Which explains a lot.) No no, I have something far more special planned. It's entitled,

Why I Am Grateful to Be Me

(in the grade 6 informative style)

by Heather Miller

I have not always been grateful to be me. As a child I wanted to have long straight blond hair like Tracy. I wanted to live in a neighborhood that had sidewalks like Cosette. I wanted to be outgoing and popular like Erica. As a teenager, I certainly was not grateful to be me. I wanted to be independent, be artsy and attractive, be able to talk to boys and have them like me. As a (very) young adult I didn't know what I wanted to be like, just that I wasn't happy with where or who I was.

The problem with ingratitude is that it blinds your eyes to anyone in the world but yourself. It is addictive and consuming. It pulls your vision down and inward. It promotes selfishness and pride with ferocity. In concentrating on what you feel you lack, you can't spare a thought for the abundance of blessings that surround you, if only you would glance up and take notice.

So thankfully, I got past age 25 and decided to look up from what I had been doing. Whoa. Here's the awakening, the realization, the epiphany. Or rather, a whole bunch of little ones, as I am still getting them. And here's what I saw:

I was raised in a family that loved me and taught me the things I need to know to be happy. I had friends who were good and strong and positive influences throughout my formative and angst-ridden years. I know who God is and how to talk to Him. I have always had enough to eat. I was given piano lessons as a child, which has brought me untold satisfaction and relaxation over the years. I have excellent health. I married a good man. My mother thinks I am wonderful. I have discovered the joy of reading and have the eyesight to do it. I don't live in fear of death or danger or violence toward me or my family. I have a roof and it does not leak. I understand the joy of musicals. I was blessed to bear children and if that weren't enough, to bear them with ease. There is a fence around my backyard. I have been given service callings in my church that have stretched me and forced me to grow. I lived for 31 years without experiencing allergies and it was a fantastic run. My Heavenly Father loves me.

I could go on, but these speeches are timed.

I am thankful we get humbled. I am thankful we get small insistent taps on the shoulder, or get our feet swept out from underneath us. I am thankful to know I have a long way to go and for the urgency I feel to get there. If I had one birthday wish, it would be for all the world to stop being stupid. And I truly mean that. Stop being ungrateful and whiny and start seeing blessings. Stop thinking you have it hard and help someone who actually does. Get out of the tunnel that forces your vision down and see how endless the sky is.

And if that doesn't get your juices flowing, you should see what I can do with ether. Stay tuned, and allow me to add gratitude for anesthesia during surgery to my list.

Thank you.

Before and After

2009-04-13T15:19:00.007-06:00

You all remember my old kitchen table?

Nice, but a little Parisian cafe. Terribly heavy and easy to whack a shin on (on which to whack a shin?). It was given to us by friends a few years ago, but I was never perfectly happy with it. So...

My dream table and chairs:

Expandable Parsons Table with Scoop Back Chairs from West Elm. Lovely....

But on my budget, at my newfound favorite store, and with a little assembling help from the house elves, I got this...

Fairly close, yes? The ugly mismatched booster seats add a je ne sais quois, I think.

S.P.E.W.

Happy Birthday Tommy!

2009-04-04T00:01:00.002-06:00

My baby turns two today. So get out the hankies, this is a celebration!!!
As soon as my third child was relinquished from the womb, my womb cried out for another occupant. Too creepy? Right. Darron buckled under the wheedling after a solid 12-month campaign (wuss) and we were back in the baby way. Huzzah!

A wonderful pregnancy. I'm one of "those". I love to be pregnant. The sick is not too awful for me and only lasts the first trimester. I have varicose veins in a very personal way (hope you don't get my drift) which causes fairly intense discomfort, but only when standing. I feel truly beautiful and fulfilled when I am pregnant. I think pregnancy is glorious and awe-inspiring and miraculous. But apparently that sounds obnoxious to some, so I tone it down when I'm talking to others, but I do love it. So it was wonderful. There. I said it.

As Darron "missed" the last one (story to follow in July), I made sure he stayed within an arm's grasp for the entire third trimester. Things went without a hitch until I broke a tooth and had to get an emergency root canal. It gave me a chance to practice my pain management techniques. I had decided to give Hypnobirthing a try this go 'round. Did a home study course called "Hypnobabies". It was kind of rushed, I did it on my own, not wanting to have a coach. I didn't want to have to rely on someone else JUST in case they weren't there. I'm telling you, I was not over the last time I got ditched out. I mean I know where I'LL be when my water breaks, but my husband, sister, doula, who knows really? So I'm saying it was a half-hearted attempt, not wanting to discredit the Hypnobabies technique when you see how it doesn't "hold up under pressure" later on when we get down to business.

My due date arrived. I took my kids to their dentist appointments after school (only made because I was pretty sure I'd be at home with a baby and Darron'd be doing it). I'd had lots of contractions the past few days stemming from lying on my back for hours in the dentist chair myself. So it was no big deal that they came on again that evening as I was fixing dinner. Darron was in Provo (25 minutes from our house) teaching a seminar, so I didn't want to bother him with false labor. I got the kids in bed, in between sets, then laid down myself, trying to get them to subside. They didn't, but came harder and faster. I called Darron, who asked if I could wait just an hour or so. I politely told him I couldn't and that I was leaving the house in 20 minutes and if he missed another of his children being born I would list my OB/Gyn as the father on the birth certificate and decline circumcision. Politely. 20 minutes later, I left. With Darron in the driver's seat.

We arrived just as my Hypnobabies CD began to wear off. I had wanted this delivery to be peaceful and enjoyable, which is why I had opted for self hypnosis to manage the pain. But the thing about hypnosis is you have to like, learn how to do it, and if you don't, you can't. Whatever. So Darron helped me to decide to take an epidural and just relax and enjoy the show. I did and I did. Yeah, I actually had them pull out the big mirror and I could see it and participate and it was so quiet and miraculous, no screaming or praying it would just be over soon. It was calm, quiet, 2:00 am, no one in the world but Darron, me, and our midwife, welcoming this little angel to earth. Well, sturdy angel. He was a respectable 9 lbs, 5 oz. Fuzzy hair, kissable red lips, hobbit feet, business as usual around here. Practically perfect in every way. He really was. As you may or may not know, with the fourth child, no one comes to see you at the hospital. They are either tending all your other children or you forgot to tell them you had a baby, so after an insanely boring 1 1/2 days, we both were sent home.

The sleepness nights caught me off guard. Always do. But for some reason I had a harder time letting this one "cry it out". And believe me, I'm ALL for crying it out. Could have had to do with the fact that his nursery was connected to our room, no door or anything. So no sleep, but a spectacularly sweet baby. His brown baby fuzz morphed into silky blond cherubic curls. His gray-blue eyes deepened to true blue. His eyelashes grew and grew. In the history of gorgeous babies... well, he's definitely in there somewhere.

He's liked motorized vehicles from the start. It's in our family's blood. Unless you are me, Ava, or Halle. But in the boys, it runs fast and deep for sure. His favorite activity is driving Daddy's truck ("dry Da-ee chuck") but my minivan'll do in a pinch. He's a fourth child (read precociously demanding and fluent in mimicry). He has to stand up for himself, so I can't blame him. He doesn't get "babied" by the others as much one might expect. He is learning to speak quite quickly and one of my greatest enjoyments is hearing him express his desires and opinions. From a very limited word base. Babies are fascinating creatures. He is adorable and squishable, so it is a shame he is not cuddly by nature, but we are working on that. I've been using techniques from "The Dog Whisperer" to get him to like my playing with his hair. I am a strong and assertive pack leader.

He refuses to call Hinckley "Hinckley". Instead, he opts for "Halle". So with two Halles around the house, sometimes frustration mounts, sometimes confusion reigns, but it's too amusing and too impossible to fix it. His favorite sibling is Ava, which leads me to worry about him being attracted to cruel women when he gets older. He loves when Daddy comes home. He loves to shout. He loves to drink milk. He loves to sing "I Know You" from Sleeping Beauty at the top of his lungs. He loves medicine, but hates the doctor. He's a bashful, loud, huggable, demanding, family kind of guy. Our little baby, our little brother, our little Tommy. Thomas Michael, named for another modern day prophet, Thomas S. Monson, and my dad. May be our "caboose", maybe not, but he will always be my baby. Now I don't know about you, but I've got something in my eye. Later.

Happy Birthday to our littlest gift from heaven.

If You Need Me, I'll Be Gone

2009-04-01T20:57:00.001-06:00

I love a list. There's something about taking things from a chaotic and increasingly undependable brain and safely committing them to paper, freeing up the space for more important things, like remembering that today was Silly Sock Day at school (whoops!), my children need lunch (after 2:30 I think it's called lunner), and my prescription runs out today (doh! Yesterday.)

Seriously, the brain is useless these days. Thoughts flitter through all day, but if I don't catch them and staple them down somewhere highly visible, they are gone gone gone.

Gone like the moon when the sun comes up,
Gone like the dew from a buttercup,
Gone like a woman treated wrong.
If you need me I'll be gone.

The great Dolly Parton may not have had a mother's addled brain in mind when she sang these words, but they reflect my state with poetic accuracy. I don't know if it's the hormonal toll of birthing 4 kids, the normal aging process, or the hectic pace at which I run (that's just a little joke between me and ...the chair I'm sitting on). I don't feel like I have a whole lot on my plate. I have kids, yes, but compared to others, I don't have many other commitments. School, home management, church responsibilities. That's about it. So what gives? If it weren't for my lists and calendar, I would be 99% ineffective. I won't tell you what I'm running at now, suffice it to say it is better than that. My lists. Yes, I have dozens of them, but they are virtually all variations on 2 themes. I present them here in list format, for organizational purposes. Ok, for reacreational purposes, too. Mostly recreational. I LOVE a list!

