The One With Craig, Megan and the Randomalia

This morning, true confessions.

First of all, I just have to get this out. I have never been able to distinguish properly between Craig’s List and Megan’s List. I realize now (don’t ask me how) that it is an important distinction. But it is not totally my fault. I know a Craig and a Megan, and they are married to each other. They probably each have their own lists, as well. Be that as it may, I was a little horrified when some nice lady from church mentioned that she had a current listing on Craig’s List. She always seemed so nice. I suppose they usually do. I saw a similar look of horror when I showed someone the studio monitor speakers I had bought from a guy in Irvine I found on Megan’s List. Even as I am typing this, I am not positive I remember which is which, so for now I think it is probably safer that I stick with eBay.

This one is not my confession, but Dillon’s. Apparently yesterday in Seminary, he whipped out a pair of underwear. Not his own. Also not really his fault. Dillon, who is 17, is the nicest big brother in the world, and still shares a room with Skippy even though he doesn’t have to… mainly because Skippy wants to. Dillon even does Skippy’s laundry along with his own, and when he pulled his clean sweatshirt out of his backpack at Seminary, a pair of 6x Spiderman boxer briefs fell out of it, right onto the floor. Dillon says he jumped on them so fast, he doesn’t think anyone else saw. (So I thought I would share it just in case.)

Last but not least, I had a really weird beach experience last week, which I have been pondering ever since. I think that the next time I go, I am going to take my own “PROHIBITED” sign. The sign would include, but not be limited to, the following:

No old men in thongs
No public urination (ten feet from where I park my towel)
No asking for bongs. Bring your own, or do without.
No reenactments of “Endless Love” with girls under 14
No wearing your nasty briefs instead of swim trunks
No lying on top of each other, especially if you are unattractive to begin with (sorry if that one sounds discriminatory)
No No NO lying on top of each other if you are the aforementioned guy wearing the briefs instead of a swimsuit. I’m serious, Fruit of the Loom... give it a rest.
No playing of guitar and singing after consuming too much alcohol, or if you are tone-deaf, or both

That’s pretty much it. I am not that hard to please. Thank you for helping to keep the beach happy for all of us.

The One About My Hands

I went with two friends to the temple in Newport Beach last week. I really like to go by myself. I know that sounds selfish, but I love the time in my car by myself to think about things, and to contemplate and ponder. I love the quiet in the temple with just my own thoughts. But I have become somewhat of a hermit lately, and I suppose it is time to try to break out of that. I just knew that I really needed to go that day.

I sat by my friends before we left to go home. We whispered until a nice lady showed us somewhere where we would be more quiet:). We were still wearing white, and sitting on the benches in the dressing room. One of my friends was struggling with a difficult family situation. I watched her hands as she wiped away tears that were streaming down her face. I looked down at my own hands. I have never had beautiful hands, but there is something about the fluorescent lighting in the temple, that makes all of my scars from the past eighteen months show up, like white under a black light. My burns from last year look sort of purple. I see a deep scratch from last month along the back of my left hand. And there is my poor misshapen finger, with a knuckle red and shiny because the skin is pulled tight over it. No, definitely not beautiful hands.

And yet… here in this place I have just received the most amazing blessings to be found anywhere on this earth… they tell me I am strong enough to bear all the burdens, capable enough to finish all my tasks. My mind is clear, and my hands can do this.

I love hands.

I remember holding my dad’s enormous hands, with all their scars and cuts from being a glazier for forty years. His hands were huge and the strongest I have ever felt. Sometimes it is hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I won’t ever get to hold his hand again in this life. I love my dad so much, and I miss him.

I remember my second date with Kevin some 27 years ago… we went to a play on BYU campus. We didn’t kiss that night, but the way he held my hand during that play was this total weak-in-the-knees, out-of-body experience, where I knew that I actually loved him, even though I had only known him for a single week (don’t worry… I didn’t actually tell him that for a couple more months… haha!).

I adore baby hands. Sixteen years ago, when Dillon was only a year old, he contracted RSV, and they put him in a crib in the hospital that was really more like a tall cage from the circus. They tented the crib with oxygen, and he had to stay in there so I couldn’t hold him. Of course he was sick, miserable and terrified. But I could put my hand through the rails of the cage and hold his hand, and as long as I did that, he didn’t cry... so I sat there all night long holding his little hands through the bars. I can still remember how his one-year-old hands felt, how tightly he held on, how he knew he had to be brave.

There is a sweet lady at church named Marjean. I think the first time I ever met her was when I played the organ for her husband’s funeral three or four years ago. I love Marjean, and I don’t know why, but she lights up whenever she sees me. She says, “Oh, Victoria, my favorite person in the world!”  She gives me a huge hug, and then grabs my hand to pull me down to sit next to her, She has beautiful soft hands, and I love her like my own grandma.

Looking down at my scars in the lights of the temple, I don’t know why my hands seem to get hurt all the time lately, but it doesn’t change anything. I can still do what I need to do. I don’t know if anyone else even remembers those times, but I will never forget them, or the love and admiration that I feel for my friends and family. Hands are my favorite.

The One Where There is Spring in the Hair

LOOK at what I found awaiting me this morning in my e-mail! Yes… you too can wear a bird’s nest in your hair. Don’t get me wrong… I love J.Crew. You know how there are just certain stores that fit you? J. Crew is my go-to for just about everything except dresses and skirts. Just maybe not hats. Not that I was a hat person anyway, but lately my hair has looked a little like a bird’s nest, without any help from J.Crew. I don’t need any bag-lady fashion to help me along.

Oh, and if I am going to actually buy a bird’s nest, it is going to be this one filled with chocolate truffle-filled eggs, like this one from Williams-Sonoma... which I also found in my e-mail. It must be spring, you think?

The One Where He Almost Got to Stay Home

Skippy, time to get up, buddy.

Who is home?

Just you and I.

Where is Casey?

With Edo.

Cambria?

Just left for Catalina.

It is just you and me?

Yup.

Well, I could sleep for just one day, and go to school the other days.

