Lucy or Lucifer

Until about 5:30 this late afternoon, I was a cool mom.  Seth, who is so hard on shoes, but legitimately needs a new pair, was given permission to hang out at the middle school playing basketball until I dropped Sam off for his soccer practice at 4:15 and then go with me to the mall to buy a new pair of shoes.

A few weeks ago, I got a $25 off coupon in the mail for Famous Footwear and that was the first place we went.  I thought a few pair looked like they would do...not nerdy but not trendy and his sullen response caused me to respond, “Well, I’m not going to buy you a pair of shoes you so obviously do not want.”  Still not overly frustrated, I suggested we go look in the newly opened TJMaxx at the end of the mall.

They don’t carry boys sneakers.

So we walked to Bealls.  Nothing he wanted.

JC Penney.  Nada.

Determined to end the shoe shopping afternoon successfully, I drove down the road to Big 5.  I sent him in alone with instructions to come get me when he found a pair he liked, (my shoulder and bicep were throbbing from carrying Daniel around in his infant carrier because I forgot the stroller and he was asleep so I left him in it) but he came out ten minutes later shaking his head.

“What kind of shoe do you want???” I asked completely exasperated.  I was under the impression that he wanted a pair of Nike but every single place we went to, minus TJMaxx, had Nikes but obviously not any he wanted.

“Well, Landen has a pair of Freeruns and so do a bunch of other people and I really want a pair of good running shoes that has a built in tongue and.....”

With a certain amount of annoyance in my voice,  I said, “O.K.  But I’m not going to spend a ton of money on a pair of sneakers just because you only want a certain kind.  And you could have told me what you wanted before I spent an hour lugging Daniel around the mall.”

Then, he stopped talking to me.

Just this past weekend, my sister, Emily, asked me if my kids were into brand names.  I proudly declared them not and wonder now if I jinxed myself? What’s up with him needing shoes like his friends?  It’s not like I was going to buy him a dorky pair of Avias or LA Gear.  I’m not clueless.   I miss the ease of shopping for young children or, in actuality, I miss buying what I want them to wear.

Is this an exercise in agency?  I gave it my all...went to five different stores to support his choice but I’m at a point where I want to command, “Here are your shoes!” because I sort of know best.  I looked up these freeruns online and they are kind of wimpy shoes.  Billed as minimal shoes (aka no material used for cushion), they should be cheap but, of course, they are not because apparently, boys want them.  They come in funky bright colors and you can even build your own pair but it all seems like much ado about nothing.  They are shoes.  He’ll destroy them from misuse in a few short months.  His method of shopping is inefficient and painful. I could free him of that pain.  I could choose for him.

Cue the My Turn On Earth soundtrack...now.

The Anatomy of My Memories

Do you ever walk down memory lane?  It’s an interesting phrase and one that happens to me almost literally.  While the small plane I was in flew over the city of Denver, I looked out of the window and could see exactly where Jay and I lived for four years.  I could see the streets and parks my friend, Libby, and I jogged through.  I could see the hospital where Jay and I both spent so much time (me as a virologist, he as a med student).  I could see the zoo where I actually bought a season pass to walk around with a very young Seth in a stroller before I realized that just because I was now a stay-at-home mom, I still wasn’t a lover of animals nor of their smells (we should have just bought the day pass).  So many memories came flooding into me merely by seeing the streets where I used to live.

For some reason, nostalgia transported me from Denver to my grandmother’s home in Cache Valley, Utah.  I haven’t been there since I was a very young girl and I found myself running from room to room in my mind.  In the living room, I remember the wide red arm chairs with their scratchy fabric and the L-shaped fireplace that faced both the living room and the family/dining room.  I see my grandmother’s desk with her felt shaped family tree hanging above it and the long couch with a colorful afghan throw on its back.  Straight ahead is the blond dining room table with chairs covered in pink fabric and a decorative needlepoint design, all atop a textured carpet with a variety of oval shaped braided rugs throughout the room I can not only see but feel with my toes perfectly.  The kitchen, in my memory, is wonderfully bright and clean, decorated with pink paint and on the table are colorful metallic cups that feel cold to touch when filled with ice water or cold milk.  The ironing room in a small annex off the kitchen is decorated with bright yellow curtains and a black rotary phone on the wall.  At the back of the kitchen are stairs down to the scary root cellar I always avoided.  My grandmother’s bedroom is off the living rooms near the front door and its contents are fuzzy in spite of me knowing exactly where it is located.  I walk up the stairs that curve ninety degrees at the bottom to the upstairs landing where two twin beds with green bedspreads fill the room.  In one large bedroom to the left, two huge beds with white chenille covers await their guests and another room holds only one bed as well as a mirrored vanity with a painted rock on top which I pretended held my blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick.  It must be summer because the room is hot and the windowsill contains dead flies.

The house is so clear in my memories.  White, with a horseshoe driveway with tall, tall trees on either side of the pavement. The roof was dark green and so low to the ground back by the kitchen that you could walk up and down it.  Raspberries fill the yard.  An old car with a push start ignition stood in the rickety garage.  The grass is prickly and patchy.

I walk through this house but as hard as I try to remember, I cannot find the bathroom.  There must be a bathroom.  It must be on the main floor somewhere but where?  Off the kitchen?  In the master bedroom? I don’t remember one upstairs.

I ask my mother my first day of visiting and she describes it as off the dining room.  I can’t picture it.  She describes it in detail, the yellow color, the wallpaper, the half wall and none of it rings a bell.  It’s a complete non-memory.

Perhaps I would remember if I saw a picture of it.  I’m sure I used that bathroom.  When I was telling this experience to my younger sister, Sarah, she immediately told me, “If you walked straight ahead from the front door, it was next to the dining room table.  She was even younger than I was.  Of course, she also has a freaky memory, but still...it troubled me.

I decided that I never, ever wanted to walk through the halls of my childhood home and not remember where the bathrooms were.  There is something very powerful about photos in stirring up remembrance and although my parents have made changes and upgrades throughout the house and it is decorated with much fancier things than my  mother dared attempt while we six children bounded through the house, I still delight in mentally wandering from room to room.  So many, many memories in each one.

It’s only a structure but it holds the first half of my life.




Recently updated with new siding, garage doors and a fancy vinyl fence (we had the scary wobbly metal one that was probably scary wobbly because my brother and his friends liked to leap over it), I love the quaintness of this home.  This ugly March doesn’t capture it well at all as the front always has lovely flowers blooming in beds that run along the entire front.  There used to be a pretty crabtree in the middle of the yard and a tall weeping birch to the right whose dangling branches provided exotic doorways to a multi-roomed fort.




The west side.  This was the main play yard.  Here is where we played croquet, volleyball, and did cartwheels.  Jon and I used to practice our backspins on a piece of cardboard placed on the grass.  This little area separated by the small walk is the piece of lawn I used to go and sit on so it would get used.  I worried it would feel...lonely.  The brick fence was a gateway to the roof which we frequently accessed as teenagers to jump down onto the backyard trampoline.  My poor parents.  It’s hard to see but there is a garden along the fence and house and it always produces a lot of vegetables and strawberries each year.  It even looks pretty with yellow and orange marigolds running along its border.



