That's not fair!

Today, my six-year-old Em was whining saying, "That's NOT FAIR!"  This was in response to my denial of her request to have a cookie, after eating Halloween candy without limits all day long.  I gave my stock response of "Life's not fair, get used to it."  My mother, who is visiting, had a different response.

"Em, do you know what I told all my children when they said that to me?" Grandma asked. "I told them to write down all the things in life that were fair, so that I would know."

Em's eyes lit up.  "Okay!" she said as she ran off to find a pen.

Grandma looked at me.  "I never had a kid actually take me up on that suggestion, though."

A few minutes later, Em returned with a carefully written list of Fair/Not Fair.  On it were four items:

• Fair:  Playing outside
• Not Fair:  Not playing outside
• Fair:  Painting
• Not Fair:  Not painting

So, basically, things are fair when she gets to play outside and/or paint.  And when she is denied these activities, life is not fair.

Glad we got that cleared up.

My day

24 cupcakes, baked, frosted, and sprinkled.

Two huge pots of white chicken chili.

Messy upstairs cleaned.

Children dressed for Halloween parties.

Nine extra kids over for Zee's eighth birthday.

Successful birthday party, with treasure hunt and pinata.

Ward Halloween party and chili cookoff, with me as photographer.

It's been quite the day.  Pictures later, but I'm going to SLEEP now.  G'night!

Clean house, happy momma

Because of my wrenched foot, my poor house has been majorly neglected in the last five days.

If you have or have ever had children in your home, you know this spells disaster.

Bradley and the kids have tried to tidy up, but let's face it:  A "clean" room to children is not the same thing as a "clean" room to a momma.  On Saturday, Bradley spent most of the day outside, getting the yard ready for the winter and taking down the old shed.  I had grand intentions, after the neglect of Thursday and Friday, but spent most of my Saturday with my foot up.  Sunday was not much different, for me at least.

This afternoon, my tolerance to the mess finally evaporated.  Limping around, I cleaned and de-cluttered and scrubbed and rearranged and dumped for three hours.  Oh, how my foot hurts, but oh, how wonderful it is to have a clean house again.

I used to be able to ignore an amazing amount of mess and clutter.  Sometime in the last three years, I've lost that ability.  Figures I would find my neat-freakness just as my children are reaching the very messy stage of life.

Winds of Change

For the past four years, Bradley has served as the Elders' Quorum President in our ward.  For almost three years, I've been the first counselor in the Relief Society Presidency.  It's been busy, but pretty do-able, even with four and then five young children.  We traded off meeting times and responsibilities, and only hit a few snags along the way.

Today we were both released, me in sacrament meeting and Bradley in priesthood.  Although there are other callings in the works, I'm sure, for the moment neither of us have a calling!  We've debated running off to Mexico, but decided that 16+ hours in the car with five children doesn't sound like a lot of fun.  (Plus, no passports.)  Maybe we'll celebrate with a nap or something.

Zoo-tastic

We went to the zoo today, the kids and I and my friend S. and David and kids and my friends L. and A.  and their kids.  It was super fun and beautiful and pretty crowded (it is fall break for most of the schools in northern Utah), but despite the teeming masses, we had a marvelous time.

And exhausting, too.  I gimped along, and my ankle and foot did pretty well.  (It hurts more now that I'm off it.  Figures.)  But driving up and back and wrestling kids and all is tiring.  So, to bed with me.  I'll leave you with some pictures of the day.

Who told her she could grow up? 

L's two boys, checking out the tiger pool. 

The happy group (minus L's sleeping baby in a stroller)

My little monkeys, checking out cotton-top tamerins 

Graceful

Yesterday, at about noon, as I was walking down the stairs, I somehow fell off the last step.  As I went down--on the baby wipes box so conveniently placed at the bottom of the stairs--I heard a series of pops come from my left ankle and foot.  The pain came a moment later as I crumpled on the floor.

Once the blindingly sharp pain subsided, I could only think about how I had sent the two little boys out to get in the car, while I fetched Yum Yum from her nap.  We needed to get to the school to talk to Em and her teacher (emotions are so hard when you're only six).  I didn't have time for pain or a twisted ankle!

