Muddling through

Just about the only thing keeping me going right now is the knowledge that this, too, shall pass. Going on my 40 month of pregnancy, you'd think I'd be used to this. (Oh, that's depressing. 40 months?) And it's not like I was expecting the second trimester to be easier on me--while some women feel better by the third month, I don't usually until the fifth or sixth month (if I'm lucky).

But feeling worse? Not fair. So I'm going to just muddle through as best I can. I might not be able to write everyday (trust me, I don't think you'd want to read my everyday thoughts right now), but I'll write as often as I can. Hopefully I can get back on the blogging wagon when a little more time passes. Hopefully.

However, by the time I am done with this pregnancy, I will have been pregnant long enough to have two baby elephants to show for it. You know, if I was an elephant.

I LOVE to see the temple!

Yesterday was mostly a dull day, filled with normal routine activities and not much else. I had an outing with friends planned for after the kids went to bed, but I was having a hard time generating much excitement about anything. What to make for dinner, what to do for family home evening...blah blah.

All that changed when I logged into Facebook and saw my friend's profile: "A TEMPLE IS GOING TO BE BUILT IN PAYSON!!!! YIPEE!! I just read the story on KSL.COM" (thanks, K.B.!) And, sure enough, when I clicked over to Deseret News, there it was: LDS to construct temple in Payson.

YAY!!!!!!

Now, I realize all this excitement comes as a bit overdone for 90% of the world. For 70% of the LDS world, even. As my little brother puts it, "Now you have a temple close enough to walk to, rather than to run to." A bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. The Provo Temple is only 13 miles away from my house; Google Maps puts the walking time at 4 hours, 14 minutes. The new site for the Payson Temple is only 9 miles away, the walking time is 2 hours 53 minutes. (I sincerely doubt I will ever walk to either temple, but there you go. They are both insanely close to me.)

The Provo Temple, built as a high occupancy temple, is very very busy. The Mount Timpanogos Temple took some of the load off, but not enough apparently. Even with sessions every 20 minutes, in the evenings it is not unusual to have to wait more than 40 minutes in the chapel. Andwhile it is lovely to suggest that people go during the day, most people work, have classes, or have kids--during the day just isn't an option.

All this is to say, anxiously, don't hate us if you still have to drive 3 hours to get to your temple, and here we are rejoicing that we get to drive for 15 minutes instead of 25. I would have been perfectly happy to keep going to the Provo Temple, but I'm really really REALLY excited about our new temple.

I'm excited that my kids are excited. For FHE last night we talked about temples, and about the prophet's announcement about the Payson temple. I'm excited that the Primary is going to focus on the temple, that we'll be able to take little "field trips" to the temple site, to watch it going up. I'm thrilled to be one of the 22 stakes (presumably, as the exact language is "22 stakes from Spanish Fork to Nephi") that will get to help out with the open house and all. I'm excited for the increased Spirit this will bring in our lives, especially during the preparation and dedication.

I'm just really, really excited. It's just an empty field past the Wal-Mart and near the turf farm right now, but just wait. We're getting a temple!

Odds and Ends and Fish

Remember that problem I had with the stray dog that lives down the street? Well, she (it is a she) scared my kids half to death today as we were getting in the car to take Zee to school. I got her out of our driveway and yard by yelling, "Go HOME!", but she hung out in my neighbor's yard and barked and barked at us. It's a good thing my adrenalin was running because that normally would have scared me half to death.

So I started the car, closed all the doors, and ran inside for the telephone to call Animal Control. This time the dispatcher was able to help, calling out the Animal Control officer to our area.

He just called me with good news and bad news. The good news is, yay! He found the dog running loose and gave the owners a ticket. And yay! He didn't tell who had called it in. (I'm a coward, I really am.) But, yikes! It's a pit bull. A momma pit bull. Who is nursing babies right now, apparently.

(And the scary dog on my street when I was child was scariest when she had babies. She was a mean, mean momma German Shepherd. The only thing that kept her in her yard was a 3-foot-tall fence. That she could jump over when she felt like it.)

Now, why in the world should her breed make a difference? Pit bulls have a bad reputation, but not all pit bulls are scary. I was brave enough to run the dog off several times before I knew her breed. But...her owners don't exactly strike me as the most conscientious dog-owners in the world, if they're letting their dog run around unleashed. So maybe they haven't trained her all the way, and maybe she is a scary dog.

Hopefully the ticket will encourage her owners to stop letting her roam around and terrorize my children.

----------------------
Today's art lesson with Em was so fun. We got out the paints, and while she painted a self-portrait (that I drew), I painted a ceramic figurine I've had for years. We both had a marvelous time, talking about color and fairies and Em's brothers and whatever else came to mind. She calls me "Miss Mom" and I call her "Miss [one of her nicknames that is too close to her real name to put here]" She is such a careful painter, staying in the lines and trying not to mix colors. I love this job!----------------------
And about the fish: I've never cooked a lot of fish, but in the last year I've tried to branch out. Bradley hasn't been the biggest fan of my fish in the past (it's pretty boring), but on Saturday evening I tried again. And it was SO YUMMY. The secret wasn't in the preparing (just flour, salt, and pepper on the tilapia fillets, and then fry in a bit of olive oil), but in the SAUCE. I made a really simple butter-lemon sauce, using this recipe but without the shallots: Three tablespoons of butter melted in a saucepan. Add the zest from one lemon. Stir constantly for 1.5 minutes. Add the juice of one lemon. Stir constantly for 2 minutes. DIVINE.

