Yummy, asleep

My two-year-old Yummy has eschewed formal naps for the last nine months.  If I tried to put her down for a nap in the afternoon, she would a) scream like a banshee until she threw up, or b) scream like a banshee until she fell asleep, and then wake up like a little demon and stay up until 10:30 pm.  After several months of this,  I gave up.

This doesn't mean she doesn't take naps.  They are just naps on her own terms, and they happen about twice/three times a week.  For example, if we get into the car for any length of time in the afternoon, she's asleep.  Sometimes she'll curl up on my bed and take a brief nap.  But more often, I will find her in odd places, sleeping, around five in the evening.  (Last night she fell asleep on the bottom shelf of the coffee table.  Didn't get a picture, sadly.)

(Of course, ninety percent of the time she still wakes up a little demon.  I'm told I was the same until...well, adulthood.  What can I say? She comes by it naturally.)

Here she is, asleep in the rolling chair, last October.

This was sometime last summer.  The book, in case you were wondering, is "Victims", by Richard E. Turley. It's about the Mark Hofmann forgeries.  Light reading.

And this is from the other day.  My favorite touch, besides the pretty pretty princess dress?  The remote control in her hand.

Third Grade Craziness

This last week has been a little crazy for my third grader.  And, therefore, for his mom.

A week ago last Friday was his opportunity to do "Traveling Tales."  Each third grader is given the chance to write a story (fiction or non-fiction), illustrate it, and then read it to the entire third grade in the little auditorium in the library.  Because we weren't around for the beginning of the year, I didn't have a clue what this was, but apparently--as he told me the day of--I was invited.

Telima and kids had come over that afternoon, and Telima--six weeks after having baby S. (don't have a nickname for her yet.  Hmmmmm.  We have Kay, Jay, Bay, and...SJ?  We'll see)--anyway, Telima was taking a nap.  Mema was getting Jay, Kay and Lala from school, so I had Bay and six-week-old SJ, Hebs, Gee, and YumYum.  We trooped over to the school, made to to the library, listened to Zee's tale (about his family, so cute), and then trooped home.  It took all of twenty-five minutes, and the kids were marvelously well-behaved.  Whew.

Then on Tuesday of last week, it was Zee's turn to do his music class performance.  He had to create a coat of arms for himself, and then present the coat of arms and perform something for his class.  After gently navigating him away from playing the piano (he can only play "Hot Cross Buns", and was going to incorporate some random "the piano isn't working" skit that sounded kinda long and weird), we landed on playing "Hot Cross Buns", but on the recorder.  This was sufficiently different and just hard enough for him (practicing only for one day) to be a great solution.  He loved being able to play on the recorder, and felt rather proud of his efforts.

I wasn't able to make it to this performance, though, because I had my first Primary Presidency meeting at the same time.  I wasn't worried about that, though, because I knew that the next day, Wednesday, was...

...The Third Grade Field Trip!  And I was a chaperon.  We left bright and early on a bus, and drove up to Sandy to the Living Planet Aquarium.  Zee's partner was his good friend C, and we sat on the last seat of the bus and had a grand old time.

Our bus arrived about ten minutes before the other bus, and the kids were climbing the walls.  They were so hyper and excited...it was very crazy.  Zee's class is full of personality and a few troubles, but mostly sweet kids.

Literally climbing the walls

Once inside, we split off into our groups.  I only had Zee and C in my group, and they were both easy to manage.  The Aquarium was playing host to at least one (and possibly two) other school groups, so it was crowded.  Zee and C. would look at a display, briefly scan the information, and then run off to the next one, all practically before I even located the fish/reptile/mammal in question.

(I apparently am also a bit of an aquarium snob.  I've been to the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach, CA, and the Downtown Aquarium in Denver, and both were so amazing!  This aquarium, in an old supermarket building in Sandy, is...little.  Disappointing.  And a bit depressing.  I mean, the octopus was in a tank only half again as big as he was.  He looked sort of squashed in there.)

Anyway!  After we were done aquarium-ing, we went to a park, ate lunch, and then came home.  Whew.  What a day.

