tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50886584969183173772024-02-21T08:30:20.043-08:00Laughing at Life's Little Wedgiestrublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.comBlogger423125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-43985533472435799152015-09-03T01:01:00.001-07:002015-09-03T01:01:29.032-07:00FaithI can't sleep tonight. My mind is racing. The husband has been undergoing some pretty major stuff in the past 9 months. And tonight I can't get my mind off the biopsy that he will be having in the next few days to determine what the mass in his chest is. This, after he had the tail of his pancreas and spleen removed in April, which contained a malignant tumor.<br />
<br />
I have been doing pretty well up to this point in remaining positive and not allowing myself to think about all of this longer than is necessary. But tonight, in the stillness of my house, cancer is screaming at me. And it can't be ignored. All of the what if's and what will I do's are racing through my head.<br />
<br />
We have witnessed miracles and felt of God's love throughout this process and I know that the Lord is in control. I know that whatever happens will be what is supposed to happen. I know that our Heavenly Father is aware of us and our desires.<br />
<br />
I sure do love that husband of mine. And I sure do hope he is around a long time. Because I don't want to go to graduations, missionary farewells and weddings without him.<br />
<br />
Things will work out just as they should. In this I have faith.<br />
<br />
<br />trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-28983259950755968472013-08-03T21:38:00.000-07:002013-08-03T21:55:09.495-07:00Sometimes<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes </span>when I see or hear or read something I have an automatic intense emotional response.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes </span>I feel my throat begin to swell, water pools in my eyes and my heart burns.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes </span>I can control the tears, the lump in the throat, the warmth in my heart.<br />
<br />
And <span style="font-size: large;">sometimes</span> I cannot.<br />
<br />
Like, when I am preparing a lesson for the young women and I read something written in response to a question I asked all the young men in the ward to answer in preparation for this lesson.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes </span>the things they say touch me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>What do you look for</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>in the young women</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>you date?</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sometimes </span>I just have to let the lump in the throat grow</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
blink my eyes so the tears fall</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
take a breath and feel my heart warm to the words.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Sometimes </span>the answers are the answer.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>i want a girl </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>that will keep me </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>completely away </b></span><br />
<b style="color: #0c343d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">from any immoral activity </span></b><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>or temptation.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-62591708540754988352012-11-30T12:17:00.000-08:002012-11-30T15:17:03.488-08:00Dreaming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBQXixeCMIQzqV1snOkSSkvxS7yw44J7Z54ivP8QJHtlmQClVP319UzDRoO3qJMefuMptSznw4JdnIsh6OiwW6bS84h1_MLeUGroP2fmmUVK_8ZiESgZ8j879eHl01kiPDQ_rMqvycCc/s1600/court.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBQXixeCMIQzqV1snOkSSkvxS7yw44J7Z54ivP8QJHtlmQClVP319UzDRoO3qJMefuMptSznw4JdnIsh6OiwW6bS84h1_MLeUGroP2fmmUVK_8ZiESgZ8j879eHl01kiPDQ_rMqvycCc/s320/court.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
The husband woke up this morning and told me he had some pretty ridiculous dreams last night. I asked if they included Weiss and Marshall playing poker in Sidney's kitchen-- just as she is parking her Suburban in there. The reason I asked is because that is the episode of Alias we watched last night, right before going to bed. It was the episode where Sidney is trying to regain her memory through some interesting dream sequences. He told me that, no, that wasn't what his dream was about. It was something stranger.<br />
<br />
Then, at 6:58 am, there was a knock on our door. It was the guy who is going to be building one of the husband's real-life dreams. Since we have been married, the husband has wanted a sports court. And today, that dream is becoming a reality.<br />
<br />
He told me, as I was mopping the floor this morning, that this is a dream he never thought he would ever see to fruition. And in that moment, my heart smiled, because today a dream is being granted to the most amazing man in my life. And he deserves it.<br />
<br />
His comment on not ever thinking this dream would happen made me stop and be grateful that we are doing it. We are building the sports court even before landscaping our yard. I realized that the court is a want. A big want. And not a necessity. The yard, on the other hand- while also a want, is more of a necessity and will always outrank a sports court. And I am so happy we are building the court before the yard. The yard will happen. But, the sports court might never happen, because it will always be put on the back burner. And the children are young, this is something they can use now and for years to come.<br />
<br />
A couple months ago when we were discussing the court, I could see how exciting it was to the husband. But, he dismissed it and said we should focus on other things. And he was sincere, but you can tell when someone really wants something so badly they can taste it, yet they will sacrifice for the greater good. Plus, we had just begun fencing in our yard, which was quite a blow to the savings account, and he didn't want to add another expense. But, together we decided to move forward with the court.<br />
<br />
The children are giddy with anticipation of the completion of the court. We are prepared to have a wicked horse tournament at our house to celebrate when it is all done. I think this dream of the husband's is one of the dreams that I never knew I had. The kind that you don't remember until something happens that reminds you of them. So glad the husband reminded me.<br />
<br />
Hooray for dreams coming true! Except, hopefully the dream the husband had last night does not come true. Just sports court dreams. We can handle those.trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-47538050863094171662012-08-24T13:35:00.000-07:002012-08-24T21:10:22.477-07:00Getting ThroughThis morning my little family finished a five year journey.<br />
<br />
Every weekday morning for the past five years we have spent fifteen minutes (give or take) reading sacred scripture. It begins by gathering sleepy children, singing a hymn or primary song and then each of us takes a turn reading one verse. That's it. We only read one verse each. At this rate, I didn't know if we would ever get through the Book of Mormon. After each of us read a verse, or sometimes in the midst of the verses, we would discuss the principles being taught, the story line, the people mentioned, the counsel we were being given.<br />
<br />
Our study of the Book of Mormon has evolved over the years. We started when oldest daughter was not even a toddler. We would read from the illustrated Book of Mormon, a book that takes the stories from the Book of Mormon and abridges them with pictures and captions. As our family grew, we continued our daily study from this illustrated book.<br />
