Reunion Pics . . . Sort of

So, I know I was promising more pictures of my humongous family from our recent reunion, but first I didn't have enough pictures, and then, all of the sudden there were way too many pictures to choose from. Both my sisters Amy and Megan took tons of great photos that they shared with the rest of us, and I had some of my own. In the end, there was no possible way to choose which of the hundreds to post. So, instead, you just get a few quick ones that show very little of all the family.

Here were my two youngest at the end of the reunion. Penny in tears and Jesse passed out cold (though "it wasn't with out a fight" as Mike informed me -- Jesse is at the point where he is starting to not like to sleep in our arms and apparently it took quite a lot of crying before he gave up and Mike was the victor). Also I put these two because I think Mike is so handsome.

Perhaps a close up of "Jesse defeated" is in order.

And where was I, you ask, while Mike was battling these grumpy little ones?

I might have been here -- tempting death with some of my sisters and nieces on this rope swing.

Or maybe I was battling kids of my own. I've mentioned before that any fun we give our kids generally requires putting up with equivalent amounts of misery. It can't be helped. It's how they get their fun. At least the memories generally tend to be happy. (The firemen in my sister's little town spray this crazy foam stuff all over the place and the kids pretty much swim in it. . . . Goldie could never tell us what exactly was wrong. She sat in the foam sobbing but didn't want me to remove her.)

This is just a darling picture of Daisy with her cousins Kate, Charley and Maddie. Isn't Kate's little pointed toe the cutest thing?

And I couldn't resist this picture of Abe. Look what a cute boy I have. This is him looking into the arena after riding one of Megan's horses. Megan took both of these last two pictures I should add. You are getting great Megs! I should also add that Megan and Josh are pretty much living the life that should be Mikes.

"Track!!"

So, this is not a "pet peeve." I am sure we all have little pet peeves, but there is something about those little things that seems to show some smallness of character or an intolerance that isn't attractive. Maybe it is bundled up in the word itself? Petty and peevish.

I try to stifle those little annoyances. So, as I said, this isn't a pet peeve. I wasn't mad at anyone, but as I was running on the track yesterday I found myself wishing that more people knew track rules of etiquette. They don't, so it isn't their fault. It is like anything. I'm sure there are all types of activities that have rules I don't know so I ignore them. Just like the rules of where and when you should use cell phones. I have forgotten what proper etiquette says so I am sure I don't follow it.

Once a friend explained to me a "bowling rule of etiquette" which was -- you don't bowl at the exact same time as a person in the lane next to you. I was quite surprised to learn this because I hadn't realized there were certain good manners in bowling. Still, I have tried to observe that rule when, about every other year, I happen to be bowling -- just in case the people next to me are serious bowlers who recognize good etiquette and appreciate my observance of it.

On to the track. It is basically the same rule as driving -- if you are on the inside lane and someone comes up on you, it is always polite to move over a lane. Everyone who ever ran on a track team knows this rule. In fact, it was considered fine to call out, "track!" as you came upon someone so they would know to scoot over a lane for a moment. It made sense because sometimes someone would be practicing a precise time on a 200 meter run and naturally they would be coming much quicker than someone doing a warm up or the 2 mile. Alas, it would be considered rude or simply very strange to call, "track!" in the ordinary non-tracky world.

Just as there are some who stubbornly refuse to move out of the fast driving lane because "they are going the speed limit" there will be those of you who like to use the track and feel it a violation of your rights to have to move to lane two just because someone else is running faster. And if that is how you feel, so be it. No one will arrest you, but if, perhaps, like me with bowling, you want to know good etiquette, there it is. Inside lane is for whoever is running the fastest. You are under no obligation to move if you are already in an outer lane, and you can walk at a snails pace in lane one if you don't mind simply walking over a tiny bit for a moment when you hear faster steps approaching.

I don't even like to run on a track. I'm surprised how many people do. I always prefer to be out enjoying different scenery on the roads (or preferably trails), but when I am training for something, I try to throw intervals into my weekly runs. Intervals are basically speed work. So, instead of running for distance, you run miles, 800's, 400's, etc. at an uncomfortably fast pace. The idea being that it will help increase your normal running pace. A track is nice for these simply because you can so easily keep track (no pun intended) of your distance.

