tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63128110932471539852024-03-12T19:06:18.795-06:00Life of BooBoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.comBlogger148125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-33398010237260591282014-08-29T11:00:00.000-06:002014-09-17T23:21:25.805-06:00Gallbladder #3Dear Gallbladder,<br />
<br />
I'll probably never send this letter to you now that I've cut off all contact, but I need to write down my thoughts. We are still getting used to your absence. It is much more difficult than we anticipated. Stomach is melancholy, often times refusing food but at other times demanding food, only to return it. Liver is very confused. Without you there to regulate bile production, Liver is lost regarding how much to make. Erring on the side of too much upsets Stomach more than too little. Then there's Pancreas. It just couldn't handle the abuse. Pancreas is still angry but is also grieving more than the others. I think it may never operate at full capacity again.<br />
<br />
It will get better eventually. Sometimes it's hard to think of that when we're curled up in bed. Tylenol, pepto bismol, and small bites from the b.r.a.t. diet keep us going. The moments I can actually fall asleep are a welcome relief from all the angst and drama. It won't last forever. Life will resume, though it will be a new normal. So I raise a glass of broth to better days ahead. <br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
MRBoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-57428712948493142322014-08-15T10:00:00.000-06:002014-08-27T16:54:52.600-06:00Gallbladder #2Dear Gallbladder,<br />
<br />
Why couldn't you just leave and be done with it? You left behind a couple of surprises, or "stones," that continue to aggravate Pancreas. Was that necessary? We all want to heal from your misdeeds; your little surprises make it difficult to move on. Well, you won't keep me down. I will get rid of your stones. There will be nothing left to remind me of you once and for all. This is the final good-bye.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
MRBoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-31992863175997338512014-08-08T14:00:00.000-06:002014-08-27T15:46:12.434-06:00Gallbladder #1Dear Gallbladder,<br />
<br />
We have lived in harmony for many years, but lately you've been causing problems. You began hurting me earlier this summer and blaming it on Stomach. All my friends thought Stomach gave me an ulcer. I believed you for over a month. But you didn't stop there. You aggravated Pancreas next. As we all know, when Pancreas gets angry, everyone gets hurt.<br />
<br />
So I need to tell you that it's time to break up. I cannot continue a relationship with one who hurts me, lies to me, and turns others against me. I'm going to call in professional help to sever our connection. This will be permanent. I will not let you hurt me again.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
MRBoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-20578654500800930532013-11-16T15:04:00.000-07:002013-11-16T15:04:27.809-07:00"The Moral Force of Women"Last month Dominic and I were asked to give talks about General Conference in sacrament meeting. Usually I make an outline and talk from that. On a whim I wrote out my talk this time. I received quite a few complimentary comments, which I don't normally get, so I thought you might enjoy it, too.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/10/the-moral-force-of-women?lang=eng" target="_blank">The Moral Force of Women by Elder D. Todd Christofferson</a></div>
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I have chosen Elder Christofferson’s talk on The Moral Force
of Women, because it has been on my mind a lot lately. Let me begin by giving
you a little of my background. My father, who was born and raised in the
church, did his graduate studies at Yeshiva
University, a Jewish-run
institution. While there he developed a better understanding of and love for
Jews and their culture. (In fact 2 of my brothers, Aaron and Joshua, were named
after my Dad’s favorite professor.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because Orthodox Jewish women stay at home, many
Gentiles mistakenly believe they have no value. However, it is because they are
so highly valued that they are entrusted to teach and care for the children,
and protected from the harsh outside world. So I grew up in a home that also
highly valued the role of a mother in raising children. My parents encouraged
my sisters and me to seek higher education so that we could become the best
mothers we could. Hearing this talk during the Saturday afternoon session
resonated with everything I believe about the role of women as wives and
mothers.</div>
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Elder Christofferson expresses gratitude for the influence
of good women, warns us of dangerous trends, and pleads with us to cultivate
our innate moral power.</div>
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He speaks of 3 specific women who had a positive influence
on him. One mother in Mexico
“was love personified” as she sacrificed earthly treasures in order to care for
her home and family. Elder Christofferson even compared her to the Savior,
“blessing others through service and sacrifice.” He then tells us about Anna
Daines, who worked tirelessly in New Jersey
“to overcome deeply rooted prejudice against Mormons and to make the community
a better place for all parents to raise their children.” When Elder
Christofferson was a teenager his family moved into Anna’s ward. She encouraged
him to reach higher than he would have otherwise. And “once, because of a
thoughtful and timely warning from her, I avoided a situation that would surely
have led to regret,” he said. Next he talks about his own grandmother, who
taught him to be a conscientious priesthood holder. She encouraged him to
memorize the sacramental blessings on the bread and water. She taught him a
reverence for sacred things. Although she “never learned how to drive a car, … she
knew how to help boys become priesthood men.”</div>
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Elder Christofferson moves on to describe a mother’s
influence in her home. It’s amazing, and I want to read the whole paragraph. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A mother
can exert an influence unequaled by any other person in any other relationship.
By the power of her example and teaching, her sons learn to respect womanhood
and to incorporate discipline and high moral standards in their own lives. Her
daughters learn to cultivate their own virtue and to stand up for what is
right, again and again, however unpopular. A mother’s love and high
expectations lead her children to act responsibly without excuses, to be
serious about education and personal development, and to make ongoing
contributions to the well-being of all around them. Elder Neal A Maxwell once
asked: ‘When the real history of mankind is fully disclosed, will it feature
the echoes of gunfire or the shaping sound of lullabies? The great armistices
made by military men or the peacemaking of women in homes and in neighborhoods?
