Stress

It's an interesting thing. So for last Sunday I:

• taught primary
• did sharing time
• helped Andrew practice for his solo in Sacrament Meeting
• made posters and signups for our coming ward party
• prepared for Father's Day dinner, etc.
• and thought about how stress-free next week would be, when all I needed to do was get up, get ready and go to Stake Conference

Then--Andrew was asked to speak in Stake Conference!!!!!

What is more stressful than speaking yourself in Stake Conference? That's right. Turning an eleven year old loose at the pulpit in front of a couple of thousand people you admire and respect.

Next Stop Broadway!

Andrew just landed a part in the community children's theatre production, 101 Dalmations Kids. He is beyond excited to be playing the part of Horace, one of Cruella De Ville's henchmen. Performances will be the first two weeks of August--Monday, Friday and Saturday nights.

He's also been asked to sing a verse solo in Sacrament Meeting on Father's Day, during the primary's song. He's cool. I'd be terrified.

What a sweetheart!

Welcome to Our World!

His name is under final review, but this adorable little guy was born June 4 and weighed in at seven pounds nine ounces! He's definitely a keeper!

Not so impressed with his first bath, given by Dad!

Stuff

Grandchildren

I found crayons in my sugar cannister. It made me smile.

Growing Up

Tonight Andrew goes on his first scout campout. And, after today, he's officially a sixth grader. Which means that Jr. High is only one year away. A year and a summer. Becoming a deacon is less than ten months away. And today he put on a long-sleeved shirt for school, and lots of cologne. He said he wants the ladies to remember him.

Writing

So close. So close. A week ought to do it.

Books

Mostly, I love them. Afterall, nine months out of the year I help struggling readers learn how to read and try to convince them that books are their friends. I put myself to sleep every night reading a book. And my life-long dream is to have my name on a book cover or two. So it's not like I'm illiterate. I just like my books in some level of moderation--defined by their ability to fit in their allotted space. If you've been to our little house any time lately, you'll understand what I mean. Not only is there a 12 x 8 ft. wall dedicated to them, but there are no fewer than eight other bookcases scattered throughout the house. Half the storage space in the garage is filled with boxes labeled "books." Children's books, teen books, Christmas books, and mostly just overflow books. No room for the Christmas ornaments and out-of season clothes, because the storage space is filled with books.

And that is not all. Several months ago I swapped out the two shelf cookbook bookcase for a three shelf one. Now it's bulging, with cookbooks stacked on top-and growing. Cookbooks about cooking pasta, cooking Chinese, cooking with chocolate, seven hundred cookies made from one recipe, dinner on the table in five minutes or less, meals from scratch, meals from a can. Meals using twinkies. You name it, we have it. I must be a gourmet cook, right? Wrong. I think someone is hoping that the power of suggestion will make a difference.

But that is not all. My bedroom is stacked with more books, piled high in front of the window so that I can't reach to open the blinds. And the piles grow by day. Partly, I think, because my husband is trying to prevent me finding new homes for the homeless. If they're there, beside his bed, he can keep an eye on them. They're safe.

Nearly every day another box or two of books enters the house and takes up residence on the kitchen counter until I can find a new home for them. Yesterday was no different. Two boxes of books (and other miscellanea) came home. As my sweet husband showed me today's loot--the lighted nativity set, the Christmas trays, the interactive baseball, golf, and fishing calendars with little dice-like numbers to change the date each day (would someone really want to do that?) , the book about internet pornography, and the book entitled 365 Salutes to America--he gleefully pulled out the bottom book. Before I could tell him that we all ready had a copy, he said, "And the best thing is this. It's just like the one we have, so we can give it to one of our kids (and he named a couple). Or maybe (he gets that glazed look in his eyes) we should keep it so we can have one copy upstairs and one copy downstairs." NOOOOOOOOOOO!

Spring Break!

