Argghhhh!

Our internet connection is having major issues. It can't handle uploading a single picture.

So instead of blogging I'm ranting, and muttering under my breath.

Hopefully we'll get it fixed soon and I can upload pics of my sweet sis visiting and the cool masks from Mexico that my son and cute daughter-in-law sent us and the Easter eggs we made (we had a blast for two solid hours decorating those eggs.)

...sigh

Box Sledding

Looking for a fun family activity now that spring it here? Try box sledding. A friend introduced me to it and it's a blast!

These pictures were actually taken last fall. I never got around to blogging about them, but the pictures just make me too happy not to post them.

After taping all the boxes together, we realized that the hill behind our house was insufficient and so moved the process to our friend's back yard. Here's the moving process. It reminds me of a big caterpiller.

We had so much fun. I didn't get many pictures, but you can see the joy on Girly-Whirl's face.

This was actually a party to welcome Ruggles home from his mission to Thailand. As he got ready to slide down, I got my camera all focused in. He shoved off and the camera died. Dead batteries. Thbbthtbbt. So, no action shots of the guest of honor. (Ain't that just how it goes?)

Here's my only picture of him that night, with my prego Sis (who's baby was born in January)

Wanna box sled at your house? Use big boxes (less seams that way). Make sure that the overlap is on the downhill side and cover each seam with packaging tape. Sit on a piece of cardboard and slide on down.

Note: It's a fast slide! Be careful. Proceed at your own risk. (Can you believe you have to say that or risk a law suit?)

Note #2: I drafted this post in January but didn't want to post it until now. Shouldn't the post say todays date? ANNOYING! I didn't want to redo the whole post. I can cut and paste the text, but puting the pictures back in was just too much!

Really?

This is not a political blog. But sometimes you just got say something!

I have followed the current debate in the country very closely and my biggest questions have not been addressed by the party in power. (Not in the whole 100 years of discussion about health care reform. (smirk))

So here are my questions:

In the Refusal to Learn from History category:
1. Can anyone point to even one government entitlement program that wasn't riddle with fraud?

2. Can anyone show me a single country with nationalized heathcare where costs went down and the quality of care went up?

In the Refusal to Use some Commen Sense category:
1. What would be the drawback of trying real torte reform? (Other than the decrease of trial lawyer dollars lining the pocket of our lawmakers) It's working well in Texas, wouldn't cost a dime to enact and could have huge benefits.

2. Why have lawmakers refused to try real competition for insurance companies. Again, it wouldn't cost a dime and could make such a difference.

In the Shaking my Head category:
1. When there are so many untried low and no cost options that could arguably fix the worst of the "healthcare crisis", why are we taking drastic measures that the majority of citizens of this country are apposed to?

Aaarrrrgh!

Behind!

I've had multiple things I wanted to blog about, but life got in the way. The following three posts are a quick attempt to catch up on some of them.

Catching up. #1 Dangerous Things!

My husband recently bought the book: Fifty Dangerous Things (You Should Let Your Children Do) by Gever Tulley and Julie Spiegler. It's well worth the price. I agree with the premise that if all corners are rounded and everything is made of plastic, our children miss out on a lot of learning/creative opportunities.

We chose ten things from the book, invited our neighbors to the north, and made a day of it.

Here are a few of the photos:

Dinner cooked in the dishwasher. (And, yes, we washed dishes on the bottom rack!)

Launching a hot air balloon in the family room (it sorta worked!)

Smashing thrift store dishes (this was a definite favorite!)

The end result in the garbage can.


An overcooked peep fresh from the microwave (the grapes sparked a little, the CD's were a spectacular three seconds and the marshmallows were HUGE!)


Taking apart appliances. This one was another fav. We took apart a printer, a joy stick, an adding machine, a keyboard and a telephone. Lot's of cool parts inside!

This is our bomb in a baggie right before it exploded!

Girlie-Whirl about to lick a 9-volt battery!

We didn't get any good pictures of the super glued fingers but it was a big hit. No dry ice to be found so that didn't happen. But our neighbors said they're going to plan a whole day around dry ice and invite us over! Can't wait!

Catching up. #2 Bread?

We load our bread machine every sunday morning. We adore coming home from church to the smell of hot bread.

Last sunday we came home to this.