So I soldiered on, hobbling awkwardly, feeling like a fool.  My foot hurt, but I ignored it in favor of dealing with my sweet daughter, helping her write an apology, getting her back in her class.  Hauling Yum Yum around, with Gee and Hebs tagging behind, I limped back out to the car.

I noticed my shoe began to feel a little tight.  When I took it off to inspect my foot, there was a bit of swelling, but no noticeable bruises.  I thought this meant it was just a little wrenched.

Well.

The swelling arrived last night, and the pain was pretty bad.  I finally fell asleep at 1am, with the help of some drugs.  When I woke up, my foot wasn't hurting anymore!  Hooray!  Then I got out of bed and put weight on it.  Oh, well.

It's still a little swollen--okay, a lot swollen, you can't really discern an ankle in there--but I can get around okay on it.  I've got it wrapped, with ice on and off.   I'm not babying it, but I'm trying not to overdo.  (Heh, heh.)

But the funniest thing of all?  It's how stupid I feel.  I fell off ONE STEP.  I wasn't half-asleep, trying to soothe a crying child (as what happened to my sister Telima a few months ago).  I wasn't saving a three-legged kitten from a ravenous eagle attack.  I wasn't even hiking a mountain!

Sigh.  My middle name isn't Grace, but perhaps it should be.

Tenth

I'm the luckiest woman alive.

Happy sigh

I may have skipped writing yesterday, but I had a very good reason:  I went to sleep at 9:30pm, and slept more than EIGHT SOLID HOURS without waking up.  It was amazing.  Bless that Yum Yum's heart, she's getting the hang of the whole sleeping-through-the-night thing.

I love the autumn.  

Ten years ago tonight, at probably 9:00 pm, Bradley and I went to City Hall in downtown Las Vegas and got our marriage license.  (There are many advantages to getting married in Las Vegas, one of which is the always-open marriage license bureau.) We were so excited and giddy and trying to be solemn, but we were getting MARRIED in the morning.  

My house (at least the upstairs) is nice and clean.  And I am eating peanut m&ms.  My little boys are on the couch next to me, my baby is sleeping downstairs, and my big kids are walking home from school.

Didn't see that coming...

Today in church, almost-five-year-old Gee pointed to the woman sitting behind us.  "Is there a BABY in her tummy?" he not-quite-whispered.

(Fortunately, this dear woman is very pregnant.)

She flashed a grin at me as I whispered "Yes" to my boy.  He smiled approvingly at her, and then turned back to me.

"How did the baby get in there?"

Oh, stars!  Talk about an awkward place to try to answer that question.  Thinking fast, I leaned over to my son's ear and whispered something about how a mommy and a daddy love each other very much and that makes the baby start to grow in the mommy's tummy.

Mercifully, this was ample explanation for Gee.  His question answered, he returned to beaming at her over the back of the pew.  I wiped the metaphorical sweat off my brow and sighed with relief over dodging that bullet.

Sex ed in sacrament meeting.  That's a new one.

Science Fair Assembly Madness

Yesterday was the science fair assembly for my children's elementary school.  You might recall that I am in charge of the science fair this year, and that I invited my younger brother, Samuel, (who is a professor of physics at Dixie State College) to come do the kickoff assembly.

It was a very good choice.  He had them on the edge of their seats (or, well, he would have if they hadn't been sitting on the floor).  The younger group (K-3), especially, were completely enthralled.  Every single thing Samuel did--and every single thing was amazing--they gasped over, applauded, and cheered.

The liquid nitrogen was a big hit.  (No surprise there.)  Here is a short video clip of Samuel freezing and then destroying a rose.

It was definitely worth every minute of hassle to get that dang liquid nitrogen.  I think my favorite nitrogen stunt was the balloon.  Samuel had a small inflated balloon, which he held up and asked the kids what they thought would happen if he put it in the nitrogen.  Most kids thought it would pop.  

Instead, when he brought the balloon out of the container, it was shriveled and limp.  Within seconds, however, it re-inflated.  The super-cold liquid caused the gas inside the balloon to contract and shrink.  When the balloon was removed to the room temperature air, the gas inside the balloon expanded again.

It was awesome, to watch the kids' faces as they saw that balloon "magically" re-inflate.

