aunt lelia's legacy

Is It Just Me?

2011-08-08T12:56:00.000-07:00

This will be a short post. Mainly because it is a knee-jerk reaction and I haven't really regained my powers of speech/writing. It also may offend. But I'm not really sure I'm worried about that. (Huh, what do you know? There IS something I'm not worried about...)

But has anyone seen the new Summers Eve ad? The first time I saw it I was startled. But I really thought there had been some technical error at the station and they'd spliced two unrelated ads.

I just saw it again though. There was no error.

Just incredibly stupid advertisers.

I'm Not Sure I Wanna Know...

2011-06-05T15:28:00.000-07:00

Today, someone told me I looked like a movie star.

I'm not gonna lie-I was flattered.

Then I started wondering just what the last movie he had seen actually was...

The IRS Is My Favorite...

2011-05-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, so my friend Missy just gave me a blogging award. I would link to her blog but I don't know how which tells you just how undeserved this actually is but I love her to death and I haven't written in forever so I thought I should at least make a gesture...

Anyway.

Last night Guapo informed me that I was going to have to make a trip to the local IRS office on some business. To say I was less than thrilled would be a gross understatement.

Not because I resent paying taxes. I happen to believe that taxes are the price we pay for living in such a lovely country. Not because the IRS strikes fear in my heart. I have, in fact, met some very pleasant people there. (True, most of them were waiting with me, but... ) And not because I hate to wait in line (which I do). But I live conveniently close to the office and can manage to get there early enough that I don't usually have to wait at all.

No, I don't like going there because it forces me to come face to face with the fact that sometimes I am not very Christian in my attitudes. More specifically, about my attitude toward one particular man who works there.

He drives me batty.

He's not mean. Although he's been cranky quite a few times. In fact, he was even exceedingly pleasant. (Once.) And even moderately...moderate. (Three times.)

But really most of the time he just seems irritable. And frankly, like a little bit of a nitwit.(Thank you, Maren.)

Our history goes back years. Since Guapo owns a small business we have to pay quarterly taxes so I see more of him than you might think and he's been this way for as long as I can remember.

Let me give you an example. The last time I had to go there I was the first one in the office. The only other person there was the UPS man, whom I knew, and he was just finishing his delivery. We said hello to one another and I approached the window.

"You'll need to take a number and a seat, Ma'am."

Remember, there's no one there.

But, I did.

And then I watched him as he painstakingly unwrapped his package, divided it into sections, delivered each section to a different area of the office, returned to his desk, ORGANIZED it, and then pushed the button and called out, "Number one, please," in a chipper voice, and smiled as if he'd never seen me in his life.

And we were still alone.

(Have you seen Meet The Parents? The lady at the airline desk? Yeah, like her.)

Today when I went I took Buo. We were the first ones there and reached for a number. The security guard informed us that the two people in the office were training and they wouldn't be ready to help anyone for about forty minutes or so. Then he suggested we could step across the street for a donut while we waited.

Wha...?

We took the number, ran home, and made it back in fifteen minutes where we waited for another half hour with the nine other people who had since assembled. I'm glad.

Now I have witnesses.

We got to listen to my buddy who trained his co-worker while she explained to him just how faulty this new system was. How prone to errors it would be. How many SERIOUS errors were sure to happen.

All he could do was confirm that those kinds of errors HAD ALREADY HAPPENED. (No one in the waiting area can WAIT to get to the window NOW so we can be seriously fouled up by their new system. I can tell by the way the guy next to me is alternately shaking and sweating...)

Yes. It's true. That's what he said. At which point Buo turned to me and said softly, "Is he really that dumb?" (It occurs to me now that I may have passed on some of my LessThan Charitable world views to my offspring...)

FYI, friends at the IRS, your reputations are a little...well...cloudy, shall we say, anyway. You might not wanna put it all out there like this. Just sayin'.

Then, forty five minutes after they opened, he loudly and happily proclaimed, "Now we're ready to start the day. And all before 9:15."

Only forty five minutes after they opened.

Hoo-ray.

(P.S. I'm pretty sure they post that security guard there to protect that man from himself.)

(Missy's blogs can be found at glasseyedgradys.blogspot.com and bankburglarsdaughter.blogspot.com.)

Wherein I Rant and Rave and Get A Wee Bit Political

2011-03-09T06:48:00.000-08:00

In general, I avoid political discussion. Not because I don't have opinions because, oh, I do. But because I know enough about myself to know that I don't like who I become when I am involved in heated debate. I have learned this in the School of Hard Knocks so to speak and I don't need any refresher courses, thankyouverymuch.

That said...

In January, in a small town in Arizona, a gunman opened fire in the parking lot of a shopping center. Multiple people were shot, injured and several were killed. The victims included a Congresswoman and a nine year old girl.

This morning it was reported that while formal charges on all counts had now been brought to bear on the man arrested, it would likely be years before he would be brought to trial. It seems he needs to be declared competent to face charges.

Competent to face charges. Competent.

And I thought, how much time would have been saved had he had to have been declared competent to purchase a weapon?

I know, I know, "Guns don't kill people. People kill people." "It's our right to bear arms. It's guaranteed in the Constitution." I've heard it all. But please, folks, a little common sense? I know common sense isn't written in there in the Constitution, (a fact I mean to bring up with the Founding Fathers in the next life if given the chance...)but I think it's implied, no? And if it's not actually implied isn't it implicit upon us as citizens to make sure issues are addressed that the Founding Fathers didn't foresee?

I just keep thinking, maybe if we fix this then that little girl's face won't haunt us all so much every time her picture is flashed across the screen. I doubt her parents will be so lucky.

Pride Goeth Before The Fall and....OOmpff!

2011-02-27T16:12:00.000-08:00

I have absolutely wonderful kids...at least I think so. Ninety nine percent of the time I couldn't ask for one darn thing more but I have really failed them in the "teaching them to clean" category. Probably because I hate to do it myself. So imagine my surprise as I walked into the girls' room this afternoon and found this:

It nearly brought tears to my eyes I'm telling you. Really.

And then I turned around.

Kudos, Self

2011-02-27T16:03:00.000-08:00

Can I just say that church ended at four, it is now five and we have all been fed a hot meal?

Yes, I think I can say it. In fact, I think I just did.

It would however, be completely not okay to fail to mention that this is the first time that has happened in about a year and a half.

Old Friends Are Lovely

2010-12-22T07:26:00.000-08:00

Well, I haven't written in months.

Much has been happening, some good, some less so, all of it just part of life.

And I'm not going to write much now other than to say I'll write more soon and hope to have some lovely news by February.

I have a friend, Melissa by name, (Missy if you've known her as long as I have) and she also hasn't written in months. Much has been happening in her life too, some good, some less so. Life, you know.

Here's the good news...she's writing again. And she's having a little giveaway.