<br />
Finally, when oldest daughter started Kindergarten, we decided it was time to open the genuine book. We began a study from <i>The Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ</i>. When we began, there were only two members of the family who could read on their own- the husband and me. So, as it was one of the children's turn, one of us would read their verse and the children would repeat what was read. As we finished today, each of us was able to read our verse all on our very own.<br />
<br />
Our scripture time is not perfect, sometimes we are finishing a bowl of cereal or spreading peanut butter on bread for school lunches as we are reading our verses. And sometimes, like in the summer, we missed a few days here and there. The point is, though, that we sent our children and ourselves into the world each day with a special set of armor to shield, protect and strengthen us.<br />
<br />
At the start of this week, we found ourselves in the last chapter of the last book in the Book of Mormon. So, we read a few extra verses each day to ensure that we would finish the book this week.<br />
<br />
There are 6,604 verses in that book. Reading one verse a day, Monday through Friday, will take 5.08 years to complete the book. Upon completing the book and closing it, the husband asked the children their favorite parts. Oldest daughter loved the part where "the one man got his head cut off and he did a dead push up."<br />
<br />
"What was that man's name?" I asked.<br />
<br />
Without even a second thought, middle daughter burst out, "Shiz. His name was Shiz."<br />
<br />
Last week we read about charity. After we discussed the meaning of charity, the husband counseled the family to pray to have charity. I have loved listening to the children pray over the last week that we would learn charity.<br />
<br />
On Monday, our reading included Moroni's promise where he tells us that if we desire to know the truth of the book, we should pray to our Heavenly Father to know the truth of it and Heavenly Father will reveal the truth of it to us. Similarly, the children have included this promise in their prayers. I have eavesdropped as little voices have asked their Heavenly Father in their personal prayers to help them know if the book is true.<br />
<br />
I have been strengthened in the realization the children have taken the teachings seriously. They have listened as we have studied. When we began a study of this book, I didn't know if we would ever get through the Book of Mormon. But, I do know one thing for sure: the Book of Mormon definitely got through us.trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-14139966327987831012012-08-19T23:59:00.000-07:002012-08-20T00:00:16.764-07:00livingi took a break.<br />
<br />
a long one.<br />
<br />
i didn't know if i wanted to blog anymore. i still don't know if i want to.<br />
<br />
but i do know that i want to document. document life. life's important. i don't want it to pass by unrecorded. because there a lot of important lifes (yes, <i>lifes</i>) being lived under my roof.<br />
<br />
and a lot of important <i>living</i> being lived outside of my roof.<br />
<br />
lots of time has passed. a little girl got baptized. by her grandfather. because that's how she wanted it. and it was sacred. the husband steadied the grandfather. in the water. the two of them together, baptizing part of my world.<br />
<br />
school ended.<br />
<br />
summer happened.<br />
<br />
i hiked the canyon. with some of my favorite people.<br />
<br />
i traveled to beaches. with more of my favorite people.<br />
<br />
i traveled to utah. with my most favorite people.<br />
<br />
i traveled to new york. with my very most favorite person.<br />
<br />
one of our people turned 10. a decade since i became a mom. that's a milestone. and it went un-noted.<br />
<br />
school started and with it, the plan for a perfect life that began the second week of school. and it is brilliant. school is started. and i find myself alone all day, except for the occasional interruption from the husband who has a home office.<br />
<br />
our smallest one started piano lessons. and our oldest one started violin. and now with all three playing piano, i wonder if we should invest in two more pianos to accommodate practicing. but, not really. one is fine. <br />
<br />
i feel like i am finally getting the hang of this mother thing. 10 years later. but, that's this week. maybe next week i'll have to figure it out all over again.<br />
<br />
my love for the husband is greater than i ever thought possible. i watch him attend meetings, work a day that goes from sun-up to sun-down and beyond, engage the children, support my every request-- and i wonder how can one girl be so blessed?<br />
<br />
all these things and not a mention. until now.<br />
<br />
it must be documented.<br />
<br />
there's a lot of living going on here. and it feels good to be documenting.<br />
<br />
<br />trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-65119282085720337162012-02-14T00:35:00.006-08:002012-02-14T01:47:41.275-08:00Midnight MiscellanyIt's 1:40 am (even though blogger says it's 12:35). I can't sleep. Here's what's going on:<br /><br />I have the worst cold ever. Can't stop coughing. Can't. I've been lying in bed forever, trying to cough silently so I don't wake the husband. It's not working. Even coughing into a pillow is bad news. <br /><br />During the moments when I'm not coughing, my mind is racing. These are the topics running around and around in my stuffed-up head:<br />-the empty lot next to our home that the husband wants to purchase<br />-the well the husband wants to drill that will be impossible to drill if we purchase the lot, because, well, finances<br />-the renters who are moving out of our rental house<br />-the utilities that I need to switch back to our name once they are all moved<br />-the extra mortgage payment we will be making until our new renters move in<br />-how blessed we are to have new renters already, and I can't believe they are renting our house without having even looked inside yet.<br />-even with this awful cold, I swear my house smells like chicken poo (explanation? we have baby chicks- that are not so baby anymore. We got them New Year's Day- they have been residing in our garage. They are stinky little birds. Fowl is the correct term for birds. They smell fowl. And I feel like their poo smell is infiltrating my house. I want to completely seal off my garage door for a while. I can't wait for the day they are 16 weeks and able to live with the big chickens. Outside. It is so proper for chickens to live outside.)<br />-I need to be up in 4 hours so I can make a lovely Valentine's breakfast for my favorite little people in the whole world.<br />-those people who trudged through Venezuela in the Discovery channel's "Out of the Wild" program (yay for netflix)-- is that similar to what the pioneers experienced or not?<br />-how come the bank that holds our mortgage hasn't sent the mortgage interest statement yet? I must remember to call on that tomorrow, er, today.<br />-must get all the tax info to the accountant. <br />-etc, etc<br /><br />That's just a sampling of the contents of my brain. Oh, plus, I sure hope we do get some of that rain that is a 50% possibility. Love the smell of rain. Rain smell definitely trumps chicken poo smell.trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-67266300664697018592012-02-09T10:37:00.000-08:002012-02-09T11:33:35.854-08:00I can't go on if I'm on my own.1986. <br />Age 14.<br />Austin, Texas. <br />Chicago concert. <br />My two older sisters and myself.