The Army You Have

The Matt!

2012-01-24T15:05:00.000-08:00

My brother-in-law Matt had our family for Christmas and he gave me fifty bucks to JoAnne's. (Boy, did I love that.) I promised that I would name an outfit after him. I give you:

The Matt

The skirt was a clearance fabric at JoAnne's--maybe $4--it's a giraffe print and the weight was really only suited for a pencil skirt. I cut it a bit loose (after my first Shakira-like cut)...

I was not aiming for this.

...but it's nice to move around in so the trade-off was a good one. In real life, it lays better than in the pic., I paired it with a thrifted sweater vest and navy-with-white-polka-dots tie, and a refashioned men's dress shirt that I did ages ago without an outfit to wear it with. For reasons that lay deep in a good-humored Unblogable Land (There be pirates.), I'll also call it:
Agree to Disagree

Stay tuned for other installments of The Matt. I was able to score two other fabrics!

Big Tent Hipsterism or The Saturday Morning Friday Night Date

2012-01-21T15:28:00.000-08:00

We went to Screen Door today for brunch--me, Nathan, Heidi, Vince and JoAnne. I love that place--just off Burnside on what used to be the wrong side of the river but which, thanks to the medical marijuana dispensary sitting cheek-by-jowl with retro vacuum stores and Hippo Hardware, is kind of becoming the right side of the river.
The place is ostensibly about the most amazing Southern food ever but the draw has a lot to do with skinny jeans too, I think. What's that you say? Skinny jeans?

Nathan and Keira--trying too hard

Yes. The hipsters have discovered Southern food.
But isn't Southern food full of calories and joy? Yes. Joy is the new apathetic. Curvy and retro is the new wan and lank. But I'll be the first to admit that it all gets a little difficult to follow.
The thing about cool people is that they're always moving the goal posts. Just as soon as you choose your one-of-a-kind profound literary reference and font type (sans serif) for your up-to-the-minute tattoo, they'll all decide to get crying Indians or baying wolves. And then, when you ink your Geronimo, they'll decide that cartoon fish is where it's at.
Why just this morning, I was slapping on my lipstick and thinking as I looked with horror at the simple tube of L'Oreal Colour Riche Tender Pink--which has one too many vowels in 'color' and 'rich' to my everlasting shame, "Is this ironic enough?"
I looked down at my outfit, carefully chosen for the day's outing. Floral thrifted cotton-poly blouse with neck bow paired with loose plum cardigan (what is the hipster position on cardigans, right now?!) and skinny-ish jeans. I mean, you can call them skinny all you want but I've had four kids and my hips tell a different story. And then the make-up. It wreaked of effort.
We arrived.
Before I could stop her, my sister-in-law put her name on the list. Heidi. Not Asher or Puck or Milo or Homer or Clementine. Just Heidi. They did not escort us from the lobby.
While waiting I did a careful perusal of our fellow patrons.

There was the Asian couple on their matching smartphones clicking away in the corner. And let's be honest here. They were already cool before their feet hit the floor.
A girl with an admittedly awesome jacket sitting opposite me, hitching down her short skirt every time she stood up, (Skirt hitching. J'accuse! You are no hipster!)
...sitting with a friend wearing admittedly awesome lace-up ankle boots. (Ankle boots. In my lifetime, I have stood squarely with the forces of anti-ankle-bootism and I think I'm just too entrenched to change my mind. Whenever I see them I can't help but think that corporate clothing buyers are just messing with us.)
The assorted sprinkling of those in rumpled lounge wear--always sartorially acceptable in Portland.

The woman with the bleach blond hair, ill-advised bone necklace (acquired on a busman's holiday in Hawaii perhaps?), and carrying a Louis Vuitton knock-off looked delightfully ordinary until one's eyes traveled to her feet. A tattoo and penny loafers stuffed with dimes. Dimes! What is that? Some hipster code I don't know about?

The guy dressed like The Dude in The Big Lebowski was a puzzler. Was he cool because he was channeling The Dude? Was he not cool because he walked around looking like a movie character? Was he really cool because he was making some social commentary about trying too hard?

And then Nathan was telling his mother and sister that his coat came from Costco and that his spiffy new jeans were Target clearance. Why didn't he just shout that we drove over from the Suburbs in a minivan?
Before I sank through the floor in mortification at his bourgeois gaucherie, I looked at the skirt hitcher. Yes, Nathan was more hipster than that. His devil-may-care approach to the opinions of others, his ancient Hebrew name, his year-round tan, his four children (we're practicing economies of scale when it comes to our carbon footprint)...He was like The King of the Hipsters.
We were led to our table.
"Hi, My name's Ben. I've been practicing that speech all morning. Any coffee?"
You just couldn't beat these people.

* I ordered the Farm Grits and Nathan ordered the Chicken and Waffles. We devoured them in a neo-hip fashion.

Auld Lang Syne

2011-12-28T14:01:00.000-08:00

I call it Hogmanay--the Scots version of New Year's Eve. It has an elastic waistband should good intentions per exercise and healthy choices go the way of the Dodo. Also, I hacked the top of it off (in a former life it was a Target sundress with a plunging neckline that I found at GW) and it's riding the karmic wheel into midi-skirt territory. Lastly, I originally made it two inches longer and figured it was not time to meet frumpy matron-hood at the gate so began again.

It's going to be a very good year.

Bobby Darin and Birthday Gifts

2011-12-14T20:34:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when I think about being on the leeward side of 35, I can't help but feel a little old. Stop, stop, I know you're thinking. Your supple skin couldn't possibly be a day over 27.

And when I get to remembering that I'm not gamboling like a lamb over sun-dappled meadows anymore, I recall 60s pop idol Bobby Darin. As a young boy he overheard a doctor telling his mother (who was really his grandmother, but that's a whole nother kettle of ghetto-fabulousness) that because of childhood rheumatic fever he'd be lucky to live until he was 16.

Well, he got 21 more years than that and when I see him singing I think, 'Gosh, he went young.' He was 37 and he carpe-ed the heck out of his diem.

His sister was really his mother!

Which is a good thing to remember.

For my birthday this month, my mother-in-law got me a gift card to JoAnne's which is like driving a crack addict down to Skid Row for the free needle exchange. It provided the perfect opportunity to buy something I have been dreaming up for months. That's right. I've been thinking of a lovely, clean-lined blouse with a chunky coat zipper up the back.
Don't ask me why the zenith of my sewing ambitions manifested themselves thus. I blow with the winds of creative genius. Where that fickle mistress flies, I must follow.
But would JoAnne's (famously full of fabrics, each mutely testifying to the poor taste and general classlessness of corporate buyers) have what I needed?
Oh yes.
When I described it to Suzanne today on the phone I said, 'It looks like a bit of moss that someone stepped on and smeared with mud.' Poetry, I know.

Butterick B5211--For dresses you can sing 'Rock Lobster' in.

I looked through my patterns and pulled several simple sheath dresses--Butterick B5211 was just the template I needed to paint my masterpiece. I added a 24" big metal-teeth coat zipper and when that still left an inch and a half gap at the top I added a bow tie to the top of the back. Yes I did.

Bow ties. In this, Bobby and I are simpatico. We're for them.

Trust me. The juxtaposition of the soft fabric and the metal zipper, paired with the clean lines and the flippant bow take this to eleventy-thousand. (Too pretentious? Maybe. It's still true.)
Did it turn out as I hoped and dreamed?
Heck yes, it did. But the slippy fabric was difficult to work with (the arm holes were murder) and I found myself walking uncertain territory...

My face says "ImadeitImadeitMeMeMe!!!!

Which is why I call it The Chubby Clementine Top after (the daring, darling) Bobby Darin's rather rude ode to a morbidly heavy miner's daughter, who, traveling shaky ground, drowned in the murky, watery drink.

Bobby says I'm never too old for tasteful industrial details.

The Christmas Frock

2011-12-10T13:24:00.000-08:00

I was at JoAnne's (a cultural vortex as far as Miss Kylene is concerned) and wandered past their clearance fabrics. A Red Tag Sale! 50% off! I swooped in on an ill-advised brown and black ikat (because I just have to believe that this trend could be darling for short and curvy girls) and was captivated by a bright pink needlecord. (How bright? Brighter than a lucky penny, that's what.) Lots of it. For two dollars a yard.

Get thee behind me, fetching Pink Needlecord!

But the pink. I balked. Where would I wear such a fabric?!
Then, suddenly, I don't know why, I changed my mind and went back the next day to get it.

Couples Counseling sorted me out.

Six ridiculous yards of a ridiculous fabric. 12 dollars. A Faustian bargain, indeed.
But I was still in need of a project for it.

I went pattern shopping at Miss Kylene's Dungeon of Retro Franken-Patterns and found this sweetheart frock. McCall's 4527. Miss Light Pink thinks that her audition for the lead in the school play was solid. Miss Deep Pink hasn't been method acting the part of Emily Gibb for the better part of a semester only to loose out to a frocksy (yes, made up word) ingenue. She breaks character long enough to trip her rival up and slips into character again as she pens her 'Our Town girl-next-door' letter of condolence for the six weeks of traction.

What I learned:

I had to remake the upper bodice because the measurements on the pattern left too wide an opening for my head and neck and bra straps and whatnot. I learned that, for the right dress, you remake a bodice. Necklines are my biggest beef with retro patterns. I wonder if it's possible to work up a muslin standard for my own neckline and what I can reasonably get away with.
I added my own piping elements! It made fitting the top onto the (unaltered) bodice tough.
I added a belt and nixed the buttons on the skirt. Pink needlecord does not need 'meretricious ornamentation'. (It's Christmastime. I'm channeling my inner O. Henry.)
This is a Christmas dress. It was a lot of bang for a dress that cost me only 20 bucks.

Anyway, I think this was one of my more successful endeavors even if, in the normal run of things, I would run a mile away from pink needlecord. It and I were a strange pairing. Which made me think of other strange pairings...
In 1965, Lesley Gore (of 'It's My Party' and 'Judy's Turn to Cry' fame) debuted a song called Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows:

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows,
Everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together,
Brighter than a lucky penny,
When you're near the rain cloud disappears, dear,
And I feel so fine just to know that you are mine.

Shakespeare it's not, but hot stuff, no? Lesley was a bang-up singer of teenaged romantic angst. (You Don't Own Me. Heck no, you don't.) She was also a bobby-sox type that batted for the softball team. And the pairing (her no-frills look and power-ballad delivery) works really well. She's not so cutesy herself that she sends what could be some pretty saccharine lyrics into a diabetic coma.

The Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows Christmas Frock

And maybe that's why I carry pink needlecord which was, despite misgivings, a joy and a delight to wear.

Halloween Highlights

2011-11-07T21:26:00.000-08:00

Zacky was elated. No one would ever guess that his surprise costume choice was to go as an 'El-pant'.

Maybe it was the fact that she had been a witch for two years running, maybe she just wanted to wear white after Labor Day. Whatever the reason, this year La Presidentita was going to shake things up. It would keep the scum in the opposition party wondering.

Secreting a tiny surveillance camera into her false eyelashes had been difficult and when her team of top government scientists failed her, The Ya-ya had to slap them all in the gulag, grab some tweezers and do it herself.

He wasn't just Robin Hood. He was Hipster Robin Hood--able to fight the combined forces of an evil puppet monarchy with a deft flick of his bow hand...you know...if he wanted to.

Power Ranger? Bumble Bee? Space Captain? Who knew? But Mommy didn't phone this in, for dang sure...

"I have sometimes been deliberately misunderstood, especially by my enemies who have labelled me the 'Iron Lady.' They are quite right - I am."

But, despite the superior eyebrows, knife-pleated polyester blouse and vintage campaign button they still wanted to call me Palin. Maybe it was the Bump-it...

"Badges?! We don't need no stinkin' badges!"--Bandito Suave.

Missionary Plaques

2011-10-23T17:41:00.000-07:00

I was at my mother-in-law's house this week and I was sitting in her comfy chair across from the wall where she keeps her four missionary plaques (there's a spot for the fifth one when he comes home next year). I love the idea of those things. It's a picture of the person and a little cut out of the state/country where they're going to be for the next few years and a scripture that means something to them, usually carrying the theme of missionary work. (Debbie has brilliant thoughts on how the brevity of the scripture says something about the likelihood of it being remembered under duress.)

Elder Carter didn't send in his favorite scripture. He couldn't imagine what would comfort him in Outer Mongolia...

Anyway, I've been the Relief Society President for three whole months now and no one is more surprised than I that droves of ladies haven't fled the church en masse. (Someone should bake me some cookies. For reals.) I'm rotten at conducting. Just terrible. (Okay, maybe not terrible but great and dreadful will be the day of redemption when I slip up and say something mildly off-color.) Still, I'm getting better at that part and other less obvious parts. And I'll tell you what--I've earned a plaque at least.
Something fortifying for the long mission ahead...

Sister Dominguez wept. How would her plaque be complete without a map of the Greater Bethany area?

Benjamin Disraeli and Vogue Patterns

2011-10-11T17:35:00.000-07:00

Benjamin sighed. Would they NEVER take a good picture?

Benjamin Disraeli, a long-dead British Prime Minister, famously said, 'Never complain and never explain' but, if I had to guess, he never tried his hand at a vintage Vogue pattern.

I went pattern-shopping in Kylene's basement and fell in love with this little number (below) before I had time to come to my senses. I think that the lady in pink is an interior decorator with a party line and a broad-minded attitude towards men friends. The gal in blue is going on her first TransAtlantic flight and hasn't banked on the awkwardness of sweating in wool for 15 hours while sitting next to a habitual smoker. When she steps off the plane in Heathrow will she look bandbox fresh? I'm dying to know.

Things I learned while doing this pattern:

'Laura, maybe we should turn the flash on.'

Pleating. Granted, the pleating on the blouse was a touch wonky.
Optimism. Though wonky, the pleats were easily spun as 'contemporary'.
Vogue patterns are evil. Yes. Evil. There is a deal of moral turpitude associated with the sin of writing up pattern terms with no discernible relationship to reality.
I can do a Vogue pattern.
Pockets. This is my favorite part of the whole she-bang.
Buttons. I can do buttons!
Jackets. Okay, here's where I both complain and explain. Though I think it turned out pretty well (arms and lining and fasteners and belts!), in that I manufactured it competently, I'm not really sure I can carry it off. The difficulty with patterns is imagining yourself in a garment only mildly similar to one gracing the 2-dimensional and 7 inch lines of a Vogue model. Still, I think that with a pair of jeans (slim ones) the jacket would be more flattering. The blouse and skirt I looooooovvvvveee.
Unfortunately the pictures do not do me any justice. 'Oh, Keira,' you think to yourself. 'You aren't getting any younger...' But really. The photos were snapped by Laura in the mad scramble before church and then, because they were just terrible, seven hours later after church, ward council and a PPI meeting and I was standing in the middle of a rainstorm. I was not...ahem...bandbox fresh.

Anyway, I learned a ton and though my sewing machine, Ken, is flirting with death (one foot in the grave he is, but he still managed a button hole yesterday so all might not be lost), it all came off very well. And the name?

The Disraeli Ensemble

Throw Mama Off the Train

2011-09-26T13:18:00.000-07:00

We had a double date last weekend with the Grells on the Mount Hood Railroad dinner train. Super kitsch. Super fun. And the dancing car? Unlike my hair, super bouncy. We spent the afternoon and morning working on our feet, so we didn't take our usual blooming selves off to have fun and diversion.

Hey, Stranger.

The ladies dressed up and the men dressed as though they might, in the manner of Superman, have to at any moment fly to the aid of a technically insufficient software user. But is was still enormous fun.

Simplicity--7503

2011-09-14T22:49:00.000-07:00

Simplicity 7503. I reproduced the chic little glitter disco number on the right. Well, I reproduced the neckline. I don't think glitter is a de rigueur fabric for Sunday School. Maybe for Presbyterians...(The gal in green is clearly an uptown lady-who-lunches and the printed vixen is her husband's man-stealing girl-Friday at the office.)

I played with the sleeves a bit until I hit on something I liked (a cute little cuffed cap sleeve--which I had to rip apart countless times. There were no tears, however, so I deem it success.) and, as you can see below, I lengthened it to just under the knee.

Because it is a Franken-pattern (a pattern cobbled together from other patterns) I ran into a little issue with the sizing. No problem, though. I added racing stripes down the sides...(Yes. Sort of. Hey, I made myself a dress that I can wear and the zipper is killer.) It looks fine.

Yeah. This face.

And on the whole, I'm very happy with it. It doesn't photograph nearly as cute as it is in person. (And you know that purse-lipped, hot, ghetto mess face that precocious tweeners put on their Facebook profiles? I have my own version. It says, "What are you smiling at, you gomer?")

Here it is: Sheet-cum-couture. I'll probably pair it with a slim navy belt and when the weather warrants I can put on a cardigan (red?). Mostly I'm happy to have a dress I don't have to throw a layer on top of to make it modest.