Theme 1: Shopping Lists

-Costco (2 types)
*Next Trip
*Can Wait Awhile, Until I Have Money That Is Not Spoken For
-Albertsons (grocery store)
*General Grocery Needs
-Maceys (grocery store)
*Stuff I Saw in the Ad That is on a Really Great Sale, But Will Probably Never Get Because the Store is Across Town
-Smith's (grocery store)
*See Above
-Walmart
*Things That Can Be Purchased NOWHERE Else Because I Hate Going Into This Store Because Everyone Is Really Rude There
-Target
*Special Things That I'm Really Excited to Get Because That Means I Get to Go Into Target (angels singing)
-Running List
*Things I Realize I Forgot on My Last Trip and Stuff I Run Out Of During the Week And Will Be Forgotten Unless Committed to Paper IMMEDIATELY
-Things I Would Like to Buy For the House and Where I Plan on Getting Them and How Much They Cost (ex: Petrie Sofa, Crate and Barrel, $1500. Countless versions of this list exist, depending on how realistic I am feeling)

Theme 2: To Do Lists

-To Do Today (errands, activities, cleaning, etc.)
-To Do This Week (more of same, broader scope, more ambitious)
-To Do at Some Point, Possibly, At Least I Thought I Would When I Made This List
-Projects To Do Around the House (ie paint Hinckley's room, sew cushions for the built-in bench downstairs, repaint kitchen cabinets, generally ongoing and never really accomplished. If I did ever get to the accomplishing stage, each item would require complete sublisting of tools, materials, budget, stores to visit, and a timeline)
-Daily Schedule in Anything From 15-Minute to 1-Hour Increments (only composed during periods of extreme list-mania, as even I realize it will never be followed and can only bring misery to me and those I love)
-New Hobbies To Start (general categories include something in the complete nutritional overhaul arena, parenting and/or wifery, and could be either highly useful or merely an expensive mistake depending on a number of things. Example- tailoring my own clothes. What? It could be great.)

So there is my life. All mapped out and ready to go. Do you think there might be a relationship between how hard you try to hold onto something and how quickly it slips away? A woman wronged? Buttercup dew? Brain function? If I weren't so busy, I'd take a 15 minute increment and ponder that. As it is, I'm scheduled out until halfway through Sunday, but I'll put it on my Things To Contemplate When I Have Some Free Time list and get to the bottom of it.

Daikonashi Welcome

2009-03-17T11:25:00.025-06:00

Earlier this week, we received some family news. Nearly three years ago, Darron's cousin was killed in a small plane crash. On Sunday, we found out that his widow is engaged to be married again. My heart, and I know Darron's too, is nearly full to bursting with happiness for her. Although we have lost much of our closeness with her since the accident, we have witnessed the loneliness she has gone through while trying to live life without her life's companion. I do not pretend to speak for her or try to describe her emotions and journey, the things I say reflect only my perspective as an onlooker, my own emotional journey.

Darron and I can divide many aspects of our life into before and after the accident (and its attendant fallout). The depth of our marriage, our commitment to God, what we do with our time, how we view money, and our perspective on many other things has been altered as a result of this event. It is one of those many other things I felt like writing about today.

When Darron and I were married 12 years ago, I was sure of one thing. If I died before him, Darron was NOT to get married again. The End. I was the only woman in his life, and he could pine and mourn for me until the end of his pitiful days. Terribly romantic and quite Anne of Green Gables. I suppose he could eventually die of consumption, if it came up. Well, then the kids came along and with it the realization that they might need more than a pining, consumptive father to raise them and make their lives balanced and happy, should their mother die. So I developed a proviso. Darron COULD get married again IF: a) the children were still living at home, and b) the new wife had fat ankles, was desperately unattractive, and adored my children. It was to be a loveless marriage. I could live with that. She would cook delicious healthy meals, maintain an orderly and disinfected house, keep them all pressed and dressed, read the kids as many stories as they asked for without ever getting bored or tired. And, if something ever happened to Darron, then I'D marry her. I could not stomach the thought of Darron loving and bonding intimately with someone else. Just the thought of the possibility felt like a betrayal.

And then one night a plane crashed into a lake. And a woman in her early thirties, with three children and one on the way, was left alone. Alone to raise the children, to run the house, to attend church and school functions, to take vacations, to eat at restaurants, to have opinions, to have worries, to walk through life for 60 more years. Alone. And suddenly, things I was sure of didn't seem so definite anymore. I had seen how much she loved her husband. I had witnessed it firsthand for years. Their relationship was deep, strong, committed. I had seen them have difficulties and obstacles, had seen them work them out and then draw closer. They were happy and in love. I saw her mourn her husband. I saw her anguished, lonely, depressed. I saw her unable to experience joy, laughter, emotions, so consuming was her grief. And when the heavy veil of grief began to lift, you could see that something in her was gone. She was still a mother. She had her children to nurture and love and serve, but that was all. The part of her that had been a wife and lover and best friend was gone. It wasn't needed anymore. And I was left to wonder, who would want this for their spouse, for the person they loved most on earth? Who would be so selfish as to resign the one they love to this? Whether it be 60 years or 2 weeks?

Not me, I decided. So without much discussion really, I told Darron that it would be ok. If he got married again. I don't think I needed to say it, he knew my heart had been changed, but I wanted him to hear it. That I would truly want him to be happy. He had always assumed I would get married directly after his funeral and had never given me any silly restrictives. (Apparently he thinks I'm a free-lovin' sex fiend and won't be able to survive for more than a month without a sugar daddy. He also believes I will one day snap and kill him in the middle of the night. I am not making this up. Another time...Another post...) The thought of him going through any part of his life bearing the weight of loneliness was more than even I, self-interested I, could live with. What is so wrong with my husband loving another woman? Well, when I put it that way, it does sound wrong, but will what he (or I) may one day feel for another spouse lessen the love that will always exist between us? I know it won't. The memories may fade, will fade, but when time is no more and the eternities await us in full view, the love we began building here will still exist between us, and we will pick up where we left off.

So my new story goes like this: Darron, feel free and cleared to take another crack at marriage, once I've gone. There will be no guilt, no hauntings, no cold shoulder when we get to heaven. I don't even have any provisos this time, just a couple, shall we say, suggestions? First, if you and new wife could continue working on your OCD tendencies, I would really appreciate it in the world to come. I've been going at it for 12 years now, but if you let it go, there would be some regression. Second, if you wouldn't mind trying to find someone flatter chested than me, I think that might be really nice. For me. If this proves impossible, no big deal, I only ask that you try. And to our dear cousin, I wholeheartedly wish that she finds a loving and fulfilling relationship with her new husband for many joyful years to come.

To the Depth and Breadth and Height

2009-03-13T13:14:00.007-06:00

My husband is pretty great. Sometimes I forget, sometimes I get too busy with myself to acknowledge, and that's too bad. Seriously and mostly for me. I take for granted that he is an excellent father and husband and all-around guy. Why? Because I've always had him. As long as I can remember, and even before that. (My long-term caps out at about 4 years.) So here's one reason my husband gets my vote.

It's no secret that my husband's family is a little, uh, how-you-say, assertive. Each and every one of them. Pushiness is a virtue in the Miller/Tolbert creed, and I say this with their full approval and concurrence. They do not tolerate crap in any form from any source under any circumstances. In a restaurant, on the road, from an employer/ee, friend, sibling, bishop, blind-deaf-legless-indigent-toothless-old-man. Now. Over to the Harts, my side of the fence. Assertiveness? Never. Pushiness? Please stop, I'm flushing. Crap? Yes, we have a special bucket for that. Tell your friends! So the joining together of these two life views proved difficult if not extremely comical (in hindsight only) in the beginning.

Over the years, time has softened the edges and we've found our comfortable coexistence. I may still cringe, blush, or hide around the corner as Darron takes care of business in an increasingly gracious, tactful, respectful way. I may still plead with him to just forget it, we can eat the wrong food, stay at a hotel that didn't change our sheets, paint the walls with high gloss instead of eggshell. Really! But in truth, I am so glad to have a person who will take care of me and not let me get trampled or exploited. He will stand up to injustice and see to it that things are made right. Not only for his family, but for others. And what continues amazing me time after time, is those he confronts, with very few exceptions, end up seeing it his way, apologizing, and becoming a friend and ally. Its a superpower the way I see it. He may not dance, he may not eat food from street vendors, but he's got backbone enough for the both of us and he is NOT afraid to use it.

So I love him. Even more than Adam Lambert.

There's Something About Kara

2009-03-12T12:02:00.009-06:00

I gave her a chance. I really did. I tried to like her, to listen to her, to keep an open mind when she was speaking (rubbish). I laughed at her jokes, when I wasn't feeling them. I've even defended her from another critic.

If you can't say somethin' nice, don't say nothin' at all. --Thumper the Rabbit

As I would dearly like to say somethin', I will start by saying some nice things. First. She has great hair. This can get someone pretty far, in my book. I covet long beautiful dark brown hair, so there's one thing. Second. Her eye makeup is always nice. She doesn't go overboard, but still maintains glamour. Its a delicate balance. Hmm. Let's see. Ok, when I launched this paragraph I really thought I would have more than two, but since it seems I don't... I'll move right along.