Anyway, yesterday I was nearly killing myself trying to sprint 400's (once around the track) and 800's. And at every lap I had to run out and around groups of mom's moseying along with strollers along the inside lane. Occasionally even just standing and chatting in groups along the inside lane. I know they weren't intending to be rude. But I was seriously barely making each sprint and it seemed oh so difficult to have to interrupt my goal each time running out and around. I just found myself wishing they knew and ever so grateful to the occasional runner that knowingly stepped to the side to let me pass.

So, now you all know. Now maybe I need a more interesting post seeing as this was boooooring. Probably none of you ever run on a track and have no real need of knowing this tid bit of information. I will tell you this though: "Track!" was such a great word to be able to yell. I find myself wishing I could use it all of the time -- in the grocery store when carts are blocking the isle and not realizing someone is behind them, "track!" I'd simply call and they'd scoot right over. On campus I was always one that preferred to walk quickly to my destination. How convenient to have called, "track!" all along the crowded sidewalks.

Running Pains and The Old Days

I remember at the end of my senior year my body kept trying to be sick, but what with state track, AP tests, graduation things, etc. there was simply no time for such nonsense. So, I simply had to put off being sick as best I could. It worked pretty well . . . only in the end I lost my voice for about a month's time.

The same thing happened occasionally as a semester would be ending in college. There would be papers due and finals to take. The flu would be knocking, but it simply had to wait until the day after all was done -- then I could hold off no longer and it would claim me.

Something similar (only slightly different) seems to be happening to me now. My knees were beginning to hurt running (as they have before) so I got some new pronation control running shoes (my ankle turns in too much during my heel toe strike -- which stresses your knees), but now my right ankle is developing tendonitis and hurts all the time (my sister-in-law Missy -- champion runner and Physical Therapist -- thinks these shoes have too much pronation control and are now stressing my outer ankles). I know my poor joints are trying to give out -- trying to be sore and have a good long rest, but there is NO time!! How can I let my injuries take over and expect to complete the training I need to for this Sept. marathon? I can't. No time now for such weakness. I just keep barring the door as best I can and hoping the latch will hold until after the race. Then the injuries can go ahead and claim me if they must.

Whatever happened to the old days when, if an unexpected rainstorm began during a mere stroll to a nearby manor, you would be immediately taken with a raging fever? You would most likely not even be able to finish your walk before such a life threatening condition would set in.

I guess it was probably best that women were all so frail back then. What other chance would there have been for some rich and noble bachelor to chance upon a woman in her moment of despair and carry her to safety? How else could he be expected to court her so devotedly and lovingly as he might whilst she lie in tremors and tossings on her sick bed? Eventually the fever would break, he would bring flowers, she would gaze serenely into his eyes, and a wedding would be forthcoming.

I suppose it would never have done for her to have been running about the countryside, miserable and sweaty with an aching knee and a sprained ankle. I can't imagine what kind of prospects that might have produced for any woman.

I guess it is lucky that I have already been courted and wed. Now Mike doesn't even have to send for the local doctor and bring me flowers and wait patiently night and day at my bedside. He just might have to buy me a new pair of running shoes . . . again . . . like he surprised me with only a month ago . . . because it would immediately fix all my knee problems (I'd assured him) . . . and there certainly wouldn't be more problems.

So, it actually might be easier for Mike if he could just toss me -- soaking wet, and in a feverish delirium -- over the back of his horse and trot me to safety. Maybe we are supposed to be frail after all. Who went changing things?

From Mark to Megan

Most of you already know I come from a large family, but maybe you haven't all seen my large family. We had a family reunion this weekend (our first official one). Here are the stats on our family. 2 parents + 11 kids + 11 spouses + 57 grandkids + 6 grandkid spouses (well one is engaged) + 8 great grandkids = 104 people. 104 people??!! Could my parents have guessed at that when it was just the two of them starting their tiny little life together? Crazy.

Anyway, not quite everyone was able to be at the reunion -- a couple grandkids (mostly married ones) were away, so 12 were missing, but 3 friends came along so there were 95 of us in all.

I am so sad I didn't take loads of pictures -- but there was too much going on. Still, I will post one now and I will post more fun reunion pics when I have stolen a few more from siblings.

