Feelings on September 5th

I've really, really got nothing today. Henry has some bug that makes him scream like a banshee and presently at 5:43 pm, I'm frazzled. I didn't know what exactly the problem was until he blew out of his diaper and slid down a wall, leaving me a fun mess to clean up. Sorry if that is too much imagery for you.

In other news, I'm so frustrated with blogmusik or deezer or whatever they call themselves thesedays. I really look forward to finding different songs for my sidebar but for the last several days, they no longer play. So, I've been looking for another music player to put on my sidebar, found this ilike thing and don't like it at all. It doesn't even play the entire song.

But, on a happy, happy note, my fabulous brother is celebrating #35 today. His was my first birthday tribute last year, and it feels a bit redundant to do another. I very much enjoyed writing them, however, so not clacking away on my keyboard about his many unique qualities leaves me wanting. At the minimum, here is a reminder of the things I adore about my one and only brother.

Happy Birthday Jon!

He Knows Me

Last night, after a full day in the mountains when my fuse was getting shorter and I was struggling to get three tired boys into bed after their baths, I said something sharp to the boys. I don't remember what, exactly, but probably something like, "Why are you shoes left out in the middle of the entryway?" or "How does so much water end up on the floor? Do you realize it ruins the floor and creates extra laundry for me to do?" Typical mother fatigue and frustration.

Seth is ultra sensitive to my moods and has recently discovered a way to divert a mommy meltdown. As soon as my voice starts to rise, he comes over to me, wraps his skinny little arms around my waist and tells me he loves me. I've noticed him using it more and more and usually it's enough to calm me down and focus on the big picture again.

He used his technique last night and it totally worked. I smiled at him and told him I loved him too and he confessed to this new strategy. "Mom, if I tell you I love you or that you're a great mom when you start getting frustrated, you don't yell at us."

On one hand, I'm deeply ashamed that my seven year old has had to come up with this defensive mechanism to deal with me. He shouldn't feel he has to bear the burden to keep the family mood happy. That's my job.

On the other hand, I adore this boy and his sweet soul who knows me well enough to know that all I need is a little affirmation or encouragement to be better. Moreover, I think my Heavenly Father knows and loves me well enough to send me this child so that I can become the person He wants me to become.

Book Review #15 - The Hemingway Bookclub of Kosovo

I didn't decide that I liked this book until the very last few pages. I thought the title was misleading as most of the book had very little to do with the author, Paula Huntley, teaching Hemingway and a lot to do with her own personal thoughts about the pollution, Kosovar's view of Americans, whether or not they had electricity that day etc.

The title comes from a name she gives a group of students she is teaching English to. She only has one Hemingway book, The Old Man and the Sea, which she copies for her entire class. Huntley mentions teaching the book briefly, but it isn't until the very end of this book, that she ties in the great Hemingway story and returns to Kosovo with t-shirts emblazoned with this logo, that I felt like this little book club really existed. It's not obvious and her writing is much more broad in scope than this one classroom experience.

In her defense, Huntley describes this book as accidental. It really is made up of her journal entries that she wrote without any intention of publishing. It wasn't until those receiving her emails initiated the book idea, and she was made an offer from a publisher, that she considered sharing her thoughts with the world. The result is a mixture of mundane, uncensored thought with truthful, personal insight.

I am ashamed to admit that I had to research online about the Kosovo/Serb/Albanian conflict. Of course, I had heard about Milosivec and his war crimes, but I didn't know how the Kosovo conflict related to Bosnia and Sarajevo and that entire region that I was more familiar with. Truthfully, it's complicated and I still don't understand the entire Balkan War. It is about ethnic cleansing and old grudges. It is hard for me to imagine, as a multi-generational American, how such intolerance and ignorance can exist in this day and age when the world is so much smaller and we have access to so much information. How can people still believe that races, or ethnicities, or religions as a whole, actually produce an inferior and worthless human being? This happened seven years ago, and they are still talking with so much generalizations! ALL Serbs, ALL Albanians, ALL Americans etc. Anytime a sentence begins with or contains an "ALL" I bristle. This kind of tragedy is what happens when we fail to see the individual spirit.

Essentially, that is what Huntley much teach these young Kosovar Albanians. That while they have been oppressed and persecuted, they must adjust their thinking. And to accomplish that change, they must have the VOCABULARY to communicate with the world without violence.

The book didn't have much to do with a Hemingway bookclub and I would have loved a more in-depth look at their discussion of the book and the parallels that Huntley ultimately draws from it, but I did end up rooting for Leonard and the Professor and her other students, which is why Huntley decided to go ahead and publish. She wanted us to know these individuals and understand the beauty of the Kosovar soul. I'm glad I got a glimpse

Climb Every Mountain

I love the mountains! I seriously think I could live in a small, provincial town tucked into a rugged mountain peak. Today, the boys and I went up to Snowbird with Kelly, Jerry, Matt, Kate and Grandma Karen. We had a great time and I wonder why I'm not there more often. It's where my heart feels at home.

Riding the tram up

Ri-Col-la!
(Snowbird's Oktoberfest festival is going on)

The group on our mini-hike down the mountain. Pretty good job for all of the little people! (And the pregnant lady wasn't too shabby either:))

Me and my boys. You have to imagine Henry's cute face, though.

He did enjoy some freedom at times.

Seth is horrified by this picture, but I still think it's cute.

50% Invested

Yesterday was the season opener for the BYU Cougar football team. When we knew we were going to be close for a year, we splurged and bought four season tickets for our family. I'm a girl who likes football, my boys like football and Jay tolerates it so that he can spend time with the rest of us (it's hard to emote sarcasm in the written word so here's a little winky guy so that my meaning is conveyed;-)).

Unfortunately for him, his call debut and his holiday shift fell on this weekend. He had to switch some stuff around, which is painful for a guy who doesn't like to rock the boat, but managed to make it to the game by halftime. This is what he missed:

The game didn't start until 3:30 pm, so I had some stalling to do so that everyone had enough energy and happy thoughts to enjoy the game. I had originally thought about going to campus before the game to hit the WILK and buy some t-shirts but by the time I would have needed to leave my house to get down there to shop AND make it to the game on time, I knew I didn't want or need to punish myself that much. I told the boys that we'd get t-shirts another time, definitely before the next game, but that didn't make them feel better as we walked to the stadium alongside the masses wearing their Cougar Blue. I believe the new theme for the year, or at least what some marketing genius decided would produce the most guilt for parents who didn't buy their kids t-shirts, is "Fully Invested".

Kelly, who has a mother's heart and is in the running for best sister-in-law ever, called me about an hour before I was planning on leaving, with an offer to watch Henry during the game. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew he'd be hard to bring, but I mostly figured it would be like having him at church, except he could freely make noise and lots of it.

But I took her up on her offer after she reminded me that it was possible Jay would never make it to the game and once there, I was so glad I didn't have him. When we parked, my van thermostat read 97 degrees! We had to walk almost a mile to the stadium and there were so many people everywhere. I had a hand on each of my boys and it was still stressful. Our hands were sweaty and we could hear the speakers in the stadium announcing the players and Seth wanted to be there already but Sammy couldn't go any faster. At the stadium, we hiked up to our seats that are five rows from the top. Thankfully, luckily, happily...our tickets are on the west side and we had shade. I was dripping sweat by the time we sat down. I could feel it trickling down my back and the hair on my neck was wet. It would have been so hard with Henry there. Even without him, I was wondering if I should walk back and sell my tickets to the Japanese men who were holding a sign outside the stadium that said, "Will pay handsomely for tickets." Very tempting.