The patio.  An excellent place for basketball (obviously) and sunbathing.  I can remember being oddly obsessed with making the sophomore high school basketball team and practicing my free throws over and over the summer before tryouts.  I distinctly remember my sister, Emily, telling me I was missing a lot of them.  On the grass was where the tent was set up when cousins came to visit and always my preferred sprinkler location if I was ever going to run through it.  I’m standing nearby the backyard raspberry patch that we called the briar patch.  Our cat is buried there.  I didn’t like the cat.




The living room wall.  I love this wall.  For me, it is my mother’s wall.  It’s decorated with her past.  English things for her time in England. Things from both China and Myanmar from her time there. Books from her studies as an English major.  Books from my adolescence.  Copies of scriptures and even an old french textbook so I can remember how to conjugate verbs in the subjunctive tense.    I’m not sure if I have a favorite thing up there.  Maybe the Shakespeare plate that has been up there for as long as I can remember or the girl on the top shelf wearing a blowing pink dress because I would have liked to have been that girl.  Maybe the nativity because it is one of many that she possesses and loves.  No, I see it now.  It is the bell that my grandmother used to call for help on the shelf underneath the mirror.

That mirror is iconic.  It was our audience when we performed.  Our last minute appearance check before heading out anywhere.  I laugh when I remember coming home and seeing dozens of my school pictures decorating it and the other shelves.  Over and over and over again.  My siblings always got a great laugh watching me take them all down in embarrassment when I’d come home.




The kitchen.  My favorite thing by far in this room is the wall oven.  I thought it was so fancy.  Everyone I knew had an oven underneath their range but we had this wall oven that you didn’t have to bend over to open and it was symbolic to me somehow of how my mother did things differently than my friends’ moms.  I wish I could say I have memories of helping my mom with meals and doing lots and lots of dishes but I was pretty spoiled.  Sure, I did the dishes sometimes but the memories of me snacking on homemade bread or frozen Keebler grasshopper cookies are stronger than pulling anything out of that glamorous oven.




The dining room.  Nine of us sat around this table (which is bigger with a few leaves in it) for a big chunk of my childhood.  I sat in the far corner furthest away from the kitchen next to my dad, who sat in the middle of the long side, and my sister, Emily, who had an arm chair next to the sliding glass doors.  Maureen sat next to her and I faced my mother, who sat nearest the kitchen for obvious reasons, and Sarah, who never got a hard chair.  She had a non-matching squishy brown thing that had to be pushed against the wall when we weren’t eating.  My grandmother sat in the chair on the right nearest the living room and my brother sat to her left.  Jennifer finished the nine between Jon and my dad.  My head is full of plastic tablecloths and fancy lace ones that came out for holiday meals and company.  It is illuminated by a glass chandelier that I’ve since learned is quite simple but seemed luxurious to a young girl.  I imagined its dangling shards (that have since been replaced by real waterford crystal) as my earrings (I was a bit big earring obsessed as a youth).  I still love it.




Looking at the living room from the dining room you can see the large windows that are almost always left uncovered.  Many have reported watching us dance or wrestle or just being as they drove past our house at night.  This is the room where we gather.  It holds no TV and the chairs are all different from the ones I remember but the touch lamps are the same and the crack in the ceiling that my mom always worried about when the frequent dancing would begin remains.   More than the things it holds, I cherish  the words, the music and the ideas that have been sung and shared here.  Sadly, no photo will ever be able to capture those.



The upstairs hallway.  Those cupboards contain all the fancy things my mother collected during her travels as a young adult and she waited years and years to bring them out.




In the hallway behind the door to the downstairs is a cork board that holds all kinds of out of date things.  It used to hold the picture buttons of me and my sister Sarah in our sport uniforms made for boosters to wear during our games.  The wall phone with the cord so long and stretched out it touched the floor was mounted next to it.  I love this old phone contact sheet still hanging.   I’m pretty sure that was my sophomore at BYU phone number.




The main bathroom.  I grew up with a pink tub so at some level, having one now is a comfort.  This is the best tub.  Even though none of us used my parents shower, I can’t remember it ever having a rod with a shower curtain to double as a shower.  It was just always...the tub.  Emily permed, colored, rag tied, braided and hot curled my hair in here.  I remember trying to sneak out the window once.  It wasn’t this window, it was one that opened at an angle from the top.  I think I may have been successful but my memory says there was pain involved....




What I consider my Grandma’s room.  Her white leather rocking chair was in the right corner and her bed pushed up against the left wall.  Her TV stood diagonally from her chair and her tall dresser right next to it.  Another chair stood nearby the door.  I loved having her live with us and loved seeing that same felt family tree on the wall above her chair.  It also made me sad because it showed the name of three aunts and an uncle who I had never met.  All had died.  I felt sad for her.

I loved these curtains.  I fancied that when I got married, my mom could make my veil out of one of them.  So funny.  I’m glad they are still on the walls and were never on my head.    I know this room was also Sarah’s room for awhile and a TV room for many years after we had all moved out.  Now, my mom sews and irons in here and my dad practices the accompaniments for the ward choir on the keyboard but it will always be Grandma’s room.




My parent’s room.  If you were lucky and got up early, you could snuggle with my mom in bed and read the paper (never my dad.  I have never once woken up for the day before my dad).  A comfortable chair fills it now but the space underneath the larger window always held a desk with my mom’s sewing machine on it.  I can see fabric on the bed and my mom working on a choir dress or a prom dress or a bridesmaid dress or an easter dress.  I loved those dresses.




The view from their bed.  I just wanted to remember how pretty the mountain looks from here.  And you could see their bathroom which always seemed very private to me.  I hardly ever used it.  I do remember going in there to look through their records which, for some reason, were in a box on the floor underneath the sink.




The stairs.  See that tiny strip of carpet on the left?  Can you picture a young girl using it as her balance beam?  And the walls were just narrow enough to climb up barefoot.  I walked down them several times while I was visiting and I noticed that my descent sounded like my mom’s descent.  I could always tell who was coming downstairs by how they walked down.  I was a little surprised when my own current sound was so familiar.




The closet at the top of the stairs.  The perfect place to hide in a game of hide-and-seek.  Also, the perfect place for a lazy teenage girl to put everything her mother told her to take downstairs thinking she would just “do it later.”  I wonder if I still have something of mine in there that never made it to my room.




The family room.  I wish I had a picture of the orange striped carpet of my young childhood.  This was wear the sleepovers were held and the movie nights and even where I got my first kiss (it was yucky and during the movie Christmas vacation even though it was in August).  Lots of wrestling.  It is completely black when the lights are off because there are no windows.  That’s made for some smoky rooms when a fire gets going.  We rarely had fires down here.




I love these collage frames.  I took pictures so I’d have these pictures too.








When there are five girls and a grandma, the sole boy needs some privacy.  Sadly, privacy came at a premium and the fruit room became Jon’s room.  After awhile, some carpet, wallpaper and ceiling helped make it less...storage like.  Still, my brother slept with the peaches and the pears and the washer and dryer.  He made it his own with posters of Van Halen and other glam rock bands on the wall.  He did have his own door that led directly to the garage.  I don’t know if he used it.  Well...I know he did when we used to sneak out to ride our bikes down to Green Meadow Market on Saturday night for a six pack of Cherry Coke to drink before Saturday Night Live.    I was in fourth grade when I did this.  Fourth grade!!!!!!!




