The Epic One

Well, here we are and nearly two months have gone by with no post. Lame, I know. At least three of you actually check my blog. And nothing. So I am going to do a very unusual post here. You know those interactive stories, where you get to choose the ending? And then you can read it again, and choose a different ending if you like? This is totally like that. There is something for everyone here.

1. A recipe. I think that is kind of a cop-out. It is what I do when I don’t have anything else of interest to post. But some of you actually care about that. It reminds me of Little Women (in my top five favorite books of all time, btw) when the four sisters are writing their newspaper (okay, so they didn’t have Netflix), and Beth’s column is a recipe, and all of the sisters think she is kind of lame, but they just do that, “Oh, Beth, that’s so cute… you think this is interesting but it is actually just a recipe…” thing. But that said, if you are here for recipes, click HERE:


2. One for DK. (In case you come late to my game, DK is code for Dearest Kevin. You know… my husband who bought me four new tires for my Suburban today, even though (maybe actually because) he knows I drive a little like a Nascar driver. Expect something political. It is October, after all. It might be a little California-specific. After all, you may or may not remember that I have vowed to not think of the president of the United States… old what’s-his-name. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Or-Even-Thought-Of. Codename B.O. (plug your nose when you say that one). I know you think I am kidding about this, but I am totally serious. Anytime my brain strays to good old Osama or whatever his name is… I just think of something else. Hum a hymn. Take a cold shower. Imagine eating my weight in M&Ms. Or just eat the M&Ms… and poof! He is gone. Out of my thoughts. Anyway, enough about whatever that was we were talking about… I forget… Oh, and the post is probably not as long as my explanation of it. It is just a little Skippy story. So don’t be afraid. For your political education, click HERE.

3. One for my friend who has NOT returned my calls. Yes, you know who you are. The one I have called and asked to go to breakfast with me. The one who gave me an immersion blender for Christmas… about the coolest thing ever. Hey you! I am worried about you. Where are you? I actually just want to go to Cinnamon Productions with you and eat carbs and talk. Nothing serious. But I haven’t forgotten that I am working on a little project for you… and so this post is yours. (Hint: contains music… a little taste of your present). Music, click HERE.

4. One for Hannah and Kim. Special request here. Two of my boys are dating some pretty spectacular women. The request was for snarky and sarcastic. Naturally that is a stretch for me. But I will do my humble best. Okay, so Kim and Hannah haven’t agreed to marry my sons, but they are awesome and I think they should. And this post should seal the deal. For Kim and Hannah’s post, click HERE.

5. One for Jif, wherein he tries root beer for the first time. It was about as fun as his first time on the ferris wheel. For Jif’s post, click HERE.

6. One for my friend Garry who puts a little fun into pretty much every day, and pushes me out of my comfort zone to attempt something out of the ordinary, and just a little bit amazing... such as a new project for 2011 that is probably the coolest thing ever. And that is just a small part of the fun. So this post is for my best and most unusual friend. For a little sport, click HERE.



7. A techie review? Yes, techie. This one is for my mom, who is pretty cool. She says she is older than dirt. That is pretty old. Can she learn new tricks? We shall see. Techie, click HERE.

8. A picture with no words. Okay, okay… I’ll just tell you right now… the picture is of me, and I got to do something I have wanted to do for ages. Photo, click HERE.

9. There is no number nine. Seriously, I am exhausted. Eight is enough. And I don’t think I should have to post again for at least a month and a half.

But if anyone feels left out, I guess you should just tell me now. Because apparently I am taking special requests. Peace, Love, Out.

The One With the Bloggy Chain Letter

I started catching up on blogs yesterday, and found that Tauna over at the Garden of Egan, bestowed a little bloggy award, and I was one of the recipients. Tauna is a new friend, a nurse, and puts the “fun” in dysfunction. Thank you ever so…

The rules of the award are: List seven things about yourself. Link back to the person that gave you the award. Pass the award on to seven bloggers.

Given the fact that a) you already know way more random details about me and my life than anyone probably should and b) I am feeling snarky as usual, I have decided instead to give you seven of my random opinions today. In no particular order.

1. I think that there are some people in the world whose primary contribution is decoration. I salute those people. I enjoy looking at them. In most cases, the upkeep is prohibitive, so I do not envy their job. And as I am not one of them, I need to figure out what my contribution is supposed to be right now. It’s a little confusing.

2. I don’t think that being a grandmother is better than being a mother. I am not in the market for any more babies, but seriously, how lazy do you have to be to think that the up-side is being able to send them home at the end of the visit?

3. I think it is possible to get through four years without even thinking about the president of the United States even one time. If the thought starts to cross my mind, I just think of food, and it passes. It has been over a year now, and I haven’t given old what’s-his-name a moment’s notice. Probably, politics will not be my primary contribution.