Here's the better news...she's funny. I mean REALLY funny. I mean, don't-eat-or-drink-while- reading-her-posts-'cause-they'll-make-you-choke funny.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Here's the address...glasseyedgradys.blogspot.com

(Sheesh. Still technologically challenged. Someday I'll get it...Maybe. Mutter, mutter.)

Into The Wild (Gulp)

2010-06-21T20:09:00.000-07:00

Here's a little tidbit about me. I hate camping. Hate. It.

When I was eleven I was in Girl Scouts. The cookies were the main attraction. And even they were not enough to keep me there once I had been to camp. I was done after one trip and I never went back. Except once to pick up my sister. And I was stung by a wasp on my rear end within five minutes of setting foot on the property.

I knew then that camping and I were not meant to be. The only way I could possibly be more out of place when I am there is if I threw on a tiara and a feather boa.

Moving to Utah, land of pioneers and self-sufficiency, did nothing to change my mind. Instead, it only made it worse because now camping was combined with another of my major fears...heights. The only thing worse than camping is having to drive up the side of a mountain to do it.

When El Guapo was made first counselor the first thing that he was put in charge of was the activities committee. He came home and informed me that we were going to the ward campout. I informed him that I wasn't sure, but I didn't think our prenup had covered that possibility.

It didn't matter, we went anyway.

He came home, loaded the van and off we went, father-in-law in tow. When we arrived, the only place left to set up a tent was the parking lot. While Guapo did that, the kids and I ate buns (the meat was already gone by the time we arrived) and marshmallows. The ward sang a song, said a prayer, and it was bedtime. (We got there really late apparently.) We trooped back to our new tent, unzipped the "door" and stepped inside. There my sweetheart had carefully laid...a quilt.

No bedrolls. No pillows. No sleeping bags.

Just a quilt.

Papi took one look at the scene and muttered something in Spanish about sleeping in the car. Wise man.

The rest of us looked at our fearless leader. I had nothing left. The drive up had taken it out of me completely. We arranged the kids between us for warmth, pulled the quilt up to our chins and...laid there. The kids slept, they can sleep through anything, but no such luck for Guapo and me. About two in the morning I asked Guapo if he was awake. He was. I asked if he had had enough yet. He had. We disappeared into the night. The ward had no idea what had happened.

When Guapo was called as bishop in the Spanish ward my favorite thing about the ward, initially anyway, was that they didn't camp. I thought I was off the hook.

And then they made me Young Women's president.

I had to go to camp. Again. And I did. And there were parts that I loved...the parts that had nothing to do with camping.

But the part where I have to be dirty. Unh unh. The part where I can't wash my hair. Nope. Or the part where I have to go up the mountain. Or the part where I smell like smoke for days on end. The endless sun. Or rain. Or cold. Or hot. No, I still don't like it.

This year I was informed by the YCLs that we weren't supposed to wear make up either. (Stop laughing.) After five days in the wilderness the only thing that separates me from the potguts and other wildlife is my eyeliner and I am not going down happily.

Any prayers would be appreciated.

Random Things That Have Caused Me Frustration In Just The Past Three Days

2010-05-12T07:09:00.000-07:00

1. Businesses that I owe money to who make me press three hundred and seven buttons to get to *Please Hold*. Really, how much do you want your money?

2. Stores that sell clothes but have no dressing rooms or mirrors. In my head I look good in quite a few things that don't really pan out in real life. Help a girl out.

3. Salesmen. Always. Just salesmen.

I Am Still Learning

2010-04-03T10:21:00.000-07:00

Today one of my church leaders addressed mothers and daughters in our semi-annual general conference. As I listened, an interesting thing happened to me- I realized that I had ceased to think of myself as a daughter. Really, when a talk or an article addresses mothers and daughters I mainly identify with the idea of myself as a mother, and I'm not sure when that happened.

Certainly not when Dobbie was born. Or Buo. I don't think it was even when the girls were born. It must have happened sometime though because I was acutely aware of it at that moment. And I'm not sure it is necessarily a good thing. I'm really not sure that it is all bad either. I think I have decided that it just- is.

The church leader went on to give advice and counsel to young women in regard to their mothers and the wisdom in following their example. I think it was then that it really hit me. As always when I hear a talk like this I was uncomfortably aware of my own shortcomings as a parent. And then my mind wandered. I thought of my own mother and her shortcomings. They are, in the overall scheme of things, mild, but she too, is painfully aware of them, I know. I thought of friends who struggle with their relationships with their own mothers and, I must say, there is a great deal to struggle with in some situations. I know children who have suffered in the hands of abusive parents. I have friends who struggle even now, with the effects of their upbringing. I thought of people I know with mothers like this and how they have to move on and away from these ties to survive in their own skins.

But I also thought of this.

I have a great deal still left to learn.

And every day I learn it.

Some days I learn it from my neighbor lady. Some days I learn it from my daughters. Or my sons. Some days I learn it from my husband. A co-worker. The person who bags my groceries. Or a primary child. Even my tiny mother-in-law with whom I communicate in a mixture of Spanglish and hand gestures. And, yes, many days I still learn it from my own mother and father.

And always, always, I learn it from my Father in Heaven.

I have decided that I'm not done with being a daughter. And I don't think I want to be.

Pots and Pans and Other Stuff

2010-03-29T21:17:00.000-07:00

Twenty two plus years ago when I got married my mother gave me a pot. It is large, oval, and made from cast iron. I use it every day. It is my favorite pot. (Have I ever mentioned that I hate cooking? Or that I'm really bad it? No? Not surprising...I don't like to remind Guapo and the kids of it because they have to deal with it every day. Why twist the knife?)

But back to the pot. It is very old. Many people have admired it and a few have even asked to borrow it but I have been forced to say no. It is, in truth, one of the few things that I don't happily loan out because I can't run the risk of not getting it back. ("Would you like to borrow the dog instead? I know you'll bring him back...") You see, the pot belonged to my grandmother who died in 1950, when my mother was four. This pot, and a bracelet I have on "loan" from my mother are all I have of her.

The idea that I am so attached to some THING is unsettling to me. It goes against my grain. I don't think of myself as a person much attached to things but when I thought about the pot the other day and how attached to it I was, I started to think of the other THINGS I am also attached to. It is quite a list.

I suppose we all have a few things like that-pots, bracelets, a blanket, a photo... And I think that's okay. But still I feel a little guilty because it's a THING. Am I materialistic? (Well, probably, and not just because of the pot but in theory, at least, I frown on this.)

Of course, if I lost all of those things in a fire or theft (really though, what thief would take a pot?) I could carry on. But I would carry on a little less cheerfully, I think. Because when I cook in that pot I imagine Grandma Audrey cooking for my mother in it too and I feel close to her for a bit.

And how can that be all bad?

New Fact (Maybe)

2010-03-21T20:36:00.000-07:00

So here is an intriguing new fact that I learned this week...