There is a rule against bringing ANYTHING inside the stadium. Purses are allowed but they are checked and they can't be big. No water, no food. We were really trying to get to our seats for the opening kick-off so didn't stop off at a concession stand before making our hike. About 2 minutes into the game and Sammy started telling me how thirsty he was. His cheeks were red and I was actually thirsty too but we had just sat down and the stairs were still crowded with people getting to their seats. I told him to wait.

I made it to the second quarter, but could hold Sammy off no longer. The game held no interest for a boy about to die. Once again thankful I didn't have to lug Henry on my hip, we descended to the concession stand and spent $10 on drinks. Two water bottles and a soda. They really meant FULLY invested.

I love the mountains here! I've always thought this has to be one of the most picturesque stadiums in the country.

Jay wishes our seats were better but I thought they were great.

I still don't know who any of the players are but Go Cougar Go!

With hydration and Dad around, the game became truly fun. Ty Detmer's and Gifford Nielsen's jerseys were retired at halftime. The band sounded great, the cheerleaders did all sorts of fun stunts and Cosmo is a lot more entertaining to me now than he was when I was eighteen. BYU looks decent and the rest of the game we screamed and cheered and sang and stomped our feet and even sang Popcorn Popping (still playing all the crowd favorites!). Even better, our team won, Seth has great material for his classroom weekend journal (I have a feeling it's all going to be about our awful punter. His primary teacher told me Seth was going on and on about BYU's weak kicking game) and I never have to do it without Jay again!

All smiles now!

Well...almost.

Maintenance Required

I proudly declare to all within earshot (or those who have RSS readers, in this particular case) that I am a low-maintenance girl. If we're friends, I don't get my feathers ruffled if you only call once a year. Or less. I'm just glad I know ya! No need to hold my hand with my church calling. I'll figure it out on my own and get the job done. I hope my husband will attest that I cope quite nicely with his long hours and don't expect unrealistic or unfair things from him during his grueling training. I don't even need him to call me during the day. With his awkward phone skills, me letting that one slide is really a blessing for both of us.

Physically, I shower, blow dry my hair, apply my easy breezy Cover Girl (or Almay, or NYC, or Wet and Wild, or Rimmel, or Neutrogena or Revlon...I'm not brand loyal) make-up, pluck a few stray eyebrows and I'm off! Usually no jewelry, definitely no belts or scarves and if it's summer, you'll see me in flip flops. I'm not arguing that my maintenance level is ideal, it just is what it is.

My sister-in-law, Molly, is in town because she is dropping off my niece at college. You'd never guess that she has a child old enough for college. She is quite well maintained. While she's in town, we decided to do a sisters thing together. Kelly made us appointments at a spa that she has gone to and she, myself, Molly and Stephanie got fancy spa pedicures. My mother-in-law, Karen, said she didn't care about her feet and opted for a massage instead.

I have never been to a spa. I've always wanted to but have never felt justified in spending that kind of money on beautification because....well...I'm low maintenance. I really had no idea how much different it would be from going to the nearest stripmall for a $20 pedicure. Um...it's different.

We arrived together and a cute girl at the front desk checked us in. It was a pretty foyer with running water down a wall, smelly candles, lots of fancy products to buy and a sign that said to speak softly throughout the building and to turn cell phones off. Nice, but kind of like the Aveda store in the mall. The cute girl asked us what size of spa sandals we wanted to wear and I declined her offer. My black sandals would work well and that way, I avoided announcing in a place of beauty a "nine and a half" right after my sisters-in-law requested their much smaller sized sandals.

From there, we passed through double doors into a dimly lit hallway. The temperature immediately went up about 15 degrees and we sort of felt along the walls for the ladies changing room. The changing room was beautiful. Dark wood lockers, a beautiful vanity with hair dryers, soaps, lotions, cotton balls, hair bands etc. Inside each locker was a purple robe. I kind of felt sick to my stomach at this point. Was I required to undress? For my feet? Kelly assured me that I was fine, that I didn't have to change at all, but she liked to so afterwards she could sit in the steam room. She took her purple robe to change, and Molly, Stephanie and Karen all chose to change too.

I really didn't want to be the "which-one-of-these-is-not-like-the-other?" sister, but didn't know if the purple robe hanging in the closet was like the towels they give you at hotel swimming pools - made for small people. I checked for the size and relaxed when it said XL on the tag. Purple robe it was.

Of course, my purple robe wasn't cute and humongous and totally indulgent looking on me as it looked on my much smaller family relations. I knew when I sat down, that I was going to need to take care to not show too much upper thigh as I didn't have tons of fabric to spare. We all waddled down to the mediation room in our purple glory and I wished I had the spongy spa sandals instead of my dressier black ones. But it was a short walk and we weren't in the room for long before five beautiful people dressed in black came in, calling each of us by name. Karen's masseuse came first and as HE and she left the room, Kelly mouthed, "I'm sorry!" to her as Karen shook her fist at her (in that friendly-you-said-you'd-request-a-woman-but-I'm-not-really-mad way).

The rest of us went to the pedicure room where five large leather stations were situated in an almost circle. We each took our seat and chose our colors and I sat there nervously wondering if I had adequate robe coverage when my feet were up getting worked on and my pedicurist sat precariously in the danger zone. I pulled and tucked when I could, but I'm still not sure what was seen. Here's hoping I'm not blacklisted for indecent exposure!

The pedicure was lovely. I have bright red toes that delight me. Afterwards, we returned to the mediation room (think a dimly lit expensive hotel lobby) and treated ourselves to some hot water with squirts of different flavored tonics, fruit and lemon water. We sat there for at least an hour until we were all feeling too warm.

Lovely ladies in lavender.

Once I was dressed and my eyes became readjusted to sunlight, I paid for my pedicure and the repair cream that I guiltily purchased after watching the poor woman toiling to buff my nasty cracked heels. I picked up a pamphlet with descriptions about all of their services and I realized how handicapped I am.

There is no way I can compete with people who get some of this work done! Microdermabrasion, eyelash extensions, cellulite reduction, hair removal, waxing, toning, lifting, rubbing....that's a lot of maintenance and even more money! No wonder I look so frumpy! My feet should be the least of my concerns. I mean...eyelash extensions! I don't even have the patience to use my curler every day.

I don't know if I could or should get used to such pampering. It's one thing to go and get my nails painted while I smell acetone and wondering if I'm being talked about in a foreign language, but it's another thing, entirely, to go to a spa for a pedicure. Regardless, it was great to spend time with my sisters-in-law and literally put my feet up for an afternoon. I feel pretty!

Yes, those are my long tree-climbing toes. But don't you love the red?

Do you like pedicures? Would you undress for one? Would you get eyelash extensions?