I've been reading Mere Christianity this week and particularly like these lines: We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive.
C.S. Lewis

So I call it: Seam Ripping Your Way to A Better Tomorrow

Ten Years On

2011-09-10T12:28:00.000-07:00

I remember reading this Mark Steyn column (Sep 22, 2001) at the time and liking it. Here's a long excerpt:

And so, on those Boston flights that morning, everyone followed FAA guidelines: the cabin crew, the pilots, the passengers. There were four or five fellows with knives or box-cutters, outnumbered more than ten to one. If they’d tried to hold up that many people in a parking lot, they’d have been beaten to a pulp. But up in the air everyone swallowed the FAA’s assurance: go along with them, be cooperative, the Feds know how to handle these things. I’m sure there were men and women in those seats thinking, well, there’s not very many of them and they don’t have any real weapons, maybe if some of us were to… But by the time they realised they were beyond the protection of the FAA it was too late.
The full story of what happened on three of those four terrible flights will never be known. But we do know something about the final moments of United Airlines Flight 93, the decisive event of the day. Thomas Burnett, Jeremy Glick, Mark Bingham and others phoned their families to tell them they loved them and to say goodbye. Denied even that consolation, Todd Beamer couldn’t get through to anyone except a telephone company operator, Lisa Jefferson. He explained three men were on board and one seemed to have a bomb tied around his waist. She told him about the planes that had smashed into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Mr Beamer said they had a plan to jump the guy with the bomb. He asked her if she would pray with him, so they recited the 23rd Psalm:

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…

Then they rushed the hijackers.
Miss Jefferson kept the line open. At 9.58am, the plane crashed, not at Camp David or the White House, but in a field in Pennsylvania. Jeremy Glick knew that he would never see his three-month old daughter again, Todd Beamer that he would never know the baby his wife is expecting in January. But both men understood that they could play their part in preserving a world for their children to grow up in. By being willing to sacrifice themselves, Mr Glick and his comrades saved thousands, perhaps including even the Vice-President and other senior officials. They were not passive.
One of the smartest observers of the American scene, Virginia Postrel, noticed something about these men: they were all technology-company executives. David Brooks, the author of Bobos In Paradise (“bobos” being “bourgeois bohemians”, the new ruling class) has been mocking these tech execs for years. They put their companies in low-rise identikit buildings in boring office parks, a feature of the landscape I have no strong views on one way or the other but which Brooks feels symbolises the deficiencies of the age:

Nowadays when you walk amidst the office parks, you see a country that is great but insufficient too - great in its scientific accomplishments, in its tolerance and in its industriousness.... and yet insufficient because of its self-satisfaction and complacency.

Warming to his theme, he comes close to indicting the office park as an un-American activity:

When you scan through the great figures who are supposed to represent the American spirit, almost all of them seem hopelessly out of place in office parks. We used to think America was a pioneer nation, but the people in the office parks haven’t thrown off the comforts of civilisation to strike out on their own: This isn’t the realm of the Puritan, the Cowboy, or the Immigrant.

So too you can’t fit George Washington in an office park. He may have embodied the American spirit when we were a nation fighting great wars for freedom and democracy, but it is hard to see Cincinnatus getting excited about an IPO.

Nor is it easy to imagine Lincoln parking his Chevy Suburban in one of the oversized spaces and fiddling with his Palm Pilot on his way to the morning meeting. Lincoln was too grand and too political for an office-park nation.

I don’t suppose Lincoln would have given his office park any more thought than he gave his log cabin. But, insofar as there were any consolations on September 11th, it was because of the heroism of the “office-park nation”. Why’s that so surprising? Thomas Burnett headed a company that’s making the devices that replace heart valves smaller. These men worked in the most dynamic sector of the economy, where people start their own businesses, develop new products, and maybe don’t worry enough about how swank their office is. Pace Brooks, they’re the new pioneers, the first settlers: they strike out for new territory – the undeveloped plot on the sub-division on the edge of town – throw up a rude dwelling and get on with the important stuff. According to a friend, Burnett was a “patriot”, a hunter and military history buff whose office had busts of Lincoln, Churchill and Teddy Roosevelt. It’s what’s inside the office park that counts.
Miss Jefferson believes she heard what were Todd Beamer’s last words: “Are you guys ready? Let’s roll!” Then they jumped the hijackers.
“That’s Todd,” his wife Lisa said. “My boys even say that. When we’re getting ready to go somewhere, we say, ‘C’mon guys, let’s roll.’ My little one says, ‘C’mon, Mom, let’s roll.’ That’s something they picked up from Todd.”
As it turned out, the men from the office park would have been instantly recognisable to Washington and Lincoln. They weren’t self-satisfied or complacent at all.
Could you or I do what they did? This will be a long, messy, bloody war, in which civilians – salesmen, waitresses, accountants, tourists – are in the front line. America will need more Todd Beamers and Jeremy Glicks, and not just in the air. The culture of passivity is spread very wide throughout the west - the belief that government knows best and that citizens have sub-contracted out their responsibilities to protect and defend their liberty.
We know now that, for all its promises, the Federal Government wasn’t up there over upstate New York when Flight 11 doglegged and began homing in on Washington. We know, too, that when you’re facing terrorists willing to kill and die that the decisive moments are the first – the few minutes before they’ve established control or killed their first stewardess. So the next time it happens, Americans have a choice: they can follow FAA guidelines – or they can say screw ’em and their worthless assurances, and rush forward to overpower the fanatics, even if the FAA has seen to it they’ve nothing to charge them with except the rubber chicken. If you want a name for it, try the “Minutemen” – after the men of the Revolutionary War who were pledged to take the field at a minute’s notice.
Across the placid, prosperous post-war decades, all the great words have been appropriated: if “courage” means facing up to your drinking problem, what’s left for a fellow on a business flight who jumps the whacko with the bomb? In his Inauguration Address, George W Bush enjoined the American people to be “citizens, not subjects” and, although no one paid much attention at the time, last week gave us some fine examples. Slate’s Mickey Kaus thinks nothing’s changed – that the sleeping giant will get bored, go back to sleep and this will all be off the front pages by Thanksgiving. But at least the horror and heroism of September 11th has usefully brought into focus the two alternatives the next time this happens (and it will, sooner than we think): you can be the kind of citizen who acts, or you can be the kind who just sits there and lets the Federal Government regulate his cutlery.
C’mon, guys. Let’s roll.

A Thousand Words...

2011-09-04T21:41:00.000-07:00

Summer is winding down and we've enjoyed a steady stream of gorgeous weather. We've also enjoyed having Rob (Nathan's big brother) and his wife Tiara in town as well as their little one (who doesn't make me miss having a baby even one little bit but who does make me want to make funny faces at a baby forever and ever).

Zac is no dirty, filthy hippie: "Ain't no party like a West coast party, cuz a West coast party don't stop..."

Laura painstakingly collected little white shells in this yellow bucket. Zac helpfully channeled that idea with handfuls of heavy nondescript rocks...

We shot over to Oswald West (our family favorite) yesterday--temps in the 80s, the lightest wind I've ever enjoyed and surfers as far as the eye could see. And, to top off this sweet sundae of fun, no one (not at all, America!) got burned.

Laura could stay in nature forever. Any day now, I expect that she'll have written me a note to the effect that she has left home to engage in falconry and to live in a hollowed out tree trunk. I am currently hiding every copy of "My Side of the Mountain" I can get my hands on.

Everyone came over to my house tonight and Grandma got a picture with her and all the grandkids. I got an even better picture.

Simplicity 4947

2011-08-28T14:52:00.000-07:00

I've been sewing clothes lately and have only recently stepped into the black void of pattern sewing. Sewing from a pattern has been an interesting trip--I find I am greatly inclined to do what I know how to do, sewing to my strengths and whatnot. But when I cut out and assemble a pattern, I have to do other things--zippers, darts, etc. Things I would never actually choose to do.

I really like vintage patterns (so much funner to sew something you KNOW you won't find at the store) and this one, found in the GW rummage bins for, like, 50 cents, said 'Jiffy'. (That's for me!) It was a awesome, awesome pattern to make my first dress on. I love the look in that blonde model's face. ("The secret plans for the nuclear weapons are mine, finally mine! I will crush them all!")

"Hey, Floral Print. (blows cigarette smoke into her face) Nice hair. Why don't you make me some coffee while I take over the world."

I had five yards of an off-beat Navajo-inspired print I picked up at the great GW for a song--I didn't love, love the print but figured it was cheap as dirt and...well, that's it, really. It was cheap as dirt. I wasn't going to cry if I botched the job. I began cutting at 1pm in the afternoon and finished up that early evening (with tons of downtime because I had to make a run to JoAnne's for a zipper and pick Jonah up from scouts). I left the hemline below the knee because Zac likes to roller-derby on my lap during sacrament meeting.

Box pleat!

But the neckline. I had added some inches to the pattern to make it fit my curves which was all well and good for my hips but the subtle boat neckline was bowing out like the lid of that carton of cottage cheese in the fridge, a month past its sell-by date. Kylene (a skeptical-of-my-Navajo-pattern Kylene) suggested a box pleat. Instant awesome. Zero effort.

Still, it needed a name. The print, as I mentioned, has a little Indian-style Southwestern thing going on which reminds me of 50s sweater-girl Jane Russell.

The 18-hour-bra for us 'full-figured' gals!

I saw an interview of her on the Larry King show, maybe 10 years ago. She was dripping in Southwestern turquoise. In my callow youth I was icked out. Turquoise. Only old ladies wore turquoise. Time has brought me around on the subject of turquoise. The rock has grown on me. And so has the idea of being over-dressed for Larry King.

I call this "The Eighteen Hour Dress"

Maybe this means I'm an old lady now?

Yes. I Like Oaks Park. Yes I Do.

2011-08-26T22:47:00.000-07:00

"Father. This is not a train."

Nathan had his office picnic today wherein we were all happily identified as IBM associates instead of the newly minted name of his division: Seterus. (Which, I know you'll agree, sounds like a bowel-regulating prescription drug whose only side effects are black-outs and frequent urination.) We had it at Oaks Park.

"Father. This is not a train."

Oaks Park is the red-headed step-child of Portland children's amusements. We don't have many full-on places to visit (the zoo, some good swimming pools, the coast, Great Wolf Lodge (two hours away)...) but I've never been before. Possibly because it's hidden like the fabled city walls of El Dorado. Possibly because everyone talks about it like it's that homely girl who shows up to prom looking less homely than usual and everyone agrees back-handedly that she's looking very nice...for her.

Not yet as white as she's going to get.

But I really liked it. Really. Even though it was hot and muggy. Even though I turned white (yes. I get whiter.) after too many spinning rides. Even though I rode the little railroad three times with Zac.

Granted, we didn't have to pay for it so I didn't have to answer pesky "was this worth it" questions but it had a fun little retro vibe and the sun on the river was gorgeous. And the bumper cars (which I did with Jonah as he was the only one tall enough) split the difference between safe and genuinely perilous nicely. (I have a scrape on my foot to that effect.) It was the best time ever.

The Week That Was

2011-08-08T22:42:00.000-07:00

or...The Tale of the 20-mile 50-mile Hike

In an unrelated aside, before the hike, Dad drove us over to Grandma and Grandpa Hanna's grave site and swung by a street in Green named for us! (How sublime is that?)

No one in the ill-fated group realized that it ominously comprised 13 people...

Let's get things out of the way by saying that it was a great week. It did not end up being anything like what I expected. I expected to backpack 50 miles down the North Umpqua River Trail with my son, father, best-y and assorted others. Only 13.5 miles of that happened as scripted.

Darling Kylene, gamely trying to enjoy herself...

The first stretch was called Dread and Terror. It all started so well--feasting on wild mountain Huckleberries, Lomollo falls, the really gorgeous Umpqua River. And as the other group broke away, the band of Kylene and her son and me and Jonah and Dad did our level best to make good time--figuring we were going about 2 miles per hour. We figured wrong and what a bummer for us. The hike was arduous but I felt like I was making it and Jonah was going along pretty well too. We had to adjust the packs a bit and I began wishing I'd been more ruthless in discarding items which had seemed so necessary at the top of the trail head (There's a gospel lesson in there somewhere, I'm sure of it. We'll call it The Parable of the Moisturizing Lotion.) but honestly, I was weathering the hiking part just fine.

Darrold "No Extras" Hanna

What I did not count on was the emotional toll being out in the middle of the wilderness would take. We had a map. We knew we weren't lost. We had no good ideas as to how far we had come in the seven hours we had been hiking. Added to that, the trail did not offer any camping areas. So, when we were all spent (about 10 miles in) we hunkered our little group down in the middle of the trail (steep hill going up, pitched trail, steep hill going down, roaring sound of the river, despair, etc., etc.). I had indigestion from the H2O2 water purification (and when my tum is upset, death seems so near) and at 3am desperately needed to go to the euphemism (during which I thought of being eaten by cougars). It was a very bad night.

This is my tent. Half of it was hanging off the edge of the trail. I felt like one of those hippies that lash themselves onto tree boughs to foil the plans of evil lumberjacks. I did not spend even one second sleeping and when the dawn arrived, the mosquitos pinged the net at the top as though to say, "Dibs!"

It was a bad night for the others as well. The next morning brought tears and a resolve to call down to Mom. She would bring us the van and we would do a series of day hikes as the other group went by surface. Nearly three hours later we achieved the trail head and I have never been prouder of my kid than at that time.


Words I would walk twice that distance to hear: "I learned a really valuable lesson on this hike; you gotta just keep going."

Yeah, none of that plan happened either. Kylene and I got a lift from a guy to a ranger station, met Chelsea the Virgin Receptionist (well, when you get to know someone for that long...), and accepted a ride back. Rescue was sure to come! But, it turns out that it was coming anyway. Everyone bailed on us. (And I took some comfort that some of the strongest bailers were from the swift and smug group.)

Done to death

Jonah finds an abandoned ax. Our trip improves exponentially.

Mild altercations with dirty filthy hippies happened which provided an excellent opportunity to use the muttered exclamation 'Dirty Filthy Hippies' with abandon. They were seriously cliche: Nakedness, banal unicorn bathroom graffiti, pan-handling dogs, drums (Drums, America! It was like a convention of cartoon hippies--Zappa from Hippie Accounting and Feather from Hippie Human Resources and Sunflower from Hippie IT...)

Dirty, filthy, NAKED hippies

Anyway, everyone left and then it got really fun. Dad and Jonah and I decided to do a bunch of the waterfall hikes. Tokatee,Watson, Susan Creek Falls, Little Falls (on Steamboat Creek). That last was so awesome. It was a series of waterfalls working their way around massive boulders. Dad told me that he used to take his little sister Sheila and Sandra-Mom there when they were all young and watching him there was like shaking hands with the past.

And then he jumped off a 15-foot rock into the churning pool below.

He yelled back to the stragglers: "If a fat old man can do it...!" So I had to do it too. And then Jonah did it. ("Grandpa's a daredevil.") It was so much fun. The sun was shining. We met some Londoners who had traveled thousands of miles just to be in Oregon for several weeks. We tried new things. Best day of the week.

"Pitch is an accelerant."

We spent the rest of the time just camping and hanging out. Dad taught Jonah all about fires, sawing down dead trees (really), whittling and other handy camping tips likely to lead to limb loss.

The log cabin fire was after the tepee fire.

I am so thrilled that we got to spend so much time with Dad. It was an amazing, amazing time. And when Jonah turned around from using the ax, holding his hand with a bent finger (as though recently hacked off), I knew the transformation into Grandpa's grandson was complete.

Don't get me started on when he chided Grandpa for sawing through a log (instead of sawing halfway and hitting it with the ax) by laughingly saying, in the words of Grandma Hanna: "Work smarter, not harder, Grandpa!"

Or when he stopped me from resting an ax in the ground by saying, "Don't put the ax in the ground, Mom. It makes it dull. And Grandpa says there's nothing worse than a dull ax..."

It was priceless.

Dead Primroses, Grand Pianos and Cosmic Questions

2011-07-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

So this is how it went down. Our ward was divided last week and the lead-up to it had been one of those delicious kinds of weeks full of good-natured speculation and baseless anxieties about where the new boundaries of the ward would be. And no one was thinking of Heidi Klum when they wondered if they would be in or out. (Okay, I was.)

Energia Street. You're in.

And so, last Sunday evening I was settling down to another week of delightful surmises. Our entire Relief Society presidency had been amputated and I was wondering how I would cope without Diane, the Counselor over my Activities Committee. (These were simpler times when we gamboled happily in sun-dappled meadows...)

When the Bishop called I did not know what to expect--certainly not this. But he wanted to see Nathan at the same time and I guess I knew it could be profound. After a half an hour of easing our anxieties, he asked me if I'd be the new Relief Society President. Yes, I burst into tears. (I think that on certain levels he must enjoy gobsmacking people like that.) And amid the weightier thoughts pressing my jaw onto the floor, I remembered my primroses on the front porch.