You better go to school, Skip…

We could have popcorn…

Hmm, that is true. We could have popcorn.

The One Where She Couldn’t Take It

Cam is packing for Cherry Cove, Catalina Island. She leaves tomorrow. She informed me this morning that she is not allowed to bring a spear gun, chewing gum, sheep knives or sunflower seeds. I don’t even know what a sheep knife is. But she is upstairs reluctantly unpacking her spear gun as we speak.

Okay, so apparently she said SHEATH knives... that makes a lot more sense. I think.

The Overnight One

I got to keep Jif overnight on Friday, whilst his parents went camping to celebrate the beginning of UCLA Law School spring break. Jessi has been very jealous of law school, and has been counting the days until Josh would not talk about homework or writing or the finer points of the law, and would just pay undivided attention to her. So I got Jif, and he was highly entertaining, never cried, and slept, well... like a baby, for lack of a better term.

At sunset, we ran over to the lake to snap some pictures. I took Cambria as baby wrangler, and it was all we could do to keep up with him, as he was determined to run everywhere, and to scare every duck in the neighborhood, and to plunge headlong into the lake. We did manage to keep him from doing that last thing, but most of the photos ended up being of his back as he ran away at full speed. However, I did get a few goodies...

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 With Les Étoiles

I definitely did not give a proper explanation of my recording project, because I have had a lot of questions about who is doing the singing... and there is no singing.

About two months ago, Casey got a job with a telescope company. Yes, telescope. They produce something like a “talking telescope.” Basically, you point your telescope to one of the pre-determined points in the night sky, push a button, and a pleasant voice tells you what you are looking at. Maybe even tells you a short story from Greek mythology about that particular constellation or star, or whatever.

All of the spoken parts are in English, and they are in the process of translating them into Spanish, French, Italian, German, Japanese and Russian. The French had to be recorded this last weekend, because they are marketing the talking telescope in Costco Canada, and Costco Canada is not interested unless the French scripts are included. Casey was hired to translate the script into Spanish, and then record the Spanish, which should take place in the next week and a half. When he went in to talk to the executives about the job, he mentioned the possibility of using my “studio” to do the recording, and one of the execs had my Christmas CD, and was very excited that I might be able to do the job. It is exciting for me, too, because I can use my studio and make money doing it.

There were 400 separate files which had to be recorded and then meticulously named to match their English counterparts. This is what it sounded like (sorry if you can’t get this to work... I am having trouble with my mp3 hosting!):

I listened to that for about 22 hours. The 24-year-old guy who did the recording did almost 90% of the recordings in one take, and only once or twice required more than two. Pretty impressive. Et voilà… that is the whole story. 

The Noisy One

Today I made nine hours of French recordings, with another nine or ten to do tomorrow. And suddenly I was reminded why I made most of my CD recordings in the middle of the night.
When I listen to the mic through the headphones,
I hear
Skippy screaming with his friends on the trampoline
So many birds it reminds me of waking up in Hawaii
Bells at the elementary school
Two car alarms (or just one, twice?)
The front door slamming four times
Super Mario Brothers
A siren
A toilet flushing (too many times to count)
Dogs barking
An owl who ought to be asleep
The ice machine in the refrigerator
The phone ringing
A motorcycle three streets away
Casey taking a shower in the bathroom directly above our heads

I think I prefer to work in the quiet of the night. But now I am going to bed. After this day, I am seriously afraid I may dream en français…

(You should probably read this post in your best French accent... that is how I wrote it) 

The One Where it Isn’t Me This Time

Yeah. Not. My. Hand. Not this time. I have messed up my hands more in the last year than I have in the twenty before that. But this time it’s not me. It has been a week since I posted, because my life is boring, and this week has really been about everybody else, anyway.

So the burnt hand… belongs to this one:

I know the photo’s a little blurry. It’s an iPhone photo of a picture on the wall as you walk inside the band hall at the MCRD in San Diego, where LCpl. McD is the most junior band member. Yesterday, he cleared a huge hurdle, passing off the 32 songs he is required to memorize in his first month in the band. Most often, they don’t pass the first time, and paperwork follows them around for the ensuing month. So Ethan was extremely happy and relieved to pass. This is him playing on Friday... they did some pretty cool stuff. (He is clearly visible in this shot. Click it big, and maybe you can pick him out. Think French horn.)

So yesterday he passed his big test. And then this morning while ironing his uniform the iron fell on his hand and he has second-degree burns. He is SIQ today. Sick In Quarters. Believe me, I can feel for him… but it could have been worse. A lot of the guys in the barracks drink until they get stupid and start burning themselves on purpose with cigarette lighters.

Dillon sounds like he has pneumonia. He went to seminary this morning, but now I have to take him to the doctor for asthma meds.

This is a picture of something Skippy made me this week.

Do you know what it is? It is a window. So that I can watch him. Haha! I love that. I will just be sitting here working on music, and he will come in and say, “Mom, do you want me to bring you your window?” Awesome.

Cam is getting ready for a trip to Catalina Island to do science camp, kayaking, etc. at Cherry Cove.

I have a recording job coming up this weekend that looks to be pretty challenging. I may be pulling a couple of all-nighters to finish it. This is the third project that I am “producing” in my home studio. Yes, people pay me money to do it! How cool is that? This one is in French, so I probably won’t know what is going on half the time, but I am good at faking it.

I know, boring post. But look what I have to work with.

The One With the WOW Moment

Do you ever have those nights when you can’t shut your thoughts off to sleep? Sometimes that happens to me with music. Last night I couldn’t shut the music off. I think it started with American Idol last night. I can’t bring myself to watch the early rounds of Idol. I am not a fan of public humiliation. Even these earlier rounds of elimination are a little painful. But last night in one of the promo films, Simon Cowell told one of the girls that she was a good singer, but in the whole song there was nothing that made him just say, “Wow!” I realized that is why I watch the show, too. I am wishing… hoping… for that wow moment. It didn’t happen last night on Idol. Then I went to bed, and my own music started playing on that relelentless stereo of my brain. I arranged and rearranged. I wrote new songs and then tossed them. I tried to turn the music off, or at least down low enough to sleep, but with not much success. I finally had to come down and have a go at the keyboard for a while.

