Journey of a Lifetime

The husband and I recently returned

from a Pioneer Trek re-enactment with the youth of our stake.

Best. Trek. Ever.

The leaders of our stake were truly inspired as they pulled this whole thing together. It was a privilege for me to take part in this and to be a Ma to some incredibly amazing youth. Plus, I loved spending three whole days with the husband.

In order to honor tradition, I shall now recount my trek experience by numbers. Like last time. (that's the honoring tradition part)

375 youth participating in the trek

29 handcarts

41 youth attending from our ward

13 adult leaders from our ward who trekked the entire time with the youth

4 families in our ward

9 kids in our family

5 o'clock am meeting time to prepare for departure

25 miles covered over the course of two days

3 kids in our ward lifted up on the cart to ride as a result of very sore bodies

15 miles covered the first day

23 mph wind gusts as we attempted to set up camp

89 degree high the first day

100s of cactus needles pulled out of legs/arms/buttockses

0 problems with rattle snakes

10 scorpions killed while setting up camp the second day

3 cans of bug repellent emptied by spraying around the exterior and interior perimeters of our tent in hopes of keeping out those pinchy buggers

75 gallons of water consumed by our thirsty family

100 days spent reading The Book of Mormon cover to cover prior to embarking on the trek

1 woman forever changed by acting on a promise from an inspired bishop to commit to change something with this reading of the book (more on this later)

89 points scored by BYU basketball team to secure a win over Gonzaga and a spot in the sweet 16

4 packages of mole skin completely emptied and used up on the feet of our little family

0 children lost forever along the way (only a couple temporarily lost)

8 happy mommy feet after hot stone pedicures upon returning from the trek

0 regrets of time spent on the hot dusty cactusy trail

54+ people who share a special secret that will bond them together forever

He Has My Heart

The husband just started new responsibilities at church. They include lots of time away from the family. My saddest part is that I won't get to sit by him during our Sunday meetings. I have loved being able to have him by my side on Sundays for the past year. But, I know with these responsibilities come blessings. And he'll be a great helper for our new bishop.

Also, he was made partner in his company last month. I feel a little proud about that. He is so good at his job. He has a real talent for it. And he contributes to his company in ways they acknowledge and appreciate. Like, they say they could never find someone who does what he does for them. So, they have made him partner. Nice trade, no? Plus also, I'm a little excited about the compensation.

On Sunday I wrote a little love note to the husband. It expressed my admiration and appreciation for him. And also a little mushy stuff. And I told him that I love the way he holds my heart and protects it. I found this beautiful red heart, which I gave to him. I told him that since he will be away from us a lot, he can carry my heart in his pocket and hold it and it will feel as though we are right there, together. And then some more mushy stuff. What can I say? I love the guy.

And he put that red heart in his suit pocket. He said he intends to keep it there. Forever. I love that he is a good sport and humors my little gestures.

And I love the way he has my heart.

Reaching the Summit

Sitting in Sacrament Meeting this afternoon, I was momentarily distracted by a little blond flash of a child who was intent on making it to the stairs by the pulpit, presumably to climb them and do whatever he pleased once he reached the top.

Predictably, he was followed by a taller blond flash of a mother who scooped him up moments before he summited. Crushing his dreams, they made the long walk back up the aisle to their original seats.

A few minutes later, there was that little flash of blond. This time a bit quicker and more determined to reach his goal. Yet, once again, he was thwarted as his red-faced father hoisted him up and returned him to his assigned seat.

I can only imagine the mother and father moments before- the mother directing the father to collect that little blond flash, since she had already met her blond-flash-gathering quota for the day.

This caused me to ponder as to why children have been since the beginning of time and will be until the end of days, so resolute in their attempts at escaping the clutches of their parents during Sacrament Meeting and rushing to the wonder that is the pulpit of the chapel.

As I thought about it, I came to the conclusion that the pulpit holds such mystery for children because they are perceptive enough to know that during Sacrament Meeting, the attention of the congregation is focused on that very spot.

(Plus, the pulpit is the home of the magical microphone. And what child has never dreamed of putting their tiny lips right up on that microphone so that all in attendance will be privy to what they have on their mind?)