The only time a man's eyes dilate independent of a light source are when they look at an attractive woman.

The only time a woman's eyes dilate independent of light are when they look at a baby.

I am not one hundred percent certain that this is true. (I mean, I haven't like, googled it or anything...) But I find it strangely fascinating. I find myself returning to it and pondering in odd moments. It seems to be sort of primal, doesn't it?

My Open Letter To NBC

2010-01-15T14:56:00.002-08:00

Ahem.

Dear NBC,

I never watched Jay at 10:35.

I never watched him at 9:00.

And I will not watch him at 10:35 when he returns there -whenever that happens.

He is not funny.

Not at 10:35. Or 9:00.

In fact, this whole Time-Slot-Gymnastics routine only makes me resent him and makes the both of you seem as though you're chewing on sour grapes. (I should know, I'm chewing on a few myself.)

Just thought you'd like to know.

Sincerely, Me

Tender Mercies

2009-12-18T15:15:00.000-08:00

I write this sincerely hoping that it doesn't come off arrogantly or "holier than thou" because...well, because I don't feel that way and because I look on this more in the vein of being a tender mercy of the Lord to me to boost my own deep-seated insecurities.

El Guapo and I are both converts to our chosen faith and as such, I frequently felt (feel?) like I was (am?) flying blind as a mother. As wonderful as my own parents are I didn't grow up in a home where things like FHE or family prayer and scripture study were put into regular practice. I really had no idea how to implement them. And consistency? Ummm...yeah...not really my strong suit...

And so sometimes I wonder. Did I do it right? Will they be okay? And the suspense is killing me. Because we're not there yet and I'm really bad with suspense.

Every once in a while though the Good Lord takes pity on me and gives me enough of a glimpse to keep on going. To at least keep making the attempt. And to know that even if I'm not firmly on the path it's still in sight.

Like when I go to tuck Maizie in at night and have to come back five minutes later because she is praying. And then I have to come back again.

Or when I walk by Petunia's door and find her with her head bowed over her scriptures, searching and learning nightly, more faithful than any of us.

Or when I go to the door to wave goodbye to my sons and find them in the car, heads bowed in quiet prayer as they leave for a road trip.

I don't write this because I want to be reassured that my children are wonderful. I already realize I have been blessed far more than I deserve. I write it because I imagine that sometimes you wonder too (and someday they will) and because I know with all my heart that Heavenly Father will show you/them the same tender mercies that he has shown me. And I don't want you/them to miss them or give up too soon.

UmmmHmmm...

2009-12-01T15:11:00.000-08:00

Okay.

So.

Recently I've been having some...well, what was best described by my noble foremothers as..."female" problems. It's been a bit of a zoo here I'll tell ya. Pressure has been mounting. And I'm gonna get some of it off my chest right now. So if words like uterus, fallopian tubes or even stirrups distress you...move on now. You've been warned.

Let me begin by saying that I'm not crazy about my doctor. He's a nice enough man I guess, but I find our whole relationship awkward at best. This might be true of my relationship with any doctor of this type but I don't think so. This awkwardness can best be illustrated by the following story.

I once missed my yearly appointment with the good doctor by a few months. I eventually went in and after the ritual weigh in, blood pressure check, etc. was given my obligatory uniform and told to wait on the table. Moments later, in walks the doctor who sits down, asks the usual questions and then walks over to the table, looks down on me, and asks, "So, are you still married to that same guy?"

Now, FYI, future doctors...

Don't say things like this to a woman lying with her feet in stirrups clothed only in a glorified bib and a large paper towel. It's weird. (Trust me, I checked around just to make sure it wasn't me.)

I switched doctors the next time I had to go for the yearly thing. I called around and found a guy I'd been hearing about for years. I went in and during the course of my twentysomeodd minute appointment he made eye contact with me...zero...yes, ZERO...times.

Now, just another little piece of advice...if you are gonna get as up close and personal as an OB/GYN does with his patients...you had BETTER make eye contact at some point. Just sayin'.

Another year rolled around and I began the search again. Guess what I learned? All those doctors who went to med school for all those years, who I'd assumed really chose their profession out of a sincere desire to help and care for their patients, who I believed

had SOME interest in womens' health, who, after all, did take the Hippocratic oath...yeah, them.

Turns out? Only interested in making money.

Call me naive but I had thought they were interested in all their patients not just the ones with uteruses (uteri?) still planning on having babies. Could I find a doctor interested in me as a new patient? Nope.

Which is how I ended up back in the office Dr. StrangeBedsideManner. Just to be sure he didn't have to wonder about my marital status I took Guapo along this time. He really loves these kinds of field trips.

And there I have remained for the last several years, with a doctor I'm unsure of, participating in yearly, humiliating exams.

Until a few weeks ago when all manner of things began to go awry. I won't bore you with details but suffice it to say it ended in some outpatient, minor surgery and a great deal of angst.

And after all that? Well , they know some things it's not...

Today I went in and found out some of my options. There are several, among them a treatment whereby they run "scalding liquid" through my uterus and another where they just remove my uterus entirely. He gave me these options before (yes, before) he actually told me what was wrong. Which he doesn't actually know.

I love being a girl.

Just So You Know...

2009-10-25T19:44:00.000-07:00

...According to Facebook, I'm still amazing.

And sometimes I'm also unbelievable.

Just so you know.

How Texting (And Other Technology) Has Changed My Life

2009-10-14T12:55:00.000-07:00

When Dobbie came home from his mission a couple (?!?) months ago it quickly became apparent that he was going to need a phone. Buo had his old one and even Petunia had managed to talk her dad into one and really, even I, technological cavewoman that I am, recognized the need.

So off went the troops led by Guapo and sans me. (Otherwise known as the beginning of the end.)

Petunia was entirely too happy when they returned and here's why...

TEXTING.

I had stood firm against the institution. I had made my wishes clear. It was a RULE.

And Guapo caved.

I hate texting.

It is destroying our ability to interact with one another as human beings in a face to face way.

I have conversations with the tops of the heads of half of the people who walk the halls of the high school where I work. Even when they don't have a phone in their hands they don't look up anymore. I mean really, if you're going to pick up the phone anyway, just call. Talk to someone for real.

And it is not just teenagers. I have had conversations with adults (adults, I say) who sit with their purses open or their phones sitting on the table of the restaurant where we are eating and who actually stop our conversation to respond to the person who just texted them. I mean, I'm not a bad conversationalist overall. Occasionally, I've even been told I'm witty and moderately intelligent. Talk to me, please.

Also, yesterday, my daughter experienced uncontrollable tremors in her thumb for a brief period of time. Note I said uncontrollable, not unexplained. I know what happened.

But really, how does this affect me? I mean, I don't have to text, right? The old "if you don't like it, don't look" certainly applies here. And I agree. But it still hurts.

Let me explain.

