A Little Blogging Info

I am putting this on here just because I think it might be of interest to many of my blogging friends and family out there who have been wanting to make their blogs into printed books.

As I've mentioned, I've done two such books so far and am working on a third. I love having them right here in our home, but it is a lot of work to get them ready to print. I have been using the blurb.com booksmart software (I think most bloggers I know have used this). It does slurp your blog up, but you really still have to go through and edit every single page. Once you know how to really work with and change their formats, you can get your posts just how you want, and I do think it is really fun to be able to choose different backgrounds for each page, or have a picture take up an entire page, etc. Still, it is time consuming, and I think a lot of you have been wanting to do it, but putting it off because you don't want to dig in and commit to figuring out how to edit the pages, etc.

Soooo . . . that brings me to this: my cousin Jenn started blogging fairly recently, so I was a bit amazed when she said she had already printed off several books. That is, until she told me about this website for doing blog books: Blog2Print

I haven't done it myself, but it sounds ridiculously easy, so it might be the answer for all of you who want the book minus the work. My cousin said you basically go in, give them your blog address, choose the type of cover you want and picture you want on it, tell them which posts you want included in the book (like Jan. 1, 10 - Dec. 31, 10), and print your book. I think it basically just tries to keep the layout as you have it already in your blog.

You do loose a little flexibility -- for example, I think the pictures are all just a standard size and, at this point, you can't choose to make some bigger or to go in and change the layout of certain pages, but the pics she sent me of her finished book looked great, and for so little work, it might be worth it to some of you to loose a little of the say about each page's look.

Anywho, toodle-lous,
Nancy

Cows, Etc.

Any time I drive past cows, I really really want to stop and take their pictures.

Hey cows, how are you doing?

Well, not just cows. Pretty much any animal. I mean, here are some boring little pigeons.

And here, are some horses? No, donkeys?

And in the spring, when the grass was so green everywhere, I nearly cried at having to drive past a field of sheep every day with out knowing whether or not the owner would ever allow me to place my children among the sheep and take their pictures. I never asked. Only wished.

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And, speaking of horses (we were speaking of them -- a minute ago when I thought the donkeys were horses): one day, I missed a dentist appointment and had to have Mike come pull our truck out of a snowy ditch because I had pulled over (not very carefully) on my way to said dentist's to take a picture of a horse that was just standing there -- wanting his picture taken.

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But these cows. Well, I have been driving past them, and wanting to take their pictures, for months now. Usually they are standing (or sitting) in nothing but muddy slop. Yesterday, however, they were coated nicely in snow, so what could I do but drive home and return with my camera?

Is this something everybody likes to do? It seems like it would be. Later, cows.

Colors, Horoscopes, and the End of the World (Probably)

Someone said a shocking thing to me recently. I had just spoken in church -- not a talk or anything big enough to give you a real feel for me, mind you. I had just been asked to share a few thoughts on a favorite hymn (which the congregation then sang). Our ward does that sometimes in lieu of real musical numbers.

Anyway, a few days later I was talking to our ward Relief Society President when she said, "I was talking to my husband the other night -- you know, after you spoke in sacrament meeting and -- do you know anything about the Color Code personality stuff? (I nodded my head side to side and shrugged a little) You do? Oh, well, I said to my husband, 'She has got to be a yellow!' Have you ever taken the test? I'm sure you are a yellow."

"Oh, I took it once," I said, "I think it said I was a white . . . maybe I did it wrong . . ."

"White? Now that is really surprising. I had you pegged as a yellow for sure. I just don't see you as a white."

Yellow? Do you know much about yellows? They are the fun seekers. Their main motivation is fun (or so the color code folks say)! How must I sound when I speak publicly? Is being called a yellow personality after a good thing? Is it akin to being called, "A real live wire" -- like I once was after giving a lovely Mother's Day talk in a ward for the elderly? Yellow?

