Jones Party of 5

Better Late Than Never

2011-12-26T17:50:00.002-07:00

Ohhhkaaaaay . . . I am finally updating this neglected blog of mine. Much has happened since I last wrote, and I am forcing myselft to be motivated to write anything. I probably lost all my readers during my hiatus, but I do know that my faithful sister Lisa is reading this, so I will write, at least, for her.

Remember that company that Ty sent his resume to for a job in Brazil? Well, they didn't ever call back for that position. (Thank Goodness) They did however, call him back for another position. He underwent four interviews for the position and was competing against hundreds of experienced people---including a couple Harvard MBA's. The position was for a Field Marketing and Sales management position (which is something Ty has NO experience in). Over one month after the interviewing process began, we finally learned that Ty had landed the job---we were so thrilled!!! He had just been hating his former job, and felt like it had no potential for growth. I had been praying for months that he would find a new job mainly because I hated seeing him so discouraged.

Of course, there was a catch---we had to move to Wisconsin.

So, Ty moved out in September to start the new job.

While I (with the help of lots of amazing people) got the house ready to sell in such a hurry that it felt like we were on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Except I had to pay for it.

We put the house up for sale around mid-October. Showed it so many times that I was outside of the house more than I was in it. Then after 3 weeks on the market, we had a good offer and sold.

I flew to Wisconsin and shopped for a house. Found a great home which had been on the market for 3 years and made an offer. That same day, someone else came to see the house and outbid us. I cried.

Flew back to Wisconsin to find another house since during the first trip I didn't see any that I would want to live in. We walked through 21 homes on one Saturday. Found 2 we liked. One was built in 1910 and one was built in 2005. Needless to say, we chose the one built in 2005 (sacrificed charm for an open floorplan).

Our house: Located in the village of Valders, WI.

Population: 997.

Religious Stats: 50% Lutheran, 25% Catholic, 1% LDS (that would be our family, plus two others).

Crime Stats: none. Nobody, NOBODY locks their doors at night, in fact one family told me they don't even have keys to their own house. The Valders newspaper prints all weekly phone calls to the police. One phone call was about a boy who went to his friend's house after school and his mother didn't know where he was, another was about a high school boy who was being teased on the bus, and the third was about a passed-out drunk in front of a bar.

Our first sunset the day we moved in:

The best part: The schools. I am completely in love with the public schools here. Class sizes are super small, the kids have a separate gym teacher, music teacher, art teacher, and a guidance counselor who teaches each class a few hours a week. The librarian spends time each week with each child helping them find an appropriate book or two to check out. Teachers don't let the kids get away with slacking---they call home if the students are struggling in any subjects or missing assignments instead of waiting until parent teacher conferences. The principal is, well, he's gay.

The worst part: I left all my friends and family.

to be continued ( I promise). . .

Guilt? or Freedom?

2011-04-22T13:59:00.006-06:00

Today, I read the following excerpt in a book called "Oil For Your Lamp":

Virtually every woman we know has the same problem - she knows what's good for her, but she often doesn't do it. She knows she should eat less and exercise more, but still she doesn't make healthy choices. She knows she needs to spend her time and money more effectively, but good time and money management elude her. She finds herself always putting others first, while neglecting her own needs and wants. She doesn't get enough rest or sleep and her endless to-do list hangs overhead like the sword of Damocles. As our friend Brenda Knight laments frequently, "Why am I always riding in the back of my own bus?"

When I read stuff like this (or hear it which I'm sure I will on Mother's Day, hurray) I don't know whether I should feel guilty or elated because I have never been this woman. I have never been the woman who consistently puts her children's needs above her own. I am not the woman who can't find the time to exercise and eat right---in fact, I'd go as far as to say eating well and working out are the first thing I think about each morning. I have a big to-do list, yes, but BUT I don't stress it. And weirdly, I also like budgeting and telling my money where to go . . . kind of a fun game actually; if you haven't tried MINT ONLINE MONEY MANAGEMENT you really should use it! ( It's totally free) I know it's a cliche to say this, but it's changed my life.

The sleep-deprivation part of the Martyr Mom though, that's me. And guess what, sometimes, well more than just sometimes, I am in my robe until 10 or 11 am, but that's me . . . and I'm okay with that. If I answer the door in my sweats/robe/underwear (which happens more often than not) please know that although I appear to be a waste of space, I can get a lot done in my sweats/robe/underwear or completely naked if necessary (not really, but doesn't every man fantasize about marrying a woman who does all her housework in the nude?). . . . and when I see my beautiful friends drive by in full make-up and great clothes at 8 am, I smile and look forward to the day when I can be that woman again.

I admire the Martyr Moms. I stare at them actually. Amazing creatures of selflessness they are.

But for now, right now, I am happy to be in my life.

A Visitor

2011-03-27T10:07:00.010-06:00

So last night, David Bowie, of all people came to see me. He dropped a real bomb on me too---told me he was probably my real father. Apparently, my mother had a secret affair on one of her trips to England that she never told anyone about and it ate her up inside, which may have been the cause of her early death. And all this time, I thought her worst sin was the one time she called the neighborhood bully Bulls**t at a church youth activity. True story.

He was so sweet, this Mr. Bowie. He made me three, THREE! baby blankets that he never gave me, but saved for the right time. Now since my Jim-Dad has basically removed himself from my life, David Bowie took the opportunity to come see me (he must have hired leprechauns and/or goblins to keep track of me). We looked over his exquisite baby blankets together and he pointed out his signature baby-blanket mark that he included on all three: he painstakingly applied two small rhinestones on each blanket that when both touched at the same time played one of his songs. Then he cuddled me in his arms in a daddy-daughter kind of way, and bought us matching hair extensions. It was an amazing bonding moment. We told different life stories, and tried to get caught up on 31 years of lost time. He asked if I had children, and I was like ya, but don't go all Goblin King on me now! I told him how much I adored his older music . He told me about a musical movie version of Narnia that he filmed with Heidi Klum (who played the white witch, I'm guessing), but it was never released to the public because Heidi didn't speak English at the time. Then he showed me one of her shirts that she gave him while they worked on the project together, and he told me a few dirty details about him and Heidi that you never want to hear from your dad. Then before he left, he showed me all his aliases in the phone book (one of them being Drooger McGee) and how I could get in touch with him whenever I needed him.

David B was so sweet, and when I woke up, I was actually sad that it wasn't real and that my mom just had to be so chaste. With my puffy morning face, I turned to my Ty and told him, "You'd never believe this, but David Bowie is my real dad." To which he said, "Well, that makes more sense." And I was just like whatever, it totally does.

Apples to Apples

2011-03-05T07:03:00.008-07:00

So I got thinking about Pete's Dragon yesterday (who doesn't?) while I was eating a crunchy apple. "The only thing that would make this apple better", I said matter-of-factly to myself, "would be having it fire-roasted by nothing less than a dragon. Naturally". Now if you are not familiar with Pete's Dragon then you can take your training bra, your teddy bear, and your wrinkle-free ovaries and leave because you are just way too young to understand where these deep thoughts are coming from. But if you really want to keep reading, then just close your eyes and imagine a big, green, dorky-looking cartoon dragon/hippo with wings so small they must be compensating for something (his large tail, duh) throwing an apple in the air and blowing his amazing fire breathing skilz upon the apple thus making it completely delicious.

Then I thought about the one other part of Pete's Dragon that I didn't fast forward through. The part where the damsel-not-in-distress sings about candles and water (clip here) and such. That song made me think of my mom and girl's camp but not the two combined because they never were, unfortunately. I remember my mom singing that to me when I was at the age of being lost, which is approximately 12 to 15 years old--- the horrible middle school age where I was miserably self-conscious and would have done almost anything to be loved by my peers. I still remember how much I dreaded warm weather in those middle school days because that meant wearing shorts, and wearing shorts meant showing legs, and showing legs was excruciatingly anxiety inducing. I would stand with my legs crossed and smushed together to try and make them invisible somehow (and balancing is an issue when your feet are practically on top of each other). I would wake up extra early, and walk a mile-and-a-half to my friend's bus stop (when mine was in front of my house) so that I would have someone to walk with to first period. I couldn't deal with being alone, not in those lost years. And coming home afterward, well, it was like a warm blanket. So my mom singing that song to me at that time was just about the best reminder an awkward, just knees-and-elbows girl could get that home is a safe place, and Mom is a safe person.

**** spoiler alert: necessary and healthy venting ahead ******

venting deleted 8 hours after posting, sorry if you missed it, it was good (it was about Nantucket, which is a secret code word).
But, venting is venting and after venting has been vented, the ventor feels well-ventilated . . .
(that little tricky poem is in honor of Dr. Seuss because it was his birthday this week)

**** Venting Complete (thank you very much) *****

Then I thought about singing that same candle song at girl's camp, and how, of course it made us all cry up there at those ridiculously high altitudes. There is something about high altitudes that is a natural laxative for crying because all I remember about girl's camp is sitting around camp fires and KNOWING the church is true because, hello, it was making us cry to talk about it. I don't think it was until I was twenty years old that I could say, "I know God lives, and I know this church is true" and I was all excited that I could say that, and mean that without having to run mascara all up and down my face in a frenzy of spiritual crying.

Now my stomach is growling and that brings me back to the idea of eating apples. I'm considering turning my gas stove on high heat, sticking an apple on a skewer and turning it over the flames. Maybe I'll even give the apple a dip in melted butter, and a roll in cinnamon sugar, and THEN roast it over flames. That would give 'ol Pete's Dragon a run for his money.

new fab artist

2011-03-02T14:27:00.004-07:00

It's not very often that you come across a singer who has impeccably pitch-perfect pipes in live performances. Miley Cyrus, for instance, has so much auto-tune and synthetic blending going on to make her tracks sellable it's pathetic that she is known as a singer at all!
I stumbled across this artist, Jessie J, through Arcade44.tv. She is topping the London Charts, and during a visit to New York she decided to sing in the subway for a few lucky people who happened to be in the right place at the right time. This girl has insane talent and I am going to put this song on my next yoga class track.

I think she'll make it big here. Do ya think??!!

Enjoy the clip!

Show and Tell

2011-02-27T19:54:00.012-07:00

I concluded today that it's actually good at times to have really thin, fine hair because it keeps me humble and possibly even likable. In my head, people don't ever hate me because I know they really must think, "Oh, that's nice that that girl with the really thin hair has such stinkin cute kids/husband/feet/dog to balance out her lack of blessings in the hair department", or something of that nature. See because if I had a head full of long, lustrous, gorgeous hair, I would just be that big-haired girl who pats herself on the back too much. Also, I have a big nose. I know that's true cuz I've prayed about it. But this post isn't about big noses and small hair. It's just a post to show a few pictures that are completely unrelated to anything, so it basically feels like show and tell.

For the Tell part of show and tell I'll say, "We made flutes out of plastic drinking straws tonight and had a symphony of Joneses. It was the most spiritual family night EV-UH!"

and the show part . . .

This was my view every day over President's Day weekend. One of my bff's has parents with great taste in second homes which also happen to make great weekend escapes with great friends. This picture is seriously what I looked out at every morning from my amazingly well-decorated bedroom.

My Ty the pedicure guy. This was his Valentine's Day present for his girls.

I wish I had a dad like that! Actually, I can't make out with my dad so,

I'm glad he's my hubs.

Leah Grace stars as "Mr. Bean goes Bumbo" Ty says she looks just like Mista Bean here, I guess I can sort of see it.

Leah Grace stars as "The Baby who got Bless-ed!"

Leah Grace's stars in "The Cutest Bum on the Block"

I ate this whole box of truffles today in church. Every bite is an endorphin-releasing frenzy of awesomeness. It makes church way cooler. Ty asked for one and I told him they were all gone. They weren't really, but that's just one of those things wives can get away with and still be cherished. Deeply.

(and it actually contains 6 grams of dietary fiber, score!)

My bursted blood vessel from my co-ed game of volleyball a few nights ago.

I tried to dig one heck of a spike for the team, but it wasn't worth it, just fyi.

Instructions on How to Be Lazy

2011-02-26T14:38:00.005-07:00

Step One: Borrow an infant (or use your own if you have one) who is the worst sleeper in the history of cute, fat, bald little infants.

Step Two: Stay up late watching Grey's Anatomy episode after episode because you just figured out that it's the best reality show ever (ok, ok, it's basically reality to me alright. because if you tell me that McDreamy isn't real, I may just cry).

Step Three: Go to bed at an unseemly hour and then wake up every hour on the hour to be human pacifier to a baby who refuses to let you take advantage of wonderful inventions like a silicon pacifier. I tell her she is chubby, and that she really doesn't need those extra calories during the night, but she doesn't listen.

Step Four: Don't get out of bed when it's morning. It's Saturday after all and your husband can manage things for a while. And then, when he leaves to go take a test at school, just close your door and turn up the awesomeness of the white noise app plugged into your speaker dock. Just pretend that either: a) you don't have other children besides the cute sleep-challenged infant in your bed, or b) tell yourself that they really aren't destroying the house. It's just your imagination. In reality they are doing all their chores without fighting, or drinking the Clorox, or having a hot chocolate lab in the kitchen and experimenting with all the different herbs and sausages and dog food they can add to hot cocoa to get a plethora of new and exciting flavors.

Step Five: Still be in your underwear and robe at 2:49 pm and blog about it.

The end

My Ty the High School Guy

2011-02-03T13:14:00.012-07:00

So My Ty (that's what I call him these days, since it distinguishes him from all the other Ty's out there, and also rhyming names are PHAT!) is the High School Guy. I have to say this carefully since I have neighbors with high school and college-aged daughters that I have personally watched oogling my husband while he drives past their bus stops. My cute teenage cousins have crushes on him, and now my lil sis Jen, keeps telling me about her high school friends that can't stop talking about her "hot" brother in law. He is approximately 17 years older than most of his admirers. Not to mention the gay men that drop lines to him even when we are on a DATE!!!!! Who does that? As my friend Maryann said, there are four types of gay men, and the ones picking up on my hubby in front of me, are the ones she classifies as "entitled". It is their heaven bestowed right to flirt with whomever they please. I probably just offended my swarm of gay male readers, sorry but, it's true guys/gays.

So what's the problem with this you say?

It's just that, the only guys making eyes at ME are the five-and-under crowd, and they are really just after my amazing chocolate chip cookies. Oh wait! No, a couple of weeks after Leah was born when I was looking quite voluptuous in certain baby-mamma places, a guy in Chuck-A-Rama with a red mullet and a hat that said 'Jesus Loves Me' called "Hello Nurse" when I walked by the mashed potatoes and fried chicken buffet . Ya, I don't even know if that counts.

It's just a good thing that My Ty loves me so gosh-darn much, or I would be completely bummed out (as of right now I'm only 37% bummed out) about his flock of statutory admirers. He even brought me a Lindt dark chocolate truffle bar last week. That's true love.

