Saturday, May 28, 2011

Memorial Day Weekend

I know some people find cemeteries spooky, but I really love them. I think they are peaceful places and a little bit sad. I often find myself cutting through our local cemetery on my runs and loved to do the same up in WA where there were far more small cemeteries associated with little churches. I like to read the names and wonder about the people. I get sad of course when I see a grave of a child or one where a husband or wife died years ago while their spouse remained. But I like going there all the same, and I love love the Memorial Day weekend tradition of visiting the graves (and, of course, going for ice-cream directly after). Ever since returning from living out of state, I have made sure to call my mom and force her to take us each year. Does this tradition exist in other states? It seems like Memorial Day is really meant for remembering veterans, and I don’t recall seeing the cemeteries crowded and full of flowers on this particular day when we lived in WA, but here, the cemeteries are very crowded on this weekend. It’s a nice tradition and there is really a pleasant thoughtful atmosphere among all the flower bringers at the graves.

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but this grave always makes me very emotional. It belongs to my mom’s great-great grandparents and eight of the nine children they buried. Can you imagine? I feel like if even one of my children were taken from me I would shatter and scatter into a billion ungatherable pieces. Look at the ages – 15, 9, 2, 5, 1, 1, and two newborns (I don’t know how old the child was who was buried before they came here). Oh it makes me cry to even type it.

Another thing also touched me quite a bit today. There was a man standing not far from us at a grave – very red eyed and quietly crying. It was clear that he was very upset, but I would have never dreamt of speaking to him – or of knowing anything to say. I would have been far too nervous to intrude on his grief. My dad however put his hand on his shoulder and called him brother and asked if he was all right. At that small act, the man burst into sobs. It was the grave of a very recently lost grandma, and from his sorrow you might have guessed she was the only person in the world who ever loved him. I didn’t hear everything that was said as my dad spoke to him, though I did find myself crying. I heard my dad assuring the man about where his grandma was and telling him that he would say a prayer for him. The man told my dad that what he said meant a lot to him and even stopped us later as we were crossing a road into another area of the cemetery to thank my dad.

Anyway, more pictures of telling stories, etc. at the graves and of eating ice-cream afterwards:

Monday, May 23, 2011

Penny’s Birthday

This little girl turned FOUR on Saturday.

I well remember the whole business of her getting here – four years ago. As those things go, it seems like it was just the other day. It seems impossible how much has changed in life since her tiny arrival.

We had driven down from WA the week prior to her due date. Looking back, that strikes me as a rather crazy thing to have done – carted our little family 730 miles away from our home just in time to have a baby. But, Mike would be able to take a week of vacation plus two weeks of sick leave once I had Penny, so it just seemed like too perfect of a way to see our families for three whole weeks.

Her due date found us in the emergency room . . . only not for her arrival, rather for nearly three year old Goldie to have a giant gash in her eyebrow glued shut (she’d managed to run in front of a cousin swinging at a Sunday family dinner just in time to get a kick to the head). I must admit, I was more than a little disappointed to be in the hospital on my due date for a very different reason than having the baby I’d been counting down the days for..

Penny must have felt badly about that because she managed to kick herself into action in the wee hours of the following morning – arriving shortly after 7:00 am.

It’s odd to think that each of my kids started out like that – new and helpless and with no real spot yet carved for them in our family. They just came and sort of squished everything over a notch with out us knowing at all what type of a little person they would become. What their personality would be. How they would interact with the rest of us. How they would even learn to sleep through the night.

And then, somehow, they are suddenly four and sneaking out of their bed at night to put on a different outfit; and running in the house to yell for help because they managed to get freshly cut lawn grass not only all over their bodies, but in their mouth as well; and printing a picture to color off of the computer all by themselves; and crying because they can’t find a certain stuffed animal, or because a sister won’t give them a turn on the swing.

Happy 4th birthday Penny Pearl. We sure love you!

And, on a totally unrelated note. Goldie decided at one point on Saturday to gift herself to Penny.