And my thoughts hovered around the focus of the congregation. And the pulpit as the target of our focus. And the pulpit as a symbol of the Savior and the gospel. I began to think of my children and the days that they attempted an escape to the pulpit. They knew that I was focusing my attention on that pulpit.

Do they know where my attention is focused today? Do they know that my focus is on the Savior? On the husband? On our marriage? The gospel? Them? Serving others?

Or do they see me on the computer or involved in other vain pursuits and think that is my focus? Which will they choose to rush to?

I am grateful for today. And for that reminder. Because I have resolved to refine my focus. I want my children to see that I am focused on the Savior. And the husband. Our marriage. The gospel. Them. Serving others. I can imagine the direction it will give them.

I want my children to reach that summit.

Frogs

What would you do?

Last night I attended a Stake Youth Fireside. It was wonderful. Our newly-called Stake Patriarch and his wife spoke. She was witty and charming and he was sound and valiant.

She had us laughing as she introduced the two of them. She was an able and gifted guide as she took us on a tour of their lives. She introduced us to the small one room church building she went to as a girl. So small the restroom facility was on the podium- back in a small room in the corner- behind the speakers. She took us to Korea, where they spent two years as missionaries. She told of their dedicated service to the Lord.

Truly, behind every good man stands a good woman. Except, I'm pretty sure that she doesn't usually stand behind- probably at his side.

He then took the stand and presented the youth with a solid explanation of their responsibilities as youth of the noble birthright. And then he expounded upon the wonder of patriarchal blessings. Except he had a small scratchy frog in his throat that caused him to have to stop every so often to try and clear it. And successful he was not.

I thought that perhaps he needed a drink of water. And so did the friend I was sitting by. So she offered to go and get the drink if I would walk up the aisle to present it to him. That kind of made me a little nervous, because believe it or not, I was seated on the back row- hardly ever happens. And it is a long walk from the back row to the front of the chapel when you are carrying a cup of water for the speaker.

You may be asking yourself, "Why get involved? Look the other way!"

I'll tell you why. I am the first counselor in our Stake Young Women Presidency. And the friend is the second counselor. So I think we felt a certain amount of responsibility for the well-being of the speaker- especially since we were in charge of the fireside this time.

So, in perfect synchronization, we arose and exited the chapel to fetch a cup of water for the Stake Patriarch. She to fill and I to deliver. And we laughed at ourselves on the way to the kitchen. And she was glad to turn the cup over to me once her part of the task was completed.

As we entered the chapel, I surveyed the pulpit- trying to ascertain the perfect method of delivery. And I realized that there really wasn't a perfect method. I just had to march up the aisle, hope the water didn't slosh on the congregation, and set the cup down just so- making sure it didn't spill on the open laptop that provided the power point presentation. Because that would have been embarrassing- frying a laptop right in the middle of the presentation.

As I walked up the aisle, I heard him comment that he was having problems speaking for some reason. Of course, I immediately mentally patted myself and my friend on the backs for bringing in the water. I handed it up to him and he commented that perhaps that would help.

I turned around and made my way to my seat. And he continued with his talk. It was lovely.

But, he never drank the water. Not one sip.

I'm pretty sure that once that water was delivered, people were wondering if he would drink it. And he didn't.

And as we exited the chapel during the closing song to prepare the refreshments, my friend and I again laughed as we walked down the hall to the kitchen, commenting about the water. And then we pulled the popsicles out of the freezer and set them out for the hungry youth.

Among the frozen treats was a yummy concoction christened Frog Spit. It is a lemon lime sherbet mixed with vanilla ice cream on a stick.

The Patriarch chose one of those.

I can imagine that it hit the spot.

P.S. Tune In Tuesday for another guest post from a brilliant blogger!

Behind the Singers

Yesterday at church a couple of women sang a beautiful rendition of "How Great Thou Art". I think. What I mean is, I think that is what they sang. I can't remember. I do remember their voices were lovely- and the harmony intoxicating. But, I was paying too much attention to what was going on behind the singers. (that almost sounds like "behind the scenes", which could also work here)

Since I sit on the front row, I am close enough to read lips. The lips of the speakers who just so happened to be sitting behind the singers. There were three speakers- a husband and wife and then another woman (sans husband). The wives sat shoulder to shoulder, while the husband chilled on the aisle seat.