When we were little, instead of "Mark. Set. Go!" We would say, "Mark . . . Tony, Kathy, Amy, John, Rob, Chris, Aaron, Shannon, Nancy, Megan. Set. Go!" And that was us, in order. And here we are now. The original crew.

What I've been reading and watching (or not watching) lately

So, I finished War and Peace awhile back . . . or did I? Well, it is quite frustrating. You see, the story was done. The characters gone. The 1200 pages traversed. The tale finished. . . . And yet . . . there was more . . . 30 pages more. What's 30 pages after 1200, you ask? Oh nothing. I know. I have to finish or I may as well have just stuck with only ever having read the abridged version. It is just that before, when Tolstoy would leave off the story to philosophize about wars and the whys and wherefores (in a "which came first -- the chicken or the egg" fashion), there was always the pull of needing to get back to the story to get me through it. But to end the story and then expect me to read 30 more pages of tiny print? Sigh. I must . . . but I am not the intellectual some of you might be and while I recognize the value in much of what he says and have learned a great deal about Napoleon and war itself, I have to force myself to read it and in truth, I don't enjoy it. Still, I'll do it, but may I just say, that I think War and Peace is a great great book with amazing people and a great story . . . SOOO, despite my own embarrassment at having previously read only the abridged version, it now occurs to me that I would most likely recommend the abridged to anyone wanting to just have a really good book. There you will find all of the story line with fewer of the breaks.

But, while I have been putting off reading the rest of those pages, I read Princess Academy by Shannon Hale. She wrote The Goose Girl -- which I've heard of but never read. Anyway, it is a quick young reader type of book, but just a fun and happy thing to read. Thanks Marnie for lending it to me (when it wasn't even yours to rightfully lend).

Next, I read Watership Down by Richard Adams. My mom read us this book when I was probably 10 or 11. I didn't remember the story line though -- just that I'd liked it. Anyway, its about rabbits. I know, I know, you are thinking it couldn't possibly be good or worth your while. "Rabbits!!?" you are thinking, "That's a good one!" I don't mean "about rabbits" as in "a book telling you about rabbits." I mean that the characters are indeed rabbits, but seriously, it is such a great story. I think Abe and Daisy would love me to read it to them, but some of it is a little violent so I will probably wait, but honestly, I spent the last half of the book "on the edge of my seat" so to speak -- biting my nails and thinking they would never make it. It really is quite a great tale. I think Mike would have liked it too, but I knew I was too impatient to read it out loud to him because then I could only read it when he is home (and since we have been reading a book for the past two years together, I knew what waiting to read it with him would mean).

As for watching -- I don't watch much anymore. In WA, all the shows came on at 8 or 9 pm when my kids were asleep, so Mike and I sometimes liked to watch something or other. Here they all start at like 7 pm! As if that would ever work. We still watch LOST and as much as I hate saying I love something that everyone says they love, I do like it, and I think all of you should get the first season and starting watching right away if you think you would never like LOST. Anyway, LOST isn't on right now so I really don't watch TV.

But, the other night I happened to turn the TV on one of the public broadcasting stations to find a little show called "From Lark to Castleford" coming on. It only lasted an hour and was as charming and good as most any English countryside show I've ever watched, but I wasn't sure if I'd just seen the end of a mini series or what. I looked it up and it turns out it is an entire BBC series. It has already had two seasons. I was so excited to watch them every now and then, so I looked on Amazon only to discover they were priced in "pounds" equivalent to about 46 bucks in American money. And that, just for one season! To add insult to injury, it said that the discs wouldn't work in most US DVD players. What?? Do we have different DVD players than the Britts? What is going on here? Since when are good English shows made exclusively for the English? I was so happy thinking of myself cozying up on my couch at night to watch an episode or two. Mike would be with me -- and while I might let him have the laptop handy to peruse classifieds when bored, he would mostly enjoy them with me. What has this world come to? Somehow I really can't accept that there can be NO "From Lark to Castleford" for me.

Anywho, there is the run down on my recent media experiences. Are books media?

A Little This and That

I was not joking around about these things bringing the birds. This is a common sight. Sadly they are all starting to die.(No, not the birds, sillys. The flowers!) I wish more perennials would bloom all Summer.