What a bunch a silly girls I’ve gone and gotten for myself.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Robot Boy and Fortune Telling

AAAAAH!!

Oh. It’s just you. You startled me . . . AHHH! Sorry. You are still startling me. Who are you again? Have we met? And why are you sitting at my kitchen table smiling calmly up at me? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just . . . you’re a paper . . . boy . . . and suddenly here you are . . . and it’s all a bit unnerving.

Turns out paper boy is actually a “robot” creation of Goldie’s. Where do these cool ideas come from?

Also, today as I did Daisy’s hair for school, she was looking through some little round thing and saying something about “seeing the future.” She said she couldn’t see very far . . . only until she was 11. As she is currently nine, I laughed that that wasn’t much as far as fortune telling goes. “I’ve just been practicing.” She explained, “I used to only be able to see a month ahead.” Funny clever little girl.

Monday, May 16, 2011

The Chicks Have Hatched!

I do believe I owe little Hennykins an apology. Did I say something about lacking fortitude, earlier, when I spoke of her egg hatching prowess?

I take it back.

She sat on those darn eggs for three plus weeks before hatching these cute little chicks. And even now that they are hatched she sits on them to keep them warm and leads them around and pecks Mike’s hands to death if he tries to come near them.

I used to think things like, “Bah” and “Pshhh” when/if I thought anything at all about the puny little variety of hen this gray one was, but I have a newfound respect for the small chicken. Perhaps it is because I can relate – being as I am getting ready to hatch and care for my own little one. And I must admit: despite all my mockery of our chickens, it is a cute thing to see a mother hen looking after her little chicks . . . and it makes me sad thinking of our previous chicks who had to learn to survive totally motherless. Why, this very hen was one of those. How did she know how to be such a perfect little mom?

Nice work Henny. You’ve done us proud.

P.S. I had no idea, back when one little chicken flew to our window well, and I then named my blog “A Chicken in the Window Well”, just how apt the title would continue to be. This little hen flew down there to lay and sit on her eggs in privacy. Then, when they were hatching and it was so cold, Mike moved them to the garage for awhile. Today, however, when they were out pecking around and a certain Jesse began to terrorize them, Henny lead her chicks straightaway to the safety of the window well (though it seemed a bit of a leap for the poor chicks). Anyway, it all keeps coming back to our window well . . . and chickens being in it.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Speaking of Trampolines

Pictures of my kids on the trampoline always end up being my favorite pictures to look at. They are just . . . funny . . . and seem like . . . I don’t know . . . “Hey, I get to be a little kid! Look at me leaping around so happy and carefree.” Plus, check out Goldie’s hair in these pictures. Ha! I love it.

Trampoline Stunts

Abe put on a little trampoline stunt show for me yesterday. We both agreed that his cool poses ought to be shared.

That last one gave us the best laughs. Nice work, Abe.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Half Way!

No, not half way house, sillies. Half way through this pregnancy!

I feel like the town crier when I type that. "Half way there, and all is welllll!" I kept thinking baby was "the size of a grape" and "nearly an ounce." Baby, however, is a good ten inches long already and who knows how many ounces. Geez. What on earth? You'd think it would seem more real to me than it does. Afterall, I have done this a time or two before, but as with everything in life, it goes faster and faster each go around, and while I know logically that a baby is coming, his soon to be earthly existence (and my involvement in it) is completely unimagineable to me. But, I am at the point that little kicks and nudges are no longer questionable. This little one is trying hard to let me know that he is a real little someone who will soon have his say in matters.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

True Doctrine . . . According to my Kids

The other day Jesse was singing to his little self as he played with something or other. Here was what I heard:

“Follow the prophet.” Then in a much deeper voice, “Eat a cookie.”

If that’s following the prophet, count me in!