Last night Petunia and I went to a band competition. It was raining and I nearly slipped several times. But I successfully managed to navigate both the wet stadium steps as well as the drenched aisles with only a few near misses.

I nearly made it. I rounded the final corner of the Jeep and reached for the handle when it happened. Complete wipe out. Both legs in different directions. Purse, keys, umbrella strewn all over. And I was too stunned to move.

I assessed. Nothing broken. But my knee hurt a lot. And my wrist. And my back. So I just lay there, on my back, soaking up water and thinking, "I don't want to fall again. Petunia will come pick me up. She'll help me."

Then, "She'll be here any second. Maybe she didn't hear me."

And again, "She'll wonder why I haven't gotten in soon..."

Finally, I hauled my own sorry butt up and, clutching the side of the car for support, I looked across at the top of my daughter's head. Bent over, fiddling with a machine.

She swears it was her IPod.

The Lap of Luxury

2009-09-22T14:25:00.000-07:00

So, Petunia and I went to the Women's Expo last week and entered to win about a bajillion things. Everything from food storage to shoes to scrapbooking supplies.

And I won.

A four hour spa visit. Manicure, pedicure, facial and massage. An hour each. Whenever I want.

Lovely, you say. And I answer yes.

I decided to break it into small installments. Spread out the decadence over time.

On Saturday, I went for the facial. It was amazing, sheer indulgence.

Within two hours, I began to itch. By evening I had hives all over my neck. By morning they had spread further. Nothing stopped them, not Benadryl, not ice packs, nada.

This morning, seventy two hours in, I called the doctor.

Apparently, I'm allergic to luxury.

Oma's Book List or Homework #4- A Week Late

2009-09-10T05:48:00.000-07:00

Books You Read Long Ago and It Is Now Time To Reread (In No Particular Order)

(I just picked these off my own bookshelves- I'm sure there are a hundred I will think of later...)

1. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
"One of the strange things about the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and forever and forever..."

2. Peter Pan by James Barrie
"You see, Wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."

3. To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee (I just read this five months ago but I'm sure it's time.)
"Atticus is a gentleman, just like me!"

4. Charlotte's Web by E.B. White
" 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what's a life anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die. A spider's life can't help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that.' "

5. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
(No quote but I took turns imagining myself as every one of them at some time or another.)

Oma's Homework #3

2009-09-09T16:15:00.000-07:00

Oma asked today what job you would be willing to do for free. I especially liked ~j's response which you can see if you click on the last blog on my sidebar. (And I also like that I knew that that was exactly what her response would be.)

I, not being as noble as my sweet friend, was thinking in a more "outside of the home" sort-of-way. And I am extraordinarily happy to be able to say that I would do the job I work at currently without any pay. In fact, I have often told my co-workers this.

"What do you do?" you might be wondering.

I am a paraeducator, a teacher's aide, at the local high school and I work with children who have a wide variety of disabilities.

I fell into the job by accident four years ago and I wasn't really sure how it was going to work out. But on the day I interviewed, another para told me, "I go home happy every day."

It has been four years and I can say the same thing. Still.

I smile...Every. Single. Day.

Those kids are wonderful. And funny.

Some days I cry.

But I still go home happy.

Homework #2- Books

2009-09-04T05:48:00.000-07:00

Two days in and I'm already behind on my homework.

And the thing is, these are actually assignments I like. Especially this one. Because it's about books. And reading.

I have read for as long as I can remember. And I have reread for as long as I can remember. I have identified with more books than I can think of and have more quotes floating around on sticky notes than I will ever find. (I have a hard time desecrating a book with ink-or even pencil.) I have followed Elizabeth Bennett, Harry Potter, and Mary, Colin and Dickon far more closely than I ever followed The Brady Bunch, ER, or the exploits of The West Wing.

When I looked at Oma's assignment and saw Scout's smiling face my heart leapt. Somehow, through all my years of junior high, high school and the four plus years it took me to bring home a degree in, of all things, English literature, I had never read this masterpiece. I only discovered it this past spring and...well, words simply fail me. Suffice it to say, I think it should be passed out as a parenting manual with every new baby born. ("Car seat? Check. Diapers? Check. Copy of To Kill A Mockingbird?) We would all be better human beings if Atticus had been a part of our lives. (No disrespect intended to your parents or mine.)

But to narrow it down to just ONE book?

Sorry.

Can't be done.

I started instead, to think of books that I turn to for, well, I guess they could be called comfort books. You know, like comfort food...for the heart. And two leapt to mind...

Having Our Say
The Delaney Sisters First Hundred Years by Sarah and Elizabeth Delaney

and

A Year Down Yonder by Richard Peck

Having had a few unconventional older women influence who I am, I find something deeply satisfying in my soul is filled when I read these books.

I won't say anymore. I don't want to ruin the experience for you.

Enjoy.

Homework

2009-09-01T16:50:00.000-07:00

Well...

I haven't had homework in a long time and to be frank, I don't miss it. At all.

But ~j suggested on her blog that we check out this blog- travelinoma.blogspot.com for an interesting thing to do. So I did. (Had my crash course in blogging been a bit more comprehensive I would know how to make that into a link but, alas..)

Back on topic...I was...intrigued.

And now I have homework.

Today one was supposed to plan a magnificent trip. Anywhere. And Oma describes how she does it. The woman has it down. But I have decided that I am not a planner. I freely admit this. It just doesn't hold my attention. And I'm okay with that. I am the first to admit that I miss a lot. And I'm okay with that too. What I do see though, I really see. And I see it for as long as it takes because my itinerary doesn't tell me that I have to be somewhere else in forty five minutes.

When I read the assignment I thought, "Hey, I have just come back from the proverbial 'tripofalifetime'! I believe I will write about that instead."

And so, let me tell you about my recent trip to New Zealand.

I tried to plan. I really did. But it is a whole COUNTRY and we had two weeks. And so, when we got off the plane I really and truly had no gameplan.

And so we winged it. Wung it? Let the winds blow us where they would? You get the picture.

And then it was over. And I needed (for some unknown and inexplicable reason-probably because people keep asking me) to be able to account for how I'd spent this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

No, I did not see Hobbiton. But I saw hills that looked a lot like it in the same part of the country where they filmed it. And I met an amazing "solo" mom with one of the most gorgeous children I have ever seen. I sat on her couch and we talked about how her life had changed in the past several months and I made a new friend.

I did not see the beach where they filmed "Narnia" or "Whale Rider" but I did ride in a boat deep in a cave on the other side of the world with my husband's arm around my waist while a million little glowworms shone above us. It was magical.

I went nowhere near the South Island reported to be the really "beautiful" part of New Zealand. But I held my husband's hand in one of the most beautiful zoos I have ever been in and I handfed a tropical bird. We went everywhere together on our first trip ever alone together. Twenty two years into our marriage. (You see, we walked home from our honeymoon. Another story for another time.)

I saw museums, botanical gardens, islands, lots and lots of cafes, and people from all over the world.

