Jesse is Growing Up

Here I am with Shan's baby and then trying to recreate the same pose with Jesse. As you can see, Jesse just isn't a little newborn these days. Don't these two pics just make you laugh?

And, he is finally getting a little chubby. He has always been off the charts on his height, but because his weight was only average for so long, he was kind of a skinny little fella for awhile. He still spits up like a champion, but something must be staying down now because he's recently become a lot more squeazable. He is such a pleasant little man to have. Seriously, not ever one ounce of trouble. Good boy Jesse.

An Awful Dilemma

I'm in a bit of a pickle. A bit of a fix, you might say.

Oh, alright, the charade is up. I'm not in a fix. There is no pickle. I just have had . . . maybe . . . kind of . . . a little bit of . . . possibly boring-ish posts lately, and I thought that sounded like a fun way to start a post. I would then go on to tell you the full pickle details. You , in return, would eagerly give me your warmest and best advice. I don't even use those cool phrases in real life though, so you should have known the gig was up the minute you read "pickle."

I suppose, however, if one were to consider, it might not be too utterly difficult to discover some quandary about which they might beg a solution. Whether or not that dilemma could be made to sound interesting is quite another matter. I imagine it would help if it were more than simply about items or appointments. It would, no doubt, add greatly to the scenario to have it involve several individuals -- all of whom stood to be either greatly rejoiced or eternally offended by whatever decision was hinging upon me. It also would certainly excite more of a response if the case were such that one or more individuals were either greatly to be pitied, or perhaps better, despised by their hand in turning matters so very conflicting for me. Of course, at that point, it might no longer be able to be classified as a simple pickle -- which seems to denote a rather trivial dilemma.

Alas, I have no such delicious and gossip worthy situation to report or to plead an opinion on. I imagine that deciding whether or not to get rid of all of the lambs ear in my garden, or to sign Abe up for piano lessons this Summer won't cut it. Oh well, you are all more than welcome -- in fact, you are expressly invited to give me any advice on any topic or involving any terrible fix you could imagine. Go ahead. Let's see what you've got.

Flowers

Don't get all panicky about this new loooong layout. I'm just deciding what I think. It isn't necessarily here to stay (especially because it made the picture placement of older posts all wacky, and my little picture of Abe at the top of my blog looks to overwhelmed all lonely in white space). Besides, you know I don't dare to shake things up much, so . . . like I said . . . just seeing for a minute.

Anyway, there are likely (well, I mean surely) many things of beauty on this earth that I take for granted or neglect to notice. You know, sunsets maybe would be one. I mean pretty much every evening the sky is spectacular. When I took a painting class in 6th grade, I was always aware of sunsets -- mostly because I would look at them and think, "That is crazy! No one would ever think of painting that because it doesn't even look real!" Which of course caused me to marvel at how beautiful. Since, however, I shamefully admit to having noticed far fewer sunsets (except for maybe in Israel where we were always watching sunsets -- which, might partly explain why the lens prescription needed for my eyes doubled during that short four months).

Still, there is one beauty of nature that I never ever fail to notice. Flowers. And bless all of your little hearts who thought to bury your little tulip and daffodil bulbs clear last Fall. I love them! And if you are hoping that anyone even notices or cares that you went to the trouble, know that I do. I find myself looking at the flowers of every house I ever run or drive past. One house in particular that I drive past every day nearly takes my breath away. The house itself is a plain small gray rectangle of a house, but it has tulips of every color just packed all around it. It is seriously something that, I don't know, I guess that I honestly see as one of God's miracles. I love green and mountains, etc. But a flower -- what on earth!? Just a perfectly shaped brightly colored thing -- just real and growing? Amazing.

Once Mike and I went on a hike far off somewhere (I don't know where exactly -- we drove Mike's truck up a miserably bumpy road for almost an hour before even beginning our long hike). As we hiked back down we decided to walk over a hill that wasn't on the path but that lead in the same direction we were headed. As we reached the top and headed down the other side, our eyes met with thousands of red wild flowers. I never would have imagined that a flower growing all on its own off in the middle of nowhere could be so bold and pretty. Can wildflowers really do that? I constantly find myself wishing I could remember exactly when in the year that was so we could go find them again. It seems so quiet and strange to have something so gorgeous just happily growing and dieing all in its own loveliness with no one else there to see it.

