Quilted.

All. Day. Long.

With a bunch of fun ladies.

And loved it.

Every minute.

Note to self:

The Works

I'm sure I don't need to inform you that today is the 24th of July. The date may not hold much significance for you, but it does to me and my family.

In the history of my church, this day holds great significance. It was on this day in 1847 that Brigham Young led the first group of Mormon pioneers into the Salt Lake Valley.

And it is also the birthday of my sister's family's German foreign exchange student.

The children and I celebrated the day by attending the traditional 24th of July Breakfast Reunion hosted by the husband's side of the family. Such sadness for the husband, as he had to go to work. ( in order to finance the outings the children and I are so fond of taking- many thanks to the husband.)

It was a fun breakfast reunion. With lots of pancakes, bacon and sausage.

And then for lunch, we again celebrated by eating bologna sandwiches. Not really a tradition- it's just that bologna was in the refrigerator.

Let me tell you a little something about bologna. I haven't eaten bologna since the 80s. To be honest, I didn't know they still made bologna. But they do. And we found it in Grandma's fridge.

When I was younger, I had a sister (actually, even now that I am older, I still have this sister- although she is not the same sister with the German foreign exchange student) who used to make bologna sandwiches ALL. THE. TIME.

I'm not talking your ordinary bologna sandwich. She was the queen of the bologna sandwich. She made them with "the works". If you know what I mean. Do you?

"The works" would include lettuce, tomato, cheese, mayo, mustard and sometimes sprouts. And whatever else was in the fridge- because the fridge was the home of "the works". And my mom stocked a mean fridge.

I never really loved bologna, but when I would see my sister walk in with her sandwich that included all the fixings- "the works", if you will- I suddenly craved bologna sandwiches. The only problem was that I was too lazy to make one myself. So, I found a clever way to score a little bologna-on-white with "the works".

All I had to do was work my magic and say to my sis, "You make the best bologna sandwiches this side of the Mississippi- I just don't know how to make them like you do. Would you make one for me?"

And she would say, "OK. What do you want on it?"

I would reply, "The Works."

And off she would go into the kitchen. To fix my bologna with "the works" while I sat back and waited patiently.

It was a brilliant plan.

Until she caught on to my little scheme.

She doesn't make me bologna sandwiches anymore. But she is an awesome sister.

I would say she has "the works"!

A Cabin Story

Last week the husband whisked the children and me away

to one of my most favorite childhood haunts.

The family cabin in the mountains of

Durango, Colorado.

And I wondered:

why has it been ten years since our last trip here?

I couldn't believe this was the first time I was introducing the children to this wonderland. Watching them brought back a flood of memories: days spent with my brothers and sisters and cousins wandering the mountains, warning each other not to pick the columbines- the state flower of Colorado- because, for sure there was a police man waiting just beyond the next towering aspen to apprehend any state flower-picking offender.

Time spent at the waterfall. Washing our hair in the man-made spillway, just up the road from the cabin.

Driving up to the top of the mountain to see the beautiful wildflowers and passing the old mine and the lone chimney- remnants of a burnt out house.

Exploring the meadow across the road from the cabin. The meadow that housed the remains of a pioneer cabin long since abandoned. Visiting the gravestone of the tiny pioneer who lost her life way too early.

Finding the old bottles from the saloon that once buzzed with life and, no doubt, drunk miners.

Remembering the old school that we used to visit and sit in the desks and drink the Mountain Dew supplied by the forest ranger there. What was her name? She was always around those hills, coming up for a visit with Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandpa, sitting in his chair in front of the huge picture window, taking in the view of the mountain. Grandma bathing us in the big silver tub by lantern-light.

Honeymooning with the husband and our first days of

happily ever after.

Those were some good days. All of them.

And so, we introduced the children to the wonder of the cabin.

And they loved it.

And we celebrated Grandma's 90th birthday

with song and laughter, skits and bonfires, food and camping, family and friends.

And it was magical.

Pride Cycle

The husband just confessed a big one to me. Something I don't know if I was ready to hear. But, honestly, I have been waiting and wondering when this day would ever come. Because it is inevitable.

I was downstairs, watching the news, and he went upstairs to get something and said he would be right back.

So, I believed he would. I had no reason not to believe.

About a half hour later, I im'd him to see what the deal was. Where was my husband? He said he would be right down.

After our little chat, he came bounding down the stairs.

