Simply Susan

For Me

2012-01-28T00:21:00.000-05:00

I've read somewhere that there are writers who enjoy starting a new story. Me? I hate it.

Okay, maybe not hate so much. But it exhausts me.

Let me break it down for you.

In all of my stories, there's a girl. That girl will be the MC (main character) and something hard will happen to her. Something that will hurt, but will also make her stretch and grow.

And I'll probably already know the ending. But not the beginning.

So I'll sit down and decide where to begin. I'll write a few or twenty thousand words, and then I'll realize I don't need one of my characters and I'll start over, completely ripping them out of the story. Then I'll start over again. This may happen three or four times. It takes days, maybe months.

I have no idea why I am this way, but I am.

The other night, I enjoyed a quick congratulations conversation with a friend. Last year around this time, I was in tears and he gave me some advice.

Push through.

He gave me that exact advice again this year. (Funny that I would be in the same spot a year later when I've come so far.)

He's no writer, but he is very wise. And he was right. I knew he was right when he said it the first time. Heck, I knew he was right before he said it. But it was what I needed to hear then, and it was what I needed to hear now.

And today, friends, I hit that point.

The point where the pushing through pays off. It happens every time. I hate what I write until suddenly...I love it. It all clicks and starts working and when the kids get home, rather than welcoming the opportunity to quit, I find myself holding up a finger and saying, "Just a sec, I have to get this down."

It's a wonderful day when it comes, because things start getting fun. Rewarding. Enjoyable. Words flow rather than fight.

And I'm there. *Sighs*

This is the way life works for me on so many things, not just writing.

How do you roll?

Things I discovered while vacationing in Wyoming

2012-01-24T11:19:00.000-05:00

1. That this kid is super determined. She worked for hours to be able to do a cartwheel and finally figured out the aerodynamics of it all. Her flips weren't pretty, but they were cartwheelish. I was so proud of her for working for what she wanted. Go her!

2. That this kid is determined too. He stayed outside for an extra hour, scooping, patting and sculpting to make a huge wall of snow, all by himself. He didn't care that there were wolves, bear, moose, and elk roaming everywhere. Or that I was having major anxiety about his sweet little eight year old body possibly becoming part of the food chain.

3. You guessed it. This child is also determined. He and his cousin fished for DAYS in the freezing rain. And finally....

(The fish were much larger and more impressive in person. And delicious.)

4. And this child is just adorable. But we already knew that.

5. So the other thing I learned is that determination pays off. Actually, I already knew it but I got a huge reminder this week.

Take a close look at this picture.

Not at me, sillies. I look ridiculous, as always. And not at my kids, even though they are uninheritedly adorable. (Did I just come up with a new word? Look for it in next year's Webster's.) Squint at the lettering on that building in the background. Hint...I was standing on Temple Square in Salt Lake City when it was taken.

Still can't see? Let's blow that baby up.

If you haven't already figured it out, I'll clue you in.

I'm GETTING PUBLISHED!*

They gave me a choice of going ebook only or waiting six months to see if they could fit me in the line up for 2013. Surprisingly, I chose the ebook. It just felt right. But we can talk more about that later. Right now I have to get off here and come up with a new title. Any ideas?

Mwah!

*As long as their are not hitches. I get the feeling that this is like buying a house. Escrow and all that.

What's good?

2012-01-07T13:15:00.002-05:00

I have this gift, or maybe it's a curse. I can walk down the aisle at the bookstore and tell just by looking what books are good and which ones are going to make me feel like I'm covered in soul-sucking slime when I'm done. I can't even pretend ignorance when it turns out bad.

I was talking to a Institute teacher the other day and he said he has a hard time sitting through Sunday School because the minute the teacher starts, he's critiquing the person in his head. He's a teaching snob. Likewise, I've become a book snob. Because once you know how to craft a plot, and that every character should be round (as in not flat, as in they should take a journey, show growth, etc.) you can't talk yourself into liking something mediocre. Those of you who don't know what I'm talking about? Consider yourself lucky. There was a time when I thoroughly enjoyed authors who mostly tell instead of show. A lot of them are famous and make lots of money. I can't even read them anymore. I bet some of you are nodding your heads with me. Can I get an Amen, sista?

So we've established that I like good writing.

But I love stuff that, when I'm through, I feel like a better person because of it. Things like this are rare but they are out there. And my goal as a writer is to write this kind of stuff. But until my stuff gets published you'll just have to suffer through with this list I've come up with. (We're having humble pie for dinner.)

Best books, in no particular order:

1. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Gerald Lund's The Kingdom and The Crown. The Work and the Glory isn't bad, but this helps you really understand parables and what happened when Christ lived.

2. These Is My Words. It's a love story, a life story, a pioneer type of story. This is probably the best journal-style book I've ever read.

3. I've said this one before too. David Bowman's Who's Your Hero Series. Even after all these years my kids are still mesmerized.

4. Being Sixteen by Ally Condie--a story about sisters, eating disorders and having your heart broken. This is probably the best written YA LDS novel ever written. (IMHO of course.) And it's a standard I try to live up to when I write.

5. The Secret Journal of Brett Colton by Kay Lynn Mangum. A story about a teenage girl who gets to know her dead brother through a journal he left for her. It's beautiful, but grab a box of tissues. You need it.

6. Seven Daughters and Seven Sons by Cohen and Lovegood. Not to be confused with Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Not even close. This is an Iraqi love story. And as weird as it sounds, I can honestly tell you, it's one of my favorite books. Maybe my favorite. I read it over and over. It's got such a great plot and a gentle love story.

