Smart is as smart does...

When I was younger, I was told I was smart.
I took smart people classes.
I got smart people grades.
I scored higher than some siblings on smart people tests.
All in all, it was very validating.
Especially because I didn't have to try that hard.
Then, somewhere along the line, I tried less and less.
And I decided that just getting by was good enough.
And then I dropped out of the smart people race altogether.

Then I became a mom.
And nobody calls me smart.
Well, nobody but a bunch of kids, and what do they know.
And some days, I feel all my talents are wasted on washing the same dishes, picking up the same toys, cooking the same meals, refereeing the same fights.
And I feel my brain turning to mush.

But then I went to Roundtable (it's this place nobody said I'd have to go to, but I actually do have to go to).
And there was a test on scouts.
And I happen to have learned a lot recently about this topic.
So I totally aced it.
And I felt smart again.

The End.

Poems by Emme

Dad

My dad lives in a town
This town is not underground
He knows what to do in a fire
And he is not a liar

My dad is nice
He likes to skate on ice
He is a college teacher
Who always works on his feature

He likes to eat cherry cake
He likes to go skiing on the lake
He may like root beer
But he does not have any fear.


Ummm...this is all true.

Check out my sister's masterpiece. Sheer genius.

Thanks for checking in.

Sampler

Here's my week, in case you were wondering. No, I don't have pictures. Yes, I know you like them. No, I am too lazy to download them now, so stop asking for pictures.

1. My princess of a daughter informed me that there are two lists boys fall on. There is the cute list, and the good personality list (a good personality was someone like her, she said, you know, funny but not obnoxious, nice, not stupid). She seemed a little perplexed that none of the boys she knows fall on both lists. (I was not.) We discussed names of boys, and which lists they fell under. I tried to reign myself in, and I (surprisingly) kept from spouting how I felt about her discovering boys a few years too early.
As we were finishing our conversation I asked her which quality was more important, cuteness or personality. She thought for a second, and answered "Personality." My heart leaped for joy. "That's right," said I, "because cute can go away, but personality never changes." She was quiet, then said disappointingly, "So a boy might not always be cute?" One life lesson learned a little too soon.

2. Cannon started carrying around a box. It is a Home Depot project box, with a sliding top. The prof had made them with the kids over a year ago. And they had remained unused until this past week. When Cannon started carrying his everywhere. He discovered it was the perfect place to put his Nintendo DS, and all his Bakugan, and any other important small things he didn't want to lose. Again. Because he loses things all the time.
Like the time he lost his Nintendo DS two weeks after he got it. And it remained lost for months, until it fell on me when I was cleaning under my bed. (He had put it inside my box spring. I'm not sure why.) So now he sleeps with it, wakes up and takes it downstairs, takes it in the car, puts it on top the tv before he leaves for school, takes it down when he comes home, totes it with him until he falls asleep with it. And then the cycle starts again. It is really quite endearing.
Poor guy, he just hates losing things. He can't help it though, being related to me and all.

3. My eldest waited until the last minute to do his book report. Again, being my son, I was not surprised. But he had already read the book! (He's really into Hardy Boys right now. And any kind of war book. Non fiction are his favorites. He gets that from the prof.)
He wrote out the oral part at school, and we just had to build a diorama. I made salt dough (how preschool of me, I know) and I let him go to town on the inside of a shoe box. It turned out quite nicely, with painted trees, a sandy beach, an overturned boat, and the Hardy boys (aka lego men). I let him do the entire thing, even though I was told parents could help a LITTLE. He does not need nor want my help.
Cannon wanted to know if the school was going to keep it, because he really wanted his lego guys back. He probably wants to put them in his box.
Chance also finished his cub scout requirements and will be receiving a pretty awesome award next week at his last pack meeting, and then he'll cross over into boy scouts. Ahh, scouts. It just seems to last forever.

4. Claire is as cute as ever. Seriously, have you seen her? Adorable, especially with her new talking with her eyes thing. I don't know how she does it, but she makes the most hilarious eye movements that make me want to eat her right up. I've never seen any of my children be quite this expressive with just their eyes. And she also decided that she likes nursery (score!) so that increases the cute quotient by 1000. If she wasn't so stubborn, I'd say she was the perfect baby. But stubborn she is. And usually she's without clothes. I pick my battles. Being a two year old, she usually wins.