We had fish with the lemon sauce, couscous (which was really good with the sauce, too), fresh spinach, fresh pineapple, and homemade buttermilk biscuits. It was really yummy. And I felt very domestic. (It's a rare enough feeling that I have to enjoy it while it lasts.)

Decompression

Today was Stake Conference, and that meant two hours of sitting on a small pew with my children, staring up at the choir seats where my husband sat. I recruited two kind members of my ward to help me with the kids (bless your hearts, Jan and Brother B!), but as Gee wanted nobody but Momma, and Hebs wanted nobody but Momma, and neither of them wanted to share...by the end of the first hour I felt like I was the rope in a game of tug-of-war.

I got far more out of the adult session of conference last night. It was unique in my experience: The entire last hour was given over to question (from the audience) and answer (from the stand). As we had the mission president, the temple president, the two General Authorities, and our Stake Presidency there, this was a pretty special opportunity. (Our presiding authority, Elder Robbins, requested that we not ask curiosity questions, like the location of the sword of Laban. (It's not in the Church vaults, apparently. But he didn't say anything about First Presidency vaults. Just saying.) A lot of good questions were asked and answered, and it was a very diverting way to spend the last hour. Much more to my liking than more talks.

Our stake was divided in two, and our ward was added onto (we got three new blocks, which will translate to about 25 new households, I think), and much was shuffled around. We are without a Stake Relief Society Presidency, apparently, but as these things go, that's not the end of the world. (The new stake, I imagine, has much more to deal with!)

Now we are home, and I am decompressing on the couch. Almost three hours of children touching me constantly left me feeling rather...frazzled. As you might expect. Everyone else is downstairs, either napping or playing (I guess). It's actually quite peaceful right now.

Sometimes SAD

Oh, what do you do in the wintertime,
When all the world is grey,
Do you cry in your room,
Feeling nothing but gloom,
And watch as the snowflakes fly?
Is that what you do?
So do I!

I suffer from a mild case of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), which means I get grumpy and depressed during the grey winter months. Growing up in Las Vegas as I did, I actually didn't know that I suffered from it until my senior year in high school. In that January, four days broke (and still hold) the daily record for amount of precipitation. It was an abnormally overcast winter, and I was in an abnormally bad mood (even for a teenager) throughout most of it.

The weirdest thing was that I loved overcast, rainy days. (Still do, in some circumstances.) When the weather forecasters claimed that it would be a "beautiful, sunny day", I'd scoff. "Beautiful" was a soft, grey day; "sunny" was the boring normal.

It wasn't until March of that year that my mother finally figured out the relationship between her moody, cranky daughter and the weather. It wasn't exactly a surprise, my grandfather and at least one aunt suffered from SAD as well. Armed with this knowledge, I began to amass ways of dealing with it. Some of them are reasonably easy and inexpensive; some are more...difficult and expensive.

My favorite was spending a week in Mexico in the middle of January--that happened in 1999. I was a geology professor's research assistant, and we went down to a little tiny town about three hours outside of Guadalajara. I spent that week wandering around the hills, doing (mostly sedimentary) geology in the glorious sunshine--I even got a sunburn. It was wonderful. But hardly practical as a yearly plan. (I wish.)

My psychiatrist actually suggested I spend a week or two in Las Vegas visiting my mom during the winter, so that is my non-Mexico backup plan. Serendipitously, Bradley often attends an IT conference in Vegas, so we get to combine business with pleasure most years. (I know this will become harder as my children get older, but for now, it works.)

I use a blue spectrum therapy light during the winter--like this one--and sitting next to this light for an hour a day really makes a difference to my mood. It is supposed to mimic sunshine (but without the UVA and UVB rays that can burn you), and it does help. Gee is endless fascinated by the blue light, and so often I will walk into the room and it will be on, just because he loves it. They aren't exactly cheap devices, but it's worth the price, and if you wait until April or May, they usually go on sale and you can pick one up for 30-40% off.

Some cheaper, and easy-to-accomplish, tips: I try to uncover my windows during the day, even if it is cloudy out. Anytime the sun peeks out, I try to position myself--my face especially--in the sunlight. It's amazing what an instantly good feeling that produces. I leave lights on in the major rooms in the house--not very energy saving or green of me, I know, but it makes a big difference in my mood. I try to take walks as often as possible when the sun is shining.

The last thing I try to remember is not to be too hard on myself. It's okay to take it a little easy on some days. This one has been vital this winter, as I've been in the miserable first trimester of pregnancy. Soon enough I'll be gigantically pregnant in the middle of summer, and wishing for a little snow or gloom.