Of course, Samuel didn't only play with liquid nitrogen.  He brought magnets and gyroscopes, lasers and electrical charges.  He had the younger kids completely focused on him the entire time.  (The older kids (4-6) were a little harder audience on a Friday afternoon.  He kept their attention, even if their responses weren't as fun or as loud as the little kids' were.)

At least eight different adults came up to me after and told me what an awesome assembly it was, and how amazing my brother is.  (I have to agree.)  Even better, my friends in the ward have told me that their kids couldn't stop talking about the exciting and "magical" science assembly.  More than one mom told me her kids are so excited about doing their own science project.  

I'm glad I had the bright idea to invite Samuel.  Thanks a million-zillion, Samuel.  You rock!

Happy Birthday

Daddy, LaDale, Mema, baby Jenafer 

Jenafer, with the gorgeous hair, and Keryn, with the unruly hair

There was a time, in middle school, when people thought we were twins.

I didn't mind, but then again, I was the younger sister.

We shared a bedroom--she is a morning lark, and I am a night owl.  (That made sharing a room fraught with tension.)  From a very young age, we shared same size in clothing (though not in shoes).  She was one grade ahead of me in school, so we were at the same school 10 of the 12 pre-college years.  When my parents "gave" the old van to their teenagers, she and I were the only drivers living at home, so we shared that, too.  She was quiet and unassertive (through stubborn), and I was (and still am) anything but.

Despite all this forced togetherness, we rarely had all-out fights.  We didn't back-bite or hold a grudge, as some of my friends did with their siblings.  Although our differences were many, so were our similarities:  Camping, crafting, reading, singing.  

And as we have gotten older, the things we have in common outweigh the differences.  She has taught me about child care, about homemaking, about being patient, long-suffering, Christ-like, generous and compassionate.  She is a wonderful example of a woman of God.

Happy birthday, Jenafer.  I love you.

Ketchup

This morning I opened a new bottle of ketchup.

(Incidentally, can I just let you know how grateful I am that I am not pregnant?  Because opening a ketchup bottle before, say, noon is not a good idea while dealing with pregnancy-nausea.)

My Em adores ketchup sandwiches.  It's actually a little disturbing, but it's so convenient and and she loves them so much...we just go with it.  She has one in her lunch every school day, and at least twice a week she has one for her after school snack as well.

Back to this morning:  On the new ketchup bottle, there was a recipe.  In and of itself, that is not an unusual thing--many food packages have recipes.  But this recipe was for...

...cookies.

Ketchup cookies.  Or catsup cookies, if you want to be cute.  Either way you spell it, it sounds less than appetizing.

And before you ask, no, I'm not going to try to make them.  I don't like peanut butter cookies, with or without ketchup.  But if you try them, be sure to let me know how they taste.  Or bring a few to Em--I think she'd appreciate them.

(Total random sidenote:  One year for Christmas, I got a flashlight disguised as a ketchup bottle.  It looked exactly like this one:

And I adored it so much.  Thanks, Mema and Daddy Santa!)

Curse you, Indiana Jones

I have been sucked in (to the tune of FAR too many hours today) and I WILL be victorious!

(This is why I will never take a drink of alcohol.  Clearly I have an addictive personality.) 

Roadshow Practice (Otherwise Known as CHAOS)

It's roadshow* season in the Spanish Fork South Stake, and the (cultural) halls ring with gleeful youth and (mostly game) adults.

Two years ago I participated quite extensively in our ward's offering for the stake performances, but this time the very idea felt a little too--much--for me.  So Bradley got roped in, simply by virtue of being at the church at the right (or wrong) time.  

We're helping with the sounds again (I suppose that makes us foley artists, right?), and since Bradley is in the show, that puts me in charge of making sure the music and sounds come at the right times.  Tonight's rehearsal is the last before show night--this Saturday at 7 at the stake center, everyone in the ward come!--and so we packed up the kiddos and went up to the church at 7pm.  

And entered utter chaos.  I cannot believe how loud and echo-y the cultural hall is now, with wooden floors.  A bare twenty minutes in and I was ready to huddle in a corner with my fingers stuffed in my ears.  I have the most profound admiration for those fabulous leaders who have been working with this program for six weeks.  Amazing.

It should be fun, and I'm excited to be of some help.  My kids are excited to be part of the dance at the end, and Bradley is fearless in his bit part.  Hopefully it all goes off well on Saturday!