Book Review #14 - Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

I picked this book up two days ago to read the first page (I personally think you can tell a lot about a book from the first page) and was hooked. I'm in the middle of another book, which is a good book, but the jarring nature of the prose reeled me in. The first chapter is called, "What the?" which is exactly what I was thinking. I was instantly reminded of another great book, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, where you actually experience the book as well as read it. While I wouldn't want every book to be written like that, because it's a bit like riding a roller coaster in the dark with strobe lights, it sure is fun every once in a while.

Jonathan Safran Foer, the author, writes the tale of a nine year old boy named Oskar Schell, whose father was in the World Trade Center when the planes flew into them on September 11th. I think its fair to say that the boy becomes extremely troubled after his father's death, but with the unconventional childhood he had, it didn't take much to push him over the edge. His father was an atheist and Oskar never had the opportunity to experience the innocence most children are usually allowed. He was taught that he exists because his father and mother made love and his father's sperm fertilized his mother's egg and through meiosis and mitosis created a new human made up of cells. And when a person dies, they are gone and only their cells go on. After a period of time had passed and there was no recovery of his father's body, his mother buried an empty coffin.

This passage of the book is great: Oscar tells his mother, "It's just an empty box." "It's more than an empty box." "Why would I want to spend eternity next to an empty box?" Mom said, "His spirit is there," and that made me really angry. I told her, "Dad didn't have a spirit! He had cells!" "His memory is there." "His memory is there," I said, pointing at my head. "Dad had a spirit," she said, like she was rewinding a bit in our conversation. I told her, "He had cells, and now they're on rooftops, and in the river, and in the lungs of millions of people around New York, who breathe him every time they speak!"

That is how the parts that are narrated by Oskar are written. The dialogue is only differentiated by quotation marks, but there are very few, "he said"s or "she described"s. The author makes you pay attention to who is doing the speaking. But only when Oskar is narrating. It's part of experiencing Oskar.

The book also tells the story of Oskar's paternal grandparents. The narration changes when both tell their own story. When his grandmother writes, there are no paragraphs and no quotations marks. Lots of odd spacing and most sentences get their own line. She's kind of crazy herself which you know by how she reacts when watching Oskar in his school's play of Hamlet and her conversations with Oskar. Oskar's grandfather...well...that's when you really see crazy. The author uses the most license with him and parts of the book are downright bizarre. Like the eight pages with nothing on them. Or when he starts to write smaller and smaller so that two entire pages are just dark black scribbles because some many words are on top of themselves.

It's more than just tricks on the page, however. The story is really about grief and how Oskar chooses to grieve for his father and how Oskar's grandparents grieved after losing much of what they loved when their city of Dresden was bombed in World War II.

When Oskar finds a key in an envelope with the word "Black" written on it inside a vase in his parent's bedroom, he sets out to discover what it unlocks. He goes about this by finding every person with the last name of "Black" in the five boroughs of New York City and spends almost a year going out on the weekends to ask Aaron, Abel, Amber etc. if they know anything about the key. A few interesting characters and stories get told through this storyline, but the real beauty of this book is how it made me remember and react to the horror of 9/11 again. You kind of forget....with the War on Terror, and the Iraq War and all of the stories that have happened during the last six years how horrible it was to watch those burning buildings go down on live TV. The last 14 pages of the book are pictures Oskar got off of a Portuguese web site that had a picture of a man who had jumped from the building. He put them in reverse order and you see this body in the air going up. The wish of a nine year old boy.

This book is exactly what its title says it is. Extremely and incredibly written. It's different, but I sure liked it.

My Fearless Leader

A few weeks ago, Seth wore his Denver Broncos jersey to school. It was the first time he chose to wear something other than a polo, which he has somehow decided is the official look for school. His jersey is something special, however, and although it doesn't have a collar, it has routinely worked its way into his classroom fashions.

Once he walked into his classroom, his teacher looked at his shirt and said, "Seth, you can't wear that in here!" When his teacher recounted this story to me, she told me Seth looked a little panicked until she followed with, "We don't like the Broncos in this room. We cheer for the Kansas City Chiefs!"

A rivalry was born and when I went in to volunteer last week, she told me how much fun she is having with Seth and is amazed at his memory of specific games. He remembers how many times the Chiefs fumbled against the Broncos last year and other random statistics. It's crazy. Seth comes home each day and reports with glee the ribbing he and his teacher gave each other that day. I explained to him that while it's fun, it's more important for him to show respect for his teacher and to never, ever say something rude or mean. He assures me that he never would and his teacher reported the same thing.

On Monday, Seth snuck home his classroom journal. His teachers looks through it every week and makes comments. Her last entry to him basically told him that he had so much to learn that year. Lucky for him, she was his teacher because he would eventually realize that the Chiefs were better than the Broncos. I think it's hilarious that she is keeping this up with him.

The entire class has been working on writing persuasive letters. I know that Seth is working on a letter for me in class, but he came home and told me that he wanted to write one to his teacher to persuade her to cheer for the Broncos. We worked on it a couple of nights ago, sealed it in an envelope and he took it to school with him the next day.

Today, when I volunteered, she told me how much she loved that letter. She's been showing it to all the teachers and around her church group (her husband is a youth minister) and everyone is impressed with Seth and his passion. Right before I was about to leave, they were finishing working on finding errors in sentences she was writing on the overhead projector. Things like words that needed to be capitalized, missing commas etc. The last sentence she wrote was, "The kansas city chiefs are the best football teem in the united stats of america" When she uncovered it, the entire class roared. 25 seven and eight year olds shouting, "No! The Denver Broncos are the best football team!" Every kid that went up to the overhead to make a correction tried to cross out Kansas City and write Denver or replace Chiefs with Broncos. It was a classroom sensation.

After the sentence was fixed, Seth's classmates' eyes were bright and they were all murmuring to each other about how they were going to convince their teacher to cheer for the Broncos. He has his entire class converted to his cause. I know it's about football, and all kids like to get the kind of attention Seth's teacher has been giving Seth, but it still makes me smile. I love how he has embraced his class and they have embraced him. I love how his teacher has used this one kid's quirky passion and gotten her entire class working together. Most of all, I love that Seth has shown that even if he's the new kid, he still stands up for what he believes in.

Book Review #13 - The Fiery Cross

The Fiery Cross is the fifth book in a series written by Diana Gabaldon about Clare Fraser, who can travel through time by touching stones (think stonehenge). The first time she time travelled, it was an accident. She travelled two-hundred years backward to the 1740s and met the love her life, Jamie Frasier, a Scottish highlander. Their love story has developed through out each of the books as Gabaldon details the historical setting that surrounds them. In The Fiery Cross, the year is 1771 and the unrest and dissatisfaction of the colonists in the New World are humming. Even though the author uses almost 1,000 pages, the story progresses less than a year through time. That's an awful lot of information, in my opinion, without anything really happening to the characters. Jamie continues to lead, Clare continues to freak out everyone by practicing 20th century medicine in the 18th century, Briana continues to nurse (I couldn't believe how often the author had to point that out to us readers. Her breasts are hardened with milk again????) and Roger continues to be a complete fish out of water. In fact, I believe this book gets read solely because it is part of a series where the reader is already attached to the main characters. Separate it from the other books, and The Fiery Cross is unnecessarily wordy and quite dull.

