Tuesday, February 27, 2007



So I got a haircut.

Monday, February 26, 2007

The kids

Because I haven't in a while, I thought I'd post some pics.


The professor has this uncanny ability to embarass me, just by being his normal self. I should accept this, and not let his actions worry me, and yet every time it happens, I want to shout, "He's not mine! I will not claim him!"
Yesterday was one such day.
About 2 hours before church he gets the call. No teacher for one of the youth Sunday School class. As is Mike's calling, he steps up and prepares the lesson. No big deal, although he did try to pawn it off on me. Yeah right, I say, I have enough to do.
So church comes and off to class everyone scampers as soon as the last note is sung for our dismissal hymn.
I had many copies to make and am hanging out in the library, I know, missing my own SS lesson! What an example.
In walks the professor.
"Is it time to change already?" Asks the librarian.
"No, I left", he replies.
"Ha ha ha," I nervously laugh, "Did your lesson go short?"
"No, I left, they were out of control and I left," he answers.
Oh crap, I think. Are you kidding me? All of the worst case scenarios run through my head.
Parents angry, kids upset, bishop throwing us out of church, telling us never to come back.
The professor doesn't want to talk about it. I make a quick exit and head to RS, curious as all get out as to what happened. Embarassed that the librarian heard.
On the drive home I pester him. What did you SAY?! What did you DO?!

Now I must remind you that his profession is TEACHING. He spent two years on a reservation middle school teaching science to gangbangers! He's not a wuss, and can handle pretty much anything in a classroom.

Apparently he pulled out all his tricks. And nothing doing. So he wanted to prove a point. He slowly packed up his bags, told them not to disturb the other classes, and left.
Okay, I say. It's not as terrible as I suspected. Just an attention getter. They were only in there by themselves for 5 minutes. He stood outside the door. No big deal.

And then the phone calls start.

A parent wanting to know what he can do to help.
One of the kids apologizing.
Cookies and a written apology from another.

Someone asks us about it at a friends house for dinner. This is, apparently, big news. It seems the whole ward knows. By the next morning, the story is retold to me, although it's a female teacher and she was crying.

And I'm mortified.

Saturday, February 24, 2007


It seems that everytime I step away from the computer, I come up with fabulous ideas for posts. But as soon as I sit in front of my screen, my mind is a blank. Isn't memory loss the first thing to go? Speaking of age, I spent the morning with girls in their early 20's, cute girls with no wrinkles and not one single strand of grey. As I wistfully admired them, one of them said that she couldn't wait to be older. What for, I thought? But as I pondered that statement, I decided that being in my early 30's has its rewards. And here they are:

Reasons I like being 30
  • I am already done having children
  • I don't worry about what other people think of me, mostly
  • I can buy clothes that are comfortable, usually in the missus department
  • I don't always have to have my hair and makeup done, in fact I hardly ever do
  • I can drive a minivan without shame
  • My husband is done with school and has a real job (the college, not the pizza)
  • I have been through enough rocky spots in my marriage to appreciate the smooth sailing
  • I don't worry about needing a tan, and try to prevent it at all costs
  • It's normal for someone of my age to have hips, and saggy boobs, and saddlebags
  • I can buy clothes for my kids at Target instead of Baby Gap without feeling guilty
  • I can go to bed early and wake up early without missing anything
  • This is the age my children will remember me as

I'm sure I could think of more if given more time. I'm excited for my 30's, excited to appreciate all life has to offer for this next decade. Besides, it's not like I'm 40.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Grand Canyon

I have this friend. She's a good friend, one of my dearest friends. We've been friends for what seems like forever. We are very different, in almost every aspect of our lives, and yet we remain friends. And now she's going through a hard time, probably one of the hardest of her life. She's on the verge of making a choice, a decision that will affect her entire life. And I can't do anything about it. Except be there for her when she wants to talk, and hope and pray that I can say something that will help. But I think she really just needs someone to listen.