Shortly after, Penny was digging through the drawer in our kitchen where all finished art work goes. She pulled out a picture she had colored long ago in Nursery of Jesus surrounded by children. She had colored the children with rather odd colors. She studied it for a moment, speaking to herself as she did. “Jesus wants us to . . .” she paused studying her drawing with head cocked, “have orange faces.”

Well. That doesn’t bode well for most of us. Particularly if you’d seen just how orange those children’s faces were.

Lastly, the kids and I are currently reading in the book of Ether in the Book of Mormon. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Mormon’s “Book of Mormon,” it is an account of a group of people who travelled from Jerusalem to the American continent shortly before Jerusalem was destroyed by the Babylonians (the Babylonians . . . is that right? I’m forgetting my Jewish history . . . they were destroyed by the Assyrians, and the Romans certainly had their say . . . but I think the Book of Mormon starts just before the Babylonian captivity).

ANYWAY, that is neither here nor there really, only I was going to say that most of the Book of Mormon is the story of these people. They became known as the Nephites and Lamanites. Their civilization lasted about 1000 years and included a visit from the resurrected Christ.

However, the Book of Ether departs from the story of the Nephites to very briefly tell the story of another civilization who were guided to the American continent long before the Nephites (around the time of the building of the biblical Tower of Babel). They were completely destroyed before the Nephite arrival, but 24 engraved plates detailing their history were later discovered by the Nephites and a very brief synopsis of these people was included in the Book of Mormon. That is the Book of Ether.

I really would like to learn how to explain things more succinctly. Goodness.

The Book of Ether, short though it may be, is filled with stories of treachery and hunger for power. It becomes almost impossible to follow the generations of kings ousting other kings. One of my kids favorite stories as we’ve read it has been the story of two Jaredite brothers: Corihor and Shule.

Corihor took the kingdom from his own father long before Shule was even born. When Shule came along and learned “Hey, my dad is the rightful king and my own brother stole his kingdom?” He was understandably a bit upset. So, what did he do, but lead a battle against his brother – thereby regaining the kingdom – not for himself, but to restore it to his father.

His father was so grateful that he, in turn, passed the kingdom over to his brave son Shule.

Surprisingly enough, Shule’s older brother Corihor repented of his evil ways – so much so, that his younger brother must have wholeheartedly forgiven him as he was granted quite a lot of power in the kingdom.

Sadly, lessons learned from fathers aren’t always learned so quickly by their own sons. Corihor’s son rebelled against both Shule and his father Corihor. What’s more, he took his uncle Shule captive with plans to put him to death.

BUT! (And here is the part my kids liked – this would make for quite a good movie) Shule’s sons had learned a little something from their own father’s example as well. I’m sure they’d grown up hearing stories of how their dad had valiantly and loyally battled to give his father back his rightful kingdom, so what did they do? They snuck into the house where he was being held captive, killed their traitorous cousin and restored their father to his throne.

While there are few other accounts of such loyalty, there are many more accounts of sons rebelling against fathers for the kingdom.

That very short introduction leads me to this morning. We had just finished reading and the kids were gathering backpacks and shoes for school.

Daisy commented, “That whole book is all about sons and fathers. Abe better pay attention so he doesn’t betray dad.” She paused, then smiled and added, “And then Jesse would have to battle him to get the kingdom back for dad.”

“No,” said Abe, “I’d rather Jesse betray him. It would be cooler to battle for a kingdom than just to betray someone.” I know. Betrayal is so mundane.

Anyway, I’m glad my kids are learning so many valuable things – not just about straight doctrine (the importance of eating cookies and having orange faces), but that they are also learning how to apply the lessons from the scriptures so well to themselves . . . I mean, if we can just procure a small kingdom for Mike, everything they’ve considered will be of the utmost value.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Facts About Me for Mother’s Day

Remember when I was preparing for a marathon back when we lived in WA and Abe said something like, “And if you win, will you win more money to go to Wal-Mart with?”

Sometimes the statements my kids make reveal far too much . . . to me . . . about me.

Each of them filled out little papers about me for Mother’s Day. Here are a few examples of those telling remarks.