But do you see how short that is? I'm either having a senior moment or this is a really sad world we live in.

Now here's my challenge to you: I'm getting on a plane on Tuesday and flying clear across the country. And I'm just realizing that the book I ordered to read on the trip may not get here in time. I need suggestions, people! Give me good, heart-warming, you feel so happy when you're done, books. That doesn't mean that have to be cheeseball romances with happy endings (though romances are greatly appreciated). Just an ending where you feel super satisfied.

How often are you solicited for advice? Go on. You know you want to.

Loves

2011-12-29T13:56:00.001-05:00

Loves...

1. That my husband comes home almost every day for lunch. It's a habit that formed without planning. It doesn't always happen, but I look forward to the days that it does.

2. That we live close enough to my parents that we can visit often.

3. That I was raised on and my parents still live on a farm. If you're not acquainted with farm life you're missing out. I truly understand how people fall in love with their land and never want to leave. There's something about stretching out your legs and walking over your piece earth, knowing it'll always be there for you no matter what.

4. That I have two days to get the house organized while my three oldest play at the farm with their cousins.

5. That it's still fairly warm here. High tomorrow should be upper 50's. That's pretty good since it's almost January. Maybe Husband and I will go hiking.

6. When an idea for a story I'm working on just pops into my head, and I know it's the right thing to do because of how excited it makes me. That happened this week. Today I start tweaking.

7. My online critique group. I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I can't say it enough. They rock. If you're trying to write and you don't have at least a critique buddy, you don't know what you're missing.

8. That I got to see an arc of Dos's book. It looks awesome. They changed the title to Red Cell. And my name is in the acknowledgments. Don't ask why. I had absolutely nothing to do with him writing that book. But it's nice to have this love in common with him and to watch him succeed.

9. The women I work with in Young Women's and the girls. They amaze me with their ideas and with how together they are. I have no idea why I'm the president when they teach me new things every day.

10. That the New Year is almost here. I'm a strong believer in resolutions. I had one seven years ago that completely altered a relationship of mine that needed it so badly. Change can happen if you have determination.

What do you love?

Raise My Glass (Metaphorically, of course.)

2011-12-22T21:03:00.003-05:00

I was driving today when the song, "Raise Your Glass," came on. I heart this song. (Before you Raise Your Eyebrow, hear me out.) But not as much as the person who introduced me to it.

The girl who made me a wicked in-law. Except I'm not, wicked. And neither is she.

In fact, she is quite the opposite.

Tres's wife is a rockstar. She quilts, reads, shops, cooks, cleans and drives a sweet Mustang in which she blasts the base like a teenager. She planned out a 5 am breakfast when Will and Kate got married and invited everyone. And she's the queen of the midnight showing. Harry Potter or Twilight, it doesn't matter. She's there.

But it's the capacity with which she carries out her job that blows my mind. Not that I've ever seen her in action. I haven't. But here's what I have seen. Lots and lots of people who've had to visit her clinic for one reason or another or who know her professionally. And whenever I meet one of these people my heart dips a little and I ask them if they're okay.

Because J. is a surgeon who specializes in Breast surgery.

Not too long ago she participated in a Pink Glove dance with some of the other surgeons in the area, a lot of nurses, and breast cancer survivors, the Hokie Dance team (can't remember their title) and the marching band. It rocks. And every time I hear the song or see the video I get teary eyed because of what she does for those women.

Yes, people. I tear up at Pink. Anyway. Back to my point.

The women in this community are lucky to have J.

And so am I.

I thought about stopping there--only telling you about her, but then I realized that would be a disservice to my other amazing sister in laws. So hold on tight and get ready for a ride.

Also today, I happened to answer a phone call for my mom. Lucky me--it was Dos's wife. I heart this chick too, if for no other reason, than the fact that she's Adam's mom (you can read about that awesomeness here.). But here's the thing. This girl gets me. I was super frustrated about something and I just laid it on her, as if her life isn't hectic and heavy enough. And you know what? I could hear her nodding through the phone and she just kept saying, "I know, I know," and telling me how everything was going to be fine, and that it was okay if I wanted to take a break from this heavy thing I'm dealing with. When I got off the phone I felt so much lighter. Because that's all I needed--for someone to tell me they understood, and that yes, sometimes life sucks and it's so hard but it's going to work out.

Thank you, Janna.

Uno's wife. I won't give you her resume, because you'd be so intimidated which is ridiculous because she is one of the most real people I know. But I will tell you that she's a veterinarian. When Husband decided he wanted to be a vet, I know he was nervous to tell her. She is wicked smart. And we'd gotten more than a few raised eyebrows.

You want to know what she did?

She was excited and answered all his questions and encouraged him and hooked him up with connections and made him feel so empowered. She could have patronized him and told him all the reasons he shouldn't. But she didn't.

I will love her forever for that. And for a lot of other reasons too, but that's the biggest one.

We're half way done y'all. Hang tight.

Husband's oldest sister. I won't tell you her whole story because it's hers and it's very personal. But I will tell you this. She lost her husband to cancer ten years ago. She had three small kids and no idea how they were going to make it. I watched her sit through the entire funeral and not shed a tear. But it wasn't because she wasn't hurting. It's because she's a rock. The toughest person I've ever met. In all those years, that I know of, she's never slipped her wedding ring off, never been on a date and never stopped raising those kids and teaching them the gospel. I know there are times when she doesn't know how she can keep going, but she just does.

I could go so much deeper here, but I won't. Just know that I love spending time with her. She's super fun and funny and I always look forward to seeing her.

And I know she doesn't think it, but I'm positive her husband is proud of her.