5. I love running. Seriously, I. Love. Running. Especially this week. I can go for a run at 4pm if I want and it's so beautiful outside. So when both of my running partners call out (happens 2 or 3 times a week, on average, slackers) I can still get a run in. In the summer, this isn't possible, as the heat is too oppressive past 6am. But now, oh now is when I live to run. I would run every morning and every night if I could. I would go for miles and miles. When I see other people running, all I can think about is how much I wish I was running. And if I could get another run in, I will.
Someday when all my children are big and I have nothing to do (right Dad?) I will run 2 or 3 times a day, just for fun. I will go for 20 milers on the weekend. It will be awesome.

6. Remind me someday to tell you about the hula hoop contest that Chance entered. It's a good story.

Because you know you want to see pics of my kids...

This picture is my favorite of all the children.

This is the prof's favorite, and being a good wife, I put it in the Christmas card.

I love this one.

My awesome sis, Beka, took these pictures of my family. I wish my children didn't run in horror at the thought of getting photographed. Even though they absolutely hate every minute of it, Bek still was somehow able to make us look good.

Random observations

We had the opportunity to go to the school last night. Cannon was getting his very first SOTM award. He looks excited. Despite his overwhelming emotionless expression, He was actually quite pleased. On the inside.

This was the exact face he made through the entire ordeal. Not a single smile. Not one. I'm not real sure where the seriousness comes from. It must be the prof. I find I can blame most things on him.
On a different note,

I went out the other night.

I had a meeting or something to go to.

It was in the neighborhood.

I was gone about 1 hour.

I left my eldest in charge.
This is what I saw when I walked in the door.

My baby sound asleep on the couch.

An open jar of peanut butter between her legs.

A fork.

Peanut butter on everything, the couch, her hands, her hair, her diaper.

I had to ask myself

A. Wasn't somebody supposed to be watching her?

B. Do I dare wake her to give her a bath?

I opted for a baby wipe bath.

I reprimanded the children.

I wonder, do you think she loves peanut butter as much as me?

Turkey trot, trot, trot

(Bottom row, Lisa and Me, Top row, Dad, Nick, Craig in a turkey suit, Amy, Mike, Rachael, Richard (holding Rock))

My family has run the Turkey Trot in Mesa for like 30+ years now, or almost as long as they've put it on. It was just my dad for many of those years, but as you can tell, he's converted most of his children to the sport of running. This makes him a little giddy, as he loves running almost as much as he loves us.

Before you get any ideas about how lovely this all is, a family full of runners getting together early Thanksgiving morning to celebrate and enjoy one another's company, I have to tell you that this is not for fun, although we have fun. We are not occasional runners. We take this seriously.

For example here are some words we exchange with each other as we await the start:
What do you think your pace is going to be today?
What is your goal time?
How did you do last year?
Do you think you'll set a PR (personal record)?
Did you eat a good dinner last night?
What did you eat for breakfast?
Are you feeling strong?
How's your hip, calf, foot, etc.?
Remember, don't go out too fast (to the newcomer).

As we congregate on the patio above the sign in tables, we hand off all of our keys, wallets, phones, and newly acquired t-shirts to the spectators (usually mom, some spouses and small children). We stretch and jump and pin our bibs to our shirts. We discuss whether we think the weather will be good, and whether we should add or shed layers. My dad visits the portajohn a million times, just in case. We watch the 1 milers finish, and then the 2 milers. Then we start our descent to the start line (surprisingly this year, one of us was skipping very big skips to the start, I won't say who).

My eldest brother who runs 6 minute miles is usually right up near the line. The rest of us are nearer to the front than the back of the pack. We wait, and wait, until the gun goes off. And then we go.

No, we don't run all together.

We each have our own pace. Sometimes those paces match up, and we'll get two of us running together. This year was Rachael's first year, as she's a newcomer to the sport. Amy ran with her. They did awesome, although I know Rachael was slowed down by the massive ring on her left hand, placed there just the night before by Greg(g). I am excited to have another sister in the running ranks (Beka you are next). I am also excited to have another brother.