The hallway to the downstairs bedrooms.  I think we all liked to climb up these walls and have people walk through our legs.  I don’t know how my mother kept the walls clean.




This room housed my Barbie mansion.  I loved barbies!  It stood where the bookshelf is now and it was pink and glorious.  I had the convertible too.  And that mirror was a teenage girl’s best friend.  It helped me with many an outfit ensemble.




Jen’s room or Sarah’s room or what I call the green room.  This was my room too for many, many years but I never think of it that way.  For a long time, Sarah and I shared bunk beds and my sister, Jen, had her own twin along the other wall.  This was the room I slept in when I had the worst nightmare of my life after my cousin was murdered and her killers were still on the loose and I was so scared I couldn’t move.  It is also where my final destination was when I had to sneak back to bed after trying to catch Santa on Christmas Eve.  As a young girl, my dad would tuck me us in and then, as he walked back upstairs, we would call out, “Goodnight!  I love you!  What’s for breakfast tomorrow?”  We said it so regularly and predictably I can still hear the rhythm of the chant and our intonations.




Emily and Maureen’s room.  Any girl with older sisters can attest to the tendency to worship them during their teenage years.  I loved their room.  I loved their pink and mint green reversible comforters.  I loved their boy posters on the wall.  It was also my room.  For my entire high school career, this was where I read books until the middle of the night and where wet towel after wet towel stayed on the floor until my mother came to either rehang them or wash them.  I would have slapped me!  FYI, this is the one and only quilt I have ever made.  I wanted it in my parents house so I could always see it.  I think it’s beautiful but it was so hard, I’ve never wanted to try another.



I wanted a view of the other wall.  It was my room after all.




The downstairs bathroom.  Picture five girls all getting ready at the same time.  Picture us all sharing a sink, spitting toothpaste over another’s head and trying to get that space between the toilet and the sink that got you up close to the mirror to put your mascara on.  I took the longest showers as a teen.  At least 20 minutes.  My dad hated it.  Not only did I use up all the hot water but I’m sure I upped the heating bill.




I love this house because it holds many of my favorite memories.  I hope these pictures help me to always remember them.

He or She?

I love the color orange.  After chocolate brown, it is my favorite color.  I think it’s as cheerful and warm as yellow, as vibrant and bold as red and a happily gender-neutral option.

So, it surprised me today as Daniel and I flew home how frequently people asked me how old “she” was?  I’d respond with a friendly, "He is three months old.”  Then, I’d abate their apology by empathizing with, “It’s hard to tell by the orange outfit.”

I know it’s hard to determine a baby’s gender by appearance and that we rely heavily on what they wear or what color of blanket is swaddling them (his was blue) and I truly didn’t mind anyone calling him a girl because that’s really a silly thing to mind but...could no one just assume Daniel was a boy?

I love this orange outfit.  And I bought it under the “baby boy” column on baby gap!

Daniel - 14 Weeks

Kissing your grandma in Montana

This weekly counting is getting a little more difficult. Today was the first time that I had to think, "How many weeks old is Daniel?" At some point during the last two weeks, I have switched over to aging you in months, although I'm going to continue to take your weekly photo for your first year. At 14 weeks, you are getting closer and closer to consistently sleeping through the night. I have stopped dreading evenings, wondering how your mood will be and how many hours of sleep I will get. I'm noticing your pattern and you like to sleep! If only we didn't have anywhere to go.

You nap best in the morning. Unfortunately, that's also when I like to exercise but during this week, when I haven't made it to the gym, you took a long three hour nap every morning after being awake for nearly two hours. You also like your afternoon nap but it's length is less predictable. You love your thumb. In fact, you have a chapped index finger from it sitting against your wet, slobbery lips while your thumb gets all the attention. I hope your skin adapts because it looks like it hurts. Still, I love that you have a means of soothing yourself to sleep.

You had your first airplane ride! We flew to Montana to visit your grandpa and grandma for four days. You really woo those around you with your infectious smile and coos but watch out when you're mad. Even when you're mad, sometimes I still smile because your mad face really resembles the bitter beer face from those commercials of old.

I think I'm your favorite person. It's easy to be when time and food are on my side but it's still heartwarming to watch you track me across the room and smile and laugh when I catch your eye.

At 14 weeks, I'm a pretty big fan of yours.

Book Review #8 - Faith

It's been so long since I've had the luxury of reading an entire novel in one day so that fact alone must contribute to how much I liked this book.

Faith, by Jennifer Haigh, exposes the title's opposite power: doubt. Art Breen, a Catholic priest, has been accused of molesting a young boy. His family members - a devout mother, sympathetic sister and estranged brother, all react to the news quite differently. The author employs a powerful plot tool in forcing the reader to also examine our own faith or doubt, not in catholoisism, but in mankind by keeping the truth covered until the very end.

The narration is also very, very interesting. It's written from the sister's point of view but she writes it as the recounted memories and an unfolding expose of those she interviews and knows so, oftentimes, each character - her mother, Mary, her accused brother, Art, and her brother, Mike, are all known much more intimately than as often depicted when seen through another's eyes. She also frequently leaves the present situation to add understanding with a backstory or memory. It's complicated and murky and I really enjoyed it.

For such an icky topic, it's not an icky book. There is quite a bit of language as it is set in working class Boston and those inhabitants are fond of the F-bomb, but each character is so well developed that you are able to sympathize and celebrate with their various flaws and triumphs. Above all, you see how there is no such thing as simple faith. Our experiences and choices make us who we are and influence what we believe, even if who we are is not how we appear to others and what we believe is not how we live.

Interesting and haunting, I'll be thinking about this book for days.

Book Review #7 - The Art of Hearing Heartbeats

I think I underestimated this novel. After finishing it two days ago and dismissing it as nothing more than a romantic fable, time and discussion with my mother have made it uncomfortably clear that I didn't appreciate this story for what it is: a juxtaposition between eastern and western thought and the probability of an alternate reality.

In spite of those complicated layers, it IS also a romantic fable. Tin Win is a poor boy in Burma, forced to accept the fate the astrologers gave him on the day of his unlucky birth. Through acceptance and humility, he enjoys a peaceful and satisfying life of education from a Buddist monk and is surprised by the unfamiliar joy he feels when he falls in love with a local cripple, Mi Mi. While certainly no expert, I would guess it falls at least partially into the magical realism genre with the unbelievable happenings and quite fantastical plot development.

However, as the story unfolds via story telling from an easterner to a cyncical westerner, Tin Win's New york daughter (you'll have to read the book to unravel the mystery of how Tin Win became a New Yorker), the reader is unknowingly exposed to his or her own bias. I am thoroughly western. I could scarcely believe anybody could think and act the way the Burmese people did in this story. My mother, who lived in Myanmar (Burma) for nearly two years assures me that there is indeed a great difference. So, I can say there is no way this story could happen, that it is fantasy, but perhaps I am seeing only with my eyes (again, you'll understand that reference if you read the book).

Translated originally from German, this is a beautiful and, yes, romantic story. I wish I could fully appreciate its beauty but with my nearsighted sensibilities, I'm afraid its truth is beyond my ability to grasp.

The Star Of The Show

There is nothing quite like knowing someone else loves your child. It's more than nice or sweet or reassuring, it's somehow a powerful affirmation of everything that is good and kind. My sister, Emily, arrived today, there were suddenly four of us watching, admiring and laughing at a certain dramatic little three month-old. He could go from laughing to complete fury in a matter of minutes. I'd like to attribute it to travel and his uncertainty in a new place, but...who am I kidding. He's my son. Moods will abound.