At The Carwash, Ya!

2011-02-02T13:42:00.014-07:00

First tidbit: Last night Audrey came in my room with tears in her eyes and a reproachful hand on her hip, and said to me, "Mom, I feel sick because you MADE me eat a WHOLE cinnamon roll!" I laughed and explained that she is never obligated to eat all her dessert---just all her dinner. She looked at me with an angry expression and moved her hand off her hip to shake her little pointer finger at me and said, "Well, YOU shouldn't have given me so much because I ate it all!" Then she stormed off to bed. I love how a mother can get blamed for anything.

Next tidbit: We went to the automatic car wash yesterday, the whole fam damily (Elsa had to put a coat over her head due to her extreme automatic-carwash-phobia). I was in the front passenger seat, and MyTy was driving. I opened my window to pull in the mirror (ok I was actually trying to impress him a little by showing him that I know one thing about cars and that's the fact that you always pull in the mirrors in an auto wash---only he wasn't impressed), and when I went to roll the window back up, it wouldn't come up. It had been rolling up slower and slower lately because of the friggin' cold air, I think. We were already on the conveyer belt, past the point of no return heading into the wash, and I screamed, "TY! PUT ON THE BREAKS NOW, MY WINDOW IS BUSTED!" I was panicking but he wouldn't put on the breaks. I was going completely ballistic when I got the first spray of water, then MyTy started laughing and took the window lock off. I didn't even THINK that he would have put the child locks on my window. He, of course, started laughing while I proceeded to punch him on the shoulder as hard as I could---which isn't very hard right now because my muscles have completely atrophied since being pregnant and I only get my overhand volleyball serves over the net 50% of the time. Then he tells me that what he did was a romantic gesture. Huh??!!!

Last tidbit: I have been playing a bunch of volleyball every week, in addition to some kickboxing, yoga, and jogging. My girls are bouncing up to my chinny chin chin---even with my best sports bra. I.HATE.BIG.BOSOMS.

Then I discovered this: Last Resort Bra I am going to buy it. I don't care if it looks like a medieval warrior's breast plate. I NEED it. I am also open for less expensive recommendations, if any of you have one.

I'm also really wanting to try The Victory Bra as it promises to "never betray how cold you think the gym is" if you catch their drift.

my favorite pics of the week

2011-02-01T14:58:00.011-07:00

"so happy to be me"

Leah and Daddy gettin' cleaned up

Elsa and her great grandmother (soon to be 101 years young), Irene

Elsa scaring me

Kamryn took this profile picture of herself, I love it!

Some of my fam (from left to right: Matt, Jared, Lisa, Jen, Steve, Steph, MyTy)

Ahhh, Leah

How many girls can you get on a gym mat? I caught them in the moment.

My little niece, Ivy. Lisa's daughter

Her dreams may be of prince charming, but her daddy will always be her king

me n' my dancing queen

. . . . . and finally, one just for laughs. She'll hate me one day for publishing this photo! (she had a pee shiver right when I took the picture)

Photo shoot

2011-01-25T14:26:00.007-07:00

Today I took the girls to get their pictures taken. They all did really well except the baby, who was super cranky. I was thrilled that we were able to capture 2 good pics without her screaming her head off. I had to cut her some slack though because she did just have her shots yesterday. Anyway, I know I rarely do a photo-only blog post, but hope you enjoy.

Please, Sir, May I Have Some More [sleep/time/showers/ etc.] ???

2011-01-11T10:26:00.015-07:00

Sorry it's so late. I'm just thankful no one's been bugging me about updating . . . except that everyone has. Thanks for motivating me to get this blog up to date. And thanks to my awesome sister, Lisa, for making me a new, updated blog header. Isn't it snazzy?!!

It's officially been 6 weeks since I had little Leah (pronounced Lee-uh) Grace, and I'm back in the saddle again---working out, volunteering at school, cooking, cleaning, blah blah blah. But now, I get to do it with huge dark circles under my eyes because little L.G. doesn't sleep much so neither do I. Oh, but she's so cute, and if she just exposes one little smile each morning, I'm fueled and happy, and don't mind the sleep deprivation so much.

A few of my friends wanted to hear my birth story, and I'm supposing they meant Leah's birth story since my own is really quite foggy, and I just remember a bad headache. Leah's birth story will always be a clear memory to me. The morning she was born, I woke feeling something was off---not necessarily that I was going to go into labor, but I just felt off. I fixed the kids breakfast, and felt cold, so I went to take a hot bath. Five minutes into my bath, I couldn't get warm, and I started feeling sharp pains in my lower abdomen. I was sure I had a bad UTI. I got out of the bath, put on my robe, and called for Ty (luckily he was home because it was the day after Thanksgiving). I was shaking violently with chills within minutes, and he started to give me a blessing. As soon as he started the blessing, I had to interrupt him by whining for a bucket. He ran to the kitchen, got me a bucket, and I lost my breakfast the second he shoved it under my chin. I think it was the sickest I've ever felt in my life.

So, Ty took me to the hospital, I couldn't even walk by the time I got there, but I was not in labor. They put me on oxygen, and an antibiotic I.V. drip, and within an hour, I felt much better. My midwife wanted to induce me right away since I apparently had an infection in my uterus, and they didn't want it to spread to the baby. They weren't sure how I contracted it, but they assumed it may have had something to do with the fact that I was dilated to 5 and 6 cm. for two weeks before this day. I was nervous about being induced since I'd heard how it causes stronger contractions, and I had decided to do this labor au naturel or bust!

The contractions started, and they were easy for me; I relaxed through them pretty well. Even the pushing part, was easy, at first. I started getting really upset with every pushing session because I felt like nothing was progressing, and I was so weak from my infection. My energy was shot, and the pain of a posterior baby (insert screaming) was akin to torture via the rack like that William Wallace guy. My midwife called in another doctor to aid her attempts to turn the baby face down, but she was stuck, and I couldn't relax enough to bear the pain anymore. So, 90 minutes after pushing began, they stuck a suction cup to her head and on my next push, the doctor pulled, and Leah came flailing out in the posterior position. Amazingly, her head was perfectly round with no cone shape. I was too exhausted to even want to hold her ( insert major guilt trip); I just wanted to sleep.

That's the jist of it. The moral of this story is that going natural (in my experience) is not better than being epiduralized, in fact, if I had gotten the dang epidural, Aflac would have paid out an additional $900, and I would be updating this blog on a new ipad. The great part about this story is that Leah Grace had no traces of infection; she was chubby, blonde, beautiful, thriving, and nursing, and everything I could ask for in a newborn.

Here she is on the bilirubin bed that she had to be in for 10 days.

Getting ready to leave the hospital.

Conspiring with her big sister, Elsa.

Elsa is the one who is home the most, thus gets her picture taken more often than the older two.

Some pics of the holidays:

Elsa's first chapstick. It was eaten down to the core by the end of the day. Gift fail.

Cousin's first birthday party.

Elsa with Ty's beautiful sister, Hannah

My sister and brother lounging with their i pods.

My sisters making the Christmas Eve morning omelettes.

Elsa playing the Xbox Kinect with her dad.

Just Bits n Pieces

2010-11-04T17:00:00.008-06:00

The last few months . . . oh my! How did I get so behind? Tis the season I think because many of my bloggin buddies are also not updating as frequently. . . and what the heck is going on with facebook? It used to be a fun time waster, and now only the same 6 people write status updates. Hopefully this mega-rut we are in will soon fade and we'll get back to wasting time again.

I went all gung-ho at the beginning of the school year and I over-volunteered. It always seems so easy and no-big-dealish when you sign your name to the calendar or commit your precious time to the teacher, but PICKLED Pig's feet! . . . I overdosed on the volunteering. Luckily I'm having a baby in a few weeks to give me an excuse to reconsider my commitments. Audrey, my wee little kindergartener is zooming ahead in math, and so I agreed to teach an advanced placement math class for her teacher every Wednesday. It seems that the only thing Kindergarten really pushes in the curriculum is reading, reading, alphabet, reading, and, oh, letters, and sounds. Hello! All the people making any money these days are the ones who rock at the technical stuff! If I could start a charter school, I would emphasize computers, math, communications, and cheese making (oh my gosh, I love cheese; Gouda is my new fav). I'll stick with the math teaching but drop out of the 3rd-grade-tedious-putting-together-of-the-Monday homework-folders. I'll just make it up by putting Kamryn on Ritalin, and the teacher will love me all the more! Yoda only knows how that sprightly child is frying my nerves like burnt spaghetti. Bless her hyper little heart.

The toddler is potty trained---but not entirely reliable without reminders. That's $50 a month in savings. Wa-hoo! Just in time for the 12 diapers a day of infamous newborn regularity. The idea of having a newborn is not entirely pleasant for me, but I have to remember how much I fall madly in love with the little scrunched up things, and then it's rather exciting. Did I mention I have less than a month? Currently, I am dilated to a three and 70% effaced. That's the only time you'll ever hear any details of my vuh-jayjay, unless I get vuh-jayjay cancer, which is possible, but unlikely since I'll most likely die of colon cancer first.

We didn't dress up fancy for Halloween this year. Boo.

hmmmm. . . What else?

Well, I read this book "Clan of the Cave Bear" which is about this little 5-year-old Homo sapien girl who is orphaned, found by a clan of Neanderthals, and then raised by them. It's set in Europe about 50,000 years ago. The cave people teach her survival skills which include food gathering and cooking, clothing making, medicine making, sling making, and hunting (which she learns from observation). The book got me thinking about how much more my young kids are capable of than I give them opportunity to learn. I think kids, in general, aren't given enough responsibility today---we get our food from the grocery store, we buy our clothes, and then they just go on early retirement until they get to college. So, I started teaching my 5 and 8 year-olds how to cook. Not just helping me measure and pour, but to make a meal on their own from start to finish. They have been awesome! I have gained so much confidence in them and they have gained so much confidence in themselves. They have made (completely on their own): green salads, German and traditional pancakes, Ramen noodles, Mac n Cheese, omelets, brownies (Kamryn even surprised me last week with a batch of brownies when I woke up from my nap), cookies, and other simple stuff. Now, their first Saturday job each week is making mom and dad breakfast. It's fantastic. Next up? Boeuf Bourguignon.

Over and out

Loving this Right Now

2010-08-27T09:27:00.015-06:00

It's a time when every mom is a photographer, and it seems every mom but me has a professional quality SLR camera in the $800+ range. Oh, how I want one!!! Especially after borrowing my sister's awesome Canon Rebel this week.

I will have one of these cameras, even if it takes driving my old minivan another year!!!

I am just loving these pics I took while Elsa was saying goodbye to her sisters as they left for school this morning. Steph, I don't know if I can give you your camera back.

. . . and the first day of Kindergarten was a success (once I figured out how to work the camera)

We also celebrated Audrey's half birthday (more like her 3/4 birthday) this month (since the baby is due on her real birthday in Decemeber) with fancy cupcakes (which took me no less than 6 hours to make), hair styling, make-up, face painting, butterfly tattoos, and a fashion show (thanks for the fancy idea, Becca).

(my cute little niece)

Plan B? Plan C?

2010-08-05T21:32:00.006-06:00

Jamie called me tonight and said she doesn't want me to try to raise money for her piano (even though she cried tears of joy when we told her about the idea to raise money). She said there are so many more important causes people should donate their money to, and she would feel terrible accepting donations for a piano.

That's the kind of sister I have. This piano means more to her than ANY material thing on this earth, but she wants you to donate your money to Primary Children's Hospital.

Plan B: We'll badger my father until he can't see straight and he sells us the piano for 10K.

Plan C: We keelhaul him (drag him by a rope beneath the keel of a barnacle covered ship. . . old Dutch method for water boarding) until he acquiesces to our request (in pirate terms).

I'll let you know how that goes and get back to you.

xoxo
-MJ

The Pianist

2010-08-04T13:57:00.010-06:00

This post isn't about the movie The Pianist, but it is about someone as equally passionate about the instrument, and who also survived, so to speak, because of her piano.

My little sister, Jamie, is the most amazing pianist I know. When she was 5 years old, somebody ( I think it was my brother Joe) showed her how to read notes on the staff. Within a few days, she was playing Hymns straight from the regular hymn book, and within weeks, she was playing unabridged Mozart Sonatinas. My mom (a musician as well) couldn't stop talking to everyone about Jamie---more out of desperation for an idea of how to nurture and guide this prodigious talent. Her dear friend, Jan Clayton, had a connection to a brilliant teacher, Professor Amano, head of piano instruction at Utah State University. This professor and his assistant Ralph, took Jamie under their wing and honed her talent to perfection. Jamie is known and admired among her fellow concert pianists as being able to put more passion and emotion into her music than anyone else around. I have seen, on many occasions, her performances leaving people in tears.

From the beginning of her serious piano studies, Professor Amano strongly encouraged my parents to buy her the best instrument they could possibly afford. Specifically, a Steinway grand piano. These pianos range anywhere from 40K to over 100K a piece. My parents "settled" on one in the middle of that range---it was a huge sacrifice for them. But, all 8 of us children learned to play, and nearly all 8 of us became advanced pianists. It meant a lot to all of us to have such a beautiful sounding instrument in our home, and we felt it was our one luxury growing up.

But, Jamie's talent and commitment to the study of the piano was especially rare. She wasn't one of those kids who start up, play for six months and then BEG their poor, exasperated mother, "PLEEEEEAAASSSSE let me QUITTTTTTT!" It was the opposite. Jamie committed hours---sometimes 4 hours a day---to the art. She placed in several state and national competitions, and my mother was insanely proud of her.

Jamie was only nine when my mom died from cancer. During her last few hours of life, mom was in bed, lost to us in a coma, and Jamie started playing the piano. Her music filled the house with peace, and I could have sworn that the little worry wrinkle etched between mom's eyebrows relaxed when she heard the music. I know she listened to it while she passed from this world to the next.

That piano became mom, in a sense, to Jamie when Mom's physical presence was gone from this world. It represented her in every way. Jamie lost herself to her music, and found peace and comfort in her practicing. Mostly, she was warmed with her mother's love while practicing because she was committing to one of Mom's few dying wishes---that her children never forsake the talents given to them. Mom always reminded us that talent was from Heavenly Father, and should be used for good.

We discovered the piano listed on ksl.com on Sunday. The ad is here . Our father and stepmother are selling it. We have sent them numerous emails (my sister Steph even offered to buy it for 10K), and attempted several phone calls to beg them to save it for Jamie. Jamie is now 2o, going to BYU, and it won't be too long until she has a place of her own to put it. But, our dad won't respond to our calls and emails.

We want to save this piano. We need ideas! We are going to raise 40K to buy it from our dad. This piano is so important to my siblings and me, and especially to Jamie. . . I can't even personally understand how important it is to her. This Steinway grand piano was her life, her sanctuary, and nobody, NOBODY can play it like she does. So many people have been touched by her music.

