There Once was a Girl . . .

There once was a girl

Who had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead

And when she was good

She was very very good

But when she was bad

She was horrid

This is the story of every minute of my little Penny's life lately. She is at one moment the most fun, enjoyable, delightful person one could imagine existing on this earth; and, at the next moment, a sobbing, yelling, ball of complete and unreasoning insanity.

She was horribly sick for nearly all of last week and when she came out of it . . . she brought with her a whole lot of . . . anger? Spice? Mean? I hope it is just that she is not feeling quite back to full wellness and can't quite cope with her tiny world of sippy cups and swings and books.

Luckily, even a few seconds of her happy self erases the memory of each prior tantrum from my mind. This clip is literally only about ten seconds long, but I love how she says "Pablo" (as in Pablo from Backyardigans -- the coolest kids' cartoon ever). She has Pablo and Uniqua situated in little toys "swimming." I also love that smile that she flashes me periodically through out the day.

P.S. Maybe that is still unpainted spackle on my walls, even though we've lived here for seven plus months, and maybe it isn't. Leave me alone.

Goldie's Artwork

For being only just recently turned five, my young Goldie is quite the artist.

Check out this dinosaur:

And this cool boy:And this somewhat questionably dressed mermaid (although anyone can see that she clealry has the physique to get away with it): And look at these two cute girls. Why, one has a headband! And the other is obviously having the time of her life skipping along -- with a purse and lollypop in tow. A doll and stuffed animal elephant tossed at her feet, a hat on her head, and all her cute matchyness.

I must admit though, that there is one extra detail I love about these girls. Their teeth. Wowzers.

Would You Rather . . .

When I was little, I was quite the philosophizer (if that is what you would call it). I often pondered interesting dilemmas. Generally they took on the form of an either/or question -- which I would then pose to the family. One that became most famous was, "Would you rather eat a pig (yes, the ENTIRE pig) or die?" To this day people in the family still debate the best answer to that difficult question (or at least still ask it of me in a mocking fashion every now and then).

I couldn't help it though. I wondered a lot about various miserable choices. Maybe it wasn't that I was a philosophizer (though there is something "which came first, the chicken or the egg"-ish about my pig verses death question). Maybe it was just another manifestation of the worrying nature which was acutely developed in me at a young age (my dad used to fear that I would never function in society with all my worries -- I guess panicking over things such as "what if on the morning of the resurrection I get resurrected and then can't find my mom and dad" weren't typical five year old worries?).

It turns out I function quite well in society (though one might point out that the only "society" I am very much in is the society of my five children). In fact, I don't even worry one bit about finding my parents in the resurrection (because clearly I will need to be finding Mike and my children).

Really, I don't think I am much of a worrier anymore, and I always remember that when I fear that one of my own kids will not be able to grow out of some similar nature.

BUT, the point of this was to copy the message my older brother Chris left for me last night:

"Nancy, two things: (1) would you rather have one eye in the middle of your forehead that has 20/20 vision, OR have two eyes in the normal places but be virtually blind? (2) Would you rather have your feet replaced by wheels (without brakes), OR have your hands replaced by hooks?"

One might think that this is just another example of my family mocking my complex thoughts. I prefer to see it as an example of the strong influence my early ponderings have had on the thoughts of my own siblings.

P.S. I love that my feet wheels would have to be "without brakes." Does that mean that if I chose that option I would have to agree not to install brakes later? Hmmm . . .

Our Old Mixer

Once, when I was little, my mom and I were making brownies or cookies (or some such) with our good old mixer. I can still see that white metal mixer. It is long gone now, but it lasted for years and years. At some point, as it aged, it began to give you a nice little electric shock if you put the beaters in or took them out while it was still plugged in -- or maybe it didn't matter if it was plugged in -- I don't remember. I just recall getting the startling zap every now and then. Plus, I don't know much about electrical conductivity (as you will soon see). It also began to overheat so that if you were holding onto the top arm as you mixed, before long it would get toasty hot and you'd have to let go.

Anyway, on that day long ago when I was mixing something with my mom, she suddenly warned me that I must NEVER put the plug of the mixer in my mouth. She then reinforced the importance of taking this precaution by telling me about a girl who had to be taken to the hospital with electrical burns all down her throat for putting just such a plug in her mouth.

The thing is, never, in my wildest and strangest thoughts, had it occurred to me that I might want to put the plug of our mixer (or any plug for that matter) in my mouth. Yet, now that I knew what could happen, I was seized with a terror that at any moment my self restraint might fail and I might feel utterly compelled to grab the plug and stick it in my mouth. I hoped I wouldn't. I didn't want to. But who knew whether or not I might become possessed with such a reckless and uncontrollable desire. It was there now -- a terrifying possibility.