This book came out four years after the previous book in this series, Drums of Autumn. Four years. I finished Drums of Autumn only few months ago and I was constantly confused by the many, many unimportant names of characters Gabaldon throws at her readers. Who? Is this important?

Turns out, not really. My theory as to why she bothers making it so complicated is that she is trying to convince the masses that these books are much more than fantasy romance, but legitimate historical fiction. She makes her point. Gabaldon clearly has done a lot of research about the living conditions, medicinal remedies, and political atmosphere of the pre-revolutionary war colonies. She included it all and then some. Lots and lots of digression about medicine that Claire Fraser would not have learned or remembered from her med school days. They do not teach microbiology stain techniques, or pathology to the extent that she would be the expert she always ends up being. Gabaldon seems to forget that Clare was a surgeon, and since she rarely gets to do surgery, the author flaunts what she's learned about medicine elsewhere in the book and always uses Clare as her medium. I find it annoying. Clare wouldn't know all of that stuff and making her some sort of superbrain takes away from the realness of her character. Why can't Claire just be wrong...or simply not know? She's pigeonholed her greatest characters. Jamie must be uberbrave. Claire must be ubersmart. Throw in some nookie a few times and you've got your book.

This took way too long for me to read. It simply wasn't very interesting. Until, of course, the very end. Around page 920, she finally threw in some of her good stuff - the time travel stuff. Genuine conflict and not just a side story that takes you somewhere for 100 pages without a purpose. Darn it...I'm going to have to read the next one!

Highs and Lows

I've mentioned to some that I had an opportunity to go to a very cool fireside last night. It was a parenting class given by Richard and Linda Eyre with a talk by M. Russell Ballard. Tickets were handed out during church per couple, but then they told us they were per person and...sorry. So only I went. Jay argued that I needed the class more, but that's debatable.

Now, let me just say that I don't think we're bad parents and in dire need of instruction. We certainly aren't perfect but I would say that, generally, we are doing an o.k. job. They're well fed, get plenty of sleep, aren't spoiled, protected from most harm, getting an education and receive ample amounts of love and hugs and kisses. Of course, there is always room for improvement.

For instance, on Saturday, we headed out to a bowling alley for some clean family fun. It was Seth's idea and sounded harmless, other than our usual dilemma of what to do with Henry in public. We arrive, don the appropriate footwear, arrange for bumpers to rise magically from the floor when it was our younglings' turns and fill our ball return with a wide variety of weighted balls.

We paid in advance for two games. You'd think that would earn us some extra points from the best-parents-in-the-world bank but instead it was a serious tactical error. Seth started with some pretty good bowls. Maybe it was luck, maybe the six pound ball got the best of him, but after about 8 rounds of the first game, his play went downhill. He ball seemed to follow the bumper down and he'd knock out 1 or 2 pins. The second ball often followed the first trajectory and whiffed by the other untouched pins. He didn't win either of the games (although he legitimately beat me in game one) and while we try to teach good sportsmanship and how to enjoy the game and not just the winning, he still thinks the only real reason to do anything is to win. By the middle of game two, Jay and I were treated to frequent comments like, "I'm the worst bowler in the world." and "I'm never going to be a good bowler." That is our Seth. If you know him, you know what I'm talking about. He's super competitive and super hard on himself. He got the perfectionist gene and if it wasn't a strike (and he luckily got a couple of them) then it was terrible. He constantly gets me in trouble from teachers because I'm sure they think he hears it at home.

The camera came out during the earlier, happier times.
Seth is still all smiles.

This would have taken place immediately after one of his lucky strikes. He liked to run around screaming, "Oh, yeah! Oh yeah!"

Sammy, on the other hand, wasn't very interested in the actual sport of bowling, but wanted to run back quickly, the instant that ball was out of his hand, to see what cartoon sequence they'd put on the screen after the pins went down. There was actually no hurry as his ball usually only travelled 2 mph down the lane. One time, in an attempt to help his ball make its way to the pins with a little more oomph, I went with him and stood behind him with my hands on the ball as well. Of course I pushed when he wasn't ready and he ran down the waxy lane to get his ball back. He fell hard and his arm still hurts from his fall. Strike two! Are we having fun yet?

Getting ready for his turn

It looks like it might get some speed....but no.

Henry, bless his heart, did fairly well during game one. He took a few turns which only made him hungry for more.

He didn't actually carry his ball over. But he would have liked to try.

Watching it go.

If we put him down, he walked over to try to pull ten pound balls off the rack or over to another group's lane. Jay and I took turns following him around, staying with him in the arcade where he could turn the steering wheel to one of those driving games and holding him on our laps.

This really is what Henry looks like, a lot of the time. Can you hear him?
"Grunt"

Towards the end of the second game, all three boys were in the arcade instead of watching the bowling. Jay was going for a turkey (he was having a fabulous time and bowled his best game ever) and I sort of snapped at everyone to "Get back over there! We paid for you to bowl not play video games! This is the last time we're going bowling for a long time!" Then came the tears. Success!

I was ready to go to the parenting class.

It was fantastic. Really. Funny, interesting, spiritual, and very helpful. I came away with some great ideas. But better than that, I came home with a renewed sense of purpose. I was going to be a better mom! I had a completely new perspective!

Some of my favorite things said were:

• We are all free agents. Our children too. 2 NE 2:27 it says:
• Wherefore, men are ^afree according to the ^bflesh; and ^call things are ^dgiven them which are expedient unto man. And they are free to ^echoose ^fliberty and eternal ^glife, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil; for he seeketh that all men might be ^hmiserable like unto himself.
  
• The point is, our children need magnificent leaders and teachers. Us.
  
• Live from good moment to good moment. It'll get you through the rough patches.
• You will not ever lose a child until and unless you give up. There is a promise that eventually, reconciliation will come.
  
• A difficult child is a compliment to you from God. Let's not judge each other.
• One of the BEST things you can do as parents is to share how tough it is with others.
  

They talked us through their four hints that are universally applicable to all families. They are:

1. You need family laws with clear and reasonable consequences.
   
2. You need to teach responsibility by having a family economy.
3. You need to create stability and reassurance with family traditions.
4. You need to realize you can't do it alone. You will need help from the outside.

They had lots of examples and stories for each point and I left feeling better and ready to try and be a better mother. My absolute favorite story was told by Richard Eyre about a time when his children were younger and he was trying to prepare for a big meeting at the white house on family values. He was nervous about the next day and needed a good night's sleep, but their baby at the time was fussing during the night. He got up to try and get him to fall asleep, but the baby just wasn't settling down fast enough. He told us how irritated he was at this, "annoying little noisemaker" when it dawned on him that this little person was really just his brother. The baby's eternal, spiritual soul wasn't that of a baby and he, Richard, just happened to get to come to earth 40 years before him. He said, "If he had happened to come 40 years before, and was holding me because I was small and cranky, I'd want him to lighten up! Be nice!"

I loved that. Henry, my biggest challenge right now, is often an annoying little noisemaker. Or an annoying little mess maker. I find this age extremely challenging because I don't think he GETS it...so its hard to reason with him and its hard to stay patient with him too. But, maybe...it will be easier if I think of him as my cool brother who is going to laugh with me someday about all the places he hid the toothbrushes in our house.