<br />And my boyfriend Dylan (who was somewhere in the crowd, but not with us)<br /><br /><br />I went there today. <br /><br />I was on my way to Wal-Mart to purchase crayons and conversation hearts for little son's class, when Chicago's <a href=" http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&ved=0CDsQtwIwAQ&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DSwyGuP5aMF8&ei=ORM0T6KhI4fWtgefnIjEBg&usg=AFQjCNHYw2N4hT2T6Ou_nbRQKxsTjIIoIg&sig2=rELYQSrQufZ-79shXpk8pw">"Will You Still Love Me"</a> came on the radio. It took me back 26 years. <br /><br />My two older sisters and myself went to that concert in my dad's powder blue Chevy Luv pick up truck with the woven seat covers. It was awesome. I got a concert t-shirt that I'm pretty sure I wore at least once a week til 1990.<br /><br />My very first ever real boyfriend, Dylan, was there. And, since dating was not an option for me until the age of 16, we did not go together. But it was so romantic knowing that he was there, somewhere, in that crowd of people.<br /><br />My sisters liked to make fun of Dylan and me. I was a good 2 inches taller than he was. And he lived in a town called Pflugerville, 30 minutes away. And really, we only got to see each other at mutual (youth activities) on Wednesday nights. And we only really got to be together once a month at the Stake youth dances. But, we were a couple.<br /><br />We met at my first Stake dance. He asked me to dance. And we danced a lot of slow songs. Plus the last dance. Last dances were important back then. Are they still? They made a statement, kind of like a miner staking his claim. And so, when I saw him at mutual the next Wednesday he got my phone number and programmed it into his calculator watch. I thought that was so cool.<br /><br />We talked on the phone whenever either of us had saved up enough babysitting money to pay our parents for the phone bill. And he came to my basketball games whenever our school played against his. And he would watch me sit on the bench for most of the game. Pretty sure he was impressed. <br /><br />But, we wrote letters. And he would spray his with cologne. And sometimes it made me sick to my stomach when he signed them with "I love you." Once he included a practical joke in one of his letters. Inside the letter was a small manila envelope labeled "Rattlesnake Eggs" and when it was opened, it made something rattle and jump out. Really, it was only a paper clip twisted up in a rubber band so that as it was opened it unwound and rattled against the side of the envelope. And scared people. Such a sweet gesture. <br /><br />In one letter he included his football picture. 7th grade football players are pretty small. But I thought he was so handsome.<br /><br />For Valentine's Day he gave me a beautiful sterling silver bracelet. It smelled like him. Until it didn't anymore. And then, it smelled like me. And pretty soon after that, I started feeling like I was being bad for having a boyfriend. So, I broke up with him. And gave him back the bracelet.<br /><br />But this Chicago song I heard today, it was our song. And it told me I can't go on if I'm on my own. And somehow I still found the strength to break things off. Because I felt guilty for having a boyfriend before I was 16.<br /><br />I wonder if he still loved me for the rest of his life-- like the song said. And I wonder if he is still going on.<br /><br />Pretty sure he is. Because I am.<br /><br />I just wish I would have kept the bracelet.trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-9756958225050597322012-01-27T22:54:00.000-08:002012-01-27T23:11:34.645-08:00who's that kid?...the one you see wearing his sweat pants tucked into his brand new cowboy boots.<br />...the one who spilled his chocolate milk all over the table at mcdonald's after telling his mom how funny he and his best friend are.<br />...the one who gets all giddy putting together his new lego-men collection.<br />...the one who draws a picture of his house, including the swing set and chicken coop in the yard.<br />...the one who got 4 out of 5 green stars this week.<br />...the one whose teacher says is a most responsible and bright student.<br />...the one who thinks the cabinets his grandpa is building for the garage are soooo cool.<br />...the one who has great hair.<br />...the one who always remembers to open the door for his mom.<br />...the one who collects eggs as soon as he gets home from school.<br />...the one who rarely complains and is always quick to do what is asked.<br />...the one who injects a healthy dose of facial expression and theatrical accents in every story he tells.<br />...the one who reads and writes.<br />...the one who carefully studies his dad.<br />...the one who will snuggle on the couch.<br />...the one who rocks the soccer field.<br />...the one who loves to be around his family.<br />...the one who is newly-turned 6.<br />...the one who is teaching his parents about the important things in life.<br />...the one who is tucked in his warm bed with his pirate blanket, sleeping, with a gentle rise and fall of his breath.<br />...the one who has stolen the hearts of a certain group of 4.<br /><br /><br />who's that kid? that's my kid.trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-48623280188700074742011-12-30T21:45:00.000-08:002011-12-30T22:49:01.464-08:00A Year of LaughterCan't believe another year is coming to a close. It has been a good year. A really good year. <br /><br />We have been blessed with love and laughter and lots of other good things all year long. I feel grateful. Grateful for the love and the good things. And the laughter is a bonus. <br /><br />In honor of the year that presented us with lots of laughter, I want to list a few of the funny (to me) things the children have said this year. I think I only want to include 12 things, but we'll see how it goes as I look through my blog that I call "laughing with my little loves". It's one of those private, invisible blogs. It's a place where I document those silly kids and their funny talk. Well, funny to me and the husband.<br /><br />And just for your reference, and to put these funny things into perspective, oldest daughter is 9, middle daughter is 7, and little son is 5.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Funny talk of 2011</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">January</span><br />little son and i were watching his one year old cousin who was crying in an unstoppable manner. little son quips: "she scares me when she cries. it hurts my head and my ears. it's kind of like a weapon. a little baby weapon."<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">February</span><br /><br />feb 14-- watching a movie with the children, oldest daughter leans over to me and says: "mom, i feel like satan is tempting me to say 'how the hell?'<br />mom: "why?"<br />oldest daughter: "i don't know"<br />mom: "sing a song to get those icky things out of your head."<br />oldest daughter hums <span style="font-style:italic;">families can be together forever</span>, pauses and then whispers to mom: "he's like 'do it, say it, it won't hurt.' "<br /><br />feb 27-- at the blessing of my tiny, new niece, little son leans over to the husband and whispers in his ear: "dad, three things: i. love. you."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">March</span><br /><br />mar 31-- shortly after tucking the children into bed for the night, little son yells out: "dad, if my leg falls off can we have a funeral for it?"<br />dad: "yes, son, if your leg falls off we can have a funeral for it"<br />little son: "yay!" <br />dad: "but i don't think it's gonna fall off"<br />little son: "yay!"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">April</span><br /><br />apr 13-- i was putting pink foam rollers in middle daughters hair one evening as little son came crawling, army-style, into the room.<br />little son: "i'm dying! i'm dying!"<br />mom and middle daughter: "what?"<br />little son, whispering: "mom, take care of yourself when i'm gone..."