Other than an outing to Staggering Ox, the day was spent discussing books, movies, food, parenting, memories, our callings and nuggets like what eternity might be like. You know...just some chit chat.




Love this picture of my mom and Emily reading the same book. I read it the next day after they were both finished.

I was also told that Daniel is much smaller than he appears on the blog so maybe the above picture will help return him to his actual size. Not a very action packed day but one that takes its rightful spot in the blessed column.

Glory of the West

After hearing one disgruntled man sitting in front of me on the airplane say as Daniel and I settled into our seats, "Great, we're next to a baby," I was relieved that he aced that leg of our travels.  He cooed and smiled and flirted with everyone around us and when people started deboarding the plane, several admirers including old fussbucket himself, complimented him.  "What a good baby!" they admired.

It couldn't last.

He fussed and cried and screamed off and on throughout the entire hour and a half flight to Montana and the man sitting in front of us this time put in ear plugs.  I was glad he did.  In fact, it should be a rule on airplanes that everyone have some sort of noise cancelling device on their ears to lessen the guilt mothers who must travel with children have when their littles aren't perfect angels.

Now we're here and I'm calm.  My parents fixed up a baked potato with chili, a meal I never think to make at home, and it was perfect.  Easy, warm, comforting and no trouble. (We use Nalley Chili. I suppose it would be quite a bit of fuss if the chili were homemade just to top the potato).  Daniel is sleeping in Grandma's portacrib and I'm itching to read one of the three books I brought.  

There is absolutely no reason for this trip except my parents wanted me (okay...Daniel) to come and it worked out with my sister-in-law around to help watch the older boys after school and get them to their various places. Sure, a state bordering Canada might not make many people's got-to-go destinations in March but I'm completely content to be here anytime.  I'm looking forward to sharing my glory of the west with you for the next few days.

Daniel - 13 Weeks or 3 Months Exactly!

All of my other boys have a three month studio portrait.  Even though I know photography has exploded and these kinds of pictures are the equivalent of school photos, I wanted Daniel to get studio portraits so I could compare each boy’s looks at three months.  Because we do not even have a studio portrait place in my town, I had to travel an hour south and spend way too much money to get my hands on these very mediocre pictures.

It was not a pleasant experience.  I had to talk the photographer, who, I believe, was still in training (I was eavesdropping on one of her phone conversations) out of using all sorts of gaudy props.  All I wanted was a clean, white background and she used this horrid beige blanket and that was to cover up the even more horrid white pillow with a ring of frilly lace around it.  Seriously.  I can’t imagine that pillow being suitable for any kind of picture.  Daniel wasn’t even smiley (probably because the photographer had exactly ONE trick - clapping).  He did smile in the above shot which is probably why the package I chose is loaded with this picture but I also splurged and bought the CD with all the pictures.  I just uploaded it to my computer and I feel like I need to edit them.  The lighting is bad.  The picture is often off center.  Sigh.

I’m going to dig up the other boys' 3 month pictures and we’re going to see who this little man looks the most like.  In the  meantime enjoy these cute shots...

And these not so cute ones (unfortunately, there are a lot more where these come from).

She really tried to sell me on these “blended” photos.  Weren’t these all the rage in the early 80s?

A Fine Balance

Piano has been a mixed bag this school year.  Both I and Seth and Sam’s piano teacher have had babies this fall and winter and both of us took a month off from piano after our respective deliveries, much to my boys’ delight.

In spite of the frequent hiatuses, it’s been a positive thing.  I wrote last year about girding up my loins in my piano battle with Seth, but because of several factors, mostly the time off but also some better music selection by his teacher, I haven’t had to put on my armor yet.  Of course, that also means neither boy has progressed as much as he potentially could have but not as much doesn’t translate into not at all.  I’m proud to report that both are improving and playing increasingly difficult music.  Sam, my perfectionist, fights or ignores my requests to practice even more than Seth because he hates doing things that aren’t easy for him and piano isn’t easy.  Seth also ignores me but fights me so much less than last year that it feels like success.  Maybe that was his sinister plot all along.

Five weeks ago, Seth’s teacher sent him home with Bach’s Minuet in G Minor saying she thought he could learn it quickly and play it for our local Bach Festival Student Recital.  Considering we would be gone for an entire week at Taos over winter break, I expressed my concern about his ability to learn it well enough to have the performance be a positive experience.  She trusted Seth’s abilities and we’ve been forging ahead.

I was quite impressed with how quickly he learned it.  More than impressed, I was kind of giddy.  I love listening to my children play the piano.  It’s horrible, I know, because I should just want them to do whatever things they enjoy and are interested in but I selfishly want them to be pianists.   Beyond my own selfish interests, I also I think they have the natural talent, opportunity and means to learn to play the piano and when those variables are combined, the could becomes a should - both for their own musical benefit and as a benefit to their future families and wards.

Back to my giddiness, I enjoyed every moment of his performance today.  Yes, I wish he had been able to perform it without any mistakes but I was proud of how he handled his nerves and his mental lapses.  It’s so clear to me when I watch him play that we learn music so differently.  He had no interest in taking his music up to the piano with him.  I convinced him it was in his best interest as he has only been playing it from memory for two days.  If you watch the video, you can see his brain resetting from playing it by muscle memory and ear and switching back to reading the music.  I never would have done that.  If I have music in front of me, by golly, I’m going to use it.  But, I have never, ever been able to play by ear.  As frustrating as it is to watch him ignore his perfectly marked music, I must admit that I admire his gift.  I hope he one day appreciates it as well.

I think the biggest compliment was what the director of the Bach festival told Seth’s teacher after his performance.  He is a piano and organ virtuoso and he told her that even though Seth messed up, he could tell he understood the piece and played it musically.  I told Seth that I feel the Spirit when he plays.  I do.

It’s still a tightrope that I walk - nagging just enough to get him to practice but not too much that he resents it altogether - but I’m hopeful that experiences like today, mistakes included, convince him that he’s too talented not to play.





please excuse the shaky camera work. I was holding Daniel with my left arm and, several times, felt him start to fuss and bounced him up and down with my arm.

Pass

Maybe it’s the three times Daniel woke up crying last night.
Maybe it’s the four hours of standing in the wind today watching soccer games.
Maybe it’s grocery shopping at Walmart on a Saturday.
Maybe it’s all of the laundry I need to do.
Maybe it’s thinking about the long day ahead of me tomorrow (church, Seth playing at the Bach festival, stake leadership meeting all with a baby who won’t take a bottle in tow.  So not a day of rest.).
Maybe it’s the cheesecake I just ate.

Whatever it is, I don’t feel like writing today.

Book Review #5 - Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

I bought this book as a Valentine’s gift to Jay and I actually thought this would be a nice “in between” book from my usual fare and asked if I could borrow it.  I had no idea.

John Le Carre is the pen name for David John Moore Cornwell, who, for a brief period of his life, was an actual British spy, keyword being British.  I was clueless from the get go about his use of British spy vernacular .  Terms like scalphunter, the circus, lamplighter, babysitters, and ferrets were unabashedly dropped and Le Carre wasn’t going to explain any of it.   He expected the reader to figure it out.