And, it may be that some of you haven't the foggiest idea what I am talking about, but you see, according to DR. (yes, I capitalized those for effect) Hartman Ph.D. (yes, I know I already said, "Dr." but I am trying to give him all the credibility I can, even though I have no idea who he is other than: the Color Code guy), but, as I was saying, according to him, we can all be divided into four groups based on color: red, blue, white and yellow. (I know, that was cute of me to make each word the right color, but I couldn't really make white be white or you couldn't read it on the page).

Lots of folks put a tremendous amount of stock in this business, and, when I took the test and read about my being all white and what not, I could see why. My being diagnosed as "white" made perfect sense to me (once I read what on earth it meant): apparently whites are all about calmness and peace and absence of confrontation and tact and needing kindness and a bit too content and non goal oriented (but lovely all the same). I read it and thought, "Yes, that is me. There is nothing in the world worse to me than contention and I hate to ruffle feathers or rock boats and I need people to be really really nice." And perhaps my offer of "maybe I took the test wrong" when my Relief Society President was insisting on my yellowness only further affirms my white-peace- keeping-tendency-ness.

But, back to me coming off as all yellow. WHAT? Wowzers. Sure I like a little humor and cheer and all, but I am actually not one bit fun. That is a sad thing to admit, but it is true, and I don't actually really even care if I have much fun. Boring, I know. But yellows are the ones who, apparently, might be expected to haul you off to do some spur of the moment unexpected fun thing. They are the ones whose enthusiasm keeps the world from being a place of overwhelming and utter boredom for the rest of us.

And I was mistaken for one of them!

Me: who was so reserved and quiet as a child that siblings' friends had no idea of my existence. Me: the rather stodgy no fun girl. And, while I am still absolutely no fun, and the last person in the world to be dragging anybody off on some last minute adventure (if one of those happens, rest assured, it is my husband or one of my sisters dragging me off . . . I am far too boringly content: funless).

BUT, that is not all. Have you heard the news about our astrological signs? Well, let me tell you! I read recently (in our respectable local news no less) that your "sign" is determined by the position of the sun relative to certain constellations on the day you are born. Unfortunately, those positions were determined some 2000+ years ago and really aren't accurate anymore because gravity has done something or other to the earth and changed the alignment of things in the meantime. Do you know what this means? It means that all my Capricorn loving life, I have actually been . . . a SAGITTARIUS! That means instead of being a "stable rock like character," I am something else that I know nothing about (alright, I knew nothing about the Capricorn traits either 'til I just now looked them up -- but stable and rock like sounded nice, and I have always cherished my Capricornness despite knowing nothing about it). Maybe Sagittarius is way better, but it feels all wrong to even consider such a thing. It feels traitorous.

What's to be made of all of this? One hardly knows. Why, I don't even know who I am anymore! One minute I'm a peace loving Capricorn, and the very next, people are calling me a yellow Sagittarius. Maybe even a "yella'" Sagittarius (and we all know that if you are yella' you are a scaredy cat). Geez. Earth shattering. I probably shouldn't have shattered all of your earths as well. This is one case where ignorance would have probably been bliss (I still wish people would stop telling me that Pluto isn't a planet for example). You might even have been able to remain in your happy ignorance (if I hadn't come along and ruined it) because I think this news about the horoscopes being hundreds of years outdated is being kept on the down low. Why, did you know there is even an entire NEW sign? How will society cope if people left and right start discovering that they are not the Scorpio they have always thought themselves to be -- rather, an Ophiuchus? How will they feel knowing that the Babylonians dropped their sorry astrological sign because it made for 13 signs and well . . . 13 is a creepy number? Bedlam. Our entire infrastructure will likely collapse. Sorry for spreading the news of an entire population soon to be verging on identity crises (that's plural for crisis -- pronounced cry-seez . . . plural because there will be so many of us in crisis mode).

Anyway, I am going to go stock up on wheat and rice and water and chickens, and probably let Mike get all the extra guns and ammo he has been wanting. I'll write again soon . . . if the Internet hasn't crashed. Best of luck to all of you. Especially you Ophiuchus folks.

You Deserve Some New PJ's

Why aren't you in very many posts lately little Miss Daisykins?