Snow from a partly-blue sky

The view from my front porch this morning.

Prep time verus task time

Why is it, when an errand takes three minutes, it feels so much more onerous than an errand that takes thirty minutes?

I think it has to do with the amount of time it takes to get the children ready.

For example, if I drive Zee to school, I have to Hebs, Gee, and Em ready, too. They must have shoes and coats on. While Em can get into the car by herself, she doesn't quite have the ability to click her seat belt together. And of course I have to carry Hebs and Gee out to the car (usually individually, now, as they weigh a combined 48 lbs and I'm feeling more and more pregnant), and get their seat belts on. This takes, at minimum, 10+ minutes.

And then we drive for 1.5 minutes, drop Zee off, and drive 1.5 minutes home. Reverse the tasks, only I usually don't take off the kids' shoes. So figure, 5+ minutes to get everyone back in the house.

So to accomplish a 3 minute task, it takes me almost 20 minutes. ARGHHH.

Now, contrast this with walking Zee home from school. I still have to get everyone ready, set them up cozy in the stroller. But then we walk for 12 minutes to school, wait around a few minutes to pick up, and walk 20 minutes home (swap the times if we are dropping off instead of picking up). The task now takes 40 minutes altogether instead of 20.

And it is less irritating to me! I feel much less imposed upon, much less harried. I actually enjoy the experience.

Is it because of the exercise? Is it because the naturally-slower pace makes me calmer? Is it because my prep time isn't overwhelming my task time? Is it because I'm a completely-illogical woman? (Don't agree with the last one if you are male. Just FYI.)

Whatever it is, I look eagerly forward to the return of good weather. Yesterday the sun was shining, it was 42 degrees, and it felt like spring. So we walked to pick Zee up, and ended up playing at the school playground for another 30 minutes. It was marvelous!

My Internet-y Day

For my birthday, Bradley gave me the gift of an hour in BYU's library to find and check out as many books as I wanted. Oh, joy! He took the kids and they got donuts over at the CougarEat, and I roamed and browsed and gathered to my heart's content. I ended up with 12+ books, which I have been happily devouring ever since Tuesday. Sometimes two a day. It's been lovely.

I haven't been online as much, and that has been lovely, too. It's nice to come "back" and have so much to read and learn about after an absence.

I start most days with my email and Facebook. I'll readily admit it, I really enjoy Facebook. I don't ever play any games or surveys (mostly because I'm paranoid about sharing my information with unknown entities), but I truly love keeping in touch with so many different people--from my high school buddies to Relief Society sisters to my cousin's wife. It's pretty amazing, if you think about it.

Then I move to politics and news--usually Instapundit, DrudgeReport, Deseret News, Yahoo News, and National Review Online. CNN.com used to be at the top of my list, but gradually their coverage has impressed me less, so I don't frequent that site as much.

Then I check the blogs. I go to the Mormon Archipelago (ldsblogs.org, no official connection with the church) for the Mormon blogs and Utah Bloghive for the Utah political blogs. Then I hit my favorites--CakeWrecks, Woulda Coulda Shoulda, Pioneer Woman, Daring Young Mom, Dandelion Mama, to name just a very few. I have a HUGE list. Then I go to my "friends" blogs--separate list, with my sisters-in-law's blogs (I have no idea how to punctuate plural possessive "sister-in-law"), friends and extended family, etc.

Finally, I go to a few other sites: The Consumerist, Slate, Wall Street Journal Online, etc. Mostly I just browse around, looking for interesting stories.

Goodness! I really do spent a lot of time online. To be fair, this is usually completely broken up throughout the whole day, between many child- and house-related tasks. And I spent more time online in the winter than in the summer, just because I'm inside more in the winter. (But the sun is shining today! Yay!)

So, do you have any sites I should be looking at? (Or, I guess you could just scold me for wasting so much time. Whichever!)

Praying for Haiti

Tonight, as Zee was preparing to say the family prayer, Bradley mentioned that maybe Zee should make sure he prayed for the people of Haiti. Bradley then explained why:

Bradley: They had a big earthquake in Haiti--you know what an earthquake is, right?
Zee: It's when a lot of rocks fall down and knock stuff over.
Bradley: Not quite. It's when the earth actually moves.
Zee: Did everyone in Haiti die?
Bradley: Not everyone, but a lot of people died, and a lot of houses are all broken up.
Zee: You mean they don't have any place to live?
Bradley: Yes.
Zee: They better build new houses, so they can have a place to pee and to get a drink of water.

He shows a pretty good understanding for why they need new houses, doesn't he? Sanitation and clean drinking water, all in terms a six-year-old can easily grasp.

So then Zee began his prayer: "Dear Heavenly Father, Please bless the people who live in Haiti. Please bless them that millions of builders--maybe even thousands--can get them new houses really soon. Please bless that they don't have any earthquakes, and please bless than we don't ever have an earthquake here..."

Okay, so maybe he doesn't understand that thousands is less than millions. But his heart is in the right place.