Now that I think about it, I am not sure if putting a plug in your mouth would do anything. Would it? It seems like the plug would have to be plugged in for it to actually electrically burn you, and if it was plugged in, how could you put it in your mouth? But, as I said, I don't know anything about electrical conductivity (except of course that you can do something with a potato and some wires to turn on a light bulb -- but who doesn't know that). I don't want to try it out because I still remember the story of that poor girl rushing off to the hospital, but every now and then, when I warn my own children of some random danger, I find myself wondering if I have done nothing more than plant a dangerous idea in their little heads.

Why did I write about this? Well, I don't know.

A Few Recent Pics, Etc.

Hey you, stop doing that.
Penny and Mike -- the only reason she agreed to let Jesse be in the stroller on our walk the other night.Somehow it has become tradition that Mike take the kids to school on their first day. I like it. The whole thing always makes me nervous and I like sending them off with dad. Plus, once he returns, he tells me all the little details that he knows only I would need to hear:

-- Daisy sat right down and started coloring -- with a yellow crayon -- she seemed to know the girl she was sitting by.

-- Goldie had a little name tag to put on but was trying to find a place to put it where it wouldn't cover the design on her shirt -- her teacher put it up high near her shoulder for her.

-- Etc. He's good at that.
Who are you trying to fool young lady? You won't be a school girl for a good three years yet.

But, no one can claim you don't use some cool words.

You yell in panic, "Pib up! Pib up!" when Jesse has spit up on the carpet.

You love "the finkle song" -- otherwise known as "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

You often request a "feet" (a treat).

Oddly, you like nothing more than a nice piece of "bone-a-lee." That's right, some tasty bologne. Bologne kind of gives me the heebie jeebies, but we still have it in our fridge -- which is where you always find it.

Oh, and this little thing. Abe was so upset as we drove to school this morning because he forgot he didn't want school lunch today. I told him that was silly and he just needed to eat it even if it wasn't his favorite. His mopey shoulders must have won out though because I ended up bringing him his lunch box later. I even stopped on the way and got him a Twinkie and a little bag of chips. At the last minute I tossed this note in (written on a scrap piece of paper I found in my purse). I don't know why, but it made me happy that Abe saved it out of the garbage from his lunch box.

A Watched Pot Never Boils

Or maybe they do, but it is the opposite of that saying that is striking my mind with such force at present. The fact that an unwatched pot still does boil (my son Jesse being that pot). . . regardless of your mindfulness . . . is the miracle just now.

Jesse has just begun to crawl. He's even pulled himself to standing several times this past week. It all happened so quickly. Unlike my other children, there was no pulling and dragging and army crawling. He just got up on all fours and rocked and rocked for a few days and then -- of a sudden -- Mike was calling to me that Jesse had just crawled. It is so heartbreakingly cute to me. As I said, my others began with dragging and pulling. They had mastered the rights and then lefts that were needed to propel ones self long before getting up in the traditional crawl, and while I've heard of this other method -- I'd never seen it until now.

Abe asked me awhile back why it is that we don't have to think about moving our legs to walk, etc. if they are controlled by our brains. Watching Jesse has made me think that it isn't always with out thought and effort. Look at this little video. This was just last Saturday. His funny little shuffle is really only the first twelve seconds. Now, nearly a week later, he is far more adept and has begun taking himself wherever fancy leads him. But the first few days, watching the complete awkwardness of trying to move four different limbs in sync with one another for the first time -- right leg, left arm; then left leg, right arm -- was one of the saddest cutest things I've ever witnessed. He looks like a small wild animal -- injured and hopelessly trying to continue before falling prey to some more quick and savvy creature.

About the pot business. It isn't that I don't watch my little Jesse. It is just that Abe and Daisy were indeed very "watched pots" -- I waited and coaxed every roll and scoot and eventual step out of them. I was so aware of the fact that I had little babies developing right in my hands, and somehow, I think I felt that it was this very awareness that allowed each milestone to be reached. Surely they would never have rolled or sat or ever stood had I not been there -- watching.

And now, with baby number five, things are very different. That isn't to say he isn't just as loved or just as oohed and ahhed over, but life is just so . . . full. Jesse is there, banging on toys as I read Harry Potter to the older kids. He is drenching my shirt in spit up as I try to clean up dinner. He is reaching from his car seat to yank Goldie's hair -- causing her to scream -- as I drive kids to school. He is just there and a part of us, but who knew that he would crawl and stand and do all of those things just by being here -- a part of things. Somehow I always fear that it can't occur. That these later little ones can't develop with out me sitting there staring them in the face. And yet . . . they do. In fact, those unwached pots boil faster than you can believe!