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">May</span><br /><br />may 19-- oldest daughter was explaining how nervous she was while having to have a small cavity filled.<br />oldest daughter: "mom, when i was getting my shot, i just kept thinking to myself, 'jesus had more pain when he died on the cross. jesus had more pain when he died on the cross.' "<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">June</span><br /><br />june 28-- in utah after playing at a bounce house that had an indoor miniature golf course little son proclaims: "someday i really need to play some <span style="font-style:italic;">manager </span>golf. i think i'd be really good at it."<br /><br />june 29-- also while in utah, the children were getting ready for bed. little son was brushing his teeth while he and a cousin were watching a little star wars. he walks into the bathroom to put away his toothbrush and declares: "i love yoda! he's the awesomest one! he, like, never dies. HE NEVER DIES!"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">July</span><br /><br />jul 17-- after watching movies about jesus, middle daughter becomes contemplative and asks: "how many lives do we get?"<br />mom: "just one here on this earth, but after we are done here, we will live forever."<br />middle daughter: "so we will get born again?"<br />mom: "no, we will continue living as adults."<br />middle daughter: "and then we will grow back down to babies?"<br />mom: "no, we will stay adults."<br />middle daughter with eyes as huge as saucers: "really?! we will always be adults?"<br />mom: "yep"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">August</span><br /><br />aug 22-- shopping with little son<br />little son: "mom, one time i was shopping with dad and your dad. your dad was looking for some shorts and he said, 'these shorts are too short. i guess that's why they call them shorts.' he is soooooo funny!!!"<br /><br />aug 19-- <br />mom: "little son, did you just toot?"<br />little son: "no, i fluffed."<br />mom: "that's the same thing as tooting."<br />little son: "no, it's not. a toot sounds like, 'plbbttt' and a fluff sounds like 'fffaaahhhh.' plus, toots don't stink, but fluffs do.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">September</span><br /><br />sept 10-- middle daughter has really gotten into riddles and trying to stump us by coming up with original riddles.<br /><br />middle daughter: "two people are in a cabin and they are dead. how do you know they are dead?"<br />dad: "cause you are not one of them?"<br />middle daughter: "no"<br />dad: "cause you read it in a newspaper?"<br />middle daughter: "no"<br />mom: "cause they are not breathing?"<br />middle daughter: "no"<br />dad and mom: "k, why?"<br />middle daughter: "it was the pilot and the co-pilot. and then the plane goes down. nobody was in the plane. <br />my cousin taught me that one."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">October</span><br /><br />oct 13-- we were watching my cute little 2 year old niece, junie (name changed to protect the 2 year old), for my sister who is going through a very rough pregnancy. after putting junie down for bed, little son told us: "mom, don't be fooled by junie's cuteness, she hurt me and she hurt oldest daughter." <br /><br />oct 18-- newly returned from school, little son was walking around the house aimlessly picking up items and putting them down, commenting on everything.<br />little son: "i'm guessing you're gonna say 'how was your p.e.?' "<br />mom: "how was your p.e.?"<br />little son: "i knew it!! it was good."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">November</span><br /><br />nov 9-- upon picking up little son at the bus stop<br />little son: "mom, i have gummy bears in my back pack and i'm not afraid to use them!"<br /><br />nov 13-- little son: "mom, me and middle daughter are the funniest ones in this family!!"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">December</span><br /><br />dec 10-- a woman in our congregation has been very ill and the ward held a special fast for her. upon hearing about the special fast, little son says: "i can fast my candy."<br />so he did, he had no candy all day.<br /><br />the next sunday...<br />mom: "little son, hurry up and eat so that we won't be late for church."<br />little son: "mom, i'm fasting for sister j."<br />and he did. he fasted breakfast and lunch.<br /><br />the next sunday...<br />mom: "little son, eat breakfast!"<br />little son: "i'm fasting for sister j again."<br /><br />at the end of the day, little son says: "how about next time i fast school?"<br /><br />dec 25-- dad: "little son, will you say the family prayer and be sure to thank heavenly father for all our presents?"<br />little son: "what abooooouuuuut can i count him in and thank him for <span style="font-style:italic;">him </span>as a present?"<br />dad: "yes!"<br /><br />good night hugs and kisses followed after the prayer. the children ran off to bed. little son promptly ran out of his room to say: "dad, one more thing: thank you for all the presents!!"<br /><br />dec 29-- friends were visiting from utah and little son and his friend wanted to play a board game. little son ran off to the game cupboard and proclaimed: "let me show you where the magic happens!"<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Ok, so pretty much, little son says the most funny stuff around here. Apparently. He is at a good age. <br /><br />Anyway, here's to a new year with new laughs and new good things. Happy New Year to you and yours. May you be blessed abundantly and find joy in all around you.trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-60364197442083356472011-11-26T23:17:00.000-08:002011-11-26T23:54:55.174-08:00psychic winning. word.pretty sure i'm psychic.<div><br /></div><div>we spent the evening playing games with a couple of the husband's cousins and their spouses. it was quite enjoyable.</div><div><br /></div><div>we played quelf. it's one of those games you hate because you have to make an epic fool of yourself pretending to be a cowgirl ostrich rider who rides around beached whales while your opponents laugh and make fun of you- if that's the card you draw. but, then it's ok, because you do the same to them when it is their turn and they draw the card where they have to perform the ridiculous task of acting like they are stuck in a tree with 5 attacking lobsters and an elf. but, seriously, you hate the game.</div><div><br /></div><div>i know i am psychic, though, because as we were playing, i was eating german chocolate cake. and i got some of the fudgey frosting way on my upper lip- i'm talking mustache territory, if i were a man. which i am not. but, i had no napkin. so i licked it off- and my tongue had to stretch a lot. and then i remembered how good i am at touching my nose with my tongue. and i began to hope there was a card where i had to touch my tongue to my nose instead of a card where i had to interpretive dance waking up in the morning and going to work only to realize i had forgotten my pants.</div><div><br /></div><div>sure enough, not two turns later, i drew the tongue-to-nose card! and as a bonus, if i could also roll my tongue, then i could move my biscuit farmer playing piece 2 extra spaces. and there was my moment. i had foreseen this! and i could do both! and i moved my biscuit farmer the additional spaces. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>FOR THE WIN!</div><div><br /></div><div>i won the game. probably because of my psychic abilities.</div><div><br /></div><div>i guess it was worth the impromptu rap all about the word, word. because, really, don't all raps say word, and shawty? who is this shawty person anyway? i suppose that's a question for another day...</div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-6252802364561270012011-11-19T17:51:00.000-08:002011-11-19T18:06:04.720-08:00today...we cleaned and cried.