Speaking of earthquakes here in Utah, there's a great article in the Deseret News about what a 7.0 magnitude earthquake would do here on the Wasatch Front. My least favorite part:

He said fatalities would be greater during the night because many older homes in Utah are "unreinforced masonry buildings," made of bricks on bricks without reinforcing steel. The brittle structures don't flex well in quakes and can snap like chalk. Upgrades — such as better attaching of roofs to walls — can make them safer.

It's my least favorite because I live in an unreinforced masonry house built in 1944. Ugh. I won't pretend I don't have nightmares occasionally about this. But this is because I am a geology nerd. I don't worry about liquefaction because we aren't near enough to Utah Lake, and I don't worry about landslides because we aren't near enough to the mountains, and I don't worry about dams breaking up the canyon because A) there aren't any big dams up Spanish Fork Canyon and B) we live pretty far above (elevation wise) the river bottoms. Really, I live in a pretty good place for earthquake country.

Keep Your Money, You've Earned It! (or maybe not)

This is the flyer the school district sent home with my son on Monday. When I picked it up off the floor today to throw away, I actually looked it over.

"Keep Your Money! You've earned it." Sounds good, right? I'd like to keep more of the money my husband earns at his job.

But then read the fine print. (Apologies for the bad photo--I am too lazy to get out of my chair and actually take a real picture, so you get a webcam version.) Under "You've earned it" the fine print is as follows:

"If your household income is below $49,000 per year, you may qualify for an Earned Income Tax Credit of up to $5,600 even if you don't owe any taxes!"

(A little digression: The Earned Income Tax Credit (EITC) is a refundable tax credit designed to offset the burden of US payroll taxes (like Medicaid/Medicare and social security). Only certain low-income taxpayers qualify.)

So the whole "Keep Your Money! You've earned it!" only applies to people who qualify for the EITC.

Apparently, the rest of us don't get to keep our money, because we haven't earned it. Or something.

(I don't think EITC is a bad idea--letting taxpayers keep more money is actually a good thing, and this makes the payroll tax less regressive. But still--what a poorly worded advertisement! If you are rich(er), you didn't really earn your money, and therefore the government will keep it!)

Cinco

So...number five is on her way. For the purposes of identification the fetus shall be known as "Ralph/ette" and referred to by feminine pronouns. Because I want a girl. Not that I won't be absolutely head-over-heels in love with a boy, but--let's face it, I would like another girl. My little girlie clothes need to be worn again, and after three boys, my little boy clothes are getting ragged. (Actually, since most of my boy clothes are hand-me-downs to start with, it's more like five/six boys have used these clothes!)

(And something else: This is the normal thing to say: "I want a girl (or boy, whichever), but as long as it's healthy, we'll be perfectly happy." I started to say this over Christmas, and then stopped. Even if "it" is not healthy, we'll still be perfectly happy. I would say that, even with Gee's medical problems, we're still perfectly happy. Not perfectly at ease at all times, but with children, that's what you get, right? So, yes, I want a girl. End of sentence.)

Ralph/ette is expected to arrive in late July, and I am expected to be past ready by Memorial Day. (Not that I want her to be preemie. I just really really REALLY hate being pregnant. Sometimes about the 40-week all-day nausea and seven month heartburn (really, yes, it already started, thanks), the exhaustion and crankiness and backaches and...ooops, sorry.)

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Anyway, midsummer is when the baby should appear, and we are all really excited. When we told the children, right before Christmas, they took it pretty much in stride.

Em: "What is the baby's name?"
Daddy: "Ralph, of course."
Em (plaintively, tears welling up in her eyes): "But I want it to be a GIRL!"
Daddy: "Oh. Then, Ralphette is the baby's name."
Em (smiling brightly): "O-KAY!"

At church the following Sunday Zee decided to announce "My mommy is having another baby!" to a few completely random people. One came up to Bradley, a little confused, and said, "I guess congratulations are in order? Or was Zee not supposed to tell?" Such is life with a six-year-old, I guess.

I've been feeling tired and horrible, so everything is perfectly normal here. Usually I feel better in month five and six, so two more months till the reprieve. Hopefully!

Notice Anything?

Happy (3rd) Birthday!

Oh, I almost forgot...Happy Third Birthday to Gee's shunt! It was three years ago today that he had major brain surgery. He was three weeks old, and it was my thirtieth birthday.

Gee, March 2007, two months after the shunt surgery

I was so anxious about the "bump" on his head--mostly because it looked so fragile, but some because it looked so weird. I wanted him to wear hats all the time. Bradley helped me realize that my reaction was more of an overreaction, and eventually we all got used to the knobby bump on his head.

As Gee grew, and got more body fat and hair, his shunt became less and less prominent. Now we barely notice it, even when he gets a buzz haircut.

Gee, June 2009, 2+ years after shunt surgery

Happy birthday, shunt. Thanks for three years of perfect function--here's to many, many more.