Anyway, enough of that. I have a decidedly black thumb. Our yard will be a disaster for some time to come I imagine. My friend Kelly (whose Summer backyard would make even the very most indifferent to nature's beauties swoon) came over the other day out of sheer kindness to give me a little direction. Of course now that she is gone, my confidence is once again wavering. But she told me how I could actually move some little bushes I don't like, and even get rid of some other stuff to make room for things I do want. I was like, "Really?? Can I do that?" Still, she is going to meet me in a week or two at a nursery and help me get a few flowers. She is wise because she sees that I am overwhelmed, so my main goal for this Summer is just to get our front flower bed looking good (yikes, we'll see!!) and then to simply work on weeding the disastrous beds in the back.

Here is a picture of one year when I really had something going on in the flower department. It was in our WA home and truthfully, was laid out rather poorly with big things blocking smaller things and so forth, but I was quite in love with the fact that I'd had so many flowers actually grow!

Caught!

This morning, as I myself was doing a number of busy things, Goldie told me a very long tale. It was rather disjointed, possibly somewhat lacking in plot, and paused numerous times as she got distracted, arranged pretzels into the shape of a dog, and hummed. Still, at the end of this story (if indeed there was an end) Goldie said to me, "Mom, tell me that story."

Confused, I questioned, "What story?"

"The story I just told you," she responded.

"Ummm . . . I . . . uh . . ."

Had I been set up? I felt like it was a trap. I am going to inform my kids that they are not allowed to ever give me, "how good of a mother are you" tests. They will be required to blindly believe I am the best whether my actions and responses warrant such a belief or not.

And another thing. Just who does Jesse think he is trying to look more like a kid than a newborn?

Running and Me

". . . Running hurts, it always has. It teaches us that good things do not come easy. It teaches us that we are capable of more than what we think. It teaches us that hard work will be rewarded . . . Don't expect to learn those life lessons from jogging. Next time you suffer on the roads, suffer proudly. You just RAN!"

I saw this quote from an unknown author today on another blog and had to steal it. It made me smile and reminded me of many of the life metaphors I have discovered through my running. It also made me chuckle because non-runners may be unaware of this, but there is not much worse you can say to a "runner" than, "Hey, I saw you out jogging the other day." True your speed may have been no faster than a jog, but the word is painful -- it somehow implies laziness, ease, and lack of any real effort. It changes what you were doing from significant to pointless. Not that there is no value in someone going for a jog, mind you, it is just that when you think you are running, the word "jogging" is just depressing to hear.

When I was a Freshman in high school I tried out for, and didn't make, the volleyball team. I was crushed. To my limited ninth grade perspective, it seemed the end of the world. It was a horrible embarrassment. If you weren't going to be a cheerleader, then volleyball or soccer were the only other roads to potential coolness, and most of my friends had made the team.

The poor Cross Country coaches, on the other hand, were always trying to increase their numbers, and with no try outs necessary, were only too happy to grab onto those of us who had failed to make other more popular teams. So, despondent and disappointed, I fell back on running. I was good at running. While I didn't run more than the required distances through most of high school, it gave me confidence and involved me in something. I ended up getting the "Gold Watch Athlete of the Year" award at the end of my senior year. It was based on a number of things including number of times placing in state competitions. That maybe wasn't fair, since it is far more easy to place in state when you are participating in multiple individual events (cross country, then hurdles and the 400 during track season) than it is in one large team event like basketball. Still, running helped define me during those high school years and has been one of the few things I have managed to continue doing over the years. To this day, I count that initial volleyball disappointment one of the luckiest blessings of my life.

I have only run three marathons (spaced over ten years), but if you consider that during those same ten years I have also spent 45 months preparing each of these five for the world:

And if you then consider that those pregnancies have also meant countless months of nursing, waking up at nights, and simply trying to find care for them each and EVERY time I want to run, well, then that is fairly impressive.