But wait!  The week wasn't over yet.  On Friday was the Third Grade Wax Museum.  The third graders had been researching and writing reports about historical figures for the last six weeks, and the culmination of the event was the Wax Museum.  Each student dressed up as his/her subject, made a posterboard with pertinent facts and pictures, and memorized a little speech about the subject.  Standing perfectly still (ha!), they waited in the gym until someone walked up to them and "pushed" the "talk" button.  The student would then give the little speech, pretending to be the subject, and then freeze again.

It was awesome!  Zee was Teddy Roosevelt, and his costume was my scout shirt (the right color), a mustache (made of cardstock), his Harry Potter glasses, and a firm, aggressive stance.  It was hilarious.

Teddy

There were numerous Abe Lincolns, several Helen Kellers, more Pocahontases than I would have expected, three Martin Luther King Jr., and a range of other figures from Cleopatra to the Duchess of Cambridge, Kate.

I'm sure the teachers were exhausted by the end of the Museum, but there was still more to do that day--the Multiplication Ice Cream Party.  I ran off to the store to get the ice cream, but luckily for me, I didn't have to stay and help with the actual party.  What a day!

And what a week!  Both Zee and I are happy it is over.

Pie Five!

My brother-in-law and sister-in-law (the G's) have recently entered the fast-food franchise business.  Not McDonalds, Burger King, Subway, or any of those standard fast-food businesses, but they own five (?) Dickey's BBQ stores in Utah.

(The food there is awfully delicious.  Especially the mashed potatoes.  And the ribs.  And the chicken.  Oh, and Zee adores the mac'n'cheese, although Gee turns his nose up at it because it is not Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in the Blue Box. Such is my six-year-old's palate.)

But this post isn't about Dickey's BBQ.  This post is about something even nearer and dearer to my heart (and my children's hearts) than BBQ.

This post is about PIZZA.

Tomorrow is the Grand Opening of the first Pie Five Pizza restaurant in Utah (3158 East 6200 South Holladay, UT). (And it is the first franchised Pie Five anywhere, I believe. The only other place they are open is in Texas, where the company started.)  What is Pie Five, you ask?  It's a pizza shop that's kinda like Subway, in that all the ingredients are laid out for you behind glass.  You decide what type of crust you want, what sauce, what toppings, and they make your personal sized pizza right before your eyes.  Then, they pop it into this special oven, and five minutes later your pizza is piping hot, just as you like it.  They also have salads in bread bowls, and dessert pizzas as well.

Today was the "Friends and Family" day, where the restaurant staff have a dry run of all their tasks, and friends and family get to eat for free. So we trooped up there this afternoon to support our family and have a little pizza.

My kids thought they were in heaven.  Zee and Em, in particular, found a lot of joy in ordering their VERY. OWN. PIZZAS.  And putting whatever they wanted on it.  (Both wanted regular marinara sauce, regular mozzarella cheese, and pepperoni.  They like to live on the EDGE, people.)  Zee even went back and ordered another pizza for himself, without asking his dad or me.  In his defense, he logically did ask Aunt M., who owns the place.

I had the thin artisan crust, with alfredo sauce, mozzarella, chicken slices, artichokes, mushrooms, and spinach.  It was really, really good.  The perfect size for one person, even if you are hungry--I had one slice leftover.  Bradley had salad in a bread bowl, and he really liked it as well.

Not only did my kids get to order their own pizzas, and get free drinks (which we rarely indulge in), but they got to tour the back kitchen with Aunt M, and...this was the cherry on top...they got to be on LIVE TV.

You see, ABC Channel Four Utah was there, filming the live weather broadcast from the Pie Five store, and talking up the Grand Opening tomorrow.  Throughout the four and five o'clock news, the anchors would periodically check in with the weatherman Jim Kosek, and he would do little two minutes snippets on the weather, along with some longer interviews.  In between, Mr. Kosek and the camera man were just hanging around, chatting with people and (of course) eating pizza.

During one of those intervals, Gee started talking to Mr. Kosek and the cameraman, and basically thoroughly charmed them.  He showed them how he can whistle and hum at the same time (we call it the alien spacecraft), and talked about his new DAFOs (leg braces).  So when it was time for one of the little snippet updates, Mr. Kosek hunched down next to Gee and included him in the live shot, even letting Gee whistle and hum on camera.  Zee got in on it as well, talking about his delicious pizza.  They were both so thrilled, you'd have thought they'd won Oscars or something.  Gee, especially, has decided that he wants to be "on all the televisions all the time."  Heh heh.