We weave in and out of the thousands of people. The crowds don't seem to thin at all, as it's a 10K and there aren't enough miles to separate them. We turn onto Brown, turn again at the end of the park, turn again on Adobe. All the time passing runners and being passed by runners as we find our paces.

I am surprised this year as I see my dad ahead of me. I catch him, smile, and run past him. I wondered, rightly so, if his injury was bothering him. I don't see any of my other siblings. I wonder who is ahead and who is behind me. I slowed down for mile 5, it's a slight upgrade. I get discouraged because I don't foresee making my first goal (53 minutes) and try to salvage my second goal (55 minutes). I hit mile 6, with .2 to go and realize if I kick hard enough I can make 53. I don't know how I made up the time, but I kick. I cross the finish line, then turn to the ropes to catch the rest of my family. I look for them, and pretty soon I see Nick, then Amy and Rachael. I cheer and then go find the rest of the family on the patio.

Someone tells me I beat Richard. What?! I came in 1st BM (behind Mike, who ran it in 42 minutes, the freak show). That can't be right, I say. Are you sure? I beat Richard?! I came in after Mike?! I let the reality of that hit. It was a wonderful feeling, sublime actually. Although I somehow missed them, Richard, Lisa, and Dad came in right after me.

We discuss the race back on the patio. We dissect the miles, recap our injuries and illnesses and how we feel now. We eat orange slices and drink water. And then we wish each other a Happy Thanksgiving and leave. Some of us go to the parents, some to the inlaws.

It's one of my most favorite holiday traditions.

Chchchchchchanges...

Ways to tell your children are turning into teenagers and you are turning into your mother:

Me: Why didn't you eat your lunch today? (asked as looking into a full lunchbox)
Child: Because no one brings those kind of chips to school. (Tortilla chips)
Me: When I was your age, I was grateful for anything to eat, and most days I had nothing!

Me: I bought you a new shirt today. How do you like it? (Holding up a nice striped polo)
Child: I'm not wearing that to school. No one wears those kinds of shirts to school.
Me: What's wrong with it? It's nice, and brand new!
Child: No one wears nice clothes to school, I'm not wearing it.
Me: Oh you'll wear it, if I have to duct tape it to your body!

Child: Do you want me to show you which boy I like? He's in the yearbook.
Me: Is it still that Mike kid? (Fake names have been used)
Child: Mom, he is soooo last year. He's totally old school.

Child: I need a cell phone.
Me: No, you don't.
Child: But all my friends have one!
Me: I didn't get a cell phone until I was 31, you are just going to have to wait.
Child: I wish we weren't so poor.

Child: Mom, are you going to blog about this?
Me: No. Well, maybe.
Child: Well I'll find out, all my friends read your blog.
Me: Ummmm, what?

Murmur

Sometimes I mess up. And then I feel just awful about it. I'm not perfect. I've never claimed to be. I just wish I wasn't so human. And I wish I could hide under anonymity, so no one would ever have to know that I am a loser sometimes.
And if I want to dwell on this for a little while, I wish people wouldn't tell me to get over it. Because I will get over it, just on my own timetable.

-------------------

I have magic scriptures. Yes, that's right, magic.

When I open my scriptures, I am almost always given the comfort, answers and admonitions I needed right then. Seriously, it's almost scary.

For example, I was complaining the other day (not perfect, remember?) about having to do something that seemed monumentally difficult. I complained to a few(5) people about said hard task (don't judge me, it's how my head works). I wallowed in a swimming pool of self-pity.

Then (10 minutes later) I realized I was wrong. I was really wrong. And I needed to apologize to all (5) people I had complained to. I needed to assure them that I would be fine, that my complaints were unfounded, that everything was actually going to be alright.

And then I felt really dumb. Why is it that when I feel really strongly about something I can't just stop my mouth from opening and my foot from lodging itself inside? Why can't I figure out the feelings I have on my own, without involving a whole slew of innocent bystanders, whom I've now converted to my way of thinking, and I have to reshape their view of the situation?

That evening, I opened my scriptures. Literally, I just opened them. And there, highlighted for my eyes to read was 1 Nephi. You know the part where Nephi speaks about his brothers murmuring, where they were saying it's a hard thing the Lord has asked them to do, but Nephi says he will go and do all things?