From Penny:

My mom likes to cook: “little hot dogs and macaroni”

I hadn’t realized how often I call little smokies and macaroni a meal.

From Goldie:

I think she is funny because: “She hardly ever does, but she sometimes does funny jokes.”

Well, all right. The thing is, I have a hard time remembering jokes when I hear them. Mostly all I’ve got is:

“What do you call a dog with no legs?”

“It doesn’t matter, he’s still not coming.”

And really, that joke can only carry one so far. (And is a little depressing to boot).

BUT, there’s another thing involved here in my “hardly ever” being funny that we must consider. It is simply a necessary caution when one is living in a home with five kids ten and under. You have to be very careful with jokes. Share even one, and you have just doomed yourself to an hour of listening to made up knock-knock and other jokes. And that hour can easily stretch into multiple hours if you don’t have a husband who eventually puts his foot down and insists that nobody may tell anymore jokes! (And sometimes I wish he’d add “ever”).

Another from Goldie:

If she had a wish she would wish for: “us to help her clean and do her hair.”

Ha! I love that she put that. I had no idea that my six year old knew me so well! Truly, sadly, there is nothing that makes me happier than my kids cleaning! Well, except maybe them playing with my hair. If they would learn that a little more fully, they could avoid a whole lot of cleaning by simply saying, “Mom how about I brush your hair while my siblings clean everything instead?” And complain about the unfairness of it all though the siblings might, I would quickly agree.

However, it turns out that Goldie doesn’t know me perfectly. Take these two examples:

Her favorite food is: “Maybe celery?”

I wish I could be cool enough to have celery be my favorite food, but I think I only eat it on Thanksgiving at my parents’ house where tradition has somehow dictated that the feast must include celery sticks with pimento spread on them. Still, valiant effort, Goldie.

And what about this one:

Her eyes are: “?maybe blue?”

I love the two question marks. It kind of gives it that extra impact of “really not knowing” that you can usually only get when you use those double exclamation and question marks in Spanish -- which I totally know how to do on the computer. Look: ¡Hooray! and even ¿WHAT?

I wonder if my kids know that their mom can do that!

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Jesse and Mother’s Day

As I tried to catch a few more precious minutes of sleep this morning, my bedroom door was opened and in ran my youngest blonde headed little boy. He didn’t say a word, simply sprinted to my bed side where he lay his little head so that I could reach over and rub and pat it.

He was wearing these very pajamas:I don’t know where they came from – probably some fully grown nephew used to wear them, and then, eight years ago, Abe wore them. They have little patches of velcro on the shoulders where a cape is meant to attach. They are horribly thin and worn and look, I think, rather goofy. Only, there is something about my kids wearing something a little uncool and worn-out that makes me love them a little extra. Maybe it is because they appear to need a little extra love when wearing things like old, capeless, Superman pajamas?

Mike tried to coax him away by suggesting to Jesse that he might want to run errands with him. Jesse lifted his little head to me and, with a sad little face, admitted that “yah” he did want to go with dad, but that what he most needed was a cup of milk. I told him that I thought dad would be happy to get him a little drink of milk first, and with that assurance, he left me. Only, not completely. He was back a minute later with said cup of milk – holding it out to me – clearly aware that it couldn’t come with him to run errands with dad.

“Just set it on my dresser, Honey,” I said.

His eyebrows knit and he looked like he might cry, “Please hold it,” he plead. Because, who knows, when leaving a house full of other siblings whether a cup of milk might remain completely safe if it is simply left sitting somewhere. So, Jesse left with Mike, and I fell back into a half sleep with a little sippy cup of milk held safe from tiny thieves in my hand.

Also, the other night Mike had been upstairs shortly after we’d put the kids to bed. When he came down, he said, “You might be interested to know that your son is having a discussion with the ‘fire smoke.’” Fire smokes are what Jesse calls smoke detectors. He is very interested in them. I asked Mike just what this conversation was all about. He told me I’d have to go up and find out for myself, but I decided maybe it was best just not to know.

