Dog Kidnappers and So Forth

The other night I heard angry cry-protests coming from near my bedroom. “What’s going on?” I called (wearily).

“The kids won’t let me play unless I’m a DOG KIDNAPPER!” screamed Mette.

Kids.

That’s just the very sort of unfair thing they’d do. Dog kidnapper. Insulting. (On the other hand ... surely somebody must be the dog kidnapper? Surely?)

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Anders, dawdling before bed, came into my room last night and complained: “There are no Thornton Burgess books at the library. So you can only buy them off Amazon.”

“Have you checked the library?” I asked (knowing we can request them from any of the five libraries in our county). “Like the entire county library? Or just our little local one?”

He looked startled. “I haven’t checked anywhere at all! Can I check somewhere now?”

Goofy kid.

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Jesse took first in the energy category in the district science fair the other day. It was fairly late at night when we found out the news and told the other kids.

“I feel like I need to think of some way for us to celebrate!” I said.

“OK!” Anders eagerly agreed. “How long will it take you to think?”

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Recently, hearing Starling rummaging about in our kitchen pantry, Goldie called, “Starling? What are you doing?”

“Just making a mess,” she replied in her halting little way.

I’m still delighted by even the gibberish she utters. I think there is nothing more charming than any—even single—word that comes from her mouth. So a full sentence of admission like this one set my heart spinning like a top. It’s lucky I have a husband and nine other fully-appreciative kids (and a blog) I can repeat stories like this to.

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The other day I came to these words in second Nephi: “... for there is a God, and he hath created all things ...”. Suddenly I recalled hearing a young missionary share those same words several months ago. “Christ isn’t only the creator of physical things,” he’d commented. “He’s also the creator of opportunities.”

Of course I know that.

Of course He is.

Still, it felt then, and even more so now, like a closed box opening — all full of hopeful glimpses of things yet to come. (Though I use the word “glimpses” loosely. They’re like ... pinpricks of light on an otherwise dark map ahead. I don’t glimpse what they are exactly—though there’s a feeling about some—but I glimpse that they are there; connected in marvelous ways to all sorts of relationships and experiences that the Lord has already “created” in my life. It’s exciting. And it increases my trust in Him significantly.

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As I finish typing this I can hear Mette and Hans in the kitchen. They are playing with kinetic sand, and every sentence they speak is coming out sung to the toon of “The Lonely Goatherd”.

The End.

 

Bear Lake, Birthdays, Lemon Pigs, Glasses and Plays

We spent the first weekend of January at the cabin. There was some sledding. And one morning Jesse went out and discovered our van’s back window shattered (how? why?). And Penny, overconfident after our time on the ice at Willard Bay, soaked herself up to her thighs after crashing through a bit of Bear-Lake ice. We also shouted “Happy New Year” and banged pots and pans. And when we realized we weren’t prepared with our usual New Year’s Eve root beer floats, the girls dashed off to “Mike’s Market” for soda and ice cream. (Yes, I know: the name. “Mike’s”. Should it claim our full loyalty I wonder? Because, in a pinch [which is the only reason one ever actually buys any groceries or supplies at Bear Lake at all] we also visit the one other little grocery store. The one that probably has some name of its own, but that I only know as “the one by Ace Hardware”.)

Hansie boy had a birthday. He’s four now. The other day he tried to do his own hair. It involved the bathroom sink and a lot of water, and Mike soon shooed him away. I found him after — in a heap on the laundry room floor — sobbing, “my hair just looks so stupid!” Haha. Dear boy. We fixed his hair. He’s four all right; but that doesn’t mean he’s quite old enough to do ... everything (apparently).

We made New Year’s, good luck, lemon pigs (though ours look a smidgen ... dogish?). You make a wish for the new year as you stick the penny in their mouth. I’d report back on just how much luck these little lemon pigs can guarantee only ... I think we’ve all forgotten our wishes. I’m just going to assume they are about on par with birthday candles.

Everyone gathered around a popcorn bowl for a family movie night is a happy site.

Starling sleeping (with whoever’s socks and slippers she’s managed to get her hands on). Her favorite word right now is “cozy”. If you could only hear how she exclaims “It’s so cozzzzzeeee!” as she hugs her blanket. It’s glorious.

Anders joined the four-eyes club. He and Goldie got glasses at the end of January (taking our number of children needing glasses to five). Poor Anders’ eyes are by far the worst of the bunch. After hearing the results of his eye exam, all his siblings felt a bit remorseful over the times they’d hollered at him to scoot back and quit blocking the tv.

A few kids out in the cold.

And a few kids in more cold. (We got a huge dumping of snow the other day. The kind that packs perfectly. The only reason our yard looks sparsely snowed on in these photos is because all the snow was rolled into snowmen. There were seven total by the time all was said and done.)

Lastly, Goldie performed in her school’s “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten” play. I’ve never read the book, but several of the scenes in the play made me tear up. (And with all the unknowns of Covid, I’m so glad they were able to perform!)

The End.