Here's my biggest beef-- and everything else kind of mushrooms from this one thing. ( I think I might be hungry) She is fake. Scripted. Insincere. Canned. Rehearsed. Now I realize that the judges get to view the rehearsals earlier that day, so they can get some ideas on clever things to say. I understand, I'm okay, that's the way of the Idol. But. Somehow ALL the other judges manage to make their comments sound spontaneous and sincere. But not her. Look. I know she's new. I know she feels she has to prove herself. I know she is an artist, a musician, she knows things that everyone else doesn't. But I do not feel this should be an excuse. Randy's too cool for school, that doesn't stop him. Paula knows nothing of music, that doesn't stop her. Simon's so icily needy it bursts out of his skin, but does he let it stop him? NO!! They say the words that come out of their mouth not the speech they've prepared in their head. This is it. This is what I have against her. And now I have to fast forward through TWO people on the show. Darron's okay if I am a little slow on the Ryan editing, but if I let Kara in for a second, there's trouble.

I hold out hope that if ratings get low enough, AI will have a week where we get to vote off a judge. I think that could be really big for them. Is it okay to have uncharitable feelings toward someone you only know in your celebrity fantasy world? Because my list may be getting a little too long. Ryan Seacrest, Ann Heche, Genevieve Gordon, Paul Schaeffer ladies and gentlemen, and now Kara DioGuardi.

BTW and for the record. I heart Adam Lambert. I heart him SOOO much. Darron does too, but he's got a soft spot for Danny Gokey. Its the dancing.

Police Beat

2009-03-05T18:21:00.002-07:00

It appears we have a tagger in the house.

I've seen this guy before...Here's some of his earlier work, from his mostly-caps-all-backward phase...still using the medium of fork on varnished table.

I'll admit this one threw me off for a minute... new name, new surface...

But after accusing the wrong child--I mean suspect--I could see my mistake. Brilliant move, framing your rival. But eventually they all get cocky. Think they'll never get caught. And overconfidence leads them to reveal their hand.

Somebody give this child a pad of paper. Please.

I Would Like to Thank the World Wide Web...

2009-03-05T15:10:00.007-07:00

Remember how I said I was an excellent mother? No? Well, it must have slipped my mind. Get out the Mother-of-the-Year nomination forms. My daughter and son's birthday party is finally planned. Invitations went out today. Oh, you ask? The same daughter and son whose birthdays were last month? Why yes, the very same.

What.

Hello My Name Is

2009-02-27T14:15:00.001-07:00

I was talking to a friend the other day. A new friend. One who has only known the improved, adult, highly mature Heather. We don't know each other too well, we are actually visiting teaching partners in a new ward to both of us. She mentioned that she read my blog. Yikes! was what I thought in my head. It was actually more of a sound effect, sort of like Ychklheeesh, but that's what it meant. My mind raced through my latest posts. My hair, my pet peeves, my AI fantasies, my clear and utter focus on things of no value. And then taking time to write about those things. And then assuming others want to hear about them, so posting them for general public consumption. It just brought to my attention all of my insecurities regarding my blog. For some reason, I have no problem knowing that people from my high school or college days, or from my immediate family read it. They know how I was. How I still really am. But I'm trying to cultivate an image here. And I don't think my blog is helping my cause.

That being said, I wish I did know who was reading these things. Who do I need to slink past at church without making eye contact? Who do I need to apologize to for being boring and narcissistic and a bad mother? When a stranger comes across it, what do they think of me? When my mother reads it, does she shake her head and feel a little disappointed that this is all I've come to? I've spent my whole life worrying about what others think of me and at age 32, I'm still there. At that point.

But that doesn't mean I can stop. The lid is not going back on this can of worms. I had forgotten how much I love writing. I haven't done it in a really long time, but have always enjoyed it. I'm not saying I am an especially gifted writer, my voice may not be fresh or compelling, my topics not very provocative or even worthwhile, but I love it. It makes me happy. And it hasn't affected the cleanliness of my house or children, my spiritual study, or the balance of life, so I feel justified. (Of course I feel the need to justify myself.) I know you all love it, too, you who keep blogs. They come in all forms and functions, but they fill that need to create, to express, to connect, to record life as you experience it. One of my favorite types of literature is the autobiography. There is nothing like walking through some one's mind with them. You get to see life's reality and ugliness and joy through the filter of a new lens, one still flawed, like yours, but with a new perspective.

I guess the purpose of this post is sort of an apology. (Wow, is that pathetic.) An apology coupled with a request. Apology: I am sorry for being whiny, judgmental, and presumptuous. Although it's worse on here than in actual life because I try harder to keep a lid on it in person. Request: If I do not already know who you are, introduce yourself! Tell me if you have a blog or tell me something about you so I can connect and learn about you. And for the record, if someone asked me to do that on their blog, I wouldn't. So it's cool...

Happy Birthday to Hinckley!

2009-02-23T00:00:00.001-07:00

My oldest child is turns eight this week (!), so here's his birthday tribute...

I became pregnant for the first time after Darron and I had been married for 3 years. We were working in Minnesota at the time and when I found out I was expecting, and all other considerations just shut down. I became completely obsessed with myself. Shocking, yes. 24 hours of my day were spent researching (symptoms, stages), dreaming (day and real), worrying (everything obviously), deliberating (names, maternity clothes), drawing (floor plans of nurseries), talking (to any poor soul that asked), and eating and eating and eating. Noodles and red meat are my pickles and ice cream.

Darron and I came to an agreement that he would name the boys and I would name the girls. My method was to read every book and website and come up with pages of options and combinations, ordered and reordered each day. Darron's method was to nix every suggestion I gave him. So when we found out we were having a boy, I had to just sit and wait for Darron to eventually realize his child would need a name when it came time to sign him up for Little League. I waited patiently. In a pregnant sort of way. One night as we were driving home to our house in Riverton, on leave from our Minnesota job, Darron casually pulled out the name "Hinckley". I didn't say much, didn't want to make him think I liked it too much, or he might change his mind, but I loved it. We named him Hinckley, after our beloved prophet Gordon B. Hinckley and Jay, which is Darron's (and his dad's) middle name.

Here in Utah, we pretty much deliver whenever we want. The obstetricians are so overbooked and busy that the more babies they can "schedule", the easier for them. So when my doctor asked if I would like to schedule an induction, I jumped at it. Since then I have learned a thing or two about the risks and complications that can arise from induction, but at the time I was fat, grumpy, selfish, and hungry (always hungry) and just wanted the baby I had waited for 4 years to see. It was a rough go, with many factors involved, but he came out eventually, all 9 lbs, 1 oz., 19 1/2 inches of him. He was baby-blue-eyed, chunky, and had thick black curly eyelashes that are (still) to die for. He was the most gorgeous baby ever born. Pudgy fingers and feet and the sweetest hiney(sp?) you've ever seen. Or squoze.

He came home with an oxygen moniter and I came home with a mess of stitches and not much blood. He had several trips to the hospital to make sure he had developed properly, I had a trip to the hospital to repair some complications from my laceration, followed by a PIC-line antibiotic for another week. The stress and discomfort of pumping and hooking up IVs and recovering in general, made life seem almost easy once I got to take care of him on my own. Blessedly, during that time my mom and husband were there to run the show while I postpartumed for awhile. But oh! The bliss of having that baby! My memories of Hinckley during those first months are so precious I can hardly write them. It's difficult to capture with words the feelings that are so deep and poignant. The overflowing of instincts and eternal purposes in a heart that had been yearning to feel them, yet still so unprepared to receive them ... they hit hard and fast and I just staggered, drunk but joyful, under their welcome burden.

Which makes the next stage of Hinckley's story, my and Hinckley's story, so inexplicable. He was healthy, happy, fairly mellow, easy to take places. But somewhere between then and the age of two, he and I developed an unhealthy edge to our relationship. Looking back, I blame it on my own expectations of him, how he should behave and feel towards me. Looking back, I see how his personality was emerging and reacting to mine, but I didn't know him well enough then to see what I was doing to him. I know it will be difficult for me to write this, to admit this to the world, to people who know me. But even mistakes are part of the story, and although I regret so much this period of my life, it is still a part of it. And painful as it is to admit, part of Hinckley's, too. I don't quite remember what started it, probably my wanting him to do something and getting frustrated when he wouldn't. Which escalated into my trying harder to control him and him rebelling more and more. The next 3 years our relationship was one of fighting, yelling, punishments, crying, tension, much of the time. Few kind and easy words passed between us. I was not the soft place a child needs his mother to be. I felt horrid for how I was treating him and worse as I looked to the future and saw what would be. In my most private thoughts, I would wonder why God had sent him to me. Why would He send a child to a mother so terrible and ill-suited to him? And in that vein, what kind of mother feels this way toward her child? By this time, I had already had Halle, our second, but I felt like I could not ask God for another until I had healed my relationship with the one I had been blessed with already.

Fortunately, God answers prayers. That sentence could be the start of every good story. Through much prayer and pondering and study, I came to be taught the way to mother this little soul. It was a difficult road, unlearning all of the bad habits of the past few years, forgiving myself, getting to know my beautiful, sensitive, trustworthy, loving son. And just as I couldn't tell you exactly when it became bad, I couldn't tell you when it became good again. But here we are. And things are good. Some miracles take time, but they are still miraculous. Especially those which change a human heart. I love our relationship now. Hinckley loves to talk. He's great at it. He loves to hold my hand, kiss me, and let me hug him for a really long time. He won't pull away first. Hinckley loves to make me laugh. Hates to make me angry. Nothing will bring him to tears, frustration faster than thinking I am upset with him. He is good company for one so small. He can be taken anywhere, has always known how to behave in public. He has a long attention span and a good healthy fear of what people might think...! He adores his Dad and his is inseperable cohort in all things automotive, XBox-y, Lego-like, and Star-Warring. Hinckley enjoys drawing, imagining, and creating. He appreciates a good fart. He's a "best friend" kind of kid. He loves laughing and will ask you to repeat a funny story, or re-enact a funny scene until he can't squeeze another giggle out.