We've all been there, at one time or another. Trials come as canyons in the middle of our journey, seemingly impossible to conquer, at yet, you can see the path on the other side. There is no way to get there besides taking it one step at a time, down into the canyon and then back up again, until finally you look back and realize you've made it.

I think about my trials. The ones that I've clawed my way out of, the ones I am down in the middle of. I know I have many more in store for me, waiting for a time when the journey is easy and life is good, to hit me dead on. The only way to get through, the only way I find peace, is to pray. Reassurance comes, not that everything will be fixed and not even that everything will be fine, but reassurance that I can handle it, that I'm strong enough or I will be made strong enough. And that comfort is how I've learned to deal.

I prayed for my friend, still am. And already prayers are being answered. And she recognizes it, and she is comforted.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Umm...Excuse you!

There's nothing like having a new baby in the house to remind you of how tiny, sweet, and innocent your other children once were. I've found that I remember some things about their babyhood that I had completely forgotten, while I struggle to remember others. Especially when Claire does something cute and they ask, "Did I do that when I was a baby?" Oftentimes the on-the-spot answer is at best a guess, because I know somebody did it, I just can't remember who.
I also love how sweet and tender it has made them towards her. They all vie for her attention because they want to be the one to make her smile and laugh. They want to be the one to calm her down. They want to be the one she loves the most. I remind them that she can't play favorites, that she loves us all the same, unconditionaly.
But I've found that they really want to be the person that gets her to burp. I thought this was just another one of their ways to love on her, but it turns out it's because they think her burps are hilarious. Not only is Claire the only person in the house allowed to burp as loud as she wants, which is quite funny to them, but she also usually has some sort of gross spit up that follows. And that's what really kills them. "Wow mom! Did you hear that one? That one was sooo loud, and look, she spit everywhere! giggle giggle Claire is so great!"

Sunday, February 18, 2007

I'm going on a picnic, and I'm taking an Apple...

As the professor turns into the pizza man every Thur, Fri, and Sat evening, it leaves me with lots of dinners alone with the kids, because he's teaching on Mon and Wed evenings as well. On weekdays I'll actually make something, knowing that my picky boys won't eat it, so that dad has lunch to take with him the following day. As frustrating as it is to cook and have half the table turn up their noses, I know my dearest appreciates it.
Now on the weekends, my pizza man comes home with his own dinner, usually pizza and wings. So these are the nights the kids have cereal, or hot dogs, or grilled cheese. The boys look forward to these nights, loving the fact that they get to eat their favorite foods and not have to try any of that gross food I make.
Yesterday the princess asked if we could have a picnic lunch inside the house. Since dad was home, I had an excuse to make a big lunch. We were going to eat fajitas, mmm. She wanted to eat them on a blanket on the floor of the family room. Bad idea. But I told her we would have a picnic dinner.
Dinner time comes and she reminds me that I said we would have a picnic. Oh right, I remember. Hmmm. What can we eat on the floor that I won't have to use a mop to clean up? I break out the crackers. Then I get out some cheese, sliced american, pieces of cheddar, and string, because no one child likes the same kind. I cut up an apple and a pear. I wash some grapes. A few slices of bread are added, along with the jar of peanut butter. And there you go, dinner. The princess wants to make Kool-aid. I cringe, but she finds the sugar free kind. At least if it spills, it won't be sticky.
We all sit down on the blanket. She has set plastic utensils and tiny paper plates and tiny paper cups. All the food is on a platter, so the kids dive right in. Cheese and apples are great. We make grape sandwiches. Peanut butter gets put on crackers, and on apples, and is eaten by spoonfuls. We play the "I'm going on a picnic and I'm going to take an Apple... " game and get all the way up to Q. It was the most fun picnic we've had in a long time. And the princess is so happy.
For dessert I make pumpkin pie shakes. Here's the recipe, but be careful, because they are delicious. My kids loved them.