I have a new goal in mind. It was Mike's idea initially because, while he can't be home as much as I'd like to make running opportunities for me, he is always very supportive. I want to run the Boston Marathon next Spring. Do you know how exciting that would be for me? There are over 20,000 runners. It is hard to explain the excitement in the air at any race, especially a marathon, but to run one that is kind of considered THEE marathon and to be able to have other runners around me the entire race and the roads lined with people for most of the 26.2 miles would be seriously such an amazing experience for me. I would love it. Still, I likely never would have considered it if it weren't for the fact that Mike's parent's are serving a mission in Boston. This would give us the perfect chance to visit them and give me the perfect opportunity to make something so big actually work.

The only catch is, I will need to qualify. I have beat the time necessary to qualify by a full ten minutes in the past, but times are only good for a year, and while I assume I can do it fine again, I've never had a "bad" marathon, and over 26 miles, even a 20 second slow down per mile could ruin my chances. Still, I am planning to run the Top of Utah Marathon this September in hopes that it will be sending me to Boston!

The difficulty, more than running the qualifying time, will be the training. It is frustrating to me because while some people have the time to run, but lack the motivation, I WANT to be running, but seldom have a great opportunity. Obviously I will simply have to make the opportunities, but it won't be easy. It will mean figuring how to go at 5:45 am when I am still up at night with a four month old -- a four month old that often ends up in bed with me during the night and who wakes up the minute I try to pull away from him. It will mean running at nights when the kids are down and Mike is finally home. I love love raising my kids, but those few precious hours from 8:00 pm on are my only time to be with Mike and relax, so giving up some of those hours isn't going to be easy. If I could just run at 7:00 each morning or drop the kids at school and run, it would be so simple for me, and I admit to feeling rather jealous of those who don't have to juggle so much to be able to get out. But I have chosen to have these loads of little people surrounding me. They are my responsibility and my most precious of all things.

So, here is to hoping and hoping my motivation and the fates will align to make this work. Heaven knows it won't be long before I feel that there is another little spirit looking down saying, "Hey, what about me!? I know you are stressed, but I am planning on being yours too." So, if I could just have this year to reclaim my body even just a little bit, to run two marathons in a year (one of them being such an exciting one), and to find the ways to train as hard as I'd like (I'm hoping for five days a week), I will feel so so grateful and blessed. I just want this really badly. I'm gearing up mentally because if I am serious, my training needs to start in May. The running itself isn't what I have to gear up for, it is finding the motivation to do it at very inconvenient and awkward times that I need to be able to handle. I love my kids more than anything in this universe other than Mike, but if I could just have this one me thing work out I will cry with happiness.

Penny talking about Megan, Ruby and Shannon

I thought Shan, Megan and Rhonda would enjoy this. Megan, she had been jabbering about you for some time. Of course when I tried to film her doing it she wasn't so much. Penny is cool because she says lots of real words mixed with gibberish . . . I think she just wants her sentences to sound longer and more sophisticated.

Advertising for Amy

My sister Amy has found another niche for her photography skills. I think it all began when she first practiced pregnancy shots on my lovely Penny filled belly. She has always been our go to for newborn shots, but my nieces Ashley and Kristen were smart enough to begin enlisting her in the delivery room. Why didn't I think of that? They got some amazing pics of those first precious moments. And now anyone can! Blow it up big to read the deal. It is 550, but includes not only two photo shoots, but several blown up big prints, a slideshow AND the entire disc of shots. Not bad.

Also, I thought I'd show you bigger views of two off of the card. (Hmm, they aren't actually that much bigger. I stole them off your blog, Ash. Why are they so puny?) I love love Ashley's expression in that second one -- just that total shock and amazement that a real tiny person all your own suddenly exists in the world.

And, this pic has nothing to do with pregnancy. It is just a favorite of mine. It is one of the graduation shots she took of my nephew Thatcher. Doesn't it just look cool? She has pretty great deals on family photo shoots and stuff too, so pass the word along if you know anyone needing some photography.

