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.

Done

Dear Husband,

Ever since I got home from helping in the girls' classrooms this morning, I have been working very hard on something. Very hard. And I hope to have it finished before you come out of your office. Because I think it will be a nice surprise for you.

You know that mess of boxes in the corner of the kitchen? The one by the back door. Yes, that's the mess to which I am referring. That herd of boxes that were the last ones packed up in the old house- because they were all the miscellaneous items that we didn't know what to do with? Yep, the items that we just tossed into a box? The stuff that I really wanted to just light a match to and watch it go up in flames? I don't think we would have missed any of it. Much.





And you know how they have been sitting there, lo these 2 1/2 months? Well, they have been emptied. And they are no more. And all the stuff has found a place. And I still wonder if it might not have been okay to just throw it all away. Except, I did find all the aprons among the junk- and all the chip bag clips. Glory be!

And now, they are waiting by the garage door, for you to break them down. Because I wanted you to claim a little part in this victory. Ownership, you know.

So. The moral is: we can fully open the back door now without it banging into boxes. Plus, we can slide the window above the boxes open more easily since we won't have to bend over the barrier the boxes creates. YESSSSSSSS! (with fisted arm pump, except you may prefer the fisted arm pull. whichever.) Plus, we probably could have left the boxes there forever or thrown them away and we would have been okay.

Now, if you want to see that corner looks like, you should come out of your office and check it out. And give me a kiss.

Love,
Your adoring (and hard-working) wife


P.S. I also picked up that balled-up sock in front of the boxes. You know, the one everyone has been walking past for a week, pretending it isn't there? You're welcome.

While You Were Out

The husband has been out of town on business all week. He returns tonight and we can't wait. The following is a letter to the husband outlining all that has transpired since he has been gone.

Dear(est) Husband,

I may as well let you know right up front that we have missed you like the dickens. I really don't know how dickenses miss each other, but I can assume they miss each other pretty bad. That's how we have missed you. Like the dickens. Or maybe more. Yes, more.

*

Did you know that we had our usual Monday date with Great Great Old Margaret? She gave each of the children $3 to spend. We took her to Deseret Industries, as always, and then she treated us to lunch at Denny's. And you know how that conversation always goes:

GGOM: Where would you like to eat? You choose this time.

Me: OK

GGOM: I like Denny's. Is there a Denny's around here?

Me: Yes, there is. Would you like to eat at Denny's?

GGOM: Yes.

Me: Good thing I thought of Denny's, right?

The children picked out fabulous treasures at D.I. Oldest daughter found rollerblades- for $4! Bargain! Middle daughter lamented that the bike she almost picked out last week had been sold, so she settled on a stuffed bunny with floppy ears and a bow around its neck. Can you guess how many times I have re-tied that bow? And little son opted for some kind of war vehicle with catapults on it. Awesome.

*
Since we got home those rollerblades have been scooting around the house nonstop. Good thing we have so much tile. We have bandaged up a number of owies and are currently working on concocting some sort of bum padding for hard falls.
*

I took the children to the Mesa Temple for the annual Easter Pageant production. It was wonderful as always. But not the same without you.


Little son was mesmerized by the Roman soldiers and kept asking if the swords were real. After the production, we had the chance to meet one of those soldiers and wouldn't ya know- little son was too shy to even touch that sword when it was offered to him by the soldier. So oldest daughter marched right up to that soldier who taught her an honest to goodness Roman soldier handshake.
*

This will be no surprise to you- the canine still insists on a game of hide-and-go-seek at bedtime so that she can avoid being hoteled in the kennel at night. Smart one, that. Although, I have outsmarted her all nights. I have a system. I'll tell you all about it.

*

You should have been here yesterday. It was a three ring circus. Or maybe four. The girls had a little friend over to play. And then we added two aunts and three cousins. It was wonderful. And eventful. Curious? Let me 'splain.

*

Yesterday morning I was in the hall bathroom and heard a sort of humming. At first I thought it was some sort of motor, but for some reason I stopped to listen. And the closer I listened, the more I realized it sounded like bees. In our bathroom vent! I didn't think much about it, other than hoping there wasn't a hive in our attic and remembering to have you take care of it when you got home, and I went on with my morning. When the friend got here and I was talking to her mother, I noticed a bee flying in the entryway, but didn't think much of it.

*

After lunch, the kids were playing outside and middle daughter ran in to tell me there were a lot of bees by the front door. I went out to look, and sure enough, A Buncha Bees. I called all the children in and walked around the house to look for more and there they were- up on the roof by the laundry room vent. So I came in and called the pest control company who referred me to Kevin, the beekeeper. Within 45 minutes, Kevin was here and annihilating the bees.

He took a look at it and said we had a mess of scouter bees at our house. This is what he explained: when bees' hives become overpopulated, they send out scouts to find a suitable location for a hive. Once they find it, they go back and get the queen and then the whole 15-20,000 of them move on in. Yikes. So Kevin took care of it. And charged me an arm and a leg. And no one was stung.

*

Good thing I took care of it, right? I thought you had enough on your plate with the gophers. Besides I don't think you have small enough bb's for bees. Do you?

*

Our Speed Racer friend stopped for a short smoke in the midst of the bee crisis. Later, the aunts and I did some investigating and found that he is indeed smoking tobacco. I lifted his discarded butt with my very own fingers, just to be sure. Eww.

*

You may not recognize us when you get home, because we all got haircuts yesterday.

But you'll know who I am-- I'll be the one with the dark circles under her eyes (I don't sleep well when you are gone) plus, I am missing an arm and a leg. I gave them to Kevin.