I murdered those primroses. Dead. There are some glorious geraniums out there blooming their heads off but our trip to California was too much for those little purple primroses. And I killed them. They were shriveled and dry and bearing mute testimony to the fact that I am an irresponsible and possibly horrible person. And the Bishop was asking me to be in charge of something a good deal more important than potted plants.

Like these but deader.

The first two days were spent weeping--not sorrow but a lot of anxiety mixed in with a lot of prayer. I may be the only person in the history of the church to have to read the administrative handbook with a box of Kleenex. Mom was amazing (but I repeat myself) to talk to. Counselors and a Secretary were chosen and called--one of the more profound spiritual experiences of my life. Nathan gave me a blessing. God held my hand.

I did what I could to prepare. I plucked my eyebrows (Don't laugh too hard. I hate that chore but it was something to do.), had my glasses fixed, engaged in a little retail therapy and employed a discretion unnatural to my nature.

Anyway, I spent way too much time this week being concerned about all the ways in which I wasn't very well suited to do this calling. But God loves his children. I know that. He has plans for me that I couldn't see and I was wasting energy categorizing, tabulating and footnoting my insufficiencies instead of having faith that he would fill me up and make me what I need to be if I let him. So, I've decided to let him and I think that will work out.

I read that wonderful talk from President Uchtdorf where he talks about the puzzle of moving a grand piano by lifting where you stand.
No calling is beneath us. Every calling provides an opportunity to serve and to grow...Whatever your calling, I urge you to see it as an opportunity not only to strengthen and bless others but also to become what Heavenly Father wants you to become.

So the upshot is that I've learned a lot this week. When I said I was too young for this Nathan told me I had four kids and a minivan and a mortgage and was not. Which was a dirty crack. (One's wife can never look too young or too thin or too hot, in my experience.) I've learned never to ever again use the words, 'They'd never give me that calling.' Because they might. No, not 'might' but probably will.

So, what do you think? Do I look like I could lead anything out of a paper bag?

I call my outfit:

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead....

Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

Dutch Courage

Red Tag

2011-07-15T21:28:00.000-07:00

I don't sew clothing from scratch and if you'll allow a broad metaphorical walk-about, I'll explain. It's like the difference between culinary savants (with the white hats and shapeless coats) and plain home-cooks. I don't bake cakes from scratch but I'll augment a boxed mix. (Which is literally not true. I really like to stick to the box mix and if I'm really lucky, I get Jonah to make it for me.)
So, I still find following patterns to be difficult but if I get my hands on a piece of cheap clothing I have no qualms about ruining it as I try to sew it better.

Such was the case with this little number I found at Target. The pluses are that it was way too big for me. (Large garments mean that you can salvage extra fabric in the resizing of it.) Also, it was really cute. (Too cute for me? I don't know. My attractiveness tends to plummet conversely with the proximity of ruffles to my face. I call it the Bozo Effect.) But most importantly, it was 75% off.

It was super low cut (Hello America!) and quite long so my first step was to pull the straps up to where I wanted them. That left me with nine or so inches of a double ruffle.
It was easy as pie to attach them to the arm holes.

Another couple of thread passes down the body of the blouse made it a little less likely that friends will begin speculating on impending blessed events.

I call it: Barbecue At Starlings

Niblets of a California Adventure

2011-07-07T21:11:00.000-07:00

The beach. Most of these children won't burn. Jonah is not one of them.

Pacific Ocean...Zac. Zac...Pacific Ocean.

The tsumani of grief swamped her when she thought of her mean sister taking her son's favorite cousin into the hinterlands of Colorado...

She didn't so much look good as finally look better than her sister... (P.S. Suzanne, are you water bending?)

Wilted flowers of Oregon

A totality of two hours and eight minutes waiting to take Spencer on Star Tours. Verdict? So worth it.

Yea verily, after the burn cometh the peel...

Simplicity 8017

2011-06-16T12:04:00.000-07:00

I've had a goal for a long time to make a piece of clothing from one of those paper patterns that turn-up at thrift stores. And when I saw this little beauty I knew it was for me. The elastic sleeves, the awkward bow...That's money, right there.

Making my first piece of clothing from a pattern (albeit one that uses the word 'Jiffy' on the front) is an awesome milestone. Sure, I fiddled with the (one piece) pattern (shortened the sleeves mostly) a bit but otherwise made use of my meager sewing skills (serging, cutting, ironing, bias tape application (this is the part where I would put dot, dot, dots but there are no dot dot dots. Those are pretty much the sum of my skills.)

Jiffy Girl

Special thanks to Miss Kylene for loving the top (and the lilac sprigged pattern on the fabric) and lending out her bias tape machine which I didn't even break.

I call it: Shaft! (in a garden)

Now, I gotta go find my clogs and channel some Pam Grier.

Day Five: Get Back on the Horse

2011-06-10T07:56:00.000-07:00

My big change for today is to make measurable goals. I'm not a fitness lover, I hardly ever do any formal work-outs...But that hike. It looms. So, it's been really easy to make time for exercise. And for the first time in my life I totally get why people train for marathons (well not totally get. Those people are still nuts.) It's because there's a set date and time at which the piper must be paid and a clear and distinct (if incredibly high) hurdle to clear at that time.
So, my tip for the day is: Set clear goals.

My tip for yesterday is, when you miss a day of work outs, don't spiral into a depressive doom. Start anew the next day.

Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater

2011-06-09T17:37:00.000-07:00

Thursday is the best day ever. The MIL takes my littlest stumbling blocks off my hands, leaving me to ~~clear the decks~~ make a mess of my own doing. I've been planning to update Jonah's room for a bit and even though we're not sure yet where that will be I've been collecting all the necessary features and biding my time.
As you know, all my collecting stories begin at Goodwill. I picked up this modern-ist piece of IKEA art there and really, if you like that sort of thing, it's not terribly bad. Sadly, it had a four inch gash in the canvas which might account for it being only $5. But it had a frame. I snagged it up and carted it home. (There to sit in my husband's parking spot in the garage for a week being a bit of a superior prat...but then it's a modern painting. What do you expect?.) But what was I to do with it?

I was stumped until the Oregon weather broke and gave us a sunny day with 70 degree temps. Time to put Zac in a romper! (Which is my favorite kind of boy clothes and I'm really really sad that this is the last summer my youngest kid will wear them.)

"Zoinks!" I said to myself. "Eureka!" I waited until the food that he'd dropped all over himself dried, then I ran it through my copy machine and then made a transfer.

Then, I was off to Deb's blog for a refresher on how to glaze a canvas. Wrapping it in newspaper was a must for this project. It stabilized the gash and smoothed out the texture that came on the mass-produced modern piece. (The newspaper that I ripped up had references to both BYU and Springfield. I mean, it's not exactly a sign that the Almighty blessed my efforts...Oh it is, you say?)

Then I painted the whole with one small bottle of True Ochre. I didn't really have quite enough to cover the whole thing--the canvas is quite big) but that turned out to be for the best, giving everything a lot of texture and dimension (those are words I learned in college). And then I added the glaze (which is really terrifying, btw)--but just on the bottom and I didn't wipe it away as much as Deb did on hers (because I'm a bit of a superior prat...).

I traced and painted on the black and then thought to myself, "Self. I don't think you need the three other colors. Sincerely, Your Artistic Eye."

I had to use the nail gun to get the old frame back on and Jonah kind of loves it. Did it actually take any skill? Nope. I'm a cheater.

Day Two: I Break All the Rules Like Evel Knieval

2011-06-07T21:11:00.000-07:00

I don't walk/run anywhere...

I've been meaning to do more daily walking (in anticipation of the Fifty Mile Great March of Familial Reconciliation and Cultural Advancement) and I reckoned that Nathan's absence (he's being dumped into a volcano to assuage the Scouting gods as we speak) shouldn't stop me. Jonah is old enough to watch the house after I've put the other kids to bed (well, him and the emergency room nurse next door...) and so I took off. Sadly, the only iPod that had any juice left in it was Jonah's.
I am so old that I usually listen to podcasts (--enriching ones. Ugh. Admitting that actually made me older.) but today I had my kid's musical selections to keep me moving.

There was some good stuff in there--perfect for the slacker run/walker I am. (Run/walking is walking fast until no one is looking and then running for a bit and then going back to walking when no one is looking but if someone is looking then you're going to have to suck wind until they turn or pass you or you pass out.). Here are a few selections:

Warm Up: Vanilla Twilight--Owl City
Duration: Hey, Soul Sister--Train
Hot Air Balloon--Owl City
Cool-Down: I've Got the Magic In Me--BoB featuring Rivers Cuomo

Whenever I'm asked for iPod running suggestions, I can't do better than:
Matador--Los Fabulosos Cadillacs
Go West--Pet Shop Boys

But, for pity's sake, don't run that fast.

And though there is a fine line between enjoying a little cross-generational musical styling and being credited as The Hip-Hop Grandma in an Adam Sandler movie, I daresay we could all branch out a little more. Tip of the day: Change it up.

Healthy Changes Challenge: Day One

2011-06-06T21:18:00.000-07:00

I have a lot to prepare for this summer and I've been putting off doing all the hard work that could turn a 50 mile hike from a bloody-minded giant (ready to swallow me up) into a pasty and puny beach goer ("There's sand in your eye!"). To that end, I was really excited when Rebekah put everyone to a five day challenge.
Day One: Three Things for Dinner

I know this one seems a little funny but I'm great at making main dishes. Side dishes are there (usually) and veggies are (mumble, mumble). Sorry. Didn't catch that. Was it something about lacrosse and soft ball? Yes.

So this week, there will be three things for dinner.

Dear Netflix,

2011-06-03T18:51:00.000-07:00

Banned

I love you. You know that, right? But there are some things I wish you'd change. (Sorry. In this case it really is you not me.) It's about that parental controls system...I'm sure you know what's coming. We love that you have them.
Believe me, those free-wheeling days when we didn't have to block anything were great. We really had it all. Stumbling across a forgotten classic, those wacky "Suggestions For Keira" (How can I tell you that Sponge Bob was a gift I never opened?), the instant gratification of clicking a title and watching it play. You were like a magical unicorn: Ala Carte Cable (think of it back-lit on the top of a hill with wind ruffling its shiny mane)--tons of Dominguez family appropriate viewing choices without having to pick up MTV.
But there were bad things about those days too...the Horror genre (not a fan) and the Independent films (don't you know my politics yet?)...not to mention the always chancy 'Recent Releases' category. How many Hallmark Inspirational movies would it take to keep the ubiquitous "I Am a S*# Addict" from popping up on my menu?
And frankly, it was getting to be a dog and pony show to make sure the kids didn't surf titles I didn't approve. So, we blocked you. Took the rating down to 'Nothing over PG 13'. Enter the days of wine and roses...Only they weren't.
You have an annoying habit of throwing out the baby with the bath water. My oldest can't watch those old MacGyver episodes (since they were on TV they don't have a rating), gone are all the really awesome old movies...the ones clean enough to have existed before the MPAA rating system--really racy stuff like All About Eve, Springtime in the Rockies and an entire catalog of Shirley Temple films. Zac can't watch 90% of his Thomas and Friends shows...or Bob the Builder (Thanks for doing me a solid there.). Dora and Diego seemed to have survived the purge...for now.
Sure, I can go and add them one at a time but it's kind of a pain in the rear.
So, I'd like to suggest that you make a function on your site for people like me. In a hundred questions, more or less, I'd bet that you could figure out that I'm never going to play anything from the Gay and Lesbian Erotica genre (or anything from the Erotica genre), that busty Japanese anime is also not going to fly, that MacGyver is cool but 90210 or anything else approaching that zip code is not, that I'm a little 'not over my dead body' about Glee...
I dunno. Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Maybe there's already a magic bullet to make my problems with you disappear. Maybe you think that it's your job to make me stumble on things I'd ordinarily not watch. (Shrug.) Anyway, I'll always love you but I wish I liked you more.

Ragbag of Enthusiasms and a Fevered Case of De-nial

2011-06-02T16:13:00.000-07:00

So...you all know Tia is moving...to Colorado...to be best friends and lifting-buddies with She-Who-Is-Dimpled-and-Must-Not-Be-Named. And I'm not really cool with it (if you were wondering).
But I digress.
She's really into couponing (Yes. A verb.) and has this massive (and curiously hideous) binder for all her organized foolishness. Because I love her (and in no way want to make her feel guilty--horribly, awfully, worm-ishly guilty) I decided to make her a fabric tote for it. The final product is cute (if flawed. I have this huge cold and feel a little muzzy so if, when I get it to her binder, it doesn't fit then this is all Tia's fault.)

I have a button which makes me cute.

Spencer matriculated from Little Green Apple this week. Gosh that kid is awesomeness. He loathed wearing the button up shirt and managed to slip on the back-wards hat (that seem to grow around our house like dandelions) to off-set the square-i-tude.His teacher, Teacher Teresa, is a Swedish immigrant and I sometimes wonder how many of her former pupils will find themselves seeking out Nordic blondes in future.

Too cool for school.

Zac got his first freckle this month and it's rare enough to notice your forth kid's first anything so I snapped a picture. (That's it right there high on his cheek pretending to be a spot on your computer screen.)

The journey of a thousand sun-spots begins with a single freckle...

And here's a picture of Uncle Kevin taking Jonah on his first motorcycle ride. I can almost image his death clutch finding an echo in my own feelings about Tia taking herself off to darkest Colorado...

Junk in My Trunk

2011-05-25T12:38:00.000-07:00

Since organizing my space above my computer last week I've felt the mulish muttering of passive-agressive-ism sound from the lower cabinets ("I knew she liked those cabinets better. She always liked those cabinets more. No, no, it's okay. We'll just lay here neglected and disarrayed. We don't mind. We're not complainers.") My drawers sound suspiciously like myself...Anyway, I had to admit, they had a point.

One trip to Target (for the organizing totes--maybe fifteen dollars), a ruthless willingness to consign my junk to Goodwill or the trash bag, and two hours of concerted effort and...Ka-Blamo!

I still have three more drawers and the printer/craft supplies cabinet to tackle but I'm on my way.

Take-aways: I think my plan in the event of nuclear apocalypse is to fashion weapons out of twist ties and Nerf bullets...

Nice Hair

2011-05-21T22:40:00.000-07:00

My MIL and I went to a Family History conference today which was kind of overwhelming. It was like standing on the edge of the ocean and being told you have to drink the ocean dry so that you can walk to Japan on dry ground. Bad news: I know nothing. Good news: I am beginning to know what I don't know.

She has been helping me navigate the Ancestry.com site as well and while I was tooling around today I found a picture of Sidney Albert Johnson Walley (father of Wirt Hamilton Walley). I don't think I've ever seen a picture of him but it's indisputable that he has a world-class head of hair as seen here:

May, 1964

The picture was taken at SAJ Walley's house near Sand Hill, Greene County, Mississippi. The photograph was taken by David Zachariah Walley of Chattanooga, Tennessee. David Zachariah was the grandson of Zachariah Walley, brother of SAJ Walley. The figure in the background is Ben Houston Walley, Jr.

Five Things: Day Five

2011-05-20T14:20:00.000-07:00

Today's projects are a little in the Potpourri for A Thousand, Alex category:

This week provided just the reason I needed to hang the artwork in Laura's Bunker. I had to build a frame for the PBN and my inexperience shows, unfortunately. Still, I learned a ton and got to break out my air compressor and will be awesome-er the next at-bat.

I still want to replace her bedding but this is how it looks to date.

I can't remember if I'd posted any of Laura's room so here's a freebie.

I've been drooling over Debbie's closet clean-outs this week and I knew I'd be kicking myself if I didn't straighten something up. Here are the ~~stinking pit~~ cupboards over the computer. The baskets were Dollar Store. The sweat was mine.

Before

After

Also, I've had a knob problem. I've been looking for some knobs for my desk redo and finally bit the bullet on these ovoid bad-boys. I think they look better in person (why can't I have Suzanne's magic camera?) but the point is that I don't have to open the drawers with bobby pins (for reals) anymore.

Five Things: Day Four

2011-05-19T07:50:00.000-07:00

I've had this canvas hanging around for a couple of years. Originally I bought it because we were staging my MIL's townhome in order to sell and we needed some art and accessories. It was Target clearance so didn't cost much which was a good thing as it didn't quite go in that house and it's never gone in mine.

I knew that this week would be a great chance to take care of it but I've been kicking too many ideas around in my head and nothing really spoke to me. So I thought about Laura's room and then remembered that Conference talk (don't remember who gave it) that suggested pictures of temples around the house. Bingo.

The lettering is already over the white paint and then I added a large patch of pink where the temple will go...

I wasn't really pleased with it--I'd made decisions too quickly and the temple is too small and the saying was just okay and the green is just screaming. So I had to think about it a little and remembered that I had these paper doilies up in a cupboard somewhere.

Too much negative space, no?