I had him help me with something. He is a good helper, btw. And smart. So, I'm glad I have him.

And then I believe his conscience was eating at him and, "Do you want to know what I was really doing upstairs?" says he.

"Yup," answer I.

"Well, I was looking at your facebook profile- mainly who your friends are. And I noticed that you are friends with most of my family members. And I am not. So I requested a bunch of friends you have that I do not."

Now, major major props go out to the husband and his facebook friend-finding frenzy.

Do you know why?

This is why: the husband prides himself on being a facebook snob. I have literally started writing a few posts on this subject that I have never published. And now I wish I had, because I could link back to them as proof that the husband believes he is superior to all other facebookers because he has never pro-actively added anyone as a friend. Yet, he has throngs of people desiring his friendship. And another reason he is a facebook snob: he has never updated his status. I believe he considers this a strength. Can you fault him? He really is a cute facebooker.

Wouldn't it be sweet justice if those friends he just requested ignored his request? Sweet justice, but not very nice. Please be his friend- he needs good facebook examples.

To be fair, I don't believe that he intentionally set out to be a facebook snob, but once he got caught up in the lifestyle, it was pretty much impossible for him to get out. And so, I can appreciate these baby steps he is taking.

Beware of the pride cycle my husband, because there is a fall. And now, you have fallen- and humbled yourself. And I am proud of you for taking the first steps.

Those ones are the hardest, you know.

Hotness

I believe I live in hell. Because I predicted I would write a post that mentioned that.

Do you remember? I wrote about the paradise that I was living in way back in March and guessed that I might feel a little differently about my paradise in July. (Refresh your memory here) I was soooooooooo right. Kinda prophetic. Who knew it would get so hot in Arizona in the middle of summer? Go me.

Today was an errand day. And it was way too hot for an errand day.

First on the list, I got the oil changed in my car- whilst the children were playing at a friend's house. No-kid time is the best time to change the oil. No kidding. (hehe)

So, on the way to get the oil replaced, I made a quick stop by the library to check out a book that is the 1st in a series. I have already read the 2nd in the series. And had no idea there was a 1st, because the 2nd can totally stand on its own. But after reading the 2nd, and looking at the cover declaring that this author was the same author that wrote a book with a certain word mentioned throughout the 2nd book, I put 2 and 2 together and deduced there must be a 1st book. (Not too many things get past this girl.) And since I loved the 2nd book, I knew I must read the 1st. I was glad it was on the shelf, and immediately checked out the 1st. (follow that?)

After using the self-checkout because I love it so much, I got into my hot car and motored over to the service station. And so I read and read. While the grease monkeys tinkered with my car. And they served me popcorn. Salty popcorn.

After I had been reading for about an hour, I looked up and there was my car- outside the window. I assumed it was done and believed they would soon come and alert me to the same. But they did not. So, I continued devouring the 1st in the series. Until I thought maybe I should ask about my little ride and see if it was done or what.

Sure enough, my car was done. The cashier lady was supposed to have told me, but she was busy talking. No biggie- I love to talk, too. So props to the talker lady. But, even when I am talking, I try to remember to not make someone wait an extra half hour for their car. And I got my car.

And I was off. Back into the inferno. To continue the errands. And to sweat. A lot. All. Day. Long.

Tomorrow, is a stay-at-home day and a babysit-the-world day. So, at least I don't have to sweat too much. Because, really, what's the point of showering and doing your hair when you are in for a day of sweating?

No point.

And I lived happily ever after. Reading the 1st.

The End.

TRUST

Husband's note: Since I only received two sympathy comments to my post yesterday, I'll take another stab at posting today. Not that I am developing a complex (because most of my posts on this blog only get one or two comments) or anything, but it has become somewhat of a joke at our house when I say, "I think I'm going to post on your blog."

My wife seems to be so much more popular than me, and rightfully so. SHE IS AMAZING!!!! But since going to see Wicked last week, she's been singing to me, "I'm going to make you popular." I guess this is the toughest case she's ever faced. I hope she is determined to succeed.

This was originally posted on my old blog on Mon., June 26, 2006 after a minor fender bender in the days when I still drove an old silver Ford Focus before I learned the benefits of driving a Smart Car.

As I was driving down the road on my way to work this morning, the car three-or-four ahead of me had a tire blow out. Not a fun event, one that I also experienced in my nearly 18 mile, 1 hour commute earlier this year.