Will what happened in cradles and kitchens prove to be more controlling than
what happened in congresses?’”</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Wow. That’s
all I can say, just wow. I always thought that the saying, behind every great
man is a great woman, referred to the great man’s wife. After reading that, I’m
inclined to think it is actually talking about the man’s mother.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Our role in creating life is very sacred. We give physical
bodies to God’s children. I don’t know anyone who has given birth who will say
it was easy or fun, but it is worth it. Sometimes we even put our lives on the
line. But childbirth is an “integral part … in God’s work and glory ‘to bring
to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.’” Once we realize that, I hope
we will be righteous role models “of chastity before marriage and fidelity
within marriage.” It is because we have a “civilizing influence in society,
[and] have brought out the best in men.” That is almost exactly what my dad
says about women. His example: look at the first Europeans in Idaho
– hunters, trappers, and explorers. They were constantly moving around and had
reputations of being a bit rough. Who settled here? Men with wives, who
encouraged them to settle in one place and raise children. That’s when towns and
cities grew.</div>
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Elder Christofferson doesn’t want to overpraise us, which he
realizes makes us cringe. We know we’re not perfect, so when people tell us we
are, I for one feel like I fall short, by a lot. So he switches from praising
to warning.</div>
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One modern philosophy is devaluing marriage, motherhood and
homemaking. Society says that homemaking “demeans women, and the relentless
demands of raising children are a form of exploitation.” My family has
first-hand experience with this. My older sister Emily was invited into the
gifted and talented program in 3<sup>rd</sup> grade. For the next 3 years of
elementary school, she was told over and over again that she was too smart to
be a mom, that she was meant for better things, that motherhood was a waste of
her talent. My mom, who earned her Bachelor’s degree and chose to leave her
career to raise children, was insulted by this attitude. So when others of us
were invited into the gifted and talented program, my mom refused to send us. I
am happy to report that all my mother’s daughters are college educated and
happily raising children now. Emily had a hard time giving up her lucrative
career at first, but now she has no regrets. Let’s not forget about my
brothers, who sought out righteous, moral women to marry. Their wives are also
well-educated and staying home to raise their children. My brothers work very
hard to provide for their families and support their wives in child-rearing. </div>
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Another dangerous attitude concerns sexual immorality. Like
immodest clothing is debasing, not liberating. My youngest brother impressed me
when he threw a Hawaiian themed birthday party his senior year of high school.
Now, my brother is very out-going, has always been popular, and he isn’t shy
about letting people know he is a Mormon and what he believes. So when 2 of his
friends showed up at the party wearing grass skirts and bikini tops he said, “I
thought they knew me better than that.” He then went to his room and grabbed 2
of his own Hawaiian shirts and gave them to his friends before they even
stepped into the house. My brother is a full foot taller than me, so his shirts
are big and baggy. And that’s what the girls wore the entire party. He valued his friends enough to keep them modest.</div>
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[And this is where I stopped because it was time to go to church. The rest was written while I was waiting for my turn to speak.] </div>
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<br /></div>
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Another problem is the cultural double-standard of sexuual promiscuity. Women were expected to be pure, while men were allowed, or even expected, to sow their wild oats. That double-standard is finally equalizing. Unfortunately in the wrong direction. Instead of women and men being chase, women are joining the men in promiscuity. It leads to father-less families and poverty. Women lose their moral influence, and it degrades all of society.</div>
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The final concern comes from those who want men and women to be equal in every way, erasing the differences between masculine and feminine. Women are being portrayed in the media as more aggressive, tough, and confrontational. I remember studying Shakespeare's <i>MacBeth</i> in high school. Lady MacBeth wants to help her husband attain power, so she murders a man who stands in the way. Before she commits this heinous act, she throws off her fenininity. I remember my teacher telling us that in Shakespeare's time, it was unthinkable that a woman could do anything so awful unless she denies her natural state. Let us remember what former Young Women General President Nadauld taught: there are enough women who are tough, coarse, rude, vain, and popular. Let us be the ones who are tender, kind, refined, virtuous, and pure. </div>
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Elder Christofferson's final plea is that we protect and cultivate... [and this is when Dominic finished talking and I had to speak. When I reached this part of my talk, I fumbled a bit and finally concluded with my testimony. If you hate cliffhangers, go to Christofferson's talk to read the exciting conclusion <a href="http://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/10/the-moral-force-of-women?lang=eng" target="_blank">here</a>.]</div>
Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-54626815184642077572013-05-25T16:38:00.003-06:002013-08-09T00:12:36.633-06:00The Life of Mr. FishyElisa often seems lost in her own little world. Dominic has mentioned that she has the attention span of a fish. Last Christmas he had the fun idea of giving Lisy a fish. We gave her a blue beta, which she named Mr. Fishy. She loved it immediately. When she first saw the net, she asked, "Can I use that to take him out?!" She took it in stride when the anwser was no. She tried to pet him several times until we put a stop to it. Over the last 5 months she has spent a lot of time just watching him. She took her job of feeding him very seriously. At first she fed him everything: bread, chocolate chips, cereal, cat food, etc. Once she remembered that he could only eat fish food, she was diligent about it (and the bowl stayed cleaner longer. Of course I was the only one to clean out the bowl.) Sometimes her younger sisters still tried to feed Mr. Fishy something taboo.<br />