Hebs missed out on all this, and was quite disappointed.  So, unbeknownst to me, Zee went up to Mr. Kosek and asked if, during one of the next snippets, Hebs could be on TV, too.  Mr. Kosek was wonderfully kind, and sure enough, let Hebs be on live TV for a couple of seconds to talk about his pizza.  (I have no idea what Hebs said, because I wasn't close enough to hear.  It was awfully cute looking, though.)

Now, because these are just the little snippets, they aren't recorded on the website (at least not anywhere I could find), but we did get to watch them as they happened, on the big TV on the wall in restaurant.  And my boys were so proud and excited and happy about it.  Gee and Zee can't want to tell their classmates about it tomorrow.

(You might wonder where Em was in all this.  Lurking in the background, so she was on TV as well, but she didn't care at all if she was "interviewed" or anything.  I wouldn't have thought that it would be that way, but that sweet girl constantly surprises me!  And naturally two-year-old Yum didn't notice or care.  She just danced around the room the whole time.)

We had a great evening up there in Holladay, and we are so grateful to the G's for inviting us!  And if you are ever in that area--right at the mouth of the Cottonwood Canyons--you should definitely stop in for a pizza.

(Do you think I need one of those blogger-disclosures about this?  I wasn't asked to write about Pie Five, but I did get free pizza.  But the opinions are my own.  And I still think you should go have some--it's really good.)

Fresh (Dead) Flowers

My husband isn't a flower-giver.  (He calls them dead plants.)  He is a helicopter-ride, flood-light giving husband.  And I'm totally okay with that.

(He just walked past me and read the above.  "I'm a flower-giver!" he protested.  

"Once doesn't count!" I responded.  (He gave me flowers on Valentines' Day when we were freshman.  In 1996.)

"I'll give you flowers!  I'll give you a whole YARD full of flowers," he replied.  And, really, he will.  Once we get the final grade done, and the fence in, and the irrigation system up, and the grass in, and...)

However, I really like fresh flowers.  They make me happy.  So, since we've moved into our new place, every so often I'll pick up a bouquet at Wal-Mart or Costco or Macey's.

My favorite are the Peruvian lilies.  They are beautiful, they don't have a heavy scent, and they last forever.

I'm learning how to pick them out and take care of them.  This last time, I picked a bouquet that had a lot of flowers still in bud, and I've been changing the water and re-cutting the stems every couple of days.  And it seems to be working, because 10 days later and they are still just as beautiful.

It's funny how just a vase of fresh flowers can make a room look better, and more finished.  Cool!

Meeting the Neighbors

Not Phillip.  Or Phoebe.  But probably a distant cousin?

Picture credit

I'm starting to feel very guilty.

One day last summer, as we were visiting our new lot before excavation began, we startled a pheasant out of the overgrown weeds.  It was very exciting for the kids, and, well, for me, too.  Pheasants are gorgeous creatures, and being that close to one was fun.  Our soon-to-be-new neighbors told us a pheasant pair had built a nest on our lot, and we joked about how it was good that we hadn't started work until late in the summer, after the baby pheasants were mostly ready.

When we moved in, in early January, the backyard was covered with ice and snow.  We found daily evidence of deer using our yard as a pass-through to get to the park, and beyond the park, the pastures and orchards.  Although we never saw the deer actually in our yard (we saw them around the neighborhood plenty of times), the kids were thrilled at the tracks and deer poop in the mud.

Now the weather is warming, and the deer seem to have moved up into the foothills and mountains to the east of us.  And the pheasant--and his wife--are back.

We first saw Mr. Phillip Pheasant at the park, lurking by the fence line.  Then in the empty lot across the street.  Then in our backyard, scoping things out.  Yesterday morning, Mrs. Pheasant (Phoebe to her friends) was hanging out on our front porch.