This is the top of the loaf.

Here's the bottom.

My son swears he put all the right stuff in. We have no idea what went wrong. Any ideas?

Catching up. #3 Piano!

Last month, my husband bought me this!

I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it!!! We've had an old piano for years and all of my children have learned to play on it. It's been a great blessing to our family, but it wasn't a great piano when it was new and decades later it's simply not a joy to play.

The new piano is an Essex. It was designed for use in schools and university practice rooms. It wasn't made to be a beautiful showpiece of furniture. It was made to sound fab and last long enough to be passed down to my great-grandchildren.

The WHOLE family is playing constantly! Hubders has dusted off Moonlight Sonata and he's almost re memorized it (note: he has a musician's soul, but can't read music, so he learned to play this piece by learning where middle C was on both the page and the keyboard and counting up or down for all the other notes-- and he plays it beautifully!) Bikey-Boy and Banana-Girl are practicing without nagging from Mom. I'm playing almost daily. It's been such a good thing in our home!!

Thanks Hubders!

I'm not a decorator, but I love my new light!

My home is not impressively decorated. I'm cheap and although I enjoy looking at beautiful homes, magazines about decorating and decorating blogs, I don't usually implement any of the ideas that I see.

As a result, I don't love my home. Let me clarify. I love it because it's where the people I adore the most hang out and because I can relax here. But I don't love the way it looks and it doesn't reflect my personality (except the disorganization--that's me to a T!) It's time to branch out and fall in love with my home.

This blog is one of my favs. In the past, one of my biggest roadblocks to home decorating is that I know it won't be perfect and so I don't even start. The Nester's philosophy of decorating is "It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful." I'm starting to embrace that concept and it's so freeing!

I went garage saleing with a good friend last Saturday and found a light fixture that I fell in love with. It was super cheap (nine bucks), but has no glass. I decided that nine dollars was worth the risk of having it sit in the basement if I never bothered to buy the glass.

However, I didn't put it in the basement after I brought it home. I left it on the floor of the dining area. Hubders (who didn't even like the light) put it up yesterday! (Thanks sweetheart!) I LOVE it!!! It's not perfect, incomplete as it is, but it's beautiful!

This is my old fixture (actually this one is just like it and hangs over my stairs--nice, huh?). It's shiny and tired looking and only gives off 180 watts of light.

Here's the new one. It's distressed and has character. It's big and fab! It gives off soooo much more light than our old one. My dining area is so flooded with light as I type this that the kitchen lights are rendered unnecessary. Imperfect, but puts the old fixture to shame!

(Tangent: This picture shows two of my favorite things in my home, the chocolate donut clock, which I found at a junk shop. It's cheap and covered in naugahyde and I have to keep re-hot gluing in spots, but I LOVE it! The other, the $20 mirror I found at walmart one day. Also notice our nook for the entertainment center we've yet to build. Believe it or not, what you see is a HUGE improvement. Until last week it had a small tv stand, a side table and a small coffee table all lined up in the nook for our media needs.)

I don't know how long it will take me to find the right glass. I need eight of them, and I won't spend an arm and a leg, so this could take a while. But, in the meantime, I'm so excited over the beauty of my light that who cares if you can see the white part you screw the bulb into? It's such an improvement that I'm happy to live just like this for a while!

One more shot, a close up, just 'cuz I can, and it makes me happy! (if you click on the picture you can make it full size and truly see the beauty of my $9 light!)

He May WEAR the Pants, But Does He BUY Them?

Within the first couple years of our marriage, my husband became very hesitant to purchase clothing for me. The first item of clothing he ever bought me was a bathrobe for Christmas. Not the one I would have chose, however, and since it didn't fit I had a good excuse to exchange it. I came home with a different style which squelched any desires he had to repeat the scenario. Btw, the robe I bought was cute, but way too hot. I could never wear it for more than ten minutes at a time and eventually gave it way in pristine condition. I shoulda kept the one he bought me!

One Christmas, eight-ish years later, wanting to encourage him, I asked for a white turtle neck for Christmas. I gave him my size, he headed out and quickly returned, somewhat confused and overwhelmed. Too many sizes and choices, he said. When I asked what on earth he meant (after all, I gave him the size and how many choices can there be for a white turtle neck?) he informed me that there were lots of confusing choices. There was a Misses section, a Petite section and a Women's section and each of those sections had both turtle necks and mock turtle necks. He was at a loss! And he had a point, let's face it, women's sizes are stupid.