<div>we enjoyed weather that was a little bit cloudy. partly cloudy, i've heard it called before.</div><div>the canine had to spend some time in her kennel for doing naughty things.</div><div>we ate friday pizza on saturday.</div><div>we filled the house with winter aromas- pine and cinnamon and clove and cranberry and orange.</div><div>we had cherry pie and sang happy birthday accompanied on the piano by oldest daughter for the husband's birthday, even though his birthday is days and days away.</div><div>we gave hair cuts.</div><div>we attended a baby shower.</div><div>we picked up the sunday suit and dresses from the cleaners.</div><div>we made luke skywalker outfits out of old sunday shirts.</div><div>we folded and put away loads and loads of laundry.</div><div>we collected the chicken eggs and put them in our pockets, even though we have been told not to, and one of them happened to crack.</div><div>we cleaned up messy cracked egg mess.</div><div>we talked to grandma and grandpa.</div><div>we got hit in the head with a book. and it left a nasty gash.</div><div>we slept in.</div><div>we tried to set up an appointment to see the newest nephew and cousin. but, alas, his social calendar is full and he was out for the evening.</div><div>we practiced karate moves in the family room.</div><div>we played piano beautifully.</div><div>we exhausted another belt on the vacuum. </div><div>we ate birthday candy from last week.</div><div>we donated piles of clothes and shoes to the local thrift store.</div><div>we asked neighbors not to hold us accountable for the painting of the entryway we told them to hold us accountable for, because we simply did not get around to it.</div><div>we relaxed together at the end of the day and watched a movie, because the byu game is on too late.</div><div><br /></div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-6899249828569728712011-11-15T09:55:00.000-08:002011-11-15T11:21:25.017-08:00feathers down the back<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2B1QUlNJhAMYUVwzyF_3GaWyJRBlOMaPQIOleYI76TUVgj7zf2puI8l_Pl0DmIhUqJtFfwSvlA-TkuUSzMpVtqw3BPj4BAC6Aarj_sWX12yo7ag1mu3ZCzS7qISh6NXOEXOdxbe_i-h0/s1600/IMG_1727.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 400px; height: 267px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675301679670204914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2B1QUlNJhAMYUVwzyF_3GaWyJRBlOMaPQIOleYI76TUVgj7zf2puI8l_Pl0DmIhUqJtFfwSvlA-TkuUSzMpVtqw3BPj4BAC6Aarj_sWX12yo7ag1mu3ZCzS7qISh6NXOEXOdxbe_i-h0/s400/IMG_1727.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">i've</span> kinda been cracking up for the last 24 hours. little son informed me that he wants an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">indian</span> head dress for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">christmas</span> from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">santa</span>. to anyone who knows him, that should bring a smile to your face.<div><br /></div><div>THAT IS SO LITTLE SON!! he is the master of disguise. the duke of dress up. the captain of costume. the keeper of my mother-of-little-son heart.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>while we were in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">utah</span> this past summer, little son kept begging me to sew him some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">indian</span> pants, specifically with fringe running down the side, to go with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">indian</span> style shirt that his sweet grandma gave to him while we were there. i kept telling him that once we got back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">arizona</span>, i would sew those pants. and i did. and he wears them. all the time. and the pants also double as cowboy pants. so, win win.</div><div><br /></div><div>now he knows that he needs a proper head dress to complete the ensemble. and so, i have been researching <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">indian</span> head dresses-- just in case <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">santa</span> might need a little help. little son made sure that i know that he wants the head dress with ALL the feathers. all of them. down the back.</div><div><br /></div><div>have you ever purchased an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">indian</span> head dress? well, i have not. but i have found that there are some out there. and the prices vary. and the styles vary. i am wondering if one size does truly fit all. like, does one size fit all adults? or all people- adults and children included? and is orange better than blue? just a couple questions on my mind today.</div><div><br /></div><div>i am most thankful for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">internet</span>. because if not for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">al</span> gore and his wonderful invention, i don't even know where i would go to get one- with feathers down the back. party city? do they have legit head dresses there?</div><div><br /></div><div>just last month, my sweet sister agreed to take little son on a special photo shoot. we gathered up all his costumes and went out to the desert and took a million photos of him in all his get-ups. because, I HAVE TO REMEMBER THIS!! the boy is in multiple outfits everyday. and his imagination runs wild. and he creates accessories out of ordinary household items to go with all his outfits. i must admit: i truly love it. and i never want him to grow up. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>and so we captured all these costumes on film. no, on digital.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>but, now <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">i'm</span> afraid we'll have to make another trip out to the desert. because we gotta have a picture of that cute little <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">indian</span> chief once he has his head dress. with the feathers down the back.</div><div><br /></div><div></div></div></div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-16661196972752537652011-11-14T06:52:00.001-08:002011-11-14T07:01:43.817-08:00MorningsI am not a morning person. But, mornings with giggles and smiles and hugs- I can do those. I'm glad that we have those most mornings. Today was one of those mornings. <div><br /></div><div>I love our morning routine. Wake up. Get dressed. Breakfast. Song. Scriptures. Hair. Prayer. Goodbyes. (all while the husband takes care of dishes and a load of laundry. hopefully soon we will include the children in a little house cleaning- I would love if I could be left with a clean house by the time I am ready to start my day)</div><div><br /></div><div>This morning as I waited at the bus stop with the children, we played the latest favorite game. It goes like this: one person starts and says one word. The next person adds a word and so on until we have a silly string of words that hopefully make some sort of a story. There is always laughter as we craft our silly story.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I returned home, a satisfied smile on my face, I couldn't help but feel oh so blessed with my life. Even at this hour of the morning.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you are having a wonderful morning.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-54873418036391615942011-11-11T12:01:00.000-08:002011-11-11T12:28:20.817-08:00enchanting<div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEpsVqJuvDdAcY685pX3sHPV0r4hcXCp52SGlZfN_sioEnmLApFLrqH1QAnpNRzz4vGFLQVcVx5KOO3Gl96R354Sat41VoA6X8geFdniyycACrNUzFOQc174y9zETVoJYBpLfNHhqJVw/s1600/before.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a> </div><div align="center"><span >i totally believe in wishes. </span></div><div align="center">and i think today is a truly magical day.