Rescue Mission

Right now I'm sitting with Phoebe as we eat slices of bread and look at pictures of friends on the computer. Yes, it's quite late at night and yes, Phoebe should be asleep. She was until about twenty minutes ago.

Then she woke up, crying and delirious.

Our sweet miss has a raging double ear infection. She's on antibiotics, but is still in pain. I'm happy to report that her spirits have perked up considerably since I rescued her from her room.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go snuggle my sweet girl.

Bakery

Last week our Mia Maid mid-week activity was to brainstorm things that the girls wanted to do throughout the year. They put together quite an impressive list. Among the things they listed was to learn how to make bread. I said I could help with that.

Tonight we met at the home of one of the girls. Instead of demonstrating what to do, I split them into pairs and instructed them as they measured and poured and mixed. Some of them obviously had cooking experience; others... not so much. The funniest moment of the night came when I encouraged them to mix the ingredients together not with a spoon, but with their freshly washed hands. Some of the girls squealed from the grossness of sticking their hands into goo. One girl was beside herself with excitement. She kept saying "I love this! This is so fun!"

Just as they finished mixing and kneading the dough, the two loaves that had I prepared and brought over uncooked, finished baking. So while their dough rose, we all ate bread slathered with margarine and honey. It was heavenly. The girls were appropriately appreciative of how delicious the bread was.

When we finished our treat, the girls got to punch down the dough and separate it into pans they had brought from home. Then, after I drilled them several times on what temperature they should set their ovens for and how long to bake the bread, they each went home with an uncooked loaf, ready to fill their own homes with the comforting aroma of homemade bread.

It was a good night.

The Wonderful Thing About Coopers

In the post on Peter's birthday I included a picture of Cooper jumping. The comment I made about Cooper being in his natural state was meant to be funny, but I wasn't kidding. Cooper literally spends most of his awake-time jumping or bouncing or hopping or skipping or dancing or running. And yes, I'm using the word "literally" correctly.

Most of the time we laugh about Cooper's exuberance and his Tigger-like ways. I sometimes say that he's trying to make up for the fact that he didn't start walking until he was seventeen-months-old by running instead of walking. But there are times when we strongly encourage him to stand still, like when we're giving him instructions, or waiting for cars so we can cross the street.

As Bryan was leaving for school yesterday, Cooper came bounding in for a hug and a kiss. After saying his good-byes, Cooper hopped back to his room to play. Bryan chuckled as he watched our pogo-stick-son go. I asked him what was funny. He said that he was just imagining what it would be like to talk to an adult if they were hopping like Cooper had been.

I stopped and thought about that. Then realization dawned on me. I haven't talked to anyone that was doing that.

I have been the hopper.

I jump up and down when I'm excited. Or when I'm tired and trying to wake up. Or when I want to emphasize a point. I substituted for the Primary music leader a few weeks ago and when the Senior Primary started to get antsy, I had them all hop while we sang through a song we were learning. I hopped with them and realized partway through that I might pass out from the hopping/singing combination.

I guess Cooper might be more like me than I realized.

The Best Policy

Last week Peter brought home a handout announcing a school-wide essay contest. He told me it was optional (that word was emblazoned across the top of the page) and that he had decided he wasn't going to do it. I read through the rules, then told Peter that while it might be optional to his teacher, it was not optional to me. He needed to write the essay.

Cue weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth.

After refusing, bargaining, and pleading (all on his part), I sweetened the deal just a little. I told him that if he wrote the essay he could type it on my computer. That did it. He worked on it a little on Saturday and little today after school. It has to be under six hundred words, right now it's around sixty. It's not due until the end of February, so he's got time.

The rules are very clear. I may edit the essay for spelling, punctuation, and grammar, not content or organization. And that's what I've done. We did have to talk about what an essay is so he would know how to begin, but I don't think I violated the rules.

This is what he's got so far. I can see that most of his writing experience comes from talks for Primary. The line that says "Everyone wants us to be honest" originally said "Jesus wants us to be honest." So, maybe I did break the rules by telling him I didn't think that should go into an essay for school. They drilled that into our heads while learning to be teachers in college. Maybe it doesn't matter coming from a student?

Oh, and he spent A LOT of time formatting it, so I'll leave his font and size choices in place.

HONESTY IS GOOD

I know honesty is good. Honesty is telling the truth, giving stuff back to its owner, and being obedient. Everyone wants us to be honest. I love being honest. Honesty is really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really good. I love honesty so much. I know honesty is true. Everyone should be honest.   