In the course of making my Christmas CD, I had a few wow moments. Honestly, probably more than my fair share. The most vivid one in my memory happened the day before Halloween, less than two weeks before the CD had to be completed. We were performing a rescue mission on a song which I had mostly decided to give up. We worked most of the afternoon and finished the first two verses of the song. I was happy... it was really good. Maybe not wow, but really good. We took a break, and when we returned, the tracks were simply gone! I don’t know if I didn’t save them right, accidentally deleted them… I just don’t know. I felt so bad I wanted to cry, but the vocalist just rolled up sleeves and said, “Let’s just do it better this time, then.” And for the next four hours, that is what we did. It was so much better that when the music poured through my headphones, it was electrifying. I found myself lip-synching, as though I could pour my own energy into the voice, and strangely, I would hear the sound come out exactly how I wanted. It was such a high that even though we were completely starving, we let pizza grow cold for two hours rather than take a break, and even after the recording was finished, I couldn’t stop editing it until 2:00 in the morning because I just had to keep listening to it over and over. I couldn’t even wipe the silly smile off my face. The instrumentals weren’t perfect. The performance was not flawless. I can still pick out parts that ought to be fixed. But that didn’t stop it from being just… wow.

I guess that is what keeps me up at night, even though I am going to pay for that today, since I have to cater a dinner for 100 tonight, and so there is no rest. I guess I just can’t help sitting on the edge of my seat along with Simon, looking for that wow moment. Those times make everything worth it. When was your last wow moment?

The One Where She Was Home Alone

Skippy and I are home alone. It is almost like being entirely alone, because he has discovered this weird game called Pikmin on Gamecube. The music alone is enough to put me into a sort of trance, so he has to play it upstairs. He wandered down a few minutes ago, though, and asked me, “Have you ever been home alone?” “Well, of course!” I told him. I laughed, because at Skippy’s age, he probably imagines that when he is not home, I just spend the day suspended in time, waiting for him to return.

But it did make me think. I almost never get to be home alone. Because Cambria is homeschooled, Casey works from home, and DK is self-employed, it almost never happens. In fact, it has only happened twice in the last year. I imagine there will come a day when I will wish I had more people home. I miss having my missionaries here. I miss my boys who have left home. But I do actually dream of having alone time in my own house.

The last time it happened, however, was a couple of weeks ago, and I found I really didn’t know what to do with myself. I played the piano loudly. I ate a pop-tart. And then I couldn’t come up with anything more profound. Maybe I’m not responsible enough to be home alone. It is good that Skippy is here… he is explaining to me the intricacies of The Cat in the Hat Came Back. And I do love a good sequel.

The One With the Road Rage

Sorry... two churchy posts in a row. I promise tomorrow I will be irreverent to make up for it, but I just have to put this one out there. Yesterday our bishop (the pastor of our church) told a story that really hit me. He was getting on the freeway the other day, and as soon as he got on the on-ramp he saw that the freeway was not moving. He had about 100 feet to merge, and then he would run out of ramp. So he either had to merge or run off the road. No one would let him in, so he kind of cut someone off. After he did, he looked in his rearview mirror and saw that the person he cut off was NOT happy about it. In fact, the guy changed lanes and got next to Bishop Gregson and started shaking his fist at him and flipping him off, yelling obscenities. Bishop Gregson thought about it, and decided to try to turn away the anger with a gentle apology, and so he smiled at the man, and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.” The funny thing is, if you know Bishop Gregson, you kind of think to yourself, that could have gone either way. He is patient, but doesn’t seem like the type to let people push him around, either. Not only that, but you should google “road rage.” You will find hundreds of pictures of people who get out of their cars and beat the daylights out of someone who cut them off.

What came next was an awkward few minutes when the freeway traffic did not move very much, and so he ended up driving alongside angry guy for some time. It was kind of embarrassing… you know what that is like... how you really don’t want to look over at this person that you have offended. But at one point he did, and the man was making motions to him to roll down his window. Bishop Gregson was a little worried about doing it… but he rolled down the window. As soon as he did, the man told him that he was so sorry for the way he had acted, and the things he had said and done. I was surprised that this story made me cry.

Bishop Gregson said that we live in an angry world. It is true. There is a lot of anger. I know, because I have people who are so angry with me that they won’t speak to me, because of things I have said or done, or because of misunderstandings, or even for things that I didn’t actually do. I have apologized, even for the things I didn’t do... but the anger is too much, and they can’t forgive... some of them for years. There is something in my emotional makeup that makes me think of those people every single day, because as long as there is someone angry with me, the world is not right. I have never really been one to hold onto anger for any length of time. I know I have plenty of faults, but on the plus side, I forgive quickly, so it is painful and hard for me to understand when others do not forgive me, because I never intentionally cause pain.

But I know that I have repented of the wrongdoings, and I also know that I can’t fix the rest ... so the Lord wants me to move on and get busy. He can’t do anything with a servant who is sitting around worrying about slights, and he can’t do anything with someone who never gets up from her knees praying for forgiveness. I love this scripture: Doctrine and Covenants 64:34. Behold, the Lord requireth the heart and a willing mind. I believe the willing mind leads to working hands. So, time to get to work. Time for us all to get to work. And just try to chill.

The One With All the Mysteries

I have had some conversations lately about religion. There is a phrase that I find so interesting. It is this: “That is just a mystery. We can never know the answer.” There are mysteries. I get that. My life is, in fact full of mysteries. Things I really don’t understand.

For instance, chicken and waffles. Together on the same plate. Sorry, Roscoe. Or why I have an appendix. I mean, it is actually called an appendix. An add-on. By definition, an extra part. I won’t even touch the whole “socks in the laundry” phenomenon. I gave up on that one years ago. I have compensated for the mysterious loss of socks by a) never wearing or owning any of my own, and b) dumping everyone else’s socks, the ones that survive the Roulette wheel we call a dryer, into a basket where they have to rummage when they want a pair. This is admittedly not a very “good mom” kind of solution, but, oh well, there you have it. Anyway, point is, there are mysteries in my life.