There is a pile of branches and sticks in our backyard, from three very old and diseased apple trees on the lot.  This pile is the only cover in our yard.  Today Gee and I were exploring over in that area, looking for Phoebe (who had flown past us in the park on the way home from school), and turned around to discover that we were less than two feet away from Phillip, sitting on the ground.  At my gasp, he took off in flight, right in front of us.

I get the feeling they are confused and perhaps a little distressed about the changes in the yard.  I can't help but feel a little guilty about it, too.  And I'm going to take care of that pile of branches and leaves and trees tomorrow and Saturday, just so they don't lay their eggs there.  I mean, I don't mind, but we're going to be getting rid of the pile this summer anyway, and I don't want to have to disturb a nest or have to leave the branches there until fall.

I'm sorry, Phillip and Phoebe.  But there is a perfectly lovely empty lot across the street, you know.  Maybe that will work out for you?

Radon Saga, Part II

Read Part I here.

Now that we know our brand-new house is trying to KILL US, what do we do next?  Sadly, the answer isn't "I'm going to Disneyland!", but it's almost as expensive!  (In actual fact, once you consider the cost of seven tickets, two motel rooms, gas, food, and everything else, fixing the radon problem is significantly less expensive than going to Disneyland.  And significantly less fun, as well.)

Radon mitigation in an already-completed structure involves creating a vacuum in the soil beneath the foundation, which sucks the radon gas up through a pipe, through the attic, and expels it outside.  This is done by drilling a four inch hole in the foundation, creating a void about the size of a basketball, and closing it off with said PVC pipe.  In our case, this hole will be drilled in our basement utility room.  The pipe will run up to the ceiling of the utility room, turn slightly to get through the garage wall, and run up the side of the garage to the attic.  The fan, which creates the vacuum, will be installed in the attic with the vent on the backside of the roof, where the evil air, laden with radioactive gas, will be expelled from our home FOREVER.

This will cost us approximately $1350.  (Which is not chump change, but considering our initial fears, it's not too bad.)

There is a small possibility that we will have to have two vacuum systems, on either side of the house.  If that is the case, then the second would run through my closet or the laundry room, and then out through Mema's garage.  The contractor was hopeful, though, that this won't be necessary.  Considering it will be...well...twice as expensive, I sure hope not as well.

The fan runs constantly (or else the vacuum will dissipate), and hopefully we won't really notice it.  We'll need to monitor the indicator on the pipe, to make sure it is always working.  Additionally, we have to test for radon every two years, to make sure nothing is broken or leaking.

Small price to pay, all told, for not having a carcinogen infiltrating our house.  Hopefully, we'll be able to get this all done next week or the week following.  And when that happens, we'll have Part III of our little radon saga.

Radon Saga, Part I

So.  What do you know about radon?

It's a noble gas (atomic number 86).  It is odorless and tasteless.  It is very dense.  It is a decay product of uranium and thorium.

And it is radioactive, and the second leading cause of lung cancer deaths in the United States.

As we were preparing to move into the new house, I decided that I wanted to test the levels of radon in it.  I really didn't think about why I wanted to do this (it never even occurred to me in the old house), but, given recent developments, I think I'm going to regard it as a prompting.

Radon can seep into your house through minute cracks in your foundation.  If there is uranium or thorium in your bedrock (granite is a big culprit, as is shale), the radon will travel toward the surface and collect (because it is so dense) in your basement or ground floor.  And sit there, minding its own radioactive business, until it kills you twenty-thirty years later.  (By-the-way, the exposure must be over years, not days or months.  So if you visited my house, don't worry!  You are safe.  But we sort of are planning to stay here for...years.) 

Or not.  Not everyone is going to die of lung cancer after living in a high-radon-level home.  But statistically, it can lead to cancer.  And since both my grandfather and my father died of non-smoking-related lung cancer, I'm a tad bit FREAKED OUT by radon.  (We don't have any known radon link to their lung cancer, by the way.)

So in January I sent away for a little $7.00 test (from here), and followed the instructions, exposing it to the air in our basement, and sending it back 48 hours later.  Two weeks later, we received our lab results in the mail.  The EPA recommends mitigation action at 4.0 pC/L.

Our radon levels were measured at 14.1 pC/L.

Yikes.

The next (recommended) step is to test again, to make sure the results weren't a fluke or spurious.  So I duly sent away for another kit, and tested again.