<br />
Last week I discovered Mr. Fishy floating at the top of his bowl. Lisy was very sad. We gathered in the bathroom to flush him down the toilet. When Dominic came home, we held a memorial service in the garden. The kids made a small ring of stones and placed little bouquets of garden flowers. We said a prayer. Then the children, starting with Lisy, all told their favorite stories about Mr. Fishy. Who new a fish could generate so many happy memories?<br />
<br />
Yesterday we took her to the pet store to get a new fish. She liked the betas just fine, but she loved the goldfish. "It's a fish that's shiny like gold!" $4 for a beta or 4/$1 for a goldfish? That's a no-brainer. Now Lisy has a goldfish, Mr. Fishy II. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOEeae4lyyl8w5e2mFJihaaH_gM7p5kdz6ZLrX83uABhZGC9clmvQsh5UDh1-df17HJptQVfC9OlLBhHNex6utap1k5pD4Q8FTfL_lAAyKlAhPogyaueoHMGLO9fjBOY_CxGZ0pNt8_F4/s1600/2013-05-24+21.57.25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOEeae4lyyl8w5e2mFJihaaH_gM7p5kdz6ZLrX83uABhZGC9clmvQsh5UDh1-df17HJptQVfC9OlLBhHNex6utap1k5pD4Q8FTfL_lAAyKlAhPogyaueoHMGLO9fjBOY_CxGZ0pNt8_F4/s400/2013-05-24+21.57.25.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Fishy II likes to hide behind the statue.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-76515163729804793342013-05-13T00:28:00.000-06:002013-05-13T00:31:06.998-06:00"all about my MOM"Happy Mother's Day!<br />
<br />
Today in Primary all the children filled out a form about their moms. Except for Makayla who is still in Nursery, I received 4 questionnaires that cracked me up. They are so funny that I have to share them with you. Just remember, they answered in all seriousness.<br />
<br />
1. My mom is ___ years old.<br />
2. My mom weighs ____ pounds.<br />
3. My mom's favorite color is ____.<br />
4. My mom's favorite food is _____.<br />
5. My mom always says "_____."<br />
6. My mom cooks the best ______.<br />
7. My mom's job is ______.<br />
8. My mom laughs when _______.<br />
9. If my mom had time, she would love to _______.<br />
10. My mom & I like to _______.<br />
11. My mom really loves _________.<br />
12. I LOVE my mom because ____________.<br />
<br />
Samuel<br />
1. 35 years old<br />
2. 250 pounds<br />
3. red<br />
4. eggs with cheese<br />
5. "When the food comes, eat." <br />
6. cookies<br />
7. being a stay at home mom<br />
8. we do funny things<br />
9. read<br />
10. do garden work <br />
11. gardening<br />
12. she is awesome<br />
<br />
Benjamin<br />
1. 34 years old<br />
2. ?<br />
3. red<br />
4. ?<br />
5. ?<br />
6. food<br />
7. taking care of the family<br />
8. ?<br />
9. ?<br />
10. ?<br />
11. my family<br />
12. ? ("You don't know what you love about me?" I asked. "Well, there are just so many things," he answered. Good save, kiddo.)<br />
<br />
Elisa<br />
1.77 years old<br />
2. 100 pounds<br />
3. red<br />
4. pizza<br />
5. "Keep yourself modest."<br />
6. popcorn<br />
7. she takes care of me<br />
8. Dad's funny<br />
9. eat<br />
10. do homework (actually, helping her with homework drives me bonkers!)<br />
11. me (she apparently thinks very highly of herself)<br />
12. she takes good care of me<br />
<br />
Rachel<br />
1. 27 years old<br />
2. 40 pounds<br />
3. pink<br />
4. eggs<br />
5. "I love you."<br />
6. biscuits<br />
7. folding laundry<br />
8. it's funny<br />
9. make pancakes<br />
10. fold my laundry<br />
11. making me food (I think she was hungry)<br />
12. gives me my baby dollsBoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-46093153890405186882013-04-30T23:30:00.000-06:002013-05-05T23:33:14.234-06:00Handprints on the WallI had a moment of motivation, and I cleaned the walls and window in the room we call our den. As I sat on the floor scrubbing dirty handprints off the wall, I thought wistfully, "My youngest is now 2. Just a few more years until I won't have to deal with this anymore."<br />
<br />
Then I remembered my teenage years when my mom complained about handprints on the ceiling (we held contests to see who could jump the highest). And I had an epiphany: I will always have to deal with handprints; just the heighth will change. Oh well.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="640" id="yui_3_5_1_5_1367818132346_788" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2294/5826852197_f3ac41f0ba_z.jpg" style="height: 377px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 263px;" width="446" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image borrowed from flickr.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-56682006919342165672013-03-10T22:09:00.000-06:002013-03-11T02:50:41.105-06:00Duck Duck GooseWell, that was the craziest game of Duck Duck Goose I ever remember playing. <br />
<br />
The players: Mom, Samuel (9), Benjamin (7), Elisa (5), Rachel (3), and Makayla (turning 2 in 2 weeks). Dominic is sick, so he just sat on the couch. <br />
<br />
Problems: 1. We were all wearing socks, and the living room has hardwood flooring. So imagine, if you will, everytime someone jumps up or tries to run around the circle, all the slipping, sliding and laughter that ensues. 2. Makayla does not yet grasp the rules of the game. At first she had to sit in my lap. Then I tried to help her when she wanted to join in the fun. Eventually she went around the circle, hitting our heads (ouch!) and saying "duck" and "goose" at random intervals, regardless of who's turn it was. 3. The children grew bored with "duck" and moved on to random things in the room, such as shelf, couch, table, sister, etc. They were laughing so hard that no one could hear when "goose" was called.<br />
<br />
The festivities finally grew too rambunctious for me, and I called it quits. It took some time for everyone to calm down enough for prayers and bedtime. It is an hour later now, and I hear no noise coming from the kids' rooms. Perhaps they wore themselves out. Thank you, Elisa, for choosing this game for tonight's Family Home Evening activity.Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-91704443730801530642012-12-03T10:50:00.000-07:002012-12-03T17:12:02.163-07:00ConfessonI like my stationary bike a lot, but not for the reason that you're thinking of. It was a great find from a second-hand store: $15 and the only thing that doesn't work is the speedometer (why would you want to know how fast you're going if you're not going anywhere?). Yes, it is nice to workout inside during the temperature extremes of Summer and Winter. Yes, I'm glad my children see me exercise and want to do it, too. Yes, I like feeling productive while watching tv. But the main reason I like my classic Schwinn stationary bike is because when there is no room on the couches, I can still sit on my bike to watch tv. My bike can never get cluttered.Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-42513427658157829012012-11-30T14:17:00.000-07:002012-11-30T14:17:16.092-07:00Scripture timeSometimes we can read scriptures and have a meaningful discussion. Sometimes we can barely get one verse read before the kids melt down, and we wrestle them into bed. Occasionally one or more of the children fall asleep, and we have to carry them up to bed. Tonight was different from them all.<br />