Jesse and the Camera/Conference

Jesse is such a content and good little guy. If he didn't spit up more than all my other kids combined (which was already a lot), he would be completely perfect. He giggles and laughs quite readily, but I can't ever catch it on film. I can't even catch a smile on the camera because this is the effect the camera has on him:

It puts him in a total trance.

Sometimes I can almost catch a smile if I hold the camera way out to the side where he can't see it, but even then he won't generally be fooled for long.

But, who needs smiles when they can catch this face:

Lastly, here is the set up Abe arranged for their General Conference watching. They may be loud and not necessarily hear a thing that is said, but I think I have at least accomplished one thing. They genuinely love the idea of conference. They love gathering pictures to color and Legos and setting up a little station to spend the day at. Saturday was a HORRIBLE day with our kids. There was more crying and time outs than in the whole last year combined. (Mostly because they have been fighting so much with each other lately! I hate that. Help!). But, even amidst the drama no one wanted to miss conference. In fact one of Daisy's most tearful pleas to be spared a time out was that she'd miss some of conference.Oops, did I already say "lastly?" Well, really this little video is lastly, which has nothing particularly to do with anything.

Activia

I am such a nerd. This post is totally going to sound like a commercial -- but a commercial for what? Am I advertising Activia or my husband? It could be both, but Mike isn't for sale at present, so I guess it is for Activia.

Anyway! Awhile back I had an ulcer. I was quite miserable for a time. Before I knew what the problem was, I was trying to do whatever I could think of to narrow things down for my visit to the doctor (when you look up stomach pain there are roughly 100 trillion things it could be). I even started eating more yogurt -- in case my system was all out of whack (you know, good bacteria low, bad bacteria high) and what better yogurt to do that with than Activia since it promises all kinds of good bacteria and all kinds of digestive tract regulation.

So, I happily ate my little Activias every day and then found out it was an ulcer so I swallowed my 600 antibiotic pills a day (remember how I hate to swallow several pills in a row). Even though I now knew the cause of my pain, I kept eating Activias because I thought to my little self, "Self, all those antibiotics are going to wipe out all your good bacteria too, and then some other opportunistic bad bacteria will take up residence . . . unless of course you out smart the bad opportunists by continuing to dump loads of good "active cultures" in at the same time! Self, you are a genius."

But in the end, ulcer was gone and pain was gone and antibiotics were done and Activia was cast by the way side because really, who buys Activia? No one. Normal people buy Yoplait or, if they live in WA and frequent Winco, the cheap but tasty "Fit and Fruity" yogurts. "Fruit and Fitty"? Something.

Then, Friday night, I went out to eat with some of my old Israel roommates (hooray, girls, I loved it). I eat pretty much always, but apparently I don't generally find the time to sit and eat bread sticks and salad and grilled tasty meats for two plus hours because by the time I returned home I felt so miserable and bloated and uncomfortable that I hardly knew what to do with myself.

At some point, in the midst of my moanings, I began considering that I hadn't actually had these issues when I was faithfully consuming my Activia -- naturally I wondered if their promises about GI regulating and less bloating and the like could have actually been true. I wasn't sure, but at one point I groaned out something to Mike like, "Activia . . . never should have stopped . . . Activia." Now, you should know, that my Mike is the last person in the world to buy into any type of active cultures doing anyone any good, which is why I liked it all the more when Saturday afternoon he returned from running some errands and handed me this:
I can never even think of what to get him for his birthday, but he is so great at knowing any tiny little thing I like that might make me happy. I like him.

Oh, and side note, you know what else I like? I like having people you love. Tonight I am thinking specifically of people who have been a part of your life at some point and then moved on out of it. But it is such a happy thing to have all of these individuals out there in the world that just make you happy. Friday was a busy day full of those people. Not only did Mike and the kids have certain things planned, but some of our WA neighbors came to visit. Here are two of my all time favorite girls/YW/babysitters, Kierstin and McKayla, with my kids.
Then I got to go spend the evening with Sarah and Sarah (and sadly no Jill) -- my roommates from Israel 11 1/2 years ago. We haven't gotten together in 3 or so years, so it was such a happy thing to spend a few hours just talking and talking (and eating, as I mentioned). Driving home that night, and thinking about all the fun people I'd seen that day, I just felt so happy to think of how lucky we are to have relationships and associations and bonds with people from all the different phases of our lives. (We didn't take any pics Friday, but here I am with my three roommates and two home teachers at the Garden Tomb, and then with Sarah and Sarah somewhere in Sinai).