I saw the strangest bathroom I have ever seen in a place called Kawakawa.

I saw a sign in a window that read, "Morality, like art, begins by drawing a line somewhere. " It was flanked by two adult entertainment stores.

I saw the haka performed and I went to a Maori "unveiling" for a man I had never met but would have liked to have known.

I saw a young man whom I hadn't seen in two years climb out of a car in the pouring rain and run across a parking lot to embrace his father and me. Then I saw it again because his sweet companions were kind enough to film it for us.

I met person after person who opened their homes and hearts to us and told us about how our son had turned into the man he has become. How the message he had brought about the Gospel had changed their lives. How much they loved him. And how sorry they were to see him go. And it made giving him up for two years suddenly worth it.

I met the kindest, funniest, and most amazing man who had looked after and loved my son for those two years and I heard him sing "Moon River" and call Dobbie his "huckleberry friend."

Not planning seems to work for me.

She's A Thinker

2009-08-26T06:56:00.000-07:00

So...the other day I'm driving down the road. Maizie is in the backseat telling me about her day and the test she took and how worried she is about how she did (or didn't) do.

Let me remind you at this juncture that Maizie is all of ten.

Somewhat distracted, I assure her that I'm sure she did fabulously and not to worry. "Plus also," I add cheerfully at the end, "You're beautiful!"

There is an audible pause in the back seat and then...

"Yeah...like that'll get me a college degree."

I think it may have been the proudest moment of my life.

Maizie

2009-07-14T07:17:00.000-07:00

Today my baby turns ten.

Let me repeat that, with emphasis...

TODAY my BABY turns TEN.

I find it almost impossible to believe that ten years have passed since I gave birth my youngest child.

Her first year of life was far more eventful than anyone's first year should be. Born slightly early and fighting an infection and prone to turning blue with no warning she started out in NICU and ended up hooked up to a monitor for the next six months. This slowed things like crawling and walking down for her a bit and just when she was about to catch on, we fell down the neighbor's steps together and she broke her hip on her first birthday.

I don't really know what we were thinking but, after seven and a half weeks in a cast that stretched from her chest to her toes on one side and her chest to her knee on the other, we really thought she'd be rarin' to go when that thing came off. Instead she couldn't even sit up. I was so worried.

A friend said to me, "You wait...when she figures out that there is nothing stopping her from moving, crawling, walking anymore you won't be able to catch up!"

And that's why I can't believe that it has been ten years. Because when she did figure that all out she started running and I've been lagging behind ever since.

And that's okay.

You go, sweetie. I'm right behind you.

Aging

2009-07-01T15:12:00.000-07:00

"You really don't look old in that video, Mom," says Buo.

"Besides," chimes in Maizie, "old is the new young."

Well.

Me and You and A Bicycle Built For Two

2009-06-20T13:39:00.000-07:00

So my dad came to visit a few months ago when spring was here and we got to visit for a bit. We were driving down the road one day and he saw a sign that had intrigued me before.

Tandem Bicycles For Rent
$6/Hr.

Mmmmmm. Two seater bikes. There are two of us. This could mean some quality father/daughter time.

"What do you think?" says he.

"Sounds lovely," says I.

And we were off. A few days later. More or less that's how I remember it. And more or less we were off.

We called and we went and picked up the bike. And helmets. (Always wear a helmet if you are me. Or if you are related to me.)

These are the things I learned about tandem biking.

First, turns out tandem stands for IN tandem. Meaning you gotta work together, people. As in, AT THE SAME TIME. This is trickier than it sounds if you are me (or are related to me.) And as both of us on the bike fell into one of those categories...well, you get the picture.

Second, make sure that your boss will be in the office and not planning a venture to the outside world. We were spotted as we crossed the street...before my dad realized that I was not actually yet seated and ready to push and started to leave without me. This is all I really wish to say on this particular subject.

Third, there are certain things that are required of tandem cyclers. You will discover most of these on your own and I won't take that experience away from you but I will let you in on the biggie, no charge. It is this...

TRUST.

The person in the back had better trust the one in the front. Because you just can't see a thing that's coming at you if you're back there. The side view is just fine and it is really relaxing and peaceful. The poor guy up front is the one with all the responsibility. He's gotta watch out for all the bumps and potholes. Oncoming traffic. Unexpected birds and critters darting at you. He's gotta watch out for the both of you.

And guess what? We NAILED that one, people. Because we've been practicing that one for the past fortysomeodd years. My dad has been watching out for me, helping me dodge potholes, oncoming disasters, and a variety of unforeseen obstacles that have come seemingly out of nowhere. He's really good at it. That's why I trust him. Implicitly.

After we turned the bike in, we walked back to the car. I said, "That was wonderful. Thanks so much, Daddy. But next time, I'll be in front so you can enjoy the ride."

I'm not sure but I think I heard him mutter, "That should be relaxing," as he closed the door.

We'll work on it.

(Happy Father's Day, Daddy.)

Petunia

2009-06-10T11:22:00.000-07:00

A little over 15 years ago I discovered I was going to have a girl. After two boys I had really been hoping for a baby girl and, lo and behold, I was about to get my wish.

The first thing I did was to shop, of course! (This actually started a precedent for this particular child that I have grown to regret in recent years. But I digress...) I bought a beautiful green velvet dress and ruffled socks and brought them home and hung them in the closet.

And then I panicked.

I was going to have a GIRL! I didn't know how to be the mother of a girl! Girls are different than boys! I only knew little boy games and they didn't like trucks or dinosaurs and...oh, yeah...I was a girl. It was going to be all right.

And then she was born with hair thicker than mine and an inch long all over. The nurses couldn't get enough of her. I don't think we went out in public for over a year without being stopped by someone. I hadn't just given birth to a girl...I'd given birth to a beautiful girl.

And she still is. But she is so much more than that. You see, that was the really tricky part. How to let her know that yes, she was beautiful but her Father in Heaven wanted the inside to match. I worried over this (as I do about most things.) I worried in particular because as she grew, it became apparent that not only did we not look particularly alike but our personalities are quite different too and I could never quite figure her out.

And then a few years ago something lovely happened, (as it usually does if you just wait patiently enough.) Summer began and I decided to take up walking and Petunia, to encourage me, said she'd go with me. And we began talking. And guess what? Turns out we're not so different after all. And all the things I worried about? Not a problem...Heavenly Father blessed her inside and out. She is intelligent, kind, compassionate and passionate about the things that she believes in, and this one believes, I'm here to tell you. She is rock solid, people.

In truth, I'm unbelievably honored that a loving Father trusted us with a daughter so lovely. I thank Him every day.

And then, I hug her tight.

Buo

2009-06-04T07:57:00.000-07:00

Today is Buo's birthday. He is seventeen today. I can hardly believe it. In fact, I can hardly believe it whenever one of my children has a birthday. And they all have summer birthdays.