Our second test came in at 9.4 pC/L.

We then averaged our two results together, and we got 11.75 pC/L.  Remember, the actionable level is FOUR.

So.  Time for action!

Tune in tomorrow for the next exciting installment in The Radon Saga.  Same bat-time, same bat-channel.  Read Part II here!

New Calling

On the last Sunday of 2012, we started attending our new ward.  We hadn't moved into our house yet, but I had spent two weeks saying good-bye to my beloved Spanish Fork First Ward, and I just couldn't do it another week.  It was time to start moving on.

While giving all our information to the Primary Presidency, the subject of my last calling came up.  When I mentioned that I had been a Den Leader in the Cub Scouts, I swear you could see their eyes light up.

"Oh!" The Primary President, Sister C., said.  "For how long?"

"Only a year," I replied.

"So you're not too...tired...of it, then?" 

"No," I laughed.  "I will be happy to serve anywhere I'm needed, and I like scouts.  My oldest is that age, so I guess it's only fair to help out with it."

The conversation turned back to the birthdates and full names of my children, and that was the end of the discussion.

We moved on the following Saturday, and after sleeping late into Sunday morning in sheer exhaustion, I got a phone call from a member of the bishopric.  Would I please come in a little before church that afternoon?

As I agreed, I could feel my doom rushing toward me.  Sometimes you just KNOW what your next calling will be.  This was one of those times.  And I was right.  (Of course, a blind/deaf/especially thick monkey probably could have guessed, this time.)

During sacrament meeting, we all stood up awkwardly as they read our family's records in.  Immediately following that, they read my name as a Cub Scout Den Leader for a sustaining vote.  (Not that anyone even knew us to object...)  

And thus began my new calling, which was very like my old calling.  

So I totally was not expecting a phone call, late last Saturday night, being asked to come in for a meeting with a member of the bishopric the following morning.  Oh, would I bring along my husband as well?  Oooookay...

After thinking about it for a few minutes, I suspected that I was going to be asked to be Bradley's team teacher in Senior Primary.  He teaches the same group of kids as are in my cub den, and they are a rambunctious crew.  Bradley didn't have a partner, which meant he could never close the door, which meant the sound of the boys filled the entire wing of the building.  Not a very good combination.

Well, remember how sometimes you KNOW what your next calling will be?  This wasn't one of those times.

My new calling is second counselor in the Primary Presidency. The Primary President is remaining, but both her counselors are being released for various family/personal/health reasons.  And the secretary is also remaining.  I was sustained and set apart yesterday, as this ward likes to just get things done.

Yowza.

It's going to be the awesomest way to get to know everyone in the ward--that have children.  I'll be pretty isolated from other groups, because that's just what Primary is.  And I don't get to pass on the whole cub scout thing, either.  Because they are now my responsibility.  

This happened to be once before, in our Spanish Fork ward.  We had been living at our little orange brick house for just about six months when I was called to be the second counselor in the Primary Presidency there.  This time I only got three-and-a-half months, though.  

Hopefully I'll never have my mother's experience.  We moved to the Mendoza Court house in mid-September, and by the first part of October, she was the Primary President.  Of 180 kids.  No thank you!

St George Trip; Santa Clara Cemetery

On Saturday, we took a quick trip down to St. George to see my nephew, K, be baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  By leaving at 5:45, we were able to make it to the 10:00 am event with fifteen minutes to spare--just long enough to dash into the bathrooms and put Sunday clothes on all the kids.

We were so proud and excited to see K get baptized.  K has autism, and a moderately severe form of it.  But the awesome part is how much he is growing and maturing and learning how to communicate.  My brother told me how K was even able to answer all the baptism questions during his interview--albeit in his own way, with my brother (who was present) translating and reforming the questions and answers.  We don't know what is going on in K's head, but it is clear through his actions and (very occasional) words that he understands a lot, even if he can't communicate with the rest of us.

After the baptism, we went back to my brother's house for pizza and treats.  The kids had a ball--my other brother David and his new bride Autumn (yay Autumn!  Haven't written the story of their wedding yet, but I will) had driven down with the three kids, and there was much running around, jumping on the trampoline, playing four-square, and shouting to be had.