1 package pumpkin spice pudding (it's new from Jello)
2 cups milk
Vanilla ice cream
more milk
whipped cream

Prepare pudding with 2 cups milk according to directions and let chill until set, about 10 minutes. Put in blender along with lots of ice cream and more milk. Blend adding milk until it reaches a desire consistancy. Top with whipped cream.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

The desk

I am really starting to hate my blog. I've been messing with the template, hoping to find the excitement that comes with change. But everytime I log on nowadays, I loathe the way it looks, the words I've written, the vibe that radiates from it. I want to quit the blog.

However, I know you people, all 6 of you that read this drivel. I know how blog-esque you all are. I know you might shed a small tear if I were to give it up. So I shall tarry on, for you.

The princess and I finished her desk. It turned out way cute, although a tad different than I had imagined. When I explained the project to her, she was so excited to help as she's super crafty. I told her we were going to cut up pieces of scrapbook paper and glue them down to the top of her desk. Simple. Well we sit down with the scissors and both start cutting. I look up from my pile of nice large geometric shapes, and see her pile. She's cutting out tiny pieces of paper in odd shapes. I stop her and explain how if we do it that way, it will take forever and waste lots of paper, and ask her to try to cut bigger pieces. She does this and pretty soon we both are ready to glue. She takes one corner, I take the other. After I had shown her how to do it, I let her go. A few minutes later I look at what she's doing. She was doing it all wrong. I stop her and show her how to make sure the pieces touch, and to not leave big spaces of desk in between. She gets frustrated, asking why she can't just do it her way. Why can't she? Why is my way the better way? I don't have an answer to that.

So we finish it, and I let her do what she wants to do, not trying to fix anything to make it perfect. And it turned out awesome.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007


I read through that last post and decided it was a bit whiny. My posts as of late have pretty much sucked. Sorry.

I had a friend tell me a while ago about love languages. This book is about the five different ways people speak love. Click here to learn about them and discover your own love language.

Anyways, it came as no surprise that my husband and I have different languages. This was something I learned early on. I speak two languages. I am definitely a "Words of Affirmation". This means I actually need to hear words spoken to me, telling me I am loved, appreciated, lookin' good. I am also a little"Physical Touch". Don't get the wrong idea people, it also means that I know I am loved when someone hugs me, holds my hand, rubs my back.

My dearest is entirely an "Acts of Service". He feels loved when I clean the bathroom, or put away the laundry, or clean the stove. In fact, he has said many times over the years that actions speak louder than words.

Now think about how hard it is for two people to show love or feel loved, when one person says "I love you", and all the other person does is wash the dishes. The author likens it to one person speaking English and the other Chinese. You just don't understand each other. Thank goodness we've figured each other out. We aren't perfect and have our miscommunications, but I think we are much better at expressing our feelings and making sure to understand when the other is as well.

What's your love language?


We had a great Valentine's dinner yesterday, a day early since the professor will be teaching tonight. I made a turkey, one of his favorites, and we ate by candlelight, all six of us. It was quite funny because the turkey was done way sooner than I had expected, so we had to close all the blinds in order to experience the candles. Afterwards we had FHE and we made secret valentines for each other that said one thing we loved about them on it. It was fun to wake up this morning and have the kids scrambling to pass them out with eager excitement at 5:30am.

Now you might think, aww, what a cute way to spend the holiday. And it was. But part of me is wishing I hadn't told my husband not to worry about getting me anything or doing anything. I won't be disappointed, because we're a little beyond that point in our marriage. There used to be a time when I would expect some sort of lavish display of his affection. Now I know he loves me, even without the jewelry and cards and fancy dinners at expensive restaurants.

But I love flowers, as impractical as they are. I love how they look on my table, especially red roses in a tall vase. I love the fragrance that fills my home. I might just go out and buy some for myself. Or maybe I'll tell him they're for him, from me. The best part is, he'd understand.

Monday, February 12, 2007


Wow, that last post was a bit ridiculous. Who wants to read something that long?