4. In a battle of dishwasher vs. clothes washer, the dishwasher is going to win every time. I would rather wear dirty clothes than eat off dirty dishes.

5. I have a new Facebook strategy that I am trying out. Every time I accept a new friend request, I have to “unfriend” someone on my friend list whom I don’t actually know (strangely, there are quite a few of those where I have no idea who they are, and we have no friends in common). It is like virtual recycling… the Facebook Circle of Life. Refreshing and environmentally friendly. If you’re reading this, and notice that you are no longer my Facebook friend, sorry... I couldn’t place your face. If you are reading this and you don’t know who I am, you are probably next to go.

6. I think it is kind of weird how people assign gender to inanimate objects. Like, why are boats feminine, for instance? I have known people who name their cars… and they are almost never male. Hurricanes always used to be women, but now, out of political correctness, they take turns wreaking devastation. In fact, I have been reading the book “Jesus, the Christ” by Talmage, and he actually refers to church in the feminine. How does that even work in languages where words are assigned gender? How can “el barco” be named Lola? I find it puzzling. That said, my washer is a boy, and my dishwasher is a girl, but don’t worry… one is kept upstairs, and the other down.

7. I noticed that today is National Goddess of Fertility Day. Wait. We have a day for that? Just a single day? I have devoted half my life to it. I have single-handedly beaten out most known methods of contraception. If I was a superhero, I would be the Goddess of Fertility. How do you fight bad guys as the Goddess of Fertility? If you have to ask that, you didn’t know me when I was pregnant. I could go from hungry, to starving, to just plain mean in under a minute. Don’t. Mess. With. That.

Thanks for playing... those are just the random opinions that floated through my mind this morning. You know there’s always more where that came from.

And now to nominate seven bloggers to carry on this bloggy equivalent of a chain letter:

Kristin: who is unfailingly nice and kind and even checks on me when I go missing for a few days at a time.

Carolyn: who has no time to do this, but might anyway, and even if she doesn’t, go check her out.

Shelley: who has time in the middle of the night to think about what she will say in the post, but may not get around to actually blogging it…

Debbie, who gives me the shivers. Actually, she just gave me the book, Shiver, which gave me the shivers.

Annie, who is adorable and just started her blog, and whom I have asked numerous times to marry one of my sons, because I am such a good mother-in-law. I will eventually wear her down. I have five boys left for her to choose from.

Jessi, the choosy mom who is the only person alive who could argue whether or not I am in actuality a good mother-in-law.

Rachel, my favorite Italian Signorina/singerina (sorry about the really lame play on words right there).

The One Where No Words Are Necessary

Just click it big...

The One Where She Screamed and Held On For Dear Life

Even Ethan asked me last night, “Mom, where have you been for the last month?” The answer: I’ve been on a rollercoaster. The same one y’all are on. I know you are… you don’t even have to tell me. How are you enjoying the ride? I’m usually really good on rollercoasters; I’ve never had a weak stomach. But this time I found myself on the low end a few times, and a little disoriented. But it’s all part of the ride. Here are some scenes from my rollercoaster summer:

Spending way too much time staring at the computer:





Taking some fun photographs of fun people... love these guys. Check out their band at Sad But True.


Hanging out in my sister’s backyard in Salem, Utah. Hers is the backyard that all backyards wish they could be. This was taken right before the mother of all barbecues, which was followed by a weird cross between frisbee, football and skeet shooting (don’t ask me how to explain that better), and then that night over the pond... the best, closest, and scariest fireworks EVER.


Did I mention, camping at one of the most beautiful places I’ve been: Glacier National Park in Montana.



Blowing in the wind:


Hanging out with some favorite people:


Throwing rocks at stuff:


Catching a few winks (best line from Twilight: “I like to watch you sleep.”)


Starting a bug collection (thank you, Montana). Seriously... you know you can click on any of my photos to see them full-size... click on this one if you want to be really grossed out:)


Hanging out with my adorable grandson, Jif... and his very cute mom and dad.



Watching DK be a grandpa:


And finding a little time in between to play games with my peeps.


All in all, not a bad way to spend a summer. How is yours going?

The One Where They All Flew the Coop

So. We had family prayer tonight. Skippy had gone to bed, and I couldn’t help but notice: there were only three of us. Dillon is away at scout camp for a week and a half, and today we left Ethan deep in the heart of Camp Pendleton for Marine Combat Training. The missionaries are moving out in two weeks. Even Cambria leaves soon for a month with her grandma. Everyone is disappearing, and well, maybe I am feeling a little sorry for myself. All this trouble I have taken to surround myself with adoring minions (is that an oxymoron? Maybe it should be loyal minions, or adoring fans, or something. Whatever, as long as I get to be the queen), and I am telling you, all I can hear right now is crickets.