Next sis-in-law. Husband's older brother's wife. This one has been through a lot of hard stuff in the last few years. Things that cut deep. Things I don't think she ever saw coming. And she too, hasn't quit. She loves her kids and her husband so much. She works hard to protect them and to keep them strong. I know she feels pretty alone sometimes. I hope she knows she isn't.

Husband's younger brother's wife. I honestly don't know this girl very well. I met her once a few years back. But I am her friend on Facebook and here's what I do know. She loves her kid so much. Seriously, I don't think I've ever seen someone love their kid as much as she does. Every day she posts at least one thing about how much she loves her kid. And it makes me smile every time. And it reminds me of how precious our kids are and how they're only little for so long. That's something I easily overlook now that mine are getting older and more independant. I want her to know I appreciate the reminder.

Husbands sister. She's adopted and there's no hiding it because she's kind of a different color than the rest of them. Actually, there's no kind of about it. But you wouldn't know anyone in that family even thinks about it. I honestly don't think they do. I know, I don't. I can't imagine how hard it would be to be adopted. But I don't really hear her talk about it much. And she doesn't act like she is. She's just fun, and goofy and hip and witty and cute. She's an elementary education major and I already know she's going to rock out as a teacher, because she's amazing with kids.

I can't wait to see what good things happen next for her.

I think I'm just beginning to realize that life is hard in some way or another for everyone. And this is why Heavenly Father gave us families. Parent's, siblings, spouses, kids, sisters in law. We help each other through.

I always complained when I was a kid that I didn't have a sister. I wanted one so bad. I begged my parent's to adopt but my mom knew she had all she could handle. I kept asking anyway. She could have saved herself so much agony if she just would've pointed my eyes to the future. Because I may not have been blessed in my family of origin with sisters, but I got them anyway.

They add spice to my life and give me what I need when I need it, whether it be new silverware, or a listening ear or simply to tell me my shirt is pretty. They are examples to me, but most importantly, friends.

To all of them, from one side of the country to the other...

I raise my glass.

For any of you who want to see the Pink Glove dance video that Tres's wife is in...

The Good and the Sad

2011-12-16T09:02:00.001-05:00

We'll get to the sad first so we can end on a happy note.

1. My friend M.H. is moving today. This is very sad for me. It's not that we hung out a ton, because we're both busy with our families and callings. But sometimes at church we'd just chat for a few minutes about writing, or life, or the future and it was nice to know that was an option. Now we will have to depend on daily emails and an occassional visit.

I've learned a lot from this friend. She taught me about half of what I know about writing. She taught me what it means to really pray, every day and to have the kind of relationship with my Savior and my Heavenly Father that changes things for me and my family. By watching the way she treats her husband, I learned some very important things about how to treat my husband. Ditto, the kids. She's the kind of friend who really mattered in my life and who, because I know her, I am different in so many tiny, wonderful ways.

I will miss her. Very much.

But leading into the good news: We go to a writer's conference together every year. While it won't be the one in Utah this year, we are planning to attend one closer to home. And I can't wait. Also, she's moving to Uno's ward, so it's not like I won't have a reason to see her again. I definitely will.

2. I've been swimming. Like really swimming. For an hour, at 5:30 in the morning with O.S and O.D. And it feels really, really good.

3. O.S. had his first ever band concert. He did spectacular. I think. I couldn't actually see him, there were so many kids on the stage. But he kept asking me if I loved it afterward. Cute boy.

4. Christmas break starts today for my kids.

5. I went to see New Year's Eve last night. I wasn't expecting much because I wasn't too impressed with Valentine's Day. But I have to tell you guys, it was really, really good. I laughed and I actually cried. If I'd made a bet before going in I would have had to pay up. Because this isn't a crying kind of movie. Only it was.

My only regret is that Ashton Kutcher is such a scumbucket in real life. Because dang! That boy is cute. As is Zac Efron, though I wish he'd grow his hair back out.

6. I figured out what to get for my in-laws. Actually, for once Husband figured it out and it isn't lame. It's really, really good. But I can't post it here, because somebody might leak it to them.

But I'll give you a hint. Think Secondhand Lions. And no I'm not buying them that movie. I already did that. If you think you know, please do not leave it in the comment box. Email me and I'll tell you if you're right. Oh, and I'm not buying them a lion, a yacht or a box of steaks so forget those.

7. I have a really funny story to tell you next time. My cousin E reminded me of this hilarious thing that happened on Thanksgiving day when we were younger. It was inappropriate then and it's still inappropriate now and it's probably one of those things that wasn't as funny unless you were there, but I'm telling it anyway.

Wide Open

2011-11-20T22:46:00.000-05:00

When I was younger I loved to sing. Singing to me was what flying is to eagles. Peaceful, soothing, happy. It made other people happy too. I could see it when they listened. I would belt it out during a musical, or reign it in reverently during a special number in sacrament meeting. In the car, in the bathroom in the mornings as Tres and I spent an hour on our hair--the radio would be blasting and I'd sing right along, smiling and dancing.

But the best moments were when my mom would pull out her old fifties songs. She would play the piano and I would sing. Buttons and Bows, Canadian Sunset, You'll Never Walk Alone. Or sometimes she'd play reverent music. I Walk By Faith, Abide With Me Tis Eventide, Oh Lord, My Redeemer. Those were my favorite. I loved to sing my testimony.