So...

It appears I will spend much of the next few months in a state of disbelief.

When Buo was little he was my wild child. Wedged in between two fairly (read completely) laid back individuals, he was the live wire of the group and, truthfully, there were moments that I was unsure just what to do with him. If the other two were middle of the road, Buo never even touched the pavement. He was a child of extremes; extremely happy or extremely...not.

Thankfully, he was mostly happy. And thankfully, he has stayed that way.

This might sound like bragging but I can't claim credit for any of it. He came this way. I have learned more from him than I can possibly sum up in a few inadequate adjectives and paragraphs. But this is some of it.

I have learned (or relearned, because I knew this once upon a time) to really focus on the good in people. Not because I have had to do that with him but because he does that with everyone he meets. We don't walk away from meeting up with someone (insurance salesman, cashier, man-on-the-street) without him saying something like, "She had a beautiful smile" or "He was the happiest bag boy I ever met". We just don't. Ever.

I have learned that, when someone is upset, angry, emotional, sometimes they need a little space and a few moments to themselves. Without their mother in their face. Talking incessantly.

I have learned to laugh. A lesson I have learned from all of my children actually, but Buo can diffuse almost any situation unlike anyone I have ever seen. With sheer audacity and wit. And his siblings are picking it up. And I love it.

I am learning still from him, to love without holding anything back. He doesn't carefully hold a place reserved to protect himself. And he is rewarded for it by receiving that kind of love back.

I have learned to love life because he loves life. Every single second. And he makes everyone around him feel that way about life too.

I am in awe of the human being he has become. He is so much finer than I could ever have imagined when I held him in my arms for the first time seventeen years ago.

Happy birthday, son.

My Own Personal Fairy Princess

2009-05-08T06:54:00.000-07:00

Tis the season and all that jazz to think about...

MOTHERS!

I could and probably should put a picture of my sweet momma...

Here.

But she would not like that.

My mother is a lot of great things. She is funny. She is compassionate. She is loving. She is kind. She is spiritual. She has an amazing laugh that she shares freely. She would walk over fiery coals for her family. She has spent every waking moment of her married life focused on her family even when she was helping others.

She is not perfect. And she will laugh when she reads this.

She is not like other mothers.

I know. You think this about your mother too. And you should.

But...

In my lifetime I have had many friends whose mothers were nothing like mine. I have friends who physically leave town so that they can dodge Mother's Day and the painful reminders and ironies that it brings. My mother mothers them too. Without me telling her who they are. And not as she mothered me because frankly, some of them couldn't bear it. But she mothers them in the ways that will make sense to them. Intuitively.

When I was little I would watch as she would put her make-up on and she would transform. From a tired, overworked, underpaid Everymom to my own personal fairy princess. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

I still do.

Things That Make Me Crazy About Facebook

2009-03-31T07:45:00.000-07:00

As I have already mentioned, I am completely out of my depth when it comes to working anything technological. For example, I believe I just published the title to this little entry...without the essay attached. Because of this I find myself frequently frustrated by, really, the simplest of things. Facebook is the current bane of my existence.

People are continually sending me plants, fish, hearts, quizzes, Easter eggs, candy, (the candy kind of made me happy until I figured out that this wasn't really a notification that a package was due to arrive soon), shoes (ditto to the candy), shamrocks, Christmas ornaments, gifts, dachsunds. The list goes on but really, I'm sure you get the picture. The problem? I can't actually retrieve any of them. I am notified that they are there, I press "accept" and then I can never figure out how to view them.

Also, on my little sidebar of notifications, it always says "Congratulations". Just at random intervals. For no particular reason. And I have to rack my brains trying to remember what great thing I've done to deserve this. This is too much work, people.

I only signed up to keep an eye on my kids and while I have found some old friends (for which I am very grateful) I don't really know if this is worth it. I have enough stress in my life without adding this.

P.S. Zoosk, I don't know who you are and I don't care HOW many flirts I'm missing out on...I'm married.

Space Age? Stone Age? It's A Toss-Up

2009-03-08T16:06:00.000-07:00

Things are not going well for me technologically speaking today. I can't make my email work. I can't make my blog work. My washer is making alarming sounds and not draining properly and the new dryer is trying to get in on the act.

In short, I feel like a character from "Little House On the Prairie" stuck in an episode of "The Jetsons".

Fairy Tales

2009-02-25T08:50:00.000-08:00

"Fairy tales are true; not because they tell us that dragon exist, but because they tell us that they can be beaten."

~C. K. Chesterton

Perspective

2009-02-25T07:33:00.000-08:00

This is hardly an original thought but I just had it brought home to me in a new way and while it's fresh in my mind I thought I'd jot it down...

I just dropped Maizie off at school while driving our minivan which I have had to drive pretty much nonstop since Buo got his license. A woman had kind of parked at random in the middle of the lane where one is not supposed to park and walked her child inside. (In her defense, she did smile.) What this means for the rest of us is that we could either try to squeeze in behind her or pull around her and attempt to parallel park between her and the guy who was parked incorrectly in front of her while fifteen little children attempted to make it into their classes in thirty seconds running like ants exiting an anthill that has just been kicked.

But I digress.

I opted to squeeze in behind her and let Maizie out the door. I had, of course, pulled foward fairly closely so that the two other automobiles behind me (neither of whom wished to attempt the parallel parking thing) could also drop their children off. Problem? I am now stuck. The woman in front of me had not yet returned and the people behind me? Not moving either. So I begin manuevers to exit.

Here's where my little epiphany occured. I inched back, wiggled the wheel, inched forward, wiggled a bit more, back, forward, back...you get the picture, and finally edged my way out. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought, "There really had been enough room. Guapo would have zipped right out of there. I always sweat these tight fits only to find out they're really not that tight..."

And then it hit me...

El Guapo and I are not what could reasonably be termed "tall" people but he is still several inches taller than my 5' 2" frame. When he looks over the hood of the car he's actually seeing the same thing I see but from five or six inches up which isn't actually the same thing I'm seeing at all, is it? I've been 5'2" since I started driving so things have always looked this way to me and it's how I've always looked at things. When El Guapo says, "Just pull forward already!" it's really never occured to him that I can't see that I'm safe from my angle. And when he makes what I think is a tight turn I'm not aware that he can see that he's got room.

Now, I'm usually pretty bad at analogies. (They start out strong but usually fall apart about 2/3 of the way in.) But...I think we do this quite a bit in lots of areas of our lives. We pass judgement on each others' lives, follies, foibles, mistakes, actions, and opinions without ever stopping to consider that from where they are standing it is a perfectly reasonable and valid response, no less valid than ours. Sometimes we can help each other see that a particular response is overly cautious and sometimes perhaps not cautious enough. Either way, at least in theory, there is communication and growth on both sides.

Plus, also, I am SOOOO using this the next time somebody tells me I'm a bad driver.