*A roadshow is a silly, short, homemade play with music and the singing of ridiculous lyrics.

Bread Redux

I have an obsession with this bread recipe.  I started making it in early September, and I have probably made it at least 12 times since.  It is SO EASY.  Each batch makes four loaves, so...that means I have made 48 loaves of bread in the last six weeks.

That can't be good.

Except it is.  Good, I mean.  So yummy, especially with homemade raspberry-peach or plum-strawberry jam.  And it is so fun having fresh bread around the house.  You would not believe the opportunities for sharing that come up!  I feel like Ma from the Little House books, handing fresh bread rounds at the drop of a hat.

So...because several people have asked me for the recipe, here it is!  (Original recipe from here; I've made very few modifications.)  Don't be freaked out by the length--most of it is just instructions on how to knead the dough.  All told, this recipe usually takes me less than an hour of work to make.  The rest of the time is waiting for the dough to rise (one hour, then ten minutes, then 40 minutes).

2 tsp yeast
4 tsp kosher salt
8-10 cups bread flour (all-purpose won't rise as high)
1 cup warm water (between 105 and 110 degrees)
4 cups warm water

Proof the yeast by putting the yeast in the 1 cup warm water.  It's actually important that the water is the right temperature--check before you put the yeast in.  If the water is less than 105 degrees, the yeast won't grow much; if it is hotter than 110 degrees, it will kill the yeast.  Let the yeast-water mixture sit for about five minutes.

While you are waiting, measure the salt and the flour into a bowl.  Try to spoon or otherwise lightly measure your flour--if you pack it into your measuring cup you'll have too much.

Add the yeast and enough water to mix so that all the flour sticks together.  I usually only use the 1 cup of yeast-water and about 3.5 cups of the other water.

Time for kneading!  Knead the dough on a floured surface by hand for 8-10 minutes.  (This is exhausting, and a really good upper body workout.)  However, I'm lazy, and I have a Bosch mixer.  So I actually put everything in the Bosch bowl and mix it for about 10 minutes.  I have noticed that my bread doesn't rise quite as high when I use the mixer as opposed to doing it by hand, but it is a trade off I am willing to make.  (And now the word "mix" is looking really wrong.)

The dough is ready when it is elastic and not too sticky.  I usually take the dough out of the mixer and knead it for about a minute on the counter.

Pull all the sides of the dough into the center, making a big ball.  This stretches the gluten and makes a higher loaf.  Put the dough in the bowl with the smooth side on top.  Cover with a damp cloth for 1 hour.

Take the dough out of the bowl, and flatten it to about two inches tall.  Separate the dough with a dough cutter (or you can use a nylon pan scraper from Pampered Chef, like I do!) into four equal parts, for four loaves.

Take each part and pull the edges into the middle all the way around to make a ball.  This stretching is really important to having a high loaf--you should see bubbles popping.  Place the ball on the counter with the smooth side up.  Repeat with the other sections.  Cover with your damp cloth for 10 minutes.

Spray two cookie sheets with cooking spray.

Shape your loaves:  Flatten the dough to about 1 inch thick (don't stretch the dough, just flatten it).  Fold one side of the circle of dough to almost the other side, like a smile.  Then flatten again.  Fold both sides in, overlapping, so that the dough is folded into thirds.  Flatten yet again.

Pull the edges to the center again, making a (sort of) ball.  Gently round it.  Place loaves on cookie sheets and cover with damp cloth for about 40 minutes.

While you are waiting, heat the oven to 400 degrees and place a broiler pan of water on the bottom shelf of the oven.  (Pro tip:  Put the pan in the oven, then fill it with water from a pitcher or something.  It works much better that way.)  This steams the bread and gives a really great crust.

When the second rising is done (don't let it go too long, or your loaves will deflate a little), slash he loaves in an "X" with a serrated knife.  (This helps the loaves rise more.)  Mix an egg with a bit of water and brush the loaves all over with a pasty brush.  If you don't like a slightly crunchy crust, you can skip this step.  (I love crunchy crusts, my children do not.)

Put the loaves in the oven (all four!  Hopefully they will fit!) and cook until a nice browned top appears.  It's better to let the top get a little darker than you think, to make sure the bread is cooked through.  I usually cook mine for 30-35 minutes.