Undaunted, I told him to buy it from the misses section, that either mock or turtle would be acceptable and sent him back. On Christmas morning, I opened up a package to find a white turtle neck with tiny navy blue flowers all over it. It was lovely, but wouldn't go with a single thing in my closet. However, wanting to show him how tickled I was with his brave foray into the women's clothing section, I searched high and low until I found a navy blue cardigan to buy that looked fab with the turtle neck. I then proceeded to wear it to death, and truly loved that turtleneck. (I also bought the white one that he didn't buy for me).

Jump forward to Christmas 1990. We had been married 15 years by this time and my man had purchased exactly two items of clothing for me, a bathrobe and a turtleneck. It wasn't a big deal to me. He's very supportive whenever I feel the need to buy new clothes (in fact, I have to be careful because he always say yes to me -- he's just like that).

Christmas morning there were some nicely sized boxes with my name on them. I was dumbfounded as I opened them and found that each one contained clothing!!! Four blouses and two dresses in all!!! He'd gone to Dress Barn, asked for help (what a man!), and bought me lots of lovely clothes!

I never did learn the specific whys of the sudden change, except that he loves me and thought I'd enjoy it. He was right. Ya know, ya think ya know the man and yet, he continues to surprise me. Makes me happy!

Does your husband buy clothes for you? Do you wish he would (or wouldn't)?

Coming Clean

My weight has been creeping up since mid December. It's not a pretty sight. I've stopped checking my families weight loss blog and started skipping the body test on the Wii-fit. I don't want to face the weight gain so I avoid things that remind me. But I can't avoid getting dressed each day and it's getting painfully obvious that it's past time to do something.

Although I've made multiple half-hearted attempts to get it under control in the last few months none of them have been real enough to yield any results. This week I'm getting serious. Making better choices, controlling the mindless eating, zipping the lip after 7:00 pm, making exercise a priority every day, and I've put a weight loss tracker on my blog (up in the right hand corner). Hopefully it will help keep me accountable. My goal, for now, is ten pounds and I'm currently down two.

Here are the facts. They're not pretty, but I'm coming clean so I'm not gonna sugar coat it. After moving to the Midwest ten years ago I joined weight watchers and lost 60 lbs. I put back on 35 those pounds, but lost 10 of them last year training for the triathlon. Currently, I'm right at the 35 re-regain.

During weight watchers I learned to look at weight loss in terms of cubes of butter. That way, even a 1/4 lb loss was a success because it was a whole cube of butter no longer hanging on my hips. Well, I just did the math and 35 lbs is ... shudder ... 140 cubes of butter! YUCK!!! No wonder my clothes no longer fit!!! That's just downright embarrassing!

I've come clean. I'm motivated. I'm down 8 cubes of butter. I'm tracking the loss publicly. Watch me shrink.

Gasp! Are you a Utah Mormon?

Although I now live in the midwest, I'm a Utah Mormon. Born there, raised there, lived there for the first thirty-five years of my life. Growing up I would occasionally hear comments about church members outside of Utah (you know, in the mission field! Ooo, exotic!).

After moving to the midwest, I began to notice occasional remarks about Utah Mormons. Probably no more than I'd heard about saints in the "mission field", but being a Utah Mormon, I paid more attention.

For example, not long after my move to the midwest, a truly sweet lady told me she'd heard that Mormons in Utah don't even DO their visiting teaching! She was aghast and wondered if it was really true. It was after that conversation that I began to think in earnest about the issue and pay attention to the stereotypes.

My conclusion, after exhaustive research and study (okay, after mulling the issue over for some time) is that saints are the same regardless of where you live. Shrewd , huh?

In every ward I've lived there have been three types of people. These are my classifications, and may be lacking. If you disagree, write your own post! (Or comment on mine) The following will surely seem judgemental, and probably is. It should also be noted that the classifications are not strict divisions, but more like markers on a continuum. There may be more members between the classifications than actually in them.

People in all three groups attend church meetings on a regular basis, and, I would assume, have testimonies of the gospel.