<br />
First, the children all piled onto Dominic. I started reading, but the kids were too noisy. Dominic shooed them off, settled them down, and I started reading again but had to stop. Makayla kept laughing; turns out I was absent mindedly tickling her. Oops. Okay, I stopped tickling her and started reading <i>again</i>. But then Samuel started laughing a lot. Benjamin said, "Stop laughing, Samuel! Stop laughing!" He looked up at us; "I'm tickling him," he said with a big grin. Let's try again. I read quickly, getting a little louder at the end to talk over the rising noise level. At least no one laughed again. Rachel was the first one to get serious, so she got to say the family prayer.Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-12770339750138879622012-11-29T14:37:00.000-07:002012-11-29T14:37:01.798-07:00Too many cooks spoil the soup, literallyLast night Dominic came home just as I finished the ham and tortellini soup for dinner. He wanted to show me the Christmas presents he had picked up for the kids. I turned off the stove and followed him upstairs to our bedroom. He locked the door and pulled out the toys. We spent a couple of minutes excitedly discussing what he'd found. Then we went back downstairs. <br />
<br />
I had the kids clear off and set the table. I buckled Makayla into her highchair. Then Dominic tasted the soup. It was almost inedible! The herbs I had used were in a different place, and one of them was wet. Benjamin admitted seeing Rachel pull the basil jar out of the pot. It turns out that both Rachel and Elisa "helped" by adding more herbs.<br />
<br />
Dominic spent the next ten minutes or so adding cream of chicken soup, leftover broccoli and rice casserole, and anything else that could dilute the herbs. I'm so glad I used the large pot, which could handle the extra volume. We ended up with a very different soup than what I made; it was delicious. I am very grateful for Dominic's culinary talent. He saved dinner!Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-68883344631794272102012-11-23T15:11:00.002-07:002012-12-02T01:25:23.442-07:00Black FridayI have discovered how to take advantage of and enjoy Black Friday sales.<br />
1) Nothing is a must-have. <br />
2) Shop when I feel ready, whether that means staying up all night, waking up early, or sleeping in.<br />
3) Avoid the doorbuster sales by at least one hour to escape all the mobs and craziness.<br />
4) Ask a salesperson: is an item in an unusual place or sold out?<br />
5) Other shoppers are very nice. I have had many conversations with people around me or next to me in line. After all, we're in the same boat.<br />
6) If a store has only one thing I want, it isn't worth going after. Simplify the day by only going to a select few stores.<br />
7) Treat myself to little indulgences, like an occasional candy bar.<br />
8) Leave the kids at home when possible.<br />
<br />
<b>Today's stats:</b><br />
<b>29.5</b> consecutive hours I was awake<br />
<b>2</b> times I tried but couldn't sleep<br />
<b>10</b> o' clock in the morning when the rest of the family joined me <br />
<b>8</b> stores I visited<br />
<b>3</b> each of candy bars I ate and sticks of gum I chewed <br />
<br />
<b>7</b> free hot dogs we ate for lunch at <a href="http://theyardsaleplace.com/" target="_blank">The Yard Sale Place</a><br />
<br />
Why do I do it almost every year? Because I actually like it.<a href="http://theyardsaleplace.com/" target="_blank"></a>Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-65247072573089003502012-10-05T00:42:00.000-06:002012-10-05T00:42:30.836-06:00I Am DeathIt was a battlefield; a massacre, really. Bodies everywhere. Some stunned, moving oddly. Others mangled. I couldn't walk without stepping on at least one body. As I surveyed the scene around me, gripping the electric bug zapper, I heard more flies buzzing from their hiding place. I ruffled the curtain and two more flies flew out. I chased them down. One escaped to the other room, but I got the second one. It fell, stunned, to the floor. A wing flapped wildly and made it look like a little, black spinning top. I stepped on it. I <i>hate</i> flies. I am the fly slayer!<br />
<br />
(I've got to talk to the kids again about closing the back door behind them.)Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-5363395625379734132012-09-28T23:32:00.000-06:002012-09-29T01:36:26.703-06:00Unexpected side effect of fishingAs a child Dominic often went fishing with his dad and grandpa. He hadn't been fishing for over 20 years when he picked it up again this summer. It took a little while, but he got the hang of it again. The children are used to Dominic coming home with several blue gill. The other day he called during a break at work, and Elisa asked how many fish he'd caught. Sadly, he hadn't gone fishing that day. The kids like to chase each other around with the fish saying, "Fishy! Fishy!" in growly voices. Even Makayla, at 18 months, runs around growling and laughing with the older kids.<br />
<br />
By the time Dominic gets home, the fish are usually dead. Sometimes the fish still try to breathe or weakly flop around until we put them in the freezer. I joke that we should throw them in the pool to keep it as a pet. We never did, until now. Dominic caught a decent sized crappie today. Not only was it still trying to breathe and flop, but it also looked around at us. This time when I said we should keep it, Dominic actually put it in the sink!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNca5Kdbx1ozSESdzaym7hLcLHUeaLHwuOIVddR1Z5dCygnnzmWrZs2wpJWaF4zcF0Vw681lTp3Ivj55Cp_0RvU8JR9Q3OXL1FH_b9WPDcfM1X81pE3GK3aVa2jb0i9p6VBBZiJ49v2U/s1600/black+crappie+for+Web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNca5Kdbx1ozSESdzaym7hLcLHUeaLHwuOIVddR1Z5dCygnnzmWrZs2wpJWaF4zcF0Vw681lTp3Ivj55Cp_0RvU8JR9Q3OXL1FH_b9WPDcfM1X81pE3GK3aVa2jb0i9p6VBBZiJ49v2U/s320/black+crappie+for+Web.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black crappie, our pet fish for the evening</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We all watched it throughout the evening. It would swim a couple of laps, float on its side, come up to the surface like it was trying to eat, and then do it all again. The kids loved it. They got so excited every time it swam or waved a fin. Now they really want a pet fish. We told them that it probably wouldn't survive the night (it looked pretty pathetic). After the kids went to bed, we put the poor thing out of its misery and stuck it in the freezer. We also said that we will get a beta or goldfish if they really want a pet fish. Besides, we bought a rabbit a week ago; we don't need another new pet so soon.<br />