Kids to Sleep and Unexpressed Thoughts

It's late and the kids just went to bed.

They aren't really sleeping yet -- Goldie is presently yelling to tell me how she doesn't really know what happened but she is "just so tired" (perhaps sleep would be a good option?) and now she is asking for a lullaby.

Pause.

OK, I'm back. I don't sing worth jack (is that a saying or did I make up something that makes no sense?), and I doubt it will be much longer before they are of age to realize my lullabies are crummy, so I figure I best sing to them while they are still requesting.

Abe used to love me to make up lullabies for him, but he no longer requests them and would probably think it was silly if I did sing him one. He does still like for me to draw a few vegetables on his back for him to guess though, so that is something.

Anyway, Abe is quiet -- though I know he is reading. I know because I have to make a very serious point that he can't read if I want him straight to sleep. Otherwise, it is guaranteed that he is reading.

Now it seems Goldie is going to be quiet herself.

Jesse is yelling, "yah yah yah" in such a way that I can tell he is bouncing a bit in his crib. He has recently learned to get himself into sit up position, so he often does when he is supposed to be sleeping. Then, with his great new view of the room (and of Abe reading), he bounces and yells. He'll go to sleep though. I like that he is at that stage.

Daisy is quiet. Maybe reading. Maybe passed out cold -- which she can do surprisingly quickly.

Penny is still shouting. I just called up, "Go to bed, Penny!" and she now keeps calling, "How come? How come, Mom?" It is rare that she falls asleep with out a fair amount of singing, calling and other silliness, but, like Jesse, she eventually calls it quits on her own, so I don't need to do anything other than call up an occasional, "Quiet, Pen," when she gets too loud.

I feel like typing something and yet I have nothing really to type. A little bit I want to type something clever or funny, but mostly I want to type something real and thoughtful. I think it is just night and dark and the house feels empty with no Mike here and the kids all in bed, and whatever feelings are stirring in me want to express themselves in letters that form words right in front of my eyes. They need to form thoughts too though and no thoughts are coming other than the sounds I've just mentioned from my kids. There is something in there though -- something in my mind that wants to get out and be put down -- recorded. And yet . . . it continues to elude me.

Oh, but now this. Husband is at the door. Home from work at 9:02 pm. Now that he is here these lonely thoughts wanting to get out have fled. I am off. Goodnight.

Interview with Nancy/Camping

Well, Nancy, we are excited to be here interviewing you today!

Thank you. I must say though, I feel embarrassed to be receiving all of the attention. After all, I'm not even famous.

Oh pshaw. Fame is overrated, and besides, here, in the world of your own blog who else could be more famous?

Well . . . Mike maybe? I mean I've written some good stuff about him. Or maybe one of the kids?

That was actually a rhetorical question. None of them are available for interviews at present so we're stuck with you.

j

Well . . . I don't like the word, "stuck" . . .

Let's just move on to the interview shall we?

Oh, yes, by all means.

j

Alright, so we understand you recently had quite a fiasco camping. Is that so?

Well, there were some fiasco parts to be certain. Mainly driving to five spots and finding them all full and driving back home while it rained on our stuff at about midnight. Putting kids to bed and saying we'd try again tomorrow. Then there was a bit of fiasconess from Jesse who didn't want to sleep at all the first night, but the next night he slept quite cozily right in our big sleeping bag with me and that was snugly because he won't generally sleep in my arms these days.

h

So, what were the non fiasco parts?
Oh yes, those. Well, there was the part where Abe (with a little help from Daisy) put up his own tent, and the part where Penny would whisper so happily to me as I snuggled her down in her own sleeping bag by us, and the part where Mike made us popcorn the old fashioned way in a big pot, and the part where Penny sang happily for a long while as I drove her on the 4-wheeler, and a lot of other parts where I was happy there was no tv or computer or wii, but just my little family out in the natural world.

Well, that's all good and well. Sounds like quite an adventure. Tell us, is it worth all of the craziness to make a trip like that work?

Hmmm. Good question. It definitely seems worth it once all of the laundry is done and the kids are washed of campfire smell and the camping stuff is put away. Until then, I wonder, but after that I don't because then we are just left with some good memories and even the bad ones seem like . . . a good story maybe.

h

You spoke of Abe setting up his own tent. Tell us more.

Well, we actually have the best tent in the world. It is big and easy to set up. You can stand in it and fit a pak-n-play in it and probably our whole family could sleep in it with out much trouble, but we also brought a little dome tent along, and Abe and Daisy set that one up with not so much as a bit of help. Then, the two of them slept in it! I thought they'd be too nervous, but they were thrilled. I made Mike lift it and put it next to our big one though. I also made him chain Thor (our dog) up right next to their tent at night. It was kind of fun to hear them giggling away in there at night.

h

Well, what fun. Unfortunately our time is up and we'll have to cut the interview a bit short.