</div><div align="center">i did, in fact, make a wish at 11:11.</div><div align="center">and i believe i will wish again at 11:11 tonight.</div><div align="center">under a full moon.</div><div align="center">a brand new, fresh wish.</div><div align="center">perhaps i will invite the husband </div><div align="center">and we will make a lovers' wish.</div><div align="center">that sounds enchanting.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">i also believe in wish blossoms.</div><div align="center">do you?</div><div align="center">i love to wish on an expiring dandelion.</div><div align="center">oldest daughter was the first in our family</div><div align="center">to refer to them as wish blossoms.</div><div align="center">and the name has stuck.</div><div align="center">don't you think wish blossoms sounds enchanting?</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">i also believe in creativity.</div><div align="center">i have been indulging in a little of the stuff lately.</div><div align="center">so, put wishes, this day, and wish blossoms together </div><div align="center">and what do you have?</div><div align="center">something enchanting.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">happy wishing.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEpsVqJuvDdAcY685pX3sHPV0r4hcXCp52SGlZfN_sioEnmLApFLrqH1QAnpNRzz4vGFLQVcVx5KOO3Gl96R354Sat41VoA6X8geFdniyycACrNUzFOQc174y9zETVoJYBpLfNHhqJVw/s1600/before.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 240px; height: 320px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673833845006807202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEpsVqJuvDdAcY685pX3sHPV0r4hcXCp52SGlZfN_sioEnmLApFLrqH1QAnpNRzz4vGFLQVcVx5KOO3Gl96R354Sat41VoA6X8geFdniyycACrNUzFOQc174y9zETVoJYBpLfNHhqJVw/s320/before.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAswRmoyP0jxDtAE2tRAfcesIH0N7PGxu_AU39NCjIjIjdqsD0zrAqhGQSLLaWfifIBQA2Sq4nAyYaw8krkgfzPEJ5EGQTjYBrCveltPnrsiG7_ngbocwm0jj80-VJhjp44id5Mm7Y-RA/s1600/after.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 240px; height: 320px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673834127481784082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAswRmoyP0jxDtAE2tRAfcesIH0N7PGxu_AU39NCjIjIjdqsD0zrAqhGQSLLaWfifIBQA2Sq4nAyYaw8krkgfzPEJ5EGQTjYBrCveltPnrsiG7_ngbocwm0jj80-VJhjp44id5Mm7Y-RA/s320/after.jpg" /></a></div></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div></div></div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-25242381854336308002011-11-03T22:12:00.000-07:002011-11-03T22:38:21.081-07:00PssstI'll tell you something: Whenever I see a tall man, I check him out. Always. <div><br /></div><div>I'll tell you something else: I always check out the tall men because I am married to one.</div><div><br /></div><div>You wanna know another thing?: I never knew how difficult it is to outfit a tall person, until I married one.</div><div><br /></div><div>One more thing I need to tell you: If you are a tall man who is wearing something that fits you well and looks nice on you, I will look even more closely. Perhaps even stare at your chest or your bum to see if I can figure out what brand your shirt or your pants are.</div><div><br /></div><div>One last thing: If I like what you're wearing and I can figure out the brand, I will make a mental note and when I get to my computer, I will usually google your outfit. And then if it is still being sold, it is quite possible that I may purchase it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because, I'll tell you this: It is hard to find clothes that fit a tall man. So, if I see it on a real, live, walking, talking tall man then I know it is ok for my tall man.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pretty sure the husband is glad I check out other men. <span class="Apple-style-span" >Or maybe he's not. I think I'd better ask him.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Tell me this: Does this make me a creeper?</div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-64435277680428356312011-09-30T07:57:00.000-07:002011-09-30T09:35:53.093-07:00Tuesdays with Mrs. MixI took piano lessons when I was a kid. I had a few different teachers.<div><br /></div><div>My first teacher was my oldest sister. It didn't work out so well. The whole respect thing. I really didn't give her any. Because, well, she was <i>just</i> my sister. But she was a great pianist.</div><div><br /></div><div>My third teacher (did you notice how I skipped the second teacher? That's because that's where the real story is. I'll get around to that in a minute.) was a nice lady. When we went to piano lessons at her house, it was a process. Both of my older sisters and a couple of our neighbors took lessons from her, so we all went to lessons together. One of my friends was the piano teacher's next door neighbor, so all I wanted to do was go over to Jesse's house and play. Forget piano. And we would jump on her trampoline and play tether ball while I was waiting for my sisters and neighbors to finish their lessons.</div><div><br /></div><div>But my second teacher, oh my second teacher. Here's where it gets good. I have already confessed to my mom, so I feel like I can share this now without too many repercussions. I hope.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, Mrs Mix. She was my second piano teacher. I was eight years old. I don't even know how my mom found Mrs. Mix. She was the pianist / organist for a local church, I'm not sure what denomination-- in Rifle, Colorado. I've talked about Rifle before <a href="http://laughingatlifeslittlewedgies.blogspot.com/2008/09/corner-store.html">here</a>, <a href="http://laughingatlifeslittlewedgies.blogspot.com/2009/06/couple-of-randoms.html">here</a>, <a href="http://laughingatlifeslittlewedgies.blogspot.com/2010/12/giving-up.html">here</a>, and <a href="http://laughingatlifeslittlewedgies.blogspot.com/2011/04/marrying.html">here</a>. I grew up there. It was a small town. Very cozy, hugged on all sides by friendly mountains that our family explored regularly.</div><div><br /></div><div>My piano lessons from Mrs. Mix took place at her church. The church creeped me out. This church was dark and musty and as soon as I walked through the deeply stained, intricately carved wood doors with their substantial iron handles, the soaring ceilings seemed to press in on me. The towering, heavily-draped windows let in narrow beams of lazy light, that were choked out by the overwhelming haziness of the place.</div><div><br /></div><div>I would walk down the aisle to the front of the church, past the pews, the carvings, the statues of an anguished Christ that were foreign to me. I could pick up the scent of ancient hymn books, resting on the cold, hard benches, patiently waiting for Sunday's congregation. My ears heard the voices of ghostly choirs and the organ pipes with their hauntingly silent melodies and goose bump-inducing absence. </div><div><br /></div><div>The piano at which my lessons were taught was old, dark, smelled of damp wood. And the bench moaned when I shifted on it. Mrs. Mix sat beside me in a high-backed, ornately chiseled wooden chair, listening to my offering on the piano with which she was so familiar. My eight year old fingers clumsily danced across those keys, presenting the fruits of a week's practice as fast as they could so that I would not have to spend any more time in that place of worship than was absolutely necessary.