But when it comes to God, and the doctrines of truth, I think that God wants us to understand his plan for us. There is a scripture I really like in the Book of Mormon that says “… and he that will not harden his heart, to him is given the greater portion of the word, until it is given unto him to know the mysteries of God until he know them in full.” That is found in the book of Alma, Chapter 12. If you get a minute, read verses 9-11. Yes, there are mysteries in the scriptures. And no, I don’t understand them all. For instance, even though I understand the basics of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I can’t fully comprehend it from a mortal standpoint. But the more I study and pray, the more I understand.

An awesome recently returned missionary told me something very profound. He said that partway through his mission, he came to realize that his first responsibility was to testify of Jesus Christ, and of His infinite atonement, and next to testify of the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It is that simple. Sometimes when people are studying the principles of the LDS church, they are called “investigators.” I have always thought that was an odd choice of words. But, I suppose... what else do you call someone who is trying to solve mysteries? They may be asking: Why am I here? What am I supposed to do now? What is my relationship to God? Where am I going after this? Those are not mysteries to me. Why? Because I am not just an Investigator anymore; I am also a Believer. I have seen that transformation happen to others as well. It happens when a person allows the spirit to teach, rather than just deciding that it is a mystery, that we will never understand. I don’t think Heavenly Father wants us to just give up and call it all a mystery. He wants us to be believers.

I saw a sweet little video clip today about what happens when you embrace being a believer in your everyday life. Enjoy.

The One With the Little Skateboarding Accident

So, Sunday I tripped in high heels and a dress and ate the sidewalk while walking out of church had a little skateboarding accident. Naturally, the first thing I did was look around really quick to make sure no one saw me shook it off and got back on my skateboard. I drove home and found that my first aid kit had been completely raided of anything even vaguely useful got patched up.

An hour later I decided to make bread. I managed to drop one of my steel bread pans on my big toe, which immediately started to turn purple. I yelled out loud, threw things and burst into tears bore this further insult to my body with good humor and then spent a nice afternoon on the couch with Skippy crying my eyes out.

Thank goodness I’m so chill.

The One Where She Was a Fan

There seems to be a surge in popularity on Facebook of “fanning” things. No, not like when you are lying on the beach with a native fanning you with palm fronds. Nothing like that at all. No, it is like this: Joe Lemming became a fan of “drying off after a shower.” Or maybe Christi Follower became a fan of “getting to the middle of a Tootsie Roll Pop.”

If you are not on Facebook, you think that I am exaggerating the prolificity of the fan clubs that are available to join. Here is a list of just a few. I found them just looking at my incoming news feed… these are things my friends have “fanned” in the last few hours.

i finally stop laughing... look back over at you and start all over again
if you should be doing homework now, become a fan
cuddling is not a crime
Bad day? There’s a Taylor Swift song for that.
Don’t ever break a pinky promise.
Texting on dates
Adddddinnnng exxxxxtra letterssssss to worrrrrddddsssss!!!!!!
Real Housewives of Orange County
Picking your nose
Laughing so hard it works out your abs

I am a fan. Of a lot of things. I just want to come up with them myself. I don’t need the companionship of others in my fan-ship to tell me that I am on the right track. Here are a few that I am a fan of (and apologies about twelve times for ending my sentence with a preposition):

I am a fan of going back to sleep for two hours after I drive to 5:30 seminary.
I am a fan of apple crisp for breakfast. With ice cream, if I am so inclined.
I am a fan of unsolicited neck rubs.
I am a fan of Thomas S. Monson.
I am a fan of really sexy high heels, makeup that I have to pay through the nose for at the Lancome counter, J. Crew t-shirts, expensive hair appointments, and that cheap body spray they sell at Victoria’s Secret.
I am a fan of spelling things correctly. And using proper grammar (incomplete sentences don’t really bother me ☺). I am a fan of not caring so much when other people misspell.
I am a fan of letters in the mail, and I am also a fan of text messaging.
I am a fan of sports movies that make you cry when they win in the end.
I am a fan of being alone in my own house.
I am a fan of rain.
I am a fan of my family.
I am a fan of pickup trucks. Especially the kind that are already a little beat up so that you can throw things in them and not worry too much about it.
I am a fan of Shannon Hale’s books. I wish there was one she wrote that I somehow didn’t hear about, so that I could discover it today, and say “Oh my gosh! I never read that one!” and then I would read it. Maybe with a fire in the fireplace, and rain outside.
I am a fan of friends.
I am a fan of someone else doing the dishes.

Some of the things I mentioned are Facebook fan clubs. Who knows? Maybe I should even join a few. In fact, you can be a fan of Jesus Christ on Facebook. Just to be clear, I am a fan of Jesus Christ. I just find that I don’t want to be one on Facebook. I think it worries me that last time I checked, he has less fans than Twix bars. That’s just not right.

The One Where She Got Caught. Twice.

Today, I answer the all-important question: Is there really any bad time to eat a root beer float? I won’t sport with you here: YES. The answer is yes.

This morning I discussed healthy eating with Cambria, and then we worked out what her exercise for the morning would be. I let her eat a healthy, low-fat breakfast of cereal and milk, and then she went to get her walking shoes on. That was when it happened.

I spotted the root beer from across the room. I knew there was ice cream in the freezer. I have been trying not to eat a lot of sugar, and on the top of the no-no list is soda. I love soda. I love the fizz… I love Sprite with Mexican food. I love root beer with pizza. Dr. Pepper any old time. Love love love. But I don’t buy much soda, and I try to limit myself to an occasional sugar-free one as a treat. Be that as it may… there was that A and W... winking at me, I swear it.