Doggone

There's a dog in our neighborhood that has been running around without a lease leash (thanks for the correction, Jenafer!) lately. Although I don't know the dog's owners, I know which house the dog belongs to--it's on the block just south of us. This medium-large dog, while not badly-behaved, scares Zee badly enough that he doesn't want to walk down to his friend's house alone, or (sometimes) even to play outside.

Spanish Fork has a pretty clear leash-law: "It shall be unlawful for any animal to be at large at any time within the corporate limits of the city." And I completely agree. We don't live in a rural area--even if, once upon a time, Spanish Fork was far more rural than it is now. (The same can be said about New York City, so there you go.) Allowing dogs to run loose is rude (pooping on the lawn, digging up yards), but more than that it is dangerous. Dangerous for people: My children are small, my three-year-old not very mobile, and I don't really care if your dog is the sweetest thing ever. I don't trust a stray dog without his owner around. And dangerous for the dogs--a little dog was killed in the intersection by my house a few months ago. He had been running around for the month previous to the accident, and my neighbor had actually talked to his owner about it.

So! Leash laws, good; dogs running around loose, bad.

Usually, if a dog is just passing through my neighborhood, I ignore it. But if it is bothering my kids or pooping in my yard, not so much on the ignoring thing. So today, when I saw the same dog wandering in our yard and in the street in front of our neighbor's house, I called Animal Control.

This was less than helpful. The police dispatcher (for that's where my call went) told me that the Animal Control officer was out of the office for the rest of the week. (That's what you get for living in a small town.) What did she suggest I do, then? Her answer? Well, I could either take the animal to the Animal Shelter myself, or I could talk to the owners.

The second option is a great one, if I feel like confronting unknown people with a complaint about their beloved pet. (Which, really, I should just man up and do it.) But what if you don't know to whom the dog belongs? (80% of the time, that is the case for me.)

As for the first option: HA! I am not going to somehow corral the stray dog myself, place him and all my kids in my minivan, and take the dog to the pound. I actually think that she was a little negligent in suggesting that. Suppose I tried to take her advice, and got hurt (or one of my kids got hurt)? It seems to me that the city could be somewhat liable for damages in that case.

In any event, I don't know what I am going to do. Either I will screw up my courage and go talk to the unknowns, or I will just ignore the situation until the Animal Control officer returns next week and I see the dog loose again. I'm sure not going to tackle that dog and drag him to the pound.

Postives and Negatives

Things that irritated me today:

• Getting billed for seeing specialists at clinic that I did not ask to see, and did not need to see. I don't want to pay 5 $25 co-pays to have a neurosurgeon ask me, slightly confused, "Why are we seeing you today?" I have no idea, I didn't request neurosurgery, we're just fine, thanks. Not to mention the occupational therapist and others...ARGH! Now I know: stand up for yourself, and risk hurting someone's feelings by saying, "Sorry, we don't need to see you today." Or maybe I'll make a sign that says, "This room only needs to see X and Y specialists today. I can't afford to make small talk with the rest of you. You're all the best, love and kisses, Gee's Mom."

• Advertisements in my kindergartener's backpack. The free tax help flyer provided by the state is okay, I guess, but the travel magazine all about family trips to Disneyland? Not cool, School District Dudes.

Things that made me happy today:

• Getting Gee's new DAFOs. They are so cute, with a strap design of a little puppy dog chasing a baseball. Two of Gee's favorite things--if they'd had one with a puppy, a ball, and a train, it would have been pure bliss.

• My sleepy little boy getting off the bus. I guess he nodded off during the ride home. When they transferred him to my arms, he snuggled right up and patted me on the back. Sweet boyo!

• The sun shining! I curled up on the floor in the family room in the patch of sunlight with my Hebs. We were like two little cats soaking up the sun. It was very peaceful until he head-butted me, with I supposed isn't unlike two kittens play-fighting. But it definitely ended the peaceful interlude.

• My first art lesson with Em. After Gee and Zee were at school, we put Hebs down for his nap and started our lesson. We read "Mouse Paint", Em colored "jars" of primary colors and secondary colors, and then we colored some pictures together. It was very fun and very sweet.

Oh, look! I have more positives than negatives today. What a relief!

Listen to the wind blow...

Listen to the wind blow,
Lonely as a sigh.
Nothing overhead but empty sky.
Look up at starlight
On a dark night;
Are we all alone,
An island in space?
Or is there a plan
Where I have a place?

When I was a junior in college, I was the teaching assistant for a Geology 101 Honors class. It was a marvelous class, and a very fun first introduction to teaching geology. At the end of the semester, the class went on a field trip to Toroweap Lookout Point, Grand Canyon. As one of the TAs, I got to drive one the huge 12-passenger vans.

I didn't have a car the entire time I was in college, and so it had been 3 years since I had done any real driving. There I was, on a dirt road, driving a full van with loaded top (all our camping gear and luggage was lashed to the roof), trying to keep up with the professor's van. My windshield was covered in dust, there were alternating flashes of sun and shadow, and Dr. B. kept driving faster. 30 mph. 35. 40. Doesn't sound very fast, but it was a winding, mountain dirt road, with rocks on one side and a very steep drop-off on the other, and I felt like a 16-year-old driver again.