I wish I wasn't a murmurer. There in black and white and highlighted red, were the words I needed to hear, stop murmuring. Just go and do. My life is not hard. I don't have many trials, compared to some. Everything would be alright. Stop freaking out.

I wish my magic scriptures would've opened themselves a little sooner.

Lost

Can you see what's missing?
That's right, his first baby tooth popped out last week. And by popped out, I literally mean he hung onto it with every effort he could until it finally gave up the ghost. It was turning a very disturbing shade of dark and was distortedly twisted from lack of attachment. But he did NOT want to pull it, for fear of blood and pain, mostly pain (remember the drawing his blood incident?). Even the thought of free money wouldn't move him to yanking it out or permissing anyone else to touch it.
So it clung to it's perch on the front of his mouth. He would eat sideways to avoid using it. He would gently wiggle it just to make sure it was still there. And that is how he spent the last 3 months.
One day he was walking upstairs and POP! Out came the tooth on it's own, into his little hands. No blood, no pain, just a tiny tooth and the space where it used to be.
He came running in to tell me. I captured a few photos, and told him to go find the Tooth Fairy Pillow. On his way out the door he dropped it. Oh, the devastation.
We searched the carpet on our hands and knees. We enlisted sibling help. We combed the loft trying to find it. In the process I found all kinds of things that look like a tooth, crumbs, beads, legos, polly pocket pieces.
Finally, when almost all hope was lost, the tooth was found. And a celebration was had. And the tooth was quickly tucked into the tooth fairy pillow before it could be dropped again.

Oh how I love this kid.

Punny kids

Here are some of the latest jokes circling our home, A la Emme.

What do you call an elephant in a phone booth?

Stuck.

What is red and smells like blue paint?

Red paint.

Would you forget me if I was gone for an hour?

Would you forget me if I was gone for a day?

Would you forget me if I was gone for a week?

Me: Knock knock

You: Who's there?

Me: See, you forgot me already.

My friend likes to watch chickens cross the road all day.

I asked her why.

She said because it's poultry in motion.

What gives you the power to see through walls?
Windows

Why was Cinderella kicked off the soccer team?

Because she kept running away from the ball.

Want to hear a construction joke?

You can't, I'm still working on it.

I'm working on a magic joke.

I throw a pumpkin in the air and it comes down squash.

Why did the elephant cross the road?

It was the chickens day off.

Why didn't the skeleton cross the road?

He didn't have the guts.

Letters by Emme

Dear Dad,
I (heart) u so much!! I love your curly hair.
He smells like pizza
He keeps me in a house
He is my dad
He is my wonderful dad!!
Sincerely,
Emily

Dear Cannon,
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOP
QRSTUVWXYZ
012345678910
I (heart) u so much! Stay smart, hope
you always get "A's"
ABC, 123
He is smart
Yesiree, I (heart) u.
U (heart) me for all eternity.
Sincerely,
Emily

Dear Claire,
You are such a
great sister. I love u so
much!! Thank you for being
such a great sister.
She is like silver
or is it gold
she is my sister
my wonderful sister.
Sincerely,
Emily

Dear Chance,
I (heart) U!! I like your
brown hair.
He smells like candy
He is as handsome as Tony Hawk
He is my brother
my wonderful brother.
Sincerely,
Emily

Dear Mom,
You are the best mom
ever. You are a
great cook. I (heart) u so
much!! You are very
beautiful. I (heart) your black
hair.
Her hair is like candy
she smells like perfume
She is very handy
She is my mom
My wonderful mom.
I (heart) U!!
Sincerely,
Emme

Pictures?!

We celebrate Halloween early around here. Mainly because there was a neighborhood FHE party and it was just another excuse for the kids to dress up and eat candy.

Because they won't get enough on Friday.

Is she not the most cutest Snow White ever?

I firmly believe I do not ever recall a more adorable version of this princess. Even with blackened feet from the rented bouncer. (You should have seen the bath water.) She fully enjoyed herself and ate as many pieces of popcorn off the ground as she could, and drank from as many people's cups as she found. What are the odds that she won't contract some hideous disease?