Next, here are the plates my kids made. Now, whoever said I wasn't a fun mom? Oh wait, it was my own self that said it. Well, never mind that. Clearly I was mistaken. Anyway, by the time you buy the papers, pay for the plates to be made, and pay for the plates to be shipped; each plate only ends up costing about 8 billion dollars! (Side note: Once, in one of my religion classes, the professor said something about the number "40" in the scriptures. You know, it rained 40 days and 40 nights, Jesus fasted for 40 days, etc. He said something about the Hebrew or Greek word actually meaning "many." I don't know if that is right, but I notice when I exaggerate I tend to use an "8" followed by millions and billions, and maybe that is why; maybe that is just my own "40" -- my own number signifying "many.")

Also, here is something you won't want to miss.

Yes, that is the doll and the frog that Daisy and Goldie made. Really, could anything be cooler than those stuffed animals? I can't think what could. Maybe you need a closer look at frog to be convinced (and yes, Goldie did draw the pattern herself):

The cool thing is, they like them as much or more than any of their other stuffed animals or dolls.

The Little Ones

The two little ones haven't been in enough photos lately. Funny how in a family with more than a few kids you become one of "the big kids" or "the little kids." And it either changes or stays permanent depending on whether or not new kids come along to bump you up to big kid status. For example, in my own family I was forever one of "the three little girls" simply because we were at the end of the family, and no manner of aging or growing was ever going to shift us up. In our family now, we have the three big kids and the two little ones. It has confused Goldie a bit because she only recently joined the ranks of the big kids. Anyway, here are the two little kids.

This picture is blurry, but I like how Jesse appears to be looking off at some exciting thing in the distance -- something he has been waiting for that has only just appeared on the horizon.

Penny continues to more fully take on her role as entertaining toddler, which Mike and I both love for all the laughs it gives us. On Sunday Mike was eating some of his Father's Day Pringles. Penny kept asking for more and more chips. Finally Mike told her, "No more chips." She wandered for a moment -- pondering. Then returned to say, "How bout one for Dais?" So Mike handed her a chip for Daisy and said, "OK, go give it to Daisy." Penny looked him straight in the eyes as she shoved the chip into her mouth and garbled out, "I don't have one."

And Jesse. Oh Jesse. He is possibly the easiest baby I have had and I've had some pretty easy ones (saving of course my dear angel Daisy who I loved fiercely but who nearly drove me to a nervous breakdown with her utter refusal to sleep EVER for about nine or ten months despite month long attempts at crying it out, music boxes, co-sleeping, etc.) But really, he is just so easy and pleasant. I worry I neglect him because he demands so very little. He generally sleeps through the night. If he does wake up I just give him a little pat to soothe him and he says, "Yes, thank you. That was silly of me to bother you. Now I'll go straight away back to sleep." What a nice nice little boy I have!

Oh Father's Day

During Sharing Time in Primary yesterday the kids were making Father's Day cards. One of the kids in our class asked a leader how to spell dad. Only he misheard her and wrote BAD. When she corrected him, he simply added DAD. So his card said BAD DAD, which made me chuckle.

Then in class Mike taught all the kids how they could all hold up their fingers and say, "Dad, I have FIVE Father's Day presents for you." At which point they would count off to five as they folded each finger in and then punch their dads. He had them practice a few times to make sure they could do it right.

Then, to top things off, Goldie made Mike a special card. "Only," she informed him, "I didn't know how to spell all of Father's Day, so I just spelled some of it." Here is the part she spelled.

Oh Father's Day Father's Day . . . how like fathers you are.

Running, Garage Sales, and Red Hot Pokers

I ran 14 miles this morning. It didn't feel good. It wasn't the distance so much, mind you. It was just that mostly my body loves to be running, but every now and then, something goes awry and from the get go it just feels unnatural and all wrong. I could never get into a groove, my knees hurt, and I kept having a stitch in my side that wouldn't leave. I guess it is OK to have those days once in awhile training so long as you don't on race day, but I had big plans for being productive and weeding more of our jungle today, and now all I can do is lie here feeling weak, useless, and unable.

At least I can lie here all useless for now. Jesse is napping and Mike took the other kids to some garage sales. I have mixed feelings about this garage sale business. I despise having so much "stuff" around, and honestly my kids each have about 8 million stuffed animals now. But, the kids think it is the funnest thing ever. Even Penny will excitedly ask, "Garage sale?" when Mike's around in the morning. And, it gives me a chance to have a little time to clean up the house and relax all alone on Saturday mornings. And all alone is worth quite a bit.