You certainly deserve to be. Why, you should be in every post. And the other day when you were trying to tell me something and I was putting you off a bit because I was a little busy, I suddenly felt so awful because I realized that you are getting so grown up and before too much longer, it might be that you won't be coming to me trying to have my attention, promising to brush my hair if I read one more chapter of a book, or asking to snuggle by me on the couch. I realized I better spend every minute I can basking in these years of you still being my little girl and still having time for your mom.

Besides, look at you:

Anyone with any sense can see that you obviously have the force. At any moment, it is clear that that apple is going to begin tugging at its own stem before "pop" -- off it will snap to leap into your hand. Having the force is rather special.

But, I am now leaving the "letter to Daisy" format as I tell the story about your new pajamas.

Cute little pajamas seem to be something I am quite fond of getting for my kids when they are small, but Abe and Daisy and even Goldie have reached a stage where it doesn't occur to me to buy cute little pajamas anymore. Sure I buy them the occasional flannel pj bottoms, but they are usually just worn to bed with an old t-shirt, and often there are no flannel bottoms even, but just some old cut off sweat pants or basketball shorts.

Daisy was invited to two birthday parties this weekend. Both of them were "sleep over" themed. And while there was no sleeping over involved, the plans included wearing pajamas to the party, painting nails, etc.

Daisy had nothing special to wear in the pajama department, but she didn't complain. She found her best pair of flannel pajama bottoms and asked if I would help her thread a needle so she could try and sew up the two splits in the rear and the one in the knee. She did her best and didn't whine at all about the fact that they looked a little awkward now. However, within about ten minutes of trying them on, they had split in a new spot. They were so old and thin that this was just going to keep on happening. Still, she asked for no new pajamas, just sadly asked if I would have any time while she was at school the next day to try and fix the new tear.

Also, I'd told her earlier that if she wanted to go to both parties, we couldn't buy expensive presents. She was a good sport and again didn't complain at all (though it is fun to show off a bit by bringing the "best" gift to a party). She chose out very modest little presents -- never mentioning at all that there were things she would have rather we got for them.

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When we got home, she went down to our little cold basement and wrapped the gifts the best she could in the only wrapping paper we had -- red and green Christmas wrapping.

This is starting to sound very sad now, isn't it? Like we are some poor family making due from the depression era. Still, all remained happy enough until we heard ripping coming from the other room and discovered that Jesse had torn open Daisy's carefully wrapped gifts.

For some reason this was the last straw. Daisy started to cry and cry and had no desire to re-wrap the gifts, or even to have me rewrap them as she suddenly seemed to realize how foolish Christmas wrapping paper would look anyway. Pretty much everything seemed ruined.

Poor girl. But, with dinner and homework and the like, the gift fiasco was soon forgotten and everyone was tucked in bed for the night -- with birthday party one being the next day after school. Before going to bed, Daisy quietly reminded me to see what I could do to fix her pajama bottoms better the next day.

So, I finally mustered my good mom self into action and went off to make things truly better for my deserving little Daisy: new pajamas and yes, even new pink cupcake-and-ice-cream-cone covered wrapping paper. She was quite happy to discover these things when she got home and looked very cute heading off happily to her party in her new little pajamas.

Unfortunately she woke up very sick this morning and so won't be going to birthday part number two, but at least she has cute pj's to snuggle in all day. It is very fun getting a surprise for someone when they deserve it and probably even need it, but haven't asked for it. Especially fun when it is your own child.

I love my strawberry blonde oldest daughter. She's pretty darn great.

Mike Can Fix It

Jesse is always going around pointing out to me things that are broken. Sometimes they are things he has broken and come to show me. Sometimes they are things that are just broken -- who knows by whom or for how long. Often they are things that aren't actually broken at all but either aren't working the way Jesse would like or just look broken to him. What I like though is that he always follows his comments about something being broken with a nodding of his head and a reassuring, "Dad can fix it." Always. I love that he is so certain of that.