Here are the three categories:

1. High yield, low maintenance saints (I stole this phrase from a conference talk, but can't remember who said it. My vague memory is that it was Elder Maxwell, but I didn't bother to look it up). From my experience, every ward, whether inside of Utah or out, has a core of workhorse members. Those that give in abundance (at least of their time, and talents, I've never been privy to tithing receipts) and ask for little if anything in return. They work through all but the biggest of their own trials without thinking of asking the ward for help. They are the ones who step up and act when others have a need, accept whatever callings come their way and serve without fanfare. That their testimonies are deep and abiding is evidenced by the way they live quiet lives of service.

2. Luke warmish saints. These are members who, though active, can't necessarily be counted on to follow through when it comes to service. They serve well and lovingly at times, but frequently aren't willing to put forth the effort. (As I write this, my lack of visiting teaching so far this month nags at my conscience). I've known more than one person who started out luke warm and ended up being high yield, low maintenance.

3. High maintenance, low yield saints (reversed the phrase from the conference all by myself!) These are ward members that are repeatedly in need and tend to loudly make their needs known while expecting a crew to come and get them out of their fix. They infrequently are on the giving end of service, but expect to be on the recieving end on a continual basis. I'm not talking about hard working families that have fallen on hard times and, while doing all they can, still need help. These are saints who expect others to do the heavy lifting whenever they're in a bind. I'm happy to say that this group is the smallest of the three.

I've lived in ten wards and each has had individuals running the entire spectrum. I believe that all three groups are necessary. We learn and grow as we interact with each other. And interacting with whiners in a Christ-like manner helps us grow in ways that interacting with fab, fun, folk simply doesn't.

Give me your thoughts. Do you think people are different inside and outside of Mormondom?

Day of Rest!

We went to Nauvoo to see Mom and Dad this weekend. It was just me with the three youngest. We had a wonderful time. A sleigh ride (forgot the camera so Dad lent me his, but the pics are still in Nauvoo). Hot chocolate at Magleby's -- THE BEST hot chocolate on the planet!!! Games with Grandma and Grandpa. (if you haven't played Qwirkle, you should. It's a good one!) Fun conversation and the love that you feel from parents. All great stuff.

Sunday morning, however was not my fav. You've experienced your own version this. Mine went something like this.

Wake up at 7:15 in a panic because church starts at 8:00 and Dad warned you that all the missionaries are in their seats and listening to prelude music by 7:50. Rouse three children and rush them to the breakfast table. Leave them with instructions to get dressed the minute they finish their cereal while you jump in the shower. Get out of the shower to find that your children aren't done getting dressed, yell, patiently usher them through the dressing process.
Fix hair, brush teeth, comfort eleven year old daughter who's discovered she left her Sunday shoes home and is mortified at the thought of wearing tennis shoes to church. Fix Girlie-whirl's hair. Snarf a bowl of cereal. Holler for everyone to get their coats on as you eat the last two bites. Throw on your coat and yell gently remind your children to get their coats on. NOW.

Herd them out the door and discover that we're gonna have to wade through snow to get to the car, a fair jaunt. Tell them to wait at the door while you get the car. Plod through the snow in your Sunday flats and fill your shoes with snow. Open the trunk for the snow scraper. Realize that it's in the very back of your large trunk and that you're gonna have to climb in to reach it. Notice that your skirt isn't gonna allow it. Hike up the skirt and climb into the trunk with great haste in a very, ahem, shall we say, ladylike fashion. Grab the scraper and hastily brush the snow off your windows.

Jump in the car. Start her up and force your impatient, late self to eeeease on the gas so your wheels won't spin in all the snow and slowly drive round to the front. Roll down the window and, with the patience of Job, of course, verbally hurry your children along as they dawdle out the door.

Drive slowly and carefully to the church while pointedly ignoring the persistent little voice in your head that's screaming "You're gonna be late!" Arrive at the stake center only to find that you can't park any where near the place. Drop the children off at the door. Find a parking place on the opposite side of the building from where your children are.

Wade through more snow (filling your shoes again). Enter the building, seeing your children at the end of a very long hallway. Wave to them, 'cuz you're right by the chapel and it would be really convenient if they would come to you. Realize that they're looking out the door for you and thus will never see you waving. Race walk down the hall. Gather your children. Hang up coats. Herd them down the hallway. Find your parents in the chapel. Collapse on the bench and recover as best you can from the marathon morning.