I had another task in mind down in Utah's Dixie, so eventually we peeled out kids away and said our good-byes.  We drove out to the Santa Clara Cemetery.  Santa Clara is a small-ish town just northwest of St. George.  (It's actually quite a bit bigger than it used to be, has become a bedroom community, and is nearly connected to St. George now.)

Santa Clara was settled by Jacob Hamblin and a handful of Swiss saints back in 1854.  Among those saints were several branches of my ancestral family tree.  I can only imagine what it was like to go from gorgeous Appenzell Switzerland (at the base of the Alps, dairy country) to dry, dusty, red, treeless Santa Clara.

And yet they truly did work to make the desert blossom as the rose.  The Tobler family (and the Stahelis, and the Kreises, and all the others) stuck it out, and made a beautiful place.  They lived there and were buried in the red sand of the remote cemetery high on a bluff, overlooking the Virgin River.

Before my father died in 2006, we were talking about the gravestones of these family members. He had been taking care of the graves of his grandparents, Ernest and Cecilia Tobler, since his father had become unable due to age.  I told him I would take care of them from then on.

We don't make it down that way as often, since Mema moved up here, but fortunately my brother Samuel got a job as a professor at Dixie State University, and he is keeping a good eye on the graves now.  But since we were down there, I went out, with shovel and garden gloves, to take care of a dead tree right behind the gravestone.

It was a warm spring day on Saturday, but the breeze was cool and clouds kept the sun mostly at bay. The kids roamed around the historic part of the cemetery, playing hide-and-go seek and treasure hunting and tag.   I felt ridiculously proud of myself for removing the dead bush/tree and getting the area ready for a new tree (I've arranged with the sexton of the cemetery for a new tree to be planted--we'll pay for it, but they'll place it, and hopefully keep it alive).  I also dug up the pesky spring weeds, and reset some of the basalt rocks ringing the site.

 Grandpa Ernest and Grandma Cecilia's headstone

The empty circle of rocks to the left is where the old tree was, and the new tree will go.

After I was done--and my kids were done loooooong before me, thank heavens for daddy and a/c in the van with a movie!--I walked over to Ernest's father's grave (my great-great-grandfather Jakob Tobler), and discovered that the previously well-kept site had fallen into some disrepair.  I wonder if whichever cousin or great aunt/uncle had been taking care of it all these years had moved or passed away.  At any rate, I took a few moments and pulled weeds, picked up trash, and reset some rocks.  I need to remember to keep an eye on this one, as well.

Jacob (or Jakob) Tobler headstone, with his four wives (only three at time, though!)

I love the Santa Clara Cemetery.  It is so lonely and austere, and has remained that way even with the new housing development just north.  But it has a remote kind of beauty that feels more appropriate for a cemetery--especially a pioneer one--than a lush green one in the middle of a bustling city.  (Although I will admit that the lush green type has an appeal all of its own.)  The Santa Clara Cemetery is rugged, hard, dusty, and oddly faithful--just like the pioneers buried there.

Mandasaurus and two little Rexes

Today my old college roomie and very dear friend Mandy came over to visit.  She brought along her two little boys--N, who is almost three, and A, who is a gorgeous five month old.  It was so fun to sit (well, chase children) and visit and laugh and swap stories--it's been almost two years since we last got together, and even longer since we had a chance to just talk.

I was so lucky in my college roommates.  Many are still good friends, although I'm in contact with some more than others, and I had the opportunity to room with a best friend four different times.  Kristy and Mandy for the first three years, LaDale for most of the fourth, and Emily for the sixth.  That means I was only without a best friend in my own apartment for 1.5 years--pretty awesome, no matter how you look at it.

Anyway, now that I live in northern Utah County, and Mandy now lives in southern-ish Salt Lake County, we have made plans to get together more often.  Hooray!  I love her dearly, and it will be sooooooo nice to be a part of each other's lives again.

Dinner!!

We live right next to a park, with a soccer/football field nearest our house and the play structure on the other side of the field.  The park abuts the school, with a kindergarten playground (closer) and the "big-kid" playground farther away.  There are basketball courts and four-square courts and hopscotch and even tetherball poles.  (I think we'll buy a tetherball and cord.  I have many fond memories of tetherball, both at home and at school.)