As a result of the tire blow out, the driver slowed down considerably and steered his car off the road. All of traffic slowed down to about 40 MPH. As the injured car pulled to the side of the freeway, the car behind him slowed down drastically as a result, and the car in front of me slowed down as well - but a bit more swiftly. I, too, slowed down quickly and stopped, but the two cars behind me apparently did not see what was happening and slammed on their brakes.

Knowing I was going to be hit, I released the brakes, steered into the least busy lane and was propelled forward by the impact. The car behind me appeared to be hit as he veered into this lane.

Being a safety-conscious driver - and one who hates stopped traffic blocking lanes - my instinct was to pull off the road to exchange information. I decided that it would be best to pull off at the same location as the man who would soon be fixing his tire. He could serve as a witness, if needed. I guess I should have thought that I may be able to help him, but at this moment, I must have been consumed with the condition of my own car.

The car who hit me pulled off with us. The car that seemed to hit him did not, nor did any of those who saw what happened. It was a nice seemingly new car (or at least a new "used" car). The man shook my hand and said he had a "dealer's car" or had purchased a "dealer's car" or something like that, and it had unreadable dealer tags and no license plate (Red flag #1), and said he was disappointed that the one who hit him didn't stop. His female companion stayed in the car, looking extremely worried. (Red flag #2)

We spoke briefly to the man who was now fixing his tire, a pleasant fellow with his wife, to determine what had happened. Our stories were consistent. We then assessed damage.

His car's bumper was damaged. It was crushed in. It definitely looked worse than mine. My car was not very damaged and my intent was to take to a mechanic to ensure nothing was wrong with the car, leave the scratched and partially-dented bumper and fix the hanging muffler myself (or at least with my father-in-law's help).

I asked the man who hit me for his insurance card and contact information. He said he didn't have it with him, as it was a new car (Red flag #3). I said that I would still like his contact information. He offered to fix the car (Red flag #4)- and that it wasn't a big deal (it probably wasn't, but I of course, wanted to make sure with a mechanic). I declined, saying I'd likely do most of the work myself. But persisted on his asking for his insurance information. He again declined, but said he'd give me his contact details, which he simply wrote and underlined on a piece of paper "my name" as if he'd eventually write his name under it, (Red flag #5) so I said I'd check with my insurance company if a simple exchange of info would suffice. He again tied to re-enforced that he'd "take care of everything." Of course, I already know that my insurance requires a police report. I called my father-in-law to get his opinion on what he would do. He re-enforced that I should file a police report.

So, feeling educated and buoyed up to do what was right, I told this man I wanted to file a report as he didn't have his insurance card. He became belligerent (Red flag #6), and then tried the reasoning of the damned to escape punishment. In a seemingly last-ditch effort to sway me, he asked if I had ever been in an accident before (I had) and why I was being difficult (I said I was only obeying the rules), and that none of us had the time to wait for the police. (Red flag #7, 8 and 9, respectively)

He then said something that will stick with me for a long time:

"DON'T YOU TRUST ME?"

(Big red flag at this point).

I told the man it had nothing to do with trust. I had never met him before, and therefore could not trust or distrust him. Trust is something earned. It is not something that exists inherently until proven otherwise. I thought he was going to hit me, but I simply said, "This is what my insurance requires, and that's how we are going to do it."

I walked back to my car, past the man who was changing his tire, who watched our exchange. I should have stopped to help him. I didn't. I regret that.

Getting back into my car, I called my wife to let her know what had happened (As I should have done earlier). As my wife and I were talking, the man who hit me, got into his car and drove off.

I wonder, did he violate my trust? Was he worthy of my trust? Should I have trusted him? What is trust? Did I now trust him to do the wrong thing? Should I now feel that I have enough information to judge that I cannot trust him?

The police came, received a description from the pleasant man and me of the events and filled out a report. Since it was a hit and run, he suggested that since the damage to my car was minimal, not to file a claim. The pleasant man whose tire started this entire episode gave me his number and left. I need to call and thank him for his kindness to stay after his tire was fixed.

For the man who hit me: Was it worth stopping for? Why did you stop only to lose your own integrity? What was the point? Cars can be fixed. Injuries heal. Time is lost in other pursuits. And overall, the damage was not physical - is was about what is right and wrong. About taking responsibility and being accountable. Reputations are much harder to mend. But the damage to one's self, and the guilt, lasts internally for much longer. Luckily, I have no hard feelings toward this man. It was a simple accident. No damage to my car, nor my feelings, just a nice lesson taught about integrity.