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Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-20795492383992045462011-05-19T16:55:00.010-06:002012-04-06T19:18:46.023-06:00Makayla Grace<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAIL8NiBVRKA1jRY_nDLKQw38mszZm6dgZ-9x2PvVmuOg5YZKtU-8KuDW9uKMuein5flz8RiiwenkItDRIM_P0Dd5k8E3atzOPLMdYxrLBWkhkd91GYypJeGDHb_6fi86fbwrMYJSdNHE/s1600/funny+baby.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAIL8NiBVRKA1jRY_nDLKQw38mszZm6dgZ-9x2PvVmuOg5YZKtU-8KuDW9uKMuein5flz8RiiwenkItDRIM_P0Dd5k8E3atzOPLMdYxrLBWkhkd91GYypJeGDHb_6fi86fbwrMYJSdNHE/s320/funny+baby.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600146356105322594" border="0" /></a><br />Makayla is eight weeks old today! She is certainly a welcome addition to our family. Unfortunately I lost the camera cord that uploads pictures, so these are all from the first month.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7tkqWcpG5ileIW6ZHP4ps7TpOyx0FClZyANaZTracb7-pLfrodkUV0rIsGmzvGSrHGgvQsni1d-z-Xsmab6EMcintv8qG5ehNXDxMHr4O4iy1f8-3719UFEUcEVDtec2lkKePLQf5Ok/s1600/Boys+with+M.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7tkqWcpG5ileIW6ZHP4ps7TpOyx0FClZyANaZTracb7-pLfrodkUV0rIsGmzvGSrHGgvQsni1d-z-Xsmab6EMcintv8qG5ehNXDxMHr4O4iy1f8-3719UFEUcEVDtec2lkKePLQf5Ok/s200/Boys+with+M.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600144738285506018" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7oX8Z69lEhO8EhV6sA73HZt_shn7mT-mnainAzgb1rTjdbcfigq495v-ed_YpY0sT6-3lg00hPv10QLX9nmhgBxx_aK624L3OLyC99FKlciyOtrAOXT4Wz4UIV09yQBffMBrCYCh774M/s1600/Dad+with+girls.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7oX8Z69lEhO8EhV6sA73HZt_shn7mT-mnainAzgb1rTjdbcfigq495v-ed_YpY0sT6-3lg00hPv10QLX9nmhgBxx_aK624L3OLyC99FKlciyOtrAOXT4Wz4UIV09yQBffMBrCYCh774M/s200/Dad+with+girls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600144746713513474" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />Getting ready to go home.</span><br /><br />Weighing 7 pounds 12 ounces at birth, Makayla was my smallest baby by far. The others, in order of birth weight: Samuel (8 lbs 9 oz), Elisa (8 lbs 10 oz), Rachel (8 lbs 11 oz), and Benjamin (9 lbs), who never could wear newborn clothes.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_BNoAxKpYRBjBPffo24psU84nBoqT3g-UXMi8wtexscU9vK_U_4bxuMeXyQhj11Atq5hL4iIrxihOaxV_I6p-N_Xf_Fs_aZq9rq94FGusWnlna95XeLF3FyQOrIyQKZOtSYQp2UkWoo/s1600/HPIM3219.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_BNoAxKpYRBjBPffo24psU84nBoqT3g-UXMi8wtexscU9vK_U_4bxuMeXyQhj11Atq5hL4iIrxihOaxV_I6p-N_Xf_Fs_aZq9rq94FGusWnlna95XeLF3FyQOrIyQKZOtSYQp2UkWoo/s200/HPIM3219.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600150759131384802" border="0" /></a>Samuel does his best to take good care of her when I ask for help. He is very good at calming her down and holding her. I took Makayla into his class, and he was excited to do a little show-and-tell presentation. His teacher also enjoyed holding the baby.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtvKDYR0P1y6lkxvVSVMHcgCamgDD6lBV6e2LsyYXhbjHhqsXEyQEBNAMSyjnlM9Ibb3j-FdeGekpkPu6g4KF0tCtINWjegg-n0xaYtTBMQw9Hw64Z9-O9Vs2meCWY8zLUZ5rEPHYGt8/s1600/HPIM3222.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtvKDYR0P1y6lkxvVSVMHcgCamgDD6lBV6e2LsyYXhbjHhqsXEyQEBNAMSyjnlM9Ibb3j-FdeGekpkPu6g4KF0tCtINWjegg-n0xaYtTBMQw9Hw64Z9-O9Vs2meCWY8zLUZ5rEPHYGt8/s200/HPIM3222.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600150764618156210" border="0" /></a>Benjamin will look at her and say, "She's just so cute!" Then he either kisses her a lot, or he grabs the camera to take a picture. I think he has taken more pictures of her than anyone else.<br /><br />An example of his work:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlJ-cHRius7yTyzpuhJhKYQ8yM1n35hZdS59fttwmlJD4F7PwTE2u2FBwdZSDoAwTmHCw0IkNj1j3qWQaj4CWs7_sYaqJBXPOoknZUlI60uubIuHmYjLP4sJuKL__mhKIUpIOgv3W38w/s1600/HPIM3190.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlJ-cHRius7yTyzpuhJhKYQ8yM1n35hZdS59fttwmlJD4F7PwTE2u2FBwdZSDoAwTmHCw0IkNj1j3qWQaj4CWs7_sYaqJBXPOoknZUlI60uubIuHmYjLP4sJuKL__mhKIUpIOgv3W38w/s200/HPIM3190.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607684403629231602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lU-pSaPXj3taadUDAW24QCheZOJKNlCg5AB7xOH4aOOTku-PrW0c1PXF-rOZRJkv_eZ0J0P2MEkeUZ1ovmfr-5Pj3_dTNMxQqwXJDto7oOG9qa74dRpqFI9sFJg80WGYbOBSIov2Hto/s1600/HPIM3213.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lU-pSaPXj3taadUDAW24QCheZOJKNlCg5AB7xOH4aOOTku-PrW0c1PXF-rOZRJkv_eZ0J0P2MEkeUZ1ovmfr-5Pj3_dTNMxQqwXJDto7oOG9qa74dRpqFI9sFJg80WGYbOBSIov2Hto/s200/HPIM3213.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600150749178806482" border="0" /></a><br />Lisy loves her baby sister, but she isn't old enough to really take care of her like she thinks she can.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7gWEqqtovBt_r0J9reea1VC82n2oUcHVxAspiT90BOdtaY0OPt-2i2wFvP0Lihl-Lf4AWSHRZpPDc2vs3kwD2ZLwNFWu2uRWXWbqXp7AQQQ-jKMbbxl6zf6qoV4704NlmsXU4AZLIkQ/s1600/HPIM3216.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7gWEqqtovBt_r0J9reea1VC82n2oUcHVxAspiT90BOdtaY0OPt-2i2wFvP0Lihl-Lf4AWSHRZpPDc2vs3kwD2ZLwNFWu2uRWXWbqXp7AQQQ-jKMbbxl6zf6qoV4704NlmsXU4AZLIkQ/s200/HPIM3216.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600150754344517874" border="0" /></a><br /><br />She and Rachel both call her "Mataya," which is just so cute.<br /><br />Here Rachel is showing me Makayla's mouth.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Y4HLO2Uburx09y2I73ErKMwT899rcNLelMMSzwj0C9zbqMFd1O19dx5-LVHkx1B-HbWuJmUM_Ve7UUBAowMMBm3bVd88s3pJAPPdJXCNUV74_CfO6lyvJQ3iJrEBeiW-cD9byShXAiI/s1600/Awww.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 196px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Y4HLO2Uburx09y2I73ErKMwT899rcNLelMMSzwj0C9zbqMFd1O19dx5-LVHkx1B-HbWuJmUM_Ve7UUBAowMMBm3bVd88s3pJAPPdJXCNUV74_CfO6lyvJQ3iJrEBeiW-cD9byShXAiI/s200/Awww.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600147146987164898" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I love taking Makayla out in public. Since she is so little, we get a lot of sweet comments.