Oh! I see. Well, yes, I suppose we must . . . somehow I was under the impression I'd be talking about more than just camping. I don't know. Talking about me more . . . you know . . . just because you were interviewing me . . .

Well, I'm sure that is something we all would have loved, unfortunately, as I mentioned, our time is up, but it was certainly entertaining speaking with you today and we'll have you back again soon.

h

Don't you mean I might have you back? I just mean, since this is my blog, I'll be here anyway, right?

Technicalities. Technicalities. Well, thanks again, Nancy. Until next time.

n

Uhhh. Alright . . . until then . . . I guess. I'll just leave these last few pictures here then . . . if you don't mind.

Fair enough. Goodbye!

Brave Girl and Lunarglides

This afternoon Goldie was perched atop one of the coolers we have out for camping when she took a little tumble. I know a good mom would be nothing but love and concern, but since I am a medium mom, I was hugging her with a little bit of an, "Uugghh . . . why oh why were you standing on the cooler?" Even though I should know, because why wouldn't a kid stand on a cooler really? Anyway, I don't think she was hurt very badly, but it has been a hectic day and perhaps she was feeling a bit overly emotional because the crying continued for a verrrry long time. And even when the crying was done, there was plenty of whimpering and moaning to be had.

At one point, wanting to assure her that it was going to be fine, I had her open and close her wounded hand for me a few times and then squeeze it tight into a fist. "See," I said, "that is a great sign. If it was broken then you wouldn't be able to do that because it would hurt too much. So that means it is fine and will feel better in a few more minutes."

"But I don't know if it hurt bad when I did that (opened and closed it for me) . . . maybe it did." Goldie sniffled, holding her hand like a limp little paw.

"Oh no," I insisted, "if it was broken that would have been so painful you would have screamed."

At that moment Jesse chimed in with an ear piercing (though not unhappy) scream himself.

"See," I said, "like that. Since that didn't happen, we can be sure it just got a little jammed and it will be just fine."

"Well," Goldie said in a state of nearly new sobs, "what if it did get broken and I'm just a really brave girl?"

And, on another note: I might be a little bit in love with my new shoes (Kelly pointed out that it could just be a strong sense of middle school pride that draws me to them so -- as our middle school colors were blue and yellow). My Nike Lunarglides maybe don't really deserve all the praise for how I am feeling. They may just be one part of a number of things that are hopefully colliding and fates that are hopefully aligning to make my ankle well. Maybe. There have been prayers (thank you), and I took that full week off. Then, the following week my ankle still felt the same so I resigned myself to just making it that way to the marathon. Then, this week, it started to feel better; and today, when I nervously tried these shoes for the first time (nervously because I wasn't positive if they were the right fit), I seriously was only a tiny bit aware of my ankle being off at all as I ran! Perhaps the prayers, maybe the rest, maybe my tendon just finally started healing even with the continued running . . . or maybe the shoes. Maybe maybe maybe it will actually be fine for the marathon! Maybe! I hope!

Now, please leave me alone, blog, I have camping with the birthday boy to prepare for (I'm only typing this to put that preparation off because packing two adults and five small kids for camping isn't much different than doing a full scale move).

F is for Far Away Friends. . . . And some other stuff that starts with other letters . . .

Summer has brought with it some fun visits with old and not so old, but far away friends. (By old I mean friends I've had for a long time . . . not that they are aged . . . though compared to their ages when we first met, I guess they have aged a great deal . . . as have I).

Jessica and Liz are my two oldest best friends. Somehow they both ended up in Vegas. Liz is back now and we did get to hang out for a day, but sadly I forgot to get any pictures. Jessica came up to visit with her daughter Ana around the 4th of July. Here we are.

And here we still are after Abe has snapped one million photos and still won't give me the camera. Speaking of Abe, he told me that I "sound like a teenager" when I talk to Jessica.

I also drove the kids up to Preston, ID one day so that we could see our friends the Madsens who were down from WA visiting their family there. My kids love Alexa's kids.And just this past weekend, my WA friend Marzee and her husband stopped to visit us (they were here for a family wedding). It is so fun to have friends from all different phases (and places) from my life. I've never been good with a Christmas card and my kids make long phone conversations difficult, so I am glad for all the modern things that make keeping in touch easier (email, blogs, etc).