I had what I like to call an epiphany, although I'm sure it was more of just an eye-opening experience. I've always been not super great at meeting new people. I am too worried about how others will perceive my intentions, like they'll think, why is she talking to me? And I also worry about what others will think of me, big surprise there huh mom?
These last few weeks at church since I was called into the Relief Society, I have had to greet many of the sisters in the ward to hand out items. I've poured over the pictures we have of all of them and have found I now know most of their names. As I've had to actually talk to them, and get to know them, I've realized how amazingly nice they are. And how not one person has been stand-offish or rude. What was I afraid of all those years? Why did I hide myself in corners, waiting for someone to rescue me from my self-imposed isolation?
The epiphany though, was that I finally realized, most of these women probably have those same feelings. And most of them are like me, waiting for someone to acknowledge them. Waiting for someone to choose them to be their friend. While I've found that they are not nearly as crippled with self-doubt as I am, they still have insecurities. It still feels like high school to some of us, walking into a class waiting for someone to say, hey come sit by me. Finally, out of necessity, I'm becoming that person.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Overflowing with ideas

I go through these phases of home improvement. When we first moved in I couldn't wait to get going. After about a year, and a total lack of funds, the feeling passed. Now I'm ready again. I have so many good ideas, or at least ideas I can work with.
They are:
  • The previously mentioned clothesline art for the girls room.(see below)
  • We received a hand-me-down fold-up desk, which I will be using for my crafts. It is replacing the hand-me-down desk from my sis. The old desk is going in the girls room and is getting modgepodged with scrapbook paper on the top, to cover all the ugly. I can't wait to make it pretty, and Em is pretty excited to help.
  • For my stairwell, I will be purchasing a long curtain rod. On the rod I will hang frames of various shapes, probably bought at thrift stores and spray painted all one color. The frames will be glued to ribbon which will be tied to the rod. Imagine, the rod will be hung high and the ribbon will be getting shorter as you go up the stairs. This is going to be cool to see.
  • I purchased a while back some sheers that I wanted to use in my family room. I finally figured out how I want to use them. I will be making valances by folding the sheer 4 times and sewing a strip of colored fabric at the top. I will then staple it to a board, like all my other valances.
  • I will be using the original fabric I bought for the family room in my loft to make a valance. Finally, I have a color theme for the loft. It is red. Are you surprised Beka?
  • I will be making a magnet board out of a gigantic frame that I will be spray painting. I know exactly where I will hang it, where currently there is a Greg Olsen picture. That picture will be moving to the living room.
  • I will be making a lettering sign by taking a large frame and removing the back. I will then hot glue the glass to the frame and then apply the lettering. It will be something Mormon style, like "There is beauty all around... when there's love at home" This will go in the living room.
  • I will buy small pieces of fabric and stretch them over canvas to create art. This will go in my bedroom. And possibly the boys. And the girls.
  • I will be getting large wooden letters that say SCOTT and hang them in my kitchen area, above my two shelves of kid pictures and a different Greg Olsen.
  • I will use all the other Greg Olsen pictures that I have and hang them in a collage in the loft.
  • I will be buying the pot rack at IKEA for $19.99. I will then hang it above my island in the kitchen and I will hang mason jars attached to wire from it. The mason jars will hold various things that I haven't decided yet. Possibly candles, maybe utensils, or even plants. The reason for the mason jars is because I don't own any nice pots to hang from it, but I've always wanted a pot rack.
  • I will be painting the kids rooms. One will be pink and yellow and the other will be tan and blue and red.

These are my ideas for now. Notice that not much is needed in the way of funds, most of it I already have. I just haven't been all that inspired. But after reading some great blogs this week, and visiting some pretty cool houses, I'm ready to get going. Hopefully my enthusiasm will last until I finish adding to my Mormon Style home, although I prefer to think of it as "Mormon Cool". I'll post pictures as I finish projects so you all will be inspired as well.