It was well worth the effort. A lovely sacrament meeting. My children have never been to church in a congregation with no children. The sacrament was completely silent. A novel thing. But I could have happily done without the first hour of my Sunday.

Why do you blog?

I have a friend who has no patience for blogging. She feels it's waste of time; self centered people rambling on about their own little lives. I don't completely disagree with her. There's a lot of that out there. But there's so much more.

Lately I've been pondering about why I blog. What roll does it play in my life? Is it something I should continue? How much of my blogging is about selfish pride? Let's face it, most of our posts are about ourselves. I tried to write a post once without referring to myself in any way, and I couldn't do it. It's also quite an ego boost when you get great comments and see your following increase --not that I have many followers, but watching it go from nothing to the 20's felt good. Impressive, huh? I'd be less than honest if I didn't admit that's part of why I do this. I don't necessarily have answers to all these questions, but I think they are worth asking.

There ARE drawbacks to this whole bloggy thing. The biggest negative for me? It's soooo easy to spend WAY to much time and neglect my home and the wonderful people who live here. (For example, I'm supposed to be balancing the checkbook right now, one of my hate jobs, but I enjoy blogging much more and so, here I am). There's always the temptation to click on one more link, and then one more, and life becomes unbalanced. (And even if I find the right balance today, it will still be a struggle to find it tomorrow.)

The benefits are just as real. I've met wonderful new friends. (Bloggy friends gave me the inspiration to wage my own mini anti-smut campaign in my neck of the woods.) I know exactly where to go for tutorials on everything from home decorating and crafts, to cooking, cleaning and organizing. (But to be completely honest I don't generally DO any of the tutorials myself, I just read them and think they're cool). Another benefit is simply the fun of it all. No guilt here about doing it just 'cuz I like it as long as I keep it from taking over my life.

My two favorite benefits? 1. I'm writing regularly! I've long known that to improve my writing skills, I need to simply put in the time and write, often. But knowing and doing are two very different things (remember Elder Bednar's Conference Talk?). Enter, blogging. Now I write at least weekly (even when I don't post) and my writing is improving! I'll never be a Hemingway (I confess I've never read anything by him), but improvement is always a beautiful thing and is met with palpable smiles from above. 2. With the exception of three years in my late teens, I've never kept a journal. I know I should, but I don't. And I feel guilt. My blog is a record of my thoughts and feelings and of some of the doings of my family; again, I feel heaven's approval and the burden of guilt on the journal front lifts! (I remember someone posting that her blog couldn't count as a journal and I vehemently disagree!!!)

So my question: Why do you blog? Have you considered calling it quits? Give me your thoughts.

A Quarter of a Century!

Twenty-five years ago today I knelt across the altar from my man. (Dig those glasses!)

We were married in the olden days when engagement photos were always formal and in your Sunday best. (And perms were in!)

We've been through a whole heap 'o livin' since then. Six babies, seven moves, good times, money worries, health problems, house building, more puns than you would believe, weight gain (I'm at my chubbiest below -- why is chubby only cute on babies?)...

...weight loss. This was the year that I had a trophy husband...

...Silliness and more humor than I could have imagined. I never know what he'll be up to next. (Much of my family has commented on the appropriateness of my look below)...

...a bit of heart ache and a whole lot of joy. I'd do it all over again in a heart-beat!

Happy Anniversary, Hubders!

Devils Food Cake!

Josi Kilpack's new book Devil's Food Cake has just hit the shelves. (You can read portions of it here, and purchase it here. )

I became aware of the series when my sis was asked to be part of her test kitchen. The books are fun, light-hearted mysteries and the "who-done-it" is enough of a twist to be a surprise. Sadie is an amateur sleuth, and fabulous cook who turns to cooking when faced with problems. I enjoy her tenacity and quirkiness.

The recipes are also well worth trying. The High Tea Lemon Cookies (from English Trifle ) are so moorish that it's downright dangerous to make them 'cause I'm gonna eat 'em all!

Yes, this post is a shameless attempt to win a copy of Devil's Food Cake, but since the book is worth reading, think of it as a great tip!

Worth it.