I appreciate his confidence in the learning curve of his readers but if felt a bit like going to a Star Trek convention armed only with knowledge of the “Klingons” and discovering how grossly underprepared ones vocabulary is in that world (How do trekkies remember it all?).  Considering this was my very first Le Carre book, I was reasonably confused.

Add to the unfamiliar jargon characters alternatively being referred to by their first, last, code or nickname, a plot that is not moving chronologically and setting frequently shifted mid chapter with no announcement and I came to an early conclusion that I did not like this book.  Mostly because I hated that it was above my ability to understand.

Surprising even to me, I stuck with it.  Perhaps George Smiley’s pathetic personal life amidst his own genius made him a sympathetic protagonist to cheer for.  No, that’s exactly why I held out.  The author takes his time developing each character and even though I didn’t appreciate it at the time as character after character was being introduced, each of his characters, whether major players or small-time support, felt full and real and utterly believable.  I enjoyed how the author allowed the narrative to reveal the hero, Smiley’s, insecurities as well as his spying brilliance.  And even though it doesn’t make for a very exciting plot, I also appreciated the frequent mentioning of how tedious, tiring and boring spy work actually is.

I’m glad I stuck with it because by page 300, I was hooked.  Sure, there were only 381 pages in all but this twisty story of who is who and who did what and with whom and where and when for the Russians finally becomes clear as Smiley interrogates and unravels each kink.  For me, the pleasure came from little insights Smiley gave as he figured it out.  The anti-climax of it all.  Sadness, almost, at ruining someone’s life - even if that person was a traitor.  Feeling small and mean towards a former friend who was never a friend.  Yes, I believe this almost discarded book was completely redeemed by George Smiley.

I’m nervous to attempt another Le Carre because I don’t like working so hard for a story, but now that I’m not a complete Carre novice, I may embrace my new knowledge and peek into the world of George Smiley once more.

Isn’t It Lovely?

It was the perfect almost officially spring day.  So warm.  No coats or jackets required.  We sat on the grass at soccer practice and basked.  

And little boy experienced his first day in the sun.  I think he liked it!  (He’s going through that odd phase of babyhood where they do a constant stomach crunch in their carseats.)  I got him out for a bit too but it was hard to keep the sun out of his eyes as he didn’t have the good sense to keep his head still.  

Come and get me!!

What You Missed

The Time Capsule experiment was informative and all but I missed real blogging.  Here’s what I would have posted on those days but in a more truncated format.

Day One.  I’ve lived in this house for nearly two years.  And for nearly two years, I have believed that the locks on all five of the window doors (does that make sense?  The doors that are glass instead of wood) don’t lock.  I figured it was a design flaw and that when we remodel in a year or ten, I’d replace them with doors that lock.  Call it naivety, call it cheap, call it irresponsible, but, yes, that means in the nearly two years that we have lived here, we have never been able to “lock up the house.”  Not at night.  Not on trips.  Never.  So far, so good.

Well, each of those locks are bolt locks underneath a lever handle and when you turn the bolt knob, nothing happens.  I’ve never claimed to be very handy or intuitive when it comes to how things work but I’m going to go out on a limb here and claim that if you see a knob for a lock underneath a handle, turning it should produce some sort of locking action.  Yes?  It doesn’t on these doors hence unlocked doors for two years.

Last Thursday, my son’s friend came over and while they were out on the trampoline, they left the door to the deck open and when I went to close it, it wouldn’t close.  The bolt lock was out and hitting on the jamb, preventing it from fully shutting.  The bolt was out!  How did it get out?  I turned the knob.  Nothing.  As any intuitively fix-it-challenged lady might do, I started simultaneously furiously turning the knob while pulling up and down the the lever handle.  It turned.

I played around with it while the door was closed.  It locked.  Apparently, all I needed to do these past two years to be safe was to raise the lever handle and THEN turn the bolt knob.  Because that is how these doors lock.  All of them.  So, if you were ever thinking of breaking into to my home to rob us, you’re too late.  Uh-oh!  Someone learned how to lock their doors! (said in the voice of Happy Gilmore learning how to putt.  It’s my husband’s fault that I know that movie at all).



Knob turned to the right to lock.  Doesn’t lock.




Door handle lifted up.  Door locks.  Obviously!

Day Two.   I rediscovered a CD in my car that I haven’t listened to in months.  Track five is Florence and the Machine’s Cosmic Love and I just can’t get enough of it.  The drums!  The harp!  The belting!  It made me miss singing so badly.  I don’t even really sing like her - in that style - but I couldn’t help repeating the song over and over and singing out as loud as I could in my car.  Of course, I don’t understand all of the lyrics but once I get a general vowel sound going, I'm good.  I’ve never been a lyric perfectionist.  You say tomato.  I say ah-ah-oh.  Moral of the story is:  I want to sing!  Loudly (or softly if the song called for it) and with emotion.  Wearing sequins would be a plus but it’s not necessary.  Preferably, loud (or soft) emotive singing would be done without the bad ward choir.  But,  I fear it’s not going to happen.



Disclaimer:  I had never seen this video before searching for it to add along with this blog post.  Love the song but ne’er fret, my wishing does not include wearing a pair of cut out leggings.


Day Three.  Second trimester report cards came home.  I am so pleased that each of my school-aged boys are blessed with the kind of intelligence that makes school less of an academic struggle.  Seth got all A’s and one B and the B was the direct result of missing assignments.  The middle school has a website for parents to log on and check grades and assignments and towards the end of the trimester, Seth was missing all kinds of assignments.  Some he had forgotten to turn in.  Some he just didn’t do.  I was emailing teachers and turning into the worst sort of nag but all of his grades came up once he turned in the work he is perfectly capable of understanding and doing.  But, some of the reading assignments were from newspaper articles he couldn’t find again and, thus, the B.  So, while I am pleased that Seth is intelligent, there is an exasperation that he is so disorganized.  We’re working on it.  I’m proud of him making the Honor Roll even though I’ll never, ever display those sentiments on the bumper of my car.




Seth gets his certificate and window decal from his group of core class teachers.



Immediately goes and acts cool with his buddies.  Totally ignoring the embarrassing lady with the camera nearby.

Sam had no problems.  He is bright and organized.  In fact, it annoyed me a bit to get his report card because his teacher almost universally marked his grades as “3”s which, translated, means, “achieves target” (2s are “approaching target" and 4s are “applies at a higher level”.  1s are “requires assistance”) even though he gets pulled out of her class every single day to do differentiated math, reading and language arts with the G/T teacher.  How can he be doing above grade level work outside of her class and still be “at grade level?”  He has completely different spelling words than the rest of the class.  He frequently comes home with some random math puzzler worksheet (like complicated sudoko or multiplying fractions) that is really hard and has nothing to do with what he’s currently learning but is her way of challenging him, I guess. I’m not trying to be obnoxious and I do like his teacher for making the effort to push Sam academically, but if he’s above grade level - give him the 4!  I know he’ll have them on his next report card and my guess is that by waiting to give him a 4, this teacher believes the raising of the grade will somehow reflect her awesome teaching abilities.  Perhaps a cynical and bloated opinion of a biased parent but my opinion nonetheless.