Puttin' On the Ritz

Bryan and I had the opportunity to go to a fun MBA dinner and dance last night. We let the kids know that one of Phoebe's nursery teachers (a sweet woman that I visit teach) would be coming to watch them while we were out. They wanted to know what we would be doing.

When I said we were going to a dance Cooper and Phoebe asked if they could come too. I'm sure Peter would have as well if he hadn't been at school at the time. I told them it was just a "Mommy and Daddy thing" and they were not pleased. Phoebe started crying and saying that she wanted to go to the dance. So we did the next best thing.

We put on our fancy clothes and had a dance in our living room.

Cooper and Phoebe got themselves all gussied up. I pointed out that the living room was kind of messy for dancing, so Cooper ran in and picked everything up. Perhaps dancing is better cleaning motivation than candy?

I grabbed my phone to document the merriment.

Phoebe is modeling her Easter dress. Thanks to the free clothing exchange that MBASA puts on, that dress was free. And look! Cooper is getting taller! Do like that his pants are black and his jacket is blue? He insisted on pinstripes, no matter the color. 

 Oooo, an action shot!

And here's one of the event itself. I had just had a bite of food and rather than risk a photo with food in my teeth, I went for a smile without my pearly whites being visible. Kind of an uncommon look for me.

Bryan and I had fun, but I think Cooper and Phoebe were the cutest dancers I saw all day.

Braid

Good news! Phoebe's super-fine hair has thickened enough that I can put it in braids. I had my hair braided last week (because that's a totally age-appropriate hairstyle for a thirty-two year-old) and she wanted some too. Mostly I'm surprised that she sat still long enough for me to do it.

And one from the front. Her forehead is large (like mine), but not usually this big. It's still a great picture.

It Ain't What You Do, It's the Way That You Do It

I'm sitting at my computer and Bryan is sitting at his. I just looked over to see Bryan eating popcorn out of a large bowl. And he was eating it with a spoon.

Huh.

Apparently he found a package of rice crispy flavored marshmallow creme for popcorn in the pantry and made it. The spoon was so he didn't get his fingers sticky. It makes sense, but still, an interesting image.

PS

One of the tasks in our big sorting-through-everything-we-own project is taking pictures of all the boys' artwork. While I should probably keep everything the boys make, we just don't have the space. So instead I take pictures of everything so I have a record, then I discard the original.

I found this gem in the latest batch of pictures I took:

Can you guess which one is Peter?

Not the Mama

Phoebe tells me everyday that she's the mom and I'm the kid. When she's playing that role she often refers to me as "son." We haven't managed to correct that yet.

Today during sacrament meeting Phoebe turned to me and the following exchange took place:

Phoebe: I'm not the mom.

Me: Okay.

Phoebe: You be the mom. I'll be the Phoebe.

Sounds good to me.

Operation Empty the Storage Unit

We're in the middle of a project. If you look at the title of this post, you'll see what that project is.

A few weeks ago I started having thoughts that we needed to go through our boxes and suitcases that were still packed in the storage unit, seeing what we needed and what we didn't. Bryan came home from campus that very day and told me that he really thought we should sort through the storage unit, maybe even see if we could empty it.

When we independently have the same idea, it means we should listen to it.

So we began the process of emptying the storage unit. We have three reason for doing it. The first is that Bryan's job will move us, but they'll only pickup our stuff from one location, so eventually everything would need to be brought here anyway. This way we can make sure we're only moving the stuff we really want and not just the things we've forgotten about because they've been packed away for so long. The second is that the storage unit costs money that we'd rather spend on things like, you know, rent and food. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, we were prompted to do it.

In the last two weeks I've sorted through every box of clothing the kids have outgrown and a few that they haven't grown into yet. I've gone through my own clothes as well. I've thrown out old magazines and reorganized yearbooks and pictures. I've emptied seven twelve-gallon storage bins that we've been hauling from house to house. I kept a lot of those clothes, but I realized we probably don't need to hang on to worn out onesies and duplicate items.

Our little apartment is feeling littler, but not in a bad way. I think once we finish the sorting and find homes for everything we'll be glad we did it. And we've liberated a few items that had been deemed too big and were left in the storage unit, my Kitchen Aid stand mixer and large Crock-Pot among them. We can fit more of our stuff because we hauled over a tall set of industrial-strength shelves and placed them at the end of our kitchen table. My shelf space has increased dramatically.

We still have a ways to go, and there are a few items that we're at a loss as to where we'll stick them. But we'll figure it out. This whole endeavor is kind of exciting, like we're working on a huge puzzle, trying to see what fits where. And I think it's good preparation for the many moves we'll be making in the next three years.