I really do love alone time. But I believe that one cannot truly appreciate alone time unless she is bombarded with nearly constant familial chaos. Thank goodness for Skippy. I remember when I found out I was pregnant with Skippy. I was 39 years old. I did not necessarily have plans to have a seventh child. Okay, so I did allow myself a moment, standing there in the bathroom holding a urine-soaked pregnancy test, to revel in my apparent fertility. You thought I was going to say, wallow in self-pity, didn’t you? No! On the contrary, a little victory dance… because if there is one thing at which I truly excel, it is conception. I have batted a thousand, having never missed on the first try, and in fact have been taken quite by surprise on more than one occasion at the very tenacity of my own fertility. Never more so than that Sunday morning, standing there staring at a pink plus sign that meant Skippy was in there, growing away, about the size of a jellybean.

I found that despite the fact that my family and I are pretty good sports, and that even my teenage sons were excited about a new baby, it seemed that so many others were less than happy for me. My friends were all done having babies, and there I went, upsetting the status quo. I found myself repeating this mantra: “No, really, we’re actually happy about it.” One day a co-worker of DK found out we were pregnant. I braced myself for the abject horror, patronizing condolences, or pitying smile to which I had become accustomed. Instead, this nice lady… her name is Kay… told me she was happy for me. She said something I have thought of many times since: “You will never get to be 50 years old and wish that you had less kids.” I have a few years left before I find that out for sure, but do you know, I do believe she was right.

When my kids grow up and get married and go on missions and join the Marines and leave for scout camp and fly on airplanes all by themselves, guess what… Skippy is still here making a complete wreck of my family room with hundreds of cars that his brothers have all played with, and in fact are probably antiques because many of them used to belong to DK when he was little. Skippy will still paint my white sateen sheets with red nail polish and cut his own hair with school scissors, just as his siblings did before him. He will be here to cry because there is no homemade bread to go with his peanut butter. He will try to sneak out to play with friends even though he is only five, and then sneak back in under the trampoline and through the back door so I won’t know he left, even though I was watching him the whole time. Skippy will still be here to crawl into my bed in the middle of the night and then snore so loudly that DK carries him back to the bottom bunk within minutes. Skippy will still be here to make the helper who hands him out of the car at the curb in front of kindergarten in the morning stand there waiting while he tells me three times that he loves me before he will turn and climb the stairs to his classroom. It is perfectly perfect having Skippy.

Each one of the seven was perfectly perfect… Truly: any single one worth the price of admission… and I am aware of the fact that even Skippy will all too soon turn into a teenager who knows more than I do, who goes off to be his own man (and to be clear, who a few years thereafter will, like his brothers, realize that he does not, in fact, know more than I). But I am resourceful. I think ahead. By then I will have accumulated a sufficient store of grandchildren to keep things interesting around here. I’m sure they will be just as adept at turning my house into a complete disaster as their parents were in their turn.

So as for this week, I won’t feel sorry for myself. In fact, maybe I will just try to enjoy a little of that elusive alone time. Perhaps just long enough to finish these three songs… that would be lovely.

The One With Jif and the Burping Contest

Why is this video week? I really don’t know. But it is. So just grab some popcorn and keep stopping by. My mom isn’t going to like this one. Actually she is, but she will have to pretend that she doesn’t, because of the burping (you know...bodily functions, and all....). These are my nerdiest kids, with my totally cool grandkid. And I know... people always think their grandkids are so cute, right? This one is totally going to brighten your day, I promise! The funniest part about it to me, is how Cade (alias Jif) is really not on-board with the whole “playing with mom and dad” thing. He is clearly bored and looking for an exit strategy as this compelling video begins. However, he quickly enters into the spirit of the game when things start getting uncouth... he is definitely a boy.

The Mother’s Day One, Part One

The interesting thing about being a grandmother, is that you can kind of decide for yourself what kind of grandma you want to be. While this is frowned upon for mothers, it is socially acceptable to be an overly-indulgent grandmother that administers no discipline. A neglectful parent can face legal consequences, but a neglectful grandmother is just “pursuing her own interests.” It seems pretty free-form. So I look to my own grandmas for the example.

My Grandma Goodwin was born in 1896, and passed away at the age of 100. She was petite, delicate in appearance and sensibilities, ladylike and eternally useful. She sewed the most beautiful clothing. Thanks to her, I never wore a pair of pants until I was in grade school, and many autumns we would go to the fabric store, select dozens of patterns and fabrics, and Grandma would tailor an entire wardrobe of beautiful outfits for the new school year. She was very culturally refined, and as a grandmother and a person, was somewhat on the reserved side, while still making certain that we knew she loved us. As a young woman, she was a Gibson Girl, brought up her two children in Death Valley, as the wife of the first Park Superintendent of Death Valley National Park. And you thought it was hot and dusty where you live! She lived in her own apartment next door to her sister until she was well into her nineties, and as such was one of the most independent women I have ever met.

