Whining Gets Results, sometimes

My sister Tiff whines sometimes. Most recently, that the picture I posted of CW didn't effectively display his charm, so I asked him to "smile pretty for the camera" last night and this is what I got:


Meanwhile, Bam wore out:


And because I love fat little legs, I had to share Em's:


And, Em is really quite a smiley baby. I was so proud of myself to actually catch it on film:

7 Interesting Tidbits about myself: A Meme.

I have been tagged once again, this time by my dear cousin Abby who got it from her friend Stacey whose blog I have just discovered. Here’s a go at it:

1. I am a book geek. I find it almost impossible to throw away books, unless they are so worn and beaten that they are missing a majority of the pages or we actually have two of the same books (and by same I mean exactly the same editions, or one is vastly superior and one is a particularly lackluster abridgement). The corollary to this is that I read anything and everything. If there is a book, magazine, catalog, flyer or cereal box, I will read it. I will likely read it to completion, even if I don’t really like the book. In fact, it requires great restraint and a powerful internal talking to for me to return to the library a book which I can no longer renew and have not yet finished because I don’t like it. I also read magazines cover to cover, this includes all the letters to the editor and the masthead where it tells you who does what at the magazine and where to mail submissions and change of address requests.

2. I am also a knowledge geek. I love to learn things, because then I know them. This has a particular weakness in gossip. Not because I want to tell anyone anything salacious, I just like to know. But, this means that I learned the following about the title of this tagging: Meme.

3. I am a packrat. This is directly related to both #1 and #2 above because I have difficulty throwing away anything I might want to read or know later, which means my house is a repository of far too many pieces of paper and books. My children are responsible for the hording of toys, but my packrat tendencies make it difficult to throw away their toys unless they are broken beyond recognition and/ or missing most of the indispensable pieces.

4. I love nicknames. I guess I come by this naturally. My dad always nicknamed us all and everyone around us, although not as frequently as his brother, Abby’s dad. (Which if you read her blog and see that she tagged me as “Angelina”, you will begin to see the legacy to which I aspire). My children all have nicknames; I have never understood those people who won’t allow their children to be called by anything but their full names. There are people whose real names I can no longer even remember. My favorite nickname story is that of my great uncle Mike, whose name is Rulon, but I didn’t know that until I was nearly an adult. Why Mike, I have no idea, only my grandmother, his older sister has ever called him that in my presence. My second favorite nickname story is that of an old family relative on my mother’s side. My great grandmother’s cousin was trying to describe a family to whom we were related: she listed several brothers by name and then “Sister”. We asked, what was Sister’s name and Josie stopped, “you know, I have no idea, everyone just called her Sister.”

5. I often sing scat to my kids, particularly my babies. No idea why. I just do it without even thinking. A corollary to this is I often make up songs that I sing to my kids, to get them to complete tasks, get in the car, laugh, to irritate them, there are always songs. But my favorite made up song isn’t mine. It belongs to one of my aunts or uncles–I’m not sure which of the 3 created it about Young Ward (outside Logan, Utah) and is sung to the tune of The Sound of Music (the actual title song from the musical). It is called The Hills are Alive with the Smell of Sunshine–with smells they have smelled for a thousand years. I no longer remember any more words. The importance of this song is that “sunshine” in my aunts’ vernacular is a euphemism for manure and my grandmother’s home is amongst many farms, including her brother’s dairy farm, so the smell of sunshine abounds.

6. Yes, I am a word geek too. But you probably knew, or at least guessed, this already.

7. Due to the last 9+ years of carrying children, I have developed the motherly skill of being able to open and close doors with almost every part of my body (elbows, hips, fingers, nose, etc). This skill also applies almost as well to opening and shutting the garage door.

So, this was fun. I hereby tag: Tennille, BT, Monica, Carey, Larae & Lesli

Am I strong?