Love Letters

2009-02-04T07:57:00.000-08:00

Taking a page from Nie, I have been contemplating writing a love letter to El Guapo for a long time. The thing is...El Guapo? Well, he's not really the love letter type. And I'm fine with that. I married him, right? I knew this all along. (You should hear our proposal story. Plus also, he used to ask me on dates to the library. The library!) Valentine's Day is on the way though, so I thought that it would be an appropriate time for this particular post...

Dear Darling Husband,

In honor of Valentine's Day and in honor of YOU, I wanted you to know some of the things that I love about you just in case I forgot to mention them in the almost twenty two years of marriage that we have experienced together. This will not be a typical love letter because you, my dear, are not the typical husband in my humble opinion. Read on.

1. I love you because you whistle while you work. Really. I love that puttering around the house makes you that happy. I love that replacing the kitchen sink pipes in our very old house for the seventeenth time makes you whistle and not swear.

2. I love that you gave me chocolate lips for our first Valentine's Day as a couple. (I bet you thought I didn't like them, didn't you? And I don't know if I did then...but I really do now.)

3. I love that you love your mom.

4. I really love the parrot birthday card that I made you buy me when you forgot to buy me one on my first birthday as a married woman. And I especially love the Mother's Day card that you gave me when I was just about ready to give birth to our third child that began..."Happy Mother's Day on This...Your First Mother's Day." (I've always known you didn't really actually read those cards.)

5. I love that you took me to the temple.

6. I love that it takes you FOREVER to get mad. (Now, if I could learn that and you could learn to get over it quick, like me, we'd be perfect!)

7. I love that you are always planning your next project. I get tired of the dust sometimes, I'll admit, but I love that you always want to make things nicer for us.

8. I love that you can still make me laugh. And that you still try.

9. I love how willing you are to help and serve. Anyone and everyone who asks. No matter what time it is. Or how little sleep you've had.

10. I love how much you love our children.

11. I love your dimples.

12. I love the way you look in your favorite Levi's. (They're my favorites too.)

In short, husband mine, if I had to do it all over again...knowing everything I know right now... (the good, the bad, and the ugly)...I would...in a heartbeat.

Health Food 101

2009-01-28T08:19:00.000-08:00

I just came back from the health food store.

I like saying that.

The implication is that I eat healthily and know what to buy when I am in there. The implication is that I am a bit of a granola girl, a free spirit, you know, cool...hip.

The reality is that nothing could be further from the truth. The reality is that, while I do own a few pairs of Birkenstocks, I actually have no idea what I am doing in a health food store. I go in there to buy ear cones and tapioca flour to make the Brazilian cheeseballs like they have at Tucano's. The reality is that my eating habits revolve around the following theory: If the preservatives they put in Twinkies give them a shelf life of twenty years or so, and I eat enough of them, it just might mean that my innards will be preserved beyond their normal shelf life.

I have been told that there is a hole in my theory. I have been told by multiple people. I live next door to one and my backyard hooks up with the backyard of another. Bless their hearts, they're trying to help me, I know. And in reality, I do listen. I probably eat better than I think I do...I hope.

But sometimes people who shop at the health food store can be a little condescending about the whole thing. Not my neighbors, mind you. They really only tell me things when I ask them. A few years ago though, I made the acquaintance of some really nice people like this. (They really were truly nice people.) They were doing a whole macrobiotic diet thing (I still don't know what this actually means) and they could never eat anything I offered them. They were nice about it and all but I sensed that they did not approve of my eating habits. I ran into them one day when I was coming out of the health food store.

"Oh...Lisa...wow...you shop here?"

They actually said this out loud...just like that.

"Umm, yes, I do."

"Oh," (I could see them mentally reworking their entire dietary approach to life at this news) "Oh, well nice to see you."

"You too."

Did I tell them that I was just getting the stuff to make cheeseballs?

No, I did not.

I admit I was smarting a little at the stress they had put on "you" so no, I did not make them privy to that information. Need to know basis and all that.

Ha.

Pass the Twinkies.

Choices

2009-01-15T07:34:00.000-08:00

My children deserve to know something. It is something that I think I've taken for granted that they knew and that I hope I demonstrate in a hundred different ways in their daily lives but that I don't know if I have expressed in so many words.

It is this.

They are the most important choice I have ever made in my life.

And it has been just that. A choice.

I have worked hard to help them understand that they are responsible for their choices and that there are always consequences. Well, I am also responsible for mine. I chose each of them over every other choice available to me. (And yes, kiddos, there were others.) I continue to choose them. Sometimes in the day to day grind of assuming responsibility for my choices (and their laundry, their feeding, and their general upkeep) I fear that I have not conveyed to them the importance of that choice and I need for them to understand it. Especially my daughters.

I need them to know that I made that choice to have each of them. Knowing that there would be a cost and that I have paid, and continue to pay it, gladly.

I made that choice four times. Conciously, joyfully. Fully aware and cognizant.

And I celebrate that choice.

Every.

Single.

Day.

Resume Boosting

2008-12-31T08:33:00.000-08:00

I was talking to my little sister this morning. She is what my children describe as "cool". She is beautiful and funny and she has loads of that elusive quality best described as "hip". My brother? More of the same. He's super cool and very funny. He reminds me a lot of Jack Black who happens to make me laugh almost every time I see him. (Except for that very lamentable King Kong thing.) Moreover, he has a really cool job and sometimes he gets to meet famous people. They're the kind of aunt and uncle that my kids are secretly thrilled to be able to introduce.

Thankfully for my sister's kids, they get to introduce my brother as their uncle as well. If they had to rely only on me the conversation would likely go something like this:

Nephew: Yeah, I have an aunt. She lives in Utah.

Friend: Does she ski?

Nephew: Ummm no...she...she goes to church a lot...but you know, other stuff too.

Friend: Like what?

Nephew: Well, I've seen her dance.

Friend: Tap? Ballet? Exotic?

Nephew: Ummm...kitchen. She dances in her kitchen...She writes.

Friend: What? Like screenplays? or novels?

Nephew: More like...lists. You know, grocery, WalMart, "To Do"...but she's really funny...

Friend: Stand-up?

Nephew: Ummm...

Yeah, so anyway. To my nephews, I apologize. But really...just stick with "She lives in Utah" and let it go.

Fan Base

2008-12-21T06:55:00.000-08:00

I have recently discovered that I am not universally beloved.

This is not a huge surprise to me as I never really thought that I was so, oh well. I was however, surprised at who some of my fans were not. (Don't worry, I don't plan on actually revealing any of them here lest you know some of them, like them better than you do me, and plan to align yourself with them.)

I suspected that the guy who threw me out of his office a few years ago for losing my temper was not overly fond of me. Even though I cried for two days afterwards and sent a note of apology. And they really didn't do their job. I really was a witch. Also, the entire staff of the people who hold the warranty on my washing machine as well as the entire staff of the people whom they sent to fix it...not fans of mine. And I think I can live with that. (EIGHT WEEKS, PEOPLE. EIGHT WEEKS!)