So I've been looking at all your Spring Break posts with pictures of happy vacationers, enjoying the spring weather, hiking in the red rocks, breathing in all that fresh air. So I thought I'd share our spring break activities (although unfortunately, I don't have any photos to share).

Andrew read three books while he watched me sew (and mourned that he ran out of reading material before he ran out of vacation). He also mourned that almost all his friends were on vacation.

Julie took her finals, worked at Yummies, did playground duty a couple of days, went out to dinner with a classmate of Christy's who bashed on BYU and failed to impress.

Danny worked, got his marriage license, packed his room, watched the mail for honeymoon stuff and burned the evidence when it came and . . .

Dad worked, hung out with me while I sewed, helped do taxes, and spent his exciting day off cleaning furniture and carpet.

And I shopped for a dress (can we just dub that an ego-destroying day?!), sewed 24 hrs. in two days (and finished the five bridesmaid dresses!), bought ties, ordered flowers, did taxes, laundry, cleaning and errands.

Monday it's back to work, feeling rejuvenated and ready to go!

Letting Go

I'm feeling sentimental. Maybe it's looking at stacks of unorganized photos that brings back thousands of random memories. Tonight I'm thinking about:

*ear infections--forcing the bubble gum medicine between clenched teeth; waiting in the hospital while tubes were put in ten-month old ears
*band aids and stitches
*night terrors, when everything was "big"
*snuggling in bed and reading an entire book of children's poetry together--just the two of us
*learning to drive
*break dancing and moon walking
*falling asleep in the van and waking up alone, parked in a church parking lot
*sitting on the stairs, having late night conversations about nothing and everything
*Scout camp outs and youth conferences
*band concerts, choir concerts, dance concerts
*Blue and Gold Banquets and choir dinners
*a pet bunny
*heart-stopping back flips on cement!
*opening a mission call, ACT scores, college acceptance & scholarship letters, and valentines
*dancing the West Coast Swing in the kitchen, picking me up and swinging me around
*MTC hugs and airport hugs
*passing the sacrament, and later, blessing it
*singing in the shower
*homemade Mother's Day cards, Christmas ornaments and handprints
*haircuts
*math counts competitions and dancesport competitions
*waiting for emails every Monday
*birthday parties, Halloween costumes and Christmas wish lists
*a fifth grade answer to "What will you be doing in five years?"--"Investing!"
*buying a first suit
*"Blue Moon," "Baby, It's Cold Outside," and "Butterfly Kisses"
*D'Males
*figuring out Pacabelle's Canon on the piano and leading the ward choir in an original arrangement of "The Spirit of God"
*Guarani
*signing "You drive me crazy" to the bishopric during Sacrament Meeting; laying under the bench and tearing up pages from a paperback copy of the Book of Mormon
*helping me plot a book
*playing "Fox and Geese," "Sardines" and "Murder in the Dark"
*attending the temple together
*cha cha'ing with Amy at Goblin Valley; chanting "I want to go home" in a tent with Julie during a Yellowstone rainstorm
*tuxes, corsages and limousine's
*telling jokes, jumping on the trampoline and eating boxes of cereal
*sunburns from Scofield winter camping
*soccer games
*nertz, Risk, and Diplomacy
*wanting more cookies at Colorado National Monument, and taking off when he didn't get them
*playing the guitar, the piano, the saxophone, the recorder, the clarinet
*kisses on my cheek

I love you, Danny.

Fruit Flies

The subject of this post is how to get rid of fruit flies. We're talking millions here, not just a few nasty little critters that fly around the bananas and can be swiped into the kitchen sink with a motion or two. We're talking millions of reproducing fruit flies.

We're talking four mason jars full of fruit flies. They're sitting on an antique piece of furniture in my bedroom, right in front of my porcelain statues, arranged in order of age. The ones that are in the pupae stage next to the writhing mass of little maggots. Without my glasses, they almost look like pieces of rice. Almost. Until you see them move.

Their only redeeming quality is that they can't fly, so theoretically, they should be easier to catch.

I wonder what the microwave would do to them.