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJ4JGcTBmNuR6IEXWtsSmYsM3EvJLqz4kGC9FA4l8hRqxSxEjPLyh1KT2UBh0sPD0ixCqdG99kESVPvIGloort_iZe4ih8lWaF1QjUMQM28ELYT2-hsDV-JuU8kx9cLgYGXR9lM5derU/s1600/HPIM3204.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJ4JGcTBmNuR6IEXWtsSmYsM3EvJLqz4kGC9FA4l8hRqxSxEjPLyh1KT2UBh0sPD0ixCqdG99kESVPvIGloort_iZe4ih8lWaF1QjUMQM28ELYT2-hsDV-JuU8kx9cLgYGXR9lM5derU/s320/HPIM3204.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609160650229885330" border="0" /></a><br />A strange thing I've noticed with each new baby, regardless of where we were living, is people always ask if the baby I'm holding is my first. With Sammy I was surprised that people always knew. Did I look like a first-time mom? Nah, it's just a universal question. Now I just laugh and say, "Nope, she's my fifth!"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhodN0jsOIcuU2PW6Mn53Dgp_4uS0Udaw9SDUr_zRzYoNIdsKoqSXq5on4jXZ732rZqTeCSb89mS4yoC8l7NdsbSZOlBBTzRbp6cLkyw3Wk0t5Bj8KijEfUdSwkV8yjVKdyS7Ma9ZUbY/s1600/HPIM3225.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhodN0jsOIcuU2PW6Mn53Dgp_4uS0Udaw9SDUr_zRzYoNIdsKoqSXq5on4jXZ732rZqTeCSb89mS4yoC8l7NdsbSZOlBBTzRbp6cLkyw3Wk0t5Bj8KijEfUdSwkV8yjVKdyS7Ma9ZUbY/s400/HPIM3225.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609161182648298306" border="0" /></a>Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-85350854068423454912011-04-20T16:56:00.007-06:002011-04-22T21:33:18.491-06:00Ten years ago in mid-April ...... Dominic and I went on our first date, though not together.<br /><br />Matt and I worked together. He asked me out on a double date during finals week. Matt was going to set up his best friend, Dominic, but the girl couldn't make it at the last minute. Dominic didn't want to go as the third wheel, so I offered to ask my sister Ellen to join our date. Dominic agreed, and Ellen decided to come along. Amber, our roommate, also came.<br /><br />We first went to see the play <span style="font-style: italic;">"Into the Woods."</span> I sat between Matt and Dominic. Matt fell asleep, and Dominic kept making snide remarks about the play and making me laugh. Ellen felt a bit neglected, and I guess Amber just watched the play. Afterwards we went to The Creamery for ice cream cones. Due to this part of the date, it took me ages to remember that Dominic was allergic to milk, because he loves ice cream.<br /><br />Then we hiked up to the Y. I fell behind, and Dominic fell back to keep me company. I thought he was very nice and considerate, plus he was easy to talk to. It was a huge party up on the Y, with a crowd of people and lots of random music playing; it felt very festive.<br /><br />On the way back down to the car, Dominic and I intentionally trailed behind the others. At this point I liked him more than Matt. He asked me out before we reached the car. (Later I realized that it was a gutsy move to ask someone out while they are on a date with another person, but I didn't mind.) I informed him that I was leaving immediately after finals to visit my parents for a month, and he said that he would wait for me. Although I had had a good time with him that night, I didn't expect him to remember me. I was wrong.Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-71967376589962793822011-04-18T20:23:00.006-06:002011-04-20T16:53:48.322-06:00It was a dark and stormy night,and we were drifting off to sleep in our warm, dry bed. All of a sudden we heard, "Meow, meow, meow." I reluctantly got up, went downstairs, and opened the back door (directly below our bedroom) to let the cat in from the rain. He wasn't there. So I went and checked the front door. He wasn't there, either.<br /><br />Back upstairs, the meowing was louder than before. Hm, he must be stuck in the house - it's happened before. So Dominic joined me in checking all the rooms and closets, upstairs and downstairs. Still no sign of that pesky feline. The kids had been playing with the window, and the cat sometimes climbs out onto the roof. I poked my head outside, but no luck.<br /><br />Convinced that we had looked everywhere, we went back to bed. Just as I was almost asleep again, I heard more urgent meowing, plus scratching. Okay, so the cat was somewhere he didn't want to be and was trying to get out. We got up again and looked in everything again, plus the kitchen cupboards and drawers and any place large enough to hold a cat - even the fridge, just in case. All to no avail.<br /><br />Honestly it sounded as if the cat was stuck in the wall or attic. How could he have gotten in there? Dominic checked the attic entrances, but they were all shut tight, and we don't have holes in the walls. He went outside to visually check the roof, in case the cat was stuck and couldn't get back to the window. Exhausting every conceivable possibility short of tearing down the walls, we went to bed well after 1 a.m.<br /><br />By morning there was still no sign of the cat, except for the occasional meowing from the walls or attic. I served breakfast to the kids and Dominic took drastic action. He carried a ladder up to the guest bedroom. The attic access had been caulked shut. Dominic broke the seal and found the cat.<br /><br />What apparently had happened: the cat had gone out through the broken screen when the kids were playing with the window and was stuck on the roof when we made the kids close the window. He had knocked off a vent cover, which had not been nailed down, and fallen into the attic. Well, he had found a dry place to stay during the rain but couldn't get himself out. For all his efforts, he earned a bath to clean the fiberglass insulation out of his fur.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The final scoreboard</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">:</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cat:</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">+1</span>, for finding a dry place to stay during the rain.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Homebuilders:</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">-2</span>, for the unsecured vent cover and the sealed attic access.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dominic: </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Winner!</span> for rescuing the cat and fixing the homebuilders' mistakes.Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-1954726080021804462011-03-24T09:00:00.001-06:002011-04-08T21:04:14.272-06:00Song for a Fifth Child<span>by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton</span><br /><br />Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,<br />Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,<br />Hang out the washing and butter the bread,<br />Sew on a button and make up a bed.