Now that the weather is warming--and hooray for spring, even a fitful, tentative Utah one--my kids are really starting to take advantage of our location.  Even Hebs, at four-and-a-half, is allowed to go out (with Em or Zee) and play at any part of the park/school grounds.  And I love it.  It gets them out of the house, it gets them away from the TV/computer/Xbox, and it tires them out.  Win-win-win.

But I don't love trudging across the fields to gather them in for dinner or bed.  So I'm totally going to buy a dinner bell.  A good, loud one that can be heard across the fields and playgrounds.  I'm so excited.

I'm trying to decide between a handheld one, like this:

Or a mounted one, like this:

Both have pros and cons.  I can control the use of the handheld one better than the mounted one--I just have to make sure I have a good high location for it.  And I can walk to the edge of our property and ring it, to get that much more coverage.

But the mounted one will always be available--I could just walk out onto the porch and ring-ring-ring!  And it won't clutter up my cabinets, and I won't have to remember to put it away.  But the kids could--would--play with it, at least until I yell at them a few times to STOP IT NOW.  And the wind might ring it, as well.

So I don't know.  The handheld one is cheaper, with Prime shipping on top of that.  The mounted one is slightly more expensive, has shipping costs, and extra time for shipping as well.  And I'd actually have to mount it on my pretty stucco.

Decisions, decisions...these are good ones to have.  I can't complain.

Good-bye

Today we finally said good-bye to our sweet little Spanish Fork home.

In December 2004, we arrived with one little 14-month-old toddler.  We left in January 2013 with a nine-year-old, an almost eight-year-old, a six-year-old, a four-year-old, and a two-year-old.

I feel totally ridiculous for feeling so broken-hearted about leaving our little brick house.  It is 69 years old, small, awkward, low-ceilinged, oddly wired, and drafty.  It is definitely NOT handicap-friendly.  The windows don't always close properly, and if you drilled into the outer walls upstairs, to hang a curtain rod, say, you discovered that the walls were nothing but brick covered in plaster.  No insulation.

And yet...we lived and loved in that little old house for eight years.  We brought four of our five children home from the hospital there.  We laughed and played and made friends and put down deep roots.

So my heart hurts a little tonight, to say good-bye to my beloved home.

And yet, I know that this is the right choice for us.  We put the house up on the market on a Monday.  By the following Monday, we had three good offers in writing.  Less than six weeks later, we signed the closing paperwork this morning. I am amazed that it all happened that fast.

But I think the Lord wants us here in Lindon.  Our buyers told us their story:  They had been looking for a home for their family since last October.  The wife kept getting an impression to wait until March.  So during the first week of March--the week I listed our house--she impatiently combed through all the listings, and found nothing.  Frustrated, she finally opened up the Craigslist ads and...found our house.  They fell in love with it at first sight.  After they walked through it on that Friday, she called me and asked, "What can I do to make this house mine?"

I'm so glad their bid was the natural (in other words, best) pick, because I just felt like it was Meant To Be.  They seem like such wonderful people, and will love my little house as much as we did, I think.  They will also be a good fit for the neighborhood, with a nine-year-old boy, almost-eight-year-old girl, and five-year-old boy.  :)

I will miss my sweet little house, but I'm glad to leave it in such good hands.  Thanks for being so good to us, Spanish Fork.  We love you!

Good-bye Grand Parade in our front yard

Good-bye Speedy Spaniard race ending at our front door

Good-bye gorgeous park outside my front window

 Good-bye beautiful orange-red bricks

 (Sniff!)

Telephony

I have a total love-hate relationship with the telephone.

I love that I can chat with far-flung (and not so far-flung) friends and family, without anyone else listening in (except J. Edgar Hoover, naturally), and at my convenience.

I love that I can arrange business transactions from Lindon to Salt Lake to St George (and farther) from the comfort of my home.

I hate waiting for return phone calls, because I never know what the home situation will be when the call comes.

 And today the phone would NOT STOP RINGING.

I shouldn't (really, I shouldn't) complain.  Almost every call was someone returning one of my calls, mostly from yesterday.  I tried to get through a huge list of tasks yesterday, but apparently it was still Spring Break for most people, because most of my calls ended with messages to voice mail.