Friday, February 09, 2007

Words not said

I remember, perhaps more vividly than anything else in regards to my early years, how good my mom was at taking care of me when I was sick. I remember how worried she would look when I told her I didn't feel well, how urgently she would talk to the doctor about my symptoms, how no matter what time of night it was she was always there, usually with a wet washcloth. She had this nurturing instinct kick in and take over until we were better enough to drive her crazy again. (Not to say the nurturing wasn't there always, it just came on more strongly during illness, right mom? :)

After I got married, I missed her terribly when I was sick. No matter how hard he tried, my dear husband was just not that good at nursing me back to health, and I'm not sure how hard he tried. He would get pretty discouraged when I called my mom right as soon as I felt a twinge of sick. What's she going to do when she's TWO HOURS away? he would ask.

And it wasn't what she did that I craved. It was that deep rooted sympathy I was in need of. She would listen as I rattled off my symptoms. She would offer her advice, which usually included ibuprofen, a call to the doctor, and a blessing. Then she always said something to the effect of, "Poor baby, I'm sorry you're sick" and that was all I really wanted.

As I sit here and nurse my own brood, I hope they feel that way about me. I hope they will call me 20 years from now, when they have a life or a family of their own, just to hear me say "I'm so sorry you're sick." And I hope they know that means "I love you".

Come see the mom who is in way over her head!

I will risk stealing Liz's blog topic of urgent care to share this story:

Yesterday Em came home from school sobbing. Not normal crying, but uncontrollable, shaking, tears running down her face like rain, sobbing. Her ear is causing her excruciating pain. Being the tough love mom that I am, I tell her to lie down and get her Motrin. Then I go back to caring for the boys who have been down with the flu for 2 days. I go upstairs to check email, take a phone call, feed a baby. All this and she's still crying, loudly, unrelenting. It's been an hour and the ibuprofen should've taken effect. I try to get an appointment at the doctor, but the soonest they can see me is tomorrow. I sigh, and pack up the fam for a trip to the urgent care, because Mike is at work. Both boys fevers are raging, so bad they can't even stand. I throw the bottle of Motrin in the car and off we go.

To the urgent care, whose waiting room is PACKED. Oh man. I corral them to the check in, trying to get the boys to cover their mouths as they cough and sneeze all over the place. I'm holding Em on one knee, the babe on the other, trying to answer questions about my insurance. We get taken back to triage after a few minutes. Em is still crying and the boys look like death, ibuprofen isn't working yet. The nurse tells me it's a TWO HOUR WAIT to see the doctor. She wants to give Em some tylenol with codine, and I agree. Then we try to get her to take it. She doesn't want to, it tastes yucky, it's going to make her throw up. The babe picks this moment to poop everywhere. The nurse takes the babe, hands me the meds. I try pouring it down her throat, she spits it into a cup. I try to get her to drink it fast, she spits it on the table, cries, wants to go home. The nurse leaves with my baby to get a soda for Em, the boys are whimpering. We mix the meds with ginger ale and it goes down. I change the baby, and head back out to the waiting room, where by this point there are no chairs left to sit in. I stand there with my four children for a moment, and walk out the door. I am no longer tough mom who can handle anything. I need my husband. Lucky for me, he gets off early. The next couple hours are spent in an overcrowded room full of sick people, with a dear daughter who is loopy from narcotics. I laughed today when I retold this story. Today it is much funnier, if you just picture it in your head.
But I still can't wait for spring.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Clothesline art

I saw this idea yesterday when I clicked on a different link on someone's blog and came across martha stewart. I love this! What a fun idea for a child who is constantly producing new art. The best part is you can customize it to match the room. I am going to use a 1 1/2 inch thick grosgrain ribbon in a polka dot or stripe, which I just saw yesterday at costco for 6.99 for 50 yards. The tiny clothespins are found at a scrapbook store, or Michaels or Joanne's. I will only be using one wall instead of going around the whole room, like in the picture. I can't wait to buy my sweet daughter art supplies that will match her room so that the art she produces will look like it was meant to be there.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007


I was unsure what to make for dinner tonight. I had planned something, but was running out of time and settled on a concoction my mother used to make. Now, there are a few things that I remember vividly from my childhood. One is being sat on by an unnamed older brother and having typewriter drilled into my sternum. Another is the fork incident which is, thanks to another brother, being laughed about by my husbands colleagues. And of course the football in the house game which a different brother can't seem to forget.