In theory, I don’t have a big problem with root beer floats for breakfast. It’s dairy, right? I thought to myself, I will just wait until Cambria leaves before I have a root beer float for breakfast. I mean, how bad of a mom gives her daughter the health lecture and then eats a root beer float in front of her. All I have to do is wait ten minutes. But no. I couldn’t wait a whole ten minutes. I thought, I will just make it really quick while she gets on her shoes. She will head out the front door and won’t even see me. So just as I was taking the first bite, Cambria walked in to fill her water bottle. Oops. Caught!

As nonchalantly as I could manage, I walked into the backyard to sit in the sun and eat my float. Don’t judge me. And that could have been the end of the story. But no. I finished eating that root beer float, and I thought to myself, there was just enough root beer and ice cream left for another. Cam was nearly five minutes’ gone. So just as I was pouring and slurping foam on root beer float number two, Cambria popped back in to grab the ipod shuffle. Caught. Again!

I know what you’re wondering… what am I planning for lunch, right? A whole cheesecake? A batch of cookie dough? I’m open to suggestions.

The One Where He Raced Against Death

When I read a hardcover book, the first thing I do is whip the dust jacket off and stow it somewhere safe. I would guess that at least half the time I never manage to reunite the book with its cover… but it is always my intention. I finished a book last night. It was the twelfth in a series of books that each spanned about 800 pages.

Back in 2005, Robert Jordan (which is a pen name for James Oliver Rigney, Jr.) announced that this twelfth book would at last end the series. He had slowed down to a book about every two years, and long about the beginning of 2007, I began to search the internet for news about this eagerly awaited (certainly by me) novel. I found a website called “Dragonmount” which was apparently Jordan’s official website, and also a blog of sorts for him. It was then and there that I read the distressing news: Robert Jordan had been diagnosed with the fatal heart disease cardiac amyloidosis. He had begun a race against the disease to finish this last book, A Memory of Light.

I began visiting that site frequently, as I was saddened by this news, but also fascinated by the idea that he was so determined to finish this work. The disease unfortunately progressed quickly, and rather than working to complete the novel, Jordan began to feverishly prepare for the eventuality that another novelist would complete the novel for him. He said, “I’m getting out notes, so if the worst actually happens, someone could finish a Memory of Light and have it end the way I want it to end.” On September 16th of 2007, Jordan lost that race, and the conclusion of his life’s work was up in the air.

In December of 2007, Tor Books announced that Brandon Sanderson, a fantasy author and Brigham Young University professor, was to finish A Memory of Light. He was chosen by Jordan’s widow in part because she liked his fantasy novels, and in part because of a eulogy Sanderson had written for Jordan.

So… back to last night. I got to about 100 pages from the end, and I realized something. This book is not wrapping up to a conclusion. Since the entire series pointed to a “last battle,” the final showdown, so to speak, I had to imagine that by page 700 of the last book, we would be getting to said showdown. But no… not even close. At midnight last night I finished, and… the story definitely did not. I retrieved the dust jacket to find some sort of explanation. Here is how observant I was: first of all, the title of the book is “The Gathering Storm,” not A Memory of Light. Secondly, right on the dust jacket, it says, “First book of A Memory of Light.” Like I said, I had that dust jacket off pretty fast. I went back to Dragonmount and found that in 2009, Tor Books announced that A Memory of Light would be split into three volumes. Haha! Silly me.

I am totally down with that, since I was not really ready for it to be over, and also because Sanderson did a bang-up job of honoring the memory of Robert Jordan with a seamless transition in this book. I don’t do many book reviews here, but if you are an utterly hopeless sci-fi fantasy geek like me, and prefer books that are not sexually explicit (too many of them are, I am afraid), and you don’t mind an 800-page read, this is a great series. I love the characters, and the amazing premise Jordan created. If you decide to attempt it, you will want to start with “Eye of the World.”

The One Where She Faced the Dragon

I am at war. With my 12-year-old daughter. I tell her what to do. She agrees (often angrily, tearily or both), and then does what she wants instead. Maybe my boys were this hard to motivate, but I knew that for somewhere between 20 and 40 hours a week, they were going to be at school, where inspiration would be the job of the best teachers my tax money can buy. That didn’t always work out so well, either. But with homeschooling, it is my job 24/7. And about half the time, I am failing.

My own mom is a lot better at this. When she comes down for a visit, or when Cambria goes there, they turn out piles and piles of art and math and writing and social studies... but I seem to lack the Girl Mom gene. When I suggest such industry, I just get that look that says, “As if.”

Her education is not necessarily suffering... her standardized test scores remain very high. She is very talented and clever and witty. But she is happy to make me crazy for hours over one small writing assignment. I also don’t understand the tears. Clearly, I am making her cry. That I understand. But all I asked her to do is finish a science page.

Perhaps the key is to include an art assignment on each page. The dragon illustration was part of her English assignment... maybe I just need to figure out how to get her to illustrate her math?

The One With the Burning Love

You know I love Valentine’s Day. I am practical, yes. Logical... more than most. But I love romance. And surprises. And sugar cookies with frosting. And the list goes on. So here is the short version of my weekend.

Friday: I made DK a pretty good dinner. New York steaks, roasted asparagus, and melt-in-your-mouth Mushroom Risotto. Muy bueno. He loved it so much that he broke out my Valentine early. It was a big pink-wrapped box of Belgian chocolates. I ripped off the paper, lifted the lid, and removed the padded paper from the top... and found that someone had tampered with the package. Two thirds of the candy had been unceremoniously dumped, and replaced with... a brand-new cellphone! It was pretty cool. Pull-out keyboard, touch screen. I was excited. I have been without a cellphone for six weeks now. He asked me: Do you like it? Of course I like it! Oh... then you probably don’t care about this (pulling another little box from his bag of tricks):

Yes, an iPhone. He said I could choose between the two phones. Man, I hate when he does that. How can I not choose the iPhone, for goodness sake? It doesn’t have a phone number yet, because AT&T did not hear that it was Valentine’s Day, and that they should make my day by letting us add a line... no... they do not share my love of romance. But we are going to figure that out this week.