As the duetists were adding their voices to the angels, I noticed as the speaker sans husband whispered something to the speaker with husband. Intrigued, I watched as she mouthed, "... her shoe." And all three speakers' heads turned as one to view the shoe. And their faces mirrored amusement, although sending a little nervousness out into the congregation.

Instantly I was hooked. (Remember, nothing gets past me- observant to a fault) Of course, I couldn't see the singer's shoe. Even though I sit on the front row.

So many options danced through my head- such as, but not limited to:

• the singer is wearing mismatched shoes
• the singer is wearing her husband's shoes
• the singer is wearing no shoes
• the singer- wait, which singer? there are two up there...
• the singer's heel just broke on her shoe
• the singer is standing on the other singer's shoe- I wonder which one is getting their shoe stood on
• the singer is wearing golf shoes
• the singer's shoe just broke through the floor
• the singer's shoe just fell in the little cabinet that houses the stool that the kids stand on when they bear their testimonies

So as not to miss out on what was going on with the shoe, I arranged my children so that I would be able to pay full, undivided attention to the singers' shoes as soon as they made their way back to the congregation.

I passed out books and stickers. And the children were taken care of before the last note was sung. And I was in position to scope out the shoes.

The women marched single file down the stairs, slow motion. Thanks, ladies for playing into my plan, and not crowding out each other's shoes. And then, everything sped up- like dramatically. And both ladies were down the stairs. And I saw their shoes. And they both had on a matching pair. And both contained all parts of their heels. And all four shoes were white. And neither pair were golf shoes.

It did not compute. I just could not piece together what had happened up there. So I looked to the speakers for help. And they seemed to be unfazed by the singers, who had gracefully made their exit. But, they were still fazed by something. And I could see that their eyes were still trained on the spot where the singers had stood and sung their (un)forgettable song. (forgettable only because I couldn't remember exactly what they sang. but how they sang was truly unforgettable- it was beautiful.)

And then, seeking answers, my attention turned to the bishop and his hot counselor and the looks on their faces. I watched as the bishop scooted forward on his seat, bent forward and scooted something on the floor and then sat back in his seat, satisfied. While his hot counselor grinned and the speakers were all smiles.

And the speaker's husband stood and delivered his message.

Whaaaaa?

When the hot counselor returned home from his meetings at the end of the day, you can bet the first question out of my mouth was, "What was going on with the singers' shoes?"

To which he responded, "What?"

And I recounted the story.

And he laughed.

And unfolded to me what was really going on behind the singers. He reported that due to the heroic actions of our brave bishop, the father of our ward, our ward building was down one ginormous cockroach.

Way to go bishop. Thank you for protecting us.
(and, thank goodness I sit on the front row! Just think of the stories I would have if I sat even just a few rows back. Not to mention if I sat in the way back!!)


And, don't forget to order your Time Out for Women tickets. Click on the link at the top of the sidebar. You'll be glad you did. Awesome event planned for this year!

Plus, I am intrigued by this new show FlashForward that ABC has coming out in the fall. You got me interested, ABC. I hope you deliver. But don't deliver the filth- just a good, clean intriguing plot. Pretty please?

Not Quite Story Time

A couple Sundays ago I witnessed something at church that would be a totally HILL-AIR-E-US!! post. The bad news is that a few people in my ward read my blog- and probably a few more stalk it- and while I don't believe the story would injure anyone, it would be in bad form to pass on the little anecdote. And, truthfully, it is killing me to not share...

Just trust me- you would love the story. And so, the dilemma- just how much can you share on a non-private blog?

Seriously, there are moments in life that really would make for some great entertainment. But once shared on the blog, the reader is left to interpret how they may. And the meanings of some stories might get lost in the translation. And I am one who would never want anyone to misconstrue my meaning. Therefore, much of my daily experiences are tucked up on the "it's better not to tell that one" shelf. I'm sure you know the shelf of which I speak.

Tell ya what- here's what I'm gonna do: As soon as I move- which I have no plans of doing just yet (for my ward's benefit. I mean, it is not to my ward's benefit that I am not moving. I am saying that we have no plans of moving so that no rumors are started. Therefore, I said that "we have no plans of moving" for the benefit of my ward. Get it? Got it. Good. Really, do you get it?)- I am taking down those stories from off that shelf, dusting them off, changing a few names, and posting those babies! Once we move.