Getting caught going for the toothbrushes.

Then he turns on the charm...

You'd think today, I would still be riding high from last night's boost. That's what I thought. But my kids didn't know that today was going to be a special, perfect day and in typical fashion, by four o'clock, all of my kids were crying about something. Seth, because I took him out of school too early (I went in to help with their nacho party...it was a half hour before school got out and his teacher let me leave with him early so that I wouldn't have to come back and fight the madness. But...he missed the critical Heads Up/7 up game. I don't know when I'll be forgiven) and now he was bored, Sammy because he "didn't get to do anything fun that day" which roughly translates into not seeing his cousin, Matt (because apparently going to the library to read and check out books and to a park to play and to Target to choose a dollar prize and going to Seth's Nacho party and consuming a full plate of Velveeta goodness is not fun at all). Henry...well....you get the idea.

Why is this so hard? I'm going to follow the Eyre's wise counsel and just say, "It's tough!"

Do we all feel better now?

Patio Dining

I have really hesitated writing this because 1) it makes me grumpy thinking about it 2) it produces no warm fuzzies and 3) who really cares? This is just my vent...my moronic way of dealing with frustrations. I simply cannot fester. I must explain and expose and say too much. Unfortunately and all too often, it's my way of processing and I usually leave a wake of regret. But, for the last several days, I haven't been able to shake off this tingly sense of being annoyed. I'm feeling defensive without being attacked. It's got to stop.

It all stems from the recent switch of many to private blogs. And from there the comments about the switch. All sorts of "Good idea"s or "it's probably time"s, which gets me feeling all a frenzy. Am I being irresponsible with this blog? Am I endangering the lives of all my loved ones by recklessly typing about my family's bowling trip?

I have no desire to go private. If I want to write to people I know, I'll send out an email. If I want to keep a daily record of my day, I'll safely keep to Microsoft Word. Blogging is so different, to me, than those things. But, by not going private, am I sending the message that I'm not a good mom?

I remember starting this whole thing and the questions and concerns that were expressed by my friends and family. "Is it safe?" they asked. "Aren't you worried about some stranger reading your blog?" they worried. My response was always, "C'mon! Do you know how many millions upon millions of blogs there are? Who is going to care about mine?"

Well....more than I originally thought about for sure. I certainly didn't think I'd be regularly commenting on people's blogs like we shared a locker in high school, but, who I've actually never met and then meeting these new friends for lunch. No...I never imagined any of those things. It is much bigger than I ever imagined.

But it is still so.... incredibly.... insignificant. We live in a freaky world. I could dig a bomb shelter, get a concealed weapons permit, shred every thing I throw away, get an unlisted number, home school, and only buy organic food. Each of those things, in theory, keep me and my family safer. But that's not me (although, occasionally, I do splurge for organic milk after a certain someone made a certain comment at bookgroup once).

I pay my bills online. I only floss about a week before I have a dentist appointment. I speed. I don't own one of those seats for my kids to sit in the grocery cart germ-free. I blog.

Are open blogs the safest things in the world? Certainly not. I would never, ever argue that with anyone. Am I against someone switching theirs to private? No way! Do what you've gotta do! Right on!

But....I don't want to.

I love open blogs. I love reading strangers blogs and coming across one every once in a while that moves me to tears or puts a smile on my face. I love being inspired, being put to task, being outraged. Somehow, it grounds me. It's like this really cool sidewalk cafe where I can walk around and sit at different tables. Sometimes, I sit with the artists and just shake my head. Theirs is simply a different experience in life. Other times, I sit and listen to the writers and my jaw drops at their ability. Most of the time, I hang with the ones I know, welcoming others to my own table. We each get a turn to talk and listen, but in perfectly slow motion. If I don't have time to listen, you don't say anything. And if I'm speaking, no one interrupts. In a day when it is increasingly difficult to manage social calls, outings with friends and play dates, I can't imagine anything more ideal.

Except, perhaps, a sidewalk cafe where there are no dangerous villains waiting for our friendly guards to drop. That is, of course, a reality. And I could stay inside, request a private table safe from the stares and smoke, but it's so pretty outside. The view is great, the weather perfect and the seat comfortable.

I'll stay outside. For now. I'll keep my eyes open and my numbchucks at my side, but I want to be a part of this great conversation.

Even Better Than A Ceramic Raccoon...or Two

I wrote this because I saw a link on Lei's blog for Scribbit's Write Away contest. I missed the deadline, and am not one to enter for the actual competition or award, but loved the theme.

Personal space is hard to find when you share a room with two sisters. Ours was limited to our beds and the knick knack shelves that gracefully adorned our wallpapered walls. I don't remember when my mom bought these, but all six of us kids had one.

My sister, Jennifer, was and is a master collector. She has that most unique of gifts, to collect AND be organized - an ideal combination. As a young girl, she had a killer eraser collection that included everything from the crowd pleasing strawberry or watermelon eraser (along with their sweet scents) to my all-time favorite...the miniature ghetto blaster where the eraser came out the side of one of the speakers. As a proper collector, she knew, of course, that these erasers were not to be used to actually erase anything, a philosophy that is still hard for me to grasp. I am a consumer. Even if it's pretty or rare, I am still apt to use it.

Jen's skills at collecting was not limited to erasers. She also had a box full of fancy pencils with dangling charms off of one end, a proud display of penguin posters and figurines, and an awful lot of stuff having to do with Donald Duck. With her themed displays, her aesthetically pleasing knick knack shelves were hard to beat.

My own knick knack shelf was a sad affair. On the top shelf was my battered Rose Red doll that was the last gift I ever received from my grandparents. As a five-year old girl, I didn't understand that I would someday look at that doll as a reminder of loving grandparents who died a few days before that Christmas present would be opened, and that, perhaps, it would be better if I didn't take off and put on on the doll's little red velvet jacket and tiny white shoes or that I shouldn't attempt to brush her hair. Jennifer, wise at six and a half, kept her own doll pristine and I can still see its lovely yellow and white dress, matching hat with long cascading ribbons falling from it.

On another shelf was a small figurine of a raccoon sitting beside a fence. I don't remember how it come into my possession, but I do remember naively deciding that I was going to be a collector of raccoons. I let all concerned know that my favorite animal was now a raccoon and prepared to receive the many gifts that would certainly now arrive in some form of a raccoon (because that is what happens when you are a collector and have a favorite something, as I witnessed penguin after penguin and duck after duck be given to my sister.) Sadly, or rather fortunately, that little raccoon never got a buddy and my knick knack shelf never became the shrine to the masked animal that it was meant to be.

My inability to collect has carried on through the years. I've watched my loved ones enjoy their collections: My mother with her Belleek, my sister, Maureen, with her different book series and Disney movies, my brother and his phase of all things Van Halen (though never to the extent to exclude other, less gifted bands. He appreciated most who celebrated their art with tight leather pants, tank tops and glorified mullets), Jennifer, who has graduated from erasers and pencils to anything U2 and Willow Tree figurines, my husband's Bob Dylan music and, now, my own sons' many matchbox NASCAR cars. I've witnessed their joy that comes from attaching affection to a thing, a person or even an idea. I've known and enjoyed the ease that comes from shopping or finding the perfect gift for these people who collect. Yet, I've never loved anything enough to become exclusive to it; to seek out its twins and cousins and to protect it from the wear of the world.