Also, the other day I noticed a bunch of cereal crumbs mashed in a little crevice in one of our kitchen chairs. It was a skinny spot, so I grabbed a little 3x5 card and scraped it along there -- hoping to flip the crumbs out. A few minutes later I returned to the kitchen to find Jesse just finishing up the same activity with the card and the chair and loudly proclaiming, "I did it, Mom!"

"What did you do?" I asked.

He looked at the card; down at the chair; then replied, "I don't know." I loved that he was just mimicking what he'd seen me do even though he had no idea why anyone would do it or what it would accomplish.

Penny Conversations

The other day Penny, Jesse and I drove to Krispie Kreme to buy a dozen donuts. Yes, I had just left the gym, and yes the drive was more than one should be willing to take just for donuts, but never mind that. The cashier gave us each a free donut (I guess for buying a dozen?). Penny insisted we sit on one of their little tables to eat our free ones, so we did. On the way home, however, she kept insisting she needed another donut. Our conversation went something like this:
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Penny: Mom, can I just see in the donut box?
Me: Why do you need to see in it, honey?
Penny: Mom! Please! Can I just see in it.
Me: Alright, you can see in it. (I show her the donuts.)
Penny: Mom, can I just have another one?
Me: No, silly, you just had a whole donut.
Penny: Please mom!
Me: No honey, we will have some later with the kids.
Penny: Can I have one when I go for naps?
Me: No, but do you know what you can have? When we get home you can have some lunch!
Penny: Can I have a donut for lunch?
Also, yesterday I was mixing some orange juice in the morning with our little hand held electrical mixer thing (I don't know what it is called, I just know it makes orange juice be all frothy -- which I like). Penny said (as if suddenly discovering the answer to some mystery), "Mom! I sometimes hear that sound at night!"

"Do you?" I asked, "I do sometimes use this to make orange juice at night."

"When I hear it," Penny continued, "I sometimes talk to myself."

"You do?" I questioned, laughing, "And what do you say to yourself?"

She smiled. "I say. 'I wish that wasn't on.'"Cute girl. But geez Louise. Someone should wash the mirror in those pictures. Really!

Writing to my Imaginary and Rapt Friends

It's so fun to have a blog. I don't know who I'm writing to exactly. Not anyone that reads it specifically. Not that I don't like people to read it. I do. I like it way more than any self respecting person would mention. But, I can't let myself think of any one person as I type. Then I might worry about saying this or that. I might worry that what I am typing is boring or annoying. Luckily, I am writing to a kind of real and kind of imaginary someone. Or, maybe multiple someones. I don't know who they are exactly. They remain kind of vague. BUT, they hang on my every word. They can't wait for another post, and they think everything I say is the very thing they most want to hear. They can't get enough of it.

Even little tiny things like -- Jesse. They really do want to hear all about the trouble he causes and how I really really love him and also really really want to curl up in a fetal position close to a wall so I can rhythmically bang my head against it while I cry when I think about him. But he's so darn cute and says, "See ya' soon, Mom. Lub you!" as he goes to wreak havoc. And he insists we let him pray and repeats his little prayers in such a heartbreakingly cute way.

Whoever I'm blogging to loves that. They understand it and don't think I'm a bad mom for saying all that about wanting to cry and bang my head against a wall. And they want me to tell them all about how he is now in the stage of wanting to do every single thing himself. "I wanna try! I wanna try it!!" And how it is kind of tricky, but also kind of cute when I have to trick him into thinking he is putting his crib sheet back on himself by having him say, "push push" with his chubby little hands as he sticks them down the side of the mattress as we put the sheet back on (the sheet he tore off and threw out of his crib himself -- incidentally).

Not everyone loves to read that sort of thing, but whoever I am blogging to really REALLY loves to read it. They wish I would write more about Jesse.