This knowledge that the rest of civilization doesn't universally adore me (or at least think I'm moderately nice) though left me in a bit of a funk for a few days. Then I started thinking of people that I really liked who get mixed reviews as well and I started to cheer up. There are LOADS of them! Think about it right now. Think of someone you really admire and then imagine who might not like them. See what I mean?

I'm still a little bummed about it all but I think I can move forward.

For G'ma & G'pa

2008-12-01T18:44:00.000-08:00

I just read Mom's comment and since she is really the only one who reads this I thought I should add something new for her to read.

So...Thanks, Mom, for teaching me to be nice to everyone-even the people who are mean to me (especially the ones who are mean.)

And...Thanks to you too, Dad, for trying to teach me to not be such a pushover.

I'm still working on it.

But...

the point is...

I'm
still
working.

Extraordinary...

2008-11-22T09:31:00.000-08:00

From my new favorite book, Cry, The Beloved Country:

"The tragedy is not that things are broken. The tragedy is that things are not mended again."

Alan Paton

2008-11-17T13:56:00.000-08:00

Places I Love

These are my top 5 picks for places I love to be: (In no particular order...plus also there may be more than 5...)

1. Home.
2. With my kids-anytime, anywhere.
3. The temple.
4. Fallingwater.
5. My husband's arms.
6. Disneyland.
7. The ocean.
8. The library.
9. A really good bookstore.

I LOVE This!

2008-10-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

"When you get-give. When you learn-teach."
Maya Angelou's Grandma (whose name I will find)

"You will hear me protest but you will not hear me complain."
Maya Angelou (herself)

(Okay. I just want to say regarding the Maya Angelou quote up there...I like the thought. I don't really expect ever to be able to apply it in my own life. I'm sorry.)

Picnics

2008-10-25T08:51:00.000-07:00

Ya know? Parenthood is no picnic.

You can quote me on that.

Children Should Be Seen And Not Heard...

2008-10-17T05:55:00.001-07:00

I have always hated this phrase, I mean just HATED it. As a kid I hated it because the only time any adult pulled it out and dusted it off was when they wanted me to be quiet and I am not, and never really was, into being quiet. As an adult I hated it because I really love hearing kids talk, my own and usually other people's too. A few times I've run into REALLY quiet kids and well, it's always a little unsettling for me.

BUT... that being said...consider the following...

So, when Dobbie was pretty small, say threeish, I had to pay the taxes on the car. Everything goes fairly smoothly until we are pulling out of the parking lot. The people planning the parking lot of the tax building used all the foresight of umm...let's say the people planning the war in Iraq...(But I'm sure they gave it everything they had, right? On both counts. I mean what would be the motivation for poor planning?) Anyway, it's pouring down rain, the parking lot is packed and I'm pregnant and freezing. I'm well into backing up (read...more than halfway out with the wheel poised to begin straightening action) when I hear the sickening thud that means I have made contact with something I did not want to.

I check on Dobbie, who is just fine as we were only traveling at 1.5 mph, and turn to get out of the car only to find an angry BYU student in my face.

"Well, what are we going to do? We have to call the police. What were you doing backing up into me like that? I saw YOU! Why didn't you stop? It's fine for you, there's no damage to your car but mine's a mess!"

I climb out of the car and stand in the rain, staring at bumpers with Joe Bozo, who just never quits I tell ya.

"I saw you in my mirror while I was backing up and I tried to honk the horn and step on the brakes and pull forward..."

I was kind. I didn't even ONCE mention to him that he had failed miserably at all three things that he had tried to do...not even once... any of the SEVEN times he told myself or the cop this.

Let's jump ahead fifteen minutes. The cop has arrived. She is a lady cop. A pleasant, tall lady cop with short, curly hair who has sized up Joe Bozo and mentally given him the same name I have. She invites Dobbie and I to sit in the back seat of the police car and fill out our papers out of the rain. She has sent Joe Bozo somewhere else (out of her sight and hearing) to fill out his papers. She is on my side.

"Mommy," says a little voice, "Mommy." I look over. "Mommy, all policemans are mans, huh? All policemans are mans."

"Umm...no, Dobbie, there are all kinds of police. Men and women can both be police...people."

"No, Mommy, policemans are just mans." His voice is rising with the power of his conviction, a trait I believe he inherited from...me. He reiterates, just in case I didn't hear him correctly, "Policemans are just mans."

I frantically gesture at him to be quiet, hoping against hope that the all-seeing mirrors that I believe are standard issue in all cop cars are not catching my motion. "No, no, no, honey, that is not true. I don't know WHERE you got that idea (and I don't) but you are WRONG!" I say through gritted teeth.

Ahh, but this is not adequate assurance for my son. He stands up, sticks his head through the little window and turns his head to face the now-slightly-less-sympathetic lady cop. He is six inches from her face as he says, loudly and distinctly, "All policemans are mans, huh? Aren't they? Aren't they?"

"No, they are not," she replies as I pull him backwards by the seat of his pants. There is tension in the air now and I sense that there is a definite shift away from the theory that I am completely innocent and maybe, just maybe, a whiff of sympathy toward Joe Bozo? We finish the papers and climb out of the car, walk through the rain back to our car and head home.

I still do not like the saying about children being seen but not heard.

But I concede it might come in handy.

In car accidents.

Before We Go Any Further...

2008-10-15T05:59:00.000-07:00

Just in case anyone aside from my sweet mother ever reads this blog you should probably know a few things. Or at least a few people. First, my hubby, known hereafter as El Guapo. We've been married for a little over twenty one years. He's from Peru which is why we occasionally eat tamales and salsa. We have four kids. Dobbie, 20, currently serving a mission for our church in New Zealand. (Sept. '09 can't come fast enough!) Buo, 16, (it means owl in Spanish) has some crazy cowlicks in the back of his hair. Petunia, 14, and too lovely for her own good. (or mine!) And of course, Maizie, 9, who makes our lives interesting EVERY SINGLE DAY! No, we don't have really strange taste in names, it's to protect their ANONYMITY! (or at least to guard what little pride we have left...)

Aunt Lelia's Legacy

2008-10-14T16:03:00.000-07:00

Well...Where to begin? Usually the beginning works best. My mother was raised by an amazing Victorian woman, my Aunt Lelia. She was 67 when my mom,4, and uncle,3, came to live with her and 70 when she took over their care completely without help. Probably my earliest memories involve some form of the phrase "Aunt Lelia used to say..." (My personal favorite? "What would you like me to do? Stand on my head and spit nickels?" More on that later...) Anyway, I trace my own love of quotes to that sweet (and tough) woman. I collect them. I borrow them.I make them up.Thus...Aunt Lelia's Legacy. We'll give it a whirl anyway...