Anyway, look at these "flowers." Pshaw. Flowers?! Amidst all our weeds, we had tons of these monocot style groupings that I just knew were some type of lovely Day Lilly. I've mentioned I love flowers, so I was quite excited for all these pretty lillies to bloom . . . but when they did bloom, they were not lillies at all. Even as I saw the bizarre triangles developing I kept refusing to believe they wouldn't somehow change into a traditional flower shape. I was out running one morning when I saw some that were further along than my own. I ran past thinking nothing but then stopped cold as the realization hit me. The things I had just run past were the same things that were growing in my yard -- everywhere in my yard. I didn't have lillies, I had RED HOT POKERS!! (Only I didn't know they were called Red Hot Pokers til my friend Kelly told me). I felt like I had been duped -- like someone had played a dirty trick on me. I don't want to offend anyone who thinks they are lovely, but I went so far as to call them "ridiculous." Sure I could see a few strategically placed in a well landscaped area looking alright (mostly behind other prettier things -- just to add a little drama), but all on their own they seemed totally inappropriate.

But that was before the birds came. It turns out birds love these little Red Hot Poker guys. It is like we have hundreds of tiny bird feeders in our yard. At all times of the day you can look out and catch various little birds landing on these things and looking for bugs or drinking nectar or whatever it is they are doing. I took this picture of one just to show you what I mean. I feel like we have a little wildlife bird refuge in our backyard now (patrolled by a giant and somewhat clueless dog). And oddly, these pokers don't look quite so silly to me anymore. I am maybe even starting to like them. It's just like Rudolph. Everyone thought he was totally ridiculous looking until Santa paid him a little attention . . . next thing you know, everyone wanted him to play their reindeer games (like Monopoly). Yes, that is how I feel. Thanks to the attention paid to these flowers by a few birds, I see them quite differently. I think I might even want to invite them to play Monopoly now.

Airplane and Balloon Notes

I like this. Yesterday Abe and Daisy were arguing. At some point, apparently, Daisy decided to apologize by throwing an airplane into Abe's room with a small note attached saying she was sorry. Abe loved such a clever apology and sent a message back. Between last night and today, they ended up sending quite a few airplanes flying from upstairs to down, or one room to another. Occasionally a small note would come floating down attached to a balloon. I hadn't paid much attention to what the notes said until they decided to tape them all onto one balloon to keep. Here is what I found on this balloon in no particular order (punctuation, capitalization and spelling as they truly were):

-- thank you

-- no your welcome and thanks!!

-- come on (I think this one came to Abe when Daisy was waiting for him to come play a game with her).

-- to Daisy thanks

-- Good morning

-- we are small but we are strong, I won't punch you all day long (what? I don't know, but cool)

-- WAKE UP!!!

-- let's play toys!

-- OK

-- Your welcome and thanks

-- to Abe i am Sorry

-- thanks and Good night

-- sorry?!

-- it's ok

-- thanks I Love You

-- good night!!!

-- show time!! (I think Abe sent this up to Daisy when I said they could watch a show last night).

-- no your welcome and thanks!!

Oh! So funny! Literally right as I was typing this post, an airplane came flying in the room from around the corner going to the basement (where Abe and Daisy are playing so as not to wake their napping siblings). Here is what was attached:

(That says "Mom will you please get us a snack" if you couldn't read it). I had to pause to get them some crackers and chocolate chips -- which I left on the top stair before sending an airplane down with a note saying, "Look on the stairs" . . . only the note fell out of the airplane (how do theirs' always stay?) . . . so it wasn't as perfect as it should have been. Anyway, what cuteness from my kids. Things like this almost make you forget all about things like the terrible sobbing tantrum one of my daughters threw this morning!

Risks We Never Took

Here's something interesting (or not I suppose, depending on the viewpoint of you, the reader), but it is this: We were not the safest of children growing up. We ran about the neighborhood never thinking to tell a parent of our whereabouts. We walked to the store when it was dark outside. We spent many days running around on our roof (which makes me shudder to think of -- my parent's roof is very steep and high). Etc.