I have a considerably larger area to call my own these days than those knick knack shelves afforded me years ago. Even so, I find myself with various different raccoons and Ruby Red dolls to fill up the space: a random piece of art we got for our wedding, a dining room table that could have benefited from some foresight to use a plastic tablecloth but instead is covered with scratches and permanent marker, or CDs that vary from Mormon Tabernacle Choir to Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. I have not improved with age in this arena.

But time has given me something of my very own to collect. Not the Balleek itself, but a picture in my mind of their display in my childhood home. Not the books themselves, but the stories I know from reading my sister's The Keeping Day series. No actual Van Halen album in my possession, but an ability to air drum the complicated introduction to Finish What You Started (it's tricky but I luckily had years learning from an expert).

Turns out, everyone is a collector of their own experiences, and happily, my personal collection is full of dust-free treasures.

Blasted Endorphins

In an attempt to channel my inner Jenny and Angie, I have been trying to go walking in the morning. By trying, I mean that I went once last week as well as yesterday.

I see the vision, though. Yesterday, I took off right after I dropped Seth off at school. Many of the morning sprinklers were still on, the sun was low in the east sky and the temperature was in the upper seventies. I had my itunes, Jay's GPS watch (it's awesome...it's like walking on a treadmill outside. You know your exact pace, exact distance and time) and after the first mile, I was feeling it. I kept my pace right at 15 minute miles, which I think is pretty good when you're pushing a double jogger holding 70 pounds. The beat was thumping in my ears, the sweat coming off of my head and before I knew it, I had arrived at my end destination, a small park close to where I live.

My mini-computer read 2.7 miles in 41 minutes. I stopped, unclipped Henry from his tether and sat on a park bench drinking some water while the boys climbed and rode down the slide.

That's when it happened. When the good feelings from those blasted little endorphins got the better of me. I grabbed the edge of the park bench with the palm of my hand, straightened my elbows, straightened my legs and put my weight into my heels and wrists and proceeded to do eight bench dips.

Eight was hard enough and I collapsed back onto the bench. After a minute of recovery, however, I thought to get a full tricep workout, I should do another set. Still feeling anonymous in this small neighborhood park, I went for another eight. Right around number six, someone came out of their house whose front door had an unobstructed view of my personal bowflex gym. I tried to look as cool as a person getting caught doing bench dips at the park can look.

I think I need a work out buddy. And our mantra can be, "Friends don't let friends do public park bench dips." Man, my arms are sore!

I could be her friend! (image ripped from the internet. I don't actually know her or this particular park. The park bench is pretty spot on, though.)

Paybacks

The first weekend we moved into this townhouse, Jay took Sam and Seth to his hometown so that they could go on the cattle drive with his family. Henry had caught a bug the day before our move, though, and we both decided he should stay with me rather than make another long road trip.

It was hard to try and unpack with a sick toddler around, even when he appeared to be feeling better. At one point, when I was trying to get something out of the dryer in the small laundry room and Henry shut the door so that both of us and the big boxes were all close together, I let my frustration get the best of me and shouted, rather loudly, "Henry, stop following me!"

I immediately remembered that I now enjoyed shared walls and my heart started thumping in my chest. Did they hear that? How thick were these walls?

I honestly haven't ever heard anything from either of our neighbors. We have shared walls along the bedroom where Henry sleeps and laundry room (yes....the laundry room), and along our master bath and closet. Downstairs, the shared wall is along our kitchen and dining room. From those walls I've never heard any T.V. noise, any music, or anyone talking. I haven't even heard a toilet flush. I figured that these townhomes were nicely insulated and relaxed into the habits we enjoyed when we owned a detached, single-family dwelling. If we couldn't hear them, then they must not be able to hear us, right?.

Wrong. I think they just must be quiet people because for the last four hours, I have been listening to a dog bark. A yippy bark. Non-stop. Message received. The party is over.

In other, unrelated news, remember my volleyball post when I was all smug in mocking the playing style of some of the players? Horrifyingly, I wasn't correct in thinking no one there would read it and while puncher and ball girl never read it, I was embarrassed by my own snarky tone and promised to be more kind (and more careful) in the future.

The future is now.

I freely admit that I've been clipboard signing happy in relief society. I couldn't stop myself from signing up to bring Hummus and Pita chips to Enrichment tonight (do I make this or do I buy this????) and I couldn't stop myself from signing my name on a sheet for those who were interested in playing volleyball. I truly thought it was simply to find out if there was enough interest but last night, I got a call from the coach. You read that right...the coach. Turns out, I signed up for a team. We have practice tonight. Our first practice. Do I need to go find my kneepads?

My life is catching up to me here in Utah. Oh....that dog!!!!!!!

In the last 24 hours...

Henry has:

• dumped an orange cream flavored yoplait yogurt on the carpet (which he refused to eat earlier and it was left sitting on the table)
• scribbled on my white dresser with a blue pen
• splashed in a toilet that had yellow water (darn older brothers!)
• grabbed a poopy diaper before I had rolled and velcroed it up and tossed it
  
• woke up screaming at 2:30 am...just because
• somehow got into the pantry and got into the #10 can of church storage dehydrated refried beans and scattered them EVERYwhere.
• While I was cleaning up that mess, he dumped a can of Diet Dr. Pepper that I had left by the computer onto the computer chair.
• unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper in the bathroom
• smeared ketchup from lunch all over the table
• got all of the bath toys out and distributed them all about the house
  

He's killing me. Good thing he is so....darn.....cute!

Book Review #12 - Eclipse

This is a warning to anyone who doesn't even want to look at a review of Eclipse until they've read it. Repeat, this is a warning. If you want to know nothing about the novel, look away (Chloe...I gave you fair warning!)

Here are my feelings about the third book in the Vampire series by Stephenie Meyers. Bella bugs. She really, really bugs and everyone lets her get away with it which ticks me off. I can hardly stand to be in her head when she narrates. And yet....

I loved it. Why? I have been asking myself that for over a day now, because most of these characters annoy me to no end, the writing isn't really that great, the dialogue downright cheesy and the story didn't progress enough for a book that was over 500 pages. I think the answer is that this story, this dangerous love story between Bella and Edward, evokes an actual physical response from me when I read about them. I guess I enjoy the tightening in my chest and the flipping of my stomach. I also love the conflict, the setting and the fantasy.

I don't know what to say about Bella. She is, by far, the best developed character in the series. We get to know her thoughts, her motivation, her reasoning and even though I think the author wants us to, I still really don't like her. She is suppose to be so mature for her age (would never let her mother jump out of airplane, because she is the parent figure in that relationship) but has some completely irrational and irritating need to suck the joy out of anyone who tries to do something nice for her, like give her a gift. That doesn't fit in with the personality of an old-soul. She's moody and unreasonable and I can't figure out why everyone wants to be around her because she seems like a downer to me.