</div><div><br /></div><div>I dreaded Tuesdays. Tuesdays were piano lessons with Mrs. Mix at the church. My sisters didn't take lessons with me at the church and I was supposed to walk directly to the church by myself after school for my lesson. </div><div><br /></div><div>Usually, I would enjoy a leisurely stroll home from school with my friend Mindy where we would typically stop by <a href="http://laughingatlifeslittlewedgies.blogspot.com/2008/09/corner-store.html">The Corner Store</a> for a treat. But not on Tuesday. Tuesday was a sprint. A sprint to the church. I ran as fast as I could so that I could get to the church before Mrs. Mix. Because getting to the church before Mrs. Mix meant that I avoided entering the cold, damp church. I loved those Tuesdays that I rounded the corner and saw no orange Ford Bronco parked on the tree-lined street in front of the towering place of worship. Those were the days I secretly prayed for. Those lucky Tuesdays I would run home and tell my mom that Mrs. Mix never showed up for lessons.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can't recall how long my lessons with Mrs. Mix lasted. But certainly long enough for that church to make an impression on an eight year old girl. But not long enough to turn me into a career sprinter.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-53186926725446388852011-09-27T20:56:00.000-07:002011-09-27T22:35:07.717-07:00A Few Things I Have Learnedbig assignments will come my way. not necessary to hold my breath throughout the process. i can breathe anytime i want.<div>children forgive.</div><div>everyday is a lesson. every. day.</div><div>chocolate heals.</div><div>prayers are answered.</div><div>spills can be wiped up.</div><div>cardboard cuts are real killers. they're like paper cuts on steroids.</div><div>freshly potted autumn flowers bring joy.</div><div>toilets don't flush by themselves.</div><div>chickens take a break during the summer.</div><div>sunsets cheer.</div><div>paint stays.</div><div>women encourage.</div><div>dust settles.</div><div>craft rooms are awesome.</div><div>things don't always turn out as planned.</div><div>traditions are the best.</div><div>there is enough faith and hope to share.</div><div>television invades.</div><div>music calms.</div><div>scorpions can be the size of lizards.</div><div>vans can hold large amounts of cardboard.</div><div>burger king gives free ice cream.</div><div>there are lessons in fog. and sourdough bread.</div><div>toenail fungus is treatable.</div><div>bubble baths soothe. bubble baths with glow sticks rock.</div><div>someone cares.</div><div>dinner is expected. every day.</div><div>homemade jokes are the best.</div><div>stainless appliances are pretty needy.</div><div>not everyone notices.</div><div>heat and humidity stink.</div><div>garages hold a lot of stuff.</div><div>life is good.</div><div><br /></div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-32282200841391670972011-09-23T10:10:00.000-07:002011-09-23T10:12:38.980-07:00Take Me Out to the Ball GameMy daughters (along with a few other elementary school children) will be singing the national anthem at the beginning of the Diamondbacks game tonight. Pretty sure I can't wait.<div><br /></div><div>Look for them.<br /><div><br /></div><div>It's a big deal. </div></div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-3319499298164922942011-09-21T14:42:00.000-07:002011-09-21T15:41:10.066-07:00A Sweet GigThe daughters (oldest and middle) are taking piano lessons. Since July. <div><br /></div><div>Oldest daughter was introduced to the piano 3 years ago. She took one year of lessons. And then we moved. It took me a while to find a new teacher. But, I finally found one and we started in July. And, boy, is she good. I love her! So do the daughters.</div><div><br /></div><div>I made a motivational deal with the daughters that if they would practice 5 days a week, they could earn a pack of gum. The small pack. Five pieces. One for each day they practiced.</div><div><br /></div><div>The second part of the deal was that if they practiced 6 days a week, they could earn a Thrifty ice cream cone from our local water store. (Lots of Arizonans actually purchase drinking water in bulk due to the high ickiness of our tap water.) And the local water store has an ice cream freezer full of tasty Thrifty ice cream choices. For some reason, the Thrifty ice cream counter at our local water store is magical for the children.</div><div><br /></div><div>The third part of the deal is that if they practice 6 days a week for 4 consecutive weeks, they can have a double scoop in a waffle cone. I know!</div><div><br /></div><div>Combine these rewards with the candy they earn from their teacher for practicing and I have a couple of budding concert pianists on my hands.</div><div><br /></div><div>The husband, little son and I are the lucky beneficiaries of the daughters who regularly partake of our new daily tradition of piano practice. I am proud to report that they have not missed out on any of their practice rewards. Since July. They are pretty motivated.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am so impressed with how quickly middle daughter has caught on to the piano. The first few weeks of practice were a little rough. A few tears. Some tantrums. But now she practices without even being reminded. And she is starting to sound really good.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oldest daughter is flying through her books. She is just finishing her third set since starting and is about to begin her fourth. Her songs are beginning to be enjoyable to listen to. Over and over.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, our new weekly tradition is ice cream on Monday nights. Right after Family Home Evening. These past two weeks, middle daughter and little son have opted to get something from the bubble gum machine in lieu of their single scoop, which is usually either cotton candy (which turns their whole mouth a bluish-purple) or cake batter. And, that's way cool for the pocket book, since the bubble gum machine prize is like $1.54 cheaper per person than ice cream.The husband typically orders strawberry cheesecake, while I always go with chocolate malted crunch. Oldest daughter is the bravest of the family because she gets something different every time.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am wondering how long it will take these lovely and intelligent daughters of mine to figure out that there are three of us riding their wave of reward, since pretty much there are three of us in the family who are rewarded, besides listening to their lovely tunes, for doing nothing. Absolutely nothin.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a sweet gig.</div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-26570887898234937612011-09-16T15:16:00.000-07:002011-09-16T15:16:00.342-07:00You are hereby summoned...<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV0OFbekOj1OqKtXSGC2oiguprbcmEP1y3ezQbXAqrSCzCdIINwljurxagmXuzl8WuJdPhyphenhyphenc_4YP27HcH4MFdF00Qqh24op5reSCxxn55tV5x-WW7G1QPeZt1sE2VcQr925ze4SrETlOs/s1600/2011-09-16+14.42.30.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 400px; height: 300px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653078972994707746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV0OFbekOj1OqKtXSGC2oiguprbcmEP1y3ezQbXAqrSCzCdIINwljurxagmXuzl8WuJdPhyphenhyphenc_4YP27HcH4MFdF00Qqh24op5reSCxxn55tV5x-WW7G1QPeZt1sE2VcQr925ze4SrETlOs/s400/2011-09-16+14.42.30.jpg" /></a>The husband and I celebrated 15 years of marriage a few weeks ago.</div><div align="center">We had a wonderful week in San Francisco to mark the occasion.</div><div align="center">San Francisco is much cooler than where I live.</div><div align="center">Cooler in weather, I mean.</div><div align="center">I packed jackets and sweaters.</div><div align="center">And <em>I wore them</em>!</div><div align="center">It was awesome.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">We had the best time.</div><div align="center">Ate the best food.</div><div align="center">I had the best company.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">There was only one problem:</div><div align="center">when I returned to 115 degree temperatures, </div><div align="center">I felt like there was some injustice.</div><div align="center">Somewhere.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">I am dying for Fall.</div><div align="center">So today I made pillows to summon Fall.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">It should work.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-46502921930001565692011-08-26T23:24:00.000-07:002011-08-26T23:53:27.348-07:00BlessedAnother week comes to a close and, as I reflect upon it, I can't help but feel blessed. So blessed.<div>