H is for Hair Cut

Goldie awoke Monday morning with a determination to have her hair cut. I am not sure if it is because she saw some pics of my sister's kids with recent cuts or just because she decided it was something that must be done, but she begged and pleaded and could hardly stand that we couldn't til the next day. I was sad to have it cut simply because I am a wimp and feel like crying any time anything changes suddenly with my kids (habits, routines, or appearance), but it does suit her and she looks very cute. Plus, I was afraid she'd be sad when it actually happened, but she seems to think it is the best thing that ever happened to her and she checks with me every few hours to make sure it hasn't grown longer too quickly.

M is for Mike

Tomorrow is Mike's birthday. Today on my run I was thinking about him and remembering when I had called him down at BYU to suggest we go to lunch (even though we'd broken up several months before). I couldn't find his number and was nervous to call his parents so I had to call his friend to ask for it (which was a bit awkward since it was this same friend's younger brother that I was on a date with when I met Mike). I'm always writing things I like about Mike on here, but here is one extra little thing. I really love Mike's voice. I even wrote a poem of sorts about it once and I don't really write poetry anymore (it wasn't flowery or anything -- just something). I love to just listen to him read or tell me about something. It's just kind of deep and rhythmic and sounds like . . . hmmm . . . not country like hick-ish, but country like . . . I don't know . . . living in the country. Happy birthday Mike. Because I love you so much, I am letting us try camping with all of our kids for your birthday!

D is for Daisy and B is for Baby Boys

Here is a cute picture of Daisy.

And here is a picture of Jesse with Israel, his first cousin once removed (just so you know I know how to figure those things). They get to hang out when Ashley lets me go running. Israel is scooting better than Jesse, so today we put them a ways apart and yelled, "Run, Jesse! Run!!" as Israel scooted towards him. Look at them. They think they are so cool now that they can sit up and not just flap around on their backs.

My Not-So-Typical Growing Up Years

My growing up was not typical. It was my normal, so it never struck me as odd. Even when we'd laugh or talk about all the craziness that was always a part of my household, it was still simply my life -- my normal.

And, certainly some things were typical (or at least what should be typical -- in a good world). I played with siblings and neighbors, we went on family vacations (mostly to Bear Lake -- though I have vivid memories of a trip to Yellowstone and one to California), I was fed and clothed and cared for (though, perhaps I ran about the neighborhood a little more barefoot and ragga muffin looking than some of my friends' parents would have allowed), and most of all, I was loved -- there was never any doubt of that. I knew my parents somehow had me as a top priority and would drop anything on a second's notice if I needed.

It has only been recently, as I've grown accustomed to having a home and family all my own and realized how I like order and routine, that the uniqueness of my growing up years has really struck me as . . . well . . . just that -- unique. With that realization, the remarkableness of my parent's relaxed, open and flexible nature has truly begun to awe me.

First off, I grew up with ten other siblings in the house. One younger and nine of them older. True, with seven siblings who eventually served 1 1/2 to 2 year missions for our church, someone (pretty much from the time I was born) was always on a mission; and it wasn't long before the older siblings were getting married. This didn't necessarily decrease the number of individuals in our home, however, because during the rest of my growing up years and far beyond the time that I married, some married sibling or other (along with whatever children they'd collected by that time) lived in the "Grandfather Thatcher" apartment in our basement (in fact, Mike and I lived there with our own kids for several months). First it was Mark and then Tony. Soon Amy and then Tony again. My older siblings often seemed more like very close uncles and their kids like my younger siblings. I loved growing up with all of these little nieces and nephews in my home clamoring for my attention.

That alone made for quite a bustling household. I should also add that for some reason our house was one of the houses where friends congregated. I'm not sure why. There certainly weren't fun treats around to draw them in (in fact, we often lament growing up on powdered milk and laugh about my mom saying, "There's plenty of bread and butter," anytime we whined of wanting something to eat).

Perhaps it was the open and relaxed nature of a house full of so many people coming and going. Perhaps it was the spirit of the place, or, most likely, it was the fact that with so many siblings each bringing their own friends, it made for a nice socializing place where there was always bound to be something afoot. This might be proven by the fact that my own best friends know and are friends with many of my siblings' friends.

But, let's move on to who else lived at my house beyond that. When I was still quite young, my parent's heard of refugees coming to America. Apparently some families were so large that it was hard to accommodate them with out having to split them up. Having a large family herself, this made my mother heart sick, so what did she do? Well, she opened our already crowded home to TWO large refugee families. One Cambodian and one Laotian. They lived with us for months as they tried to find employment and housing, etc. I remember the gifts or fruit baskets they would bring to my parents each Christmas for years afterwards. There were also two single Vietnamese refugees. Vibol Tiem and Giang Hong. Giang (pronounced Yang) lived with us for I don't know how many years. He never learned to speak super English and would come and go quietly. He generally just slept happily in a sleeping bag in our basement family room. Having Giang there never seemed the least bit odd to any of us either. It just seemed a part of the normal daily course of things to see Giang quietly preparing himself a little Top Ramen and greeting us by name in his poor English.