Pregnancy is on the brain. My sis delivered a beautiful baby girl on Monday and it seems that most of the blogs I follow are written by a gestating women. They write of growing larger (funny post!) and being anemic, exhausted, and overwhelmed (seriously, check out their blogs, you won't regret it); of dealing with pregnancy while doing the mom thing and all that it entails. Reading their well crafted pregnancy posts takes me back. It's been over six years since I experienced it, but I remember. I remember it all.

All women love to whine about their pregnancies share their pregnancy stories and I'm no different even though it's been awhile. So settle in, here's mine.

My first three were text book. The normal annoyances, that's all. But #'s four through six were a different story. None of it was life threathening, or even comparable to what many women have gone through, but it pushed me right to the limit.

I developed prenatal tachychardia which is a fancy way of saying that my heart raced. It didn't matter whether I was in great shape or not (and I did the pregnant thing both ways); simply walking across the family room sent my heart rate up to 140. And stairs? The doctor said if they were unavoidable, I was to do half the flight, sit down and rest for five minutes, and then continue on up. (Yeah, like a mom can do that!)

When my heart raced, which it did every time I did something really strenuous like move forward more than three steps, I was not only short of breath (similar to running five laps), but it also zapped all energy, on a molecular level from every cell in my body. The exhaustion was immediate and overwhelming. The doctor put me on some pills that helped (and put me through withdrawal when I quit taking them after delivery--which is another story, but can I just mention that a doctor should TELL you if that's a possibility). But the pills didn't fix the problem, just made it more manageable.

And so, a significant portion of my last three pregnancies were spent as a world class wimp. My husband says I have a can do attitude. When there are things to be done, I roll up my sleeves and git her done. But that 'me' was gone and the new me was something that was, in my opinion, just plain depressing. A shower took a fifteen minute rest to recover from. Blow drying my hair was just about impossible (something about raising my arms above my heart). I could do the grocery shopping if I walked slowly, but someone had better be there to put it all away when I got home. Every single thing I did was difficult and exhausting....for months.

My last pregnancy was the hardest. I was almost fourty. I had three teenagers, and they were a great help, but they were also very involved in things which means Mom is busy too. (Side note: Does anyone else just love that Elder Packer teaches that when you schedule the youth, you schedule their mom. Everyone should understand that!!)

Now, I love being a mom. There is no more sacred moment in life than when they place that baby in your arms. The innocence of children is one of the most beautiful things on the planet. Helping them grow into responsible adults is the hardest and most rewarding challenge there is. I know ALL that stuff, and believe it, deeply. And yet, as I slogged through the final months of that last pregnancy, I could not help wondering: Is it really worth THIS?? I felt guilty that I wondered, but I just couldn't help it.

I remember my feelings as they handed Girlie-Whirl to me in the Hospital. The pregnancy was OVER!!!!! Angels sang, bands played, fireworks, the whole sha-bang. As they put her in my arms, the feeling was instantaneous and overwhelming. It was, without a doubt, completely...worth...it.

When a Rabbi comes to dine.

Our home had the rare opportunity of having a Rabbi as a dinner guest yesterday. The mere thought of it so fired the imagination of Girlie-Whirl that she spoke of nothing else all morning. Her dolls became part of a Jewish themed playtime, she made a card to welcome the Rabbi, and she continually asked me how much longer until he would come.

This opportunity came to us as a result of a two-day Jewish/Mormon Conference held this weekend in our neck of the woods. Hubders had been asked to be the local LDS representative for the question/answer session, and since the Rabbi (from L.A.) wanted to speak in an LDS congregation it was arranged for the two of them to speak at a combined Priesthood/Relief Society in our ward.

Our church starts at 1:00 pm. The Rabbi wanted to meet with Hubders at 11:00 and since he would have to eat somewhere, I had Hubders invite him to dinner, fully expecting him to decline because of kosher issues. But he seemed grateful for the invitation and when asked, said that we could serve anything we wanted; however, since we asked, he didn't eat pork or shell fish and didn't mix meat and dairy. Grateful that I wouldn't have to worry about which bowls I prepared which food in, and that I only had to make minor adjustments (no milk in the mashed potatoes etc), I nevertheless felt the weight of hosting a Rabbi for dinner.