Despite our careless ways however, we did know that there were certain dangers you simply did not toy with. Certain risks you never took. How, or even if, my parents meant to impress only these things upon us, I am uncertain, but the impression was made, and the terrifying deeds were never done. (And as for the other areas where we were careless . . . well, that was in another time . . . a time when kids weren't kidnapped, and they didn't fall off roofs). Here are some of the things that were no joking matter in my family.

1. The lid removed from a can with a can opener. One sure fire way to invite trouble was to remove a lid with a can opener and then simply toss that lid in the garbage. Or worse, leave it hanging on the edge of the can. That simply was not done. You ALWAYS put the severed lid in the bottom of the can it was removed from. Otherwise later, when you were reaching your hand deep into the garbage (for some unknown reason) one of these razor sharp lids would most likely sever your hand (maybe your whole arm). It wasn't until I was married and on my own that I once in awhile threw one of these lids away not in the can, and even then, only if I was feeling especially bold and rebellious.

2. Plastic bags. I don't actually know if this came from my parents or school teachers, but I do know that if a plastic bag was put over your head . . . maybe not even put over your head, maybe just somewhere near your head . . . you would immediately suffocate. No no, you couldn't use your hands to remove the bag, you would be far too terrified and confused for that, and you would only have about five seconds before you were dead anyway, so . . .

3. Look for rocks before diving. Ironically, my dad had given us that advice for years BEFORE he himself dove into a sandbar or rock or something at a lake in Yellowstone -- nearly killing or paralyzing himself. I still recall seeing him come stumbling up the hill leaning on my brother and covered in blood. We certainly didn't question or mock that advice after that event.

4. Giggling so much with our friends that we didn't watch the road while we were driving. This advice may have not been heeded as well as the others . . . and it may have been given solely to me. I'm not sure, but ohhh my friends and I loved to laugh and laugh and laugh . . . and my dad lived in constant fear of the danger our giggling would subject us to.

5. Bang toys on the piano. OK, nothing dangerous would happen to you if you did this (other than incurring the wrath of my mother), but that was also one "forbidden" thing that came to mind. We may have jumped on couches and hung from banisters, but we did NOT bang toys on the piano.

Anyway, that's all. It just made me wonder about what things I am most adamant that my kids avoid. Perhaps I should just stick with those five because steering clear of those things did land me safely here -- in adulthood.

Some Penny

Lately Penny phrases every thought as a question. We'll walk outside and it will be blustery. "Is it windy, Mom?" She'll ask as she shields her eyes from the gusts. "Is it mine?" She'll say happily if I hand her a drink. "Is it Jesse?" If she hears him. It is very cute. Also, yesterday Abe came in from playing outside with his sisters. He'd been treated poorly and grumpily told me, "I don't want to play with them anymore. I'm going for a ride," and he hopped on Penny's tiny little bus scooter. I couldn't help but chuckle, and when he asked why, and I explained that usually someone "going on a ride" to blow off some steam would be going off on their bike or in a car rather than a tiny toy scooting around the house, he had to admit he looked a bit funny and before long he was cheerfully shouting for Penny to chase him as he zoomed about. She, however, was uninterested in this game of tag and after ignoring his request several times, she simply said, "You wish." Abe and I thought that was the funniest thing ever. I couldn't imagine where she would have picked that up until Abe told me that I say that to him all of the time! (I think it is only when he says things like, "Can I stay up all night and eat ice cream?" though). Anyway, Pen is a fun little girl.

Beginnings of Summer Adventures

Occasionally someone will tell me I'm a good mom. I like that, naturally, but am not exactly sure what being a "good mom" fully entails. Whenever someone gives me such a compliment, I try to think of anything specifically I do that could be considered truly "good." I can't think of any real strong points, but maybe my mothering is like myself in general. I think that most people would consider me a good person. "Nancy? She's good. Yes, most assuredly she's good." Yet they would perhaps have a feeling of vagueness themselves as they thought of me as good and if asked to pinpoint just how I am good or where exactly any goodness in me lie they would not be sure. Still, I think (or hope) they would remain convinced that I am -- despite the lack of clear and easily visible markers.