My Grandma Hamblin was born in Colonia Dublán, Mexico. As a small child, she had an infection in a bone in her leg. In order to correct the problem, four inches had to be surgically removed from the bone, leaving her with a pronounced limp, and because medical treatments of the time did not include compensating for the shorter leg, many other health problems resulted. Her later life was marked by severe arthritis, bone spurs and constant pain. But she was one of the most positive, cheerful people I have known. If I had to pick one word to describe her personality, it would be mischievous. You know how someone is said to have a “twinkle in her eye?” Grandma Hamblin actually did. She was an amazing home cook (my favorites were home-canned plums, apple pie and pasties…the meat pie kind, not the naughty underwear kind). She made beautiful quilts (until her hands could no longer cooperate) and she loved singing and reading the scriptures. My most vivid memory of her is how much she and my grandpa adored each other, and how much she loved me.

I have a lot to live up to.

The One With the Grandma Shoes

These are my grandma shoes. I wore them all day today, while I did all of my grandma stuff. I peeled apples. I prepared a church lesson (and gave it, in my matching grandma dress). I made waffles for hungry missionaries. I baked peanut butter oatmeal M&M cookies. I read stories aloud. I worked a crossword puzzle. I gave some grandmotherly advice (that sounds suspiciously like regular advice) and managed to work in the phrase, Oh, my aching bones. I did dishes, wore an apron, and tucked someone into bed. All with a twinkle in my eye, and grandma shoes on my feet. Yeah, they're four inches tall...and not that easy to walk in. But it is more important to look grandmotherly than it is to be comfortable.

Hey, I am getting good at this grandma stuff.

Recipe for Peanut Butter Oatmeal M&M Cookies

The One Where She Holds the Line

To answer Nan’s question, I will happily be called Grandma. It was good enough for Neva and Dora, my two perfectly perfect grandmothers, who were, between the two of them, everything a good grandma should be. A lot of people have asked me, what do you think about being a grandma? to which my pat response has been “Weird,” or “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.” Which responses were completely true. I really had no way of saying how I felt about it until I actually experienced it. But now I have been a grandmother for two and a half days.

I realized :( as we pulled up to the hospital where Josh, Jessi and Jif were recovering from birth, that I was very excited. I thought that it would be so fun to see my son and daughter-in-law in the role of parents, and see this little stranger for the first time. But then we walked in and I saw him. I had the same reaction to him that I had when I saw Josh for the very first time, and then each of my seven in their turns. This was not the stranger baby I was expecting to hold for the first time. I could have walked into the nursery full of babies, and picked him out without ever having seen him before. I knew that when I saw Joshua as a newborn, too. I looked at him, and thought, Well, of course that is him. He is so perfectly part of us. So familiar. I have known him forever. The thing is, I just didn’t expect to already know Jif.

People always say that being a grandma is way better than being a mom. You can love them, spoil them, and then send them home to their parents. I know you have heard this...everyone says it, right? Well, I am sorry, but that is just not true. At least it is not for me. I could not pry myself out of that hospital room for several hours on Saturday. The problem (if it is one), I finally realized, is that I would be perfectly happy to trade them. They can leave, and I will stay here with this perfect baby tonight. I will sit with warm blankets on my swollen abdomen to soothe the afterpains; I’ll take the icepacks and the bleeding. I’ll brave the cracked nipples and grit my teeth to nurse when his mouth feels just like a pair of pliers. I will take that sensation where when you stand up to hobble to the bathroom, it feels like all of your insides might just fall out. I will sit awake all night, holding him skin to skin, or just look at him for hours under that fluorescent light, and think how entirely amazing he is...how smart, and alert, and incredibly, impossibly beautiful. Here is the deal: I want to be a mother forever and ever and ever.

Please don’t take this the wrong way. I love what great parents Josh and Jessi already are. They are so patient and calm and wonderful. It doesn’t even make me feel old to be called Grandma. I don’t get jealous when I look at other people’s babies, and wish they were mine. I am going to love being a grandma. But I am not going to lie and say that it is better than being a mom. Jessi got the better end of this one.

I don’t think that I am one of those “over-mothering” mothers. I don’t follow my big kids around and try to tell them what to do all the time... and I’m sure that if I don’t speak the truth, here, they will feel free to comment and correct me. But what in the entire world could be better than having children, watching them be perfect babies, and then adorable two-year-olds, and then teenagers who are smart and funny and make all kinds of mistakes, and then, before you know it, grown-ups who are better at everything than you ever were? There could not be anything better. So there I will hold the line.

Grandma I am; and I have to say that including a new grandson in my family can only be described as life-altering. I love him like crazy. But please don’t cue the Circle of Life music quite yet. I am not done with the first part. And I don’t ever intend to be. I am going to be a mother for eternity.