It turns out his bedroom fire smoke isn’t his only friend (or enemy, perhaps?). The next day I was putting a few things away in the girls’ room when Jesse chanced upon a little plastic star. He took it into the closet where, after a few minutes, I heard him angrily cry, “NO!” He then shouted to me, from said closet, “Star’s being mean to me!”

“The star is being mean?” I questioned.

“Yah,” he said in a voice meant to illicit pity in any possible listener.

“Well, tell star to be nice,” I said.

And then, from the closet: “Star! Be nice!”

I guess things went well enough after that because I heard no further complaint.

It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow, and there are really truly lots of things that make mothering little ones very frustrating and stressful, but there is something cool that doesn’t really make sense about it all. It is that when one of those little ones has a moment where he needs you to rub his little head or even maybe has a moment where he tells you that a small toy star is being mean to him, it somehow wipes all the bad moments right out of your mind. Strange how it doesn’t take much – a messy haired boy in old pajamas knowing you are the only one he can trust to keep his milk safe – to make being a mom seem like the greatest thing ever. And then, of course, he may be throwing and breaking the rotating plate in the microwave – shattering glass across the floor soon after that being-a-mother-is-the-greatest-thing-in-the-world moment; but that’s OK, because all those other moments just keep clearing the rough ones again and again.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Don’t Judge People . . . Well, Maybe Judge Them for Some Things, but not for Other Things . . . Like Coming Late to Church Things.

We should never judge one another. No. Never. Because, take little things. Like, oh, say . . . I don’t know . . . just off the top of my head: someone coming in very late to sacrament meeting. Or, maybe not just one someone. Maybe even . . . like . . . SEVEN someones. And let’s say they are trying to sneak in all quietly with downcast eyes, but they are having to step over and past other seated-on-time people’s knees, and five of the seven are actually rather small and rather irreverent and probably not having properly downcast eyes at all.

See. You want to judge them. You want to say, “Come on! Church doesn’t start ‘til 11:00! Get here on time.” I mean, I want to judge them because that would certainly never be me. But, I don’t because who knows really? I mean any number of things can happen, if you think about it, between one walking out their front door (with church only a half block away and ten minutes to spare) and one actually arriving at said church. Yes, any number of things.

For example, they could be heading off happily – pleased at their perfectly curled girls’ hair, and their overall promptness. And then, who knows? Maybe their two year old might see a wasp of some sort, and he might think to himself, “I ought to catch that wasp post haste!” and he might catch it, and then the mother – who was poised and pleased as could be – might turn and see her two year old shaking his little hand and sobbing and she might, through instinct or experience (one can never be certain with mothers) say, “Oh no! Did you get stung?? Did you pick up a bee??” And as she runs to him, she might notice an angry and disgruntled little wasp crawling away. And she might know, “Yes, you did pick up a bee . . . or something very like it.” And she might scoop her son up and think about how he is always swelling up and having allergic reactions to everything. So, she might decide she ought to give him some Benadryl and probably ought to find his epipen to bring along just in case, and she might be about to run in to get those things when a neighbor might drive by (in a perfectly timely on-time-to-church fashion) and that neighbor might stop and say, “Umm . . . I think you have a chicken on my front porch.” And the mom holding the crying toddler might say something like, “Oh . . . is it grey and kind of little . . .” as if, perhaps the neighbor is mistaken. As if it might possibly be someone else’s chicken (in a neighborhood where chickens do not live and are, quite probably, not allowed).