Because we all love a good story.

And if you are wondering if the story I have been referring to is about you?

No.

It's not.

Really.




P.S. Happy Earth Day. Oldest daughter has been reminding me of this one all month. Won't she be surprised when she realizes that there really is no celebration involved in this holiday? I mean, no celebration as in gifts and carrying on. But, I do believe we will celebrate in our own little way- I have spinach and cucumbers to plant. That should do. Really, we are party animals.

P.P.S. I just came across an article entitled "Scientists discover a nearly Earth-sized planet". I believe some planet is a bit jealous and trying to steal Earth's thunder. Couldn't you come out with this on any other day? After all, it is her day. Rude.

A New Suit

Last week I told you about our little car incident. And did you remember it happened at church? So, I just want to share one more thing about that crazy incident with you. I found out from the husband just two days ago that, had the silly little window crashers checked, they would have found the back driver side passenger door unlocked. Silly window crashers.

No worries, however, the husband pounded out the door frame where a crow bar had been used to attempt the break-in and a new window has been installed. So, we're almost as good as new.

In keeping with the theme of crazy things that happen at church, I want to tell you about another unfortunate incident that occurred last April. Yes, this means a little story time. Get comfy. Or not. But if you're interested (and I think this one's pretty good), here goes...

The husband has church responsibilities that require him to be present for early morning meetings. Which means, I get to get myself and three little ones ready for church all on my own. Every Sunday. Last April I received a phone call just before leaving for church. I noticed on the caller i.d. that it was in fact the husband. I answered the phone and was greeted with,

"Don't worry, I'm still alive."

What?

The husband then proceeded to recount a life or death struggle he had experienced just minutes before he phoned. And it was this: the husband was in the ward clerk's office taking care of a few things between meetings. He was seated at the computer desk when he leaned across to get something out of a drawer to his right. No sooner had he opened the drawer than he heard the revving of a small motor and felt a tugging on his suit coat. He glanced down to realize that the corner of his coat had fed itself into the paper shredder, which was on auto-feed.

Can you picture the scene as he attempted to turn off the power on the machine? And it would not turn off. So he began tugging on his suit in an attempt to free it from the angry clutches of the runaway shredder. The shredder was not willing to surrender the fight and held tightly to his suit. The husband began to worry as he is standing, in the clerk's office, fighting a paper shredder that is traveling up his suit, literally lifting off the ground to satisfy its hungry appetite.

Eventually the husband was able to reach for the power cord and unplug the machine, but not before the thing devoured the lower corner, pocket and much of the bottom half of the suit- all the way to the lower button. Yes, it shredded the button.

And so the husband phoned to inform me that I still had a husband. Whew. Maybe I should stop sending him to church. It's costing me a lot of money.

And now he finally has a new suit. Because he got tired of wearing his sport coat to church. And he looks mighty fine in that new navy blue suit.

Like, waaaay fine.

Probably the only suit I like better is the one he got on his birthday.

And I can totally testify that near death experiences like this one really make you appreciate those you love one thousand times more than you did before they walked out the door that morning.



PS- happy Martin Luther King Day! Hopefully you have purchased all your MLK day gifts already. But, in the event that you have not- here's a great suggestion for all you last-minute shoppers. Sue has gone to great lengths to prepare it for you.

PPS- go Cardinals. Who knew?

Check That Bag

Does anyone know where I can find a Strawberry Shortcake ring? The kind you get at the ward trunk or treat. You know, the one you never even looked at. The one that is irreplaceable. And even if you wanted to replace it you couldn't because, well, YOU NEVER SAW THE THING! Middle daughter's was flushed down the toilet at church today. It was a tragical event. Here's how it went down: (went down. tee hee.)

During Sacrament meeting both oldest daughter and middle daughter had to use the bathroom. I have only recently been letting them go on their own. So off they went. A few minutes later middle daughter returned. Sobbing. Doing the double-breath thing. Like she was way sad.

She told me that oldest daughter had been wearing middle daughter's Strawberry Shortcake ring (what ring? I had never seen a Strawberry Shortcake ring) and dropped it in the toilet. So I immediately stood up to usher her out of the chapel. So as not to make a scene. Because she could not be consoled.