However, for introspection, I would love to ask this man in response:

DO YOU TRUST YOURSELF?

I think I'll ask myself that question frequently as well.

Revenge

Huband's Note: I recently recieved notice that MY blog (did you know I had one?) which has been gathering dust will be shut down at the end of July. I've gone through my posts and have decided to share some a few that are in the spirit of this blog here to preserve my thoughts. The rest aren't important enough to keep online - for now.

Originally posted Wed., July 30 2008 as a recollection of a childhood memory:

The rules were simple: Complete and total annihilation and revenge. Revenge from last summer’s events, and the year before (we couldn’t let it become a pattern). Well, there was one other rule out of necessity: Stealth. We had to hide well from the enemy.

The other club, (we’ll just call the south-side gang to protect friendships that formed in later years) had completely dismantled our fort the previous year (and the previous year to that) and used the materials to build their own. Our fort was gone without a trace. Yes, the one we carefully built from the rotting wood we found in a vacant lot leftover from a failed building project. Because this had happened multiple years, we had to take a stand. We would take no more of this abuse.

It took us well into November to find the new location of their fort. The goal was simple: we had to stealthily dismantle theirs and take the stuff to the new location of our fort. There we would enjoy the spoils of our efforts and expand our fort into the awesomest-coolest, most radical fort that any of us had ever seen – complete with a trampoline level, rope fire pole exit and skateboard ramp. But we also faced worry that yet another club (which we’ll call the north-side BMX Bike gang) would find our fort as we built it in the gulley in their unspoken territory.

We got an early start on that balmy June day. It was 7:30 a.m. and we knew that our enemies were distracted watching the latest re-run of Voltron. But we had seen in the weekly paper’s TV guide that it was an episode we had all seen already. The planets were aligning perfectly. Revenge was nearly ours.

So we set out that fateful day in search of the fort. It was easily found from previous spying expeditions. These scouting expeditions had also revealed the location of each of the carefully placed booby traps meant for us and the Even-farther south gang that threatened this fort’s unnatural habitat.

We went quickly to work, dismantling each and every nail, every knot and freeing each board from its wrongful imprisonment. We then loaded it all up on the wagons, bikes and skateboards we were able to bring with us that day. We carefully and quickly took the materials to our fort’s new location and started building. Deep into the day we worked until the mansion-fort was completed. It was a masterpiece. It was perfect. It was the fort of all forts. The builders of Fort Knox and Captain Moroni would be proud.

The rest of the summer we enjoyed the fruits of our spoils. The fort was great. And then one day in September it was gone without a trace. The cursed treasure of wood could not be held by any one man (or club) for long. It was not the BMX gang. It was not the South-side gang, or the Even-farther south gang who took it. In later years we came to believe it was some of the older kids – perhaps even by best friend's older brothers – who took the loot for their own use. But the mystery remains until this day….

Friday Night Videos

I'm not sure if you heard, but Michael Jackson died. I found out about his death while at Girls Camp- our little Youth Camp Leaders announced it right before dinner on the day of his passing. Hmmm, I wonder how they knew- since we were not allowed cell phones at camp. Revelation?

Today, as the children and I were watching a bit of his memorial service, I thought back on my memories of Michael Jackson in the 80s. The penny loafers, the fedora hat, the black and red jackets, parachute pants, the moon walk, the lone glove. I have never been a huge fan, but I do remember when Thriller came out when I was in fifth grade.

I spent the night at Jeanette Eby's house and we stayed up late just so we could watch Friday Night Videos (do you remember FNV?) and the premier of the Thriller video. We also ate fruit roll-ups. And pop rocks. It was a party for sure.

Jeanette's family had a yellow VW Bug.

And orange carpet. And an owl macrame wall hanging.

And we sat on that orange carpet, in front of her huge, console television set and thrilled at that video. And probably afterward, The Reflex video played.

And at school on Monday, we gathered with our friends and talked about that Thriller video. And how awesome it was- and that there would be an encore presentation of it that we vowed not to miss.

Those were the days of really totally awesome videos.

As we watched the funeral, oldest daughter waxed philosophical and shared her observations by stating the following:

"Mom, sometimes when you're little

you could be black or brown

and then you could turn whiter

when you get older."

**********************

True that.