So, then the mom of this little group might run in and tell her husband (who is still tying his tie – which seems odd as they were all out on the front porch, with ten minutes to spare, ten minutes ago) that a chicken is loose and might possibly be leaving unmentionable things on a very well swept, well kept neighbor’s porch. And then she might shout for another daughter to find a little cloth to wrap around the stung brother’s hand (as some sort of placebo comfort mechanism), and that daughter might open the closet in the bathroom and purse her lips and think and think about which little cloth would be best as the mother is reaching rather frantically for it. Then, the mom might go to the medicine cabinet and stare and stare – trying to find the Benadryl, but not finding it – even though it is directly in front of her (because maybe she is a little frazzled and slightly less poised by this point). But eventually she might find it and give it to her sad little son as she continues to remind him about not picking up bees because that is just what they do.

Then, the mom might go back outside – only not really thinking that now they will all get to church, but thinking, “I wonder if they’ve caught that chicken yet.”

And she might look down the street and see her husband and several of her children trying to slowly hem in the chicken – only to have it pass them. She might then watch them all leap and dive and miss (time and again). And she might think about how these neighbors had workers there sprucing up their yard “just so” for several hours the day prior to this one, and she might wonder a little about the chasing of the chicken through flower beds and the like. And she might think it is a little embarrassing that her family is chasing a chicken across this yard in their Sunday best instead of sitting reverently in church in their Sunday best. But then she might remember that her neighbors can’t see because her neighbors are all at church already (or, possibly in a drunken slumber – as all neighbors who aren’t at church would certainly be).

And, in the end, she might find herself actually enjoying the sight and chuckling to herself as her husband instructs his young helpers to “make a tight circle” and “walk slowly” and, in the end, when a brave leap allows the husband to catch the squawking chicken (pretty much by its tail feathers), she might be laughing out loud.

Only, then she will see that it is about ten minutes past the hour, and the girls’ hair and dresses might not look quite so proper anymore, and the older son might be happily brushing dirt off of the knees of his pants. Still, the sight might have at least calmed the wasp-stung smallest boy. And, in the end, they might all make their way to church and walk in at the very back – only to have the very back full. So, they might make their way sheepishly up a few rows and have to climb over several people to find a place to sit, and the boy (who nobody in the congregation knows was just stung by a wasp) might start to cry loudly about needing his little cloth wrapped around his hand (even though nobody recalls which hand anymore – not even the boy).

And that is why we shouldn’t judge people at all. Mostly at all if they are late to church (or don’t go to church – because some judgmental people might say something like, “oh, they are probably all drunken and asleep anyway”). Because true, most likely that is not a scenario that would occur (heaven knows how I came up with it), but it could possibly occur, or something kind of like it, and I just thought it would be a good and important thing for us all to think about . . .

Scottsdale

The Scoop:

I got to spend last week away from the rainy 40 degree weather that won’t leave well enough alone, down in Scottsdale, AZ on a work trip with Mike.

Holding Down the Fort:

My niece Ashley was coaxed into driving from Lovelock, NV up here – eight months pregnant, husbandless (she’s not really husbandless, he was just off doing summer sales), and with a toddler of her own – to handle life here for the week.

She must be Wonder Woman because, while she did admit to me (when I asked her if it had been way too hard) that it was (and she paused to think of the correct word) “constant,” she managed to see it through and see it through well. Not only did she do better things with the kids than I normally do (Goldie informed me that Ashley did her hair fancy almost every day for school, she made them pancakes one morning BEFORE SCHOOL for breakfast, and she had a movie night where they had to purchase tickets and treats with fake money), but she also had the house clean and even THE LAUNDRY DONE AND FOLDED when I came home. Do you remember that I said she was eight months pregnant and had her own two year old to throw into the mix with all my kids? Goodness.

And, for all my stressing and worrying beforehand, the kids really handled our absence fine. I didn’t know what Jesse would make of my failure to return day after day, but apparently he is quick to adapt as Ashley texted me on day two to ask if I was at all disturbed that my son had taken to calling her “mom”. And Goldie, who I worried the most about because of her tendency to get extremely miserable when I am away (for weeks before she kept pointing out to me how any brief absence of mine was sheer misery for her and that she couldn’t sleep at all when I carelessly ran off to the library after she was in bed one night and how it all meant that I probably couldn’t go on my trip after all), yes, even Goldie informed me happily when I returned: “Mom! I didn’t even miss you ONE BIT!” And we hugged and cheered that she didn’t miss her mother one bit.