We still aren't done. If ever anyone needed a place to stay, it was the open doors of my parent's home they came to. No one ever seemed to question whether or not it would be convenient or stressful for a friend to come live temporarily with us should the need arise (and somehow it often did). I honestly don't recall how several of the people came to live with us at all. There was my brother's friend Josh who lived with us for years (even after my brother was married and living far away), there was Kelly (my sister's best friend) who stayed just for a Summer while their new home was being finished. And then there was everything in between. I recall Mike Valear, Nancy Porter, Jason, Tami, and Chuck all staying for various lengths of time and for various reasons. I have probably forgotten some altogether (or simply neglected to mention those who only stayed for a week or so) but there they were -- just some of the daily background of my carefree little world. One particular Summer (shortly after my senior year of high school), two married siblings with kids were temporarily living with us as well as a family friend. It was so crowded that I didn't particularly have my own bed but just slept each night wherever my fancy took me -- on the deck, in the living room, in my dad's office. Oddly, that Summer is one of my fondest to look back on.

As I said, it is only now, that these living arrangements strike me as a-typical. What mostly amazes me is the generosity of my parents. Now that I have my own home and family, I can't imagine the stress it would place upon me to have even one extra soul living in my home. I would be tense about my routine being messed up, stressed about them feeling relaxed enough to eat when they wished, worried about making decent meals, worried about keeping order in my home. I would fret endlessly over the influence all these different friends might have on my children and worry about every possible situation, but my parent's must have just been blessed for their goodness because even the very oddest of friends that lived with us just seemed to add a merriment and little more shaking of heads in laughter to our household.

It is odd that I have hardly considered how much growing up in a home filled with so many varying needs, personalities and interests might have affected my own nature. I do know that I was painfully shy as a child. My dad used to worry a great deal over how I would cope with life out there in the real world, but I think those who know me now would find it difficult to believe that had ever been the case. Perhaps this large and wild home helped me (or maybe forced me) to overcome that tendency? I like to think that I can take different personalities -- and even eccentricities with a grain of salt and even enjoy them. I recall a co-worker at my first "real" job out of college conjecturing that I must have grown up with a lot of brothers because there was no other way to explain how I could joke and take teasing so naturally. If he only knew.

In any case, I am indeed grateful for the strange and enjoyable years of growing up as one of the many lucky ones to have lived under the loving roof of my amazing parents. I can hardly believe they were able to cope with it all, but I am exceedingly thankful for whatever experiences or insights it gave me as well as for the character traits it may have caused me to develop. But mostly, right now, I just feel happy about all of the interesting and fun memories it has provided for me. Thanks Mom and Dad for never saying, "That simply won't work," to all of the things so many (myself included) would have . . . I guess not least of all, for having a tenth child (and yes an eleventh because where would we be with out that one too?). What remarkable people and how many lives you have not simply influenced, but dug in with firm and practical resolve to truly help despite any inconvenience or difficulty.

Iced Ankles, Blueberries, Chocolate and Maslow

I'm sitting here icing my ankle. I don't even know if that is what should be done, but I don't know what else to do. I'm taking ibuprofen too . . . and soon, I'm going to try heating my ankle! I also wanted to buy some special topical herb that heals tendons the minute it is applied (I mean it probably does) but I couldn't remember what I'd googled to find it and I couldn't find it again. Also, I bought new shoes. I may or may not have been influenced by how cool they looked. Clearly that should be low low on my priority list, but, I have been wearing shoes all about stopping pronation for so long and they have been booooring to look at. So when this particular shoe claimed to be pretty much the best running shoe in the world . . . AND happened to be blue and yellow . . . well, I bought it. I'll let you know if it is the best shoe in the world later . . . when they aren't being shipped back because I accidentally bought the wrong size. Boooo. (That is boo like I'm booing at myself -- like two thumbs down . . . not boo like a ghost trying to scare you).

So, tendons. Tendons connect muscle to bone -- as opposed to ligaments that connect bone to bone. But tendons and ligaments don't have a super great blood supply coming to them, so they aren't speedy healers. It is very frustrating to me because I know the real cure is a lengthy rest period followed by sloooowly easing back into exercise. But that would mean not having my endurance built up to do awesome on this marathon . . . but I already don't run awesome because I literally run with a weird hoppingish gait because of my ankle. The real reason this is sad is that this has been thee most perfect training opportunity I have ever had all thanks to my AMAZING niece Ashley who, of her own free accord, comes over like ten mornings a week (is that even possible) to let me run. I seriously pray thanks for Ashley every day (between my prayers for my ankle to get better). It would never occur to me to do something so nice and so time consuming. So, with such a perfect opportunity, I am extra grumpy at my ankle for acting all wounded.