I was trying very hard not to panic. I slowed a little, but still didn't relax. White-knuckled, I uttered a silent prayer: Oh, Heavenly Father, don't let me crash. Don't let me kill everyone in this van. Help me to relax.

Could it be that heaven
Is man's imagining,
Reaching out for hope in childish dreams?
Stories so old then,
We've outgrown them?
Has God gone away
Or hidden His face?
Have miracles ceased to be?

Slowly, my hands released their death grip on the steering wheel. Our little caravan didn't reduce speed, but gradually I felt more and more comfortable. By the time we reached our destination, I was laughing and chatting with the students again.

But the power of God is plain to see,
There are wonders on every hand
To those who will see through eyes of faith,
Beyond the mind of man.

For how could we hope
To see His face,
Who never could see
His face?

The next morning, I lay on my belly with my nose over the edge of the canyon, looking at the Colorado River some 4000 feet straight below. An eagle soared below me, calling. It was breathtaking, awe-inspiring, enormous.

And I knew that the same God who created this grandeur; this canyon with its layered wall of millions of years, this powerful river cutting through solid rock, the wind in my hair and the eagle far below me--this same God cared enough about a frightened girl the day befo-- to send comfort, peace, and ability to her in her need. In response to a silent prayer, the Almighty God, creator of worlds, comforted His child.

Some may see a rainbow
As nothing more than light.
Others see a promise and a sign.
Everyday wonders
Without number
Are here all around
And wait to be found
By those who have eyes to see.
--The Power of God, Steven Kapp Perry

Warning: Stomach Flu Discussion Ahead

Ugh. Today was just an ugh day. Sorry if you called--I spent as much of the day in bed as possible and only answered the phone once. (It was Gee's orthopedist, so I had to take that call. His new DAFO braces are in, and Gee needs to be fitted for them on Monday.)

On the flip side, the sun was shining today and Em is finally feeling better. When this girlie gets the stomach flu, she gets the stomach flu. Nothing halfway about her. If it is a 24-hour-bug for everyone else, it lasts 72 hours for Em. For example, we had a little stomach virus right after Thanksgiving, remember? Hebs vomited once, Gee twice, Zee once, Momma a couple of times. Daddy was sick for about 36 hours, so he got it pretty bad. Em was sick for almost three days that time.

This time, with this "24-hour" bug she picked up at a good friends New Year's Party (it's all your fault, Lisa!! Just kidding!), Em has been sick since Saturday evening. Didn't eat or drink for nearly four days. (I was a heartbeat away from taking her to the doctor for an IV, honestly.) I've never been so worried about dehydration before. She wasn't completely lethargic, and she kept going to the bathroom, so we waited. Finally, on Wednesday morning, she started keeping water down, and then graduated to a bite of food here, a bite there. Some of it came back up, but yesterday she managed to keep some cereal down, and today she's been rocketing around the house, eating and playing just like normal. Whew.

Zee has the over-developed gag reflex (every time Em vomited, Zee fled the area), but Em's got the sad stomach. Poor thing. Glad that's over.

A completely unrelated P.S. My sister's seventh grader is reading The Great Gatsby in school. Huh? I don't think I really understood that book when I read it in tenth grade. Thirteen seems a little young to be dealing with what Jen says "All that they do in the whole book is drink, party and sleep around." I'm pretty sure any deeper meaning was completely lost on my class of 15-16-year-olds. I can't imagine trying to teach it to 12-13-year-olds.

Allergic

So, Hebs is not allergic to pecans. Or peanuts. Or wheat. (Whew) Or almonds. Or...citrus, I think that was one of them.

He is, however, allergic to cow's milk. And eggs.

The milk left me unsurprised. I'd like to say it was mother's intuition, but really it was just simple observation. Twice I gave him cow's milk, twice he broke out in hives. I didn't give him milk, he didn't break out in hives. Voila! I'm a genius.

I didn't suspect an egg allergy, although we ate German pancakes (mostly egg, with a little flour and milk and butter) for dinner last night, and he has been sporting a lovely rash all over his torso today. Not hives, but still.

Having a 14-month-old allergy tested is interesting. You have to lay on your stomach, and they draw on your back with a marker and then poke you with little plastic darts that have been sitting in the allergens. (The nurses only tested for food allergies, which was fine with me given we don't have a pet and I've been told that environmental allergies are uncommon in babies.) Hebs didn't like having to lay on his stomach, but the poking didn't phase him at all. He honestly didn't care, being far more concerned with trying to scratch his shoulders and chest (dang rash).

The next step, waiting 20 minutes without touching or rubbing the tested area, was the hard part. Hebs loves to roll around, but obviously was forbidden. He loves to sit on Momma's lap and read books, but that puts his back in contact with Momma's (unfortunately ample) belly, so nope. He had to sit (or stand, something he's getting quite good at) for the whole 20 minutes. By minute 15, I wasn't sure we were going to make it the whole time. I peeked at his back several times, amazed at the three little bumps that were growing larger and redder by the minute. (The third bump was the control allergen--supposedly it makes everyone react and thus proves the test is correct. What do you suppose is in there--Human Allergen X (secret recipe)? Just wondering.)