My aunt, Connie Ricks, called me today with an idea to have a Save-the-Piano fund raiser in Provo. Jamie will be performing on the piano, and we will have raffles for donated prizes. I will offer as some of the prizes: bedroom/theater room/playroom murals, special effects Halloween makeup, and portraits hand painted in oil, my sister Steph will donate a website creation (she's really good) of your choice (for a start-up business or if your old one needs a remodel). It is a start. I will keep you updated on our progress, but I know right now that we will have some awesome stuff going on because my Aunt Connie doesn't do anything small.

The consequences of being a tom boy

2010-07-27T15:42:00.005-06:00

K just ate it on the pavement. She was doing a standing stunt in the bike trailer while being pulled by the neighbor boy. I guess she wants to be a water skier; her "boat captain" turned a corner too fast, and she flew out. Her cheekbone was instantly swollen about an inch past normal. This pic is after 30 min of icing so it looks way better. She's asleep on me, and so I've nothing else to do but blog it. I love this crazy girl.

Brazil?

2010-07-27T13:30:00.002-06:00

Ty is sending his resume to a U.S. company located in Brazil. His degree is International Business, he speaks 3 languages (including English), and from the day I met him he's always wanted to work outside of the U.S. . . . so in a way, I knew this was coming. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Part of me thinks it would be awesome, part of me thinks it's just madness.

When Ty told me how serious he is about it, my first dumb thought was imagining me trying to compete with all those half-naked Brazilian women strutting around. I told Ty he'd get jungle fever and our marriage would be over. He consoled me by saying that the three most beautiful Brazilian women are in America working as Victoria's S models. He said the majority of the women in Brazil have to shave their faces, and look nothing like the models. I'm doubtful.

The pros of moving to Brazil?: we'd all be fluent in Portugese, we'd be missionaries, we'd live by the beach, have the best fresh fruit in the world, and I would never have to look at snow again. But I told Ty, he has to track down one American woman living in Brazil who has young children, and she has to LOVE living there. That is my only requirement. Oh, and the requirement that all my family and friends would have to sign a contract to promise to visit once a year.

Update on Sugar detox:

Day one (Saturday) was a cinch. Except for the part about throwing the food away. I only threw out the true sweets (Oreos, ice cream, popsicles, Fruit Loops, candy). I couldn't bear throwing out all the cereals, and I am accepting Cheerios as a member of the family because it only has 1 gram of sugar per serving (compared to the 19 grams of sugar per serving in Raisin Bran).

Day two, hahahahaha. . . I couldn't walk in the kitchen and remember what I was doing because I would instantly think of eating chocolate or baking a pie. I couldn't read my novel because it had a chapter about party preparation with decadent descriptions of all the desserts.

Day three: Good for me, not so much for the kids because our neighbor girl brought over a huge bag of Oreos. I allowed them each to have one because I felt bad. K is totally on track with me though and said she'd be okay with a half an Oreo.

The coolest part??? The kids are eating fresh fruit by the dozens. They are dipping their flax crackers in Hummus. They have already stopped asking for sweets! Even the baby hasn't asked for chocolate milk in the last 24 hours! A miracle.

Sugar: The Other White Drug

2010-07-24T14:07:00.007-06:00

A few nights ago, I had an intense craving for sugar in any form. I hadn't gone grocery shopping for a while, and so my pickings were slim. When I couldn't find any sugar anywhere, I set to baking brownies---my typical course of action when nothing's immediately available. I told myself it was due to being pregnant, but the truth is, I have been ransacking my cupboards and storage room for that sugar "fix" for several months in a row. I convince myself that I eat healthy, and overall, I probably eat better than your average American: we do fast food maybe twice a month or less, I bake my own 100% whole wheat bread, and my kids eat all their vegetables and know the names of more fruits and veggies than most adults.

But, it's time for me to admit it: "Hi, my name's Michelle Jones, and I'm a sugar addict."

When E was born, I went sugar free for a month to detox myself from the high level of sugar I'd accustomed myself to while pregnant. It felt great, and I craved no sweets for months. My energy levels were balanced and I NEVER needed a nap. Then the morning sickness of this current pregnancy came on and I slowly added more and more sweets to my diet. To make it worse, I reality checked myself as a mom. It hurt. E, my almost two-year-old refuses regular milk insisting on chocolate milk, refuses unsweetened crackers, and her first word, was . . . . "candy!" Oh, dear. What have I done to her???? It's pure laziness on my part. She is a high-strung, tantrum-throwing, child who screeches like a velociraptor when she doesn't get what she wants. The sound is anxiety inducing and I find myself doing anything to make it stop! Consequently, I have addicted her to sugar as well. Completely addicted her. UGH!!!!!

While my oldest child asks for salads, and the second reaches for fruits and cucumbers before crackers, the third child's diet has become a product of my weakness. And my diet has become a product of justification---"I'm pregnant, and I'm craving it, therefore my body must need it". Did you know that in 1816, the average sugar consumption per person was 15 pounds per year? In 1955, the average sugar consumption was 120 pounds per year, and in 1990 it was about 180 pounds per person per year. Any correlation with increases in heart disease and cancer over the last 100 years???? Most likely.

So, I am doing another refined sugar detox---this time for me and my daughters.

To boost my motivation, I did hours of research this week on the latest findings of the physical harm sugar causes us. Here's some of my favorite stuff:

A study on rats was conducted in which a test group was given high doses of the simple sugar, glucose. After a few weeks, the rats were given a regular, alfalfa pellet diet. When restricted from sugar, they exhibited symptoms of teeth chattering, anxiety, shakiness, and depression (not sure how you can tell if a rats depressed, but must have something to do with how late they sleep in in the mornings, or how much fur they tear out of their boyfriends neck ;o) The symptoms the rats showed when the sugar was taken away were the EXACT same symptoms that a group of nicotine-addicted rats exhibited when deprived of their drug. ( Lick the Sugar Habit, Nancy Appleton, Ph.D). Sugar is, indeed, a drug.

Another study that really interested me was one conducted on elementary-aged children. In this study by researchers Schoenthaler and Schauss, sugar was withheld from children for a long period of time, and it was found that positive behaviour was greatly enhanced . Subsequently, Schoenthaler was hired to study one million school children from 800 New York schools over a seven year period. They found a 15.7 per cent increase in learning ability compared with other schools. Of 124,000 children who were unable to learn grammar and math, 75,000 could perform these skills after dietary changes alone were introduced.

Another motivator? This list:

1. Sugar suppresses the immune system by blocking vitamin C from white blood cells.

2. Sugar upsets the mineral relationships in the body.

3. Sugar can cause hyperactivity, anxiety, difficulty concentrating, and crankiness in children.

4. Sugar can produce a significant rise in triglycerides (bad fats that cause heart failure).

5. Sugar contributes to the reduction in defense against bacterial infection (infectious diseases).

6. Sugar causes a loss of tissue elasticity and function, the more sugar you eat the more elasticity and function you loose.

7. Sugar reduces high density lipoproteins.

8 Sugar leads to cancer of the ovaries.

9. Sugar interferes with absorption of calcium and magnesium.

10. Sugar can weaken eyesight.

11. Sugar raises the level of a neurotransmitters: dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine.

12. Sugar can cause hypoglycemia.

13. Sugar can produce an acidic digestive tract.

14. Sugar can cause a rapid rise of adrenaline levels in children.

15. Sugar malabsorption is frequent in patients with functional bowel disease.

16. Sugar can cause premature aging.

17. Sugar can lead to alcoholism.

18. Sugar can cause tooth decay.

19. Sugar contributes to obesity

20. High intake of sugar increases the risk of Crohn's disease, and ulcerative colitis.

21. Sugar can cause changes frequently found in person with gastric or duodenal ulcers.

22. Sugar can cause arthritis.

23. Sugar can cause asthma.

24. Sugar greatly assists the uncontrolled growth of Candida Albicans (yeast infections).

25. Sugar can cause gallstones.

26. Sugar can cause heart disease.

27. Sugar can cause appendicitis.

28. Sugar can cause multiple sclerosis.

29. Sugar can cause hemorrhoids.

30. Sugar can cause varicose veins.

31. Sugar can elevate glucose and insulin responses in oral contraceptive users.

32. Sugar can lead to periodontal disease.

33. Sugar can contribute to osteoporosis.

34. Sugar contributes to saliva acidity.

35. Sugar can cause a decrease in insulin sensitivity.

36. Sugar can lower the amount of Vitamin E (alpha-Tocopherol in the blood.)

37. Sugar can decrease growth hormone.

38. Sugar can increase cholesterol.

39. Sugar can increase the systolic blood pressure.

40. Sugar can interfere with the absorption of protein.

41. Sugar causes food allergies.

42. Sugar can contribute to diabetes.

43. Sugar can cause toxemia during pregnancy.

44. Sugar can contribute to eczema in children.

So, the course of action? Today: I'm giving away the sugar cereals (which is basically all packaged cereals because they ALL have refined white sugar and corn syrups), graham crackers, and fruit snacks. Throwing out the ice cream (there's not much there because I ate it all myself this week), and popsicles. Tomorrow's breakfast? We'll have eggs, oatmeal sweetened with banana slices, and a side of blueberries. The mid-morning snack will be apples with almond butter, and the afternoon snack will be cucumber slices and Gouda cheese. If I can control the sugar in breakfast and snack-times, I think we can do this. I'm blogging it to give me accountability. When you see me, please, ask me how the no-sugar diet is going . . . it will boost my motivation.

Wish me luck! And heck, why don't you join me???

Hike to Lake Mary

2010-06-27T15:55:00.007-06:00

If you live in Utah, and you haven't done the 3 lakes hike in Brighton ski resort, then you are seriously missing out. However, I do suggest that you wait until mid-July when the snow has mostly melted if you are bringing kids under 8. This hike is steep---and 66.7% steeper if you're pregnant, have a urinary tract infection, and/or suffer with anemia. I have all three. Score!

I took my three girls, my newly turned 15-year-old brother, and my sis Jamie (who was a Saint to carry my toddler in the back pack for me). So much snow had covered the trail, we sometimes sank up to our thighs in areas. The rest of the trail was muddy from the run-off. Toward the top we lost the trail completely and wandered for almost a mile before finding some other hikers who pointed us back on track. As we finally reached our destination, we had a lovely, memorable surprise ( and a sick-to-my-stomach-because-I-didn't-bring-my-camera moment). Elder Uchtdorf, an apostle and leader of my church who I greatly admire, was there with his wife and daughter and grandson. Elder Uchtdorf was barely recognizable in his sunglasses, muddy hiking boots, and wearing clothes that were something other than black and white. We stopped and talked to him for a minute and the kids all high-fived him (they had no idea who he was until afterward when I explained it, but they acted excited anyway). It was the last place we would have expected to meet someone like him. Made for a fun and very memorable day!
the end

Stinky feet

2010-06-21T15:47:00.006-06:00

I know my posts are lame and short lately, but it's all I can find time for right now, so bear with me while I document our little family anecdotes.

Yesterday:

All five of us were reading scriptures on the couch together last night. "A" is sitting on "K___'s" feet when this happens:

K: "EWWWW!!! 'A' just farted on my feet!!!"

A: "Gosh! It's okay. Feet are supposed to stink!"

Such ladies I'm raising!

The Cave Episode

2010-06-08T17:59:00.002-06:00

My sister, Jamie, was here this morning, and during breakfast she told my girls about a cave she and her friends found. The conversation went like this:

Jamie: "The cave was deep, and full of bones, deer bones, scattered everywhere."

K: "What kind of cave was it?"

Jamie: "Probably a mountain lion's"

K: (a little nervously): "Or maybe a person just brought up all the bones to trick you into thinking it was a mountain lion's cave."

Jamie: "K, what kind of person would haul hundreds of bones up to a cave just to trick people into thinking it was a mountain lion's cave?"

A: (the 5 year old raises her hand) "Maybe a vegetarian."

hmmmmm, of course, a vegetarian . . . naturally.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

2010-04-28T11:31:00.014-06:00

(the name of a really good, but LONG, Clint Eastwood flick, and also a great title for this post)

The Good: I am doing it! I have tried so hard to take Elder Bednar's General Conference Address to heart. (This one: HERE) The part about bearing testimony SPONTANEOUSLY to our children and discussing the gospel SPONTANEOUSLY.

His words hit me like a load of bricks when I heard it. Yes! OF COURSE! That is one major difference that I needed to make in my parenting. Besides, I'm a natural-born Spontaneator, and planning actual factual family home evening lessons isn't my favorite thing to do (which is why we usually end up just doing fun activities, and rarely have a formal lesson on the gospel).

But, I want my children to know that life is ONE with the gospel. Not separate, Not extra-curricular, Not cultural----the gospel and truth of Jesus Christ is one with our life. There is no line between academics, social life, and the plan of salvation. Any lines that exist were put there by fear and the need to please others. God sent us here to gain experience, knowledge, and joy . . . and He is at the center of it all.

So, while roasting s'mores over the oh-so-inconveniently-placed fire pit ( love you, Ty ;o) I spontaneously decided to spontaneously start talking about Nephi's family, and how they lived outdoors for so many years. Of course, "K" thought that sounded like the ideal lifestyle . . . eating over a campfire every night with all your cousins. Ty told the kids how sometimes they couldn't light fires to cook their meat, but the meat was blessed and tasted sweet to them anyway. That was Heavenly Father's way of showing them He was watching over them---always. A tender mercy. How often is my "meat made sweet" and I don't even notice or give gratitude to God? How often am I blessed with extra strength to accomplish something important?

I have a goal to incorporate gospel topics into dinner conversations EVERY night. I will attempt, and report.

The Bad: This Gelfling.
(and she is KILLING me!!!!!!!)

She is a WILD, destructive, DeLiBeRaTe, ESCAPE ARTIST, mixed with laughter, ENERGY, and MiScHiEf . . . oh so much mischief! I can usually handle her wicked ways, but this pregnancy is SLOWING me down, and because Einstein decided that energy is never destroyed, but only exchanges from one source to the other, I am convinced that MY reduction in energy is simply being sucked up by her. Like the green slime in Ghostbusters that festered and strengthened by negativity---Oh wait, that's not even a reasonably good comparison.

This adorable DEMON, the MONSTER of my family, the poop-artist rag muffin. She has done so much in a matter of days:

This is rice that "E" dumped and scattered all over the entire kitchen floor. I found so many whole rice grains in her diaper, too.
Yes, she does have a black eye in that picture . . . her first shiner.( Trampoline.) I didn't get a picture when it was at it's most colorful phase unfortunately.
Here she is getting in trouble for pumping out an entire bottle of conditioner.

THE UGLY: this picture.
I just can't figure it out. And it's so disturbing and weird.
Sorry, had to share.

On the Seventh Day . . .