Anyway, I finally decided to take a week -- ONE WEEK -- off. I will lose one of the twenty milers I had hoped to get in and a week probably isn't enough time to heal much anyway, but like I said . . . there is the ice! Go ankle go!

And, on an unrelated note, I like how you always see studies in health magazines, etc. that say something like, "Good News!! Chocolate is actually good for you!!" and then proceed to say, "one ounce of DARK chocolate is super great to have each day -- but just one ounce -- and the more bitter the chocolate the better. So indulge! Enjoy yourself guilt free!" They should end those articles with, "HA! Suckers!" because they day an ounce of dark chocolate is indulging will be a sad sad day.

Oh, and here is something for my WA friends. Look how sad! I bought this today for $4.00 -- on sale! They aren't even fresh! All of you go pick your huge bowls of blueberries and shed a tear for me.

Another something: The other day my sister and I found a skirt in a catalog that said, "Meets all of your physical needs." That made us chuckle. Maybe you could eat it, but then how could you use it for shelter? Perhaps it meets your needs consecutively -- like wear it for a walk, use it for shelter from a storm for a night (when you get lost on your walk), and then eat it the next morning for breakfast. That doesn't leave you in a great situation in the end though, does it.

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But thinking of all the possible physical needs one might have (and whether or not this skirt might meet them) caused me to think of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs (are you all familiar with this?). It is a pyramid and the idea is that you can't fill the higher needs until the lower needs like food and shelter are met. Wouldn't it be amazing if this skirt could actually help you to reach the top of the pyramid, which, as we all know from our studies of Maslow, is "self actualization."

I think these new blue and yellow running shoes are totally going to help me achieve self actualization! Not that a new skirt couldn't help.

Alright, my twenty minutes of ankle icing are up. Think what might have come out of this post had I had to ice for forty!

Abe's Hair and a Penny Clip

Have I mentioned Abe's hair before? I like it kind of long and, you know, "cool." Mike likes it pretty much butched, so we just go from one extreme to the other. At least his hair spends most of the time in the middle non extreme realm, but once it has spent a few weeks moppy like I like, off it all comes at the hands of Mike. What about Abe's say in this? Well, he doesn't actually have a say right now. I'm sure the time will come soon enough that he won't allow us to just have our way with things. Here are his most recent before and after shots.

The cool face in this one is because he thought he spied pineapple on his pizza (it wasn't pineapple, it was just the dough under his cheese . . . but clearly it would have been awful had it indeed been pineapple). We just got back from swimming so he's shirtless.

And here he is shorn. He told me he just looked like some kid he'd never seen before. Some kid who is tough and cool apparently.

And, here is some more footage. I can't help it. I adore this trouble making girl so much, and no one can know how hilarious and fun she truly is because the minute anyone beyond our immediate family is around, she gets all silent and grumpy. And when I try to film her saying and doing darling things, she only wants to see what I can see in the camera. This was after her bath tonight. I really do love crazy little toddlerhood.

7 1/2 Month Jesse Footage

Hello boy. You are one darn good and cute little fella. And, it is a good thing that you are because you still spit up insanely giant amounts of spit up roughly 10 million times a day. So much so, that I have had to reassure some of my older nieces that this is not typical because they are starting to be terrified of babies after watching you do what you do. BUT, you are good at all the important things. Like being so so so so cute!!! We love you and all your cuteness and good little contentedness Mr. Jesse Frank. Remember when you were so tiny for like one second? Now you are a complete baby -- not even one bit a little newborn. How? Who knows. I like you.

Americana and "dumb couches"

As most of you know, I am quite fond of my husband, and for many reasons, but one of my favorite things is how often he says and does little things that make me laugh.

On Wednesday I told him that my blog entries were always boring lately. "What's something fun I can write about?" I asked.

"Write about Americana," Mike replied.

"Huh?"

"Americana. Everyone loves to hear about Americana in the summer time. You know -- hot dogs and house dresses."

He would give me nothing further on how house dresses and hot dogs (and I'm assuming cherry pie, fireworks, picnics and flags) could develop into a post. It is a shame though. I am sure he is right. Americana does seem right for summer and if I could turn this into a post about it, oh how lovely it would be. All I could think, however, was about a skirt I once saw in a catalog made out of patches of cute fabrics -- most of them in red, white and blues. It was a very cute "Americana" skirt and I regret not having purchased it. Instead, the best I can do is make this post have red and blue colored text.