<br />Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?<br />She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.<br /><br /><p>Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue<br />(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).<br />Dishes are waiting and bills are past due<br />(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).<br />The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew<br />And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo<br />But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.<br />Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?<br />(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).</p><p> <span style="font-weight: bold;">The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.</span></p>Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-91219268620436437292011-03-19T09:03:00.009-06:002011-03-20T23:22:27.912-06:00Ten years ago ...... on each Saturday in March, the Cannon Center (BYU cafeteria) held training meetings for the student supervisors and student managers. Mine was the first shift of the day, so I opened the cafeteria and headed over to the meeting. Dominic was always early, and I was usually running late (we haven't changed). Without trying I always seemed to be aware of where he was sitting, usually near the front. Then I did my best to focus on the speaker.<br /><br />After the meeting there was barely enough time to prepare for the next shift. Let's just say I had a single-minded determinedness to finish up and go home. Unfortunately Dominic tried to talk to me after a meeting. I was annoyed that he kept trying to talk when I didn't have a minute to spare. Couldn't he see me running around? He, on the other hand, couldn't understand why I didn't just let the next shift take care of it.<br /><br />In the last ten years Dominic has helped me learn how to slow down, relax, and allow others to work.Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-48514111026108418992011-03-10T14:21:00.000-07:002011-03-10T14:21:00.213-07:00Christmas in March<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7dqK12r23GI3_Iq5DTKxqZ9uYxWkOBurq4al8-j8GBsYJbFgYVo841BtT5aoVOzPTjM81tJvg4_frwyr8KU7ztao5PHeCbMj7zgkCdIR9jft2mlH8Y5GQrgjeO30Hc4VbcEXRap3X1qk/s1600/HPIM3140.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7dqK12r23GI3_Iq5DTKxqZ9uYxWkOBurq4al8-j8GBsYJbFgYVo841BtT5aoVOzPTjM81tJvg4_frwyr8KU7ztao5PHeCbMj7zgkCdIR9jft2mlH8Y5GQrgjeO30Hc4VbcEXRap3X1qk/s320/HPIM3140.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582193817930552962" border="0" /></a><br />Dominic gave me this pot rack for Christmas. Life has been a bit busy, so he just got around to installing it. I love it! It opens up cabinet space and helps divide the kitchen from the dining room. Plus, he found one that matches the dining room chandelier (you can kind of see it from this angle):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaylo6clUay8ZEdWj3YJwqdszQJNdM4i_KwVnlmz59cx_B6KnFqy6jQT_6SEDjSgcekiKSKuTi0h42qAzTSq6s2C3E1z7909aPlr1CXAbZ95A2hCKk7T5bOR_34UFzJa0Fo5dulqJAtHk/s1600/HPIM3141.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaylo6clUay8ZEdWj3YJwqdszQJNdM4i_KwVnlmz59cx_B6KnFqy6jQT_6SEDjSgcekiKSKuTi0h42qAzTSq6s2C3E1z7909aPlr1CXAbZ95A2hCKk7T5bOR_34UFzJa0Fo5dulqJAtHk/s320/HPIM3141.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582193827298195682" border="0" /></a><br />The coolest thing about being a homeowner? We can make useful little additions like this, and it's ok!Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-38690074808887712842011-03-08T23:34:00.001-07:002011-03-09T00:09:43.441-07:00Ten years ago this week ...... a friend and I showed up at the cafeteria during Dominic's shift to put together a display table for National Nutrition Week. So this is the new guy, I thought. For some reason I felt the need to show off. I wanted to look knowledgeable and competent as we set up everything.<br /><br />Dominic told me later that I actually came off as mean and bossy. Oops.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY62TE555BdFXINGiVlTw758bXkxuKWFru7PDOwgZ1LC5COxM5DSuGDQlWc7zRxNpwOyfCA9uU4SJOrybS84gom3XazzD7ex-bHuFHXUv5Ldd0tf8-0oqL-uV1sHjWzIRuC66tVuZ61ao/s1600/eat+right+blocks.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 128px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY62TE555BdFXINGiVlTw758bXkxuKWFru7PDOwgZ1LC5COxM5DSuGDQlWc7zRxNpwOyfCA9uU4SJOrybS84gom3XazzD7ex-bHuFHXUv5Ldd0tf8-0oqL-uV1sHjWzIRuC66tVuZ61ao/s320/eat+right+blocks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581971590974415394" border="0" /></a>Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-5215210946092620212011-03-04T17:25:00.006-07:002011-03-04T17:31:15.104-07:00Wall-E's tale, part 1Once upon a time in a nearby town, a little kitten just old enough to leave his mother wandered onto a woman's porch as she was enjoying the sunset. This woman happened to work at Pet Haven, a cat shelter.<br /><br />She took him into work, where they determined that he was healthy but too young to be adopted. They gave him all his shots. They gave him a cute name (Wall-E, like the Disney robot), which usually encouraged people to adopt the kittens sooner. When he was old enough, they had him neutered and moved him to the adoption area.<br /><br />One problem surfaced while Wall-E was young: anything other than a prescription diet gave him diarrhea. The specialized cat food was very expensive.<br /><br />At about this time, a PSR (psycho-social rehabilitation) worker began taking his young clients to Pet Haven to play with the cats for animal therapy. This PSR worker was amused that Wall-E looked like a miniature version of his own cat. He also watched many cats and kittens come and go. He saw several families choose Wall-E and then change their minds when they learned about his special diet. He saw Wall-E's price drop from $50 to $20 to $5.<br /><br />After a year the PSR worker went from renting to owning a house and felt comfortable adopting a second cat. He showed his wife several of the cats he liked the most: older, calmer, and with fun or quirky personalities. They passed Wall-E's cage, where the wife exclaimed with surprise that he looked like a twin of their current cat.<br /><br />As the date of the house signing approached, this couple discussed more earnestly which cat they wanted to take home to their guinea pig, 6-year-old cat, and 4 young children. The Pet Haven employees grew more excited to send one of their beloved cats home with someone they knew. The woman who found Wall-E confided to them that she would give him to them for free.