Then I bring up Goldie's ear infection and they are suddenly like, "Oh? What? Do tell! How exciting!" It is fun to be writing about an ear infection and know it is bringing edge-of-your-seat kind of excitement to someone (even if that someone is in my imagination -- it still makes it fun to write). They think it is very entertaining to hear how I dreaded having her start on the ten day (twice a day) course of antibiotics because she is quite awful about taking medicine, and I envisioned twenty nightmares trying to get it in her. Instead it has turned out quite lovely because luckily (well . . . luckily is a strange word to use here), but luckily I was diagnosed with strep throat the very same day. We bought a pack of Skittles and I told Goldie she had to be the one in charge of reminding us both to take our medicine every morning and night (which she has faithfully done -- and that is good because if you read my earlier post you will know that I forget things and she remembers things). It is quite a little production each time. We get her dropper all full and ready. Then we get her a little cup of water. Then we get out my pill and cut it in half (because it is too big and I think I will choke on it). Then we get my cup of water. Then we get out a Skittle for each of us for a reward. When that is all set up. Goldie makes me wait to take my medicine 'til she is done with hers (which she takes in tiny doses with a drink between each bit). Then I finally get to swallow mine and tell her what a great girl she is being about her medicine. Then we eat our Skittles. Everything is marked on the calendar and she gets a prize at the end, and as much as she hates her medicine, she told me the other day she'll be sad when it is gone -- she likes our little yucky-medicine-and-then-a-Skittle ritual and that we get to do it together.

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Do you see why having a blog with my mysterious rapt reader(s) is so wonderful? Who else would ever want me to tell them all of that? This is great.

Also, they want to know all sorts of things about me. Like how I wonder why it is that I like one thing to overkill -- always. A song. A certain food. No moderation. I will just listen to it (or eat it) over and over and over . . . until I can't really stand it anymore. Why is that? I don't know, but whoever my imagination is blogging to thinks it's charming.

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They also don't want to say "gag" or feel bad if I tell them things I like so much about my husband. They think it is wonderful. They think he is wonderful (and sometimes trouble -- which he is). And they like me being happy as much as if they were my own mother. They love knowing about the time I complained to Mike that our new budget was not budgeting in the fact that I needed some new perfume. Later that day Mike brought me home one of those perfume samples you tear out of a magazine that maybe have enough sample to rub a little on your wrist. We both laughed at the perfume our new budget allowed as he handed it to me and said, "I can't guarantee it hasn't been used." But it actually made me so happy because I loved that my husband, hours after I grumbled about perfume, was still thinking of me and remembering that I'd mentioned wanting perfume when he came across the magazine sample. A week or two later, when Mike was on a work trip, he used up a fairly large amount of his per diem to buy me two new bottles of perfume. I loved that, but I think his little teasing gesture with the magazine sample made me just as happy.

I could go on and on because I have many more small and insignificant things I could ramble about -- which would be fine because my imaginary reader (maybe I have an imaginary friend now?) would love all of it. BUT, sometimes, just for a second, you real readers out there come into my consciousness, and while I know you all enjoy me well enough, I suddenly feel a little sheepish about all my ramblings. That is good though. It keeps me somewhat in check . . . somewhat.

Goldie and her Mom

The other day Goldie made an interesting observation. "Mom," she said, "you forget a lot of things, and I remember a lot of things."

Here was another recent conversation:

Me: Thanks you guys for helping me earlier when I was sad.

Goldie: You're welcome. Why were you sad?

Me: Oh I don't know. I was just feeling kind of overwhelmed. That's when you feel like there is just too much you have to do and you can't handle it.

Goldie: I feel that way all the time! . . . When I have to clean my room.

It was comforting to see she knew where I was coming from. Although, I don't know if there two small moments tell more about her keen insights or my often scrambled state of mind.

New Year's Resolutions

Last night Mike talked to the kids about goals. They each thought of one and he wrote them down as they did. You might not consider the two goals below as worthy goals. In fact, looking at them stuck to our fridge with all the others makes me laugh. Who wouldn't want their child to read? Or to eat an apple for heaven's sake! But trust me these goals are two very necessary goals for the children who are pursuing them.

Family Portrait

I love Penny's drawings. There is something fairly distinct about the way she handles her markers that I always recognize as very -- Pennyish.

But what I most like about how she draws is that she doesn't feel the need to conform to any typical ideas about things like . . . oh . . . the human form.