Anyway, who knows exactly if or how I'm a good mom what with the specefics so lacking. My kids, for the most part, are pretty good, so perhaps the natural supposition would be that I made them that way by my good mothering? Really they probably just came good. Either way, I will tell you quite sadly that, good mom or not, my momness is lacking in one area -- the area of fun. I just am not naturally a super fun mom. I don't really love thinking up or taking them on fun adventures or coming up with creative crafts. I manage to squeeze by with a few things now and then that require very little effort on my part (like telling them to divide a paper into nine sections and create nine aliens for me, or, we did buy those round papers that they color and ship off to be turned into plates), but mostly I just don't do fun things. Recognizing this, however, I have decided to try and do at least one "fun" thing a week with them over the Summer. So far, so good. Week one: the Zoo (thanks Shannon and Priscilla for coming too). Week two: 4-wheeling and sleeping over at my sister's in Idaho (thanks Megs for letting us come on such short notice. There were ten kids under age nine between us, so very nice of her). Not all weeks will have such BIG fun things (sometimes it will be a park or small hike), but I am trying to let them have their fun -- even if it isn't in my nature to do so. Here are a few pics from the zoo and Megan's house.

The Zoo

Meg's house

A Little Music

Friday night we tried to go to the movie Up as a family. Unfortunately Jesse found the theater to be thee single most terrifying place he had ever been thrust into and began sobbing hysterically (and he's not much of a cryer -- crier? The town crier or cryer? -- oh these thoughts spawning other thoughts -- how can I ever stay on track?). Anyway, I left and took him home to bed. I was sad to miss the show. Mike and the kids thought it was about the best Pixar yet. But, as I sat in my quiet home glancing through the Ensign, I didn't mind so much. One article quoted one of Oscar Wilde's characters saying, "After playing Chopin, I feel as though I had been weeping over sins that I had never committed, and mourning over tragedies that were not my own." I fell quite madly in love with that quote. It expressed in such moving wording how I already feel about reading novels and how I now believed I should most certainly feel about music (if I could ever claim to understand the world at all).

So, I immediately retired to my chambers (huh?) where I began plunking out, somewhat discordantly, Pachelbel's Canon in D and then a few hymns (initially with enough enthusiasm that I used my left hand . . . which eventually dropped out of participation). And while my own playing limitations didn't allow me, during this particular session, to weep, mourn, or soar with love or joy, I did have a few good moments of small inspiration concerning the raising of my children. So. That is all I really have to say. Hmm. Odd to end so abruptly -- not just here, in the typed word, but in my own head. That was that. All there was. Well, good day to you all then.

Daisy -- Awards, etc.

The other day after school, Daisy came running full speed down the sidewalk to our waiting car. She was holding a certificate of some sort, wearing a medal, and smiling as if she were about to burst having to hold in her news clear til she made it to me.

She'd gotten an award along with several other students for "Scholarship" in front of the whole first grade. She told me how when they started to read the names she had crossed her fingers and thought, "Please say my name. Please say my name," and right then they did.

I had to give Abe a bit of a scolding look. He had arrived at the car a few moments later and was mumbling something about how it was no big deal. He'd gotten one in front of the 2nd grade for academics or scholarlyness or some such as well. But he has received several awards already this year and I didn't want him downplaying Daisy's when she was clearly so excited about it.

I wished I had been there when she received the award. Daisy has this smile that is half shy but filled with joy and pride when she gets recognized for something in front of others. It alternates between pursing itself nervously over her teeth and then breaking back into a tremendous grin, and her eyes are lit up all the while. I don't know exactly what it is about that smile, but I knew it would have been on her face when she was handed this award in front of everybody. I've seen it multiple times and every time it causes some emotion to swell in me that makes me feel like crying.

And . . . speaking of Daisy. Here is a picture of a chore chart I made them do today. I don't have a set method or chart for making my kids work. Some things they do every day (like empty the dishwasher), some days I make them lists to check off, most often it is just, "We can go to the store when the puzzles are all cleaned up," or "You can watch your show when the laundry is put away." Today I happened to make a little list of stuff they had to do. They each had to check off their initial next to the job as it was finished. This just makes me laugh because it is so very typical of who would and wouldn't be eagerly scratching off their initials.