We made it through and home and I gave Hebs a 1/2 tsp of Benedryl (to control the reactions). We'll have a doctor's appointment early next week so we can discuss what to do next, and I have to admit I'm curious. What do I give my Hebs instead of milk, so that he can get strong bones and muscles (not to mention the fat that is so important to brain development!)? (Not that my children ever drink milk, having inherited a violent dislike of the taste from their mother. Em is my exception--she loves a glass of milk. Yuck!) Why doesn't he seem to react to yogurt? Are eggs in a cookie mix okay? Do I need an epi-pen? (Doubt it.) And what can I do when he has a rash like he does today?

It's good to know, though, that I wasn't crazy and that he is allergic to milk. Answers are always so nice.

Adventures in Sacrament Meeting

What's the weirdest thing that has ever happened to you in church?

I have the obvious (but still funny) children stories: screaming for me (or Daddy) if one of us in on the stand for some reason; the yelling "AMEN" in the middle of an extra-long closing prayer; the smacking of lips after taking the sacrament; the loud demanding of more bread (or water) in the middle of the very quiet chapel...you know the list. You could probably add to it...feel free in the comments.

Then there are the slightly less common type: For example, when I was child a young man was reporting on his mission. He stood up at the pulpit, looked over everyone, and slowly turned a very pale shade of green. From where we were sitting, I could see the sweat break out across his forehead. He didn't actually faint, but had to sit down quickly. A sister in the ward ran to the kitchen and brought him a drink of water while the bishop quickly stood up and gave a short, impromptu talk about missionary work. I seem to remember this RM trying again, whether that day or another week, with a similar result. I don't think we ever heard his talk, and I remember wondering how in the world he'd gotten through his mission with such a profound fear of public speaking. Poor kid.

Or the time that my brother, who usually prepared the sacrament table, was sick. It wasn't his turn to bring the bread or anything, and he assumed (bad idea) that the other teachers would take care of filling the cups and putting the bread out, etc. The ward before us had neglected to clean up their sacrament, and so the priests and the deacons looked at the neatly covered trays, and assumed David had taken care of it. It wasn't until the sacrament hymn started that the priests discovered that it was the other ward's leavings sitting under there. We sang every verse of the sacrament hymn and listened to the organist keep playing the same song over and over, as the Young Men's President and the Bishop scurried around with the priests, finding the bread and emptying the trays and filling the water...not an especially spiritual sacrament meeting, I'm afraid.

All of this is a preface to pointing you to one of the funniest posts in all Mormon blogging: Adventures in Arizona at Mormon Mommy Wars. In a 300+ comment thread, everyone in the "bloggernacle" (the Mormon blog community) shares their weirdest sacrament meeting moments. And there are some seriously, seriously hilarious ones. If you have an hour or two, and need a belly laugh, head over there. (Kristy, I mentioned your Tucson lady-with-the-dog, and two other random people commented they knew about her too!)

And what about you? Do you have any funny/horrifying/hilarious stories about sacrament meeting?

A conversation between you and me

My dishwasher isn't working. This is a tragedy.

Now, Keryn, you say, there are many tragedies in the world, but your stopped-up dishwasher is not one of them.

Well, I know that. Haven't you ever heard of hyperbole?

Oh. Sorry.

It's okay. So, back to my tragedy.

Oh, yes, your tragedy.

Hush. My dishwasher isn't working, and my kitchen is most decidedly not laid out for hand washing. The sink is on the short part of a capital letter "L", and the microwave is on the only counter space next to the sink.

Your microwave is next to the sink?

So? It's where the ONE plug in the kitchen (that isn't being used for oven/refrigerator) is. Not the point. The point is, there's no place to put clean OR dirty dishes. Unless you open up the (not working) dishwasher. But that gives you about six inches of clearance to stand by the sink. To wash the dishes.

You poor thing.

I'm not getting a lot of sympathy, am I?

Nope.

Darn. Well, I spent about forty minutes today hand washing dishes, and putting the clean ones to dry in the dishwasher. It worked, but it was a pain.

You're so brave.

Gee, thanks. The point is--I need to try to fix the dishwasher. Because I don't really want to have to scrape my shins along the dishwasher door twice a day, everyday, for twenty-plus minutes. So I'm actually going to take apart the bottom-thingie of the dishwasher and see if it is plugged up. Hopefully that will solve the problem, because that is something I can actually try to fix.

Hey, good luck!

Oh, now you care?

Well, now you're not whining.

Oh. Good point. Thanks!

Gee's First Day of Preschool

So is this a gangsta pose? Or is it, "Whatever, momma, I'm too cool for school"? Or maybe, "Why do you keep taking my pictures, woman?"