2010-04-25T17:56:00.012-06:00

Guys I have a confession. Ready?

Tyler and I are so insanely mean to each other when we're napping. There is this idea in our brainwashed heads (thanks mom and dad) that Sundays = afternoon naps. But they are not NOT NOT JOYFUL I tell you. We never cuddle up to each other to fall asleep lovingly in each other's arms (totally my fault however since I CAN'T BE TOUCHED when I start to drift off). I know he hates it that I won't fall asleep on his shoulder, or spoon up to him and sleep like real lovers in a Hollywood movie. I have the world's worst circulation, and even if his arm is pressing against my arm, my fingers go all tingly and crap. That's just the first of our problems.

Second? We argue, whine, poke, kick (well, I kick) and yell to force each other out of bed when the kids are up from their naps/quiet time. Today, I lost the first round of "Who-has-to-get-up-to-help-the-crying-kids" (even after pulling the pregnancy card---yes, I'm pregnant) and I was so mad/half-asleep as I walked out of the room, I yelled, "FINE, but you just lost your chance at getting lucky later!" (email your complaints to mjonesdesigns@gmail.com)

I have never seen two grumpier people than we are about 20 minutes into a lovely Sunday nap. And we still attempt them every Sunday. I suppose it just adds to the holiness of this blessed, relaxing day. Amen.

Addendum: Please note that I just lost the first round of Who-has-to-get-up-to-help-crying-kids, I was the crowned victor in round two, and Tyler was so well-rested at that point, he took the kids on a bike ride. He is such a good dad. That was 2 hours ago. They are still not back. I am getting worried. But, not that worried. They get to come home to a batch of freshly baked mint brownies (which the girls earned by eating their entire 8 oz. salmon filets).

Laziness Becomes Me

2010-04-22T12:25:00.013-06:00

WHY on earth do I constantly have a pile of "stuff" sitting in a corner that needs to be put in the basement???

It just sits

. . . and sits

. . . . . and SITS in a corner of my bedroom for weeks . . .

stares at me like the ugly, black dog at the pound, hoping to be picked up, but always overlooked.

sometimes, it's as if the BASEMENT is 300 MILES AWAY!!!!
(which it's not, of course, it's precisely 14 stairs away)

It must be due to my irrational fear leftover from childhood. Specifically, the fear that goblins/evil spirits/Bloody Mary are lurking under the stairs---waiting to get me on my way back up. Is that irrational?

Ahhhh meeee, I've something to overcome.

All My Free Research for You, My Friends

2010-04-21T12:49:00.006-06:00

I love Love LOVE to research, and I truly believe that if I were not born in this digital era, I would DIE from mere deprivation of facts.

A few months ago, I began a quest to find the PERFECT chocolate chip cookie. You would understand if you knew my husband's obsession with chocolate chip cookies. I learned some awesome tips, and I combined a few ideas from a french baker, Mrs. Fields, and my mother-in-law's good-texture tip via a baking powder-soda combination.

My requirements for a perfect cookie: The cookie must have a slight, audible crunch when bitten; thick, chewy inside, rich buttery dough flavor, and lots of chocolate. Most importantly, it couldn't be too flat like all the cookie recipes seem to be. I HATE it when my cookies look like a perfectly pooled cow pie.

Here's all my research, just for you and for your husband and/or love-interest for whom this recipe will put a twinkle in his eye, and a skip in his step, and a few more pounds around his middle . . . because he will ask you to make them every week.

Now, Go HERE: A TASTE OF THAT for the secrets!

XOXO
---MJ

C'est La Vie!

2010-04-05T14:46:00.003-06:00

This is me in 10 more years.

New Recipe

2010-04-02T12:24:00.000-06:00

My husband's amazing garlic kebab recipe is now posted at A TASTE OF THAT

A Bloody Prank

2010-04-01T22:23:00.009-06:00

I have never been much of a participant in April Fool's Day. . . at least since I've been married. It seems to be the day when the cry for wolf goes unheeded. Any joke is clearly an absurd lie.

I had no plans for a prank this Fool's Day either, but about ten minutes before Ty got home, I had a moment of inspiration. I would stage a fake fall off a kitchen stool by baby E. It would be a serious fall with instant blood, and a hasty trip to the ER. I told the girls my "plan" which they squealed in delight over, literally. Yes, it was all squeals and excitement at the idea of playing a dirty trick on Daddy. I told them to quickly get in the car. They did. Then I ran to my stash of theater makeup supplies---knowing my time was extremely limited---and I grabbed my container of Ben Nye's stage blood. I dumped out a good-sized dose (but not too much or it would have looked over-done) on the kitchen tile and then tipped over a stool next to it. I even took baby E's hand and made a baby hand print in the fake blood. I ran out to the car, but remembered the fake blood is mint-scented and tastes sweet (corn syrup based) and I knew the dog would lick it up. So, I ran back in the house to see, sure enough, the dog licking it up. I put her in the bathroom. Then, I ran back out to the garage, again, met the girls in the car, and drove around the corner where Ty couldn't see me when he got home. We made it by less than a minute.

After a moment we inched the car forward enough just to see if Ty's car was in the garage, it was, but he was already on his way back out---in a hurry! The plan worked!!! I honked at him and waved him down. He was on his way to the nearest emergency room (he later admitted to me). I wish so bad I had let him get all the way there before I called him home. Afterthoughts!

It took Ty a few moments to actually think my prank was funny. What a good sport!

The Bahamas!

2010-03-23T21:59:00.018-06:00

Tyler and I just ended a beautiful, childless vacation in the Bahamas. Here's a few pictures:

We were seeking out the quietest spot on the beach where Tyler would soon sunburn to a crisp. He thought that his few short sessions in the tanning beds---pre-vacation--- would keep him from burning, so he refrained from sunscreen . . . such a guy thing to do.

Jungle exploration

We chased down and treed this huge iguana that both of us spontaneously started calling by the name "Chuck".

Shadow people!

Yes, I wear bikinis: it's like drinking Coke
(contrary to popular belief, neither is against my religion)

The first morning in Nassau started out overcast, but quickly dissolved into a beautiful, clear sky.

For some unknown reason, the flamingo keeper guy told me to stand like this or else the birds would attack me. Also, this is not a shirt. . . it's my tankini top (we were still on the beach).

I kept telling Tyler to get closer to the parrot for a photo opp, but when he was within range, he was attacked. Unfortunately my camera was just a split second too slow. . . but you get the idea.

Our nerdy scooter rentals were seriously one of the funnest parts of the whole trip for me. We even had to drive on the left side of the road . . . which became very dangerous at times. I am still shaking my head at our stupidity. Almost every time we turned, one of us was yelling at the other, "LEFT SIDE, LEFT!!!!!"

Ty was obsessed with the fact that my license plate was 69. Go figure.

My toenails matched the water. Thanks, Shanna, for the cute glitter toes!

Jones, Ty Jones 007 (Casino Royale swimsuit) . . . it had more cloth than most of the swimsuits on the beach. But, he only wore it to get in the water.

Lots of wind! My hair was completely disheveled the entire time.

I bought this scarf in the best shade of red known to woman; the wind was blowing so hard . . .

. . . and it doubled nicely as a head wrap, argggh mateys!

There was so much humidity in the air, that the mist muted the picture. . . I kind of like it.

The last ocean sunset we saw

We came home to a dozen welcome-home pictures all over our bed, and floor. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder. Next beach vacation will not be childless.

Do we need another Recipe Blog?

2010-03-06T12:08:00.009-07:00

I don't have enough Julia Child in me to fill my own recipe blog, so I joined up with my friend Becky Pulsipher and I am now adding recipes to her existing recipe blog.

Today's post is the bestest, moistest, butteriest whole wheat pancakes ever.

It's called A Taste Of That and here's the link: www.aTasteOfThat.blogspot.com

If any of you, my bloggin buddies, are recipe inventors, bakers, or just love to cook and if you would like to be an author on this blog, we'd love to have your recipes posted here too. . . .or if you just occasionally have moments of baking brilliance, but you don't want to be an author, email me your amazing recipes which I will take credit for (kidding). For example, my cousin Lauren Ricks, made french toast with Cinnamon Pull-Apart bread from Great Harvest. How brilliant is that? Love it.

---MJ

2010-03-05T09:30:00.003-07:00

**** I have had issues with Blogger and couldn't post any images for a while. The following post may have been posted to your blog reader list, but it wouldn't show up for a while unil I uninstalled a web browser security program called K9. Doh! Thought I'd just let you know in case you have had the same problems. If any of you know of a good security program that doesn't interfere with blogger, please let me know.****

I've Been Working on my Crow's Feet

2010-03-05T08:12:00.014-07:00

I have a plethora of wrinkles---especially in my forehead. My cousin once told me to put scotch tape on my forehead in the shape of an X for several weeks in a row, and the wrinkles would go away. Supposedly, the tape would prevent me from wrinkling my forehead when I made expressions, thus working as an extremely cheap, needle-free botox. I actually tried it---for an hour. It gave me a rash. That was the end of my short-lived phase of being paranoid that I looked way older than my husband.

Another time, only a few months ago, I visited my dermatologist to have my skin examined for cancerous moles. I didn’t have any cancer signs, but the Doc said I was “old enough” to consider botox. Then he handed me five pounds of literature and pamphlets on “Botox and You”, a prescription for a retinol treatment, and then sent me on my way. I felt like telling him to botox his a**.

I honestly believe that wrinkles are beautiful road maps of life. They are the physical proof of experience---the good, the bad, and the ugly. I love how Mark Twain said, “Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been.” That’s especially true of crow’s feet. I don’t know if it’s possible to acquire crow’s feet in any other way besides smiling and laughing. I love mine; they aren’t very deep yet, but I am working on it. See them?
Well if you're not impressed, this picture was taken in January, and during February my crow’s feet wrinkles increased by about two or so on each side.

I just had a lot to smile about in February. Here’s a few examples:

A sweet note from my 10-year-old neighbor left on my pillow.

A sweet, simple Valentine's Day with no pics

Several breakfasts (usually consisting of cheerios and a banana) prepared for me by a thoughtful little five year old, who signed her name on tape. (A much better use for tape than wrinkle prevention, I might add)

A first dance recital for K and A. They were great.

Being privileged enough to watch my handsome twin nephews

Taking the girls to a play, "A Thousand Paper Cranes".
The play=lame. Girls night out=priceless
This extraordinary baby who keeps me on my toes, and almost always keeps me working on my crow's feet too.

Ty's birthday. He's 31..... Now there's a person with beautiful crow's feet!

Cinder Blocks and Rosewater (and Butterflies Too)

2010-02-24T01:29:00.008-07:00

To those who have lost, a memory is the single most bittersweet event in the world.

The memory of a lost loved-one is like being bathed in warm rosewater while simultaneously having cinder blocks placed on your chest, one by one.

That is all I can think to describe it.

Sometimes, I am so angry in memories of what I should have done differently. Those memories are 100% cinder blocks, and instead of being soothed by the rosewater,
I drown in it.
I wish those memories were in my blood and not my brain.
Then, they could be drawn out, and I’d enjoy it. They’d be sold.
Given away. Tested for disease. Dispensed.
Erased.

But, usually the rosewater and the cinder blocks are in good balance. Like in the memories I had tonight as I was trying to sleep.

Memory 1 (70% rosewater, 30% cinderblocks): I was 21 years old. I had just finished a semester at BYU, so I was home. I was in bad shape. There was an unexpected break-up with this guy I was engaged to, and who had meant the world to me for several years. I tried to sneak in my home quietly---it was 2 a.m., and I didn’t want to “talk” about it. But halfway down the steps to my room, I couldn’t see very well. Too dizzy, and too overwhelmed with what had happened. I sunk onto the steps and sobbed. It was ugly.
Within moments, or seconds, both my parents were at my side. Mom on my right, Dad on my left; Mom in her nightgown, Dad in his undergarments. Both only half awake. They enveloped me in their arms and their non-judgmental love. I soaked my mom's nightgown in tears, and when my dad finally took me to bed, the sun was starting to rise.

A few weeks later, my mother was too weak and too sick to be able to wake-up during the night and come to my aid. But I didn’t need her to anymore after that. She (and my sweet father) had, on that one night, infused me with an adrenaline shot of love that was strong enough to get me through the rest of my life.
Who knew I’d need it to last that long?

Memory 2 (80% rosewater, 20% cinder blocks): My little sister, Lisa, helped me extract a deeply rooted wood splinter. Her hands, as I watched her work, became my mother’s hands. Her beautiful hands mimicked---in unrehearsed perfection---my mother’s technique for extracting all the thousands of slivers I’d acquired throughout my tomboy childhood.
What a tender mercy it is that my mother's mannerisms are permanently etched into my sisters' DNA for me to have so much to remember her by. Even if it is bittersweet.

To those who have lost, I believe this:
We are caterpillars and butterflies.
Some caterpillars become butterflies faster than others.
Some people come to earth already as butterflies, and their lives are short, naturally. They have no need for metamorphosis.
Some butterflies come to earth only to show us caterpillars what we can become.
And some people die as caterpillars, and that pretty much sucks.

My mom was an early butterfly. Not just because she gave birth to eight children, but because of what she suffered to do so. I could write thousands of words about her sufferings, and how she remained humorous and cheerful, even when the cancer came. She proved herself. She was complete. Beautiful in every way.

As for me, well, I am avoiding butterfly-hood, and I am avoiding it on purpose, sort of.
You see, I love eating, and so do caterpillars
. . . in addition to a million other caterpillarish things I can't forsake.

Running Season is Here!

2010-02-20T10:24:00.013-07:00

This is going to be my first 5K of the season. I thought it appropriate to have it be in honor of my boy Bronson whom I can't stop telling people about. Maybe my obsession with him has something to do with the fact that I am without a son? No, I just think he and his family are the greatest! This Fun Run is to raise money to help pay for his medical bills and other children at Primary Children's Hospital.

Time to break out the running shoes!!!
Bring your kids and have a spring fling at the end of the race.

Let's run to celebrate children. Let's run for our children, nieces, nephews, students, all of them! Let's run for the children who died too young; let's celebrate their lives lived. Let's run to show our children we care enough about them to keep our bodies fit . . . show them we want to be here for them. Here, physically, on earth.

“He who has health, has hope. And he who has hope, has everything.”

Register HERE!

It's Just Bad Karma

2010-02-18T08:39:00.035-07:00

Yesterday, as luck would have it,
I found a PERFECTLY untouched, still-wrapped pack of my favorite flavor of gum
in the parking lot of my sister's condo complex!
yes, I took it---no one was looking except a construction worker,
and he was just sad I beat him to it,
hmmm, I wonder if it was his . . .
well, regardless
I was all joy and smiles and "oh, I'm truly blessed!!!"
for a little while

Then the universe had to create balance in all things

We arrive home
Baby E (aka "Lala") confiscates the free gum
She eats half of it in about 20 seconds flat (or the time it takes me to put my purse down, let the dog outside, get a drink of water, and embark on a quest to find the reason for her sudden onslaught of silence, oh that dreaded silence!)