Handle This

All you out there who watch your Super Nanny or read your precious Love and Logic and the like, could you please tell me just how a mother is to respond appropriately to the following?

Abe: Mom, Goldie and I were playing with this balloon with Penny in her room, and she was just so happy, but Daisy came in and told us to get out, and when we said we were here first, she punched me!

Here Abe and Daisy are in happier times -- sharing a brownie. (That's why their faces are messy. My kids faces aren't just always messy . . . then again, maybe they are. The kind of mother whose kids punch each other is probably the kind of mother to never wash their faces).

Haunted Dryer?

I do more laundry than you can shake a stick at. Where did that come from -- more than you can shake a stick at? I don't know, but I like it. Anyway, loads and loads of laundry (no pun intended).

So, with all that laundry, I was more insulted than spooked when my dryer turned "haunted" the last few days. You see, I have a little switch on my dryer that you can turn to "signal on" or "signal off" -- you know, depending on whether or not you want to hear a really loud buzzing sound each time your laundry is dry. I do not want to hear that sound, so mine has always been set to off. But a few days ago, out of the blue, my dryer began ignoring my wishes and buzzing when it was done with its job. Why was this insulting? Well, because I felt like my dryer was suggesting that I am a slacker. Perhaps hinting that I ought to be up and folding a little more quickly. "Hey Lazy," the dryer seemed to taunt, "I've done my job of drying now get crackin' on your part. What, can't handle a few clothes to fold?" But I always do manage to get my laundry done at some point (see all those folded clothes on top). It isn't as if the laundry is a casserole that will burn if I don't take it out the minute it is done. It may get a bit wrinkly, but I've come to accept and love wrinkly so that doesn't matter so much, and I find it highly offensive that my dryer thinks that just because he dries the clothes he now has a say in when I do my part.

Then today, I checked that little knob again -- even though I've checked it a few times since the buzzing began, and lo and behold, it was turned to signal ON! SO now I am left to wonder if dryer ever was truly haunted and judgemental or if I have simply gone crazy . . . which sadly would not be a totally implausible option. You leave me alone, dryer!

P.S. Dear Dryer, Please do not get offended and quit drying my clothes. I really like how you do that.

Little Soldier

I mentioned the little army guy I keep vacuuming up? He was vacuumed up on three separate occasions. Each time the vacuum would do its little crackly sputter of "I don't like this type of thing" and spit him out. He is puny -- not the size of your normal army guy. He is actually only about 1/2 inch. Anyway, after the last close call, I put him safely (or so I thought) on a dresser upstairs. Next thing I know, I am downstairs and I step on something a little poky. Sure enough -- it is the young sniper again. He matches our carpet and it is a bit shaggy, so it really isn't a safe place for the soldier -- unless he is trying to hide from the enemy. The trouble is, contrary to what he might think, the enemy is not other small carpet dwellers who he must hide from. The enemy is a very loud large thing that sucks carpet hiders up and away. His only safety lies in being visible. I bring the fellow to Abe's direct attention -- mentioning just how close he has come to death and that Abe really ought to keep him somewhere safe and I think that is that since Abe is not one to be careless with his precious earthly posessions. But then today, I am doing laundry and I pull out our long lint filter thing only to find the brave little hero hidden in masses of lint! All I could say to the little guy is, "Are you serious!?" We have collected billions of toys by this stage of our kid's lives and many of the toys are very very small. What is going on with this little soldier that it is he, and he alone, having all these close calls? After this final lint episode I find myself feeling oddly protective of him and nervous that soon the hand of fate will neglect him just long enough for his number to be up.

And, in other news -- nice snack, Penny (that's right, she somehow managed to get her hands on a nice block of cheese).