Hinckley is an excellent student with a good work ethic. His teachers all love him. Do all teachers say that about all the kids? Well his really mean it. He plays basketball, soccer, football, softball. He learned to ride his bike at age four and has since logged over 30,000 miles, worn out 3 bikes, and is now better on two wheels than two legs. He's a fine driver too, which I found out on Autopia at Disneyland recently. I need to have a talk with Darron, perhaps? Hmm. He loves to pester his younger siblings and tell them what to do. Yeah, that is fun. A great all around boy. Either Darron or I will end at least one conversation a day with "Hinckley's a good kid" accompanied by sober head knodding. Truly.

He has been eagerly preparing to become baptized this year as he reaches the age of accountability. He is memorizing our Articles of Faith and considering spiritual things a bit more deeply. We are so thankful to have him as our oldest child, to blaze the way, absorb the mistakes of parents, and lead valiantly his younger sisters and brother. A blessing to our lives, and will be a blessing to countless others. Of this I am quite certain. Happy Birthday, my darling boy.

A Puzzlement

2009-02-15T20:06:00.000-07:00

Lookit, does gray hair grow faster than regular hair, or what? My roots (mousy brown meets copper penny) are a quarter inch long today. BUT, the roots of the gray hairs are a full inch long before giving way to the faux red. What gives? When I'm fully gray, does this mean I will have to cut my hair every two weeks? Or is the gray so highly evolved that it is actually absorbing the camouflage, possibly becoming stronger and more resistant, like a virus to overused antibiotics?

It was about a year ago I began to suspect I was going gray. I was 31 at the time, so I suppose it would be normal. And as I only catch quarter inch glimpses (of course--I always color every six weeks, you could set your watch) at a time of unadulterated hair, I don't get many opportunities to notice it. But I had started to see some sparkliness at my roots. Just here and there. As I'd be flatironing my hair, they would catch the light just so. I thought at first that perhaps they were blond. You know, natural highlights. I'd put in enough time and money installing the fake, and now the hair fairy was rewarding my efforts. I'd pull them out for a closer look...hmm... it might be blond, it could be blond, but.....what if....noooooh!!! The thought was just too much. My sister, who lived close by at the time was at my house one day, reading a magazine on the couch. She had been getting gray hairs for several years now and so I knew she would have an expert opinion. I went into the bathroom, located a specimen-- not as difficult as I would have liked-- and pulled it out. I brought it into the living room, walking towards her asking casually, as I held out the naturally highlighted strand, "Erin, do you think this is a---" "Yes." she interrupted, glancing up for a split second before looking back down at her magazine. "Well, wait, you can't see it from there, let me bring in clos---" "It's gray," she said. No hesitation. "But don't you think it could be---" "Nope. You're going gray Heather." And she calmly turned the page.

So that was it then. Who knows how long it had been going on? Does it matter? And it's not like I am upset or depressed, I know folks get older and get gray hair, and not necessarily in that order. It's more disbelief. Like when you discover your first crow's foot. That doesn't go away when you stop smiling. Or when your stomach doesn't spring back after the baby comes out. Or when you realize you can't eat a chili dog, churro, and nachos at the baseball game without serious repercussions in about an hour. I appreciate getting older, I truly do. I welcome the experience, the clarity, the settling down, the not being an idiot 21-year-old. But this aging of the body thing. Goodness. I know this is a normal human reaction. How many people, older than you, parent, grandparent, etc, have you heard say, rather wistfully, I feel so much younger than I am? I look in the mirror and don't even recognize the wrinkled face looking back at me. What does that mean, I wonder? Why do you not hear young people say they feel 80? Is it our cultural obsession with youth? Is it because our fondest memories are of that time? Is it because our hearts really don't age, our souls remain forever youthful?

Gray hair signifies true adulthood for me. Plain and simple. When I had my third child at 29, I felt significantly older. When you have one kid, you're just a couple with a kid. When you have two, you still seem like you're playing around at grown-up. Three? I don't know, that's getting pretty serious. You have a big family. You have to get a special car. A minivan in my case. Which made me feel even older. Young things just don't tool around in minivans, they don't. And then I turned 30. The triple whammy. Not that 30 is old in the grand scheme of life, or even in the short scheme, but when it's driving a minivan filled with three kids and answering to "Mom"... it begins to add up. But still, it was all just older, not adult. Gray hair is adult. Adult like grown-ups. Like my parents. Like my school teachers. Like my doctor. Like a mom who's been married for 11 years, has 4 kids, drives a minivan and does carpool. I'm an adult. An adult with sparkly roots. Which may only look sparkly because I have to squint to see them. Back when I was young, they made the mirrors so you could actually see your reflection. They don't make things like they used to. No one has appreciation for quality anymore. Computers are replacing human interaction! Kids these days don't respect anything or anyone!! I remember when you could get a Hershey bar for a nickel!!!

Happy Birthday to Halle!

2009-02-12T10:46:00.000-07:00

It's birthday time at our house! So this post is dedicated to my precious baby, Halle, who turns six today.

My second child, a sweet, docile little angel of a girl was born on February 12, 2003. My first birth, two years prior, had been rough. Long and rough. They decided to induce me a week early, to keep her from getting too big, which was cool with me. I came to the Timpanogos Regional Hospital early that morning, with Darron by my side. We had dropped our oldest off at Mema and Boompa's house, who lived just 5 minutes from the hospital.

The pitocin was administered, the epidural soon followed. (A real zinger that made me feel like an electric current was buzzing through my body.) At around 7pm, it was determined I was ready to push. Two pushes nudged out a wee plump cherub, with dark fuzz for hair and little elfin ears. She weighed 7 lbs 11 oz and was 19 1/2 inches long. She was quiet and sweet. We gave her the name we had previously agreed on, chosen by me, ratified by Darron: Halle Elizabeth. Halle, inspired by the actress Halle Berry, and Elizabeth, after Darron's paternal grandma and my own sister. My darling, thoughtful, considerate sister-in-law went to get me a big sandwich for dinner after, since the only thing they were offering at the hospital at that hour was small cans of apple juice and Lorna Doone shortbread cookies.

I shared a room that night with another new mom and as husbands weren't "supposed to" sleep over, Darron went home. He always obeys the rules. My roommate's husband had no qualms about obeying rules and stayed the night in the recliner, literally two feet away from my head, snoring all night long. In all fairness, we were divided by a curtain. A word about my poor roommate: I heard lots of stuff through the curtain. It was her first. A 13 pound boy. I am not making this up. So I pieced together that the delivery was a little rough. And yes, it was vaginal, for you inquisitive minds. She was so clearly panicked and totally exhausted and overwhelmed, which was exacerbated by her useless parents and husband who kept telling her t0 nurse her baby, he was hungry! She would attempt to feed him with her colostrum, (which I have doubts actually exists), then tearfully ask the nurse to take him into the nursery so she could sleep. 10 minutes later, they would come wheeling him back in --he was screaming like a 4 year old--telling her he was hungry again and she would start again. Her parents eventually left, and her husband immediately checked out for the night, and she was left alone to weep quietly (and try to feed her baby-- with nothing!) all night long. I regret to this day that I did not step out and say something to the nurses. Like make her slug of a husband wake up and do something. Like tell her parents to keep off her back, like give the baby a freaking bottle, like get that poor little girl some antidepressants right now because her road is going to be steep and rocky for a really long time and you are pushing her towards it! Anyway, I didn't, I was completely selfish and got myself out of there as early the next day as they would let me go. My heart still breaks when I think of her.

Anyway--- back to Halle. We brought her home the next day. I was feeling great, so I sat up and chatted, took visitors, hung out. Breastfeeding was a breeze with her, she always was just completely satisfied with whatever I could give her. As I went to bed, that new mom feeling came. You know the one where you start out so excited to go to bed because you are so exhausted, but then you remember you won't be sleeping through the night for a really long time and you feel a little sick? Am I alone here? Well, wonder of wonders, and a portent of things to come, she slept that entire night. A good mom probably would have woken her up because newborns need to eat round the clock, but I'm a little more concerned with myself than others. So in sleeping through the night that first night she officially established herself as the easiest baby ever born and she continued to live up to that title. Halle is the sweetest-natured, most mellow child I have ever birthed.

Halle has lots of love to give and needs lots of love in return. Once you get that, you get her. She snuggles and hugs and kisses anyone within reach. We have had to set rules on who she can and cannot kiss. She is completely indiscriminate. I hope the boys in her life understand this about her. She really doesn't mean anything by it, it's just that she has an abundance of affection in her little bod, and it needs to be expressed. On you, if you happen to brush up next to her, or tell her she's pretty, or sweet, or hello. Halle also loves to dance. And like all proud mamas before me, I know she has a gift. She is graceful and expressive, and quick to learn. She knows she's done a good job if she makes me cry. She'll ask now, when she sees me watch her dancing "Do you have the happy tears, Mom?" And regardless of my answer, I get a hug and kiss and a little purr.