I discover part of that "lucky" gum is now fused into my carpet
the majority of it, swallowed
I chewed the remains, hoping to gain some satisfaction in my finding-of-the-day,
but the clung-on dog hair was too much

My brief encounter with luck is remembered now only in an image:
good luck juxtaposed with its opposite

karma has never looked so cute

Now I am not-so-anxiously anticipating the arrival of 6 sticks of gum inside her diaper! I'm hoping it waits to come out when I am at book club tonight. Ty could use a laugh (or something).

One picture = Pure Joy

2010-02-13T23:06:00.019-07:00

My favorite celebrity is Bronson Staker---the miracle baby of the universe. The baby who has changed my life for good. He has changed me! And I hereby dub me his biggest fan.

My daughters, through him, have learned that Heavenly Father listens and answers the prayers and faith of little children. They prayed three times a day, for eight days in a row for this baby whom they have never met. They fasted for the first time in their lives in his behalf. They love him, and they know how to find his blog without my help. When they learned of his healing, they cried their first "big girl" tears of joy alongside me. It was one of the sweetest moments of my mommyhood.

Bronson, the baby who died for 11 minutes. ELEVEN MINUTES (or more), and 13 days later, he is running and laughing.

God is good. Always. Even when it may not seem like it.
Even though I do not understand the workings of this world, though I do not understand Haiti, though I do not understand why my mom was taken from my family when she was only 48, I will never stop believing, and KNOWING, that God's miracles and love extend to all. His tender mercies are limitless.

Please, BELIEVE these things . . .

. . . yet, God is real, regardless of our belief.

"God the Eternal Father did not give that first great commandment because He needs us to love Him. His power and glory are not diminished should we disregard, deny, or even defile His name. His influence and dominion extend through time and space independent of our acceptance, approval, or admiration.

No, God does not need us to love Him. But oh, how we need to love God!"
---President Uchtdorf, Second Counselor Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints

The more faith I have = the more I love, the more I want to give of myself, the more I am impassioned by life.
Just look at this picture of my celebrity, Bronson, the Miracle Baby. I can't get enough of him.

Isn't he beautiful?!!??!! My heart is so full right now. . . if you can't tell.

The undisputed Champion of the World. How fitting.

If Success Comes in "Cans" . . . Then This Post is a Bloody Failure.

2010-02-12T12:00:00.023-07:00

To my friend who asked me today “What CAN’T you do?!?!”

. . . I just responded with a laugh (only because I thought it was a ridiculous question⎯but appreciate the fact that you were trying to pay me a compliment).
I want you to know that I would trade all my artistic talents⎯mediocre as they may be⎯for the amazing talent you have of being strong, faithful, dependable, meek, steady, inherently good, pure in heart, and incredibly loving to all you meet. I would trade it all to be as good as you in a heartbeat. Truly.

Also, now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, here are 20 things I can’t do randomly selected from a mental list of over 10,000 other things that I can NOT do:

1. I can’t sew.

2. I can’t even sing a tiny fraction as well as my husband, my mother-in-law Joyleen, or my neighbor Aubrey Pratt.

3. I can’t play Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto number 2, or 3, or . . . well, I actually can’t play Rachmaninoff at all.

4. I can’t keep my house clean for more than 8 hours.

5. I can’t make a shot in basketball unless it’s at the free-throw line, or a lay-up.

6. I can’t ski moguls.

7. I can’t land a jump on a snowboard. Ever.

8. I can’t keep my mouth shut when it should be.

9. I can’t do the splits.

10. I can’t stay in a hot tub for more than 5 minutes without passing out.

11. I can’t remember to say my morning prayers, or to ask a blessing on the breakfast food.

12. I can’t remember to switch the laundry before it turns sour.

13. I can’t get rid of the cellulite on my hips⎯even when I’m in shape.

14. I can’t do the firefly pose in yoga.

15. I can’t do any cool dance moves without throwing my neck out or pulling a muscle in my groin.

16. I can’t walk from one end of my house to the other without forgetting where I am heading and why I am doing it.

17. I can’t make friends as easily as my mother did.

18. I can’t be anywhere on time.

19. I can’t build muscles.

20. I can’t speak in front of people without sweating. In fact, one time I secretly wore a heart-rate monitor while I was teaching a new song in primary, and my heart rate got up to 155 bpm (and I wasn't even moving).

Ya, I’ve got some issues.

Yours truly,

M

p.s. I know I haven't posted pics of my kids for a long time. I'll attend to that as soon as they do something worthy of posting. ;o)

Tears of Joy

2010-02-09T22:39:00.002-07:00

Baby Bronson, a little toddler who drowned in the bathtub last week;
and was dead for 11 minutes;
and who has been almost completely unresponsive to stimuli;
smiled at his mommy and sat up today!

God is good indeed.

I do not even know this family.

But, like I said before, when you become a mother you become hard-wired for massive waves of empathy whether you like it or not. I wonder, why we are this way by nature? If you have insight into this, I'm dying to know because I have cried tears of joy all evening. Enough tears to make my eyes burn and fool me into thinking I'm tired.

I was so happy about Bronson's news tonight that I busted a Beyonce move in the bathroom (completely naked, but no one was looking) while my bath was filling up. In my glee, I shook the open box of Junior Mints I was holding, and accidentally launched all it's contents into my bath water . I now smell . . . minty.

That's joy for you.

Zoom Out

2010-02-07T07:14:00.001-07:00

Too often my mind is cluttered with things like: having enough money in the bank, wanting a larger wardrobe, catching up on laundry, controlling chaos with my children, and dwelling on the three different colors of mildew growing underneath the caulk in my shower that I never seem to have enough time to abolish.

Of all these constantly revolving thoughts that too often consume me, the worst one⎯the one I hate most⎯is when I feel animosity toward another human being. Of course, I am always justified, right? If I am wronged, or hurt, or offended, or cheated, or mistreated by someone, I deserve your support and empathy, and may come looking for it⎯that is, if I don’t get my head screwed on right first.

When the trivial ordeals of daily life come down upon me, consuming clarity of thought like a few drops of milk in a glass of water, weighing down emotions like a brick being hauled by a kitten, I force my mind to do a “zoom out”.

First, in my thoughts, I hover over the entire Earth. It's beautiful, but I can still see storm formations and hurricanes. So, I zoom out more until I can see our solar system. Next, I zoom out light years until I am looking at the Sun and it’s neighbor stars⎯all which have their own perfect solar systems busily orbiting them like obsessed paparazzi. Finally, I zoom out to our Milky Way Galaxy, which contains all of our neighbor stars in the solar suburbs. From here, Earth is just a fleck of black pepper, and entirely inconsequential except for the fact that it contains everything I know and love.

If I need more inspiration than this, I zoom out to the furthest distance known by modern science⎯the Supercluster. At the center of the Supercluster, which contains trillions of GALAXIES like ours, there is an anomaly too distant to be studied closely, but scientists say it is a mass large enough to cause all the galaxies in our Supercluster to orbit around it. Not only are they orbiting around it, they are slowly moving away from it to allow for the constant formation of new stars!!!

When my consciousness is as far out as I can possibly imagine (and even this far is only possible because of images like the one above), I can no longer see our Earth. I have already forgotten about the reason I was troubled in the first place. You see, my small mind cannot hold this vast image of the structure of the galactic cosmos and my petty grievances at the same time. It’s all gone.

You know what I DO see from here?

I see the humans I love; I see the short amount of time we are given to interact, to help, to trust, to work, and to live with each other. I also see myself, a young mommy raising her voice to her children, and I want to put my arms around her shoulders and say, “Look at them from way up here! Look how beautiful and strong their spirits are! Scoop them up and squeeze them while you are able!”
I see myself, as a wife, who is upset at her husband for not taking out the trash, and I shake my head and say, “Can’t you see he is THE most precious thing in your life. He is your eternity.”
I see this same woman, as a member of an extended family and as a friend, and I see her wishing to change the people around her to make them conform to her standards of behavior, and I say to her, “If you can be strong enough to do the changing, you will never meet a person whom you cannot love.”
I see myself worrying about the day-to-day, and I want to yell to that overly concerned woman, “Laugh more! Dance more! Pray more!”

It’s funny how easy it is to simply love when you’ve zoomed out this far. Honestly, I feel a laugh wanting to somersault out of me and shake me loose from all my stupid fears. What’s out here is bigger than where my limited imagination can take me. Mostly, I know it’s all real. All of it. And the most fascinating thing to me is that God sees all of us, individually, separately. I know He is at the center. He is what the mystified scientists have labeled as the great “anomaly” at the center of all existence. I know this in my soul. He sees us from beginning to end. He sees our potential, and all these bumps and chasms along the way will somehow make us stronger and more lovely in the end. I have faith that the God who constructed this universe, who constructed our very souls, and who loves us without end, has a perfect will; a will which I must learn to submit to with complete faith. Just like His son, the Savior did. Perfect faith. Complete submission. Extreme, unashamed dependence.

“There is no end to glory; There is no end to love;
There is no end to being; There is no death above.”

We're Jammin

2010-02-01T20:56:00.000-07:00

This is the same video of Ty singing that I put on Facebook (just so you know and don't have to accidentally watch it twice ;o)

I LOVE LOVE LOVE making him sing. One of these days maybe I will get the guts to put up the video of us singing the Moulin Rouge duet. maybe.

oh, and sorry for all the posts lately, I blog instead of going to therapy. In other words...blogging is therapeutic for me (whether or not I need therapy is arguable)

and here's the disclaimer that must go with this video:
This is Tyler and I jammin to Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.
Yes, I know I botched the piano part in several places,
and yes, I know that Ty kind of forgot his words at the end,
and yes, I know he closes his eyes alot while he sings---but so does David Archuleta,
and yes, I know I look freaky without makeup---but so does your mother.

Findings

2010-01-31T15:42:00.000-07:00

... a line graph says a thousand words

The Devil Made Me Blog It

2010-01-28T12:16:00.000-07:00

I am aware that this post may make you wonder about me, or may make you question my husband's sanity. I swam over to the island of misfit toys years ago, and I'm quite comfortable there, thank you very much. As for Ty, he is the CREAM OF THE CROP when it comes to husbands. No matter what he does in his sleep, he is a saint to me.

Early this morning, at about 2 a.m., Ty began one of his typical nightmares. I always wake at the first sound of his quickened breathing because I know that a horrible yell will shortly ensue. This morning, when the rapid breathing began, I habitually flung my arm over to his mouth and tried to calm him. BUT HE COULD NOT WAKE UP! The weird part was, he didn't yell like usual, instead, he did this: (in a high pitched, taunting voice) LALALALALALALALAAAAA!!!!!! I tried to wake him again, but he then started laughing. Hysterical laughter.

I asked, "TY! WHAT is so funny?"

He couldn't wake up to tell me. Just more snorting, and ugly laughter. He got up and walked to the bathroom, he was still laughing. Then for just a second, he was calm and he told me that a zombie-freak woman was trying to jump on him while he was walking down a pier over the ocean.

Immediately, this image came to my mind:

I felt all sickish inside. I said with all the tender sweetness a terrified wife can muster, "Honey, I just don't see the humor in that. Why are you laughing?"

He wasn't sure.

Then, he fell back asleep while walking back to the bed, and again, the crazy-man, laughter resumed. I decided the zombie-woman had not jumped ON him, but in him, and he was now possessed. I wasn't sure if he was asleep when he said, "You should blog about this."

But I know he was COMPLETELY asleep when seconds later he yelled, "BLOG ABOUT THIS, DAMMIT!!!"

"Okay, now you're freaking me out! Do I need to call an exorcist???!!!!" I yelled to him.

He was silent. Scary silent. I was so grateful at that moment that I hadn't seen the film Paranormal Activity. I took my pillow and crawled out of bed to go sleep on the basement couch. When I got there, the basement door was locked. crap. I forgot the doorknob was broken from the outside. I walked back upstairs and got back in bed with the Spawn of Satan, and thought if I were watching myself in a horror movie right now, I'd be yelling at the stupid wife for going back to the bedroom to be massacred.

Alas. I'm alive to write this now. But, it did take me an hour to fall back asleep.

And then there's the question I know you are wondering: Why is Michelle BLOGGING about this??

Because, the zombie-woman-in-my-husband told me to. And I'm afraid if I don't she may be back tonight to get me.

And good gracious, I need my beauty sleep.

(p.s. in the morning Tyler and I attributed this whole phenomenon to drinking too much Dr. Pepper, and not to the aforementioned possibility of demonic possession)

Pride and Punishment

2010-01-24T17:17:00.000-07:00

Have you ever read the book Matilda by Roald Dahl? Maybe you've seen the movie? Matilda has parents who are just plain rotten, but eventually she overcomes their neglect and horribleness, and gains confidence in herself. Matilda decides her parents deserve to be punished, and she as you may know, proceeds to punish them in a myriad of clever, delightful ways.

Q. What do Matilda and I have in common???

A. We both like semi-cruel and very unusual punishment.

Yesterday at 4 p.m. my husband, Ty, informed me (informed is the key word here) that I was going to host dinner to his parents and his sister's family the next day. If he would have asked me to host the dinner, I would have said "yes" without question. But to be informed **ugh**, it's just infuriating. The nerve!

I, smiling through clenched teeth, asked him, "Oh? And how long have you known about this?"

Ty replied, "I kind of knew earlier this week, but if I told you then, you would have forgotten anyway. My mom and Bruce are staying the night too, by the way."

Me: "Oh, of course, I always forget when I need to prepare a feast for two additional families!"

I was getting angry, but still under control. I stared at the jam on the tile that had been there for three days, and noticed how gross my house was (not unusual, mind you). I was trying to finish designing some light fixtures that I promised to have completed the day before, and realizing that my week was so full that I hadn't touched the laundry, or the rest of the house.

I didn't start planning the meal until 8 p.m.

Grocery shopping began at 9 p.m.

I asked Ty if he could get the kitchen clean while I was gone (the least he could do, right? Church is at 9 a.m., so there was NO time to clean on Sunday). My grocery shopping also consisted of me doing my sister Lisa's grocery shopping because she had spent her whole day moving into her new house, and she had asked me to do it for her.

I delivered Lisa's groceries by 10 p.m.

I arrive home.
It is now 10:30 p.m.
**Kitchen is NOT clean.**

Ty is in the kitchen watching a documentary on the laptop about big guns, and how they blow things up.

I run downstairs, clean the basement, and get the hide-a-bed prepared with clean sheets and pillows for the guests. Then, I run, three steps at a time, back upstairs.

Ty is still watching destruction unlimited on t.v. with my father in law. I say to him, "Ty, I could really use your help."
NO response.