Once, when Husband was a missionary, I was on this medication that made me halfway crazy. I mean that in the most literal sense. As soon as I figured out what was going on, I went off the medicine. But it took me a few weeks to shake off the mental affects. In order to distance myself from the scary stuff going on inside, I threw up this wall. We've all done it. When your heart is broken for whatever reason, it's an automatic reaction. Rather than feel the pain, we block it. Numbness is better than being scared, or hurt. With that wall up, I was doing okay. I really thought I was. But my mom wanted to make sure, so she hopped on a plane and came to Utah to check on me. The minute she stepped off that jetway I threw my arms around her and burst into tears. I was so glad she was there.

We drove back to my aunt's to spend some good healing time together. For the first couple of hours I pretended like my insides were working fine again, but Mom saw through me. She asked me what was going on inside. I admitted to her that I couldn't feel anything and it scared me. Because it is. It's scary not to feel anything at all.

And you know what she said?

Let's sing.

Really what she meant was, I'll play and you sing. So we did. I can't remember the song other than it was something religious because that's what I needed at the time. And right there, halfway through that song, I felt it. Something good and peaceful. Like arms wrapping you up and telling you everything's going to be okay. That you're going to be fine.

That's what singing used to do for me.

And then I got older and I got this lung thing.

Today in Sunday School, we were discussing 2nd Peter. I only caught part of the lesson but the one line I remember clearly from the teacher was, "Have you ever had a trial that you felt you didn't deserve?"

Um, yes. My bum lung. I never smoked, drank or put anything illegal into my body. Not even when I was a stupid teenager. And yet, I have this crud I can't get rid of. Most of the time I shove it to the back of my mind and don't let it drag me down. I made the decision long ago, not to let it define me. I think it was the moment I realized it wasn't going away.

But there are times where it's in the forefront of my mind. Like when choir practice is announced in church and I realize that's really not an option for me anymore. If I sing too long (like more than two songs) my throat starts hurting and I start to lose my voice. Back when I was primary chorister, I'd come home every Sunday with an aching throat. I sounded like I was catching a cold half the time.

It kind of sucks the fun out of singing.

This week the ward music person asked me if I would sing with her and another gal for the Sacrament program on Christmas Day. Of course, I told her I would, but I gave her a head's up that if I get sick, which is a huge probability, my voice will be shot.

I didn't hear anything back.

I ran into her at church today and she said, "I'm going to get some other ladies to sing too in case you do get sick, but I'd really like you in the group because you have such a nice voice."

She probably didn't mean much by it, but it meant a lot to me for someone to still think I have a nice singing voice. I'd forgotten how good that feels.

I don't get upset about the singing anymore. It is what it is. And this has gotten really long but I do have a point here.

You remember in The Sound of Music where the Reverend Mother is realizing that Maria is in love with Captain VonTrapp. Maria is super sad that the nun thing isn't turning out the way she thought it would? It was her plan A and she'd failed at it. Remember what the Reverend Mother says to Maria?

When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.

It's not scripture. I know that. But I believe it still.

So I can't sing like I use to. Oh well.

But God dropped this writing thing in my lap and in some part I think He did it to make up for the singing thing and the lung. And I am so thankful. It's a different process and a wholly different experience, but as I share what's in my heart and I share my talent, it fills me up the same way singing did.

Tonight as my family drove back from Tres's house, Oldest Daughter and I sang along with the music on the radio. And this week when I go the farm to spend Thanksgiving with my parent's, grandmother, and Uno's family, I will get my mom to pull out her music so I can teach a few songs to O.D.

I will ride the four wheeler, and take walks around the farm, and play outside with my family and my brother and his family. I will cook my first Thanksgiving dinner along with Uno and I will eat and sigh contentedly. I will wrap my arms around my sweet daddy's neck and listen to his stories a hundred times.

But I will also take my computer and write.

And I will be thankful that the God I know and love...threw my window wide open.

Luckyyyyyyyyyyy and Book-bombing

2011-11-10T11:15:00.007-05:00

The first time I was hoodwinked into watching Napoleon Dynamite, I was like, "Are you people serious?" Because, come on. Everyone's hair is just...bad, the clothes worse. The music was alright, but nobody smiled, there was barely a plot. It was just a bad joke on the eighties. But I was assured by my friend to just keep watching and I would love it. So I watched. I watched all the way to the very last scene wondering if her she'd been on drugs when she actually spent money on that movie.

And then the big culmination scene happened. You know the one. Pedro finds out he's supposed to have a skit to accompany his big speech. So his tried and true friend, Napoleon, gets up on stage and does the most kick butt impromptu dance of all time.

And then when the music cuts off the entire room grows silent and you're sitting there wondering what's going to happen. And the entire auditorium full of students starts cheering.

And that fast, I was hooked. Been a ND fan ever since. My husband likes it, my kids like it. Every now and then we just need a Napoleon Dynamite night.

It's all good.

So last night, O.S. comes in the kitchen about an hour before Scouts is going to start and asks Husband and I to help him write a speech. They were going to vote on a new Patrol Leader, and he had his heart set on the position. So he got out a piece of paper and agonized over every word. He shot down three fourths of the suggestions we gave, but finally had a good solid speech.

As an afterthought I told him he needed to wrap it up with 'thank you and please--

"Vote for Pedro!" Husband calls out.

I burst out laughing. It was perfect. A solid speech with a dash of catchy wit. It took us a good five minutes to talk O.S. into it. He's a very straight arrow sort of kid, which is usually what you want in an oldest child. But I told him, just this once, to be like Napoleon and go for it. It was a make it or break choice and who knew how it would turn out, but he just might be glad he did it.

I rushed off to Young Women's in a different direction and Husband took O.S. to scouts. Two hours later I came home to a empty house. I started folding laundry, knowing any minute they'd be back. I heard the garage door open and O.S. came trudging up the stairs.