Regardless of what that pose meant, today was Gee's first day of preschool. His first day of riding the school bus. The longest amount of time he has been away from relatives. And he did just fine.

This morning I asked him if he was going to school today. "Mmmm-huh," he muttered noncommittally. I got a better answer after breakfast and an episode of Backyardigans. "Want to get ready for school, Gee?" "Yes!!" he shouted with all the enthusiasm one could hope for.

We got dressed for school, packed a bag with the necessary diapers, wipes, and extra clothes they request, signed all the extra paperwork (I think I have signed my name more times for Gee than for the other three children combined), and put the papers in his little blue backpack. Even though the bus wasn't expected for another forty minutes, Gee put that backpack on and refused to take it off. He was ready for school.

When the bus pulled up in front of our house, Gee just about burst with excitement. "My bus! My bus! My SCHOOL bus!!!" The bus tech (they don't call anyone an "aide" anymore, they are "technicians") came out to pick Gee up and carry him aboard the bus, while I followed, getting the paperwork I needed from them.

And then I waved goodbye and let them drive off with my little boy.

It was hard. (But I didn't cry.) He's only three, and seems littler at times because of the mobility issues. And three is little no matter what, especially for letting someone else drive away with your kid for more than three hours. I didn't know how he was going to do, on the bus ride or in the classroom. Scary.

The bus was supposed to drop him back home at 2:20, and by 2:15 I was peeking out the window every two seconds. Of course they were behind schedule, and it was 2:33 before they pulled up. I bounded out to get my boy, and see how things went.

The bus folks had nothing but good to say about Gee. He almost fell asleep on the way home (no surprise there), but he had been just great. We waved good-bye and went back into the house, where Gee was far more interested in unwrapping the "bus candy" they handed him at the end then telling me about his day. Then again, he's pretty young to be describing events very clearly. (Yet another reason I hate to see him go for so long.)

Luckily, in his backpack was a little note from his teacher. Mrs M. mentioned that he had had physical therapy today (the whole reason for attending preschool), and it had gone well. Also, he had had a "hard time settling in", and it would be better if I didn't come in as planned on Wednesday. (I was supposed to show them how to wrap his leg braces, but the PT was able to show them instead.)

Oh, dear. So he had a hard time settling in. Okay, I'm sure that's normal, and they have plenty of experience in dealing with similar situations. Wow, though. I'm not sure I like feeling...cut off...from my child like this. I certainly think Mrs M. was right to suggest I don't come in, and I will follow her suggestions at the beginning, but I don't have to like it. I don't know any better way for him to get comfortable, and if it were nursery or Primary I'd totally say "okay, no prob" but in nursery or Primary, I can at least spy on him. I feel isolated from Gee's school experience.

(Now is the time when you tell me to settle down myself. Take a few deep, cleansing breaths and remember it is the FIRST day of school. The very start. Everything is new for both of us. I'm telling myself that, right now.)

Don't grow up too fast, Gee-boy.

What I did on my Christmas Vacation

Sorry about the hiatus, but my husband gave me the most marvelous Christmas present ever. On the day after Christmas, he sent me down to Las Vegas to stay with my mother (and LaDale, and Telima & Tyler, and their kids...) for six days.

All. By. Myself.

When I packed, I only packed for myself. When I traveled (by Greyhound, always an adventure!), I didn't have to worry about potty breaks or bored children. Or vomiting children, for that matter--something that always seems to happen on long car trips. When I was there, I didn't have to keep children away from the living room (the only room that they can't play in), or cook meals for children who won't eat them anyway, or listen for the baby crying in the porta-crib upstairs. I slept in until 11, stayed up until 1, whatever I wanted.

When we went to the bookstore, I browsed uninterrupted. When we went to lunch at a sit-down restaurant, I didn't even consider approaching naptime, much less the delay between ordering and food. When we went on a (very short) hike at sunset, I kept track of my sister's or my brother's kids, but only sporadically, whenever one of the other five adults needed a little help. And the sun shone at least half the time.

It was marvelous, and refreshing, and I am SO GLAD to be back home.

I had a great time, but by New Year's Day, I was ready to come home. I missed talking politics with my husband, I missed playing with my children. I missed cuddling my babies. They missed me, too. Even three days later, Hebs crawls over to my lap and throws himself on me constantly. Gee (who starts school tomorrow, YIKES) said, "You're home, Momma?" When I said yes, he then shouted, "You're HOME, Momma!!!!" He wants tons of cuddles, too. Em (who is sick with a stomach bug today) snuggles in and tells me about her toys. Zee has almost talked my ear off, about all his adventures while I was gone.

Bradley missed me too.

(He says he has a new appreciation for my job. He is also of the opinion that all fathers should watch their children for a week, so they appreciate their wives more. Okay by me. We'll let him think that my life is tough, without pointing out that what he did was harder, because he had to do it 24/7, without the benefit of schedule and routine and normality. And the week after Christmas, no less. But, shhhh. Don't tell. Let him appreciate my "hard" job.)

I have the world's best husband, and the world's most amazing family.

Happy New Year!