Can I just tell you that I love the Disney Store? I went there last Saturday looking for a ninja. The salesman showed me this Power Ranger. I told him I really needed a ninja. He said it was 75% off. I bought it.

We've declared it a red ninja, just ask him. Complete with gloves, boot covers, and a helmet. For like $10. Fantastic.

She decided a month ago that she wanted to be a black cat. I was a little hesitant (fearful of a catwoman type outfit), but she insisted all she needed was black pants, a black shirt, cat ears and a tail. I dolled it up a little with some fuzzy yarn around her wrists and ankles. But she absolutely loved it and drew on the whiskers and nose herself. I love costumes that are regular clothes.

He originally wanted to be Wall-e. You know, a robot with tank treads and controls inside. I talked him out of that. Then he wanted to be a spy with night vision goggles that cost $80. I said no to that one. He got depressed and said he didn't want to be anything. My dearest talked him into a secret service agent. I love this costume. It's a pair of sunglasses and one of my ear buds and a fake real-looking gun. I actually bought the shirt and pants too, but he totally plans on wearing them after. And do you see that little piece of red ribbon? That's his holster, made by him. He looked for black ribbon but couldn't find any. I love how clever he is.

I love costumes that are regular clothes.

I love them.

Bubbles

I was inside my house busy the other day when my baby came up to me. "Bubbles," she said, pointing to the gigantic container of soapy water sitting atop the fridge.
My first instinct was to tell her, "Not now, see mommy is really busy doing important stuff like cleaning the house and making dinner."
But, she can't understand that. All she can see is the bubbles and me shaking my head, saying no.
So I threw caution to the wind and took that large jug of bubbles out to the front yard and started blowing for her. She screamed for joy, eyes sparkling at the sight of bubbles everywhere. She would chase them across the grass as they skittered and floated, until they reached her little fingers and Pop! While there were copious amounts of bubbles in the air immediately following a good puff of air, the bubbles would soon scatter and Pop! Pop! Pop! The offending culprit was usually a blade of grass, or a leaf on a tree, or even a strong gust of wind. Sometimes she would actually touch one and laugh as it Popped! on her finger.
She was having such a grand time.
I got caught up in her excitement and wanted to really impress her. I tried my best to blow as many bubbles as I could, so there could be hundreds floating in the air around her. As I did I noticed something. The quicker I exhaled, the less bubbles came out of the wand. But if I slowed down and took a long steady breath out, so many bubbles would emerge that I could usually take another breath without having to reload.
I thought about this for a little while. Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to be better, a better mother, wife, friend, sister, daughter, neighbor, Primary pres. I want to impress others, make them like me, it's the people pleaser in me. But as I try too hard to do too much, like the bubbles, I usually end up feeling empty and realize I haven't really accomplished anything.
I need to remember to take a long, even breath when it comes to my life. I can't be everything to everyone all the time.
And I need to remember that sometimes, it's okay to blow bubbles in the front yard with my baby.

Two - It's where it's at

I let all two year olds eat cookies for breakfast on their birthday. In fact, on their birthday, all two year olds get to eat cookies all day long. Soda pop too. That was pretty much her day, cookies and soda, soda and cookies. I mean, it's not her fault her brother has the flu and we can't go anywhere or do anything. To compensate for this unjustness, I allow an all-you-can-eat cookie and soda buffet. It is her birthday.

Also on her birthday, all two year olds do not have to comb their hair. No, two year olds get to spend their day in their jammies, read books, eat cookies, drink soda, take naps, and cuddle up to their mommies, without having to undergo the ritual of untangling the disaster that is her hair. Which, lets face it, will just tangle itself back up a minute after I detangle it.

I love two year olds. But mostly, I love this two year old. How could you not?

Nothing gets done around here

It's fall break.

Let me tell you what I've accomplished.

ummmm......

Not much.

My children being home distracts me from my to-do list.

But I can tell you that I've washed more dishes than humanly possible. How is it that I need to refill the dishwasher thrice daily? How is it?! Do you have any idea how many dishes that is?! Come on children! One cup a day, rinse and reuse. That's my mantra. I should've started saying it on Monday.