The last six Sundays or so have brought a majority of Sundays in which DH doesn't sit with us, and may not actually even be in the building during our meetings due to his high council duties. I could say that I am a dutiful and faithful wife and that I sit serenly with my angelic children during our meetings regardless of the location of DH. That would be a lie. Not only are the moments of angelic behavior on the part of children in our family woefully few and rarely apparent in church, I am not nearly as dutiful, faithful or serene as I should be; I am grumpy. But while our experiences over the past several weeks have been nothing if not comical (including me tripping in the chapel after the meeting, while holding Bam and the usual 16 bags and making FULL body contact with the floor and from which, almost a month later, I am still recovering), I have learned to let go just a little bit more of bothersome pride. Yes, I was mortified when I bit the dust in front of several hundred of our ward members. Yes, I was frustrated and irritated by CW when he chose to interpret the definition of reverence to include repeatedly putting his FOOT in Z's face throughout the meeting. And yes, I dread each announcement by DH of another assignment which will take him away from our pew during church (all the while my head begins to spin trying to find the solution which will help us through, quietly, this time) But, each week has brought me a renewed outpouring of love and sisterhood from the women of my ward. Wendy supplied "new" activities for Bam when the bag of toys I brought was loudly rejected. Leah kept an eye on the middle kids when I had to drag CW and Em out during the sacrament. Fawn insisted on taking CW so I could listen to DH's talk (when he spoke in our ward). Kim regularly offers her daughters in any capacity I require and takes Em for me. Countless women have held my baby so I could wrestle with boys, teach Gospel Doctrine and fall flat on my face in the chapel (if I had been holding her, she would have been crushed) A friend told me I was so strong to not cry after falling down in church and even better, getting up and teaching my lesson more or less how I had planned (admittedly a little scrambled due to the fall). I treasure this woman's friendship and think she is so very strong, so her comment has made quite an impression on me. Because I'm not strong. I am weak and simple, but I am surrounded by strength and I'm learning, a little each day, to accept those offers of strength, of help, to humble myself so that the Lord can use me in my weaknesses until He makes me strong enough for the next task.

To Live in Such a Time as This

Recently I watched Becoming Jane. Not a bad artsy/chic flick. Whether it leans more toward fact or fiction in its depiction of Jane Austen’s life I don’t know, I was struck by the sentiment of the day regarding women and their minds. At one point, Jane’s father says, over the pulpit no less, something to the effect that if a woman is possessed of a keen mind, it should be her secret–no one should know! At another point, Jane goes to a prominent female writer of the day to ask her advice regarding combining writing with marriage and the woman tells her it’s hardest on her husband. That to have a wife with a mind is bad enough, but a wife who writes and publishes, thus parading her mind about for the world to see is somewhat scandalous and difficult for the husband to endure. I am so grateful both for my father and my husband. My father, who has always believed and affirmed, as the father of five girls, that we could do anything, be anything, think anything and that our mother, his wife, is smarter than he is and we should aspire to her. And then for my dear DH, who has never expected me to work or not, who asks my opinion on the issues of his law practice, has me review and opine on his work product and has always trumpeted and triumphed over what I think, say and do. Someone asked me when I had our first child, a girl, if my mother was sad to not have a grandson. I thought it strange. For while I know my dad always wanted a boy–what dad wouldn’t– I never felt that my parents were sad at any of the arrivals of the five girls they got. And I could no more imagine my mother being sad at the arrival of a granddaughter instead of a grandson. I know that the world is a better place for women because of the likes of Jane Austen, who went without a husband and family (if we are to believe this movie) if she could not have them on her own terms. I am just feeling so very blessed that I get to benefit.

Embarrassment of Riches

I have become the blogger I hate: the one who never posts. Life isn’t very exciting here these days, just filled. The big kids are on track break and DH is still in overdrive work mode, so it’s all mommy all the time, not leaving much brain space to contemplate blog entries. But I have been noodling about all my blessings and they are great; to the point that sometimes I worry/wonder whether we should be waiting for the other shoe to drop or maybe that the Lord knows I really can’t handle anything else. Be that as it may, I try not to engage in recreational anxiety and would like to share some of my most prized blessings: rugrats 1-5 in all their current glory.

CE's new glasses. Isn't she cute?

Z in his new church outfit. So handsome

CW on patrol. Inexplicable as always.

Bam eating "fuzzy crackers" (what he calls frosting on graham crackers--his favorite treat).

M after a doughnut run.

M always does this with her hands.