Take loaves out of the oven.  After a couple of minutes, turn the loaves over on the cookie sheets so the bottoms can dry (or else they stay wet on the bottom, even after a hour).

Planting Spring

I spent this afternoon in the garden.  (Or, at least, the garden boxes.)

I cleared out all the spring/summer flowers.  My potato vines went crazy this summer.  After a slow start, it grew and grew and grew until all you could see was potato vine.  We pruned it aggressively, and still it was massive.  Between my marvelous strawberries and the potato vine, all my other plants and flowers were choked out.  No big showy petunias for us this summer.

We've decided not to do potato vine again.  (Well, maybe in a pot, all by itself.  We'll see.)

Once all the annuals were gone (leaving the strawberries, mint, columbine, and geranium) (Are geraniums annual?  Perennial?  Who knows?), I planted bulbs.  I'm so excited--we'll have daffodils, tulips, and mountain bells in the spring.

Of course, it won't look anything like this picture, because I only planted 20 daffodils, 25 tulips, and fifty mountain bells.  And I planted them the garden boxes.  But it is a good start!

Civil War

The title of this post does not refer to the state of sibling relationship in my home, but to the actual Civil War.  Or War of Northern Aggression.  Or War Between the States.  Or whatever you want to call it.

I started watching Ken Burn's nine episode "Civil War" documentary series last night.  It is fascinating, sad, amazing, and utterly enthralling.  I'm on the third episode, and I'm learning so much, and realizing why so many people are interested in this war.  (I mean, nobody reenacts the Revolutionary War, do they?  Or the Mexican-American War.  Or the Utah War, for that matter.)  (Okay, that last one would be boring.)

If you get a chance to watch it, I highly recommend it.  I'm watching it for free on Amazon Instant Video (because I have Prime membership).  It's also on Netflix Instant, if you have that.

Conference with Grandpa Tobler

My Grandpa Tobler was a hiker.  He loved the mountains, the trees, and the exercise.  As soon as each grandchild was old enough (the older grandchildren, at least), he took us on a hike.  My first hike was Telescope Peak in Death Valley National Park, when I was ten.

On that hike with Grandpa, he made light of the fact that he was a sixty-odd year old man with a young spry granddaughter occasionally hiking circles around him.  He quoted the poem "About Crows" by John Ciardi more than once:

The old crow is getting slow;

the young crow is not.

Of what the young crow does not know,

the old crow knows a lot.

At knowing things, the old crow is still

the young crow's master.

What does the old crow not know?

How to go faster.

The young crow flies above, below, and rings 

around the slow old crow. 

What does the fast young crow not know? 

WHERE TO GO.

(One other thing about my grandpa that you need to know:  He loved to memorize things.  Poems, songs, speeches--you name it, he memorized it.  And he wasn't shy about quoting things at a moment's notice.)

His other favorite thing to say, whenever that little granddaughter of his asked how much farther it was to go:  "One step at a time."  He'd never allow us to ask hikers coming in the opposite direction "How much farther?"  It was always "One step at a time".

Do these things sound familiar?  If you watched October 2011 conference this weekend, they probably do.  President Packer, in his talk yesterday, quoted the poem about crows.  My sister LaDale texted me as soon as he was done speaking.  "Grandpa quoted that poem to me all the way up Timp when I was twelve."  I knew, as soon as I saw her number, that she was going to comment on that.

And Brother Richardson, of the Sunday School Presidency, talked about a hike he and his children took. The phrase "one step at a time" was said at least once.  I texted LaDale:  "What is this, Grandpa conference?"

Grandpa loved the gospel so much.  In his last days, sick with chemo and cancer, he listened to the scriptures and other religious books on tape.  One afternoon, when I was home from college for Christmas break, Grandma needed to go to a doctor appointment for herself, and so I stayed with Grandpa in their home for a few hours.  We listened to a talk about faith--I don't quite remember what it was, it might have been Robinson's "Believing Christ".  Grandpa slid gently in and out of sleep, but when he was awake he and I talked about living a faithful life, no matter what.

It was probably one of the last times I saw him alive.  I returned to BYU in January, and he passed away in February.  What a joy it has been to be reminded of him not once but twice during General Conference!