************

I have been able to dissect all the available info, and have put together a plan for our 3 month food storage. This took quite a bit longer than expected. (I was right, Gluten Free makes it challenging. But not impossible.) I am thoroughly excited about it and cannot wait to start purchasing bulk quantities of canned goods. That's right, thoroughly excited. And you should be too. Excited that is. About food storage. Who knew it could be so fun and liberating? Kammie did. She was our most recent Cannery/Food Storage Specialist. And she's laughing at the rest of us right now. Wagging her finger and smirking, I'm sure. It's okay, we deserve it, those of us who did not heed her calls to store up. Kammie, can you hear me? I'm sorry Kammie, really sorry. I should've listened. Please forgive me.

My 3 month supply will include items such as chicken enchiladas and pumpkin muffins. It might take me a year or two to collect all the food, but in the end, we'll be eating pretty.

By the way, pumpkin muffins rock.

*********

By the way, my kids have lived outside all week. They've had wrestling tournaments on the trampoline and played war on the swing set. My windows are open and I've been baking. I love the fall. By the way.

Ummmm, what?

Today when I called a friend of mine, her husband answered.

"May I speak with _______," I asked, customer-service-like politely.

"She's had a rough morning and is taking a nap right now," says husband.

Here's where it got dicey. Don't ask me why I said this, it just came out.

"Well, when she's aroused, could you have her call me?" asked I.

Uncomfortable Pause ensues.

"Suuurrrre," he finally answers.

I hang up the phone and wonder, well, that didn't sound right.

And then I flush red and my mouth gapes open. Aroused?!! I said aroused, to her husband. I told her husband to call me when his wife was aroused. AROUSED!

And I'm sure he will never look at me the same again.

(for the record, I meant to say 'when she arises' or 'when she rouses'. I just combined them into one sentence.)

My trash runneth over

I witnessed a miracle today. I mean yesterday.

As many of you know, I have trashy problems. Remember when our can went missing? That was an awful couple of days.

This past weekend my sweetest installed winter grass. (I know, I know, isn't that like unenvironmentally friendly? Shouldn't I just let it go dormant to save on water? Guess what? I have four children. It's only nice enough to be outside during the winter. It wasn't even a hard choice. Don't hate me because I plant.)

In order to plant the rye, you must remove all summer bermuda from your lawn. It is a tedious job. One of mowing 3 feet, emptying the grass clippings from the mower bag, and repeating for all 1300 square feet. (We aren't even talking the backyard yet.)

As my professor was doing this, certain words came from his mouth. Mostly they had to do with, "I can't believe I let you talk me into Bobsod @!#$*!!*#". Why was he so perturbed? Because Bobsod is unbelievably thick, think carpet-like. It's awesome to play on, really bouncy and soft. But it's not so fun to remove. It took him a looooong time. (We aren't even talking the backyard yet.) It was a lot of mowing, emptying, mowing, emptying, mowing, emptying.

Take a moment to ponder all that emptying. You can imagine that we had a serious trash problem. Where does one put 10-12 large bags of dead grass? Especially when we are still a garbage producing family? And the trash man doesn't show up until Monday?

By Sunday night we had 9 grass bags on the side yard and 4 indoor garbage bags in the garage. Take a moment to imagine the smell.

Monday came and my prof told me to go to our neighbors cans and see if they had any room, ie. put some of our trash in theirs. Ummm, isn't that illegal? Is their such a thing as garbage fraud? I felt dirty all over even opening their lids. Of course, their was no room.

So I stuffed our can as full as I could, with 4 extra bags spilling out the top. And waited. The trash man doesn't come until late afternoon.

I came home from an errand and discovered he had come. I took the bags from the garage and some of the bags on the side yard and almost filled it back up. And then I left it there on the curb. Why did I leave it on the curb? Sometimes I'll put it away, sometimes I'll just pull it into the driveway. But yesterday I left it on the curb, almost full.

And then the miracle.

The trash man, he came again. He came again! I heard his truck pull up, stop, and drive away. I looked outside and saw the can lid was closed. I went to check. It was empty! Empty! I had witnessed a miracle, a tender mercy. My trash was overflowing and he had emptied it. Again.

Happy Thanksgiving!