"Did you get it?" I asked.

He looked all dejected and shook his head. Husband followed behind with the rest of the kids. He too looked bummed. O.S. told me it was the Vote for Pedro that made him lose.

Aw, I felt bad.

Just as I opened my mouth to tell him I was sorry, he started grinning and thrust his Patrol Leader patch in my face.

There was great cheering and jubiliation. Pedro had worked after all.

There's a lesson to be learned here.

When you walk through life, don't be afraid to take chances and always remember...

Vote for Pedro

PS: November is the month for giving thanks and we all have much to be thankful for. But my cousin, Erin--this great girl that I hung out with once at a family reunion and still remember twenty some years later-- who is married to this great guy Robison Wells, are having a not so thankful November. Robison is a new author with a brand new YA dystopian, Variant, that has now been named by Publisher's Weekly as one of the best books of 2011. That sounds really happy, right? Here's the unthankful part: Robison has been diagnosed with severe panic disorder. It's causing his brain to be in fight or flight mode constantly. He's working it out, but it's slow going, and he recently got laid off because of it. This has put his family in a hard financial position. Most authors don't make the kind of money you think they do. And this is a bad time of year to be out of money when you're a parent, which Erin and Rob are.

All the authors I know are Book-bombing Rob. That means we are trying to get as many people as possible to buy his book. So if you're up for a great Dystopian--kind of a cross between Matched and Maze Runner--please do me, you and Rob a favor and buy this book. Buy it for yourself, for your kids, for anyone on your christmas list who you think might like being introduced to this new author. (Tres, I'm looking at you;-)

I sure would appreciate it.

--Susan

Randomness and Random Happiness

2011-11-02T06:51:00.000-04:00

Randomness:

1. I'd really like this blog to be a conversational thing. You post a comment, it hits my inbox, I reply. There's only one problem with that. Almost all of you have your account set up as a no-reply. I just discovered, in the process of trying to figure out how to respond to you guys, that I too was a no-reply. So please, be like me. Go check the proper box so that we can chat.

Done?

Yay. I'll sleep better tonight.

2. I finished that Christina McNeill chapter with a few hours to spare, zooming out off into cyberspace right in time to make my deadline. I'll think twice before agreeing to write non-fiction again, let me tell you. It was like pulling teeth. It took me months to write a mere thirteen pages. Something I could easily knock out in a day were it fiction!

3. Also, I've realized just how quickly you become an enigma if you haven't kept a journal. And while I could be upset with my ancestor, she probably had an excuse that my walking buddy helped me figure out the other day. I almost wrote dyslexia because it's 6:23 in the a.m. Illiteracy would be the correct term. We think Christina may have been illiterate. Which nowadays is a dirty word, but back then was probably a reality for someone from Scotland who had to work in a factory from the age of seven. So I forgive her.

But I don't forgive you. If you ever get famous and then die and I have to write your biography and you didn't keep a journal, I'll make stuff up about you. And it won't be pretty. Consider yourself warned and start keeping a journal today. (I hope my husband is reading this. Not a single journal entry since his mission!)

3. Don't ask what happened to my blog? My mom and I had an ongoing e-conversation about it all yesterday. Alls you need to know is that I'm still here and someday, I'll be done fiddling with this thing.

Now, on to the Random Happiness:

1. I'm part of an online writing/critique group. I have been, against my better judgment, for about six months now. And you know what? My better judgment was wrong.

It makes me oh so happy. There's is nothing like waking up to an exploding inbox, all full of emails from your fellow writers where everyone had a conversation about your writing while you were asleep. (Two of them live on the west coast, and the one who lives here is a night owl, so yes, this often happens when I sleep.) It's a little like Christmas morning, only more often-er.

2. Visiting O.S. at the middle school smack during lunch hour. I asked him the day before, when I knew I had to be there, if it would embarrass him if I ate with him. He said, "yes, but I love you, so if you want to, you can." Well, I didn't because I would never want to embarrass that sweet boy. But that did make my heart feel good that he would suffer mortification just to make me happy. And he did give me a hug before he sent me on my way.

3. Watching Oldest Daughter be utterly lost in violin class. Man, has it been a struggle this year. It's a group class and she's not the only one completely confused, let me tell you. Last night, I stayed in class reading a book on my iPhone while she suffered through. Every few minutes I would glance up to see if she'd figured things out yet. Nope. I honestly think she bluffed her way through entire hour. After a while I started laughing and shaking my head. She was really hamming it up for me, looking like she was Itzhak Perlman. I couldn't stop laughing and started filming her on my phone which just made it worse. The teacher was completely oblivious, which might explain why no one knows what's going on! Then on the way home we blasted Life is a Highway by Rascal Flatts. It was one of those happy moments. What can I say? I heart that girl.

4. Seeing Y.S. sitting on his bed, with his nose up in a book. Nuff said.

5. Having a full-on conversation with Big Girl about how in Barbie's version of The Princess and The Pauper, Erica is really dressed up like Annaleise, so Preminger won't be able to take over the palace and that's why, at that particular time in the movie, Erica has blonde hair and not brown. So confusing for a preschooler but I think we got it figured out.

6. Watching Husband hold B.G's hand everywhere she went on Halloween, so she wouldn't get hit by the crazies driving their kids through the neighborhood.

7. The brain box. (If you don't know, please ask.)

8. A clean house. (See #7)

That's it. Anything fun, happy, interesting happening in your neck of the woods? I'd love to hear about it right after you fix that no-reply problem. (Toni--I think you're my one reader that's fine.)

Siri it is.