A little spray adhesive and paint pouncing later and they knocked down the green pretty well. I'm still not in love-love--if I had it to do over I'd have made the spires and the angel large graphic features and found a font I liked better. But I like it very well and it didn't take me any time at all. I'll hang it above The Ya-ya's bed. I call it: They Can't Call it Heaven if it Doesn't Have Spray Adhesive

Five Things: Day Three

2011-05-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

By day three I am seriously loving this idea. I have all these projects that I keep meaning to get to and, for one reason or another, haven't. One of my biggest Unfinished Projects is the molding for the family room bookshelves--the one Steve West engineered so that in the event of a flood or water landing we could use these suckers to rebuild our civilization from. But we didn't have the molding for the front...and then I did...but it wasn't painted...

...and then it was...

My second project involved dinner. I have very fond memories of eating chicken and dumplings as a very little kid and always wondered if the idea of liking boiled dough was youthful fancy or somehow based in reality.
I whipped up a batch of dumpling dough...

Got my chicken soup started...

Rolled out the dough...

...and enjoyed a peaceful meal where everyone sat together around the table and appreciated mom and her efforts without feeling the slightest need to get dressed for lacrosse or soft ball or have to be fetched from a friend's house while the clock is edging toward sport-y deadlines or pick at it with a grimace or sit by the door screaming their heads off...

At one point I was literally the only person sitting at the table as the four horsemen of the apocalypse were doing their best to avoid coming to dinner at all. (Nathan wasn't home yet.) I call it: I'll Give You Something to Cry About Chicken and Dumpling Soup

I must have been really mad because one husband and two children felt the need later to assure me that they really liked it and that I shouldn't just go buy a year's supply of frozen Costco dinners because no one around here really cares if their wife/mother made a home cooked meal or if a factory worker in Nebraska did. (Yes, the self-pity was really that Homeric.)

Five Things: Day Two

2011-05-17T07:04:00.000-07:00

It cost me a buck from GW and I've been using it as a 'Just rolled out of bed and I'm not ready for real clothes' shirt. Not that there was anything so very wrong with it but nothing so very right either except that it's a nice thick GAP shirt. Oh, and it's a man's shirt. I put one of my other shirts on top, pinned everywhere, used the serger (I'm going to have to figure out how to adjust the tension on that sucker.), cut off the arms, made a too big neck-hole (I'm not cut out for precision work, I think. I lack patience and good scissors...) and here's the result!

I call it: And on the Eighth Day, the Lord Created Cardigans

Five Things

2011-05-16T11:16:00.000-07:00

Debbie is such a do-er and, gosh, sometimes it's such a drag to call her up and have her go on and on and on about the room she just painted or the 4:30am wake-up call she has or the coffee cake she just whipped up or the horribly awesome drool-worthy Star Wars art she tarted up. Indeed, she is a woman of parts. A regular Renaissance Dan. So when she asked me to join her this week on her 'Five By Five' project I thought, 'Just the opportunity to ~~knife her in the back~~ show her what I can do'.
The rules are simple: Create or organize one thing each day for five days. Blog with pictures.

I found this great length of fabric last week ('Where, Keira, where?!' you ask. 'Silly minions,' I answer.) that had a big stain right in the middle. Since I had a project in mind (here) for a bold midi skirt I thought that it wouldn't be too terribly hard to cut the stain away and piece the fabric from there. Due to the magic of Stain N' Wash, not even that was necessary.

'The Von Trapp children have no need for playclothes. They wear uniforms.'

I cut it to the correct length and then gave it a deep (three inches or so) hem, executed a blind hem stitch (which is seriously life altering, btw), gathered the top, slapped on an elastic waistband and Voila!
My first offering I call Come Hither, Captain Von Trapp.

High on a hill lived a lonely goatherd....

PBN Strikes Again

2011-05-09T14:56:00.000-07:00

The inspiration picture (above) came from a post-card of Multnomah Falls.

I need a home office and, since the kids to bedrooms ratio is non-fungible at this point, I have to get creative. As with most of my best stories, it begins with a trip to the scary Goodwill. I picked up a big white board and unfortunately there was also a perfectly matched cork board right next to it. (I say 'unfortunately' as it was clear from the amount of foam-padded rolling chairs and soulless cube dividers that a business had just run head-long into inescapable economic realities.)

Sketching, sketching,...

I bring them home, hang the white board on my wall and it is just as ugly as I think it's going to be. So, I took some 1"x3"s and used my air compressor to nail them onto the cork board. (Along with a bead of wood glue.). Too bad it fit over the white board too well...I had to jig saw flat(ish) the front of one of the pieces of wood and then attach another piece to the top of that. That gives me all the wiggle room I need.
I had some left-over baseboard trim that I popped over the top of all that and I had myself a frame and a 'canvas' (the backside of the cork-board). It fits snugly over the white board and doesn't need hooks or hinges. When I want to use it I simply lift it away from the wall. As with my sewing, it doesn't pay to inspect the seams...

My difficulty came at the same time it did on the last project...mixing the paint. I have no sort of eye for it at all.

At this point I hate this painting. I'm rotten. It's awful. I am a failure of Homeric proportions...

And then I just get on with it already.

I love what the purple cliffs did to my self-esteem...

I like it but...

I call it 'The Cliffs of Insanity'

Shoot. I didn't ruin it or anything but made a style call that knocked away some of what I loved about those purple cliffs when I color wash the dark areas. (Which, in my defense, needed it as the paint isn't always as thick as I'd like and, since I don't mix colors to my satisfaction, needed, like a post-War Germany, unification.)

Oh well, it's done now and accomplished what I wanted it to...Cover up an ugly white board. Success!

What We Wore

2011-04-30T08:07:00.000-07:00

Gloves seemed like over-kill in the end.

Kylene looked fabulous in a large yellow rose and net fascinator.

Mine (below) by contrast looks modest (and I still had to maneuver carefully into the car).

My SIL came with and discovered the wonderful world of fascinators for herself....

The Royal Wedding? Heck Yes.

2011-04-29T07:26:00.000-07:00

Sadly, mini-Keira didn't realize that she would peak so early with her sartorial aspirations...

I don't remember watching the Royal Wedding--the first one when everything went so pear-shaped--but I vividly remember getting a new dress for my sister Debbie's 1980s wedding (I was four or five.). She went with yellow and, though my mom must have worked her fingers into bloody nubbins for weeks before to outfit the entire family in yellow, I only recall that it appeared out of nowhere and was the prettiest dress I'd had before or since; light buttercup yellow, wide white sash, puffed sleeves, an elastic neckline (that I would sometimes pull off my shoulders to look even more awesome) and a deep ruffle-y flounce at the top. I was gorgeous. And I remember, as clear as day, checking my bad self out in a mirror and thinking that with my short, feathered hair I looked just like Princess Diana. Little did I suspect she would steal my dress...

Fast forward thirty years.

Am I watching the Royal Wedding? I am so watching the Royal Wedding. (But why, Keira? Why?)
Can I summon up any nostalgia for the monarchy? I. Can. Not.

King George III--the 'he' mentioned so many times in the Declaration of Independence, as in: "He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures."

Am I an Anglophile? Er, the tiny island produced Milton, Donne, Shakespeare, Betty Neels, the trench coat, the Magna Carta (which incidentally is part of a long list of incidents that created the largely defunct constitutional monarchy we see today--the monarchy part, not the constitutional part), William, Wilberforce, English common law, the great-socking Bentley...So, yes.

But do I have no shame?! Look. I'm a proud small 'r' republican (in which the people, or some significant portion of them, retain supreme control over the government), and would have proudly carried pails of hot rifle shot to the beleaguered Patriots at Saratoga, Ticonderoga, Yorktown. Heck, one of my ancestors was scalped by a 'dastardly Tory'!

Molly Pitcher, hero of the Revolution, looks dashing in a full length Betsy Ross number of crimson muslin and white cuffs...

But doesn't this imply that I have silly wish to be an actual princess? Look. Not really. Anyway, no more than watching the NBA playoffs would give a man the idea that he could actually have a pro-level turn around jump shot.

Here's the beginning and end of it for me: Kate is a babe. Wills has nice teeth. And the fashion! Great googly-bear! The hats alone are worth the effort.

So I'll spend the day in a media black-out, fingers pressed over eyes and plunged into ears and watch it as civilized and sane people do...Dressed to the nines with a fascinator and gloves. (Pictures to follow.)

So You Think You Can Paint: Our 34th President, a School Projector and 5 Dollars Worth of Craft Paint

2011-04-27T09:37:00.000-07:00

So, I'm doing up The Ya-ya's room, prompted by Tia calling me one morning last week and saying, 'I have today free. Wanna paint something?' We get done applying the very bold pink on the wall and Tia needs a tinkle break...as you do. She comes back and says, 'I think you need to do a paint-by-number.' See, my kids' bathroom has some very large vintage PBN art in it (Over the toilet is a man on a horse which is all kinds of clever, no?) and I love how kitschy and interesting they are so, foolishly, I say yes. It helps that I snagged an overhead projector at GW a few months ago (for four bucks!) and that PBN images are all over the interwebs. So I printed off a likely-looking one (carefully avoiding faux-Indians, paintings of wolves, puppies, kittens, and naked ladies (Yes, apparently some people like to paint their nudie pictures.), took it to Office Depot and had them make a transparency (less than two bucks).

This is the original picture. You'll notice that none of my colors are exactly the same. One of the reasons I chose this image was that it blew-up in sharp enough focus to fill a sheet of computer paper.

Home again, I found an unused board in my garage (free and very large--it's about 3 and a half feet tall) and primed it white. I was able to sketch out most of the image using a very dark room and a lot of patience--some of the smaller details had to be worked out by hand (mostly in the watery reflection which you might notice is not some of my best work).

This is the pencil sketch. I want to go back in a Circle K telephone booth and warn myself...

I'm sure that Famous Bob of the Happy Little Trees would have much to take issue with in my technique. Mostly I just applied the paint in the order I wanted--without reference to lightest to darkest.

The blue in the sky and water (already covered up) had to be done again as I started out way too dark.

Some of the thin craft paint needed a couple of coats and some of the colors that I mixed (yes, I had to mix most of the colors as the craft paint selection was limited--this was the most maddening part of the process because if you've mixed the paint you have to finish every bit of that color on the board so you don't have to replicate the mix again) weren't quite correct. Shrug. If you tackle this project, you will be shrugging a lot too.

Adding the white was unsatisfying and awfully painstaking as it was merely covering up the primer.

Adding the black was a joy.

Even though the final picture is a bit reflective (the actual painting isn't very much), the risk of boogers (yes, I said boogers. I have three boys, do I not?) winding up on the board requires a protective polyurethane finish.

It took maybe four days on and off--I didn't work flat out and it helped that Zac The Demon Baby of Bethany was possessed by angelic fairies this week. I still have to build a frame for it and install it in The Ya-ya's Revolutionary Bunker.
My thanks to Tia who is probably a sadist, the basement trolls keeping the internet running and our 34th president, Dwight Eisenhower, for liberating France and blazing the paint-by-numbers road.

Dominguez Family History Shorts

2011-04-18T15:38:00.000-07:00

Nathan wanted to know more about how Robert Riley Johnston (JoAnne's father) got to be a welder:

How to Make A Love Bower in 14 Easy Steps

2011-04-08T22:50:00.000-07:00

Step One: Have the good luck to be born into a family of helpful (read: heavy lifting) sisters. Be sure that one of them is acquainted with the theory of Scope Creep and that the other is lippy--spouting homey Dan Rather-esque aphorisms like 'You're doing that stupidly' and 'You listen like a dead horse.' Missing this step makes your project nigh on impossible but, as the Japanese assure us, robot technology is sufficient for many tasks!

The R-2 unit could juggle ping pong balls but didn't know squat about drapery...

2: Marry the right man (His name doesn't have to be Nathan but I can't say it doesn't help.) without whom your Love Bower would just be a bower-bower. (Can you hear the sound of deflated suck-i-tude I am making?)
3: Begin married life in a concrete basement apartment. Make furniture purchasing decisions based on the 'We'll only have this crap for a couple of years' School of Interior Decorating. Bang the pieces together with a gnawing sense of unease.
4: Marinate in a heady stew of babies, destructive toddler men-children, new home mortgages, student loans, and a more than faintly Daoist 'We'll get to it when we get to it' philosophy. Yes, being philosophical will stand you in good stead during these long, nearly 13 desert-wandering years.

His decade of rigorous meditation, striving to purge the need for harmonious bedding from his spirit, was suddenly shattered when he inadvertently leafed through the Restoration Hardware catalog...

5: Become deaf to the sound of your soul being sucked each time you cross your bedroom threshold. While it leeches you of the will to live the upstairs-four-walls-with-door serves several functions: Place to sleep, place to walk through while brushing your teeth, place to dump all the impedimenta of family living (laundry, scout manuals, snow clothes, your aspirations for a cohesive decorating plan...)
6: Have your husband's company move to Houston. They'll feel so guilty about it that, even in these troubling economic times, there are sure to be financial dividends.
7: Shop for furniture. Such a simple step but so fraught with pitfalls. Do you take your children? Hire a sitter? To answer I refer you to famous long-distance marches...Napoleon's retreat from Saint Petersburg, the Long March, Bataan...all delightful excursions sure to engender semi-murderous family feeling. This step can be exactly like those (without most of the war-crimes naturally...probably).
8: Scope Creep. Now you've got a bed and dresser--a solid foundation on which to build your oasis of serenity but you've been lolling about in the shallow water for a few weeks waiting for inspiration, like a ravenous Great White looking for a gimpy harbor seal, to bite. Call the sisters. The harmless-looking one with the lifting eyebrow will start things off.
9: Shop your home. Anyone can have crap in their house they can't stand. Winners have crap in their house they are willing to make awesomeness out of. Are you a winner?

Yes.

10: Shop Goodwill--not the swanky one, the scary one. Great heavens above, is there anything that smells better than the bearded transient in the morning? This is the place where nightstands go to die and if you're willing to brave the fires of Mordor and pluck them off their Happy Hunting Grounds (where all bedside lamps are incandescent and all dental retainers are kept in containers), you can save yourself a mint. Sure, you could get a matched set with the other furniture but not only does that show a staggering lack of imagination, you also have four children to see through college.
11: Paint like the wind. And stain and cut wood trim (This is where that 'You're doing that stupidly' will cheer your harried spirit.) Use a big saw--it most likely won't cut your thumb off.

The thought bubble over your sister's head reads: 'Gomer.'

12: Carry everything up a flight of stairs and, if there are more than two people working on the project, consider breaking your arm.
13: Show the husband. Here is a crossroads. You might choose to make threats to his future happiness and sleeping arrangements before walks in. I carry a shiv. Neither choice is more right that the other. It's a stylistic call...
14: Put down the shiv. He likes it!

Dominguez Family History Shorts

2011-04-03T15:37:00.000-07:00

So I'm trying out a new little project. My fabulous mother-in-law, JoAnne, agreed to sit down with me and film little family history shorts (roughly a minute or less even though I agree that that's an inadequate amount of time. But something is better than nothing.). This is her first one about her mother's mother, Eunice Mae Potter Emerick.

Canasta! How cute is that?

Are You My Mother?

2011-03-26T14:21:00.000-07:00

Love the voices. Love the reading. Love that Zac and Spence are working on their own version. (Though my film-making skills were too slow to catch Zac saying 'Up, up, up! Mother! Da End.')

Tale of Two Projects

2011-03-05T08:56:00.000-08:00

So, I spent some time on home beautification this week (and no, those weeds in my bark mound out back haven't been vanquished). I was inspired by my people (blogging pasty types) on the inter-webs to tackle some projects that I've been wanting to try for forever. I lifted the idea for the 8-foot-long airplane from The Cre8tive Outlet (Debbie wants one) and the silhouettes from One Pretty Thing.

Family Home Evening

2011-02-07T20:25:00.000-08:00

So, it looks as though the 2011 Great Flu-Watch is finally passing us by. Nathan and all four kids got it (not simultaneously) which I am trying not at all to avoid taking as evidence of my superior genes. (Pride goeth before the flu in...3...2...1)

We were even able to have FHE tonight with a semblance of normalcy (no barf-bowls sitting by anyone's elbows). Zac did the cutest thing (we've had a week of superlatives with him--Most times his bedding was soiled and washed, Biggest Dominguez Blow-out (armpits, people, armpits), etc....). Nathan was wresting with the older kids on the floor and Spencer got a little rug burn on one ear. There were tears. Zac hopped off my lap and toddled over to the Kleenex box (reaching and reaching for it), snagged a tissue on his tippy-toes, toddled back to Spencer and practically gouged his eyeballs out with his thumbs and then wagged the tissue back and forth across Spence's face. He was wiping up the tears! He then crouched down and said (as one would talk to a deaf invalid), 'Spencer!' Then he hugged him and toddled the tissue to the trash.

That kid is going to be the death of me but he's horribly adorable nevertheless.

Being a Mother

2011-01-30T12:49:00.000-08:00

Zac has not developed a massive mole. He's sucking on a nerf bullet.