I begin making lemon cheesecake for tomorrow's desert.

I drop second hint to Ty that I need his help.
No response. (Did I mention this is very abnormal Ty behavior? He is usually a very good husband)

I burn the first cheesecake crust. I don't have enough graham crackers for a second crust. I decide to do half crushed pecans and half graham cracker, and begin making a new crust.

Me: "Ty! Haven't you seen this show already????!!!!"

Ty: "Not this EXACT one." It was the exact same one. He had watched it two nights before.

Me: "Ty, that was a hint. I am now telling you straight out that I am HINTING to you that I need your help!!!"

Ty: (annoyed) "I got the hint, Shell!"

Now my face is reddening. I pull the cheesecake out of the oven, and I want to throw the cheesecake in his face, but then I would burn his face, and even when I hate him, I don't want to destroy his perfect face.

Cheesecake is completed and refrigerated by 12:30 a.m.

My in-laws (probably sensing some tension?) retire to bed. I stay silent for a while, and begin scrubbing the floor. My head felt like a pressure cooker on high heat. I pressed on the exhaust valve, and, ahhhhhhhh, I let Ty have a piece of my mind.

His Defense? Once upon a time, I had asked him to flip some steaks on the grill (six months earlier), and I hadn't asked how he FELT about it. I also, he proceeded to tell me, often invited people over for dinner without asking HIM if it was okay.

Me: "Oh, I see! And these times that I've invited people to dinner without YOUR permission, did I also ORDER you to do the cooking and cleaning?"

He said that was "beside the point".

I was sweeping the floor, and I was so angry I dropped the broom on my dog's head (on accident, honestly), and then decided she deserved it. In psychology, I think that's called transference.

(((( NOTE: dear Momma Jo and Sammy, I love having you over. All my anger in this anecdote is directed at a unfortunate breach in Tyler's communication tactics, and at his refusal to help me when I was stressed out)))))))))))

I folded laundry in silence until 2:30 a.m. Silence on the outside. But my head was reeling. My ears were hot. Ty needed to be punished; I couldn't be happy again until justice returned to our home.

His punishment consisted of a simple 4-part plan:

1. I put away all the laundry except for Ty's. Then I locked our door, so he had to put his laundry back down to unlock the door.

2. I found my daughter's remote-controlled, realistic-looking tarantula. I put it under his covers. Ty hates spiders.

3. I scrubbed the outside of the sink drain with his toothbrush. (He still doesn't know about that)

4. I dressed in his favorite lingerie with a strong resolve to not let him touch me.

The Result? Within 3 minutes of the fourth punishment, Ty was suffocating me in apologies. He also promised to single-handedly do all the clean up after dinner.

Oh well, what can I say? I just love that man.

. . . and they lived happily ever after, THE END

What is the moral of this story (a.k.a. Why did I find it necessary to share this story when I could easily delude you into thinking that Michelle and Tyler have a flawless marriage?)

Because I want you all to know that . . .

1. Punishing your husband is much more fun than fighting.

and . . .

2. You should invest in some really fantastic (and entirely irresistible) lingerie.

Prayers of Faith

2010-01-22T13:47:00.000-07:00

I posted this earlier, and I accidentally deleted it.
This is the second poem I want to post from Natalie Norton, a friend who just lost her 8 week old son this January. If you haven't read the first poem which I posted previously, please READ it. She shows me that we, as spirit daughters of a real, living God, we have the power to get through anything. . . .even the worst imaginable scenario of losing our children.

Prayers of Faith
I want to make this very clear:
my son died
because God called him home.

For a while,
Gavin was kept alive by a merciful God
in response to the faith and love of countless hearts
the.world.over.

The moments surrounding his death
are far too sacred to share in full.

However, I feel that those of you who were
praying fervently for my sweet son
deserve to know
why God didn't answer our prayers of faith.

There was a point at which the fight was really "on".

His little body was literally head to head with Death himself.

Thinking about it,
aside from making me want to vomit,
reminds me VIVIDLY of the strength of my son's spirit.

His spirit was SO MUCH LARGER
than his tiny mortal self.

Suddenly I came to this horrifying realization:

I was keeping him here on Earth.

It was my faith, coupled with yours,
and his sweet daddy's. . .

oh, his sweet wonderful daddy.

It was our faith that was keeping
Gavin's beautiful, pure, PERFECT spirit
here in this fallen world.

. . . and I knew I had to let him go.

I was terrified.

Yet, in that moment,
I became keenly aware of my inherent strength
as a literal spirit daughter of God.

In that moment,
my faith in Him
translated into faith in myself,
and with all the courage in a mommy's very soul:

I leaned over his bed,
kissed his puffy, ice cold cheeks,
my loving tears rolling across that tiny chest. . .
wherein lay his perfect heart. . .

his perfect, dying heart.

I took his tiny fingers in mine.
Those fingers I had held and counted a billion times over. . .

and I told him it was alright to stop fighting.

I told his heart,
it was alright to stop beating.

It was time to go.

Tears were shed,
promises made,
and moments later, my little angel in the flesh,
was returned from my arms
to His from whence he came.

And the Spirit of God shone around us in that
little room.

And we knew,
WE KNOW,
the separation is only temporary.

We will hold our boy again.

When the time came,
we squared our shoulders
and hand in hand we carried our broken souls
. . .
away.

I still don't know how I left that room,
how I handed his tiny body to the nurse. . .

and left.

Left that room,
that hospital,
that state in it's entirety.

Only in and through the grace and power of God. . .
who has remained at our side.

God does hear our prayers of faith
. . . and true faith requires our ultimate submission to,
and trust in, His perfect will.

Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend (Mosiah 4:9).

Believe these things.
I sure do.

---Natalie Norton

Paint Their Doors With Lamb's Blood

2010-01-17T20:48:00.000-07:00

My husband's good friend and former mission companion, Richie Norton, and his wife lost their 8 week old baby boy to RSV and whooping cough on January 7th. The baby's mommy, Natalie Norton, wrote a poem during her mourning, and it is the most poignant expression of the emptiness and desire a mother could feel after losing an infant. Raw, tragic, but healing. This is the first time a poem made me cry.

dreams

I have these dreams.

And you're still alive.

And I think to myself,

"now what was all the fuss about?"
or
"I can't wait to tell everyone the good news!"
or
"Wow! What a magician you are! You fooled us all!"

In my dreams I don't scoop you up
and attack your neck with kisses and tears like I would
if my dreams were real life.

I just look at you matter of factly
and feel glad that it was all just a big misunderstanding.

I wish I could have a nice sit down with
that dream mommy of yours.
I'd beg her to scoop you up and give you a big delicious snuggle
from your real mommy who's arms
are simply ravenous over your memory.

alas.

God is still Good.

All the time.

Even when I'm sleeping.

Because of him, one day the dreams I dream tonight
will be the reality of my every day.
forever and ever.

and ever.

--- Natalie Norton

When I became a mother, I was automatically connected to every other mother on earth. We share something so primeval, so deep. No matter what kind of person we are, as a mother we have the ability to empathize because of the love for our children.

And, every time a child is born to us, or adopted by us, or just completely loved by us. . . . a ruthless voice, an imp of mischief and worry, also enters our lives, and in the back of our minds it quietly torments us with knowledge that our child can be taken away just as easily as she was given to us. My own imp of worry grew into more of a monster when I watched my young mother die, and learned how simply life is there, and then, it's just not.

I hate that imp, and I love that imp all the same because it forces me to carry life in my cupped hands like I would hold a newborn chic. I want to always kiss my children goodnight as if their life will be gone by sunrise. If I could, I would stay up and watch them sleep. all. night. long.

I wish I could paint their doors with lamb's blood, like the Hebrews in Egypt, and show death he's not welcome here. Not ever.

In my prayers, I ask to be lucky enough to keep them with me here on earth for at least one more day, and if I may, please let me have them until I die, of old age, of course.

Maybe I won't be so lucky.

Maybe someday, I'll be the one who is encircled by friends and loved ones, and receives comments from people all over the world who share my pain, and who hold up my hands that hang down, who feel my loss. Maybe I'll be the mother in the dream who says, "I can't wait to tell everyone the good news!", then wakes to find that there is no news at all. Ah! See! There he is again, that relentless imp of worry!

Yet, I know that life is forever. Absolutely eternal. It's true indeed that the Lamb's blood was painted around my entire family long ago, and that death can NEVER win---even if he thinks he does. Death is no destroying angel, he is just a blindfold.

But, PLEASE, please, let my children just stay here with me as long as they can; they are my gifts, my daily laughter, my life's joy. mine.

Thoughts on the Statistics and Quirks of Suburban Life in Utah

2010-01-16T12:13:00.000-07:00

Utah. Lived here all my life, so I claim the right to poke fun at and/or examine it when necessary. Except for several months in Russia, and a summer in New York City, and a load of travels to Mexico, Canada, and 20 other states, it has been my home. Utah certainly holds an interesting array of statistics; many of these stats are either the highest level of this, or the lowest level of that. The state is 75% LDS. So, it is natural to correlate many of the statistics to the REAL way in which church members live their lives. These stats really do say a lot about us.

Okay, "Bad News" first right?

Bankruptcy.

During the year ending March 31 [2002], roughly one of every 35 Utah households filed for bankruptcy, according to the American Bankruptcy Institute, a Virginia-based research organization. That far outpaced the national average of one for every 69 households.

Holy Guacamole!!!! Why are we twice, TWICE, the national average???

My father is a bankruptcy lawyer. Several years ago, when I was filing some papers for him at his office, I asked him why bankruptcy is so common here. What he told me, sunk deep, and I believe holds very true. He expounded his thoughts on the matter by suggesting that the tight-knit communities of ward families can also be a detriment to financial life. We are around each other so often, that we can't help but tally the number of vacations other family's are taking, the cars they are driving, and the plastic surgeries our friends are having.

I say this: Comparison is to Joy, as Drugs are to Contentment.

Also, my father said that many members whom he has filed bankruptcy for, feel cheated of their faith. They paid their tithing, and kept the commandments, so why were they not blessed monetarily? They assume that if tithes are paid, the money will keep coming.

I believe that there are blessings without measure for paying tithes to the church; however, it is unfair to spend without accountability, without savings accounts, without budgets, and expect "blessings" to always come.

Elder Dallin H. Oaks, of the twelve apostles also cautioned members of the Church against the lures of materialism and "get-rich-quick" schemes:

"Some have charged that modern Latter-day Saints are peculiarly susceptible to the gospel of success and the theology of prosperity. According to this theology, success and prosperity are rewards for keeping the commandments, and a large home and an expensive car are marks of heavenly favor. Those who make this charge point to the apparent susceptibility of Utahns (predominantly Latter-day Saints) to the speculative proposals of various get-rich-quick artists. They claim that many Utahns are gullible and overeager for wealth.

Whether inherently too trusting or just naively overeager for a shortcut to the material prosperity some see as the badge of righteousness, some Latter-day Saints are apparently too vulnerable to the lure of sudden wealth.

Men and women who have heard and taken to heart the scriptural warnings against materialism should not be vulnerable to the deceitfulness of riches and the extravagant blandishments of its promoters."

Plastic Surgery:

In 2007, Salt Lake City was ranked by Forbes Magazine as the most vain city in America based on the number of plastic surgeons per 100,000 and their spending habits on cosmetics, which exceed that of cities of similar size.

A plastic surgeon here in Utah wrote this in response to Forbes' article:

"Within and between neighborhoods, Mormons go to church together with their "ward" at the same time every Sunday and get to know each other very well similar to the way that co-workers do. Mormons are well known for having many children and generally get married and start having children at a relatively young age. Utah has some of the prettiest women in the U.S., and [they] take care of themselves very well.

So you have the perfect storm of young mothers, who are finished having babies at a young age. Childbirth and the associated stretch marks, loose and hanging skin have taken a toll on their tummies and breasts. They are generally attractive and care about their image and appearance. They have a tight social network of many women whom may have previously had cosmetic surgery and there is a lot of pressure to "keep up with the Jones's". Having plastic surgery is a very socially acceptable thing in Utah."

I am a neutral party when it comes to plastic surgery. I have certain plans for my future which may also consist of portions of a "mommy makeover". I don't want to add to that statistic, but gadzooks! nursing all those babies has left me with, well, sometimes what I like to call my "empty leather purses" which have to be folded like clean laundry, and carefully placed into my bra to give the illusion that they are, indeed, still round.

News that's neither good nor bad:

Salt Lake City has long been ranked number one among U.S. cities in Jell-O consumption (partially because of frequent use at church socials), but in 1999 Salt Lake fell to second place, behind Des Moines, Iowa. An article in the Salt Lake Tribune reported: "It was a finding so startling even the folks at Kraft scoffed at first. Then they re-ran the numbers, just to make sure. 'We were surprised because, historically, Salt Lake has always been the largest consumer of Jell-O and Jell-O brand products... Des Moines used to be in the last 10 markets.' Salt Lake is now No. 2 for Jell-O gelatin consumption per capita, with sales at 4.4 million boxes annually -- or 100,000 fewer boxes than in preceding years." [Source: Nancy Hobbs. "S.L. Bounced Out of the Top Jell-O Spot", Salt Lake Tribune, 14 Dec. 1999.]

Now when you hear someone say that Utah is first in the nation for Jell-O consumption, you can tell them they're wrong. We're second.

And now for some GOOD NEWS:

We Utah women know we matter: Latter-day Saint men and women were leaders of the women's suffrage movement, and Utah was the second place in the world where women had the right to vote.

We Love to use our imaginations: In a literary survey of novels which have won the highest awards in science fiction, the Hugo or Nebula award, twenty-five percent (25%) had Latter-day Saint characters or Utah/Latter-day Saint references. These include books by Robert Heinlein, Philip K. Dick, Orson Scott Card, Arthur C. Clarke and Greg Bear.

Utah is the second healthiest state in the Nation. . . even lowest overall in cancer (which surprised me).

Our Families Rock! Statistically, of all the United States, Utah is...

* First in children with two parents.
* First in birth rate (but lowest in birth rate to unwed mothers)
* First in family size.
* First in number of married couples.

According to the 2002 Kids Count data book, Utah ranked 3rd nationwide as the best place for children: it gave Utah high marks for low levels of infant mortality, a low percentage of single-parent families, and low numbers of children living in low-income families.

Not only are we having more children, but we are raising them well: Utah was ranked 7th academically in the nation, despite the fact that the state spent less money (49th in expenditures per pupil) than most other states. Not bad, especially considering how many children we have to divide our attention between. If we spend less on education than almost everyone else, yet we have one of the highest overall test scores, you can bet that extra is coming from Mom and Dad.

As Latter-day Saints become more educated, they are more likely to be active Church participants, a trend opposite what is found in most denominations (source from byu-hawaii church stats). Hmmm, I guess what we teach makes perfect sense.