Henry’s report card makes me smile.  Henry, Henry, Henry.  For years, I was worried about Henry having a learning disability.  With his speech delay, it was hard to know what he knew.  Thankfully, I’ve learned that he is very bright.  He does have some other delays, like trouble with his fine motor skills, and the normal boys lengthy attention span delay, but he’s doing well.  Getting all 2s and 3s.  He did pull a couple of “N”s, however.  I remember a few Ns in my own elementary heyday.  Mine were in “avoids unnecessary talking.”  Apparently, I’ve always been wordy.  Henry gets his “N”eeds improvement in “does quality work” and “demonstrates consistent effort.”  His teacher has been on my case about Henry’s deficiencies in both these areas all year.  She is not a big Henry fan.  One of her main gripes is that he does not take the time or seem to care about coloring inside the lines.  He also does not use enough variation in his colors.  One purple or brown crayon will usually do!  I happen to think that pretty colorful pictures are not all that essential to one’s education but I am not a Kindergarten teacher so what do I know.  This comment on one of his take-home papers made me laugh.  Don’t overdo the high praise!  We wouldn’t want Henry to get a big head now!




I guess accolates like “Good Job!” and “Terrific!” are out of vogue in the Kindergarten world.

Day Four:  Did you read the news article about Tide laundry detergent being a target of thieves?  I guess there’s a black market for it.  Let me repeat that.  There is a black market for laundry detergent.  Having white whites and bright colors has joined the seedy underworld of drug trafficking, guns and prostitution.  I buy Tide.  I’ve also learned via Pinterest that blue Dawn dishwashing liquid solves just about all of the world’s problems.  I bet that’s the next at-risk item.  Good thing I have figured out how to lock my doors.

Day Five:   We had to do throw-downs in the body sculpting class I went to.  If you remember from back in my Biggest Loser posting days, this exercise is performed by lying on your back and holding onto the ankles of someone who is standing above your head.  That person “throws down” your legs and you try to keep them from touching the floor, bringing them back up for another throw down.

I had a baby 12 weeks ago.  I have no abdominal muscles.  Imagine my shame when I was the last of the 12 people in the class to complete the exercise.  The shame didn’t come from being last but from the eleven spectators thinking they were helping me by clapping and cheering, “Come on, Lucy!  You can do it!” while I struggled.  Sometimes, being supportive is overrated.  Sometimes, you just need to look away.

Book Review #4 - Delicacy

If ever I chose the right book to read at the right time, this book was it. I’ve been muddling through books for what seems like years, liking some well enough and recognizing some that deserve to be categorized as amazing (i.e. Unbroken) but, it’s been a long while since I’ve picked up a book that I didn’t want to put down. It seems even longer than that when the book also qualifies as great.

Even so, I’m nervous giving this an “amazing” rating but...I’m going to! Because, I loved it. It’s easy to read and funny and sad and unusual and interesting and thought provoking and exactly what I felt like reading.

I read a translation from the original French and there were only a few times when it really felt like a translation. The rest of the time, I felt like the english language was used perfectly. As a brief plot summary, Natalie, a beautiful French woman marries the perfect man for her who then dies. The rest of the book deals with how she moves on and how others treat her.

Except it’s more than that. I copied and pasted this from dictionary.com.


del·i·ca·cy   [del-i-kuh-see]
noun, plural -cies.
1.
fineness of texture, quality, etc.; softness; daintiness: the delicacy of lace.
2.
something delightful or pleasing, especially a choice food considered with regard to its rarity, costliness, or the like: Caviar is a great delicacy.
3.
the quality of being easily broken or damaged; fragility.
4.
the quality of requiring or involving great care or tact: negotiations of great delicacy.
5.
extreme sensitivity; precision of action or operation; minute accuracy: the delicacy of a skillful surgeon's touch; a watch mechanism of unusual delicacy.

It’s about all of these things!  Foenkinos takes each meaning of the word and layers his story with various situations requiring one or more of the definitions.  It is perfectly titled - one of my very favorite things in literature.  I almost feel annoyed when I read other reviews or, worse, the book jacket and it is simplified as a sweet romance.  Because it’s really about how and why people feel and think and do.  It just also happens to be sweet.

Such a pleasure to read.  I guess a movie is coming out as an adaptation of this book soon.  I have no idea how that will work because, in my opinion, this book’s strength is not its plot or even its characters.  It’s beauty is in the unspoken thought, reaction or motivation.  How they’ll translate that into a screenplay is beyond me.  Maybe it’ll work.  But, I doubt it’ll be anywhere close to as captivatingly delicate as the book.

Daniel - 12 Weeks

It’s been a confusing week for your mom. You were becoming so calm - so much more aware and comfortable on your own. Then, this week it’s been fuss, fuss, fuss and sleep, sleep sleep. I suppose it could be the bad cold you might still be getting over. It might be teething. It might be a growth spurt. I forgot how unsure everything seems with a newborn. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.

I love your voice. You have the sweetest coo. Your voice is a bit husky and you sure like to talk. You have sharp little nails that just might stay sharp because I always seem to cut your skin when I use the clippers. I’ll look into getting a pair of nail scissors. We might have more success that way.

You’ve slept every night in your swing. You love motion and the swing gives both of us a full night’s sleep. You nap in your crib. I’ve even taken you to the gym daycare twice. I don’t think you like it too well.

Once again, you hate the bottle. Oh, Daniel, it’s food! I know you aren’t trying to win a battle of wills but it sure seems that way.

We’ve also introduced you to the Ergo carrier. You really like it. Everytime you are in it you fall asleep. I’m glad there is a way to enjoy soccer games without holding you in my arms because, even though you’re small, you are heavy!

You’re almost three months old!

Time Capsule Round Up

I just couldn’t do it anymore. For the other days, I would continually log my day by speaking into my iPhone and it would translate it into a note for me. Then, on my computer, I would edit it and fill in gaps. I don’t know why I didn’t keep up with it on Saturday and Sunday, because I wanted to include a weekend log as those days are totally different than weekdays, but I was weary. It’s exhausting thinking about every minute of the day, not to mention really, really boring blogging.

BUT...for the sake of record keeping, I’m going to quickly note our weekend activities. Details about time will be missing, but my posterity will just have to use their imagination to fill in those gaps. Baby Daniel still needed to be fed. And, sadly, as of 2012, we still can’t teleport. I’m really hoping that mode of transportation becomes available soon. In the meantime, imagine me in my car. A lot.


SATURDAY: (Jay is on call and gone the entire day)

Breakfast
Soccer Gear Roundup (Seth can’t find his shin guards)
Drive hour south for Sam’s soccer game. Has to be there by 9:30
Drop Sam off and find sporting good store for Seth to buy new shin guards with his own money
Watch game from 10-11:30 (game started late). Daniel in front carrier. It’s cold! Henry finds other kids to play with on the sidelines. Visit with all the parents.
Sam’s team wins. He scores 4 goals!
During game, Henry needs taken to the restroom. Daniel needs to be fed.
Feed kids lunch at Costa Vida.
Drive 15 minutes north to next town for Seth’s soccer game at 1:30.
Visit with all the parents. Seth’s team loses 0-3. They played 14 year olds.
Stop at DQ for post game treats.
Drive home.
Home by 3:45 pm. We’re all tired.
Start fixing dinner. Ham and potato soup.
Boys alternate taking baths. Seth goes first (keeps spiking a fever. Probably shouldn’t have played)
Daniel is super fussy. Being out in the wind all day probably wasn’t his favorite thing, even though he was well covered. I wonder if he is teething this early????
Jay comes home and everybody eats together but me. Feeding Daniel.
Phone keeps ringing for Jay. Something is on the TV.
Put Daniel in his swing and I take a bath.
Read scriptures with boys and send them to bed. Decide whether or not I have the energy to pick up the house.
Do dishes, fold laundry, sweep floor and wipe down kitchen at 9:00 at night. Glad to go to bed without such a mess.
Wake Daniel up to feed him (can’t believe he’s still sleeping).
10:00 bed.