I've mentioned the book, Mrs. Miniver, a few times before but something happened this week to remind me of this passage (which begins with an introduction by a reviewer):

So much of the fun of parenthood lies "in watching the children re-make, with delighted wonder, one's own discoveries". On Christmas morning, when they burst in shortly after six to open their stockings: how odd, she reflects, that the tangerine in the toe of the stocking lingers even though children get a good supply of fruit all the year round.
This is one of the moments -- when the stockings are being opened, and the dawn is breaking, and she can hear the distant tinkle of teacups -- which Mrs. Miniver feels

paid off at a single stroke the debit side of parenthood: the morning sickness and the quite astonishing pain; the pram in the passage, the cold mulish glint in the cook's eye; the holiday nurse who had been in the best families; the pungent white mice, the shrivelled caterpillars; the plasticine on the door-handles . . . the alarms and emergencies, the swallowed button, the inexplicable earache, the ominous rash appearing on the eve of a journey; the school bills and the dentist's bills; the shortened step, the tempered pace, the emotional compromises, the divided loyalties, the adventures continually forsworn...

Isn't that what it feels like sometimes? You're about to be buried alive by a mountain of petty frustrations ('I've made that stinking train track six times already. Stop messing it up if you want to play with it!') and then you're handed a gift that transcends them in a second.

Zac takes a bath in the sink and hands out transcendence.

Jonah was making his lunch this week and was thinking out loud.
Him: Mom. Dad. Child abuse is wrong, isn't it?
Us: Yes, of course it is wrong.
Him: It would be like me taking advantage of Spencer because he's so little.
Us: Yes. What made you think about child abuse, Jonah?
Him: I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have a safe home and parents who love me...

... paid off at a single stroke the debit side of parenthood...

Thank you God for letting me be a mother.

I also ran across this article this week titled 'Why We Have Children '. I love this passage:
In retrospect, however, my life prior to parenthood was like a symphony constrained to a single note. In the year that followed my daughter's birth, I felt—really felt—the whole spectrum of human emotions, the depth and richness of human experience. Through my daughter's eyes, I remembered wonder. Her laughter and unbridled joy reminded me why the world is good. She was a vessel of grace, a sacrament, and she returned me to life.She made me human. We make children who make us.

Spencer

2011-01-12T15:01:00.000-08:00

Spencer, randomly while playing a video game: Our Master is Jesus Christ, right?
Me: Right.
Spencer: And we're the sheep, right?

Dear Four,
I love you. I don't ever want you to go away.
Sincerely,
Thirty-four

How To Stain Your Banister in 19 Easy Steps

2011-01-07T18:31:00.000-08:00

Step One: Move into a house. Glower at the honey-oak banister. Wait four years.

2: Ask yourself several important questions, such as: Is my baby old enough for me to ignore his cries for an hour past his nap time? Is he too short to reach the banister? Does he respond to threats and the sound of terror? If you answered 'yes', then this project could be for you!
3: If the answer is 'no', return to step one and continue to glower.

4: You have chosen to complete a tedious and time-consuming task. You must accept the consequences. Cleaning the house is no longer a priority. Cooking dinner is no longer a priority. Nurturing your children is no longer...ha ha! Naturally, I am kidding. Of course the children have to be nurtured! Meet your new babysitter!

TV is the best!

5: Choose a stain. I did it while on a frantic and rain-drenched night out with my three youngest children. But this may not be the right method for you. There is a simple calculation to determine how long you should spend choosing stain: C * Y/D + G= P (Where c is the number of children in your cart and y is the number of years you have glowered at your banister and d is the proximity to bed time and g is the number of times you have Googled home improvement blogs and p is the number of minutes you should wait before heading to the check out. A more precise calculation might be found if you factor that number by s (the number of times they've begged for a snack) but this is only stain and we shouldn't get carried away with ourselves.)

6: Tape off your spindles.

'We're haunted!' says Spencer.

7: Start sanding. The process moves quickly if fueled by marital discord. But if you, like me, have a difficult time being legitimately out of sorts with your significant other, a happier Bollywood alternative can be yours. Turn on the mellow sounds of Tujh Mein Rab Dikhta Hai, apply the abrasive sandpaper and shake your money-maker. (I used 150 grit but if you're having a particularly trying time with your youngsters, your bare eyeballs might do the trick.)

8: Let your adorable two-year-old help you and pause frequently for hugs. He'll want to remember touching you when you get to the part where you start staining and he will be being raised in the loving, eco-friendly embrace of Go, Diego, Go! You'll want to remember that you ever found him adorable.
9: Update your Facebook Status. See? You're awesome already.
10: Stir the stain. No, seriously. Stir it. Now.
11:Using a 2" brush (No, using a series of 2" brushes--now is no time to consider your carbon footprint. These things are a beast to clean and we don't want little left-over stain granules transporting themselves to a fresh coat.), dip ever so slightly into the stain and press excess out on the sides of the series of plastic freezer-jam boxes that litter the back of your container drawer. Also, if you're not feeling wasteful enough, burn a pile of old tires. That would be awesome too.
12: Keep a roll of paper towels (I know, I know, they're not lint-free but they were handy.) near to wipe off excess (and there will be excess).
13: Apply, apply, apply, apply.
14: Meditate on that defective newel post in 'It's a Wonderful Life'. Ask yourself why, if you can strip and re-stain an entire banister, no one bothered to slap a little gorilla glue under that thing. Talk about glowering...
15:After applying the last stroke of stain and congratulating yourself on a job well done, put down the plastic container a mite carelessly and spill a little stain on your landing carpet. While taking deep calming breaths into the handy paper bag you keep in your back pocket, run (RUN!) to the deadly chemicals cabinet. Lather, rinse and repeat. Write your first ever fan letter to the good folks at Resolve and thank your lucky stars for the millionth time that you popped for the spendy carpet.

Dear husband never has to know...

16: Polyurethane and cross your fingers that you're not messing it all up.
17: Update your Facebook status. (If someone is awesome and nobody knows, are they really awesome?)
18: Tell your sister, friend, in-law, cousin, aunt, daughter or the next person who asks, that no, there is no way on earth that you will help them do their banister. Tell them to figure it out themselves. Mention something about Yankee ingenuity, the Founding Fathers, John Phillip Sousa, Amelia Earhart and Michelangelo (mostly Michelangelo--after spending a week tucking myself into unnatural positions around my stair rail, I most definitely feel an affinity to Michelangelo).

19: Now go sit down and enjoy a tall glass of demon rum. (That's right. You took up drinking.)

Tasty Morsels

2011-01-01T22:31:00.000-08:00

It's the new year and I feel like I haven't blogged in forever so excuse the dump here but I'll try to throw a tiny taste of everything at you:Laura's baptism--What a great day. My dear friend, Kylene, made Laura a little demi-veil which The Ya-ya rocked along with her white dress and sweater. (Oh, dear. Can we talk fashion at a spiritual event?) Zac went right up to the font (thankfully, some genius had decided to make a little glass wall between the font and the viewing area...I wonder which kid fell in, necessitating that decision...) and was yelling, 'Ya-ya!' or 'Wa-wa!' (water)--we really couldn't tell but it was full of enthusiasm. Nathan dipped her nicely (first time was the charm--Uncle Vince and Uncle Kevin were the witnesses) and then I got to go back and help her change. It is killing me that I only have one daughter and that this was it as far as getting to participate right after goes. (I had no idea the awesomeness I was missing. When Nathan changes the boys my only role is to sit in a pew and wonder what's taking them so long...) She was chattering and lit up at the same time. I can hardly believe she's eight.

I turned 34! (The villagers rejoiced.)

Zac turned two which means he'll be three in just one more year!
Seriously though, he is way, way better than he was six months ago and I'm crossing my fingers that he'll be even easier six months from now...
One of my New Year's resolutions is to enjoy him more. He gives the best hugs (nothing in this world is better than Zac's hugs) and each time he does, a little of my battle-hardened and world-weary Let's-Just-Get-Through-His-Babydom-ness melts away. So now, when he's cranky and asking me to read yet another round of books (this kid likes books like I like oxygen), I'm putting down my 409 and letting him lead me over to the couch to plow through the complete works of Richard Scarry, that Transformers book I wish I'd lose and Mungo and the Spiders From Space. Life is better but the house is a little fuzzy around the edges...

Like I Have Nothing Else Going On...

2010-11-24T15:37:00.000-08:00

I threw together some quick crafts this week while I was housebound (due to carlessness and some cold, cold weather). Here are some brooches that were super easy to do (here's the blog link) and out of the most toss-away fabric. They're supposed to be out of polyester but the red is out of some satin-y material (hey, Tia, happy birthday) and the bottom is out of an old mu-mu (it was the first polyester fabric I grabbed out of my stash). It took maybe 15 minutes. I think I'll try to do some more with fabric I might actually wear.And then, I was chatting with Suzanne on the phone today and knocked out this little number in 25 minutes or so. I traced a really large 2-page atlas map onto computer paper, taped that onto some index paper (from that same atlas) and exacto-knifed it out and then inked it and mounted it on plain white children's-science-fair poster board. Easy-peasy rice and cheesy.

Vid of My Kid

2010-11-18T09:09:00.000-08:00

The literary stylings of Spencer to his little brother Zac. My littlest little bug adores Green Eggs and Ham.

Blue Hawaii

2010-11-14T20:39:00.000-08:00

In a serious quest to recreate any moment in Elvis' classic film Blue Hawaii, but failing to find any hint of racial antipathy, loose bikini tops, lushy tabacco socialites or Elvis impersonators (honestly, why isn't Oahu chock-a-block with doppelgangers of the King swanking about in bedazzled capes and belt buckles you could paddle home in?), I had to settle (did she just say settle?!) for my own little Hawaiian paradise.
Day One:
My cousin Bret picks us up at the rental car place. When I was a very little girl, Bret was my cousin who looked like he stepped out of a White Snake video. He had hair more than half-way down his back and I would remind myself that his name was Bret because it looked like he should be wearing more barrettes. (I was full of logic even then.)
He is bald.
But it works for him.And even now, being around him feels a little White Snake-y. Where Bret goes, so goes the party.
We stopped for dinner with Aunt Sheila and Kim and it's lovely to be mothered like that (Do you need towels? Snorkel gear? Umbrellas?, etc...) more than 2,000 miles from home.Day Two:
We drove on up to Laie (which we persisted in pronouncing in every variation possible) and went through the temple Open House. It is a gorgeous renovation. See it.And then we went to the Polynesian Cultural Center for the remainder of the day (where Steve had a crisis of faith over the bare chests and coffee urns). It was enormous fun touring with Nathan ...we had a great time...
But the Lord was wroth with his people. He told Noah to build a mighty ark and not to let anybody else in it. Then he would open the heavens and the rains would come down and the flood would come up...

Yeah. It rained. Torrents. That big, fat Hawaiian rain.Our hair did this the entire time but this passes for attractive in Hawaii

But you know what?
We were in Hawaii--and that's a glass half full (even if the water in the glass had to be wrung from my clothing).
We caught the new show at the end of the night which was way better than the old show. See it.
Day Three:

I met the 'Country Women's Association' in the lobby of our hotel. No not really. But they so totally mimicked those faintly outback ladies in Babe who ooze with domesticity and cozy figures (read: grandmotherly plump bottoms). Honestly, it was the highlight of my day. They had come 3,000 miles from 'The Country Music Capital of Australia' (though they did not imply that they had even a speaking acquaintance with a steel guitar) to vacation together. They took Nathan's and my picture and were satisfactorily surprised when they found we had four children. (What shall I do when people are no longer surprised? Have grandbabies, I suppose, and shock them with that?)Nice ocean you got there...be a shame to clutter it up with stranded swimmers...

We went swimming at the beach and then picnic-ed and kyack-ed and paddle boarded and very nearly were swept out to sea. Of course, we weren't very nearly swept out to sea but I have the same sort of feeling about the ocean that Reagan must have had with Gorbachev--Trust but verify.
Day Four:
Sabbath.We got out to Pearl Harbor first thing in the morning. What a beautiful Sunday morning--late in the year--8am... It was deeply meaningful before I went but it means something else altogether to look into the ocean, the oily water eddying in the harbor, and realize what it means to visit--not merely a sunken ship--but a cemetery.

And then we went up to church--a gorgeous one up on Beretania. See it.That's right. This is a Mormon church.

We paddle boarded some more which was, again, so cool but more importantly ate garlic chicken at a little beach snack bar. Garlic chicken, I miss you already.

But our final activity of the day was mind-blowingly Awe. Some. Bret's wife, Andie, is stationed on the U.S.S. Paul Hamilton (I think I've got that right), a Naval destroyer (which I am sure you will agree is the best name for a kind of ship--neither as 'don't-have-a-date-on-Saturday-night-because-I'm-so-bone-ugly' as 'frigate' nor as 'would-you-like-mai-tai's-on-the-poop-deck' as 'cruiser'). What to mention?:

Ear-popping, pressurized doors?
Coffin lockers (the sheer psychological weight of that nickname would make me need Huggies and a thumb every stinkin' night!)
Man-overboard dummy (they gave it a name)
Standing at the wheel (I touched it!!!--I did not try to turn it as I am not lost to all reason.)
Watching Andie snap to attention as they retired the colors
5-inch guns called 'little'
Sadly, at no time would she tell me in answer to any of my myriad questions, 'If I told you the answer I would have to kill you...' But I don't have any pictures because she would have to put me in a death hold known only to the US Naval Corps. (Totally true.)

She had us up and down every ladder in the place and I was just very humbled by what an enormous thing it would be to make my home there for months at a time. (Yay U.S. Navy!)
Day Five:
Snorkeling at Hanauma Bay was my favorite activity of the trip. Getting over the 'I'm-not-supposed-to-breathe-under-water' thing took a minute but I cannot tell you how great it was. Sure, I embarassed myself over an eel (Settling the question,'Can you scream under water?' once and for all.) and got to see some fabulous wildlife (most of which did not make me scream) but the best was getting to 1) Learn something new and 2) Exert myself fully without a four-year-old hanging off my arm and a toddler at my feet and my 10-year-old asking for something... I had so much fun.And then we went and saw a ton of sea turtles which was also a bit better than having a brick dropped on your foot.
Bret should probably get paid for being a tour guide or whatnot...
Day Six:
We went on a helicopter tour on our last day. I took Dramamine and had 'comfort bags' (poorly named or genius? You decide.) within reach and fresh air blowing fully bore on my face was not quite enough to stave off nausea but I did not toss my cookies anywhere.
It was really interesting but I think I'll just send Nathan next time.
We're back, it's 40 degrees colder here but it is a lovely thing to miss my babies and another lovely thing to get away with my sweetheart. I spend all my time when I'm away from them wanting to mother every little kid I see and I honest-to-goodness love coming back to them.Thanks to Grandma and Aunt Heidi and Uncle Vince and Aunt Tia and Uncle Kevin who made all our kidlessness possible.

Mother of All Ya-ya s

2010-10-25T12:07:00.000-07:00

What's it like being Laura's mother? A little taste, if you like:
We are having an Invitation Sunday in our ward in a few weeks. That's one of those events that I don't really pay much attention to unless it is to feel mildly guilty that there isn't a snowball's chance in Oahu that I'll invite a friend and acquaintance to church. I'm very shy about that sort of thing--Dad, it's no use telling me you raised me better...I know.
But Laura clutched her invitation eagerly. "I'm going to invite Jayden!" Oh dear, I thought going into instant wussy mode. That family. They don't seem very church-y. They're going to think I put my daughter up to it. They're going to think I'm some kind of fundamentalist or something. This is bound to be awkward. These and other similarly unworthy thoughts were thunk in my brain.
When we got home Laura wrote on the back of the invite: 'Don't dress in play clothes. Dress in these.' (And drew some pictures of skirts and tights and button shirts and whatnot.) And then she told me she was nervous. ('Great!', I thought. 'We don't have to do it.')
"Mom, could you come with me?" With a great deal of relief I told her I had to cook dinner. 'But we can say a prayer if you're nervous,' I offered in a horribly weenie way. So we knelt and she offered a simple prayer. I also practiced with her what to say (seriously, she was more nervous than I've ever seen her.) and then offered Nathan to go with her. (Ugh. I hate myself.)
And they did it!
Jayden was gone but they talked to his mom and, though they sound like they might come (all together), that wasn't the point. So here's what I learned people:

My daughter is incredible. She was so scared to do it but didn't let that stop her. Laura told me that her teacher told her that when she chooses the right her heart sings and that maybe that was what was happening to me. My mommy-heart sang.
The gospel isn't called 'good news' for nothing. I think I should be a little less apt to assume that folks wouldn't ever want to hear it. I'd never take offense if someone invited me to their church. I might not go but I wouldn't act like they'd made an obscene gesture. But isn't that what I expect from others?

Anyway, then Laura came home and wrote a letter to 'The Friend'. Filled up the whole page, she did. That's my girl.

New Job

2010-10-08T21:34:00.000-07:00

It's not you. It's me.