Due in part to our emphasis on missionary work and education, combined with higher than average Internet use, the Latter-day Saint population in general exhibits higher than average awareness of geography, languages, and religious/cultural diversity.

In October 2000 the Associated Press reported that Utah ranks first in personal computer ownership, according to a U.S. Commerce Department survey: "More Utah homes have computers than anywhere else in the nation." We all know the downside of that one, but that's a topic for another day.

LDS Couples that marry in Mormon temples have the lowest divorce rate "among all U.S. social and religious groups studied." I love that marriage has such deep-rooted meaning to us, and our gospel gives us more desire to WORK on our marriages. I mean, if it's going to be eternity, we'd better make it a good one, right?

Overall, Utah is a great place to live. I think we are doing well, and although we see room for improvement, we are doing well.

And here's a short video to end with:

Oh remember, remember the month of December!

2010-01-03T22:14:00.000-07:00

Books are like months of the year---they start out gently, contain rising and falling action, and they are either memorable or forgettable. I judge books on one simple method of measurement: Do I experience a full range of emotions while reading this book? Do I feel anger and forgiveness, stress and serenity, do I cry and laugh? If a book entices every emotion, albeit briefly, it gains my respect and love. I'm not sure why I enjoy this potluck of emotions, but I suppose it just reminds me that I'm alive.

December is like the journey through a good book. In December, I experience every emotion like a chocolate lover samples truffles in a confectioner's shop. The beginning, or exposition, is excitement: the fun of being with family, the ability to momentarily escape from the heavy chains of a budget, the smells of pine, cinnamon, cloves, and oranges, and the snow which allows me to enter a state of nirvana when I find myself flying down a mountain slope at 60 mph.

Next emotion: Overwhelmed. Overwhelmed holds me in a vice grip while it's sidekicks, inadequacy and fear, attack my mind making cruel jabs at random. They torture me with thoughts that I'll fail in creating the perfect Christmas morning, or fail at remembering to give enough of myself and/or my wallet to every neighbor, friend, family member, and charity, or fail to participate in a satisfactory number of Christmas concerts, light festivals, ballets, and other holiday events.

Then there's the verbal (and consistently predictable) announcement of me saying I HATE Christmas!

I don't want to hate Christmas; I don't want to be a Grinch. So, I strike a deal with Overwhelmed, and usually my good husband is the mediator. I come to grips with the fact that I can only do so much, and in one big sigh of resolution, I relinquish my emotions to complacency.

Then a wonderful thing happens. I discover that after I remove the self-inflicted expectations that unnecessarily cling to the Christmas season like road-salt on a hubcap, do I alight upon the real joy of the season.

It's pure Love.

The joy of feeling Love for my Savior, Love for a Father in Heaven who gave up his Son to be born to a terrestrial world and crucified by hate, Love for the people in my life who fill me with passion, and Love for the many amazing, wonderful things I get to experience in this life.

You'd think I'd just remember this peaceful realization so that the next December I would skip the antagonism of overwhelmed, fear, and inadequacy, but if I did, the peace I feel at the end of the month wouldn't feel quite so good. It's like saying you'd enjoy The Scarlett Pimpernel better if Chauvelin were removed. No, I need it all. That's what makes it my favorite month of the year.

Some images of our December 2009:

My big 5-year-old had her birthday.

I'm still beating myself up for giving her a store-bought cake. Oh, the abomination!

Modeling her New Birthday clothes.

Christmas Dresses.

Unlimited chocolate and junk-food.

Gingerbread houses (the best part is, the girls did this at the neighbor's while Tyler and I went on a date. . . no clean up for me, Thanks Maryann!!!)

My awesome baby brother Matt stayed with us for 2 weeks. . . .love you Matty!

And the most time consuming part of my December was the preparation for the Grinch Dinner Theater that our ward put on with an AMAZING turnout of over 300 people.

there was the costume construction (we had green fur stuck to our eyeballs, mouths, and noses) . . . .

. . . and the make-up (this is actually at the end of the night, when we started the makeup removal process, which took an hour and a half; application took 3 hours) . . .

and the sets (about 30 hours of painting---all done in the wee hours of the morning when Elsa was safely tucked in bed)

But the work paid off because my girls will NEVER forget the day they got to be "Cindy Lou Who", and "Max" the dog, and be on stage with The Grinch, aka Daddy.

Cafe Rio inspired Chili recipe

2009-11-20T08:39:00.000-07:00

The recipe was 100% original . . . .

The corn was HAND-SHUCKED . . . .

The vegetables were free-range and grown in the most humane of circumstances (unfortunately, the beef was not) . . . .

and the result?

Chili so inspiring, so humble, so delectable to the palate that the un-bribed (and underpaid) judges [a.k.a. bishopric] selected it to be . . . dum - dum - dummmmmm (simulated drum roll) . . . . .

. . . .BEST OVERALL !!!

Okay, enough with the announcer voice. A few of my friends and family asked for this recipe. I do have to say, that it truly was my own original. . . I thought about this recipe into the wee, small hours of the morning for a week before I made it. First, I decided the ground-beef had to go . . . nobody really likes ground beef in and of itself, so why add it as a filler? Instead, I opted for shredded beef/pork. Second, I wanted to add a Mexican flare (with Cafe Rio in mind) so I added 2 whole cups of chopped fresh cilantro. After a few hours of simmering to blend flavors, I squeezed in some fresh lime. Those were the things that made it a bit unique. Anyway, enough patting myself on the back, right? (but seriously, I was sooooo scared to submit my OWN recipe, and completely teary-eyed when it won, *sniff*sniff* )

Cafe Rio Chili

Saute the following:

1 huge onion or 2 med. onions

6 cloves garlic

2 green bell peppers

In large slow cooker add:

1 1/2 to 2 lbs. pre-cooked shredded beef or pork (depending on how meaty you like it, also, I slow-cooked mine the day before in root beer)

1 14 oz. can black beans

1 14 oz. can kidney beans

1 14 oz. can great northern beans

( you can use one type of bean, but I like the visual appeal of all the colors)

2 cups. frozen corn (ok, it wasn't really hand-shucked, who has time for that anyway?)

2 cups cooked rice (optional)

2 14 oz. cans PETITE diced tomatoes

1 14 oz. can tomato sauce

1 1/2 Tablespoons oregeno

1 - 2 Tablespoons chili powder

1 Tablespoon cumin

around 2 tsp. salt, but alter to your personal desire for all things salty (my love of salt is epic)

1 tsp. or more fresh ground black pepper

2 tsp. dried chipotle (if using fresh, use a lot more, like one whole chipotle pepper)

ADD sauted ingredients to crock pot and simmer 3 - 4 hours on low.

When finished cooking add:

Juice of 2 limes

2 cups chopped fresh cilantro

SERVE with sour cream and SHARP cheddar cheese (any thing less than sharp is unholy and should be burned)

Enjoy! This recipe is huge, and will feed even the most voraciously hungry Swindler family (around 12 to 15 servings), so alter it, or just feed all the sick neighbors.

Random picture of "LaLa" in what could be a festive chili cook-off hat:

Today. . .

2009-11-17T15:18:00.000-07:00

TODAY I am grateful that I danced crazy to BonJOvi with my daughters because I got to see them laugh. AT me.

I am glad that I got out of my WARM bed, and into the COLD kitchen to make a HOT breakfast for Kamryn because today at school she needed the extra boost of love. warm tummy. confident girl.

I am happy that my car drove me to see my sister Lisa because later I needed to draw upon her love for me to fill a void. brothers and sisters. best friends.

I am grateful that Ty decided to wear his dressy blue shirt, the one that matches his eyes, because it made me take time to notice his face. blue eyes. kind. eyes that see past my flaws. always.

I am grateful that I took an hour out of my day to play the piano and sing because INSPIRED music connects me to my Savior the way nothing else can. tune my heart to sing HIS praise.

I am grateful my sister, Jamie, called me today because she is happiness. not just a happy girl. She is adoration, fun, laughter, happiness.
Jamie = Happiness.

I am grateful I played "memory" with my family; mostly because of the LAUGHTER that somersaulted out of me every time my daughters beat me. Such good minds. sound. whole. perfect.

I am glad that I didn't leave my daughters with a "quick" tuck-in at bedtime tonight, but that I forced my tired self to read books and sing songs. thank you for the Music. ABBA.

I am satisfied that I left some dishes in the sink and went to bed because it reminded me that my priorities are where they should be. imperfection is okay. it's okay.

TODAY I am grateful because my family KNOWS I love them. . . and I can't say that everyday.

Boycotting Sexiness and Other Matters of Halloween

2009-11-01T07:43:00.000-07:00

If you shop online for a costume, and you are a female between the ages of 12 and 50, you have likely noticed the trend for costumes to start with either "Sexy" or "Naughty" (as in Naughty Nurse, or Sexy Vampire, or Bad-Girl Cop). Even the costumes for "Bammer's" age group are getting sexier. What's up with that??!!!

WHEN DID HALLOWEEN BECOME AN EXCUSE FOR GIRLS TO WEAR LINGERIE IN PUBLIC???!!!!

Okay, okay, sorry for yelling, but, it BUGS. And those who know me well, know that I am not the modesty police in any way, shape, or form. IN FACT, modesty (in LDS standards) is sometimes hard for me to follow when I see some great new fashions that either don't have sleeves, or that would allow me to "show off" my freakishly long legs. But, the Halloween slut factor is entirely different. And as a mother of 3 girls, I have vowed to help them make "cool" costumes as they get older to veer them away from wanting to be a "Naughty Marie Antoinette" or, heaven forbid, a "Corrupt Nun".

I took a drastic Boycott against sexiness this Halloween. Perhaps too drastic. Borderline demented. But, OH MY GOSH, it was liberating. And fun being unrecognizable (unless you looked deep into my eyes).

So, I took the kids trick-or-treating in this:

The best part, was when my neighbors would say a very casual, "how's it going" to me as they passed me on the sidewalk. And I'd say "Great" in my girly voice.

Tyler couldn't decide what he wanted to be this year. In the past, we have applied foam prosthetics to his face, like this:

But the appliances like this cost $60 or so, and they are virtually unreusable as the prosthetic deteriorates once it's been painted. Ty's mission on Halloween is to scare the bee-jeebers out of the tween kids. So, at the LAST minute ( 12 a.m. on Halloween day), he decided to go with the whole demented clown idea. He wanted a "nice clown" face (if that's possible, as all clowns are pretty much total FREAKS to me and most people) on one side of his face, and a monster clown on the other side of his face. Think Two-Face from the last Batman movie. He ended up looking like this:

This guy, Ty, he was meant for theater. He pulled off an AWESOME character. He even had a hard time getting OUT of character when he was done. He walked like he was made of springs, and he did cartwheels and handsprings in the front yard as new trick-or-treaters approached. Then, he would be a giddy, jolly clown and talk to them in a circus clown voice while he looked at them out of the nice clown side of his face. Then he would start saying "Do you know what it's like being a . . . (then he would slowly turn his face around and scream) CLOOOOOWWWWWWNNNNNNNNNN WITH A SPLIT PERSONALITYYYYYYYYY!!!!! And they would, of course, run away screaming. As they do every year. It is better than Christmas for Ty.

Kamryn saw a picture of a peacock costume online, and decided she wanted to go with that. But the costume looked pretty lame in my book, and cost a fortune as well. So, I made a peacock costume for her (with 100 feathers I won on ebay). She LOVED the attention she received. Unfortunately, the next costumes for future Halloweens will just go downhill from here in comparison. Oh well.

After all was said and done,(and budgets were overwhelmed) I shopped on ksl classifieds for the other two girls' costumes. Lala doesn't care anyway, nor would she enjoy being uncomfortable, and "Bean" wanted to be a dragon---which I found for $5.

I vow, publicly, to make "Bean" a cool costume NEXT year; one that will make her feel as STUNNING as "Bammer" felt this year. Sweet little "Bean"! I appreciate her undemanding nature, and inherent meekness so much. If I had three "Bammers" (though we do LOVE her to death), I would be stretched too thin!

The girls were excited to sleep in the family room and watch Never Ending Story. But, they fell asleep the second their little tuckered out trick-or-treater heads hit the pillows.

I dare say Halloween is the Jones family's favorite holiday.

Old West Photoshoot

2009-09-10T13:34:00.000-06:00

We went to Aspen Grove (family resort up Provo Canyon) for several days in August. While there, my cousin Bethany Ricks shot some cute pics of my girls in the dresses Adrienne made for them. I spent the most of my day today doctoring the pics. "Bean" had conveniently sprouted a black eye which had to be digitally erased in EVERY photo of her. I also spent hours playing with the contrast/colors---trying to give them the 'ol west ambiance I so desired. Of course, you can click on the images for the full size. We had a lot of fun!

Catchin up on lost memories

2009-08-23T17:30:00.000-06:00

As a few of you know from my recent facebook status, my hard drive was lost completely last week. I wrapped up the old hard drive and stashed it in my closet in hopes that someday in the near future, I will be able to afford the incredibly expensive cost of memory resuscitation.

One of the things that I lost was a video of "Bammer" and "Bean" singing at a music recital. Today, that was the first video I tried to replace. It's been several months since they performed, and the words (once known by heart) get mixed up, forgotten, and mumbled, but it's the closest thing to the original, and I'm trying to be POSITIVE about this! "LaLa" is in the background singing along the best she can. Hopefully, she'll be singing on command soon so I can put up a video for her.

Here's my beautiful, energetic "Bammer" singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow (and "Bean" is the talented photographer---I'll apologize in advance for the shaky camera):

And here's my little "Bean" with Castle On a Cloud from Les Miserables (she had to have the yellow flower in her hair too):

A couple of weeks ago, my amazing, talented friend Adrienne (you can see her stuff at: Cosette's Closet ) made some beautiful dresses for my daughters. I spent HOURS picking out the perfect fabrics, and I made Adrienne make all sorts of little adjustments (thanks girlfriend for being patient with my ideas). "LaLa's" dress and bloomers, inspired by Matilda Jane Clothing, was the first to be completed.

K & A vs. Boston Terrier: Ultimate Tetherball Match

2009-08-10T17:36:00.001-06:00

"Bammer" and "Bean" found this little Boston Terrier in Idaho while we were visiting Ty's old seminary teacher. The little dog challenged them to a game of tether ball. I had to import it from YouTube because it wouldn't format with the blogger videos. Don't laugh at how bad my kids are at tether ball---that is definitely a low priority sport in our family (probably even lower than bog snorkeling and toe wrestling---both actual sports mind you).

What I like about YOU . . . you really know how to dance!