Take this recent family portrait for example. See me? I'm the one there on the right with yellow hair and a rather corn-cob looking mouth. As you can see, she knows well enough the typical layout of the human body -- there I am: head, body, arms, legs and even my "church shoes" (as Penny informed me when I asked if I was wearing heels). And take a look at Goldie -- the blue girl at the bottom of the paper. She's fairly typical (although I admit her hair is blue and her eyes are a bit psychotic).

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But then . . . there's Mike. For him, she decided a giant blue and red stripey blob would be more fitting. And, what about Daisy? She is actually sporting not one, but TWO pairs of wings. Wings I say! (And a tail?). Penny saw no need to explain why this would be. Only nodded that yes, those were wings on Daisy, when I asked.

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Anyway, that's all that really needs commenting, but I will also let you know that Jesse is the small pink fella, Abe is the yellow and orange guy, and Penny is "wearing a gray crown that I bought for her [I haven't actually purchased her a gray crown] and wrapped in her pink blanky." I imagine a child psychologist could have quite a field day with this!

But, Penny has been particularly fun lately. She keeps sneaking out of her bed in the middle of the night. She doesn't try to bother us. I'll just wake to find her trying to make a little bed for herself on the floor next to our bed. Or, last night, I discovered her sleeping on the hard box springs that were left in the room that we just opened up and moved Goldie out of.

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Plus, she just does and says funny things. When I was tucking her in the other night I asked her why there were all these small pieces of toilet paper sitting next to her bed. "Mom!" She said in a frustrated tone, "They're for my collection!" And the other night, as she was heading up to bed she said, "Say goodnight to my room 'cause my room can talk!" And then, in the deepest most frightening voice that made Mike and I look at each other and burst out laughing she said (speaking as her room), "Good night, Mom!"

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And lastly, can I just say that sometimes I don't know what on earth I am even supposed to be explaining to my children? Recently Penny looked at me kind of seriously and kind of confusedly and said, "Did you know a prophet is in our tummies?"

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"Ummm." I said, trying to think what she was trying to get at here, "Well. The prophet actually lives at his own house . . . but . . . sometimes babies grow in mommies tummies?" I replied -- hopefully -- wondering if this could be what she was after.

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She only shook her head and said defensively, "Well. Something is in us!"

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Hesitatingly I tried, "Our spirits?"

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"YEA!" She shouted -- as if I'd gotten the right answer on a game show.

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Whew. Tough.

Abe and Sunny-D

Look at my handsome freckled boy. Why so serious in the picture? I don't know. He can be so very . . . unserious.

Take tonight for example. He was drinking a glass of Tampico citrus drink. Let me pause here, briefly, to say that I can imagine few things that might appeal to me less than the idea of drinking Tampico (basically Sunny-D). The thought of drinking such a thick (OK, I don't actually know if it's "thick") sugary fluid makes me shudder. And, lest you think I am a terrible mom for buying it, I'll have you know I bought it for Mike. He occasionally likes it -- bless his heart.

Anyway, Abe had a little cup full tonight. He took a swallow, grimaced, and said, "You know why I don't like this kind of Tampico?"

"Why?" I questioned (though it seemed to me there could be any number of reasons why one wouldn't).

"Because it kind of tastes like Sunny-D when I'm about to throw-up." (I guess drinking it makes him think of how he would feel if he were violently ill and was offered a cup of the similar drink).

I laughed. "Why are you drinking it then!?"

He shrugged, chuckled, and replied, "Because it's kind of good."

That boy and I get along pretty well. And, we have some good laughs together.

WAIT!