Halle loves school. She actually loves everything, but I'll start with school. She loves it because it involves friends, teachers, learning, singing, people smiling at her, and getting her hair done, all her favorite things. If they passed out candy each day, she would never come home. She is obedient, well-behaved, sensitive, and smart. Halle has a good sense of right and wrong and a diligent conscience. She loves to pray and talk about spiritual matters. She is completely confident that her Father in Heaven loves her (how could he not?). She loves her church class, loves to give talks, prayers, scriptures, everything. She has a gift for memorization and a beautiful clear voice. Halle loves to dress up, wear makeup, jewelry, and flowers in her hair. Her make believe world consists of princesses (mean and nice), queens (always mean), assorted ponies, boys to kiss (thank you Miranda!), song and dance routines, and a general store. Her best friend in the world is her cousin Miranda, who lives a few blocks away and is in the same class in kindergarten. What a lucky girl! They are inseperable bosom friends.

Halle is a beautiful, loving, compassionate, funny, bright, soft, friendly, considerate little girl who adds sparkle and affection to our family. She is truly, truly an angel sent to us to lighten our lives and Darron and I feel humbled and grateful to be her parents. WE LOVE YOU HALLE!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Gratitude

2009-01-26T21:37:00.012-07:00

Last night I got mad at my husband. Real mad. Like the most angry I have been in I don't know how long. I was hurt, I was wronged, I was shocked, all the classic symptoms of self-righteous anger. So of course I kept it to myself. All night. I lay awake just steaming, feeling justified in my behavior, nursing the feelings of betrayal and wounded trust. In the morning, I gave him a slight cold shoulder, not too intense, I wanted to show him that I was above acting childishly, but still let him know that we were not cool. It's a delicate balance, a dance really.

He came home during the day and brought me flowers. Ah HAH! Amazing what a guilty conscience will do. He really thought flowers would clear this up? Does he think I am that easily bought? I opened the card, expecting an apology. It said "Heather, These are long overdue. I love you. Darron" What? I was seething at this point. No remorse, no guilt? Even after my little dance this morning? Oh ho ho, this was going to be harder than I thought...

I sat down in the afternoon to read the scriptures. I try to pray before so I can get my mind in the right frame to study, but I did not want to today. For obvious reasons. It's always a little embarrassing to pray to the one who can see right through you and your posturing and justifying when you're behaving like, well, like I was. But following the adage "Pray 'til you feel like praying" I began. I described the situation, I expressed my hurt and outrage, how I was so in the right on this one. And that I was angry, but I didn't want to be. That I was ashamed to be wallowing in these negative feelings and even more ashamed that it felt kind of good. That things were going so well between us and it was hurting my heart to feel like this. That I was frustrated at myself for choosing anger instead of sense, instead of rationality. That I was mad at myself for not having enough self-control to just talk out the problem with the person involved, instead of bringing in a third party. That I realized that Darron was human, only a man after all, and that sometimes he makes mistakes. I understood this, as I've made a few as well. So there it all was. Out on the line. All of my absurd, foolish human emotions, nothing held back. I've just admitted to being an idiot. Again. So why do I feel so much better?

Ok, I began again, a little bit humbled, what do I do now?

Well, answered God, what would happen if you confronted him with these accusations in your usual way? (Sarcastic and insulting, he means.)

We'd have a fight. I'd hurt him. I'd say mean things and I'd feel awful about them later. But in the moment they'd sure feel good. They always do, even though I know they shouldn't.

So is that your choice then? Feel good for a few minutes, attack your husband, and tear down your relationship?

I didn't say that was my choice. Just that it feels kind of good. I'm an idiot. I don't know why I say and feel such stupid things sometimes.

You're not an idiot. You're actually getting lots better. Remember last time? Now that was rough. Things are so much easier to take care of when you just come to me first.

I can see that. I'll remember this. But you might have to remind me.

I will. That's why it's so good to write these things down.

I talked to Darron tonight about our "problem". Turns out it was just a misunderstanding. A simple, actually humorous, misunderstanding that took all of 30 seconds to clear up. Did I mention that I was the most angry I'd been in I don't know how long? One of the greatest gifts we have been given is the ability to pray to a Father in Heaven who knows us and loves us beyond anything we could comprehend. It's one of my personal favorite blessings, one that I get a lot of use out of, which makes it even more precious. And it's why I feel gratitude tonight.

Record Series

2009-01-22T14:06:00.015-07:00

American Idol. Some things just MUST be blogged about.

I am a superfan. I don't care if it's the number one rated show in America. I don't care if I said before that I don't like things just because everyone else does. I don't care if it is hosted by the world's most achingly obnoxious man. I just don't care. I love it so much. I'm close to tearing up right now. Just as I did when David Cook sang his crippingly beautiful rendition of Billy Jean last season. And don't give me crap about how it was stolen, blah blah, he's not a real rocker, blah, took credit for someone else's music, blah!!! If I were in a play right now where I had to cry on cue, I would sing that song to myself in my head.

A few caveats to my superlove:

-Hate Ryan Seacrest, as already mentioned. Don't understand why he is on the show. Don't understand why he is on E! which I now can no longer watch. Don't understand why the entertainment world and interviewing industry has clutched him to their collective bosom making it nearly impossible to avoid seeing his face and hearing his jokes and.... he's everywhere!

-I don't actually vote. Come on. I'm 32 years old. I Tivo the show. And I go to bed when I'm done watching it. And however invested I was during the season, as soon as it's over, so is my superfan-ness. I don't buy the albums, I don't download the ringtones.

-I really like Paula. Definitely more than Randy. Much more than Simon. Now wait a minute, let me explain. Randy, as we all know, is useless. What he says matters not at all. I can't figure out why he is there, except to rip on Simon's seemingly incomprehensible "British-ese". Come on, what do YOU think "brilliant" means? Good singing? Or bad singing? Now I was a big fan of our favorite Brit during the first seasons I watched, but last season began a turning of the tide for me. I think Simon's arrogance has been getting in the way of his generally spot on critique. If a contestant rubs him the wrong way, does anything other than grovel and kowtow, Simon will hold it against him. You've seen it. And I'm getting a little tired of it. I love to hear his cruel, painful, and completely accurate criticism, not to see him behave like a spoiled child who got his feelings hurt and now is taking all his toys home and never playing with you again. Anyway, back to Paula. Say what you will about her. She does comment an awful lot on how the contestants look tonight. We all know that means the kiss of death, if she can't think of anything else but that to praise. That's her thing. So what. What I love about her is she is not afraid to say what she thinks, even if it is certain to garner rolled eyes and insults to her intellect, womanhood, and jewelry line. She is not waived by what Randy thinks (that's the best word I could come up with), what Simon says (ooh, inadvertant pun :)), or that she said the same thing to the last 5 contestants. I say, hooray Paula! Keep up with the sweetness, the showstopping, sometimes puzzling outfits, the rockin' hair and eyelash extensions, all of it. LOVE it. Now, a word about Kara/Kahra. My husband of course doesn't like her. I don't think he's a misogynist, but he does hate most female public figures. Not sure why. He thinks she is spineless and won't stand on her own feet. I'm reserving my judgement. You can't tell much from the first audition episodes, which I don't even watch completely. I'm uncomfortable watching freaks with bad teeth and social impairments. My husband also used to hate Paula. I say "used to" because he gave her his first compliment EVER when comparing her to Kara. "At least Paula isn't afraid to disagree with the others," he said. Deep--I know, grudging--yes, but a big breakthrough in our AI relationship. If Kara is what it takes to get him over to the Paula side with me, well... collateral damage.

-I pretend I am a contestant. No biggie here. You all do the same. I pick which song I would do out of the genre given and work on my version that week. If a contestant does a really spectacular job, I choose that one. If I have a favorite I KNOW I would ROCK on, I choose that. And I never have a bad week, which sets me apart from most contestants. But what's so truly amazing about me is it's always a surprise. For everyone! I never get old. The judges are so surprised and blown away and I'm so darned humble (I see a lot of David A. and Melinda in me) that the praise is profuse, sincere, and well-deserved. Now I'm well aware this is fantasy. I could never actually BE on the show. The age cutoff is 28. *Sigh*

I began this post with the good intentions of making it a short, snappy little commentary. All my posts are soooo long and preachy, I fear I may bore away anyone who isn't related to me. And perhaps them. I need to try blogging about things that don't have deep emotional roots into my soul, like .... people who ride scooters (good for them), or variable rate mortgages (don't understand), or marathons (why?), or alternative medicine (worth a shot)....

Meet Darron

2009-01-18T21:10:00.019-07:00

I was tagged on my friend Annette's blog and as this is the first time this has happened, I will do it. Plus, it's a good tag. It's all about my husband, Darron. And of the four people who read this, none of you really know him, some not at all, so here we go!

Wait! Disclaimer! I am not a mushy or demonstrative person and neither is he. I will try to make this as un-detached sounding as possible, but there will be no references to "Sir Hots-a-Lot" or "El Love Machina". Not because I don't love him but because it would creep him out and he would take away my computer.

5 Favorite Things

1. Chocolate cake with cherry frosting. Yes. He gets it once a year on his birthday. I think one of the reasons he picks it is he knows I won't eat a bite. Not many things he can say that about.

2. Theme Park a.k.a. Thrillville. He enjoys XBox on occasion, but these building games are his personal siren song. They are responsible for his failing eyesight, some failed college classes, and a mild case of carpal tunnel. There's also a game about worms-- digging holes or making gymnasiums for them or something as inconceivable, but I can't remember the name. That's right, I said worms.