Edward has been my favorite character throughout the last two books (even though he was disappointingly absent for much of New Moon and then when he was in it he could have been mistaken for Eeyore), but I don't think she progresses his character at all in the way she originally developed him. Edward was kind of the rebel/bad boy of the vampires in Twilight. There, he was independent and reckless, willing to take a huge risk by giving in to his attraction to Bella. Even though he was attracted to her, he still managed to show some personality. He was kind of sarcastic, enjoyed watching her squirm, a bit with his non-human abilities, and WAY more lighthearted than the uberprotective boyfriend he has turned into. I think he could still play a little more hard to get and independent. I think he needs a responsibility besides protecting Bella so that he has some of his own conflict. He at least needs to get mad at Bella when she deserves it.

The other characters are equally flawed, but not in the way that makes them believable. Jacob should be more jealous. Physically, he may have aged to 25 through his mutation, but emotionally, he is sixteen. Sixteen year olds don't always see the big picture and I think I would feel their connection more believable if there was more than their past friendship that left Edward out. Bella and Jacob have much more in common than Bella and Edward do, and their commonality should be the connection between them, not Bella's compassion or concern for Jacob's pain at becoming a werewolf or gratitude for his friendship when Edward left. I think the author tried to show their like-mindedness at times, like riding motorcycles (the ONE time Edward feels left out - but of course he handled it like a champ) but she didn't go far enough. It would make much more sense in the end when Bella realized she was in love with Jacob too. I think the author forced a realization that wasn't really there.

I liked the love triangle but never felt that Bella would, could or should choose Jacob. Edward was always the better choice and as we knew Bella's mind, we knew that he always would be. I can see what Meyer tried to build up for the next book, but unless Edward does something drastically to change, like gets a big ol' hard pot belly, Bella would never choose not to be with him. There is no competition. With all three books, that point has been hammered home.

Outside of the story, I have to mention my slight annoyance at Meyer's indifferent attitude towards her responsibility to her LDS teenage fans. She has to be aware of the craze that she has started. I had heard about it, but it really is a phenomenon here in Utah. I think her success is independent of her LDS background, but I do think when people, parents particularly, have that knowledge, they feel a little more safe allowing their children to enjoy these books. She actually reminds me a bit of Benji, from So You Think You Can Dance. I think it would be a horrible thing to become famous and be LDS. Automatic ambassadorship without being asked. As Benji horribly disappoints in that un-appointed ambassadorship, so does Meyer with this book. Teenage girls who read this will be exposed to another teenage girl who repeatedly thinks, says, feels that if you believe you're going to be with someone for forever, marriage is unnecessary and old-fashioned solution to progress a sexual relationship. It is only Edwards old-fashioned virtue, maturity and control that keeps Bella chaste. And her chastity annoys her. What a great message for girls who might be struggling with a similar situation. Chances are good, however, that most of the seventeen year old boys they want to be with don't have Edward's point-of-view. It's irresponsible to let the brakes be in someone else's power. But, like I said, Meyer certainly doesn't wear a Mormon badge and I don't think I'd judge another author harshly for doing the same thing. With my own awareness, though, I think she disappoints in this regard.

Eclipse is better than New Moon but Twilight is still my favorite book of the three. Regardless of ranking, Eclipse does its job and kept me entertained for hours.

Hiking The Y

When I say I love to hike, I mean that I love to hike pretty trails, with wildflowers, perhaps some shade or a pretty mountain lake or meadow up top -- not necessary just walking short, steep switchbacks to achieve a great view.

Hiking the Y is hard! Not it-was-so-hard-but-I-kept-going-and-isn't-this-
a-great-analogy-for-my-talk-because-life-is-hard-but-once-you-
reach-the-end-it's-worth-it hard, but hard enough (It's not quite a full mile up and I think blisters and about seven miles uphill are the necessary requirements to apply a gospel parallel). Still, I found this awesome backpack carrier on craigslist this week, and Jay and I were eager to use it, so we arranged to meet his sister, Peggy, and her family for a Saturday hike.

We didn't want to hike in the heat of the day, so the plan was to meet at a park at 7:30. That meant an early rising for our family, which we managed, but as we were about to get in the van, Peggy called and asked if we had noticed the inclement weather. We hadn't but when we looked outside and saw the dark gray clouds, the rain, the wind and she added on lightning, our hopes for a family hike were a tad dashed.

We decided to drive down anyway. All the kids were ready so it seemed wasteful to not do anything. Besides, summer weather is unpredictable; it might be sunny and 85 by the time we got there. We got in the van and headed to Provo. We figured at the very least, they'd be able to play with their cousins. On the drive down, however, we both started laughing watching the rain pelt our windshield. Let's go on a hike, kids!

Perfect day for a hike, right?

We stopped by Krispy Kreme and went through the drive-through to feed our kids and bring breakfast to Peggy and Darren and their boys. You can't show up before 8:00 on a Saturday morning to simply "hang-out" empty handed!

Poor Jay. He had to smell them but I had packed some grapes for him. He didn't even complain. He has such discipline.

Enjoying those lucious grapes. Who needs the sweet, sticky gooeyness of a donught?

Around 9:00, we could see that while it wasn't sunny and clear, the thundershowers had stopped and it looked like the weather might hold for the short hike. We piled in our respective minivans and meandered through Provo to get to the trail head. More memories! On that drive alone, we drove by Jon and Tara's old townhome, the house Jon lived in with his roommates and where I spent a huge chunk of my sophomore year, Jay and my first apartment, mama's cafe (the location of our first date, even though it is called something else now), the Regency where my sister Emily lived in college and where her dorky teenage sister came to visit her, and both of the condos we were living when we met each other. Literally, a trip down memory lane!

We parked, Jay packed on Henry and we began our vertical ascent. This hike is steep! Jay had his GPS watch on and it's 9/10th of a mile up, but you gain 1100 feet in elevation. That is a 20% grade! Don't truckers get warnings if something is 6 %?

Jay carrying Henry in our new fancy pack.

Everyone made it to the Y, including me. I had a few more rest stops than everyone else but I managed. Luckily, Jay had the handicaps of carrying Henry on his back, and a recent viral infection that gave him bronchiolitis, so I could almost keep up with him:) All of the children did great, even Sam who can be a defeatist if he isn't "winning".

Peggy and Darren

Jay and me

Henry fell asleep.

Jay shows off the fruit of his labor.

Peggy and Darren have three boys too, so it was a boy fest on the Y!

We took awhile to enjoy the view on the large, painted letter. When we did a bit of Google research on the hike the night before, Jay had read that something the younger bloggers are doing is lying upside down on the Y. Apparently, it's a freaky sensation. Not wanting to separate myself from that generation quite yet (unless it's to wear leggings with ugly baby dolls...give me my gap jeans any day!), I handed Jay the camera and proceeded to completely freak myself out by lying down with my head pointed down the mountain and my feet pointing to the top. With the clouds overhead moving and the feeling that if I moved at all, I would fall off, my toes started to tingle and Jay had to come over and give me a hand up. Not being convinced that it wasn't a good idea, he had to try. I had to help him up too. It's too scary to move by yourself when you are upside down like that, even though you know when you're looking at the person lying there, that they aren't that tilted and it would be safe for them to just roll over and get up. So... regardless of our paralyzing fear, we are still young!