Me on the Trip:

It wasn’t an adventure trip. It was a total relaxation/take-a-break from real life trip. Well, for me it was. Mike actually had to be in training meetings for much of the day, and while I certainly would have preferred to have had him with me at all times, I have discovered, once again, that I am truly not one to feel bored or restless very often. I am truly content as a person can be to just do whatever lazy thing suits my fancy. And that is exactly what I did – and the days still went by far too quickly.

I didn’t sleep in like I assumed I would. That seemed a crying shame, but I must just be too accustomed to my early wake up hour with kids because I was wide awake by 7:30 every morning. That was alright though. I’d see Mike out the door, then I’d lounge about on our comfy hotel bed and read and flip through TV channels because that is truly something I never do. Then I’d venture out and run or go to the hotel’s gym. I’d lie by the pool and read, or walk around doing shopping (though shopping is less fun when you are pregnant and can’t really tell for certain how anything might or might not fit in five months’ time). It was perfectly lovely.

With Mike on the Trip:

Mike’s training was just right at our hotel (in fact we never even had a car at all on this trip), so he’d meet me around noon every day and we’d wander somewhere for lunch together. He was usually done in the evenings between 4:00 and 5:00 and we’d venture out to walk around and go out to eat or to a movie.

Food on the Trip:

There weren’t many mainstream restaurants around. (Speaking of, Scottsdale must house some money – judging from the stores the mall was filled with and the kind of cars Mike kept pointing out to me.) Mike is always a little wary of unfamiliar food (because, as you all know, he doesn’t really like anything delicious – bless him), but we did eat at some crowded little Italian place one night. It was open totally to the sidewalks on one side and cramped and had the crowded loud feel of, “I am a cool place to be.” And Mike took me to PF Changs because I had never been there. We must never criticize Mike for not liking tasty food because he doesn’t like Chinese food, yet he took me there all the same because that’s the kind of husband he is. There I discovered that lettuce wraps are a lovely thing to eat.

We also went to Yogurtland – and by we, I mean sometimes Mike took me because, once again, he knows I love it, and sometimes I went by myself. It couldn’t be helped. It was less than a block from the hotel, and I think their tart flavors are the greatest thing to exist – especially plain old boring “plain tart” – which tastes like, well, plain yogurt – only a little sweeter and a little . . . ice-creamyer. Add some blueberries or strawberries and well, it was just something I figured I must have daily as long as I was having a selfish style vacation at all.

Oh, and Sprinkles cupcakes was right next to Yogurtland. We went there once only because I had heard about it so often that it seemed we had to know what this $3.50-a-cupcake place was all about. And, I’ll tell you, it was alright, but Mike and I both agreed that we prefer the cupcakes I make (even though yes, they are made from a Duncan Hines cake mix, but they are 3.50 for 24! Maybe even 29 if I didn’t fill the cupcake holders very full).

Entertainment:

We shopped quite a bit. By that I don’t mean we bought quite a bit. I just mean there was a huge mall with eight billion stores and we did tend to wander around it looking at this and that in between dinners and movies. We also took a trolley into Old Town Scottsdale where we found our little Italian restaurant and where there were roughly 8 billion small Indian jewelry shops as well as more art galleries than I knew existed in our entire country. Someone must be keeping them all in business, and, once again it occurred to me that there must exist a little wealth in Scottsdale . . . particularly after Mike checked out the price tag on one painting of a bull that we thought looked cool – only to discover that it was $45,000. Naturally we slunk quietly away from that gallery.