A couple of years ago Nathan was told that his company would be closing their Portland office and moving to Houston, Texas. 'Eek!' we thought. 'Houston has bugs!' In all seriousness, we never considered moving.

Houston does have bugs and I am the kind of housekeeper who needs a little window before whisking her kitchen back into apple-pie order. In Oregon, I have been known to leave the dishes until the morning. Would Houston not repay this vile act with a plague of Biblical proportions?...Just so.

Also, Houston does not live next door to the Alberts. I don't know if you live next door to the Alberts but you should try it sometime. Where else would empty nesters tolerate and educate a whole slew of neighborhood terrors, allowing them free access to their gorgeously manicured yard and in-ground trampoline accompanied with a sort of Andy-Griffeth-like-bon-homie-and-folksy-correction when necessary and an endless fund of paying chores? Not Houston, I'll tell you that right now.

Anyway, this is all prologue to the good news. Nathan accepted a job offer from IBM and I'd have to be the biggest brat in the world to complain that it begins on the Monday after his last Friday at TransCanada. ('No funemployment!') It's in Beaverton, btw. Not Houston. Win.

O, TransCanada. I think I will miss most telling hipster enviro-canvassers that we are The Man and they can take their solar panels and plant them where the sun...ahem.

Sick as a Dog

2010-09-26T09:22:00.001-07:00

Evidently a fever and chills and streaming head cold does not constitute more than a gnat on the windshield of my Crafting Train. I was a bit housebound this week and came up with a couple of projects that I could knock out with VERY little effort
The Monogram:Hey look, I didn't rotate it. Too bad because I'm not going back and fixing it. I found a D on the internet that I liked and, in a way Nathan would disparage as 'quick and dirty', held a paper up to the computer and traced it out. I then took a picture of it, inserted it into a text document, enlarged it and then hit print. I taped that to a piece of brown card stock and used my exacto knife to go around the edges. (Happily, as you can see, I choose a rustic monogram that didn't need precision because I was not in a precision frame of mind.) I then glued that monogram onto a page of an appendix (a D page--Laura noticed!) from an atlas that I had inked up with china blue distressing ink. Popped it in the Goodwill frame and voila!
The Pear:

I had a RS Activity Committee meeting this week and we're talking about what to give/make for our Gratitude Dinner we're planning for November. I had a brainwave and thought it would be fun to do paper mache pears (please do not ask what pears have to do with fall/thanksgiving/and whatnot) and attach a gratitude quote as the leaf. I may hate myself for this later.
I took one of those water balloon balloons (which are tiny) and blew it up. Like a monkey playing chess I was attempting to make the top narrow a little (in a pear-like manner) with little girls' rubber bands (which were sliding off and being useless) when Nathan said, why not tape? Grrr. What a genius I'm married to. A little scotch tape around the balloon looked perfect. Three layers of newspaper (I stuck a hot glued twig into the top after the first layer and then paper mache-ed around the stem thereafter) and thinned modge podge, two or three layers of 'King's Gold' paint from Apple Barrel Colors (I'd like to do a green pear too but didn't have the time), a wet toothbrush dipped into chocolate brown paint and sparingly spattered...And there you go. Putting the pear into an oven set at 200 degrees to help it dry out faster and having a blow dryer around to make the paint set helped make this quicker. I think a batch of 10 would be a darling centerpiece or table setting ornament (or Christmas ornament come to that).

First Day of School: The Big Reveal

2010-09-07T20:52:00.000-07:00

Don't let them fool you. They care.
A lot.
Jonah's studied air of 5th-grade casualness is a front. He's been breaking in those Cons and skinny (ish) jeans for a week.
Laura is condescending to be photographed--going through the bourgeois motions of these little traditions in an ironic manner, thinking to herself, 'This is going in the Presidential Library so let's make it count.' Inside she's hoping that those two fingers aren't misconstrued as a peace sign by the judicial nominating commission...

Silly faces. Yeah, Mom. We'll do silly faces. Have we told you yet how old we think you're getting?Okay kids, now show me how you really feel!

And for those who only read the blog for Laura's fashion tips, lets have a break-down:

Last year's lunch box. I'll be honest, The Ya-ya is not thrilled. But this year, if she comes home talking about how Daddy's job is killing polar bears, I'll tell her that's why we didn't buy her a new one.
Tinkerbell leggings, top and attached drape. Not my choice but for once she wasn't wallowing in pink and I'm one to thank heavens for small favors.
Color-blocked back-pack. Thank you Target clearance!
Skirt? Yes. Does it match? The Ya-ya thinks so and you better too if you want to survive the purge.

Mockingjay--Wherein I Reveal Spoilers and Ruin the End

2010-09-05T21:46:00.000-07:00

I've been obsessed recently by the YA Hunger Games trilogy and though I have a million other things to blog about and though you couldn't possibly care less, since I finished the last one a couple of weeks ago I've been engaging in some mental moil that I need to offload.

Now, if you're reading The Hunger Games or have not yet (but intend too at some point) read it, I'd really recommend skipping this.

The plot of the first book is thus: A gripping story set in a postapocalyptic world where a replacement for the United States demands a tribute from each of its territories: two children to be used as gladiators in a televised fight to the death.Katniss, from what was once Appalachia, offers to take the place of her sister in the Hunger Games, but after this ultimate sacrifice, she is entirely focused on survival at any cost. It is her teammate, Peeta, who recognizes the importance of holding on to one's humanity in such inhuman circumstances. She has the attributes to be a winner, where Peeta has the grace to be a good loser... The State of Panem—which needs to keep its tributaries subdued and its citizens complacent—may have created the Games, but mindless television is the real danger, the means by which society pacifies its citizens and punishes those who fail to conform.

I love the books. Without becoming preachy or easily pigeon-holed, it has a lot of interesting things to say about informed citizenship, the messy nature of war, propaganda, etc. Katniss is one of those few female protagonists that a boy would relate to as easily as a girl would.
Anyway, by the third book, we've seen a lot of blood and gore and it is about the end that I've been mulling over:

If ever a book needed an epilogue to assure us that 20 years down the road all would be well, then this was it. I liked that we find out that Katniss and Peeta are going on with life in some way.
I read Katniss as a proto-Spartacus (leader of a Roman Empire slave rebellion). The Hunger Games are just another gladiator-like blood sport.
Yea! Peeta wins!

The end has Katniss watching her two children (born 15 years after the end of the story) play in a field and she talks about how it took Peeta that long to talk her into having children. Though being ruthless and self-involved was consistent with her character, this is the only part that drove my nuts and here's why:
I watched a documentary recently about Simon Wiesenthal (see right)--a man famous for surviving the Holocaust and then becoming a Nazi hunter for the rest of his life. He was a strange and heroic man with flashes of humor and an interesting personality. But what was uncomfortable for me was his relationship with his wife (at least as portrayed in the film). She also survived the horrors of WWII. Her family was also decimated as was his. And, though they seemed to love each other very much, it appeared that she agreed to live life on his terms.
They had only one daughter who he didn't see for long periods. Their home (with their daughter as well as themselves inside) was firebombed. They received many death-threats. By all reports, she longed to settle in Israel with her daughter and grandchildren.
But they stayed in Austria and hunted Nazis.
Now, I think that Simon Wiesenthal is an heroic figure. He did necessary work and drove himself ruthlessly to pursue justice but I can't imagine that he was a comfortable person to be married to.
The film made me think of a recent topic on the Dennis Prager show (talk radio) about high-maintenance spouses. Now, Simon Wiesenthal was not high-maintenance in that he was unkind or dismissive of his wife, I think. He was not unpunctual or self-obsessed as far as I know. But Cyla his wife, it felt clear, did not share his passion to the same degree that he did. But they lived life on his terms and she accepted it and might have been very happy with him (she probably was. He came off as very engaging and delightful.) but it must have cost her terribly too.
Which brings me back to Peeta and Katniss.
It took him 15 years to talk her into having children. Though she is a clearly heroic figure, this holding on to her fear and hate and insecurity seems high-maintenance to me. Yes, yes, she lets it go in the end (sort of) but I would have liked her character to arc more towards trust and a willingness to live life on Peeta's terms too--particularly as he seems to have a knack for it.

**But all this isn't a criticism of the writing. The author makes the end quite consistent with her characters--and as she is written, Katniss is flawed and not a little selfish.

Got Talk?

2010-08-22T20:20:00.000-07:00

For those who might be interested, I gave a talk this Sunday. Yes, I am totally copping out on a proper blog post but I hate to waste the content. Anyway, this is the written text (yes, I have to write out every word because when I go off the reservation...bad, bad, bad.), though I changed it a bit in delivery:

I'd like to begin by sharing a story—many of you probably know some of it. We have a running joke in our family that my husband only likes musicals that have dastardly Nazis or tragic deaths. Fiddler on the Roof makes his list of favorites if only for the marauding Cossacks:

Tevye was a peasant who had three beautiful daughters. In Anatevka, his tiny village, it was traditional for the parents to arrange marriages—thus ensuring security and comfort for their daughter.

One day, the oldest daughter comes to her father. 'Papa,' she says. I cannot marry the man of your choice. I am in love with someone else.'

The man looks at his daughter—a sweet girl, and heretofore, very obedient. Initailly, he is angry and upset but finally relents. After all, he loves his daughter. He wants her to be happy. And moreover, he decides, ignoring this custom of their village will not put him on the wrong side of God. It is just a custom. And she is so happy and it is just this once.

One day, the second daughter comes to him and says, 'Papa, I am in love.' This time the father is confused and irate. Why is the world that he knows changing so much? Don't the young people value the same things he did? But again, after a time, the father relents. Her choice of husband will prick his pride and might injure his place in the village but, after all, she is so happy and what are earthly considerations next to that?

And then the third daughter comes to him. 'Papa, I am in love.' Little Chavalah is no less beloved than her sisters. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he would admit that this little bird has delighted him most of all. But this time, Tevya, struggling with change and the shifting sands of what to him is a very modern morality, has found that he cannot accept her choice. To accept and bless her choice would put him, as he sees it, on the wrong side of God—and though it will cost him dearly, that is the line he cannot cross.

It is this line, within each of us, that I wish to discuss today. Joshua 24:15 says:

...choose you this day whom ye will serve...but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.

When we were assigned these talks, Brother Thomas gave us each a Conference talk to base our remarks around. Mine is When the Lord Commands, from the April 2010 Conference by Bruce A. Carlson of the Seventy. In it he lays out three justifications we use when we wish to cross God's line.

First: This commandment doesn't apply to me.

When I was expecting Zachary, our youngest, I had gestational diabetes. It was terrible. Awful. Naturally, I was a brave and stoic woman who never complained but who would, if pressed, share a sample of my daily indignities. Oh you're pressing me? Alright then. I was asked to keep a strict diet, take a blood sample four times a day and write the results in a little booklet—tattling on myself in the margins with notations that read: 'Waffles!' 'Creative nutrition' and, my favorite, 'Pineapple! Seriously?!'

I learned very early on that one piece of pizza would put me in the safe zone. Two pieces would send me past it. But, sometimes I would succumb to temptation.

I was desperate for carbs, I reasoned,
'They're practically starving me!'
2 pieces are really not that many
I am eating for two. I demand my rights!
I will take a long walk afterward. A very long walk.

I was sure it would work.

Of course, it didn't work.

I was not magically immune to the consequences of my actions. I was subject to the same natural laws as everyone else.

Elder Carlson continues, 'Our partial or selective compliance with God's laws will fail to bring the full blessings of obedience.'

And D&C 103: 36 says: All victory and glory is brought to pass unto you through your diligence, faithfulness and prayers of faith.

Elder Carlson's second point is that too often we tell ourselves that: This Commandment is Not Important

My son Spencer was given a little goldfish for his birthday. He named it Tickles and loved it dearly. Of course, I was the only one feeding it and changing its water and, let's just say, I wasn't fully committed to Tickles.

One day, when changing his water, I took a shortcut—adding luke-warm water from the tap to his bowl instead of setting some out at room temperature. It felt tepid to me. And I really thought it was...or close enough--until I found death and mayhem floating belly up in the fishbowl later that day.

As we sent Tickles to his watery grave I wondered how it happened. Wasn't I doing what I was supposed to be doing? Wasn't I scrupulously taking care of that fish—feeding him. Changing his water? But somewhere along the way I stopped reading the owner's manual and started improvising—substituting my judgment for the judgment of Goldfish experts.

In Second Nephi 9:28 it says, “O that cunning plan of the evil one! O the vainness, and the frailties, and the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not. And they shall perish”

Elder Conrad Schultz of the Seventy has this to say:

Some come to believe that you may pick and choose which of God’s commandments to follow. They conveniently label many commandments as little things which can be put off and which don’t appear to be life-threatening or too important. Things like saying our prayers, honoring the Sabbath, reading the scriptures, paying our tithing, attending our meetings, and the list goes on.

Our Heavenly Father communicates in a very clear way to His children. ..There is no question regarding the meaning of what is being said or of feelings prompted by the Spirit. We have not been left alone. We have the scriptures, the prophets, loving parents, and leaders.

Thus we learn that even little commandments are important if kept with exactitude and can keep us from the spiritual equivalent of having your 4-year-old of calling you a fish killer.

And finally, Elder Carlson suggests that we often find ourselves crossing the line with this justification: This Commandment is Just Too Hard

I asked my oldest son Jonah if he thought any commandments were too hard. He answered, and I quote:

'Sometimes when we have early church, that ends at noon and Dad still has me fast until dinner...that's hard.' He also wanted me to underline the fact that he never complains about it or tries to get out of it.

“So what do you think helps you with that commandment?” I asked.

“God telling me in my heart that I can do it...and me not thinking about food.”

D &C 61: 36 and 37 says:

And now,verily I say unto you...be of good cheer, little children; for I am in your midst, and I have not forsaken you;

And inasmuch as you have humbled yourselves before me, the blessings of the kingdom are yours.

When I was in high school, my sister and I were the only able-bodied children left at home. By no means strong, my Father had no compunction in using us as gophers and grunt labor in construction jobs anyway. He had a lot more faith in us than we had in ourselves. One morning as my sister and I were headed off to swim practice, Dad waylaid us and asked for some help to hold a board in place while he secured it. We dutifully followed him outside to find not a board but a beam. Neither one of us thought that we could do it and we balked--giving each other a look that said, 'The old man's finally lost it.' But Dad was sure, and so we found ourselves with a 15 foot long beam raised high above our heads—our muscles were shaking while he nailed the piece into place. Was it difficult? Yes. But dropping the beam was not an option. It might have killed us and we were convinced that we had to hold on.

Might I suggest that if obeying some commandments is hard than breaking them will be harder? Gaining a testimony of the wisdom of following difficult commandments and the consequences of failure will help us when crossing God's line looks easier.

When Admiral Nelson was preparing for the Battle of Trafalga, legend goes, that he ran up some flags telling his captain's 'England expects every man to do his duty'. I assert that God has let us know what he expects of us. He has given us commandments and we must do our duty.

Let me end by quoting Tevya again:

Because of our traditions, we've kept our balance for many, many years. Here in Anatevka we have traditions for everything--how to eat, how to sleep, how to wear clothes...It's a tradition. Because of our traditions, everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to do.

I'd like to change that a bit.

As children of a loving God we have commandments for many things—what to eat, how to wear our clothes, how to pray and live...They are commandments. Because of our commandments, everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to become.

I leave this with you in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

The Kid, The Neighbor and the White-Hot Towel-Snap of Justice

2010-08-08T21:04:00.000-07:00

I will laugh about this later.
Nathan is working from home now until he casts off from the safe moorings of TransCanada and on the very first day of my brand-new life, I decided to stretch my wings a little. With an adult in the house, I reasoned, I might be so bold as to mail a package and swing by the library. Those were heady thoughts, I tell you, rife with a certain devil-may-care cocksureness never before felt in La Casa Dominguez. To feel good about leaving the house I:

Made a detailed list of where everyone was and gave it to Nathan. Jonah was playing video games, Zac was taking a long nap, Laura was at Grandma's house and Spencer had been invited to play with the neighborhood boys.
Gave Jonah instructions. 'Dad is upstairs working. If Spencer needs someone, Dad is upstairs. Dad is upstairs.'
Told everyone that I had my cell.

So, I blithely stepped out into the sun. I was gone for less than an hour and, notwithstanding leaving an adult at home, I called to make sure all was well.
'Sure thing, Mom!' the 10-year-old chirped.
I returned certain as never before that a glorious new dawn had been ushered into La Casa Dominguez.
And then the cop showed up.

'Excuse me, ma'am. Can I see your ID?' I know what you're thinking at this point. Why didn't I go all Skip Gates on him, begin a physical scuffle and charge racism? (A mental waterfall of junk mail is raining in my brain. "...a free subscription to Latina magazine for Latina's like you...") Answer: I was a little stunned and I like to follow rules--even inane ones like 'Cougar's Don't Cut Corners'.