<br /></div><div>I love where I am. I love who I am. And I love who I share it all with. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Little son was honored by being awarded Student of the Month for August. What a sweetheart, that one! I love him and have so loved his full reports of each school day. He is loving Kindergarten. Loving it. His teacher reports that he is such a responsible student. And that he has loads of respect. As I have gone into his classroom each week to help out, I have loved watching him in his new environment. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>A couple weeks ago I picked him up from the bus stop and was dropping him off at home, where the husband was working, so that I could rush off to the temple. As we were about to go inside the house, I told him I would check the chicken coop for eggs today- which is normally his job. He said to me, "Mom, you are in your high heels and dress. How about I check the chickens so you don't get your dress dirty?" I'm telling you, that melted my heart. He takes after the husband. I am doubly blessed by the men in my home. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Middle daughter has decided she wants to take cheer leading classes. And so she has begun those classes and has two sessions under her belt. We shall see if she continues loving it. That girl. She has yet to find something she is passionate about, besides animals, so when she voices a desire to try something, the husband and I have decided to encourage her in whatever it might be. She is also into the second month of piano lessons and doing so well. I love to hear her practicing as I cook dinner. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Oldest daughter is in the middle of student council elections. Speeches are to be made on Monday, followed by voting. I hope she does well. She is growing up. I want to stop her. These innocent days of childhood are passing too quickly. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>At the end of the Student of the Month assembly, the vice principal of the childrens' school told me that the husband and I have such great children- all of them. I so agree. But, it is a satisfying and validating feeling when someone else recognizes the merits of our children. I love them. They are my world. I feel fortunate to have good children. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I love what we have.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So blessed.</div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-34277008113801883162011-08-01T08:14:00.000-07:002011-08-01T09:14:10.061-07:00AdjustingIt's 8:14 am. My house is silent. Except for the dishwasher- which the husband loaded this morning. <div><br /></div><div>The children have begun their second week of school. And my house is silent. It's going to take some getting used to. </div><div><br /></div><div>On the first day of school last week, after I dropped the children off and returned home, I went into my bathroom to get ready for the day. Once I had dried my hair, I walked to the kitchen to eat some breakfast. As I was finishing and heading back to my bathroom, I expected my little son to trail along behind me with an endless barrage of verbage. And he didn't. And I wondered, "where is that little son of mine? He is being so quiet." And then I remembered. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think I like that my children are all in school. I spent 9 years waiting for the day all of them would be in school, and now that this day has arrived, I realize that I am closing the book on a story that I wish would go on forever. And I hate to see a good story come to an end.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had a magical summer! It was full of trips, and exploring, and ice cream cones, and lazy days, and crafts, and swimming, and movies, and play, and dress-ups, and books, and rodeos, and mountains, and games, and friends, and naps, and family, and fun!</div><div><br /></div><div>And now, I'm starting a new book- the one where my children are growing up and I can't stop it. And it looks like this book has lots of chapters- just like the last one. I think this book is going to take a little time to get into, but I'm confident I'll enjoy it. </div><div><br /></div><div>For now, I'll set the volume I just finished up on the shelf and feel blessed that I had the chance to experience it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm so glad there are sequels.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-63677678585898320142011-07-12T15:24:00.000-07:002011-07-12T15:27:40.239-07:00In Our PrayersSo, I just wanted you to know that if you have recently been run over by a car, little son prayed that you could feel better and you wouldn't have a car run over you anymore when he was offering a prayer of thanks to God for his pizza and blueberries at lunch today.trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-60965964224860567322011-07-11T14:49:00.000-07:002011-07-11T15:02:28.478-07:00StormsI don't know what kind of mom I am. <div><br /></div><div>Two of the children came rushing into my bedroom at 3:00 this morning after being shaken awake by booming thunder and driving rain. I kept waiting for the third child, but for some reason he was able to stay asleep during the loudest thunder I have ever heard. In my entire life. </div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't allow them to crawl up in bed with the husband and me. I made them sleep on the floor. By the side of my bed. And when middle daughter expressed her fear of the storm, I tenderly hung my hand off the side of the bed so she could hold it. Because I was too tired to cuddle her. And since it was too impossible to hang both hands over the side of the bed, I only semi-tenderly comforted one of my precious daughters. Because it would have taken too much effort to comfort two of them. I tell you, I don't think rationally or compassionately when I am tired and trying to sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>And the thunder boomed and crashed and the house shook with each crack of thunder. It was loud! Loud. It even startled the husband who jumped a couple times in his semi-asleep condition during the storm.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I say I don't know what kind of mother I am, because all I wanted was to sleep. If I were Maria, I would have jumped up and sang a song to my children about favorite things, complete with choreography and jumping on the bed and wrapping up in curtains and all sorts of carrying on. But all I could think was, a) I hope the <a href="http://laughingatlifeslittlewedgies.blogspot.com/2011/03/little-more-fissure-fest-history-from.html">fissure </a>doesn't open up and swallow this house and b) I still have 5 good hours of sleeping left- let's get on with it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love Maria. She was probably a great mom. Plus, she could play the guitar. </div>trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088658496918317377.post-12080630959674147512011-06-18T23:08:00.000-07:002011-06-18T23:09:52.490-07:00love! my! life!<br />vehicle transmission problems and all.trublubyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02167985643440470182noreply@blogger.com1