These return calls should not be a problem. (Yay!  People getting back to me, to answer my questions or help me out!)  However.  My 2.5 year old Yum-Yum has decided the phone is her best friend.  Whenever I am on it, she longs to talk.  She ardently desires to talk.  She NEEDS to talk.

This is fine when I am chatting with my sister or mother-in-law, but not so much when I am trying to get a quote for radon mitigation.

When I tell her "No", she reacts in one of two ways:  1) Collapsing on the ground in furious, screaming tears; or 2) Running three steps away, and then collapsing on the ground in furious, screaming tears.

What was that you say?  I should walk away from her, and let her have her temper tantrum alone?  Oh, my Yummy is far too clever for that.  She immediately hops up (still screaming and scolding), and follows me around, latching onto my legs if I am not fast enough to get away.  It's probably an amusing sight, mom running away from angry toddler.  Except, you know, when you're the mom and it's the city offices on the line and you're trying to explain the issue with not knowing exactly where your property ends and the park begins...and no one can hear a thing but Yummy screaming "NO!!!  I WANT A TALK!!!!!"

So.  That was my day today.

I talked to two sisters, one mother-in-law, one realtor, one headstone-cleaning lady, one Santa Clara cemetery official, one Lindon city official, one radon mitigation person, one plumber, one doctor, and a partridge in a pear tree.

I could be wrong about that last one, though.  It's hard to know, given the adorably exasperating little girl screaming in my ear.

Visitors

Bradley's sister Michelle, her husband John, their five children (ranging from almost-eight to seventeen), and Grandma and Grandpa Ross came to visit tonight. It's spring break for the Gillelands, and so they have been hanging out in South Jordan.  John, while up here on business, came and saw the new house right after we moved in, but Michelle and kids hadn't, so we gave them the grand tour.  They brought dinner from their BBQ restaurant--Dickey's BBQ--soooo delicious.  The kids played, the older boys lounged, and the adults chatted.  It was a wonderful evening.

Of course, that meant that before they came, we were  frantically happily cleaning the house, the kids and I.  Such a joyful event that was, with helping hands and singing and...oh, who am I fooling? No one, that's who.  I really need to learn to help my children learn to clean without loosing my temper and yelling. I'm a real charmer during chore time, I tell you what.

It is nice to have a clean house, though!

Generally Speaking

I was looking at old posts on my blog today, and I'm kicking myself for stopping.  Why haven't I blogged in so long?  Part of it was the move, part is because my laptop stopped working, and part is because of the huge backlog of events that I feel like I need to chronicle.  Thanksgiving, Christmas, moving, saying goodbye to my dear Spanish Fork and my dear friends, saying hello to a new school, ward, neighborhood, and city, getting settled, Em's eighth birthday and baptism...yikes!  It feels impossible!

But I don't want to miss out on recording the memories we are going to make in this new stage in our lives.  So I'm going to start up again, and work on the backlog a little at a time and in between normal, day-to-day stuff. 

General Conference this weekend was marvelous!  Saturday morning was especially pleasant.  Bradley and Zee weren't home (Zee spent the night with cousins, and Bradley was at the old house mowing the lawn--PS, we're closing on Tuesday!!!!), Em was still asleep (yes, until noon.  She's eight going on fifteen), and it was just the three littles and me.  They were content to cuddle next to me on the couch, and watch the puzzle I was working on while I listened/watched.  We were peaceful and calm and quiet, an unusual occurrence in my house that should be noted.

We made the children watch the Sunday morning session, and I'm so glad we did.  As an extra incentive for attentive listening, we chose a "candy" word for the session.  Anytime they heard the word "love", they could have a piece of candy.  The younger three could glom on and claim to have "heard" it when someone else pointed it out, but we were a little more strict with the older two.  Don't worry, though, because they got plenty of candy. It was an inspiring scene:  All my children, gathered around the TV, hushing each other and their parents, listening intently.  All for candy, but it's a start.

I always feel a little sad at the end of the last session, because I really do love conference time.  Even watching/reading/listening to the talks after just isn't the same as the first time through.