'How many kids do you have in the house?' He scribbled my answer in an official looking notepad. 'Ma'am, we got a report from one of your neighbors about some kids being around the corner.' What?! I was thinking that he must mean the corner down the block and around the corner and by the busy street. 'Hm. My kid knows better than to be that far from home,' I replied. 'I'm glad someone was looking out for him.'

'The neighbor said that a 10-year-old was alone in the house.' I collar Jonah. 'Jonah, Dad's upstairs. Why did you tell the woman (What woman, I'm thinking.) that you were alone?' Jonah gets a pained look on his face. 'Oooohhhh. I fooorgoooot.' I almost kill him with my bare hands.

'Okay, well, ma'am (Dear heaven will he just stop calling me ma'am?!) we can't have a 10-year-old watching younger kids alone.' (Erm. What part of 'adult in the house' did you miss and why is that 'adult in the house' weaseling out of this?)

I then asked if he would be willing to put the fear of God into my 4-year-old. Which he did and nicely.

I shut the door and promptly burst into tears, walked upstairs where my fink of a husband (not really but, then, yes) was taking a shower, and tried to tell him what happened. I couldn't get it out readily at which point he thought someone had died.

I confess to carrying a few reminders that I come from a large family into adulthood: I load dishwashers to within an inch of their lives and have a dreaded fear of CSD (Children's Services Division). I'm sure some helpful older sibling gave me a bogeyman when I was a young child by invoking their name whenever chores had to be done ("Clean your room or CSD will come and get you." ). CSD presumably would come and reenact Sophie's Choice on the front driveway.
I was interrupted in my paroxysms of emotion by my other neighbor (who got a visit too).

That's when I got the real story.

The pack of boys (playing within sight of my neighbor who was sitting at her desk in her front room with the window open) had turned on a stream of water, watched it make a river in the gutter and were watching bark chips float down to the drain which was admittedly around the corner--the corner exactly one house beyond where they knew they should be. One house. ('Uno' for Latina's like me!) And 7 feet. Boys who have roved between a pool and a trampoline and a play structure in three different back-yards all summer.

Cops.

My evil neighbor, whose house I will no longer be able to pass without wanting to vandalize, called the police because 4 boys were watching bark chips fall down a drain. And instead of any number of actions (notes, phone calls, anything else...) she called the police.
The upshot is that my kid who runs around barefoot and with a big black smear of filth on his cheeks 90% of the time is still allowed to play outside. I do not wrap him in bubble wrap.

They say to raise a child it takes a village and I nominate her The Great Barking Village Idiot of her Fascist Police State.

Jonah's Gross Snake-Infested Party

2010-07-25T21:59:00.001-07:00

Jonah's friend Tanner is one day younger than him so when Tanner's mom got me on the horn and asked if we could do a combo birthday party I said, "Heck yes." When she asked me to do the invites I said, "Heck yes." When someone had to volunteer for the cake and the popcorn bags, again I answered, "Heck yes." When she said there'd be The Reptile Guy I said, "Heck yes I'll stand in the back and take pictures."This is a King Cobra. My baby who I ushered into this world and nurtured for 10 long (very long, some days) years should not be touching this! Only after it was back in the box did The Reptile Guy mention that it had no venom. Stiller children you never saw.

The Reptile Guy has a missing digit on the pointer finger of his left hand which he used as a cautionary tale to get the kids to sit still when he wanted them to. When I asked later if a reptile had gotten it, he twinkled (yes The Reptile Guy twinkled at me) and told me he'd gotten it caught in some bike spokes as a kid. I call that a occupational serendipity.

This snake is huge--maybe 6 kids are holding it. He could probably eat Zac.

Spencer was wary--Jonah let him sit in his lap for some of it and then put his arms around his shoulders to gently shepherd him up to a massive reptile at one point.(!!) Laura was so into it. Zac walked around in the back and made a mess of himself...

And Jonah and Tanner's 4th Grade teacher, Mrs. Manuel, came. (I thought teachers lived in Deep-Freezes all summer and only thawed out in autumn...) That was awesome.

Turning 10

2010-07-18T17:45:00.000-07:00

I remember turning 10. Nine was a very big year. Mom (Sandra) passed away that year. Dad got married. We moved to the other side of town and changed schools. I remember that my favorite gift that year I turned 10 was a copy of Shel Silverstein's A Light in the Attic. (Thanks, Mom!)

I don't still have that exact book (victim of carelessness and an Oregon rainstorm, if I recall correctly) but copies abound at La Casa Dominguez.

Jonah turned 10 today. My baby turned 10. I remember 10. I remember it very well. How is it even possible that I have a 10-year-old?

We are throwing a super awesome Reptile Man party later this week with his best friend Tanner (whose birthday is tomorrow). Thus far his haul has comprised the Grandma Hanna's card (with stickers (a big hit with Spencer this year "You got a car! And a lion!" Tiger. Close enough.), five dollars and the eagerly anticipated balloon), new-to-him roller blades, Lego Harry Potter for his Wii and a new bike ("With gears and shocks!").
We were coming home from Aunt Tia's house after her 4th of July party (see above) and he was the only one awake in the dark car. "Mom," he said from the back, "I've been praying to Heavenly Father to help me think about stuff before I do it...like the consequences. Cuz I haven't been too nice to Laura lately."
"Oh?" Nathan and I said, parentally high-five-ing each other in the dark. "And has it helped?"
"Yeah. Like tonight I wanted to tell the girls to shut-up but I didn't. I just left. I've also been praying and asking for repentance."

Oh, my boy. He's so sweet and has such a natural understanding of the gospel. He's grown up so much and I'm so thankful and proud of him. I love having a 10-year-old. And maybe 23 years hence, I'll get to enjoy him saying, "I remember being 10. How is it possible...?"

Stuff I Made

2010-07-11T20:33:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. I've been out of things forever in part because we've done SO MUCH this month. Wedding, Disneyland, Lauren's visit, Nathan's birthday... The more I put it off the bigger the posts seem to get in my mind. So, to dip my inadequate toe in again, here's a skirt I made for Laura. I made myself one and will be making a ton more. This will be the summer of the skirt. I call this one: Domo Origato Ya-ya Roboto.

Happy Father's Day or How I Became a Willing Stooge of the Patriarchy and Learned to Love It

2010-06-14T16:44:00.001-07:00

(We celebrate early this year as we'll be traveling on the day of.) This year I am trying to collect the life insurance policy on my husband for Father's Day. That's what I must be doing. Why else the Diet of Doom?

Pop-overs, orange juice and turkey bacon for breakfast. (That turkey bacon is going to save my bacon if I need to bolster my defense that I wasn't really trying to kill him.)

Dinner was empanadas. I had an assembly line Henry Ford might have envied.
Toothless Laura. (Please notice her FIRST lost tooth.)

Jonah Suave.And Refrigerator Spence. But where was Zac, you ask? Silly reader. With his father--on 'father's day'...

I also made cupcakes. I call them "Nobody Puts Code Monkey in a Corner" cupcakes. We'll have them for Family Home Evening tonight.

Knuckle-Dragger

2010-06-12T21:12:00.001-07:00

I have a copy of Sarah Palin's Going Rogue in my van--I keep a book there so that I won't be lost without resources in the unlikely event that my auto careens off the road in an impenetrable wooded area and I have to spend a week collecting rain water in my purse and rummaging around for loose raisins on the floor.

Imagine my unholy glee then, when I was waiting for Nathan during a pizza run, to read these few words:

Prior to the election it had been revealed that BP had been trying to save money for years by cutting corners on oil pipeline maintenance on the North Slope. This was very serious: leaks and spills from corroded pipelines were all too common and harmed the environment plus led to production slowdowns. So one of my first priorities was to establish the Petroleum Systems Integrity Office (PISO). With the creation of the PISO, Alaska became the first state to require industry operators to document their compliance with maintenance and quality assurance standards, and to share that information with the state.

Whew. Thank heavens the hick from Wasilla isn't a heartbeat from the Presidency. (mops forehead) We really dodged that bullet, didn't we?

For the record, I don't think that Presidents have unlimited powers, enabling them to perform deep-sea tack-welding on a leak of this magnitude. (Insert mental image of Pres. Obama in a wet-suit here.) But if you campaigned on a platform of water-bending and unicorn farts, you'll likely only go downhill from there.

Anyway, here's a somewhat potty-mouthed linky-loo (if you're merely re-playing the President, is it really potty-mouthed?) for those embracing their cynicism of the Fierce Urgency of Now.

Testing...1,2..Sibilance...Sibilance

2010-06-11T09:33:00.000-07:00

It's so nice to have relatives with unhealthy obsessions. That's why I can say, "Hey, I dropped a camera in a lake," and my brother-in-law Vince will answer, "Oh, we've got a few around the house you can use." Instead of taking their free offer, Nathan upgraded to the nice camera (which is very daring as there are thousands of lakes in this state alone!) and we bought this nice little number off them. Now my kids will be brought to you 58% cuter!

This was just a test.

Sunk

2010-06-04T15:48:00.000-07:00

I'd just like to begin this story by saying it was worth it. That if somebody had offered me this story in exchange for 100 bucks, I would have bought it.

As you know, Debbie and I were in Idaho/Wyoming over the last weekend. We were snapping pictures left and right for blogs, various and sundry. My camera is a basic little point and shoot because the Casa Dominguez is notoriously hard on cameras--having to replace roughly every year and a half--and the cost to replace something fancier (after dropping it onto the garage floor or having it become possessed by evil spirits in Venice, Italy with 8 days left of my vacation...) would make me ill.

So, we drove up to this precious little spring--the headwaters of Henry's Fork--on Sunday. It was so chilly so I borrowed a sweater...with pockets...shallow pockets.

The spring was just beautiful--clear as glass, five or six feet deep...'No littering, no fishing, no wading' signs abounded. Some trout were hanging out under the bridge, if I just leaned a little bit...PLOP. Not just any plop. A bell-like Platonic ideal of a plop. The kind of plop Olympic divers make when they've nailed an arcing dive.

I stared in shock at my camera at the bottom of the spring. Everyone (our party and another small family) on the footbridge was in shock. No serious effort was made to rescue it--it was on the bottom of a frigid body of water. Rescue was impossible--though I felt rotten about littering.

And then the screen turned on. We could see it as clearly as if there were no water, flashing on and off like some desperate Russian sub trapped on the ocean floor. And then bubbles started to rise from it. At this point, I seriously considered jumping in.

Channeling the ghost of the 10-year-old boy that he once was, the grown man in the other party marched into the forest. He marched out again with a 9 foot long fallen tree branch. Stirred around for 5 minutes and...yadda, yadda, yadda. (See right.)

The camera is a...ahem...wash but we retrieved the memory stick. The fisherman was a hero to his wife and young boys.

The Doctrinally Correct Ya-ya

2010-06-02T16:02:00.000-07:00

I was in Rexburg last weekend with my sister Debbie. We visited at Marcy's house and also with Nathan and Rebekah West (who have a mighty comfortable futon, fyi).

My Nathan was busy holding the fort down with all four kids and is, as a result, a ton more sympathetic to me for when he has to go away on business trips. I got an opportunity to miss and long for my children. And the kids learned a little self-sufficiency. That's what I call a win-win-win.

Laura had to give a talk on Sunday and I was mightily impressed that Nathan was able to type it out beforehand and everything. While he went upstairs to bathe the little ones he told her she could type the end.

So when she delivered her doctrinally correct oration on how the principles and ordinences of the gospel bring her closer to our Heavenly Father, he should not have been surprised when she skipped the rote "...in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen." for the more direct, "My name is Laura Dominguez and I believe in God."

The Revolution will be Awe. Some.

Baku-Gan Shirt IS So Awesome

2010-05-24T17:37:00.000-07:00

Spencer was doing a classic 4-year-old wearing-everything-he-owns thing today. Only, instead of taking things off, he just piled more and more clothes on top of the previous set. I caught him at the halfway point. Here's the man-on-the-street interview.

Gorge-ous!

2010-05-21T08:20:00.000-07:00

So we got away a few weekends ago for our 12th (!) anniversary. Tia took the kids and (since Zac still isn't an easy baby to have under any circumstances) we went to the Columbia Gorge for our over-nighter and stayed at The Bonneville Hot Springs Hotel over on the Washington side. We took The Bridge of the Gods (a toll bridge...go figure) and it was only a couple miles from there.But we shopped and ate in Downtown Portland first. I love Portland (see above). What are the odds that a regular user of the Mary-Jane could figure out that WEED corresponds to 9333 on a phone?

I don't have any pics of the Hotel. We had such a fun time though. Nathan got a massage, I got a pedi, mineral water pools and hot tubs abounded. I tried, on Nathan's recommendation, the sauna--thinking that maybe I'd enjoy it more than I have in the past. There were a couple of old Russians in it (the hot springs are a huge attraction for that group) and as soon as I walked in I wanted to walk out--the air was so hot and enervating. But the Russians were there and I didn't want to look too lame so I sat there for 5 minutes, suffering the whole time and repeating in my mind, "National pride, national pride, national pride..."
The next day we wandered back home, stopping at the Bonneville Dam briefly, having lunch at a walk-up window with the most gorgeous view ever, scooting over to the fish hatcheries (below, that sturgeon was massive)...
...and then on to Multnomah Falls for a quick hike.
It was such a relaxing trip and we thank Tia and family profusely for letting us have it!

Birds of a Feather...

2010-05-14T16:37:00.000-07:00

What a gorgeous day it was yesterday-the kind that makes up for the glowering skies of winter, promises faithfully (as only a jade can) to be temperate and mild, and makes old men weep with the longings of yesteryear.
SIL Heidi came over in the afternoon and we whiled away some golden minutes teaching Miss Melody about rolling around in the grass. Took to it like a duck to water.
And then the kids got home from school. "Oh," said The Ya-ya, "there's a bird on our cupboard." Surely you jest, young lass. There is a bird FIGURINE...
Nope. There was a danged bird in my house. Dang it. And to top it off, Nathan and I have a push-me/pull-me on the subject of open doors. I like 'em on account of they give a nice breeze. He hates 'em on account of the house flies that get in and feast on his eyeballs at night.
It would have to come out but, latent within my makeup, is a Weanie-ness of Elephantine Proportions on the subject of wildlife.
So, the set up was thus:

The Ya-ya waving about a blanket on one end of the kitchen while making chirping noises as if to say, "You have chicks! Go find them." Her other idea was to make her tongue look like a worm--then maybe the bird would fly towards it. And if this is all sounding just too, too adorable for words, she also was a mite freaked out and said that she hated it and that she would like to "stab it with a knife in the throat". What are they teaching at that school anyway?
Yours truly was wearing a long-sleeved coat (seriously) and cowering behind a closet door--only to occasionally wave a jacket in what I hoped was a menacing fashion (and not at all surrender-y). Girlish squeals were emanating from who-knows-where. Certainly not from me.
And Heidi was flapping around her blanket as calm as you please (between being interrupted by paralyzing laughter--at me!) and finally was the one that ushered the little blighter from the premises. It hopped from bookshelf to cupboard to floor to chair and then she brushed it out as easy as shaking out a rug.

Thank heavens for sisters-in-law--else I should be camping in the backyard as we speak.

**Jonah wants to claim credit for the 'mating season' bit. He thought that the bird had come to find a mate...

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T08:29:00.001-07:00

This year, Mother's Day fell on my Anniversary (more blogging that later). Laura brought me breakfast in bed and poetry:

I love you Mom
I love you,
You're the Best Mom All.

I love you
I love you
I love you.
Believe it.
You stand tall.

By Laura
With Love

Excellent.
Jonah made me a rap of exceeding bo-dacity:

I've had so much reason to love Mommy-dom this year. All my kids are healthy and happy. Zachary has been uncharacteristically joyful for three weeks (yes, like a spigot, it turned on and off) and hasn't managed to knock out his front teeth. Spencer continues to immobilize us with his huggy-four-year-old-love-rays. Laura fancies up my life. Jonah gives us nightmares about his future as a kind of suburban Don Juan. And Nathan is the best.

Happy Mother's Day to my own fabulous mother , my lovely mother-in-law and all the other mommys I know and love.

Snow White and Rose Red

2010-04-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

Tia and I swapped children for the night last weekend. I traded her one jug-eared 4-year-old and she traded me nothing less than The Entire Weight of Western Civilization within a 10-year-old. One less boy and more more girl made all the difference to the volume level in Casa Dominguez.

Ana and Laura adore each other--clinging to one another like the last flotation device on a sinking ship. Having no other sisters does that to you, I guess.

Mike Soper of Diamond Landscape Is My Hero

2010-04-22T15:50:00.000-07:00

Nowhere in this picture is the horror of the lawn adequately represented.