3. Being with his family. I should move this up to number one. It doesn't matter what he is doing, playing a game, going to Disneyland, getting karate chopped by 4 tiny ninjas, he just likes to be with us. I should mention that this is one of my favorite things about him. He is an (stronger adjective than) awesome dad and a sensitive and solicitous husband.

4. 24. He has a man-crush on Jack Bauer. I know, I know. Get in line.

5. Coaching all our son's sports teams. And I'm sure our daughter's too whenever she gets over her fear of being hit by a ball. He loves to be there in the middle of all the kids having fun and messing around with them. He's a great coach and his kids (and their parents) love him.

5 Things On His To-Do List

1. Go to Disneyland. Always. Even if we are on our way home from the last trip.

2. Get that pile of junk on the counter out of sight. (And don't try to tell him it's the "junk counter". Just open up the "junk drawer" below and slide it right in. )

3. Be the best, most knowledgeable insurance agent you've ever seen. He's close. I'll tell you. He loves what he does (that would be insurance) and is really really good at it.

4. Shave his head. He has to do it every week, as this is his hairstyle. He has luscious silky Pantene curls, but you'd never know it.

5. Let's be frank. Get lucky.

5 Snacks He Loves

1. Anything I'm eating.

2. All the super-flavor-explosion-type Doritos. Spicy Chili Nacho Chipotle Kickin' Fuego Ranch.

3. Sobe drinks--citrus flavor.

4. NO BAKE COOKIES!!! I can't believe I waited until #4. This is how I get what I want around here! When I make a batch he will hide them from EVERYone. Including me. He is like a very desperate squirrel. I believe he has secret stashes he's forgotten about and are now lost forever. Good thing we get sprayed for ants.

5. Nyquil. He looks forward to catching colds so that he can take this in good conscience.

5 Facts You May Not Know

1. He is shy. He can talk a lot, but only when he feels completely comfortable. Or when BYU football is the topic.

2. He starred as Milo in his grade school's production of "The Phantom TollBooth". But that doesn't mean he likes Drama geeks. Apparently they all wore black, rode dirt bikes, and smoked pot at Viewmont High.

3. He likes to speak in public. I know! Truly enjoys speaking in church, teaching, lecturing, etc. As this is completely unfathomable to me, I still am not sure I believe it, but all the signs indicate it is indeed true.

4. His feet are abnormally soft. Like baby skin. Soles, heels, tops, everywhere. Hair-covered, yes. Hammerhead toes, yes. But smooth, satiny, just-been-paraffin-dipped soft. He won't go barefoot, which may explain a little.

5. He's (nearly) always right. Not like me thinking I am --he actually is. Completely obnoxious, right? But he always helps me sort out my woes with cool and pragmatic sense. And the few times he has been proven wrong, he will admit it. Just like me.

5 Places He's Lived

1. Bountiful, Utah. Born and raised.

2. Tokyo, Japan. 2 years, LDS church proselyting mission.

3. Easley, South Carolina. For a year after his mission. Lived with his aunt and went to school.

4. Minneapolis, Minnesota. Worked here with me for a year before the kids, living out of a hotel, handling insurance claims. Fun times. No really. It sounds like a joke, but it's not. We loved it.

5. Lehi, Utah. Our current town of residence. For the last 7 years.

Top 5 Quirky Things About Him

This is just begging for a countdown....

5. Germaphobe. Let's just start there, as it explains most of the others. Not all germs. Your germs. More like cooties.

4. Can't eat food prepared by other people. Which explains why my friends don't bring me meals after I have a baby. He tells them not to. A clean restaurant is fine, BTW.

3. Would rather not come in contact with children, other than his own. Which actually makes a lot of sense of course; we'd all be a lot healthier if we did this. Well, babies are fine. --Sorry. Cute babies.

2. Likes order in his world. I hesitate to call it OCD, he's never been diagnosed, and if he were it would be a mild case. He just likes peace, cleanliness, well-behaved children, everything in its place. Which just aren't bad things.

1. He does not, can not, WILL NOT dance. Ever. Any kind. No addendums, exceptions, excuses. There will be no dancing. Can't watch other people do it either. He would rather find a half-eaten Big Mac in the parking lot, take it to a gas station, go into the mens room, sit down and eat it off of the floor, than dance. If he were being tortured and his captors began to get down to some funky grooves, he would sing like a canary. Jack would be so disappointed.

That's my husband. He's a hard worker, a thoughtful husband, a loyal dad. My favorite thing about him is that he truly tries to do what he thinks is right--he has great personal integrity. He tries to improve himself and our lives with determination, and I just scramble to try and keep up. He gets better and better with age and I am amazed and grateful that I get to have him by my side.

As for tagging, I would love to hear from my sisters... It's always good to learn about the in-laws, I'm sure there's lots I don't know about them. Except Kurt. He's an open book. So if you want to... go for it! Or anyone else reading this for that matter. And let me know if you post!

Writing Thoughts

2009-01-13T12:36:00.009-07:00

I like to blog, I've found. It's therapeutic, cathartic, and cleans out my brain. My mind is awash with jumbled, rambling, soul-searching thoughts and I find that blogging, combined with a personal pen-and-paper journal has been very helpful in organizing and calming the chaos up there. And I do enjoy calming chaos of any kind. This is old news to all of you who've been doing it forever, but it feels like a revelation to me.

I'm also finding out so much about people I know, it turns out, very little. It is easier for most of us to express ourselves on paper (computer) rather than in spoken word. Plus, under what other circumstances would you gather around while one person spoke of their musings on poo, or their search for an ancestor's grave, or their very complex fertility issues? The average conversation doesn't work that way, unless it is with a very close friend, I suppose. So I like this forum. I've been able to broaden my understanding of friends and family members (and spy on some perfect strangers-- heh heh).

One thing that has absolutely astounded me is to find out that like, ALL of my old friends are writers, aspiring or otherwise. Or just the ones that blog, I guess. Really, before my blogging baptism, I didn't know ANYone who wrote. And now everyone does except for the few who don't but should and that encompasses most everyone else. I don't think it ever even occurred to me that writing was an option. Which goes to show I guess that I don't have that bug. I did try to write a book/ short story/grand apology once. I based it on my childhood and tried to address my unkindness to one of my sisters, now that I could see it through the eyes of a remorseful adult. That was 8 years ago and I wrote for 1 1/2 pages before I ran out of steam and words. It was terrible. The experience AND the product. So it is very telling that hearing all these friends who do it has actually made me possibly consider thinking about if maybe one day down the road I could try again. Perhaps.

If I were a writer, I would want to write like Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote "Eat, Pray, Love". Have you read it? I just started reading it for the second time, which says a lot for the book because I don't read anything twice, not counting Jane Austen or the Harry Potters. I really love this book! And her. I think if you secretly want to be the heroine, it is true book love. In 4th grade, I wanted to be Stacy (well, Dawn too) from the "Babysitters' Club" books. Of course, Elizabeth Bennett is a given. Me and 2.5 other billion women on the planet. I wanted to be the 2nd fiddle girl in all of the early Agatha Christie books. You know, not the sparkling, glamorous one who either got killed, did the killing, or inspired the killing to be done, the other one. A little more plain, a lot more spunk, got to be friends with M. Poirot, you know the one. I also want to be Lucille Ball. Different genre but felt like mentioning.

Anway, this book is very fascinating because it's like a big ol' blog. She tells her own real life experiences in finding "everything". She is completely, but honestly and not proudly, neurotic. She is aware herself, but not annoyingly so. She is self-deprecating, but not with false humility or to garner pity. Just really likeable. And she says she has a gift for making friends, anywhere under any circumstance. That's the superpower I would most want. She describes people so well, which is one of my favorite things about books, meeting really interesting characters. She visits Italy, India, and Indonesia for an extended amount of time to find everything, fulfilling all of her soul desires and finding her strength again after a rough go in her life. In a very uncliched, personal way. I particularly enjoyed the detailed descriptions of all the food. And she eats a lot of it for the first third of the book. Equally as interesting to me was her struggles with meditation. As a (not very committed) dabbler in yoga, I have tried a bit of meditation myself and found her frustrations with it quite amusing, sometimes hilarious. So, I'm not telling you you HAVE to read it, because I don't want you to shun it out of principle. It is just a book I personally found intriguing and inspiring, thought-provoking and funny.

I hope someday to be able to read some works of my friends. I have great respect for those who do this. Who find they have a passion and follow it, but also who manage to run families and cultivate human relationships and remember to eat. Someone said (Jeffrey R. Holland?) that people have, as part of the spark of the divine, a desire to create. Families, art, music, order, beauty, whatever it may be, it is within each of us. I agree with him. It makes sense, doesn't it? Truth generally does.