SUNDAY: (Daylight Savings Time Begins. A cruel and unnecessary time change, in my opinion).

5:30 or 6:30 woken up by Daniel (I was seriously off all day). I changed all the clocks in the house sometime during this hour.
Breakfast for everyone. Jay is gone feeding cows.
Get ready for church. Make bed. Iron white shirts. Comb everyone’s hair. (always glad for boys on Sundays. Making girl’s hair cute would take so much more time).
Jay and me take separate cars to church because I have meetings afterward.
Arrive at church and nurse Daniel until after the sacrament is passed.
Listen to speakers and then play for the YW special music. Enjoy the rest of Sacrament meeting calm as Jay takes Daniel out and Henry sits with his cousin Ethan.
Do church business (callings, meet with secretary and lady helping us with our fundraiser for camp) during Sunday school hour (so bad!)
YW. Got a new 2nd counselor so get her orientated a bit. Jay has Daniel during the whole block and I can hear him crying out in the hallways most of the time.
BYC for an hour
Home. Jay is tired and flustered by Daniel’s constant fussiness. Boys are watching Selection Sunday for NCAA tournament and NASCAR. Daniel is asleep in crib because he wouldn’t take the bottle I had pumped for him that morning.
Fix dinner. Hamburgers, Luna salad and frenchfries.
Eat together as a family
Dishes. Wipe down kitchen.
Daniel wakes up starving (I hadn’t fed him since before sacrament meeting!) Jay takes older boys with him over to feed steers and visit his parents.
Take Daniel over to Jay’s parents house to visit with them and Clark and Stephanie.
Home at 8:30 pm. Read scriptures. Family prayer. Get backpacks ready because I KNOW monday morning will be rough with sleep and time change.
Do stuff online (buy graduated cylinder for Seth’s science fair project, email, call my dad, get texts from lady who can’t be camp director, text bishopric member)
Read in bed for a bit

So, you want to know what I’ve learned from all this logging? I’m busy! Way busier than I thought I was. Honestly, I’ve always considered myself a lazy person. There are so many people I know who seem to get more done, keep a cleaner house, have more fun with their kids and I supposed I couldn’t do those things because I wasted time. But, I really don’t. I actually don’t know how other women manage. I have no idea how my life would work if I had to work outside the home in addition to getting all of this crap..er...stuff done. When would the laundry get folded? I have a hard enough time with that job as it is. Grocery shopping? Preparing food? Exercise? Family time? I mean...did I ever log reading with my kids? Nope. Henry does not get much story time. We don’t often go to children’s museums or swimming or to the library for fun. I go to the library but it’s usually in and out for a book I’ve put on hold. I get that my kids are in school so those events won’t happen until Daniel is old enough to need to be stimulated like that but most of my time is spent running kids around from place to place and cleaning up. It makes me want to say “blech.” It could be considered joyless except that it isn’t. Odd, right? We are happy. Busy but really happy. I consider our freedom and abundance to be busy with these things a great blessing. I wish I had more time to be a better friend but I appreciate the effort of my family to stay close to me and hope my friends know that I love them even if I don’t stay in touch with them:) Blogging and Facebook are about the only way for me to be a friend right now.

I hope if this does get read in 50 or 100 years, it’s considered a good, happy life. Maybe it will even seem simple and old-fashioned. I love serving my family. They are my favorite people and I want them to be fulfilled and satisfied. It’s interesting to me that keeping track for one week can’t possibly cover all of our “normals.” It’s a good start but even this week will be quite different (don’t worry. I won’t be logging it).

Looking forward to more March Madness blogging but I am glad the Time Capsule is over.

Time Capsule - Day Four

6:30 Wake up before everyone (except Jay. He’s already out the door - running and feeding cows)
6:35 Daniel wakes up.
6:35-6:50 feed an absolutely charming Daniel (he’s so smiley!)
6:45 Everyone else comes downstairs grumpy and tired
6:50 Feed Henry a muffin, Sam a muffin, Seth some Lucky Charms (we’re super healthy around here)
6:55 Make lunch for Sam
7:00 Instruct Sam and Henry to get their stuff together and get in the van.
7:10 Henry can’t find his shoes
7:12 Henry and I are grumpy at each other as I drive him and Sam down to the bus with Daniel on my lap.
7:17 Realize that we missed the bus. Turn around to go get Daniel’s car seat so I can drive them to school.
7:18 While inside, find Henry’s shoes on the floor in the mud room. Special mom eyes, I guess. Tell Seth to be ready in 20 minutes.
7:20 Drive Sam and Henry to school
7:30 Help Henry change from his boots to his shoes. He has a meltdown in car.
7:35 Drive back home to get Seth
7:45 Leave car running and go inside to let Seth know I’m back. Notice Henry’s homework folder on floor of mudroom full of the homework we stayed up late finishing. Grrrr.
7:45-7:50 Change into my workout clothes so I can run homework into elementary school and be ready at 8:30 when Stephanie comes to pick me up for our 9:00 Totally Toned class.
7:50-8:00 Drive Seth to middle school.
8:00 Gas light comes on. Realize I’ve drive 379 miles since Monday afternoon. Drive to gas station to fill up.
8:10 Drive back home realizing there is no way I can get Henry’s folder to him and still make my workout. Decide he’ll have to face the consequences for forgetting it. Realize that consequences for forgetting Kindergarten homework should be an oxymoron.
8:15 Nurse and change Daniel. Worry a little that Jay is still not home.
8:15 - 8:30 continually look out window while I nurse and wonder where Jay is.
8:35 Stephanie arrives. I tell her to leave her boys with me and go to the class. I wait and worry about Jay. Maybe he got hit by a car or broke his leg on his run?
8:40-9:00 Talk to Ethan and Caden while they eat their breakfast. Unload dishwasher. Load dishwasher with breakfast dishes.
9:00 Jay comes home from a long run. Realizes I had a 9:00 class. He apologizes and I fume and start to vigorously clean the kitchen.
9:05-9:50 Scare Jay with my icy daggers. While annoyed, I am incredibly productive and fold a load of laundry, make my bed, clean my bathroom, pick up living room,wipe down kitchen counters, sweep floor, take out trash, walk trashcan to end of driveway and pick up mudroom.
9:50 Realize everyone makes mistakes and that I still have time to make another class. Tell Jay I am going to the 10:30 spin class. He is visibly relieved.
10:00 Leave for spin class
10:10 Call Sarah
10:30-11:30 Spin up a sweaty storm. It felt so good and all of the morning’s cloud went away.
11:45 Home and relieved to discover Daniel still asleep. Turn on shower.
11:50 Finally get in shower (it takes forever for the hot water to reach our master bathroom)
12:00 Get dressed, spritz sea salt onto my wet hair so it can air dry, put on make-up.
12:10 Jay asks me out on a lunch date.
12:15 Nurse and change Daniel
12:30 Drive to mexican restaurant with Jay and Daniel. Talk about politics, sports and hornet’s nest that Jay stirred with his email to the club soccer lady.
12:45-1:15 eat a hasty lunch of fish tacos while bouncing a very fussy Daniel on my knee. He’s kind of a lunch date killjoy.
1:15-1:30 Drive home. Stop for a soda for Jay (still haven’t had one since the day before I delivered Daniel).
1:45 Read Delicacy
1:55 Nurse Daniel
2:00 Sam and Henry arrive home from school.
2:00-2:30 Ooh and Aah over artwork and other school work sent him in Friday folder. Look at both boys 2nd trimester report cards.
2:30-2:45 Listen to Sam practice the piano while reading book. Put Daniel down for a nap.
3:00 Seth home from school. Looks pale and sick.
3:00-4:30 Read and finish book with lots of interruptions. Boys watch Florida Alabama Men’s basketball game.
4:30-5:00 Read and respond to annoying commenter on Goodreads. Send texts to sister Emily. Jay takes Seth and Sam with him to work with their steers.
5:00-5:30 Thaw meat for dinner. Update time capsule log. Eat too many Mini Cadburry eggs (they are of the devil!)
5:30-6:00 Slice tenderloin into thin strips for mongolian beef. Start rice in pot. Slice up green onions.
6:00 Boys home from working with steers. Dinner is ready but Daniel is crying now.
6:10 Nurse Daniel while boys are at the table eating
6:20 Join the group at the table. For about five minutes. Daniel is super fussy.
6:30 Do bicycle legs on Daniel to try and relieve what I think is a stomach upset from gassiness. Texts with Stephanie and the mom of Seth’s science fair partner about getting the boys ready for science fair. Jay does the dinner dishes.
6:45 Change into pajamas because its going to be a long evening of holding an angry baby.
7:00 Start watching Netflix documentary called American Teen with Jay. Interesting but annoying to watch because our DVD player is on the fritz and would continually freeze. Boys go downstairs to play the Wii.
7:05-8:45 Watch movie while taking turns standing and holding Daniel in the football hold - the only position in which he doesn’t cry.
8:45 - Daniel finally nurses and starts to fall asleep.
9:00 - 9:15 Sit in chair rocking Daniel and wonder why he is so fussy sometimes. I think he must need to poop. Jay gets boys in bed. I regret not calling the boys down to read scriptures and have family prayer.
9:15-9:45 Read Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy in bed. It is one of the most difficult books I have ever read. Jay falls asleep reading his book.
9:45 Lights out. Oh yeah! It’s Friday night. We’re wild and crazy people!