Look at this terribly overexposed picture. I realize that, photographically speaking, it is a complete wash out (hohoha -- yes, pun intended, aren't I the clever one). But when I looked at it on my camera, and later on my computer, I just . . . kept looking at it. The way my three littlest ones were heading off into all that whiteness -- unconcerned and unhurried as can be, but with no intention of stopping or saying farewell; only one last acknowledging look from Goldie -- made me feel sort of saddish. It made me feel like they were all heading off into the next life or into some unknown future . . . with out me. And every time I see it I want to say, "Hey! Wait you three! Stop! Don't leave with out me! Turn back!" And yet I feel certain that even if I did call they would do no more than smile comfortingly back and continue on . . . and that I wouldn't be able to follow them. Silly. I know. But I feel like I'm in a dream and that is happening whenever I see it. Then, somewhat comically, I think, "What's with the warm coats? Do you need to be all bundled up to go where you're going?"

Tinkering

I felt like such an amazing mom today. Let me tell you why: I was trying to find the few Tinkertoys that I'd seen lying out earlier -- so I could put them with the others, but only one of the three could be found. So I thought to myself, "Where would I be if I were a Tinkertoy . . . and I lived in the same house as little Mr. Jesse Frank?" Then, almost immediately I thought, "I'd probably be in the garbage disposal." And indeed, that's where they both were. Of course, maybe I'm not so amazing. I've also been thinking for some time now, "Where would I be if I were a TV remote and lived in the same house as Jesse?" And I've checked the heater vents AND the fridge AND the garbage disposal AND my makeup drawer -- all to no avail. BUT, speaking of Tinkertoys. The evening before my garbage disposal find, I found myself prying peas from dinner out of the little circles in the round Tinkertoys. They fit there quite nicely so I could see why it might seem a logical place for someone to have put them. All the same, I thought, "This is one of those things that never really occurred to me that I might be doing when I thought about my life once I was married and had kids."

And all of that makes me think that it is interesting how many of my recent thoughts have revolved around Tinkertoys. And one wonders why I sometimes don't recall a whole lot of information from my Chemistry and Biology days. Tinkertoys are pretty cool though. Both Penny and Jesse were gratifyingly appreciative of my skills when I built them the old Tinkertoy rattle (well, we just call it a shaker around here -- it's not really a rattle) and swing set last night. I'm not saying I'm the greatest Tinkertoy builder ever . . . necessarily . . . I'm just telling it like it was: they were greatly impressed.

GTA's 80th

My dad celebrated his 80th birthday on Monday. Here he is with my Uncle Bob. Uncle Bob is actually my dad's first cousin (though we've always just called him "Uncle"). They were born only four days apart and spent much of their lives growing up and doing things together.

For my dad's birthday, Uncle Bob came up to celebrate with him. Some of Bob's kids and nearly all of my dad's kids (and their spouses) went to dinner together then went back to my parents' house to listen to Uncle Bob and my dad reminisce about their growing up years.

My Aunt Penny (my dad's only living sister) and her husband Brad even surprised him by flying in for the event.

Here my dad and mom are.

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Me with my dad.

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It was a very fun night, and, I think, was the very thing my dad most wanted for his 80th, but even more exciting than the birthday night itself was my dad's big birthday present. This book:

It was a big secret and completely overwhelmed my dad. My sister Shannon deserves nearly all of the credit for it. She conceived the idea of making a scrap book of sorts of his life and spent probably hundreds of hours gathering pictures, scanning them, asking my dad questions about his life, searching through papers to find incredible things to add -- such as snippets of letters from his family written years ago, etc. She had my Uncle Bob, my Aunt Penny, and several of my dad's closest pals from his growing up years send letters, and she included those along with pictures of them in the book. She then had each of his eleven kids do a few pages (though she ended up doing most of the work on them herself). It turned out so great. Most of us ended up purchasing copies for ourselves to have. It is such a great keepsake and, I think, will be a great way for my kids and grandkids to feel like they know their Grandpa Gordy well.

Here are a few of the pages:

I have to show a close up of this picture of my mom and dad. I had never seen it until it showed up in this book, and I'm not sure where Shannon came across it, but I absolutely LOVE it. I asked my mom about it, and she said it was actually taken after they had been married a year or two because she remembers having dropped baby Mark (my oldest brother) off to her mom while they went on an overnight hike with my Uncle Bob and his wife Carolee. Look how darling and in love they are. It reminds me of the story I've often heard about when they were first dating and had gone on a hike together. My dad had brought along a hunting knife that he was quite fond of and had been showing off a bit -- tossing and spinning it into trees and the like when somehow, they lost it. They searched and searched but were unable to find it. He was sorry to lose it, but eventually they had to leave. However, the next morning my mom got up early and went back up alone and searched until she found it. I can just picture my very outdoorsy dad thinking, "Now THAT is some girl!" when she surprised him with it later.