The Ikea Dream

2009-01-10T12:00:00.013-07:00

Last night my husband took me out on a date and we decided to go to Ikea. I live in Utah County and about 2 (?) years ago an Ikea opened 20 minutes away from my house. And before me move on, let me tell you what a big deal this is. We don't get ANYTHING cool in Utah. We are the last place to get good restaurants, shopping, public transit, you name it. Although we are the first for every multilevel marketing company that ever was or ever will be. We are obsessed with getting rich quick. And don't talk to me about Cabela's. Cabela's is not cool. I don't hunt. Or fish. And you can only go see the "mountain" thing so many times. One, actually. And the food sucks. Take away 500 points for that. So when I heard news of this Ikea thing, I was ecstatic. As an avid HGTV watcher and home decorating mag reader, I was well aware of what awaited me. Even the highest frumpety-frump-frump designers always mention with casual we-the-people-ness "Oh yes and that table/lampshade/potholder is Ikea." "Really?" exclaims the interviewer in wide-eyed disbelief, "Among all of these expensive antique custom pieces?" "Oh, yes" replies f-f-f designer, "When you have to work within a budget, it's important to save money where you can. Ikea has some really well-designed pieces. And with all the money I saved on this potholder, I was able to splurge a little on solid, hand-crafted, inlaid Morrocan mahogany fretwork Louis XV everything." Ikea.... (heavenly choirs sing)....Ikea..... If only we had an Ikea, I thought. If only we didn't live in the land of no-name shopping. If only I could convince Darron to rent a trailer the next time we went to California and then convince him to spend a day at Ikea, and then also to give me lots of money for a shopping spree there. Life would be so awesome. I just know it would be a wonderland of affordable modern design and I could get something that was once on t.v. My ultimate dream. I would be so. cool.

So the day of our Ikea Grand Opening approached. Talk of it was everywhere-- church, the grocery store, selling parties-- word was on the street. But as the buzz heightened, my anticipation began to turn to dismay. See, part of my Ikea dream was that no one would know about it. It would be my little secret to home decorating fabulousness. "Oh Heather," they would all say--visitors to my house, "this potholder is divine! This must have cost you a fortune! Haven't I seen this very potholder in House Beautiful?" And I would just smile, because, yes, they had. But now it looked like everyone else was having the same visions of grandeur that I was having-- well, maybe not, but they were ruining mine, nonetheless. Here I need to tell you something about myself. I have an obnoxious personality trait. Just this one. If everyone is doing something, I won't do it. If everyone tells me I have to try something or see something or go somewhere, I won't. Which probably explains why I never got into Napoleon Dynamite. Too many people told me it was THEFUNNIESTMOVIEEVER! I did see it eventually, but just tried not to laugh. My official position on it is: it was okay. So as police had to be called in to manage the frenzied masses at the Grand Opening, the magic and joy was taken from my dream and it quietly died. I never went to see Ikea....

Fast forward two years. My husband innocently asks me if I want to go look around at Ikea. Having no idea of the inner turmoil I've faced regarding this store, (because it's really just too embarrassingly ridiculous to tell him. I cannot imagine the look on his face if I were to confess to this), he asks me to go because he likes to window shop and he likes me. (I need to find a way to block this post from him so he will continue to feel that way.) So I suck it up--you know, all my dumb angst-- and say yes. We pull into the parking lot and enter the building.

I was wearing some cute date boots (high-heeled, completely unsuitable for actual use) and a winter coat. Those who have been to Ikea (I know...all of you) can see where I am going with this. Ikea is like 16 Costcos all put together, but arranged in such a way with stairs and arrows that you have to walk throughout the whole labyrinthine thing to get out. Totally ingenious. So we were walking through all the twists and turns with Darron saying "This is so weird" and me thinking "This is so AWESOME!" That's right. Ikea is AWESOME! I fell in love with a bed and a sofa, and all the cabinets and the drawer organizational system... oh my gosh. Everything I saw. Granted, it all looks like it was made for mini-people, but still soooo cool. I realized I'd have to redo all my decorating plans. Oh yes, definitely. As I hobbled along the maze of displays, sweat began to emerge and I developed a slight sense of panic, but the anticipation of what I would find around the corner kept it at bay. We found a mirror for the kids' bathroom that I had picked out months earlier during my (secret) searches of the Ikea website, and lots and lots of new possibilities. I'm telling you, it was better than what I had imagined.

So now I guess I'd have to say I love Ikea. Just like everyone else. I do what they do. I follow the crowd. But what I didn't see before was sometimes the crowd gets it dead right. Pretentious snooty designers and Utah County housefraus alike love this place for good reason. And I am right there with them. Living my Ikea dream.

2009-01-03T14:27:00.003-07:00

The holiday clutter is put away, I got matching Tupperware for Christmas, and I did yoga the last 2 days so I'm all zen. As I was lying in shavasana this morning, the hardest pose for a thinker like myself, my mind began its usual ramble, but in a more subdued tone than normal. (It's the Tupperware for sure, I was NOT like this before Christmas.) I began to think of New Year's resolutions, which I usually don't go in for, because I believe in a slower, more paced way of changing oneself, but my mind was turning on its own, so I let it go. There are several things I have been pondering of late and a few that just popped up recently, and I would like to use the power (and pressure) of declaration to state my areas of focus for the next little while. See how I really don't want to set "New Year's Resolutions"? I have some weird thing against them. I have weird things against a lot of things, but now is not the time. Om.

I am trying to put God first in my life.

Been working on this recently. For me it means my spirituality and relationship with God is first on my to do list. I want to take time to study scriptures and other teachings each day, pray with sincerity, and do the things God wants me to do. Simple, right? A wise woman told me that as long as you put God first on the list, even if you only get one thing done that day, it was a productive day.

Have more (warning: euphemism coming up...) alone time with my husband.

I'm getting a little personal here (its MY blog!) but this area has fallen into neglect recently. When things get cooking in my life, that's the first thing to get pushed off the stove. Terrible metaphor but you get it. The motto in our house is "When Daddy ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" and nothing could be more accurate. He does so much to keep our family on the right track and to show me he loves me and values what I do. But that can be difficult to do when you don't get the love back. So I hear. And for the record, I do NOT call him Daddy. It's just a motto. Eww.

Spruce up my house.

We moved into this house in June, after some renovations. It had been a rental for awhile and quite gross inside, so we painted, finished the basement, redid flooring, etc. And I was all gung ho to keep going, paint, refinish cabinets, sew curtains and cushions and pillows, landscape, decorate.... Six months later and it pretty much looks how it did when we moved in. I have decluttered, but that doesn't count because its super fun and anyway I couldn't sleep until it was done. Now I'm sleeping fine, but it looks like we just moved in. I guess I kept waiting for money to start rolling in from... I don't know, wherever money rolls in from...but that has not happened. So I'm going to do what the rest of the (responsible creative industrious) world does. Be responsible, creative, and industrious and do it a little at a time. I know, it sounds a little vague, but I know what I mean. Just do it instead of planning it, dreaming about it, and waiting for it to happen.

Be nicer to my kids.

Yes. I have to set a goal to do this. I am horrible. But there it is. I want to enjoy my kids while they are around me, indulge them when they want to do something with me, even though it slows me down or doesn't turn out perfectly. I want to hug them more and tease them more and make them glad they got me for a mom. Because I am very glad I got them.

That should keep me busy for awhile. I'll let you know how it goes. Happy New Year Everyone! And good luck with your own resolutions and life changes! Now is always the best time to change.

Color Test

2009-01-02T18:20:00.002-07:00

So if you want to take the color test, go to http://www.thecolorcode.com/index.html
I just took the free version, so its not really in depth, but still fun.

Red, WHITE, and Blue

2009-01-01T15:43:00.003-07:00

Unlike many women, I do not operate under a burden of guilt. This is quite a departure from most members of my family. I come from a long (Sonners) line of carefully cultivated remorse of conscience, but for some reason just didn't get the gene. I think it may be because I am all White (let me explain). Did you ever take the color personality test? It was all the rage 20-ish years ago, categorizing you into Red (ie bossy, dominant, what no one wanted to be), Blue (emotional, empathetic, this one was good), Yellow (fun-loving, charismatic, what I secretly wanted to be), and White (passive, nonconfrontational... boring, really). We all took it, you remember. At the time I took it (12-13) my score was out of maybe 200 questions, 99 blue, 99 white, 2 red, and ZERO yellow. When I tell people I am not fun, I do not exaggerate. As time has passed I have come to realize that all the Blue I had at the time was just hormones. I grew up with 3 sisters so there were plenty of those going around. I believe if I took the test today I would come off a big fat White, with nothing else to tone it down or round it out or liven it up. I am boring, unmotivated, wishy-washy, and I despise confrontation --which is something because whites daren't despise anything! I want everyone to like me and I always have something to worry about. But amazingly, no guilt. That is the domain of the Blues, and like I said, I've shed all my Blue.

So when talk show hosts, or women's magazines, or church leaders tell us women to not be so hard on ourselves, to make sure we appreciate how great we are, to not be afraid to say no, they are not talking to me. I am too easy on myself, I think I'm just great, and I, well, I can't say no, but that's not because I'd feel guilty if I did, just that I'd worry that the person wouldn't like me. Totally different. I appreciate a more vigorous approach to motivation, since the guilt thing doesn't do it. I need someone sternly telling me to get my act together, that I am capable of so much more than I am doing right now. One of the scriptures I like best for this reason is found in the Book of Mormon, spoken by the prophet Jacob. He says "Wo unto him that has the law given, yea, that has all the commandments of God, like unto us, and that transgresseth them, and that wasteth the days of his probation, for awful is his state!" This is me he's talking to! I have the laws and commandments before me, I know why I am here and what I should be doing. I appreciate that he tells me to not waste my time because I will seriously regret it once my days on earth are over. Who in my life now talks to me like that? No one. Everyone is too afraid that I will feel overburdened, or worthless, or guilty. But I don't. And so I continue to waste my time.