Jay trying not to freak out. too late!

I always think the hike down will be better, when my lungs are burning and I'm not drenched in sweat, but it never is. 20% down burns the quads and tortures the knees. Sammy fell four times! The sun really did come out on the way down, heating the mountain up and we were thankful for our pleasant, cloudy hike. So, while it's not my favorite kind of hike, it was enjoyable to be out and about with our family and I'm really glad we did it. Go Cougars!

When we got home, I decided I wanted to read Eclipse. Still gross from the hike (and quite stinky), I headed over to Deseret Book to buy it. But on the drive, I thought, "I need some bananas too and I bet Sam's Club has that book at a better price" so I went to Sam's club. They didn't have the book, but I did remember I needed a larger memory card for my new camera so that trip wasn't a waste. Then, Wal-Mart is close by, so I thought I'd grap some banana's and the book there but they said they haven't received their shipment of the book yet. I did get some bananas, and a few other things and then finally drove to my original destination, Deseret Book, who did carry it. Nothing like leaving a trail of my scent around town. Without even knowning, I was getting in the mood to read Eclipse where there is a heavy emphasis placed on a person's smell. I think the vampire's could have found me. It was hard to miss.

I came home, put some yummy smelling salts in the tub, and read my book. Not all of it in the tub (I got cold after awhile) but I did finish it. It was exactly what I needed! Review coming later.

Nice Matters. Even when I forget.

I forgot Seth at school yesterday.

I feel horrible. He's old enough to remember this. In fact, when I told Jay about my awful goof, he sort of sucked the air in through his teeth and said, "I remember my mom doing that once." See? It scars a child. He's never going to fully trust me again. The next time I'm late, he's going to wonder right away, maybe even panic, if I've forgotten him.

It wasn't that I was stressed or busy or late. I just forgot. I had my niece and nephew over playing (Kelly and I are switching watching kids; she watches mine in the morning so I can volunteer and I watch hers in the afternoon so she can do whatever she needs. I hope she naps because she is almost 30 weeks pregnant and has still has some bad days) and suddenly it was a half hour after school gets out. I sort of shrieked and scared everyone, put the little ones in their car seats as fast as I possibly could and drove my mini-van like I was expecting the checkered flag (my NASCAR knowledge came in handy there). Seth had left our meeting place, but I could see him walking along the school, all alone. Not a single other student outside, no adults anywhere...just my little boy in his pale yellow polo wondering where his mom was.

I screeched around the block to meet him at the front of the school, where I was hoping he was walking to, and when I saw him, I felt even worse. His face was tear-streaked, his nose snotty, and he had had an accident.

"Where were you!?!" he sobbed. "Where were you!?! What were you doing??!!"

I hugged him, begged for forgiveness, admitted that I had just forgot and begged for forgiveness again. He told me in shame that he just couldn't hold it anymore and wet his pants, expecting me to be somehow disappointed in him, and I reassured him that that was low, low, low on the totem pole of mistakes that day. I had nothing to offer as penance, except the front seat, which he has never sat in before. He climbed up into the seat where we could hold clammy hands and started driving home. Then he started reading the gigantic warning label on the back of the sun visor about the certain death that would befall anyone under the age of 12 sitting in that seat. As Seth is a rule follower, that wasn't my best parenting moment either.

We got home, he changed his clothes, we cuddled and talked about emergencies and what to do in different circumstances. I told him he had done the exact right thing: wait for me a while and then head back into the office where the secretaries can call me or an emergency contact. Now, I've lost any sort of grace period I might have enjoyed. No more couple of minutes late. I will be there on time.

I wasn't going to blog about this. I think I share enough of my lameness and this unfortunate situation happens to embarrass me. In fact, I was sitting down to blog about Lei's kind Nice Matters Blog Award nomination, and nominate seven blogs that I think are deserving of this award. Then Kelly A. called and I got distracted.

We talked about lots of different things, but at some point, she said something about bringing dinner and another alarm went off in my head. Yesterday won't go down as my best day ever.

There is a woman in my new ward, who I have never met, who has an advanced stage of breast cancer. She is young, younger than me, and has a four year-old and a one-year old. They've mentioned her in Relief Society a number of times now and passed around a clipboard with days to sign up to bring her family meals. I don't know her, but remember the heartache of my own sister-in-law's illness so I signed up. For Thursday evening.

I know I remembered on Wednesday but I forgot on the day that mattered. Kelly, who really is the queen of great ideas, consoled me and told me to go over sometimes today with a coloring book and crayons, maybe some McDonald's gift certificates and some brownies. I know they are great ideas, and I'm going to do it, but I still feel awful letting this poor family down.

Nice matters. And while I am not feeling particularly deserving of Lei's thoughtful attention, these bloggers certainly come to mind when I read the purpose of the award.

It is for "those bloggers who are nice people; good blog friends & those who inspire good feelings and inspiration. Also for those who are a positive influence on our blogging world. Once you've been awarded please pass it on to 7 others who you feel are deserving of this award."

Not me yesterday, but something I'd like to aspire to most other days. And these bloggers seem capable of it full-time:

Lei at My Many Colored Days. I know she nominated me, but she is seriously the nicest, most inspirational blogger I've ever read. In fact, it took me awhile to leave a comment on her blog, because I had to hate her. Not really, but her awesomeness is that intimidating.

My parents at Montana to Myanmar. They aren't really caught up in the blogging world, but they are the nicest people I know, totally inspirational, and doing a heckuva lot of good on their mission. If you read about the good they do, they are a wonderful, uplifting addition to the blog world.

Andrea at Half-Dozen Cuties. Andrea is one of the nicest people I've ever known, and her blog is always upbeat and hopeful. She is always encouraging and has been one of my biggest supporters, loves blogging and all of its blessings and uses hers for good.

Jill at Creativity, Musings and Such. After the lovely and absolutely bizarre (in a good way, it's just foreign to me) showering of thoughtful birthday wishes from people I hardly know that have added warmth to my mailbox this last week, I have to give Jill credit for her support and spread of "Good Mail." Many bloggers have been inspired and joined in this tradition and you really do get a pick-me-up when an envelope comes in the mail with actual handwriting and a stamp. Plus, with her daily updates, her absolute realness, her comments of support, she knows that nice matters and she shows it every day through her blog.

Victoria at Just Breathe. She has been busy this summer, and hasn't updated much this month, but when she's around, she's known for her inspiration and kindness. In fact, she's pretty much what this award is all about.

Donna at The Dentist's Wife. The thing I love about Donna's blog is how much she loves to do it. She frequently changes the look of it, adding new things as she discovers them. She also comments on so many people's blogs, always leaving a happy face. She's a good person and it shows.

And finally, my friend, Jenny at Organized Mayhem. From her goal of doing a good deed a day to her thoughtfulness and generosity when it comes to birthdays or events, she is a positive influence on the blogging world. After all, she got me into it! She's definitely a good blog friend and the blog world is enriched, not to mention - cleaner, with her in it.

It's certainly not limited to these seven, And I'm not a superfan of blog awards (because who's in charge????), but I do think that nice matters. Thank you for being nice to me.