<br /><br />This husband and wife were both suckers for hard-luck cases. Their guinea pig was born with a broken leg. Their cat was born at a Home Depot to a feral cat, who gave birth on the top shelf on a pile of cement bags. One of the kittens had wandered off the shelf and fallen to his death, whereupon the Home Depot employees looked around, found the litter of kittens, and took them to a rescue home. So it is no big surprise that they decided to adopt Wall-E.<br /><br />On September 29, 2010 we signed for our house in the morning. That afternoon Dominic signed the adoption papers for Wall-E. The woman cried, and we brought him home.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCSnnaM2K8C_YH85cCl2ZpJUxEMZvXgjFpJ-5uOm2V0ky5qPMoj7K2Xe_R9P5lvNZ0UPsuaeHw_cTcxCkSon-jWfyhMFPOHBECr4Zb3eUKvVH115WaBof86Z32bRzx0XTcUWcUTTl4Lk/s1600/HPIM2878.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCSnnaM2K8C_YH85cCl2ZpJUxEMZvXgjFpJ-5uOm2V0ky5qPMoj7K2Xe_R9P5lvNZ0UPsuaeHw_cTcxCkSon-jWfyhMFPOHBECr4Zb3eUKvVH115WaBof86Z32bRzx0XTcUWcUTTl4Lk/s320/HPIM2878.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565199478980160002" border="0" /></a>Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-67488546937186231042011-02-24T11:00:00.000-07:002011-02-24T14:36:30.531-07:00Ten years ago this month...... my workplace was abuzz with talk of a new student manager, Dominic. We had all been working since the start of the semester in January, so a new person was exciting. Some people knew him when he worked there before his mission (this was his first semester back), and others just always referred to him as "the new guy." Although I heard about him a lot, we never met. We worked non-overlapping schedules at the Canon Center, the cafeteria for the Helaman Halls dorms at BYU.Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-39701722239654115982011-02-10T20:17:00.000-07:002011-02-24T12:08:12.293-07:00not a morning personI'm a great sleeper. Sometimes it's difficult to wake up, and it takes me awhile. For instance people say I mumble first thing in the morning and can't understand a word I say. In my defense, my mouth hasn't fully woken up yet and thus cannot speak more clearly. Another instance was the semester in college when I had to be at work at 6:00 am. I usually woke up to my roommate kicking me, yelling at me, or even throwing pillows at me after my alarm had been beeping for some time. The next semester I requested the evening shift. Lastly, my husband is often the one who brings me the baby in the middle of the night, because I sleep through the crying.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOXlQMIQoBBWgRE4OJp37HWIc9FImuY53bwfs8T1ifoeHFgPVYCHRg4OL007r1u-TmgaDxag_xYkrBE6ov-QEfX1sv2PZ6mqHlaEOOp0MbcMkqRhRXCSVdKQmMYGH6hzZsGNuC9Hls_hY/s1600/baby+E+and+M+napping.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOXlQMIQoBBWgRE4OJp37HWIc9FImuY53bwfs8T1ifoeHFgPVYCHRg4OL007r1u-TmgaDxag_xYkrBE6ov-QEfX1sv2PZ6mqHlaEOOp0MbcMkqRhRXCSVdKQmMYGH6hzZsGNuC9Hls_hY/s320/baby+E+and+M+napping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574161070001856882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Napping with baby Lisy, 2007</span><br /></div><br />Well, it turns out that my children have inherited my ability to sleep soundly. It is especially nice when they are babies and can sleep through the noise of older siblings. It's not so nice when I have to wake them up for school.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjy2u8OHjDMYqpNWmOWlbru76mAOILosvClxMcv86ZNPZSmIcE2MkMondSwejpcdCq98Mtj4qaBoTyJoS00Q4UH69xFQOIkIzxqvReLzrBu50gUOccQ_VQf6C0A2bz8IAKmoB81iGUsA/s1600/B+sleeping+standing+up.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjy2u8OHjDMYqpNWmOWlbru76mAOILosvClxMcv86ZNPZSmIcE2MkMondSwejpcdCq98Mtj4qaBoTyJoS00Q4UH69xFQOIkIzxqvReLzrBu50gUOccQ_VQf6C0A2bz8IAKmoB81iGUsA/s200/B+sleeping+standing+up.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574163388051848210" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4gxdCvrk8U6aVIV8Bh1fStpV0GHp6hNwhbR4T2AY4dUnRPvS_MvKZ-UVJa0zqg2vNL5oItgnWCPCsY0VzptPKB-VrA5arKyYBrMpaXIIMoW0R1z0EkwUYQiyejwYbZBOAr-MvzN5ANA/s1600/B+sleeping+out+front.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 103px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4gxdCvrk8U6aVIV8Bh1fStpV0GHp6hNwhbR4T2AY4dUnRPvS_MvKZ-UVJa0zqg2vNL5oItgnWCPCsY0VzptPKB-VrA5arKyYBrMpaXIIMoW0R1z0EkwUYQiyejwYbZBOAr-MvzN5ANA/s200/B+sleeping+out+front.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574163391225029602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">After he grew out of naps, I still found him sleeping in odd places.<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Benjamin has always been my best sleeper. He is also my "mother's curse," like the expression "I hope you have a child just like you some day." He takes forever to wake up, he is always grouchy, and every morning he says that he hates school. However, I know that last statement is not actually true - he just hates waking up for school. I look forward to his days off so that he can wake up at his own pace.Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312811093247153985.post-2343525168461429882011-02-03T20:12:00.012-07:002011-02-04T15:41:50.105-07:00This Little Piggy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrjJt1oaGjy0V4OBTQ9ypsgR56w9wolbxbqkJB_PGX_425lCUri9f5dy1zP8XZnA038t2E6yzuv9Qr5z1fjwvvmx9tXi0WW6351s1CLhRSSX6_CRhX5dbz2NGyjDpzWueuykU0vH0cvE/s1600/IMG_0012.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 184px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrjJt1oaGjy0V4OBTQ9ypsgR56w9wolbxbqkJB_PGX_425lCUri9f5dy1zP8XZnA038t2E6yzuv9Qr5z1fjwvvmx9tXi0WW6351s1CLhRSSX6_CRhX5dbz2NGyjDpzWueuykU0vH0cvE/s200/IMG_0012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569966484679891042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sammy, 2 years old</span></span><br /><br />I have my own version of the classic nursery rhyme "This Little Piggy" when I play with baby toes. I'm not exactly sure when I came up with it; probably before starting my own family. I didn't realize that I <span style="font-style: italic;">always</span> say it until one day I said the normal rhyme, and Dominic asked, "Hey, what happened to the rest of it?"<br /><br />And here it is:<br />This little piggy went to market.<br />This little piggy staid home, because he's going tomorrow.<br /><br />This little piggy had roast beef.<br />This little piggy had none, because he's a vegetarian and had a tofu burger instead.<br /><br />And this little piggy? <span style="font-style: italic;">This</span> little piggy? Cried wee, wee, wee all the way home!<br /><span style="font-size:100%;">-I like asking the question twice, because the children start giggling in anticipation of getting tickled.</span>Boohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08669443631821976713noreply@blogger.com2