Time Capsule - Day Three

6:15-6:25 -meditate. It's going to be another long day.

6:25-7:00 - breakfast for boys.  Make lunches.  Eat poppy seed muffin for breakfast. 

7:05 - drive boys down end of driveway with Daniel on my lap to catch bus.

7:15-7:30  - Nurse and change Daniel.  Put in crib for morning nap.

7:30-8:00  - Clean kitchen from last night's dinner mess and breakfast.  Put a white load in washer.  Load dishwasher and start it.

8:00 - talk to friend, Lori, on phone about how New Beginnings went.

8:25-8:35 - vacuum floors.  Wipe off dining room table.  

8:45 - scrub out toilet bowls in master bathroom and main floor bath.

8:50 - switch clothes from washer to dryer.  Put in load of colors.

8:55 - make bed

9:00 - upload photos.  Post blog.  Return emails.  Call Middle school to excuse Seth who is home sick again.

9:05 - check Facebook

9:10 - change into workout clothes.

9:15 - nurse Daniel

9:25 - get in car to drive to gym.  Call Jen to wish her a Happy Birthday!

9:45-11:00 - personal training session with Kim.  Got all my measurements taken and weighed.  I'm getting back in the game!  And it was a really hard workout.  

11:05-11:15 - drive to park to meet Stephanie who has Daniel

11:25-12:15 - grocery shop at Walmart with Daniel in Ergo carrier



found his thumb on the ride home from Walmart! 

12:15-12:45 - nurse Daniel and watch video from facebook about Joseph Kony and the campaign to arrest him.

12:45 - 12:55  - bring in and put away groceries from car

12:55 - change Daniel's diaper and put in crib for afternoon nap

1:00 - eat  Southwest chicken salad for lunch.  Talk to Seth.

1:15 - move colors to dryer.  Fold white load.

1:30 - start making dinner.  Triple batch of my sister-in-law, Tara's, mac-n-cheese.

2:00 - 2:30 research about this Kony guy and why this video is going viral.  

3:00 - dinner made and kitchen cleaned up.

3:10 - changed from workout clothes into everyday clothes.  Still haven't showered though.

3:20 - get piano books ready and afterschool snacks for Sam, Henry and Sam's friend.

3:30 - command all boys to get into car.  

3:35-3:50 - drive Seth to piano lesson.

3:55-4:10 - drive Sam and Everett to soccer at middle school.

4:15-4:30 - drive back to piano lesson.  Call my mom and talk to her and Sarah who are both at Jen's house.

4:30-4:35 Drive around to keep Daniel asleep.  He wakes up.  Park and nurse him.

4:40 - Seth done with piano lesson.  His teacher comes out to car to talk to me. 

4:50-5:10 - drive to Lori's house to drop off dinner.  She's trying a GF diet for one of her kids for two weeks and it can be overwhelming to think of meals at first.  Plus, I just like her.



get behind slow car on the way.  Guess what make and model????

5:10-5:30 - drive to middle school to wait for Sam to finish soccer practice.

5:30 - 5:45 - watch Sam practice with his team in the cold rain.  Hold Daniel outside with blanket and coat around him.

5:55 - home.  Preheat oven and put macaroni and cheese in.  Set table.

6:10 - Clark and Stephanie come over with Ethan and Caden for dinner. 

6:20 - sit down to dinner.  Daniel won't stop fussing so I stand and eat at the nearby counter.  Love watching Henry enjoy his younger cousins.



Ethan and Henry playing telephone with their cantaloupe rinds.

6:40 - try to nurse Daniel to calm him down but he won't have anything to do with it.

6:50 - excuse myself to my bedroom to see if a quieter room will help.  It doesn't.  

7:00 - give Daniel a bath to calm him down.  He loves it.  Jay does the dishes.

7:10 - put Daniel in PJs.  Try to nurse him again.

7:15 - nope.  But he will suck on my finger.  He falls asleep.

7:20 - 8:00 - sit on couch with Stephanie and Sam and chat.  Sam needs a little bit of help with his long division homework. Clark and Jay are nearby talking about cows and imaging and surgery of the foot.


8:15 - Clark and Stephanie start rounding up their boys to go home.  I realize we still have Kindergarten homework to do and start looking for a baby, toddler, preschool and school picture of him.

8:25 - give Seth some NyQuil to help him sleep.

8:30-8:45 - help Henry finish his homework.  Jay holds a fussy Daniel.

9:00 - 9:15 - nurse Daniel to sleep.  He's pretty cute.

9:20 - answer call from Lori thanking me for dinner.  

9:35 - 9:50 - check Facebook.  Update daily time capsule log

10:00 -get ready for bed.  

10:20 - lights out