Proof by way of Pictures?:

Well, I made a foolish mistake by thinking it would be fun to bring my fancy camera on the trip as opposed to our little pocket sized compact camera. From now on, little camera goes on trips because who wants to be wandering around town and what not with a big camera in tow? No me. So, other than this picture we tried to take in our hotel bathroom mirror: and a few pictures we took of each other down at the hotel “Zen Garden” hhhhhhh we only have a few blurry dark ones taken with my cell phone (which has no flash and a tendency to blur movement as miniscule as an eye blinking):

Trying to fit our heads into the camera while waiting for the trolley (I clearly failed)

Me at the pool looking like, well, a mean person maybe?

Mike sitting very very still so I can take his picture at PF Changs without him turning into a total blur

Mike sitting by one of the cool bronze statues that were scattered about Old Town

Discoveries:

Despite being married these 11 years, I discovered some new things about Mike:

1. He likes black jelly beans. WHAT? What are the chances that someone who likes so little in the way of food items could happen to like one thing that I think is horribly horribly awful? I insisted that I had never seem him eating any licorice flavored items before, but he only shrugged and would offer no further explanation.

2. He thinks that the little Reeses Peanut Butter cups that I buy bags of all the time are gross. Yet again I say WHAT?

3. Oh no, I can’t think of any number three. I will tell you this though, and it is no new discovery. Mike is my favorite person in the world. I think all the time about how you get married not really knowing what on earth marriage is, and it amazes me every day that it could have turned out so absolutely perfectly happy. Truly, there is not anyone I would ever rather be with than Mike.

Oh, but I did make a discovery about me. You know how I am always feeling so pleased at my hearty nature. No sickness with pregnancy, rarely sickness at all, etc? Well, let me tell you; those puny little hour-plus flights in and out of Phoenix nearly did me in. Particularly the last twenty minutes or so as we came in for landing. Mike keeps assuring me that my overpowering nausea and dizziness in airplane travel is probably due to pregnancy. I’m not sure, but I certainly hope so because I had to keep my head anchored firmly against the chair or Mike’s shoulder at all times of the flight. There was no reading or looking out the window with out my head swimming and my stomach turning. I was pretty much the biggest pansy traveller you could imagine. I’d feel horrible for a good hour or so after the flights, and even now, simply thinking of the sights or smells of an airport makes me clutch my stomach in sickness.

That’s a poor way to end. Isn’t it. Oh well. End this post must. It was truly a perfect time. And, with a new baby soon to be in the picture (and our numbers up to six kids under the age of 11), I have a feeling it might be the last trip for me and Mike for some time – so I’m glad we got to have it!

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Disturbing Postscript to the Last Post!

Those chickens! They are not worth their salt. No, they can’t be trusted at all. Unreliable. Flighty. Mike went to check on them this morning – to see how they were adjusting to their new precious eggs (as opposed to the DUDS they’d been sitting on) only to discover they’d flown the coop! Or the window well rather.

Mike had just been praising them – hinting that I could never be the mother these hens were (because when have I ever been willing to sit on my kids for 21 consecutive days? – never mind the whole carrying them inside of me as they grow larger and larger for NINE months). But who’s the good mother now?

And, actually, one of the two broody hens has half heartedly returned to her little clutch – but she doesn’t seem to be exhibiting the kind of fortitude I expect from a chicken who is serious about this hatching eggs business. The other has simply turned up her beak at these new eggs: insisting that she, for one, won’t be found raising some other hen’s little brats. Can you imagine? What foolish pride. Fine, go back to sitting on your plain old yolk and whites eggs. See if I care. Bad chicken. I now officially prefer the black hens to you – even though their front breast feathers keep going missing and I constantly avoid looking at them because they look kind of gross that way.

Why the Title?

Partly because chickens really have lived in my window well. (And on more than one occasion! . . . They are forever wanting to live in the window well). But mostly because, the first time I blogged about a chicken in the window well, it occurred to me that I had discovered a much better blog name than the boring old "Nancy's Thoughts" that I'd spent the previous two years blogging under. So, "A Chicken in the Window Well" it became. If you want to read more about this chicken nonsense, just click on the "chickens" topic below.