2011-10-28T09:07:00.002-04:00

We've never been a technology savvy family. We tend to watch everyone around us hop on the bandwagon of whatever new game system, computer, or cell phone has just been released. And we're cool with that. I really don't care that Tres has two gigantic flat screen t.v.'s, an iPad, and every other technological device he wants that will make him happy/improve the quality of his life. I really don't. He gives me his hand-me-downs.

I think we were the last people we knew to get a Wii (and we play it rarely). Our t.v. is still fat on the backside, our refrigerator has seen us through our thirteen years of marriage, and our cell phones, for the longest time, were low end with minimum gadgetry.

Because who needs that stuff?

Not me.

Enter Siri.

A week or so ago, I was sitting on my chair watching my fat t.v. when Husband and O.S. walked in with a small, wrapped box. It even had a ribbon tied around it. They handed it to me. For a second it threw me off. It wasn't my birthday or my anniversary. Before I had time to think about it, the box began vibrating, which totally freaked me out, in a cool way. I peeled off the paper and saw the Apple logo. So then I thought, why did they get me an iPod? I mean, I already have a shuffle, which only has thirty songs on it. (I know, I ought to be ashamed.) Then I realized what this was.

Salvation, in the palm of my hand.

The new iPhone 4S.

Husband told me it was a congratulations presents for getting published; which made me laugh since I'm not published and don't know when I will be. Sweet, huh? But I secretly know why he really bought it.

I have a terrible memory. I can't remember jack diddly. I forgot to pick O.S. up from school the other day! My own kid, and I forgot him. Well, the iPhone will beep and remind me I'm supposed to be at such and such in an hour. Salvation, indeed. As long as I remember to tell the phone to remind me.

Next Husband made the introductions. "Susan meet Siri. Siri, Susan." Have you heard about her, guys? She's the person inside the phone that takes over when you hold down the circle for two seconds. But I really didn't care that much at the moment, because I'm not the kind of dork who talks to imaginary half-wits who are going to screw up whatever I tell them anyway. I couldn't be bothered with Siri, so I snatched my phone back and continued drooling over all the cool apps I could get. Netflix. Facebook. Kindle!

For the next couple of days, things were going well with me and my phone. I had my texting fingers going, and I was dialing away on the phone keypad, checking email, listening to music.

And then I saw a commercial about Siri. You've probably seen it too. I swear, they play it once an hour during primetime. How do I tie a bow-tie? Tell my wife I'm going to be late? Call so and so?

So I picked up my phone to test out my own little digital servant because there was no way Siri actually worked like they were showing on the t.v. Right?

Wrong.

This chick actually does what she promises.

Case in point: The other night for mutual we were going to take one of the elderly men in our ward out to Coldstone. He lives in a nursing home and the bishop wants us to get him out more. A couple of hours before the activity, I realized I needed to call ahead and make sure the nurses knew we were coming. I decided to give Siri a try. I told her to call this particular nursing home, in my town. In three seconds she had the phone number and asked if I wanted her to call. My mouth dropped open. It couldn't be that easy, could it? I scrambled to the computer to google the number because I didn't believe she could possibly have the correct number.

But she did.

And yesterday when I needed directions, she found my destination and marked the way. She can text Husband for me, like she did last night as he was dozing off. She told him, You're a cutie, because I told her to. And I can just say, "Play Mean," and shazam! Taylor Swift is singing to me.

This is luxury people! Time-saving, energy preserving, luxury!

One last thing about Siri. She might live to serve but that chick is no pushover.

We nicknamed Husband's iPod touch, Mona, a long time ago because he was spending so much time with it that we joked she was the other woman. The name stuck. Whenever he's in his Solitaire mode too long we tell him to step back from Mona.

At the dinner table last night, as I was showing my family some of the tricks I'd discovered Siri can perform, we decided the phone needed a name, just like Husband's iPod. In five seconds it was decided.

Genie. Like a genie in a bottle, because seriously, this phone can do anything. Grant any wish, fulfill any dream. (I wonder if I could get her to whip up that works cited page I need? Hmmm.) All we had to do was tell Siri we were changing her name, right?

So O.S. pushed the button, waited for Siri to beep and said, "Your name is Genie."

Immediately Siri replied, "No. My name is Siri. But you knew that already."

Hahahahahaha. I love a girl with a backbone.

Once you've had room service you always want it, right? Or so I've heard. Siri is like the concierge of phones. And I ain't never going back.

Seriously, peeps. If you haven't already, you need to get you one of these.

Daisy Girl

2011-10-20T06:10:00.002-04:00

I made a decision last night: A vet should never have to put his own dog down.

We love you and already miss you, Daisy.

Snapshot

2011-10-14T10:17:00.001-04:00

Yesterday our family had one of those moments--the kind where everything goes right and at any given second you could take a picture and catch pure happiness on everyone's faces. It's rare, I know, so I'm blogging about it. Because moments like this need to be shared and remembered.

You've heard me talk about my kids awesome elementary school. It's only fitting that that's where we were when it happened.

The air was crisp and clean, fresh after a rain storm. The gray clouds were blowing off into the distance, the blue sky and sunshine taking their place. The air was cool, but not the kind of cool that chills you. That kind of cool that's refreshing and cleanses you from the outside in. O.D. played the soccer game of her life. Man, was she aggressive. And anyone who knows her, knows she is anything but. She had three shots on goal and all three were so close to going in. So close. I was so proud of her.