For those of you who have visited us in the last three years we offer our sincerest apologies. The shaggy lawn, saggy tree limbs, moss-riddled grass, boxwoods devoid of uniformity in color and size and approximate distances between one another, leaning maple, large blank spot by the front door... We knew we had to do something about it but were saving our nickles and dimes assiduously. That day has come and who did we call to unearth the gem that is now our front lawn--why, Mike Soper, Diamond Landscape Inc. of Un-Ghetto-ing Our Backyard fame, that's who.
First of all, I wish I had a bigger lawn and more projects for Mike because he's just done a great job. It might come as a shock to some of you to know that Nathan and I are not landscaping experts. Our initial visits with Mike usually involve me walking around the yard in my bare feet, pointing at things we hate, running ideas past him and trusting him enough to tell us when things aren't feasible. Some contractors will make you feel like an idiot when you suggest things out of ignorance. Lots of others will just go ahead and do it like you tell them and won't be around when the drainage is all wrong or the plants have died. Mike Soper of Diamond Landscape Inc. is not that kind of guy.
So if you're looking for a good, trust-worthy yard care or installation company, I can't do better then recommend Diamond Landscape.

Criss-crossing the ditch are the massive numbers of roots from our two trees. Our unusually suck-y soil makes the root system annoyingly shallow. If I were to murder anyone and try to bury their body in the yard I would have to rent a back-hoe...note to self.

First they had to kill the grass. Bad enough already and choking with moss, this alarming yellowing prompted my neighbor to remark to her husband, "I knew they needed some fertilizer but..." And then she remembered the yard work which I must have mentioned a thousand times in an effort to look less lame for having the most cruddy lawn on the block all winter.A similar ditch dug by myself and my worthy husband would have snaked wildly about the border and taken three weeks to finish.

And then the flags were planted in the grass to indicate cables and waterlines. Truly, the barren wasteland was beginning to resemble a lunar desert--the flags merely polishing the effect. But seriously, I was so happy they were there, shouting to the skies: Despair not, O denizens of Energia! Digging will proceed apace!Had work ground to a halt and the dump truck been unable to dislodge itself from my lawn, we would have had a near-perfect example of Redneck Yard Art circa 2010.

The sprinkler system pipes were laid and then the soil was churned and better stuff was delivered. We had the honor of finding out that in the decade and a half of Mike's career he'd rarely seen worse soil than ours. Honestly, it was kind of like winning a prize for all the years Nathan dragged around the garden hose only to have our lawn die each Summer.

If those azaleas die after all the TLC it took to plant them, it will be a brazen act of suicide.

The grass was rolled out and the shrubberies were planted. We couldn't be happier. As I've mentioned before, we're sure Mike is capable of much more exciting things than we ask of him but it's just what we wanted: A nice sprinkler system, a good lawn, some plants and room to plant more plants when the time comes. A+

The Goob, The Ya-ya and The Bug

2010-04-21T19:57:00.000-07:00

Sooooooo...(swings hands, whistles nonchalantly)...the kiddos were playing dolls the other day. Sometimes I feel the great female chasm on our block. Channeling the great poet, "Children, children everywhere and not a girl to play with." So Laura press-ganged a very willing Spence into playing dolls with her. She brought hers and he brought his. A very manly tea party was had. What a concatenation.

Zac had a wonderful day (wonderful being code for non-ear-shattering). At Costco he learned to purse his lips (I almost fell down laughing in the the sauce/olive/oil aisle next to the chunky tomatoes) when he condescends to kiss the peasants. He was open-mouthed before so this is a decided improvement. I may start calling him Hot Lips Dominguez.

And then after dinner he decided to clean up. Hooray for sea monkeys!

9 Going on 21

2010-04-18T10:45:00.000-07:00

Jonah got himself into a little gummy worm trouble the other day with his best buddy. I came in at the end when in a desperate 'double-or-nothing' bid Jonah flubbed a javelin throw in our backyard (don't ask) and owed the buddy 80 packages of gummy worms. After a stern talking-to in the subject of gambling in general, and never betting what you can't afford to lose in particular, we decided that the punishment would be that I would buy a bunch (not 80) of gummy worms in exchange for a variety of chores. I'm not sure this was the right solution but I disliked being a helicopter mom over it and talking to 'buddy's' mom and I disliked having Jonah welsh on a bet and I did like the idea that he would have to pay the piper.

So after some delightful roll playing, ("Hey, Jonah. Let's bet!" "I can't bet.") and some motherly finger-wagging, Jonah was ready to earn his way out of a gummy worm debt of honor.

Nathan taught him to mow the lawn which is something I have been waiting for forever. Kids are like a package of sea monkeys and if you want a babysitter/yard guy/roustabout then you must grow your own. It's been nearly a decade but it's starting to pay off. Awe. Some.

Happy Zac

2010-04-15T21:34:00.000-07:00

We're trying to look on the bright side as Zac cuts his eye teeth this week/month/whatev. Here he's playing with blocks...happily...for a fairly extended period of bon homie. I'll take it.

All the News That's Fit to Blog

2010-04-13T20:04:00.000-07:00

Dad left me a comment! It wasn't anywhere near a recent post so I am so glad that Mom alerted me via email about it. He asked for pics of the play structure so recently finished. The kids have had a field day on it and we swear that the minute Nathan hooked the last swing up it was like a deluge of children (strange ones too) flocked to our yard. For a moment it looked like the picture on the box--multi-ethnic children playing contentedly while ambiguously brown man-figure looms benignly in the background...Thought Mom and Dad might enjoy seeing that I used one of their emails to great effect. Such a fun little joke to greet my kids while I was away in Colorado.For the last two days we've been at Great Wolf Lodge up in Centralia, WA. It was so much fun--a waterpark/hotel thing. Of course, it wouldn't have been half so restful if Aunt Tia hadn't taken Zachary overnight for us. He is such a darling when he's not screaming his head off. I forgot to take the camera (20 minutes out of town) so you'll just have to take my word for it that the kids had a blast and that their parents had a super time too. And if your wondering, no we didn't have school off on Tuesday (though we did on Monday). It was what Dad might call a mental health day...

Knock it Off

2010-04-11T11:40:00.000-07:00

One Pretty Thing has been a bit of an obsession. I saw this little number a few months ago--an Anthropologie necklace that someone knocked off. And, oh, was it love. Beads? Pretty flowers? Together? Sign me up!

I had the materials since we went to Brian's house for the play (I heart you, Walmart.) but since Zac has been so unpredictable I haven't had a chance to work on it. But then I went to Colorado and threw in the baggie on the off chance that I'd get a minute to craft. Ta-da! I love it. Love, love, love it.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2010-04-07T15:15:00.000-07:00

I'm still digging out from visitors and visiting but in so doing am neglecting all our goings on.

My sister-in-law is engaged! Laura is so excited and Spencer is also mulling it over, occasionally commenting with great solemnity, "Steve Egg lost his hair". We'll be heading down to San Diego for the wedding in June. Steve proposed with an Easter basket and I think (I have to think) that there was some play on the word Egg. Anyway, we're just so happy to have him toss Christine over his shoulder and carry her off.

Aunt Si-si is getting married and that's so an occasion for dancing.

Ragbag of Enthusiasms

2010-03-23T08:37:00.000-07:00

*So I'm no longer a Cub Scout Den Mother. My new calling is Relief Society Mid-Week Activity Coordinator. The holder of that calling and I are do-si-do-ing. She gets mine and I get hers and, as with every calling I've ever had, I feel utterly at sea and totally inadequate. But that feeling usually passes within six months or so...I will miss the key to the basketball hoops most. I haven't decided whether or not I'll miss my Cubbies.

*We're having Spring Break this week. I spent last night with seven children (no, say it like Sister Maria, "But seven children!")--Ana, Brady and Cameron came over. I'm actually overjoyed because kids at home mean that Zac has more people to trail after. The boys spent the day destroying things and Ana and Laura went on a picnic and made Easter headbands. Ponder the difference in the sexes.

*Nathan and I and BIL Vince started our new play structure in the back yard. We're about half-way there and the kids can hardly wait.

*A non-partisan political query: No one can doubt that I wanted to see this health care albatross roll over and die. I have zero affection for well-meaning mandates that constrain liberty and social dynamism. Still, arguments are made on the conservative side about how the lawmakers should not be passing a bill so disliked/mistrusted by majorities of the people. My question is this: Is a lawmaker elected to use his own judgment or is he elected to narrowly advance the will of his constituency? The same lawmakers that I would urge to do the peoples' will in the cause to health care reform are the same ones I would have called politically courageous for not bending to the winds of public opinion on the Iraq surge, for example. So which is better?

Anyway, I think the mandate of health insurance for all should be opposed philosophically without short-cutting the argument by merely saying, "The people are against it." I also think getting caught up in the abortion funding issue is problematical. It leaves too much room for Dems to make deals on the lesser issue of funding only to allow the still more repellent idea of making every U.S. citizen purchase something in order to remain law-abiding.

Also, I heart Paul Ryan.

Check Check

2010-03-17T22:36:00.001-07:00

So, when Spence hurt his leg he didn't really want to go anywhere. He didn't crawl gimpily after his siblings, he didn't want to play Legos--he just wanted to hang out on the couch and watch movies. That was fine with me. He wasn't complaining about pain but definitely (definitely!) did not want to put any pressure on it--which was strange because he was moving it about and this morning was kneeling on it. So I made a visit to the pediatrician--who furrowed her brow and poked around and wrapped it in an ace bandage (boy did he love that) and sent me off to see the radiologist.So, with my baby on my hip and my toddler in the drunk-driving stroller (I'm wishing I had a double stroller about now) I head into the hospital, have to walk around a bit to figure out where I need to be and then we got whisked into get X-rayed. Super fast. Thumbs up American health care.And then when I got home the pediatrician's office called me with the results. It's a small, very small little buckling on the back of his tibia. We're headed into see the orthopedist tomorrow morning.

Spencer was a trooper throughout and he is limping around the house so adorably--and his adorable quotient was already lethal...

Strong Enough to Carry Him

2010-03-16T20:03:00.000-07:00

Spencer has an injury. It happened yesterday (when the kids had a day off of school--blood and mayhem stalked the watches of NW Energia). Jonah has a big friend (one of those unfortunates who looks three years older than he is) who accidentally (really) bounced Spencer too roughly on the tramp.

The upshot is that he still can't put any weight on it and I'm taking him into see the doctor tomorrow. In the mean time, Jonah is carrying him everywhere he needs to go on his back and he's just about the cutest thing I've ever seen. He ain't heavy, he's my brother...

Spencer was so distraught that he told me yesterday, "I don't think the candy is working..." and "It will heal tomorrow." Fingers crossed.

Oh For the Love Of Jane Wyman!

2010-03-10T21:59:00.000-08:00

Scouts, scouts, scouts...(head cradled in hands) Can't live with 'em, can't legally trebuchet them off a ravine cliff...

After a very difficult den meeting (tears were shed, egos were bruised, mothers were called) I was packing up to go (baby on hip, toddler in hand and shepherding three cubbies out the door) and heard the fire alarm. All I could hear was a drumbeat of Yoda in my head: Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to the Dark Side...

Arg. Cubbies. The story is that it was mostly an accident--if hanging on the plastic box covering the fire alarm is ever an accident. But I was a little too soul destroyed to dredge up den motherly kindness. That's right. I went there. I recounted the plot of Magnificent Obsession.

--which is just what this situation was like if you see the Cubs as cavalier, playboy Rock Hudson who crashes his speedboat doing something silly and reckless (something suspiciously like hanging from a fire alarm box), keeping life saving equipment from Sexy Jane Wyman's husband who subsequently dies. I only hope that when Jane Wyman looses her eyesight and needs restorative surgery she will be helped by those same Cubbies who have fallen in love with the widow and also (freakishly fast, pre-internet) gotten to be expert eye surgeons all in the name of Christian charity (which is what Magnificent Obsession refers to although I'm pretty sure the movie makers wanted you to think that it was Sexy Jane Wyman).

And let that be a lesson to you.

P.S. If you are in my ward and reading this, no, I don't want another calling.

Tia's New Blog

2010-03-09T20:02:00.000-08:00

Tia started a new blog that's making onto my blogroll. It's called The Buttoned Up Bodice and is chiefly a book review site for 'clean' books and features writer's corners and info for publishing. If you're looking for something to read, swing on by and check her out.

Typical of Tia, she is cruising through a boatload of content.

Laura Does Geography

2010-03-03T22:52:00.000-08:00

I've been meaning to upload these pictures for weeks. Laura was sitting nicely in our pew at church several Sundays ago and she started doodling the above. CHINA: pagodas, a bowl of rice, a panda, a sushi roll, the Great Wall and an imperial fire-breathing dragon. Alright. Cool. I feel like I've actually been there. I can now skip the jet lag and food poisoning.
When she was done I leaned over and said she should do India. Oh, she did India.

INDIA: Tee-Pees, rattle snakes, salmon, meat roasting over a pit...I'm surprised I don't see Chief Running Bear and his papoose Little Eagle.

I almost fell off the bench laughing.

Sons of Kentucky

2010-03-01T21:30:00.001-08:00

Sadly the video is too long to upload.

Just when I said Jonah wasn't into doing adorable things these days, he hits us with "Daniel Boone: Trailblazer". The speech taps all the highlights (torture, death and kidnapping) of the late explorer's life. I ran up the costume this afternoon. It's got a swanky little moonshine-chic to it, I think. What you're not seeing is the bear-claw clasps that I scored today that take it to 11. (Scotland wins.)

Stuff My Kid Says

2010-02-27T19:05:00.000-08:00

Me: There's something rotten in the state of Denmark.
Spence: OH!........Is it ants?

Spence: My girlfriend. She has black hair and a black dress but not black feet. I don't know my girlfriend's name.

Spence (Playing dress up with his little friend Julia): Ju...Ju...Hun! We go to watch the movie. When it's done we'll start over the wedding.

Laura: I sort of want to be a scientist. A scientist is not a scientist without tweezers.

Laura: Without Dad the 'lectricity wouldn't work.

Jonah would be mortified if caught saying anything adorable and Zachary...Oh Zachary. Wonder of wonders, miracles of miracles he's been gorgeous for the last four days. So out of the ordinary is his happy mood that it is to be marked with brass bands, ticker tape parades and a national holiday. When he's teething he's insufferable. When he's not (such a rare event with this little one) he is so delightful. My little mom heart grew two sizes this week. I am so thankful.

Of course he's learned to climb onto the table this week to so the Universe gives as it takes...;0)

Grandma "The Baby Whisperer" Dominguez

2010-02-23T14:53:00.000-08:00

Grandma Dominguez came this weekend, bringing sunshine and sprinkling buttercups. She sent Nathan and I out on a date for which I was willing to repay her with my last born. I think she's thinking it over. Also, she was generous enough to give me a day off yesterday. I love that woman. I love her.

I went to GW, the library, downtown to have lunch with Nathan and Kohls.

By the end of the visit, Zac was working really hard at saying "G...ma" and playing some more of that fetch that Grandpa taught him.

All Kids, All the Time

2010-02-19T21:55:00.000-08:00

Laura had a homework emergency the other day. A report on a place in Oregon...due the day before! She could be called at any time to give it! And as her teacher knows me as That-parent-who-makes-a-stink-about-global-warming-propaganda, I would be mortified to earn the addendum: who-also-doesn't-care-to-monitor-her-child's-homework. The above is what Laura threw together in 20 minutes between bites of breakfast cereal. She is so totally awesome.

Er...in other news...we have a pet. Spencer got "Tickles" the goldfish from Miss Kylene for his birthday. It is customary to send condolences in the form of chocolate and cash in the event of an untimely bereavement. Not that Tickles' days are numbered...

Spencer spent the day with me in the car. He expounded doctrinal truths: "Jesus made us to choose the right.

Heavenly Father made us to choose the left." Just so.

Jonah is busy being 9 which I suspect is similar to being 15. He spends his time shooting hoops now in front of the house which has nothing to do with the new cute girl who just moved in down the street...

And a vid of Spencer and Zac (poor baby fell out of the house today--massive knot on his forehead) being affectionate with each other. Spencer spent five minutes kissing Zac's back and patting his skin. I only caught the last-and isn't that always the way?

Four Years and One Day Ago...

2010-02-16T20:13:00.000-08:00

Our hero as a baby...

Spencer is four and other than cleanliness there is nothing next to divine quite like a four-year-old boy. We went to Papa's Pizza instead of celebrate at home because this kid has been talking about Optimus Prime and his birthday for months and months.

Aunt Tia made the Optimus Prime cake. It was awesome and I hope I have adequately underlined the fact that Mommy doesn't do cakes. Aunt Tia does cakes. Not mommy. Not mommy. Because this is a bar Mommy does not choose to clear.

We invited friends and cousins and had a smashing good time (sadly, a literally smashing time in Zac's case. He fell off a chair and rug burned the back of his head (don't ask) and now there's an awesome scabby mark on his noggin'.)Smile for the camera, Spence. Here he is taking Aunt Tia's injunction very seriously. Cheese!We love our best boy. He's been the funnest three -year-old I could ever hope for, adores his brothers, still flops all over Jonah in his sleep, does projects with his sister, snores loud enough to wake the dead, hops on one foot when he gets excited, says "what" instead of "that" (That's the robot what cuts the wood..."). We love this kid.