Saturday: Drove down to pick up Ethan from the Marine base for his three-day weekend. 72 degrees. Ocean views. Not a bad way to spend the morning.

Sunday: Making BBQ brisket, macaroni and cheese, homemade rolls... for Valentine’s Day, yes. But for this guy:

Home from his mission, and here to visit, and I can’t wait to see him. In fact, I am not the only one. Skippy has asked me fifteen times in the last hour... is he almost here? Yes, he is almost here. Oh. And I am making those aforementioned sugar cookies. Which may be my favorite treat. In. The. World. Ever. The End.

Happy Valentine’s Day... love love love love love love...

The One That Explains Quite a Bit

Heard around the house:

Dillon: So, Mom, this whole dating thing pretty much sucks, right?

Cambria: I’ve finished my school work for the day. I’m just going to kill Nazi Zombies for a while.

Ethan: Mom, who do you think is the smartest in our family? And don’t tell me I’m in the top five or six. I hate that.

Tyler: Mom, can I have a machete for my birthday?

Dillon: If you felt like making some white bread once in awhile, I could totally get behind that.

Josh: Mom, please never put Jessi in charge of us again! Me: Josh, she is your wife, and besides, she got you and your brothers to clean the whole downstairs. Josh: I know. It was awful. Dillon: Yes, Mom, she was super mean. And besides, it’s not even fair... Casey ditched out after half an hour. Casey: Yeah, Jessi told me to get back to work, but I asked Josh if I could go, and he said yes. Jessi: Now we know which one is going to be the nice parent.

Skippy: Mama, is there homemade bread? Me: I just put loaves into the oven for Dillon. They’ll be ready in a half hour. Skippy: No! That’s white bread. I mean homemade bread.

Casey: Mom, you don’t let Skip watch Dora, the Explorer, do you? I mean, you know she is totally an illegal immigrant, right?

Ethan: Guess what, Mom... I got Dillon an iPhone! Me: What? What about me? You know I have been wanting an iPhone for forever. Ethan: Mom, it wouldn’t do you any good. You don’t even have a phone number. And besides, you know Dillon has always been my favorite. Me: Thanks.

Skippy: What is our dinner going to be? Me: I was thinking Mommy’s super-duper homemade hamburgers and chips and soda. Skippy: How come we never have shrimp?

Tyler: Mom, can I have a chainsaw for my birthday?

Dillon: Have you ever noticed that Cambria has a really evil laugh? Me: Dillon, that’s not very nice. Cambria: {evil laugh}

Jessi: I think Josh is cheating on me with Apple Computer.

Dillon: Mom, can you take me? Dad likes to conserve gas.

Kevin: Hey, do you think you could take a few pictures of my rear end for the insurance company?

Casey: Mom, how come Cambria is always so mean? Me: You mean, mean in a nice sort of way? Casey: No, I mean, mean in a mean sort of way.

Skippy (the day he was the spotlight child in primary hour at church): How come you told them my favorite places to eat are Subway and Flame Broiler? Me: Because you like to go to those places...? Skippy (with angry tears): Round Table! Geez.

Cambria and Skippy: Mom, we are making you a Wii “Me.” It is going to look just like you. There’s one that has wrinkles. Do you want us to use that one?

Tyler: Can I have a blowtorch for my birthday? Me: Fine.

Casey: Can I bring a couple of friends over, and we have taco night? Me: Sure. How many is a couple? Casey: No more than fifteen.

Ethan: Mom, I was on your Facebook profile, and my Master Sergeant saw your picture. He said, “Who is that?” I said, “That’s my mom, Master Sergeant.” {insert favorite Marine expletive here.} He wanted to know if you were single. I told him you were married, so he said, “Happily married?” What do you want me to tell him?

The One With the Ultimate Makeover

February is my second-favorite month. I love that it only has 28 days, except when that oddity known as Leap Year makes it an uneven 29. I love days off school courtesy of long-dead presidents. I thoroughly {heart} Valentine's Day... love and candy and frosted sugar cookies, all inextricably entwined... more on that later...

AND I adore Groundhog Day. Why? Because of Bill Murray, Andie McDowell, and, yes, Punxsatawny Phil. On February 2nd, somewhere in Pennsylvania they pulled a rodent out of a cage to predict the weather... whilst I was wrapped up in a blanket watching Groundhog Day. We quote lines from that movie all the time... It has become a family tradition of sorts. But what I love most about the movie is Phil Connors’ (yes, he shares a name with the groundhog) transformation at the end of the movie. I love a good makeover, and this one is ultimately more satisfying than the physical kind.

Finding that he, alone, is repeating the same day over and over, he goes through various stages of coping, including taking advantage of the lack of consequences, repeated suicide attempts, and using his knowledge of the other characters (and that there is no tomorrow) to indulge his worldly appetites. But eventually he chooses to be good. But not just good... He develops new talents and begins to spend his days performing acts of service. He learns how to be unselfish. He makes friends of everyone in the town. It is when he realizes he can actually be happy even while repeating the same day over and over, that he is finally able to move on to tomorrow.

So much of real life is the same day over and over. We go to school or work, or care for our families. I think I just like knowing that I can have a transformation if I want it, too. Learn something new... step out of my comfort zone and make a CD. Practice and make perfect. Read something great. Be a cool friend. Change my whole heart. Every day is a new opportunity to choose how to spend my extra time... and yesterday is not so important. I love that. February is pretty much amazing. It is 10:46 a.m. and I am still in my pajamas. What is wrong with this picture?

The One Where She Caught a Break

I caught a little break this week. I have been trying to stay on top of things, and for someone who is practically a shut-in, I always seem to have a lot of little things to do. Preparing lessons and planning activities for girls at my church, baking twelve loaves of bread so far this week… those are just the usual. But I have had something more important weighing on my mind. Maybe I should say someone more important. Tandy.