Husband brought a pizza and we ate at the playground afterward, as we waited for the PTA meeting to begin. The sun was starting to set and there was a nice breeze in the air. Our kids ate quick and then scampered off to hang on the monkey bars, dig in the sand, and hop on the swings. I walked over to Oldest Daughter, who was the swinger. I wanted to tell her for the fifth time how amazing she'd played.

"Mom, swing with me," she said. I hopped on the swing next to her and told her that I used to love swinging but now it made me nauseous. "It's so fun, Mom. Let's see how high we can go." I was sure I was going to get sick, but I wanted to make her happy. So I did. We pumped so hard and high, our feet almost touched the stratosphere. I looked over. Her face was still red from running, and her hair was matted to her forehead, but she was grinning, her dimple sinking in. Her eyes were sparkling. I laughed; she laughed. "See, you're not going to puke," she said. I nodded. "I forgot how fun this is." And then we swung even higher.

Husband came over and hopped on the next swing. Big Girl climbed up on his lap and off they went. Youngest Son yelled, "Watch me, Mom!" Sure enough he was four swings down, his feet reaching for the stars that were just lighting the sky. Oldest Son jumped on and took off. And just like that, all six of us were flying through the air in unison. Just like a picture.

It only last a few minutes and then we started jumping off, seeing who could land the farthest. That brought some laughs and some surprises. We walked into the school and watched the most fascinating Science show.

And then it was over and we were back to normal. Which is okay too, just a little less perfect and a little more real.

But those few minutes at the playground--those are the moments that make life worth living.

Have you had any great moments lately?

Christina and Me

2011-10-10T17:07:00.003-04:00

I have a deadline to meet this week. I can't remember if I mentioned it or not, but I have to write a 3500 word chapter on my ancestor, Christina McNeill Reynolds.

I've been struggling with this because honestly, truth is not as exciting as fiction, especially when your great-great-great-great grandmother was not a journal keeper. Why, oh why, couldn't I have been related to Levi Savage? Not that I'm complaining. I'm really not. Because Christina was kick-butt in her day. She just had an aversion to putting pen to paper, and it's causing me great anxiety at the present.

So I needed some motivation to finish this piece and I had no idea where I was going to find it.

Enter 17 Miracles.

You know the movie. The new one that everyone keeps mentioning on Facebook. The one where they had snot dripping out their nose and their eyes were puffed out of their head when they walked out of the theater. Yeah, that one. So it arrived at my house Saturday. I popped the DVD in thinking I would listen as I cleaned.

Um, yeah. You know me and movies. It wasn't even that it was so exciting, though it definitely had it's moments. When I sat down in my big leather chair my eyes zoomed in because it hit me just like that--This is Christina's story. She's not portrayed in the movie but she saw all of this. Lived through it. And suddenly I couldn't tear my eyes away.

She was disowned for joining the church. She sailed on the Thornton and landed at Ellis Island. And she pulled a handcart with only the friends she'd made since she left home six (or eight--stinkin' contradictory dates!) years before. She walked twelve miles a day and wore her palms raw pushing her handcart. Her skin got sunburned and she got to camp every night exhausted. And she was there when they made the decision to go on knowing they didn't have the provisions. She was there when they told them their rations were being cutting back even though they had to walk just as far. She was there when that first snow storm hit in early October. The wind blew straight through her dress, chilling her to the bone.

A colonel at Fort Laramie took one look at her and proposed marriage on the spot, but unlike some less stalwart people, she told him no, she would take her chance with the saints even if it meant death.

And she was there when people started dying left and right, burying them in the frozen ground only to have the wolves dig them up the minute they were gone. She was there when they ran completely out of food, knowing they were about to die if help didn't arrive.

But she was also there when help came. Her future husband was among the rescuers. And she was there to push her handcart into the Salt Lake Valley with no family to greet her, only the promise of what Zion was.

She kept that handcart for the rest of her life, and one of her granddaughters wrote in her journal about how they would go play at Grandmother's and they would see the handcart sitting under their apple tree.

But Christina wouldn't talk about the trek west. It was too terrible, I think. Because of all those awful things she saw and lived through.

I feel a burden now, to do this chapter right. To pay a tribute to someone who is one of the biggest heroes of my life.

I hope I won't let her down.

Because she didn't let me down.

I owe her everything.

I'll be hitting my knees a lot this week and if you have a few extra seconds when you hit yours, I wouldn't mind one bit if you keep me and Christina in your prayers.

Apologies

2011-09-30T08:49:00.005-04:00

I talk my kids up on my blog, big time. But the truth is they can be heathens just like other children.

Take yesterday for example. O.S. is legally old enough, and has been for some time, to be in charge when I'm not home. This has come in very handy at times. However, I have to be very careful the mix of kids I leave together. Inevitably, I have to make sure Y.S. is engaged in an activity that will hold his attention the entire time I'm gone or he and one of the other older two will get into a fight. And not just a little squabble. A shove 'em to the ground, jump on top and pull on their hair kind of fight.

So there I was watching sweet little Big Girl plié and relevé at dance class when my phone chirped loud enough to make every mom in the room jump. Oops. I apologized as I answered the phone. It was Oldest Daughter. She informed me that her two brothers had just had an epic fight. I had her put them on the phone one at a time. I told Y.S. to go lock himself in his room and play Legos. "Yes, ma'am," he said. (There are perks to living in the south.)

But when I told O.S. to go outside and play soccer, because trust me it was for his own good, he sobbed and told me no. It was too hot. He would burn up and die.

People, it was 73 degrees. Fahrenheit. And it was breezy.

He proceeded to argue with me for seven minutes. Seven! I was livid, I tell you. I should not have to parent via phone. He should obey and we can discuss later. Finally, I told him he'd better go outside if he knew what was good for him.