No Blogging??/Marriage

I can't blog anymore -- which makes me think of that darned raven crying, "Nevermore! Nevermore!" What was he nevermoring about, anyway? Never mind, the point is: me -- not blogging. It is all the fault of War and Peace. I planned to read it casually so as not to have its 1200 pages of very tiny print interfere with real life. Alas, I am unable to be leisurely. It is maybe like buying a bag of little Twix bars and planning to eat them slowly over a month's time. I don't have that type of control. It has been occupying my every spare minute. Anyway, I am 800 pages in and because I am so caught up in my book, and have no interest in my blog, it suddenly seems to me that all the world must be caught up in something that likewise renders my blog of zero interest to them.

However, Tolstoy occasionally departs from the story and his very human -- amazingly human characters to philosophize about such things as why Napoleon made such and such a decision, or why historians were all wrong about the cause of this or that victory; and I must admit, those pages I am only ever reading through to get back to Pierre or Natasha, prince Andrei or Nikolai, or even Marya and the old prince. And since a spell of those pages are upon me I decided I would spend today's nap time (you know, the time my kids nap) catching up on blogging. Now there should be enough new posts that no one will notice my absentee status for the remaining 400 pages.

So, moving right along, I thought I'd discuss how very difficult it is being married -- particularly when one member of the marriage arrangement discovers something seemingly minor about the other member that causes them to question just who on earth they have married and if they ever even knew them at all!

For example, when sister Shannon found out that her Jason didn't like horses. He hated horses! What on earth was she to make of that? People don't hate horses. Luckily he likes them now, and he would have actually liked them much sooner if he'd been sitting in my backyard one day with my sister Megan and I while we chatted and watched our kids play. Our very mellow horse Honey was in the pasture trying to mind her own business, and our half grown Australian Shepherd (that is a dog, not a half sized shepherd man from Australia in our employ) was barking about Honey's heels annoyingly. All of the sudden, so quickly that if only one of us had seen it we wouldn't have believed it to have happened, Honey decided she'd had enough and grabbing Bud (the dog) with her giant horse mouth, tossed him a good ten feet. Both Megan and I just stared for a minute, then looked at each other dumbfounded wondering if we had both just seen that, and then we burst into laughter (justified only by the fact that the dog was unharmed -- or at least only his pride was harmed -- and because Honey seemed to be giving him just what he deserved. . . . We just didn't really know that horses could do that). Here is an artist's depiction of the event (I don't know what artist -- probably a famous one though).

Another example would be when I found out that Mike didn't like fireworks. Who was this man I had married, lived and borne children with? I refused to believe anyone could dislike fireworks until the following night when our firework happy neighbor nearly blew up the entire neighborhood by accidentally setting off several thousand dollars worth of fireworks at once. "Oh," I said to Mike, "Now I see."

But now it is Mike who has been so rudely startled from his marital bliss and it all happened by me saying, "Snicker doodles? I don't like snicker doodles! What kind of a Sunday night treat is that?" Apparently this was quite a shock and perhaps insulted his fondest and truest childhood memories because he told me cruelly, "You wouldn't know a happy cookie if it slapped you in the face." At which point I covered his mouth and told him not to say anything further or he might say something we'd both regret. It isn't my fault though. Rare is the treat that I can truly love with out a chocolaty component. Pumpkin squares and strawberry shortcake maybe. I even told him I didn't mind sugar cookies with frosting -- upon which he suggested I "de-snicker" a snicker doodle or two. I wasn't buying that. So, grumbling and mumbling something about fools mocking and later mourning, he retired himself to the kitchen where he and the girls proceeded to make snicker doodles (and even a few snicker snakes), but I don't think he looks at me quite the same anymore.

It is tough this business of love and marriage. I hardly know how we do it. It is a good thing Mike has supported me in War and Peace, or who knows where we would be! (He has looked up various bits of history online for me when I have been confused about something they discuss in the book, and he even bought me a happy little LDS fiction the other day at a garage sale because he figured that after War and Peace I'd need some "fluff" reading. I love Mike).

A Cool Picture

I don't know what exactly it is about it, but I love this picture of Goldie. The kids were already bathed and in their pj's when Mike suggested we go for a walk in the foothills above our house for Family Night. I just love this little fairy girl flitting about the foothills in her little white nightgown, blue Puma's and striped socks. I love how out of place it all seems.