To my dearest prof:

Aren't you worried about the possibility of being on the receiving end of a rock, thrown through your office window? There's a lot of Anti-Canadian sentiment out there, I'm sure. I'm glad to see you haven't deterred from your patriotism. And Einsteinism. Wait, isn't that an element?

Brick walls all around me

Do you, any of you, wonder why I post? I mean, what is the point of my blog? To marvel at my children? To find humor in the mundane? To discuss running? The answer is, yes.

Do you ever wonder why I don't post more personal topics? It isn't that I don't enjoy a good laugh/cry or testimony building experience. I love reading all about yours, so please, by all means, continue. It's just that emotionally charged stories and such are hard for me. Don't get me wrong, I can definitely pour my heart out over the keyboard. I just have a hard time letting you look at them.

Why is that? What is it about me, that doesn't like showing you, my faithful readers, my innermost thoughts and feelings and experiences?

Honestly, I'm not sure.

Do I fear judgement? Yes, but that's not the whole of it. Here, I will try to explain.

You know how you find yourself sitting in a pew on the first Sunday of the month? Here you are, minding your own business, tending to the needs of your children, poking your husband awake, listening with one ear and one eye. And suddenly you know. You know you're going to get up. You don't want to, you try to suppress. But you know. And pretty soon you are standing, your feet are taking you to the front of the chapel, up to the pulpit, and you find yourself sharing the one thing most sacred to you, for all to hear. And your heart is bleeping out of your ribs and your face is red all the way down to your chest and you are avoiding any and all eye contact, and you are talking 800 words a minute.

Phew, and you're done.

But see, that's not the worst part. The worst part, in my opinion, is the aftermath. It's the smiles and the pats on the back and the "I really liked your testimony" comments that come for the next few hours. Why does this bother me? I mean, isn't the whole point of sharing so that others can get something out of it? So that we can lift each other as a whole? Why do I cringe at every compliment? Why do I wish I could just go home and forget the whole thing?

I think, and I could be wrong, but for me, I think it's because I've let myself become vulnerable. I've exposed the real me, raw and open for all to see and, let's face it, judge. (We're not even discussing the whole problem of "What if I said it wrong?" I know there are rules, I read the Ensign. What if I thanked instead of testified? What if I used the wrong words or stumbled over my thoughts incoherently? What if I sounded like an illiterate? These are real worries.)

This problem of showing my vulnerability trickles down to my blog as well. I just can't. I've tried a few times, but end up removing the post or posting a lot until the offending post gets relegated to the archives. I can't even look at it, much less the comments.

So for now, I will keep my personal stuff personal. And I will continue to enlighten you with my wit and charm, my children and my professor, my running. You know, my regular life.

Shore

It's snack time, and around here, pickings have been pretty slim as of late.

I'm trying to cut back on the processed food for two reasons: money, and a desire to feed my children more than chicken nuggets and french fries every other day. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I still do it, just on occasion instead of it being the norm. But the main reason is money.

I've cut out many extras on our grocery list. We are down to the bare essentials, so that hopefully we can reduce our weekly food costs and start a food storage program. That's right, I said start. I know now is the most inopportune time to start, but it's better than not starting at all, right? A bad start is better than no start. Start start start start start. What a funny word. It's a star with a tart on the end.

So like I said, it's snack time, and long gone are the goldfishes, the fruit cups, the fruit snacks, the cookies, the wafers, the crackers, the granola bars, pretty much anything that comes individually packaged. (I still buy some of that stuff for the older kids lunches(school lunches are $2.25 each!!! Multiply that by 2 children and it's over $20 a week for food that my chitlin's will only eat half of. Ridiculous. Plus, no gluten free offerings.)

The call comes, "I'm so hunnnngrrry! Can I have a snack?" says he.

"Sure," I reply.

"What can I have," he says.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"What have we got?" he volleys back.

Good question. I search the fridge, then the pantry. Like I said, slim pickings.

"How about peanut butter on a stick?" I offer.

"Shhoooore," says he.

I dig up a plastic knife and scoop out some pb for him, and then another for his sister.

"Mom," he grins, "it's like a peanut butter popsicle."

Yep, a peanut butter popsicle.

At least he's not using his finger to dig it out of the jar.

Like his mom does.