The Rabbi was humble, gracious, personable, and clearly wouldn't have complained regardless what fare we had offered him. He was willing to sit with our family and explain what a Rabbi was and what he did. He consented to offer a blessing on the food (the first motzi ever uttered in our home) and taught us as he did so. He was interested in all our children had to say, even when Girlie-Whirl babbled on about nothing. It wasn't long before my worries over whether the meal was kosher were banished and we simply enjoyed each others company like old friends.

Sunday was one of those huge days for Hubders (you know the kind). He spoke in Sacrament Meeting, it was his week to teach Gospel Doctrine class, he spoke with the Rabbi during priesthood/Relief Society, and then participated in the question/answer discussion at the Jewish/Mormon conference in the evening. He was grateful when it was all over and tried to minimize his roll, but as his wife, I was all sorts of impressed. Gonna have to sew the buttons back on my blouse!!

The sister who introduced Hubders at the conference is a good friend and rather than just read his bio (thank you!--don't you hate it when they just read what's already printed on the program?) she spoke more personally of attending his classes, his depth of scriptural knowledge, his enthusiasm as a teacher, etc and she ended by saying that even after twenty-five years of marriage, he still opens every door for his wife; which he does, but who knew that she'd noticed it! I sat there in the audience and enjoyed hearing someone sing the praises of my man and resolved to take his kindnesses to me less for granted.

The whole weekend was unforgettable. Our family has always had an affinity for Judaism. We own a menorah, shofar, Torah scroll, prayer shawl and yarmulke; and have taught multiple Jewish folk songs to our children. I've loved reading Chaim Potok's The Chosen to my children because I feel it gives them a window into the lives, strugglings and faith of modern Jewry. But our ties to the Jewish community have been enhanced and deepened because of the conference. On Saturday, after the dialogue at the synagogue, I was able to attend the Jewish worship service, which happened to be a Bar Mitzvah. Although much of the service, being mostly in Hebrew, was lost on me, parts of it were deeply moving.

As one who loves the standard works and wants very much to help my children come to understand the power of the word of God, I felt a great kinship there. The Rabbi spoke of their ancestor's love for the Torah. He then took the Torah scrolls out of the ark, handed them to the father, who handed them to the mother, who handed them to the older son, who handed them to Jacob (whose Bar Mitzvah it was), who then held them in his arms and carried them through the aisles of the congregation as members kissed their fingertips and then touched the breastplate of the Torah. Their obvious joy in the scriptures and their desire to pass that joy onto their children is a commonality that transcends dogma.

I hope to continue the dialogue with our Jewish neighbors. I believe it was helpful and interesting to members of both faiths. A Rabbi who sat by Hubders on the stand last night continually asked him questions of clarification as the LDS speaker gave his address. I carried on religious conversations with my daughter-in-law's mother and her grandfather's girl friend (both Jewish), something I never imagined doing. Rabbi Shmuley Boteach said in 2003, "The Mormons are our brothers, the Christians are our kin." After this conference, I feel that familial relationship more than ever and am looking forward to the next family reunion.

I'm still mulling the weekend over in my mind and it will be some time before I feel like I have a handle on all that happened and what it means. The most obvious lesson is that they, like us, truly love God and want to live his law. The differences between our religions which divide us are nothing compared to the similarities which ought to unite us as believers in God and in his word.

Neat as a Paperclip (cuz the pin is outa reach)

January. Good intentions, resolutions, new starts. It's such a good thing. (Except for when it feels depressing, if ya know what I mean.)

I'm not big on new years resolutions, but I am big on trying to do better and improve. My focus right now: overcoming the clutter. It's been a goal of mine for years, but my efforts have never yielded any results that could be termed permanent. I haven't quit trying, but my attitude about the whole things has become one of: you're-never-gonna-get-anywhere-but the struggle-is-important . Needless to say, not a happy feeling.

Last week, while perusing this blog I came across a short mention of this post on yet another blog and was intrigued enough to click on over. Not only did I find some good ideas and simple to implement strategies (an absolute MUST. Any hopes of following through on anything that is complicated is deluding myself!); as I read I actually found hope in the housekeeping department!!! Wow!