Here is one of the "kid" pages. Each of us had two or three pages in the book. This one is my brother John's. I helped Shannon put a few of them together. Most of them included pictures of us when we were young, a page of pictures that included our own spouse and children, and then random little bits of things -- memories of my dad, statements from our children about my dad, etc. They are all a little different and fun to look through.

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There were so many things that touched me as I read through this book and got acquainted with the young Gordon who had not yet become my dad -- not yet dreamed that he would one day have ELEVEN children running about his house.

One thing that I really liked was reading the pages Shannon put together about my dad's parents. She had found and added small excerpts from letters they had written to him while he was away in the Forest Service. She had even found and added bits from the talks they gave at his mission farewell. The only grandparent I ever knew was my maternal grandmother, but just reading a few tiny snippets of the letters from my paternal grandmother (Pearl) reduced me to tears. They were simple and sweet and somehow, for all their shortness, made me feel like I knew her better -- and made me anxious to truly get to know her someday.

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Here was the snippet from her talk at his farewell:

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I, instead of thinking solemn things, have been thinking little homespun thoughts, like "I hope he'll get his vitamins, and I know he'll never remember to wear a hat, and I wish I had taught him to cook something besides hamburgers."

And, from a letter she sent him while he was in the Forest Service:

It will be wonderful to have you home, darling. We're all a little lost around here without you. The place is much too quiet, and the chocolate cake stays in the pan far too long! Rickie [their dog] goes about in a dispirited sort of way, even when we're lavish with affection . . . Be sure to keep letters coming to us, honey, 'cause they're all we have of you now -- and I do miss that bone crushing embrace! . . . All my love, Mother

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Could she be any more charming? It's odd to think of my grandma -- writing a letter to her 18 year old son who was off on an adventure. Her 18 year old son who, 28 years later, would become my father.

My father is all I have truly known him as. That is another thing this book has made me think about. The man he was long before he was simply "dad" to me.

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My dad, if you somehow failed to notice from those book pages, was (and still is) rather shockingly handsome. He was an outdoorsman, clever, smart and talented. His parents were well known and respected in their community. They all posessed a certain sophistication. When I see these young dashing pictures of him, I wonder if it was ever hard, later -- when he had a house that was constantly being pulled apart by eleven children, when he was forever having to give up his beloved copy of the evening paper to some family his sons had somehow missed on their paper route, when the sink was always full of dirty dishes, when he drove a station wagon and wore used clothing, and every extra cent always went to repairing something -- to reconcile himself to that life. To not think dreamily back on his carefree and adventurous days as a bachelor. But, to ask him about it, you would never think so. He constantly tells us what blessings we were and are. He claims he would have had a dozen more had the Lord been willing. If he had to live life a bit more humbly than he otherwise might have, if some, at times might have looked down on him for having such a house full, he's never given us any reason to believe that it wasn't in every way worth the cost -- that we weren't in every way worth the cost. I sure love that man and feel incredibly thankful to him for letting me come and grow up as his daughter.

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Happy 80th, dad!

A Merry Little Christmas

Christmas Eve brunch with my family.

Sister and sisters-in-law (only two missing):


Mom making pancakes:

Christmas morning at our house.

Why yes, as a matter of fact, those are sock monkey nesting dolls you just saw Jesse holding.

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At Mike's parents' on Christmas day.


No, that weather doesn't look much like Christmas weather, does it? Well, never you mind. Yesterday winter got its revenge (on Christmas day having neglected it) by dropping several feet of snow and angrily dipping its temperatures down into the low 20's.

It was, by all accounts, a very happy and very lovely little Christmas. (And the presents weren't half bad either!)