Adventure

I have never really been one for adventure. No, that sounds wrong. Who doesn't love adventure? I think I meant to say that I have never been one to necessarily need adventure. I've always been a bit of a homebody,and I rarely, if ever, find myself bored. I am pretty content to just do the normal little things that a girl might do in her normal little non-adventurous world. I have had some adventure. The biggest would maybe be living for a semester in Jerusalem through BYU's study abroad program. And, I think our time on St. Simon's Island in GA was an adventure as well as being off on our own in WA for a few years. Still, none of those experiences necessarily made me overly hungry for more adventures.

Lately, however, I am feeling so adventure hungry. And it makes me feel so torn. Of course, "torn" suggests there are two options, and I don't know that there is a very realistic option for adventure right now, but my feelings are torn. There is something very appealing about the idea of being "settled" -- of establishing your little family somewhere permanent in the world where you can get to know neighbors and ward members and schools in a life long type of way; where your kids can feel secure that they will have the same friends a year from now -- or two or three or ten. I like the idea of getting a home paid off and not uprooting and starting over again. It was hard on Abe this last move, and I imagine it only gets harder as kids get older. And, the thing is, we are where we want to be. This IS where we want to end up and be established. But now that we are here I am feeling very much like, "Am I ready to 'end up'" yet? I don't know.

It is just each time I hear of a friend or family member contemplating heading off to take a job or go to school in some new place for awhile, I feel all wistful and like that is exactly what I want to do -- be all unsettled and unsure of where the road is leading. Unsettled? Weird. But there is seriously some excitement associated with the times in our marriage when we have wondered where we would be . . . and when and how. Do I want to suddenly leave and have Mike take this job to another state? No, that would be silly. We feel very lucky we were able to get back here and wouldn't want to risk losing that ever. Plus, I admit I may have added a little something of -- oh I don't know -- some poetry to the idea of being off in a new and unfamiliar place. We could go someplace new and find our circumstances miserable. But there is something so great about learning about a new place and having that place tucked securely in your mind as one of your places and as one of your life experiences.

I saw a blog the other day of a couple who are spending several months in Rwanda. Probably not the best place to cart our kids, but I just get this -- I don't know, almost a painful longing in my stomach to see and be a part of all of the different things and place that are out there. Even seeing the different trees and scenery gave me kind of this clawing feeling under my ribs like something trying to get out and get there.

I know, maybe we'll find time and money to travel when we get older. And I would love that. But that is not the longing I am talking about. Traveling doesn't allow you to BE a part of something the way living there does. That doesn't mean it isn't enjoyable, but it isn't the feeling I am antsy to have. In Israel I remember feeling horrified at the thought of having to just see the spots once and not getting to walk daily on the streets or see the small insignificant things about the place. That is how I feel. Like I want to know more of that still. I don't mean to sound discontent. Because that isn't it. I don't feel discontent with here . . . I just feel simultaneous longing for -- elsewhere. And as far as adventure goes, I realize life is fairly adventurous raising five very small children! And, as I mentioned, if an opportunity to move came along, I don't even feel that I'd want it. I would cry to leave. This is home. In fact when Mike mentions moving again just to a new house I nearly slug him (but that is more about packing and unpacking). And yet . . . sigh. What made me start wanting you, Adventure?

Some Thoughts and a Little Old Journal Thing

OK, I can't really explain this, but I think many of you probably know what I am talking about so you will understand what I mean anyway. One of the reasons I love reading books so much is that there is something about events of life being written down, and described the way they are, that gives them new meaning, or maybe I should say more meaning. It makes me see similar things in my own life through a new light. I think writing things down myself does the same type of thing. It somehow increases the significance of the events, thoughts, or feelings. Maybe it is like poetry -- you know, something is no longer just a flower or just a sunset, it has depth and beauty and purpose. It helps me to not only appreciate experiences and relationships more, but to be more aware of all the angles and sides of them. Does that make sense? I think we all have little moments in our lives, even just our normal run of the mill daily routines that -- when written down or thought about differently simply from reading something similar -- suddenly become more interesting, more unique -- more a story or movie all our own.