Judge Not

As promised, following is the script I wrote for Girls Camp- an account of the woman taken in adultery in my own words.


On one of the darkest days of my life, I came face to face with goodness.

I am a married woman. I was caught in the act of adultery by a group of angry men who immediately took me to face judgment. I was not properly dressed nor put together and as we entered the temple I felt naked, humiliated and exposed- not to mention unworthy to be in the temple.

My accusers dragged me in front of a man I had heard much talk of in the city. He was sitting in front of a group of people, teaching. I was degraded as the angry mob began spilling the details to this man whom the people called Jesus. Immediately, I fell to the damp earth in shame, hoping it might swallow me up.

The men intended to catch Jesus in a trap. They told him they had caught me in the very act of adultery. The law dictated that a person caught in adultery must be stoned, although this law had long since been abandoned or uninforced by the Jews. Still, they demanded I should be stoned to death, and then they asked Jesus, “What sayest thou?” Perhaps they were intending for Jesus to declare the law obsolete, which would be proof that he was presuming himself to be above the Law of Moses. Had Jesus proclaimed that I should suffer death, my accusers would have said Jesus was defying Roman authorities who were the only ones authorized to approve capital punishment. If he had said I should go unpunished, they would have charged him with disrespect for the Law of Moses.

I could hear the murmurs of the crowd and wished that I could be swept away from this place- but here I was, caught in the act of doing something that I should not- and I knew I must face the consequences of my actions. I could not do enough to hide my face, wondering if there might be someone I knew among all these people.

The longer the men spoke, the more clear it became to me that they were more interested in condemning Jesus than finding justice for my sin.

Immediately Jesus stooped down. My first instinct was to cover my head with my hands, believing that he was seeking a stone. Instead, with his finger, he began to write in the dirt as though he heard them not- and I relaxed my tense hands.

The men continued pressing Jesus for an answer. Jesus lifted himself up and the crowd quieted. It was at this moment I heard him tell the men, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”

He again stooped to the earth and wrote on the ground. And again, the people fell silent.

The mob began to disperse, one by one, being convicted by their own conscience and I was left alone with Jesus. He did not leave me. He asked me where my accusers were? Had any of them condemned me?

I answered, “No man, Lord.”

And Jesus spoke the kindest words anyone had ever spoken to me, “Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.”

He never left me. Through the whole ordeal, he stayed and protected me from my accusers. He didn’t forgive me, yet he gave me hope that I could be forgiven. I felt neither condemned nor judged by Jesus but rather that I could repent and turn away from this sin and have a second chance to live worthily. Jesus didn’t worry about the trap that the men were trying to catch him in, instead his concern was for me - he showed me charity and taught me a better way. And in the process invited the men to examine their own lives. He focused on turning the men away and encouraging them to leave the temple, thus preserving the holiness of that place- and inviting me to become a better me.

Not once throughout the experience did Jesus cause me to feel embarrassed or ashamed. He instead taught me that when I make an incorrect decision I am always welcomed by His loving arms, and that I am a beloved daughter of God, worthy of His dignity.

I have never felt more love from an individual than I did on that day.

As I slowly walked the dusty road to my home to face my husband with the knowledge that my sin was public, I felt a joy I had never before experienced. I had been accepted by the one person whose life was the most opposite of mine- and still He loved me. I had been in His presence and had felt of His goodness. And now I knew that I wanted to change and he had taught me how I could do it.

A painful truth I learned was that because of my sin, I could not remain in His presence. But once I repented and promised to forsake that sin, He would always dwell with me.

sometimes i just can't figure out blogger. i am trying to post my script from girls camp- the one i wrote for one of the evening programs about the woman taken in adultery. (and said that i would post today) unfortunately, as i try to copy and paste it into this post, it keeps shutting down my internet.

i will try again later. this is silly, reallly.

Stars and Stripes

The 4th of July holds special meaning in our household. For this is the day we welcomed our first born into our home. Seven years ago. Where has the time gone?




A true miracle was she. It took us six years to get her to come to earth- a little stage fright, I think. Or perhaps she was working a great work and had to finish before she could be released to us.

And now here we are, with three lovelies to call our own. We are truly blessed!


Happy Birthday Oldest Daughter!