If you followed my Christmas music blog, or listened to any of the music, or bought a CD, then you know who Tandy is. She is one of my favorite singers. I know that I am supposed to make another CD this year, and I have been determined not to wait until I only have two months left before I start. I also know that I would really like for Tandy to sing two or three songs on that CD. The only thing is, Tandy is leaving. She is going to be serving a mission for our church in Kobe, Japan, and she leaves in three weeks!

I already have one song I want her to sing, but I wanted to write and record two original songs in addition to that one. So this week I set a goal that I would get one of the songs written. There is a really nice lady named Zoe who is planning to be baptized on Saturday, and she asked Tandy to sing at her baptism. Since I actually work better with a purpose and a deadline, I decided Monday that I would write a song that Tandy could sing on Saturday for the baptism. I was barely hyperventilating about that at all.

So yesterday I made myself sit down at the keyboard and start playing. I kept playing a certain melody that sounded familiar, but couldn’t quite place it. Then it came to me: I already have a song! The melody was from a song I wrote in the summer. I tried to record it, but it wasn’t working. Something wasn’t right about the words, the melody, the accompaniment, or all three. I just don’t know. It was very discouraging at the time. I felt like I had felt so inspired to write those words, and yet they didn’t work. It made me question what I was doing, and I threw the whole thing… not into the trash, but into my deepest drawer, and covered it with papers.

So yesterday I dug it out, dusted it off, and played through it with Tandy. And guess what! We are doing it for the baptism… and then recording it next week. I feel like I just got a little boost that I wasn’t expecting. The Spirit is like that sometimes, when you least expect it, and sometimes don’t even deserve it. Now I can’t wait for Saturday! If you want to hear the premiere of the song, you can come to the baptism:).

I haven’t decided whether I will post music that is going to be on my next CD. What do you think? Do you listen to it? You can tell me the truth. Meanwhile, I thought I would put up a hymn for you, in case you do. I admit, I hate it when we sing this when a missionary leaves. It makes everyone cry. I think I begged them not to do it when my boys left on their missions. But I still love the hymn… Mind you, this is very rough, so ignore mistakes!

The One With the Five-Minute Poster

Bad mom moment, averted. At least for today. This morning I woke Skippy up for school. There was no school yesterday, and he was tired from all that rest. By the time I dragged him kicking and screaming coaxed him out of his warm blankets, he only had about five minutes to get ready. That was when it suddenly occurred to me: Skippy is Star of the Week. {insert curse words here} Do I seriously have to make another Star of the Week poster? I have been making them for lo, these twenty years.

Miracle #1. I found a piece of poster board that was not too wrinkled.

Miracle #2. My color printer does a pretty decent job, so I was digging through digital albums on my computer, not through shoe boxes in my laundry room shelves.

Miracle #3. iPhoto prints in standard photo sizes... 3x5, 4x6, 5x7, 8x10... and it will even add a nice-looking mat or double mat around the photo.

Miracle #4. Wood glue will glue paper to poster board.

Miracle #5. Skipster was only ten minutes late to school.

Now, I just have to make sure to send in a picture of his favorite food tomorrow. He insists that his favorite food is cotton candy. Yes, out of all the food I make, his favorite is cotton candy. I don’t think that qualifies as a food, and I am not even positive he has ever even tasted cotton candy before, so I’m not sure where that came from. But, well... okay.

P.S. Why do I never get to be Star of the Week? (okay... repenting, here... on New Year’s Eve, we celebrated Victoria Day, wherein DK made me Star of the Day and we did everything I wanted to do. But I could still come up with a pretty good list of the privileges that come with Star of the Week, Victoria-style... haha!)

The One Where I Would Like My Friends Back

Dear AT&T,

How are you? I haven’t heard from you in awhile. In a way it is almost like you are one of my kids… the one that I only hear from when you need money. And of course, of late it has been difficult for you to reach me. Why? Well, I’m glad you asked. It is because I don’t have a cell phone. If you have tried to call me on my old cell phone number, you probably reached my son Casey. When he returned home after a two-year absence, he had no phone, and after much deliberation, I gave him mine. You see, apparently “your hands are tied,” because the AT&T family plan maxes out at five lines. While I realize that in China this family plan would seem generous to the point of being ridiculous, I actually have more family members than that, and I find it troubling that you do not want us all to share the same plan.

It seems you would require us to purchase a second family plan, texting plan, minutes plan, data plan... in fact, if I didn’t know better, I would say it was a plot on your part to extract more money from my budget than I already send you for my television service, my internet, my home phone, and the five-line family plan for which I already pay handsomely… despite the fact that I have been a loyal AT&T customer for twenty years.

I have tried to just “make do.” There was a time in the not-so-distant past that I got by fine without a cell phone. And yes, it has been a month with no cell phone, and I am still alive. Nothing terrible happened. But I will admit to being just a little bit lonely. In December, I received 1,500 text messages. In January, zero. I know what you are thinking… I have just managed to free up several hours in a single month for other activities. With that much spare time, I could have written a song… read a book… maybe climbed a mountain. Well, a very small mountain. But no. I did none of those things, and in fact have no idea where those hours even went, and do you know what? I want them back. Better yet, I would like my friends back… that ones that used to call and text me. Can you do that for me, AT&T? And while you’re at it, maybe you could just add another line to our family plan. I have already done all the hard work… I gave birth to these children. All I am asking you to do is add lines for them, for which you will be paid yet more money. Seems more than fair to me.

Hope to hear from you soon. You’ll have to call the home phone. I don’t answer it very much, I’m afraid.

xoxo
Victoria

The One With the Dead Ringer

I noticed that on Facebook everyone is saying it is “Doppelganger Week.” You are supposed to post a photo of the celebrity that everyone is always telling you you look like. Well, no one has ever told me I look like a celebrity. Nor am I self-aware enough to look at someone and think, “Wow, I look a lot like that person.” So I went to www.myheritage.com and clicked on Celebrities and Fun, and I uploaded a picture of myself. It runs what I hope is a very low-tech face recognition program, and then tells you the celebrities that you look the most like. You think,  oh, cool... maybe I will look like someone really pretty, right? Here is what I got. I am going to go hide, now.