The other day I read some of my journal from when I began dating Mike for the second time (the time that lead to our engagement and marriage). It made me so happy to remember those moments and it seemed like it could be written out as a romance novel just like most everyone's story probably could. Here is a little example (I won't fill in all the background here, I just liked that this little minute in time with Mike was recorded).

June 1, 99 -- Tuesday

Last night . . . it was so quick I can't remember it really, but as I left I said, "Thanks for doing stuff with me again, Mike."

We were just parting and he gave a nonchalant, "Yah, no problem," but then I think he quickly realized there was more in my words than simply, "Thanks for hanging out tonight" because he paused and said more seriously, "Am I calling too much? I worry about that. . . . I know you probably . . ."

"No!" I said a bit too eagerly, but then said nothing further other than, "I like it when you call me." Then, and I'm not sure why, I added, "It's weird. Before, I knew right where everything stood. Now, I have no idea. It's like I just met you. . . . except it doesn't seem like it was four months with out talking to you."

He agreed and said, "It's because you make people comfortable."

I smiled. At least we were somehow holding hands for the moment. I don't think either of us had any intention of having a serious conversation though, and that seemed sufficient for the moment, so we said goodbye.

See, now I want to write that in a book -- throw in a little about it being night and a few details about looking down or biting my lip and -- wah lah -- my own little life a story moment.

Here he is . . .

At 7:15 am, I awoke to the sound of giggling and little excited feet running from one window to the next to peer outside. By 7:30 -- jammies still on, hair unbrushed -- this is what was going on:

Hello dog. I think they like you.

I hope you are all happy now!

Fine, you all got your way, and I hope you are happy about it. In less than three hours I will no longer be living the leisurely and charmed life of the dog free. Actually I don't know that any of you wanted it that way. Perhaps you cared little enough to want it no way at all, but Mike wanted it that way, and while I always feel it my duty to throw out the occasional plea, faint protest, or word of common sense. I also know that these tactics do little more than delay the inevitable, and I did manage to delay reintroducing a dog into our lives for all of seven or eight months. That is as long as I had the strength to ward them off (or rather, the strength to kick against Mike's happiness) -- especially when I feel that my energy is best focused on doing all I can to prevent a milk cow from being in my future.

And, really, my husband is of the type who doesn't see a home as a home or a family as a family with out a dog in the equation. I know this about him and I love him so all I can do is sigh sadly and wring my hands a little and tell him to do what he must. And he was VERY convincing talking me into this particular dog. It is a Newfoundland/St. Bernard mix. I have always preferred big dogs to little (and this dog is nothing if not big), but he didn't use that to win me over. He didn't even talk about how they are the "baby sitter" dogs, or how they save drowning people, or how much my sister loves her Newfies. No, he chose a far more convincing angle when he told me: "The lady that is selling him bought him because they have cougars around there, and she thought he would scare them off. And just think, Nancy, not even one of her kids has been eaten by a cougar since she bought him." Really, what could I say to that?

Anyway, he has left me here all alone (well, if being here with five kids can be considered all alone) with nothing to do (I mean, of course, nothing except finish my book, catch up on email, and clean the whole house up) while he is off to get our new dog. He assured me I didn't need to be too sad about him getting home late -- he promised he'd wake me so I could help him move the dog house into the backyard.

Lest some of you are wondering what my problem with dogs is: I don't really have a problem with dogs. I love dogs. I mean, I don't love to actually pet them, but I like the idea of a loyal dog around. It is just that both Mike and I grew up with dream dogs (Lucky and Festus) and envisioned such a perfect companion when we bought our first ever dog not long after being married. Unfortunately, we have had miserable dog experiences -- from howls all night, to many running mishaps (Mike knows the look of "don't push your luck" that he now gets when he suggest a dog go running with me), to a neighbor practically being attacked, well, to a whole lot of all around nonsense. Sigh.

Here is to hoping new dog is a Festus (yah, I know, cool name -- he was the best).