Because of you, I:

• know the true meaning of "with all my heart"
• am a mother
• laugh at least once a day
• read Junie B. Jones
• get to volunteer at school once a week
• learned the secret of cayenne pepper
• thrill at the sound of misplayed notes on the piano
• get to see my greatest love, your dad, personified in you
• watch Barbie movies
• sooth troubled minds
• feel fortunate to have such a tender-hearted daughter
• wrestle to cut your toe nails (can't we just get that done without a bunch of fuss? at least once? Please?)
• love to hear you re-tell Old Testament stories to your brother and sister
• have refrigerator art. ALL the time
• have a dog
• know how to cook and give a spelling test while doing hair and talking on the phone
• have learned tricky strategies to encourage a desirable outcome. In other words, I have learned how to get you to do what I want without any spanking.
• discovered the joy a parent feels when one of their children succeeds
• re-discovered magic- in all things
• love more deeply
• know about "under the pillow"

I am so grateful for you!

Happy Happy Day!!!

I love you!

Climbing the Mountain

As you may have read, I am recently returned from Girls Camp. And as you may have also read, you know that I had an amazing week.

Our stake is blessed to be able to go to an amazing camp- complete with cabins, electricity, indoor toilets, running water and cooks who kept us well fed. And those who were in charge of the spiritual feasts were even more amazing. I came home with so much more than I went in with.

I was in charge of 2nd year certification and cabin mom to 22 girls, ages 16-18, who were some of our youth camp leaders. These were stellar young women. They were so prepared for camp- their main responsibility was to teach these 2nd year girls all the certification requirements- and they truly fulfilled their assignments.

I was paired up with a woman in another ward whom I had never met before our first planning meeting in March. I so loved getting to know her and it was a blessing for me to work with her. And, you may recall a while back when I worried about my fun factor slipping- well, thanks to her, I am happy to report that I believe I have retrieved a bit of my fun. And I believe, in time, I shall have all my fun back! And let me tell you- YOU can't wait for that day.

Friday was hike day and as we started, it was a beautiful day- overcast with a nice little breeze. We were just over 8 minutes into our 5 mile hike when two of the girls lost confidence and wanted to turn back. As I listened to them, it came to me that they had never felt the satisfaction of succeeding on a hard task. I talked them through their anxiety and they continued on. Within a minute, the path flattened and our hike was small rises and easy terrain the rest of the way. It occurred to me that in life, we often stop just short of our ultimate rewards. Just when the path seems too hard, but if we persevere, it usually straightens and we find we are really much stronger than we thought we were. And we are blessed with beautiful rewards.

At the top of our hike, we stopped for lunch and completed a couple certification requirements. Then we unfurled a golden flag with a large "V" appliqued on it. I talked to the girls about committing to leading virtuous lives. Lives that will result in temple blessings. All those willing to commit signed the flag and declared their commitment. It was a wonderful moment- all these pure young women who had desires to live lives that would result in the greatest blessings possible. I'm telling you- spiritual experience.

Both girls completed the hike, all smiles and extremely proud of what they accomplished. Ready to take on the world!

But, the thing that impacted me most was a special assignment I was given to study the story of the woman taken in adultery in the New Testament and prepare a 5 minute account of the incident as if given in her own words. And then, I was to recite her experience- in full costume- 4 times on a particular night of camp. I was in great company. Some of the other women were Mary, the mother of Jesus; Mary and Martha; Mary Magdalene; the woman at the well; the wife of Jairus; the woman with an issue of blood. Each of us traveled around to 4 separate groups and shared our accounts of these women.

As I studied the account of this woman, I was touched with her story and humbled to attempt an enactment of her experience. I felt a love for her that transcends anything that I can explain. I was blessed to be given the assignment.

Check back Sunday- when I will post my script, along with a few feelings and a bit of my reflections following the experience.

Wicked Good Time

I had a hot date last night with the husband and another couple- who just happen to be my parents. We ate some good food, shared a few laughs, my parents gave me a sack of potatoes, and then we were off to see Wicked.

And can I just tell you how awesome that show is? I love, love, LOVED it!! It was awesome! I wish I had listened to my inner voice and purchased two sets of tickets for different nights- because I would love to go again.

I have listened to the soundtrack for a few years now and have all the music memorized- as do the children. It was a different experience to see a show that you have already tried to piece together the storyline just from listening to the music. I was pretty much spot-on for the first act, but the second act contained a few surprises that I was not counting on. And I loved it!

It was a great date. And now I just have one question for the husband:

Will you please accept this rose?

I think I'd like to keep you around for one more week.