But besides the isolated events that occurred, there are certain foods that remind me of my childhood. I'm not sure if it's because we always ate the same things, or if these were just the ones that I relished. So here's the list. Feel free to add to it.

  • Shepherd's pie
  • Parmesan chicken-legs and thighs
  • Spaghetti
  • Lamanite sandwiches
  • Grilled cheese sandwiches made from slices of velveeta
  • Brownies
  • Shake n Bake pork chops
  • Tuna casserole-which I remember eating, but not liking
  • Campbells Bean with Bacon soup
  • Toast with avocado, salt, and pepper
  • Tacos
  • Rice pudding

Now these were items from my early childhood.

Later on came

  • Friday night Pizza Hut
  • Chicken enchiladas
  • Egg rolls
  • Brisket
  • Roast
  • Brownies


Sunday, February 04, 2007


I hurt all over, and not the good kind of hurt. The kind where you grimmace every time you have to move, the kind where going up and down the stairs takes 10 minutes of excruciating pain. Man, I hurt bad.

Today as I was throwing a little pity party for myself, I realize that my eldest daughter is not her usual self. She has gone back to bed for a nap. Now she has a tendancy to be a tad whiny, so I don't think much of her complaints. Until I feel her warm forehead, and look at her pale face. She wants to nap again, after dropping out of the game of Life with her dad and brother. Now I know something is wrong. She never quits boardgames, especially when she's winning.

I'm thinking the flu, but hoping for a non-transmittable virus. I get her some applesauce, a blanket, and a bottle of water. She won't take any ibuprofin. She naps, wakes up hurting all over, crying. She takes the ibuprofin this time. Naps again. Wants to eat, I discourage it, not wanting to clean up regurgitated nachos. She takes a bath, and goes to bed, achy and exhausted.

What a whiner I am. Here I've been complaining about pain I've inflicted upon myself, while her little body is battling what most likely is the flu. Suddenly, I don't hurt as much, I don't feel as sorry for myself for running poorly. Suddenly I'm praying for her to feel better, and to not have a house full of sickos this week.

What are the odds?

Saturday, February 03, 2007


I wanted to quit running today, and I mean give up the sport entirely. I don't believe I have ever had such a ridiculously hard run. It was only a half marathon, but felt like a full.

I know started a little too fast, but I felt good so I thought I would try to maintain it. As the mile markers seemed to be farther and farther apart, I was rethinking my strategy, which up to this point was run hard for as long as I can. My body was screaming for me to stop by mile 10. I looked at my watch and I was still running 9's, but I knew I was slowing. I stopped to walk, something I NEVER do, not even when I ran the marathon. I ran slower and slower, taking more and more walk breaks. Soon people were passing me, people I had passed a while back had caught me, and seemed to effortlessly fly by, and the wierd thing was I didn't care. Usually that would push me to run harder, to try and catch them, or at least not let anyone else by. This time I hardly noticed them. I just wanted to cry, by body hurt so bad. Then I wanted to stop. Just stop running and sit down and wait for someone to take me home.

How did I get myself into this? How can I get out of this? I just had a baby, what the heck am I doing out here? I should be home, I want to be home!

As I rounded the corner for the final sprint to the finish line, I was so relieved. I made it. I didn't think I would. And there were my children, and my athletic spectator of a husband, waiting for me, cheering for me.

I know it was just a bad run. People have them. And while I wanted to quit SO BAD, I was so happy I didn't. I can't wait to tell my littlest baby how I ran 13.1 miles when she was 3 months old. Hopefully all my children will look at me when life is hard, and say, If you can do it, then I know I can too. I hope.

Oh, and I ran a 2:11.