What to Blog

Think. Think. Think. What to blog about? Hmmm. Oh, who am I trying to kid. More like: What NOT to blog about. I could blog about anything from my recent rekindling of an old love between myself and chocolate Twizzlers, to Abe's little army guy that I somehow vacuum up and manage to save practically every time I vacuum, to Daisy recently paying Abe to play with her, to Mike refusing to learn Pig Latin, to our dreamy new primary class, to my thoughts on certain words, to admitting that I am just like the rest of the world (when I know it is cooler to NOT be) in that I love LOST, to Goldie wanting a real fairy for her birthday. Heck, I could even write some spiritual insights I've had of late. In fact, I could even do a little bit of ranting about some issues that frustrate me a great deal. But I don't know that I want to rant here. Ranting is saved special like for one of my sisters to hear over the phone. You know, the conversations that end with, "Thanks for letting me rant and not thinking I'm crazy. I just needed to get that off my chest." Here a rant might just make some of you who don't know me better think I really am crazy and, well, heaven forbid.

Anyway, all I'm saying is, there is no shortage of things for me to post post post. I am generally not a very big fan of improv., but sometimes I feel like having improv. night here on my blog. You know, where you would just all throw out a subject and I would blog away. But now, oh dear, I've just mentioned all the things I could blog about and, without realizing what I was doing, left myself with exactly what I said wasn't the problem -- nothing to blog about. I just threw out my whole arsenal of topics that quick. Huh, well, if I haven't just blogged myself right into a corner, thrown out the baby with the bath water, and all of that. I've faithfully tramped myself about in nothing but a big circle I guess, because now I am back to this: Think. Think. Think. What to blog about?

Research Shmesearch

Yesterday I read this in the news:

Research from the University of Virginia says you might be getting old sooner than you think. Researchers say our mental abilities begin a downward slide from the age of 27, after reaching their peak just five years earlier.

And all I have to say is: Dear Smarty Pants Researchy People, Next time you find out something like this, keep it to your researchy little selves. What would your mothers think!?

It is like I have always said, some science no one wants to know (like peanuts being legumes, tomatoes not really being vegetables, Pluto not qualifying as a planet, and the fact that when they are looking for "life" on Mars, they are just looking for things like bacteria and not cool green aliens). But, I suppose one could argue that science must be published -- popular or not. I mean not that long ago people were none too happy to hear that the earth was round. And look at us now! Just thrilled as (oh I couldn't think of a good simile), but really thrilled to be able to boat ourselves around all of Earth with not even the tiniest bit of fear about plummeting over the edge.

Still, I think researchers would do best to spend their time studying things that everyone truly wants to know -- like how to cure diseases and how to find Big Foot -- and leave things like the fact that I might not be so smart anymore out of it!

Beautiful Beautiful Kids

It is that time of year again . . . the time of year when the kids start wanting the trampoline set up. I love this time of year because it means that my kids are outside more! It is light later, they aren't coming in with quite such muddy shoes and they are so happy outside playing!

Seriously, aren't kids' faces just pretty much beautiful? I love love to look closely at their perfect little features. And what I love most is that their features do seem perfect. I don't know what happens as we get older and why we start to have more narrow thoughts about what is beautiful because in children, crooked teeth, round cheeks, messy hair, pug little noses, whatever the features -- they are all charmingly perfect. Sooo . . . I had to take a few closeups of my kids out enjoying the trampoline.

Jesse is a no show in these pics because he was sleeping. Abe got a little cheated in the picture taking business because he went somewhere with Mike shortly after the trampolining started, but here is a picture of him the other day before getting his hair cut. I like it long; Mike likes it short; so we just go -- long, butched, long, butched back and forth. No matter how his hair is, there is no getting around the fact that he is a cute kid. He loves loves to read. He and Mike have this little tradition of buying used old books when ever they are off alone together (even though I always grumble because it just means more "stuff" around when we could check out all the books we want from the Library), but they like it and whenever they do, Abe will be reading non stop for the next week. I know most parent's really really want their kids to love reading, but you can tell things have gone a bit too far when you wake up at 2:30 am because you notice some lights are on, and your 2nd grade son has decided to wake up and do a little sneaky reading!