*

I haven't quite finished the kitchen project I started last week, but hope to have it near completion by the time you arrive home.

But, I am leaving the bedroom curtains for you to hang. I don't feel like using your drill whose batteries can't hold a charge. Can you do something about that?

*

Please come home soon. I actually had to wash dishes this week. I forgot what it was like to do dishes. I like our arrangement- you do a better job at the dishes than I. Plus, I don't know where all the dishes go when unloading the dishwasher. See? We need you around here.

*

And we miss you.

*

More than the dickens.

*

Love,

Stephanie

xoxoxoxo

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?

The Adventures of Wormboy (by the Husband)

I hacked into my wife’s masterpiece you call a blog today to leave a post. Yes this is unusual - I’m typically just an observer of her art.

Well, saying I hacked may be just a bit of an exaggeration. She had some problem with the layout a few weeks ago and asked for my help. I simply kept the password after I was done helping. Husbands are like that. We never forget anything that might benefit us in the future.

Anyway, since I’m officially a hacker, I’d like to take time to do the normal hacker graffiti, and do a shout out to oldest daughter, middle daughter, my son Wormboy, my Mom and Dad, my co-workers (I know some of you are reading this) and my other peeps. You guys rule.

Before I get to Wormboy, let me first tell you more about Twitter since the wife brought it up as my latest interest. And how could I be a proper husband unless I kept on going on about my latest interest until it becomes annoying to all of those around me. If I didn’t, I might lose my man card. And you wouldn’t want that.

I’ll tell you what Twitter is: fun and a challenge. Twitter allows users to do “microblogging.” What the wife does here is normal blogging. It is big. Microblogging is not big. It is small. You only have 140 characters in which to write a post (called a tweet), which you can do from your mobile phone (through text messaging), from the web, or from a twitter client (a program that lets you post right from your computer through something similar to instant messaging). It is a challenge to get your message across and keep it within 140 characters.

For me Twitter is perfect. I don’t typically have time to sit down and draft up a long drawn-out blog post that shows what a witty and great guy I am, but I always have my phone with me. It is easy for me to quickly Tweet something wherever I am. And I can send photos as well.

All of you who know me may think I’m a bit of a geek (or a lot of a geek), and that this is the latest phase in my “geekiness.” You are right. It is.

So, now on to Wormboy.

After watching “How to Eat Fried Worms,” a few months ago, my son was captivated with the term “Wormboy.” For some reason he didn’t just pick up on the term, but has decided that it is “cool” enough to apply to him. So he now calls himself “Wormboy.” This has of course extended to the rest of the family. We may either call him by his given name or Wormboy. There is absolutely NO compromise in this.

A recent conversation, which I tweeted about, went as follows (he had just helped clean something up and I wanted to shower him with gratitude):

Me: Thanks dude!
Son: I'm not dude.
Me: Thanks man.
Son: I’m not man.
Me: Mmm, okay. Thanks son?
Son: I’m not son.
Me: Thanks little helper?
Son: I'm not little helper
Me: Thanks buddy-boy.
Son: I'm not buddy boy, I'm worm-boy!

So with that, I give you photos of our little superhero in action. Perhaps he will soon take on Frankenstein Underwear.





As I can post more of the adventures of Wormboy, I will. After all, I have the password to the blog.

In the mean time, you can read my Twitter feed at http://twitter.com/cjwalkerman.

You are Under-Dressed

I am sitting here in the dark, laptop on my lap in little son's bedroom (per his request as he falls asleep) on the most comfortable chair in the house. The husband has been away on business for the better part of the week and I am missing him fiercely. This is what I will tell him when we talk next.

You will be glad to know that the children, the plants, the canine and I are still all alive.

Middle daughter and I had a beautiful afternoon crafting jewelry- one ring for each finger. She was delighted.

I visited with oldest daughter's principal this afternoon and hope to resolve the conflict by Monday. I will tell you more of this when we are together.

The canine's bowels are functioning wonderfully. And even better- all the functions have been outside!

We had a lovely visit this evening with older sister and her family. We feasted on crusty bread sandwiches, strawberries, and best of all- brownies and ice cream. Oldest daughter was playing with the plastic handcuffs and asked me to hold out my wrists because, "you are under-dressed", she said. We must teach her what the proper phrase is.

I think it is time for two things 1) teaching middle daughter a little tact and decorum and 2) locking the bathroom door. Middle daughter walked in our bathroom just as I was stepping into the shower. She stopped dead in her tracks, stared at me and said, "Mom I just want to tell you something. You are beautiful, but you are not beautiful when you be naked." I know you would hotly contest her on this one. Thank you for being my champion!

The haystacks at the dairy are on fire and filling the air with a foul aroma.

I missed my scripture reading today and hope you are not too far ahead of me. I will do my best to catch up.

I finally removed the squash plant from the flower planter. It is not producing squashes and is overtaking my lavender. I feel much better now.

Little son insisted on me laying down with him for his afternoon nap. I was glad for the invitation as I was feeling a little weary and in need of a recharge. I said to him, "Goodnight little son." To which he promptly responded, "I'm not little son, I'm Worm Boy." It seems he refuses to be called by his given name anymore. So, I teased a little and said, "Good night buddy boy." Again he responded with, "I'm not buddy boy, I'm Worm Boy. " I couldn't resist. I taunted for a few minutes and then we both drifted off into dreamland.

Enjoy your hot air ballooning and white water rafting. And be prepared to share your adventures with the children.

Come home soon. Sons and daughters need their dads and wives need their husbands.