So, enough of that. Last night I was watching "Lark Rise to Candleford." That's right, that show that is a BBC mini-series. KUED is replaying the episodes and I think it is season two, but I seem to be catching up to what is going on and who is who now.

Anyway, remember my dream of how I would be watching the DVD of it (which I couldn't get) while Mike watched with me? I mentioned he'd have the laptop in case he wanted to peruse some want ads? Well, that is just how it was. Mike was looking at motorcycles and four-wheelers online. He kept showing me different ones and asking my opinions.

Apparently my opinions were lacking proper enthusiasm and interest because Mike said, "You don't even care about these motorcycles."

And I defended with an equal accusation of, "You don't even want me to watch Lark Rise."

At which point Mike grumbled something like, "Fine, I'll just look up what you want." And, after a moment said, "Look, there aren't even any of those on here."

I looked over to see a screen that said, "No matches found." When I looked up to see what he'd searched for, I saw, "dumb couch." I guess that would be more along my lines than a motorcycle, but what is most along my lines is my Mike. I love him.

The Things Kids Expose You To

Shortly after I had Daisy, my brother Chris, his wife Priscilla, and my recently returned from a mission nephew Adam came to see me. What with labor having finished only an hour previously, the conversation naturally turned (at least naturally to me and Priscilla) to the details of my labor. After awhile of hearing this discussion, Chris turned to Adam and giving him a congratulatory pat on the back, informed him, "You are no longer a child. You are a man now."

So, maybe that is where it starts -- with the details of labor, its onset and full conclusion, but it certainly doesn't stop there. Oh noooo. That is far from the last of the unsettling images that will be placed in your mind. It is just that later it will come directly from your offspring.

Here were two conversations yesterday that were MILD -- very mild, but that made me slightly shudder all the same.

Abe: Daisy, did you know that people in China eat dogs with the hair and stuff still on.

Goldie (interrupting their conversation): I don't like to eat animals!

Daisy: Goldie, every time you eat meat you are eating animals.

Goldie: Well! I don't mean that. I mean I don't like to eat them when they're like alive.

Abe: Goldie, pretty much no one eats animals alive.

Goldie: I know, I don't!

Abe: Goldie! We mean that . . .

Me: Abe, maybe its best if we just sort of stop this conversation for now before anyone gets too upset.

Then, a few moments later Daisy calls in a tattle-tale sort of way, "Mom! Goldie thinks number two is alive!" (Yes, number two is what you think it is).

I looked at Goldie with eyebrows raised. She looked back, neither denying nor defending herself, just looking nervous. I smiled and shook my head and she just smiled too as if to say, "Mom, I know you would prefer we just drop this, and I would prefer it too because I may truly think what I think, and I don't know that I can properly defend my position or that you want me to have to."

As I said, those were two fairly mild things. There are oh so many questions and interesting bits of unasked for information regarding bathroom occurrences and on and on. Funny kids.

Also, I mentioned Abe explaining co-managers to Daisy the other day. It is also sadly funny to hear them discuss the harsh realities of life with one another. Here is what I heard coming from the front porch the other day (presumably they had discovered a bug caught in a spider's web):

Daisy: Abey! Let it go!

Abe (exasperated): I can't, Daisy! If spiders can't eat anything, bugs will take over the world!

Daisy: But that's only one single bug!

Abe (with loud frustration and annoyance): Daisy! (and then in a more quiet but sadly final tone)It's already dead.

I can't really explain this, but it is quite fascinating to me, when I look at my kids, and compare them to my baby Jesse, that they not only develop speech, but their minds actually grow to have their own thoughts and crazy unique ideas and ways of explaining the world -- things I never even put in their heads . . . and, of course, that is especially amazing when it is about more than just eating dogs with hair, and "number two," and the food chain, but even that stuff just reminds me all the more what a miracle these little people are. Somehow it almost seems impossible to me that the tiny little things I once carried inside of me are here making jokes and telling stories and creating their own assumptions and opinions.

Co-Managers

I love hearing my kids explain things to each other. They come up with much better analogies than I ever could. The other day Abe was asking me about buying a business or a zoo and what you would do if you didn't know anything about the business, etc. I told him you'd probably want to hire people that knew about it or maybe have a co-manager to run it with you. He asked what a co-manager was and after I explained it he said, "Oh, like a co-pilot helps the pilot."

Just then Daisy popped into the conversation. "What's a co-manager?" She asked.

Before I could explain Abe piped in with, "It's like a co-pilot. Like if Han Solo owned a newspaper, then Chewbacca would be his co-manager."

Daisy seemed to understand completely.