The One With the 6:00 a.m. Wakeup Call

Casey went to Big Bear Friday night. Big Bear got six new feet of snow that day. Chains required, roads closed. Probably not the best idea, but he and his friends were determined. I went to bed that night thinking of him, and also of Ethan, flying in from Virginia to his new station at MCRD San Diego. Suddenly my eyes flew open. The phone was ringing. It was dark. That is never good news, right? Check the clock: 6:00 a.m. I jumped out of bed and flew down the stairs to just miss the last ring of the phone. My mind, which had been occupied by weird dreams only seconds before, began to quickly generate scenarios, none of them good.

Caller ID: Ethan. “Mom, I’m in the barracks in San Diego.” Mmm, okay...? I just found out I don’t have to check in until Sunday night. Can you and Dad come and get me? Mmm, okay.

I climbed back under my down blanket and thought, just a couple more hours of sleep, and then we can go get Ethan. Two minutes later... let’s just go now. We drove down the coast for an hour and twenty minutes. After four straight days of drowning in rain, the skies were bluer than normal, and the hills greener. Everything freshly washed and glistening. Lance Corporal in the back seat. All well with the world.

Apparently Casey had texted Dillon at 2:00 that morning to let him know they finally made it up the hill in the snow Dillon didn’t think it was important enough to tell me that until Sunday on the way home from church. Fortunately, I am not a worrier.

The One Where She Can’t Get it Out of Her Head

I have been working on music this week. Not quite sure where to go with it right now, but I am trying.

This song... Prodigal Son...  has been in my mind a lot lately. It is a song that I think is really fun, but it is more than that. In a way, it seems like this song encapsulates what the composing and recording process is like. It was fun and it was frustrating. It was simple, but I managed to make it complicated. I worked the longest on it, yet it is not finished. The bottom line is, I know when I listen to it, that I didn’t capture the performance I was looking for. I love the way my Christmas CD turned out, but I learned so much this year... much of it, actually, while recording and editing this song... and I know I can do this so much better. It is my dream to hear it with no regrets.

I don’t know if “no regrets” is possible. Like the song, it is all about repentance, forgiveness, moving on to the next thing. Like I said, simple... but I can usually manage to make it complicated:).

{Artwork is “Father and Son Dancing” by one of my favorite artists, Brian Kershisnik. If you would like to read more about how I wrote the song, you can check out this post from last year.}
 


Click on the mp3 player to listen:

Prodigal Son

I’ve been walking this path for far too long
I feel weak
It’s harder and harder to breathe
I know
It’s just a case of choosing right or wrong
But in this dark place
Sometimes I can barely see.


Show me
The way I can finally be free
There’s a fire that’s burning inside of my soul
I am ready now
To give all my sins and hurt to thee
Take my troubles
I’m giving them all away.


You have had the perfect answers all along
You tried to tell me
But I didn’t have ears to hear
Now there’s music where before I heard no song
And when you sing
The message becomes so clear.


Will you show me
The way I can finally be free?
There’s a fire that is burning inside of my soul
I am ready now
To give all my sins to thee
Lay my troubles down
At my Savior’s feet
I’m giving them all away.


Please
Forgive me for the times I turned away
How’d I forget that
I was my father’s son?
I let temptation lead me so far astray
That it left me
No other choice but to run.


I think I see
The way I can finally be free
There’s a fire that is burning inside of my soul
I am ready now
To give all my sins to thee
Lay my troubles down
I’m giving them all away.

Lay my troubles down
I’m giving them all away.


Still, it’s not enough to say that I’ve come home
I’m your servant
Yearning to do my part
Father, as long as I live I’ll never roam
Just look inside me
You’ll find a disciple’s heart.


Now I finally see
How to live and be free
There’s a fire that’s burning inside of my soul
I am ready now
To give all my sins to thee
Lay my troubles down
At my Savior’s feet
I’m giving them all away.

The One With the Trash Bin Parade

I know, I know... two posts in one day. But it had to be done. I don’t usually even click on video links, but this one is awesome:). I actually watched it about four times yesterday, and then begged to borrow it for the blog. It was shot by my friend Rachel on Tuesday, and was filmed about a block from my house. In case you thought I was kidding about the weather in my Tuesday post, this is what I was talking about...

The One Where Everyone Was Here

Ethan almost didn’t make it home for Christmas... his flight was scheduled out of Washington, D.C., and all of the flights from there were canceled. So they put him on a flight to Newark, where they parked him on the floor for the night, and the next day he managed to find a flight to LAX. So we only had him for two days... but for those two days, everyone was home. It was crazy and fun, and did I mention crazy? {Click on any of the photos to view them large}

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Random Vacation facts:

On Christmas Eve the kids got ready to bake the sugar cookies by preheating the ovens, where I had two full batches of orange rolls rising in plastic bowls covered by kitchen towels. Need I say more?

Skippy got a tattoo kit in his Christmas stocking (I’m not going to lie... Santa is a little edgy at times) and surprised us by charging all of the young adults who are always hanging out at our house 19 cents per tattoo, and turned a tidy little profit for himself. He now has $28.76 in his money jar.

Everyone entertained themselves by trying to get Jif to walk several steps. He would only perform if the reward offered was electronics, such as a cell phone. I myself have decided not to budge for anything less than a new iPhone. So far it is not working well for me.

Josh got straight A’s his first semester at UCLA Law School, with the exception of a single A-, which has bruised his ego enough that this week I was finally able to beat him at online Scrabble.

Ethan told me over the phone that he had gained 40 pounds since basic training. I didn’t believe him... until he arrived. He fell asleep on the couch in a jet-lag-induced stupor, and it took four boys to carry his Marine body up the stairs without throwing him into a fireman-carry.

Josh and Jessi came over to the dark side, and sacrificed their anti-video-game vows on the altar of Rock Band for X-Box 360. It was at once sad and entertaining.

There are many more random facts... but you have places to go and people to see. I am going to work on my New Year’s resolution. Exercise? you ask... no. I am striving to make the perfect donut. There are so many recipes in the world:)