A few years ago I made the painful realization that I was doing just that. Wasting time. I was a good kid, a few obnoxious tendencies, wasn't nice to my sisters, nothing out of the ordinary. As I grew into a teenager, those tendencies went unchecked and I got more sullen, disrespectful, emotional, and unkind to my family. When I started college, it just snowballed. I look back with serious regret over the person I allowed myself to become, mostly because I fooled myself into believing that I was a "good person". When I got married at 21, I was a real catch. I was moody, selfish, angry, and emotionally immature. Not to put myself alone in the corner, my husband was, too. We are still astounded that our marriage survived those rocky first years. Much to be said for the lifelong teachings we had that marriage is forever and the fine examples we had in our own parents. Things settled out a little and we began having our children. I rolled along through life, not really committing to anything, not improving myself, ignoring the possibility of allowing God into my life. Really into my life. I went to church, sort of fulfilled my assignments (so no one would be mad at me), prayed half-heartedly, read scriptures sporadically. And I thought this was fine. Really great, in fact. You see, no guilt like most people. Everyone was telling me to appreciate me, make time for me, yada yada, and I believed it.

I truly wish I could remember the moment in time when I finally woke up. It may have been just a gradual awakening, too slow to sense it was happening until all of a sudden I realized it had already happened. It was at some point after the birth of my second child that the question started forming in my mind, quietly at first, but slowly growing in persistence, "What on earth am I doing?!" And the painful answer was NOTHING! I had knowledge that few people would be blessed with in this life and was deliberately ignoring it. I knew the purpose of life. I knew why I was sent to earth. My pre-earth life spirit had come down to this probationary state so excited and anxious to prove herself and to grow and progress. How would I feel when it was all over and I looked back and saw all that I hadn't done. All the preparation and anticipation and hope would have been for nothing. I would have wasted the precious time I was given. Now I don't know much about guilt, but I am familiar with regret. And regret is very painful. It overshadows contentment and accomplishment and destroys joy. I was full of regret, and for that I am forever grateful. It takes feeling pain, but with the promise of hope up ahead, that drives us to make changes in our lives, and so it was with me.

To make a long story not quite as long, not wasting my time on earth has been kind of my mantra now. I try to check in with myself and with God regularly to make sure I am always on the move. Not moving is what gets you. There's a lot to work on after letting myself go for so long, so I either have to work very quickly or live a VERY long life. And not lose my mind, another dominant family trait. Yeah, definitely no time for that. Lest it sound like I think I am perfect now, I will definitely assure you I am FAR from it. Omigosh, you have no idea. Darron does, my kids do, God does, but you don't. Which is good, because then I worry you might not like me.

Heather

As a postscript, I don't always know where these posts are going to take me. I have so many thoughts swirling around in my head that what ends up on the screen is sort of a surprise to me. I hope you will be generous and not think I'm too obnoxious or self-involved. Ew, I'm so nervous to post this.

Hair 'Tis

2008-12-30T14:21:00.006-07:00

Here in Utah, we love us some big hair. We have a pact with Texas, hang on to those rattail combs and aerosol sprays (howbeit the environmentally friendly kind) because a hairdo can always benefit from a little height at the crown. The rest of the world may deflate and inflate according to the dictates of Hollywood and Nick Arrojo, but we solemnly declare that bigger is way better. With the bouffant making a "comeback", we feel justified and a little smug. We are now cutting edge, rather than sadly outdated.

My ongoing problem is that I have a terrible time finding a hairdresser. There have been maybe three years in the past 15 where I have been satisfied with my hairdresser. There have been exactly 2 cuts out of 50(?) where I have been HAPPY with my hairdresser. I understand that this is a pervasive problem. We all have our reasons. Here are mine:

1) You have to look really hard. Except for my sister, who happens to be talented, I don't think any other licensed cosmetologists are reading this blog, so I can go ahead and say this. Most hairdressers are not very good. 95% of those practicing are under 20, graduated last year, and have extremely questionable hair themselves. (My sister of course is in the other 5%, or I would never have mentioned that statistic. Unfortunately, she lives 10 hours away.) If you blindly walk into a salon, however trendy and expensive it may be, you are given to one of these types. If you don't have a recommendation and a name, you may as well just blindfold your 5 year old and ask him to cut it for you. And when you try to get a recommendation from a) a friend, b)someone you see in Target with cute hair, c) the receptionist at the salon, you are answered with a) oh, my girl just had a baby and quit (the WORST!) and I'm looking too, b)my sister in New Hampshire cuts it and I fly out 3x a year so she can cut it, or c) everyone here is really good and it looks like Britnee is available all day what time would you like to come in?

2) It costs money. And I don't know about you, but if I am going to spend money on something, I would rather it be something I like. Not something that makes me cry when I see it in the mirror. I have a hard time allocating money for something that chances are, I will not be happy with, especially when there are so many other things to allocate for that will bring me happiness, like groceries, shoes, or electricity.

3) You have to talk to your hairdresser. Its true. Those people that don't? They're really rude. Sitting there with their magazine while Britnee slaves over their foils with not so much as a so are you dating anyone? If you are friends with her (but why would you have a friend do it? Don't hire someone if you can't fire them, is what I've always heard) that's cool. But for me, who considers 2 hours of chitchat with a sort of stranger to be the worst most anxiety causing form of activity I could engage in, this is a real stumbling block. I think it even trumps reasons 1 and 2. I could find a potential stylist, have the money in my pocket, but the thought of having to create conversation and think of questions and talk about myself is enough to keep me at home cutting my own hair.

Which is where I've been for the past year. I having been cutting--and coloring--my own hair since last January, when I came home from my last professional haircut, went straight to my bathroom, rigged an elaborate contraption using my laundry hamper, a barstool, and standing mirror, pulled out my scissors and thinning shears and got the job done. It wasn't precise, it wasn't exceptionally even or smooth, but I was satisfied. One box of Clairol Nice'n'Easy medium red brown later, I was ready to go. That's the thing about cutting it yourself. Your expectations are a lot lower. Its not perfect, a little crappy really, but what do you expect, you did it yourself! And with a little skillful backcombing (yeah, I've got skills), a little Pantene superhold, the holes get filled in, the layers look less choppy, and gosh, if I'd wanted something perfect, I'd have let Britnee do it.

Chilis or Applebees?

2008-12-26T21:39:00.000-07:00

So one of my pet peeves is adults who are picky eaters. You know, you try to go out to eat with friends but you can't go anywhere but Chili's because someone "doesn't like" Italian, fish, spicy food, vegetables, etc. One of those things that is tolerable in a six year old, but downright disgraceful in a adult, like picking your nose or wearing leggings. Well, as life would have it, I recently realized that I have been guilty of this obnoxious behavior. There is a longstanding animosity I have toward a certain (ahem) vegetable, that I haven't addressed or resolved. I had not thought anything of it, because my distaste for it has been so imbedded in my psyche I didn't even notice the lengths I have gone to to avoid eating it. I don't like bell peppers. They taste like earwax. And earwax is gross. And peppers are in so many things I enjoy: Mexican food, pizza, soups, Chinese. For years, I've been behaving like those people that annoy me, making little piles of soggy pepper strips on the side of my plate, cooking extremely boring fajitas (onions and steak), ordering half and half pizzas. What is this? I am 32 years old. As a child I hated just about everything, and have come to have what I consider a very open palate, and yet I have hung on to this last vestige of childhood stubborness. So what do you do to overcome a bad habit or learn something new? Well, from what I once remember hearing somewhere a long time ago, you have to do that new thing 14 times. Then it's a habit. So this was my approach to bell peppers. When I ordered a pizza, I deliberately ordered the combination. I made fajitas with red, yellow, and green bell peppers. I bought a jar of roasted red peppers to put in pasta sauces. You could say I chose bell peppers. I don't know what number I'm up to, I've been working on it for awhile. I'm probably past 14, but I can't yet say I "like" them. But what prompted this tirade today is that I have found something with peppers in it that I DO love... red pepper jelly! Have you had it? I had it for the first time at my sister-in-law's house and spent the next few days finding out a)what it was and b)how to make it. I made two batches today, one turned out, one didn't, but it was my first time canning, so still yay for me! It is divine. Up there with baked brie and molten chocolate cake from Fleming's Steak House. Maybe #3 after those other two. Ok, and after a really good Nabeyaki Udon with homemade udon noodles. So #4 then. But very delicious, you get the point. I am on my way. Without loads of sugar and vinegar, bell peppers still taste like earwax, that doesn't seem to be going away, but now they are an ingredient in one of my Top 4 favorite foods! (Top 5, I forgot to mention the tomatillo ranch from Cafe Rio.) I'd go so far as to say I could order anything off of the Chili's menu now. Like I said, I have an open palate.

Why Do You Blog?

2008-12-25T18:29:00.000-07:00

Blogging has always been one of those things I've thought myself too busy to do. I drive, cook, exercise, nap, play, read, and these with two or more kids in tow. It seemed inconceivable to me that I could find time to spend on the computer, and I just wasn't all that interested in it honestly. I'd have to take more pictures, and be witty, and feel pressured when I hadn't posted for awhile, all very draining things! I'm not funny, a little dull, and fairly disorganized, not the ideal makings of a blogger. Then I got on Facebook. My sister blogged very candidly about her experiences on it and I decided to just see what it was all about. Two weeks later, I emerged from my office to eat and bathe and realized that I was hooked. I started looking at blogs that friends have had for like 5 years. I reconnected with people I hadn't heard from in 15 years, people who were really important to me at one point in my life. I read all sorts of blogs with all sorts of personalities and started to envision myself possibly doing one. I read funny ones, personal ones, introspective ones, day planner ones, travelogue ones, inspiring ones, and realized I didn't have to be like any of these, I could just be who I was and let the blog go where it may. So we'll see where that may be.