I think one of my problems in the past has been that I've always felt like I needed to make my home immaculate, which is unreasonable for me, and so felt defeated before I even started. Her blog helped me figure out the level of clean that is acceptable to me and then determine the minimum required to maintain it. So much more doable!

I've started implementation. It's been surprisingly easy and pain-free and the house has been orderly (well, orderly for me, others would beg to differ). There's been an extra bounce in my step, a smile on my face, and a feeling of a burden being lifted. I'm diggin this whole thing!!!!

Now to see if I can keep up some semblance of the system for more than a week!

Who can say no to a bargain like this?

For twenty-two year I've had one of these.

It's been great and together we've made mountains of bread and cookies and other such things. It's been the work horse of my kitchen. But the lid is now broken, the blender's destroyed (I melted the pitcher), and although the motor still runs fine, it's just not the mixer it once was.

For a long time now I've been looking at these.

But, I'm cheap and since my mixer still runs I haven't been willing to fork out the required moola to bring one home.

Friday I was here.

I had a "30% off your entire purchase coupon" and my sis and I were cruising the store hitting the clearance section in every department, seeing what kind of bargains we could find.

And I saw it. No box -- I throw those away anyway; no user manual -- I know how to find those on-line; dirt cheap and that coupon in my pocket for an extra bonus! I called Hubders and told him I was considering spending more than I originally planned. He told me to go for it. Sis concurred that I'd be nuts not to snatch it up. I paid significantly less than half the lowest online price I've found for this model.

I enjoy things so much more when I get a bargain!

I'm Afraid not

I don't have as much patience as I should for my children's irrational fears. The there's-a-monster-under-my-bed kind of fears that have no basis in reality. Oh, I'm patient and understanding and helpful up to a point, and then I'm done and just want them to stop being scared!

This is unfair and hypocritical of me because as a child, I was a mass of fears. My mother truly wondered if I'd grow up to be a functioning member of society, so riddled was I with debilitating phobias. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach was my almost ever present companion through approximately the third grade. My trepidations were wide and varied.

Here are three of the many.

I was terrified of dogs. There was nothing rational about this fear. I don't believe I've ever been bitten by a dog. But, nevertheless, my fear of them was primal and relentless. No amount of reasoning, coaxing, bribing or teaching on my parents part could make a dent in my insurmountable anxiety over all things canine. Big slobbery dogs, little yappy dogs, the size didn't matter, they all scared me to death. We owned a dog and it was the only fido on the planet that didn't send me screaming in the opposite direction. It took middle school years and the embarrassment of showing obvious fear in front of friends to curb my dog woes. I'll never be a pooch lover, but unless they're ferocious, I'm no longer alarmed by them.

My next fear was the worry of being permanently separated from my parents. Every Wednesday, after school, I watched my bus pull away without me and waited for my mom to pick me up and take me to dance lessons. I vividly remember, week after week, sitting alone on the bench in front of the school drenched in misery, knowing I might never see my parents again and contemplating the wretchedness my life would become. Mom always came, of course, but I still worried every week. Age fixed this one too, but not before years of torment at it's hands.

My third fear, was short lived, but the most debilitating. At age five-ish, I was taught in church that Satan wanted every one of us. What a horrific thought! I was just a little girl. What chance did I have against the devil? If he wanted me, I was doomed! Period. My mom repeatedly spent time trying to reassure me, teach me, and help me cope. But nothing she said made any difference. I spent my days and nights gripped in continual fear that it was only a matter of time before the Devil had me in his impervious grasp. She persisted and eventually got it through my head that obedience to God diminished Satan's power over me. That he could only have power over me as I gave it to him through committing sin. What a relief, and an incredibly useful piece of information! I was empowered! I may have been small and wimpy, but obedience I could DO; and, thankfully, my distress over the Prince of Darkness became thing of the past.

I don't know the reasons behind my abundance of fears as a child. I came from a wonderful home. My mom was the type that played with me, read to me, sang to me, snuggled with me and laughed with me every single day. I have always been absolutely secure in her love for me. Dad was less hands on, but I knew that he loved me and would always protected me from harm. And yet, my life, until I was nine-ish was a mass of phobias.

I don't quite understand how my mother managed to be patient with me and my constant worrying, but she did. And so the next time my six year old is frightened over something unrealistic. I'm gonna follow Mom's example and hang on to understanding a bit longer.