2009-08-03T13:50:00.000-06:00

Ten years ago on Oprah (back when I used to consider her show as sacred and necessary as going to sacrament meeting) (now that she's all "big biz", she's let me down)(I want to deviate one more time from my original thought just so I can have another set of parentheses)(oh, heck, here's one more), Oprah told everybody to use journals for opportunities to count blessings. She suggested 5 blessings being written down every day to maintain a positive attitude on life. I tried it, it lasted one day. Typical me. Today, as I was vacuuming my house, I decided I want to try and count my blessings more often. I want to focus on the positive more (since my glass is only half-full half of the time). If you can't see the bright side of life, polish the dull side.

So, this blog post is going to be about how I'm blessed by YOU, yes you, my blogging friends and family. I may not include all of you, and if your name is omitted on my list---due to time restrictions since I only have until Elsa's nap time ends to finish this---please do Not feel bad. In fact, if I forget you, just leave me a comment, and I will tell you what I like about you and how you bless my life. There's no particular order either, just what comes to mind. (Oh, and this is all girls except my hubby who I had to include)

Ty: My best friend, I love your contagious laugh and your deep, unshakable love for your Father in Heaven. YOU keep ME on the right path.

Steph Wells: You just decided one day to learn how to program HTML, Ruby on Rails, CSS and all that web development mumbo-jumbo and now you're a successful, self-employed programmer. You inspire me to learn new things without a teacher.

Lisa Campbell: You remind me by your example how to be patient and accepting of people's quirks. I am also blessed by your non-judgemental love---I can call you and sob like a baby over the stupidest things, and you don't get bugged.

Ashley Swindler: Your house, your cars, your clothes, and your kids are always spotless. Your laugh is also the cutest thing in the world.

Jamie Swindler: Girl, you know how to have FUN! The rate at which you win friends and influence people is enough to make Mr. Carnegie jealous (the author of How to Win Friends and Influence People. ...in case you didn't know). You make me feel important and somewhat knowledgeable by letting me be your "go-to girl" for advice.

Jen Swindler: You can escape into an imaginary world and play with my daughters and they think it's the greatest thing in the world. You tell them stories and create scenarios of adventure! You remind me of J.M Barrie, the author of Peter Pan.

Sammy Poulsen: You've had a year of trials, and you've overcome them with a smile and faith that is unheard of. You are an amazing mother who laughs at the dumb things kids do when my first instinct is frustration.

Amanda Jones: Your soft-spoken, sensitive nature is so beautiful. I love that you don't hide your talents, but that you use and develop them every day.

Adrienne: You always just know what to do in a crunch. You're prepared for everything. And most of all, I can always count on you in a crunch or when my overly-independent personality collapses.

Nicole: You are kind and quick to compliment. You also have a great talent and energy for creating things. You don't judge me for my "idio-syncracies", but embrace them.

Marnie: You always look for ways to help someone before they ever ask you. You stand with poise and grace like the dancer you are.

Heather Hunt: I've barely gotten to really know you, and I love being with you. You are an awesome mother, a fun-loving wife, and a down-to-earth, devoted, and generous friend. You are honest and open, and insanely beautiful (to the point that all the 19-year-old boys are still checking you out---ya, I noticed).

Maryann Clark: You take on stressful situations (that would have me buckled over with nausea) with a nonchalant smile and happy-go-lucky attitude that any mother would covet. You make me feel at ease when I'm around you.

Connie Ricks: You'll probably never read this, but I pretty much worship the ground you walk on and I have the letters WWCD (What would Connie do?) permanently etched in my brain neurons. Thank you for showing me how to be a better person.

Melissa Codella: You never refrain from allowing humor to flood your words. You are a fun mom who never seems to let vanity get in the way of a good time.

Kim Ricks: You compliment me, and you "Raise Me Up". You put steam in my engines. You also have all your priorities straight in my book.

Joke Leigh: You have a love for life, and a contentment with yourself that I envy. You are so beautiful.

Emily Decker: Even though we've not spent a lot of time together, I so admire you. You make things happen. You're never just "talk". You have a quiet, loving, and positive attitude that makes people drawn to you. You always take time to be gracious with others.

Bethany Williams: Somehow, when I'm with you, I'm laughing more than anything else. Encouraging talents in your children is a priority, and you have a desire to learn and grow and develop your own talents as well.

Missy Collard: You are so dang enthusiastic and cheerful. . . I want to be like you. You are charismatic and friendly and open, and at the same time, you can become serious and spiritual at the drop of a hat---and I love it.

Suzie Applegate: I love that you are so creative with ways to have fun with your children. I love how you always "win" stuff on the radio for your kids. I love that your probably the best neighbor in the world, and I hope I don't ever abuse your kindness!

Jen Bracken Hull: You have such a love for education and a talent for finding meaning in the little things in life. You are incredibly observant and analytical, and you don't make excuses for yourself. You don't feel a need to conform, and you love having fun.

Julie Swindler: Your laugh comes easily and is contagious. You don't judge. Your a really good mom---one who I go to for advice.

Julie Feyeriesen: I''ve never heard anything negative come out of your mouth . . . ever! Are you mortal? Did you go to Goddess school while we were all in the pits of public education? Do you ever take time for yourself? Do you ever just put a movie on for your kids and leave them with your husband and go get a pedicure? I didn't think so.

Kelly Grundy: Your voice alone makes me smile . . . always smiling, always making me laugh. You are the life at any party, and the center of attention without even trying.

Melissa Calder: You not only want to make the world a better place, but you actively do so. You don't take things too seriously, and you remind me what really matters. I'm so glad you married Regan because you two together are changing the world.

Michelle Hanson: Last but never, ever least cuz your so dang amazing. . . Shelle, you came over and spent 2 hours with me a few days after Elsa was born. All I knew about you was your name. You made such an impression on me, and ever since, I hounded you to make you be my friend. You never stop going, you never stop serving, and you can do anything!

I am going to have to do this in two portions. As I got going, there are just so many people who influence and bless my life. Stay tuned for more . . . .

Random Thoughts by me

2009-07-25T23:20:00.000-06:00

Today, I need to just write some random thoughts. Here's random thought numero uno:

I was ushering at the Oquirrh Mountain temple open house on Monday night, and I couldn't help but play some mental games to keep myself entertained as I stood in my corner of a random hallway between the stairs and the exquisitely beautiful . . . . first aid station. Yes, I admit, I felt a little disappointed that I didn't get posted in the celestial room or the bride's room or something cool, but it's all good. So, anyway, I found a fun way to entertain myself. The children of the families who were touring the temple unfailingly turned the corner into my hallway several seconds (or sometimes minutes) before their parents caught up to them. I made up the game of "Guess What My Parents Look Like". It entertained me for a good portion of the night, until I started just thinking about all the handsome little boys in their snap-on ties, white shirts, and dirty fingernails . . . and I just couldn't help but think how badly I'd love to have a son someday. I hear about these methods of conception that can help you have a better chance at conceiving the gender you desire, but, I am spiritually minded enough to believe that those decisions are better left to Father in Heaven.

Then, I think about how much I love my daughters, and how I would not wish for any of them to be any different. I am grateful that I have 3 best friends for life in them. Tonight, "Bean" and I did a puzzle together. She picked up the last piece and as she went to place it, she said, "and now for the finishing touch" and then, as she snapped it into place, she pushed on it so hard that she passed gas. "Actually", she said, "that [a reference to her gassing] was the finishing touch!" She and I were rolling on the floor laughing ( I know, I know, shame on me for encouraging my children to laugh at bodily functions).

Random (okay, really, really, ridiculously random) thought number 2:

Top ten reasons why I am glad to not be in High School anymore:

10. I don't have to look at Mr. ?'s white, frothy saliva on the corners of his lips while he gives his lectures on the human anatomy.

9. If I am wearing the same article of clothing as a friend, aquaintance, or anybody at all, I don't get an anxiety attack and have to run home and change my outfit.

8. My friends (and this of course includes my H.S. friends who I still keep in touch with today) don't care about what I drive, what I wear, or how well I did on the A.C.T.

7. I run because I WANT to, and not because I HAVE to . . . the same goes for reading, I read books that I WANT to read, and not ones that I am assigned (which is why I stopped going to book club----I got that nasty feeling again of being told what I had to read, and that there will be a quiz on it later).

6. No more first kisses or awkward doorstep moments. Furthermore, I can answer a request for a date by simply saying "yes" or "No". No need to take the entrails of a cow and using it to spell my answer out in a coded language, leaving a hint to where the decoder is, and then forcing them to go on a scavenger hunt across the city just to find out the interpretation of my answer.

5. I don't have to pretend.

4. I don't have to wake up at 5:30 a.m.

3. I don't have to wear multiple layers of clothing to make myself look less-skinny; in addition, it is actually a good thing now to be 5'10".

2. I can wear tampons (yes, I was unable to wear tampons in H.S.---couldn't figure out how they worked, and I was too embarrassed to ask my mom. My sisters all had lessons from me---they were lucky.)

........and the number one reason I'm happy to be out of high school . . . .

1. I can go to the bathroom without my friends!

because everyone else is updating, and I am slacking. . .

2009-07-11T17:53:00.000-06:00

I am in the mood for some updating. And just for the sake of my last post, "T" has been employed now for 3 months . . . the doom and gloom of my life is currently much brighter. I need to learn how to not get so overwhelmed by things I cannot change.

I had quite the eventful night last night with the arrival of 8 new babies (puppies, that is). Jamie, Jen, and Matt ( my youngest siblings) all came to support me while Tyler was on an overnight retreat with the young men. Kyah, or the Real Octo-mom as I call her, did a fantastic job of mothering the little ones. Jamie and Jen each took a turn with the bulb syringe---clearing airways and encouraging that first breath. Matt, on the other hand, kept his distance and opted for the position of scribe---documenting weights, gender, coloring, etc. Many times, I thought he was going to puke! The vast, brilliant colors of fluids involved in dog births are enough to create a tie-dyed shirt that even Bob Marley would envy.

The best part wasn't the birth, it was simply the time together with my little brother and sisters. I adore those amazing kids, and believe there is not a 14, 16, or almost 19-year-old alive who is as smart, witty, and beautiful as any of them. We stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, and talked as we cleaned, dried, and tended to the little 8 ounce furballs.

2009-02-07T12:43:00.000-07:00

This is us. The Joneses. This photo (click to enlarge) was taken by Stephanie Swindler Wells in October 2008.

Side Jobs n' Stuff

2009-02-07T11:41:00.000-07:00

My dad called me a couple days ago with a small job he needed me to do (but really he was likely scrambling for ideas of ways to employ Tyler or myself in any way, shape, or form). He told me about a great uncle of ours, Uncle Warwick, who had a small trust. Uncle Warwick died a little while ago and had no posterity. So, his estate trust was to be divided up among the countless descendants of his parents. My mission, if I chose to accept, was to find all these descendants and make a file of them.

I started this mission at Grandma Ricks' house. Our visit first began with her trying to solve the mystery of who didn't get a Christmas present---a memoir that she put into a book. She fussed and worried about this for so long, I thought we'd never get a chance to start on Uncle Warwick's estate list.

Finally, I was able to change the conversation to the Great Depression which had started when Grandma was 22. She told me about how the businesses in Main Street in Salt Lake City were mostly boarded up and closed down. One store, a candy store, was trying to survive and she was fortunate to get a job there. Later she got an even better job teaching Kindergarten. She was to be paid $419 a YEAR!!!!

Grandma told me about how in the depression everyone had to have a garden, a milk cow, and chickens. I told her I wanted to get a couple of chickens, and she said, "Oh, but those roosters are so loud, they would wake the entire neighborhood!"
To which I replied, "Well, I would only have hens."
Grandma retorted, "You can't get eggs without a rooster!"
I explained, "No, you DO get eggs without a rooster, just not fertilized eggs."
And she again retorted, "Oh, I don't think you can get eggs without a rooster."
My know-it-all self was getting a little heated already, and I said, "Grandma, I raised chickens. I know they lay eggs without the rooster because I murdered our rooster and we still had eggs!"
The look she gave me encouraged me to change the subject. Which I did.

We talked more about the depression and I told her how Ty lost his job. She felt so bad, I thought her heart might break. She worries so much about her grandchildren. She went on talking about the parallels between this recession and the beginnings of the Great Depression. While she was talking, I broke down in tears and had to excuse myself. I was embarrassed and didn't realize how much stress I was bottling up. Nothing scares me more as a parent than knowing my children are completely dependent on me, and what would I do if I couldn't care for them?

I think about the movie, "Life is Beautiful". The father, Guido, never wanted his young son, Joshua, to know their lives were in danger every moment while they were in a concentration ca
mp. Guido worked himself down to skin and bones, yet he saved his food for Joshua. He was frightened at every moment, yet he acted cheerful and convinced Joshua that they were in a contest, and that the child who was the quietest and the most obedient would win an army tank. I can't imagine Guido's thoughts as he walked to his death at gunpoint, and turned his face to where Joshua could see him, and gave him a wink and a smile.

Although I don't think we will ever go through anything as terrible as the holocaust, I still want to be like Guido in the hard times. Put on a smile, wipe away any sign of fear, and turn adversity into adventure for the sake of my children. Then years later, when they are holding their daughters, they will understand the situation they once lived in, and marvel at how they didn't even know times were hard because all their memories are good. If I could accomplish this one feat, I will be satisfied with my job as a mother.

First day of Blogging, take one!

2009-01-28T23:36:00.000-07:00

Well, I am officially 7 years late doing this blogging biz, but here I go . . .
So, where should I start for my updates? How 'bout a little story. Here it is: Once upon a time I was sitting in my room, nursing little "LaLa", when the garage door opened and the dogs started barking (because they know our schedule and they know that nobody comes in the garage door at ten in the morning when I'm already home). It was a bit scary at first because all I heard were footsteps. My first thought was that "Bammer" had indeed missed her bus that morning and had been hiding out somewhere until she FELT like school might be over . . . she WOULD do that.

Then, "T" walks in the room with the most distraught look on his face that I've ever seen. I thought someone died (actually I thought some thug had murdered T's brother,Forrest) and I was afraid to find out who. Then he told me that he lost his job, and for a second I was relieved that nobody died. He was in tears because of the shock of it. "Lala", on my lap, looked up at her daddy and said almost perfectly, "hi dad" (the lower case letters are to show a tiny little cute baby voice). He then cried even more because it was like the sweetest thing ever! We will remember that forever. Our little, ultra-sensitive baby who will be such a good friend to everyone she meets some day.

At first I was frantic with the bad news, but once the water was calm and clear, we figured we actually had seven months of income saved and that we would be fine for a while. It would have been so much more if we hadn't bought new furniture and a trampoline last year, but regrets don't do any good. So, now I am feeling all macho cuz I'm the primary breadwinner with my meager piano and voice lesson income! But, I'll take housewife any day over breadwinner.

Tyler is looking all over the U.S. for a job and I am hoping something comes up in New Zealand or Australia. But, alas! I would miss my family terribly. However, if we moved to Australia, the girls could meet The Wiggles and it might just be worth it.