All the way out of the chapel she kept muttering stuff about the toilet. And people could hear her sad words. Which is ok, because I think people kind of get how we are by now. And I think they accept us anyway. I think. (I got a few questions on this from curious friends later- and I shared with them our little sadness. And appropriate sympathy was offered.)

We made a beeline for the bathroom. And you can bet I was prepared to fish that ring out of the toil-y. Just as we entered the bathroom I heard the surge of water that signifies the flushing of the toilet. A little girl came out of the stall. I didn't even have to ask. She informed me that she just flushed "it" down. Thanks.

One little girl's world shattered with a single flush.

Unleash the floodgates. The tears came. And they didn't stop. For a long time. You would have thought middle daughter had just lost the canine. She was utterly heartbroken. We spent the next ten minutes trying to calm and settle. And then, once she was done crying, the questions came. You know the ones about can we go to the store tomorrow and get one just like it? The ones that you know are un-answerable.

All I know is that the ring is somewhere far away. Probably making its way to

P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney.

I have no doubt that Dorie will find it. And what would P. Sherman do with a Strawberry Shortcake ring anyway? He's a dentist. I think he could afford at least a cubic zirconia. Here's to hoping he'll let it go.

So here is what I have learned: not only do you need to go through your children's trick-or-treat bag to find the icky candies that have been tampered with, but also so you can take note on the jewelry. In case it gets flushed down the toilet. Or something else. Because anything is possible. Especially when you are trying to keep your family reverent. Like at church.

The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Da Feet

The Sabbath Day dawned glorious. Little son crawled into bed with me upon hearing the garage door shutting, signifying that the husband had left for early morning meetings, and knowing that the spot to my left had been vacated. Little son was confident he could occupy that space and excel at launching leg and limb into my side and face. He did a grand job. I was glad to have him as a barnacle for the last 30 minutes of my heretofore peaceful slumber.

As I readied myself and the children for church, I was ecstatic to find that my hair was behaving wonderfully and even found myself gazing blissfully into the looking glass, realizing that this could be that often elusive "good hair day." The planets had aligned. It was a good hair day. I was even able to tease my bangs into submission, sweeping them to the side and securing them with just the perfect amount of hairspray- ensuring that they would stay put and leave my eyes alone on this day- something that HARDLY EVER HAPPENS. What more can one ask for?

I skipped triumphantly down the stairs and herded the children into their proper positions in the car, escorted the canine to her kennel and pulled out of the driveway- ready for spiritual feasting.

We arrived at church on time- even early- and took our places, listening to the prelude music and greeting our fellow ward members. Still beaming from the pride I felt in my most cooperative tresses, I scooped little son up onto my lap as the services began. No sooner had I done this then little son, as if in slow motion, raised his arm and balled his little fist, directing it towards my bangs. His fist of doom performed a noogie right there on my perfectly coiffed bangs, separating the web of hairspray so delicately applied not even an hour before. Noooooooooooooooooo! (uttered in slow motion) Oh, the horror! Immediately those bangs sagged into my eyes. And for the rest of the church services I was compelled to move them to the side, over and over, using my hand or, alternately, the side head shake that would perform the task when my hands were occupied with essential tasks such as folding paper fans out of the program or peeling the paper from the tips of well-used crayons.

I resigned myself to a bang-in-the-eye meeting and continued listening to the speaker. Soon little son tired of being perched on my lap and slid down- and in the process, the Velcro (did you know Velcro must be captitalized? It must, according to the spell checker.) on the pocket of his pants caught on my skirt and pulled a little village of threads loose, thus blurring the floral arrangement pattern as multiple threads slid out of place and hung suspended from their original position in the weave of my raiment. Oh, how I don't love it when that happens.

Soon I was able to usher the children to Primary and nursery classes and the rest of the meetings proceeded without incident.

I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we should all wear sweats and baseball caps to church meetings in order to protect ourselves from our children. Will someone second this motion?



In other news: I am feeling the beginnings of a newly ingrown toenail- the big toe on my left foot. The toe just to the right of the toe that had issues last month. So, you know the drill, I need proper sympathy and attention for help and healing of this malady.

My wish for you this day is perfectly formed and hairsprayed bangs (if you have any), skirts without blemish and toes with nails that know where they may grow and stay away from where they may not.