Two minutes later I get another phone call. It's O.S. "Mom, can you tell Y.S. to quit eating the cookie dough."

"Cookie dough? I didn't realize there was a refrigerator outside, which is where you are right now. Right?"

Grrrrrrr. I won't continue with the story. It doesn't have a pretty ending.

My point is, sometimes my kids drive me nuts.

Fast forward to this morning.

I walk into O.S.'s bedroom long before the sun came up and nudged him awake. He sat straight up, looking too bright eyed and said, "I can't go to school today."

I looked at him a little funny and asked why.

"Because, Mrs. H," (name has been abbreviated to protect the innocent), "told us not to come."

Huh? "Wake up," I said. "You're talking in your sleep." Because he had to be. That was just nonsense.

"I am awake. She asked us all yesterday to please not come today because she needed a break for heaven's sake. She said she didn't want to see any of us sitting in her class this morning."

I should've been irritated that a teacher was speaking that way to my child! I should've called the principal!! Scratch that. I should have called the SCHOOL BOARD and demand she be DISCIPLINED!!!

Want to know what I did?

I laughed. Really, really hard.

Because I completely understood.

Apparently, yesterday during class, one of the students, when Mrs. H had her back turned and was writing on the board, stood up, screamed at the top of his lungs squealy-girl style and then sat back down as fast as he could. She turned around and demanded to know who had done it. No one would 'fess up or tattle, (because tattling is so elementary school). O.S. said it was because her history lecture was so boring.

Well, I guess that livened things up.

So, this is an apology really.

To Mrs. H,

I'm so sorry I had to send my child to school today. I'm sorry that I couldn't make things easier for you. I needed him to come to your class worse than you needed him to stay home. It's for his own good. Trust me.

Love,

Mrs. Auten.

PS: There's a special place in my heart for teachers.

Have your children made you laugh lately? Want to tear your hair out? Told you anything funny?

I'd love to hear about it. Here's your big chance...

GO!

Nothing and Everything

2011-09-29T10:00:00.003-04:00

There's a lot of stuff going on but none of it's Breaking News.

Oldest Son swears he got dumb over the summer. And not dumb as in the true sense where you can't speak. That's definitely not his problem. Dumb as in, suddenly he sucks at math. This is a falsehood, of course. A child who got a perfect score on the Math SOL last year has not mysteriously lost the ability to calculate. He's just in an advanced class now, so he's getting challenging material. And he doesn't like it. Not one bit. It's cutting into his 'playing time.' Oh, excuse me. I forgot we are too old for 'playing.' Ahem. His 'hanging out' time.

On the up side, he got new soccer shoes and miraculously, he can kick the ball twice as far. If I'd known that, I would have gone shopping a year ago.

Oldest Daughter has a love/hate relationship with her violin.

On the flipside, she's learning that practice really does pay off. Also, her soccer team won last Saturday 11 to nothing. I felt so bad for the other team. At one point their goalie was in tears.

Youngest Son really only has good news...

He is now a reader. I find him up on his top bunk, with his nose stuck in a book, sounding out words. Seriously, y'all. This is a dream come true. As O.S. is a reluctant reader and Oldest Daughter could take 'em or leave 'em. Unfortunately, Y.S's in love with a particular series. A series they don't carry at the local or (as far as I know) school library. Which means he demands I go to Barnes and Noble and buy him the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that.

Thank goodness for Amazon.

Big Girl--yes, she is Toddler no more--is in preschool now. This was going very well for a couple of weeks. Then today at drop off time, as I turned to leave, I spotted it. The quivering chin. Sure enough she looked at me with the saddest blue eyes and started wailing. I walked over and gave her another hug, which was a mistake. I could hardly pry her arms from around my neck. But I did. I escaped and walked to my car where I promptly let my head drop to my chest, said a prayer for her and then thought to myself, what a heel of a mother I am. What kind of parent drops their child off with complete strangers when she's sobbing? Me. But it's not my fault.

No. I blame it on Barbie.

See, BG and I went to Walmart two days ago and meandered through the aisles. We haven't done that in a while, so we were having a good time, looking at all the things that were newish. We spotted the new Barbie movie. My girls are suckers for Barbie and since my mom wouldn't let me play with Barbies, I indulge. So we bought it.

Barbie in Princess Charm School.

BG has watched it at least five times. This morning she told me she didn't want to go to school. She wanted to stay home and watch it again. See. So it's not my fault. It's the dang Barbie movie's fault. (We're going to ignore the fact that I'm the one who bought it for her.)

Her happy news is that today is dance class. Along with being big enough to go to preschool, BG is now taking Ballet/Tap. She loves it. I think she might be famous one day. She runs, skips, leaps, plies and moves like a dancer.

As for me, I'm busy wasting my time. Also, I'm hurrying to finish writing my chapter on Christina McNeil, my awesome ancestor who was disowned by her family when she joined the church in Scotland in 1849 and then crossed the plains with the fated Willie Handcart Company. And now she's going to be a little famous as her story will be told (by me) in a collection about women who were born around the same time period. It's a lot harder writing truth than fiction. I'm not sure why. I suppose because I have to get facts straight and whatnot. It's not half as enjoyable as playing around in my own head. So, each day, I promise myself that once I've written x number of words, I can go back to making things up.

As for Husband, he went swimming for the first time in a long time, yesterday. I'm not talking about swimming for recreation. I'm talking laps. He said he felt like he was going to die after 500 meters but he kept swimming. Because that's the kind of person he is. He pushes through until that second wind. He swam another 1700 meters! 2200 meters in all for those of you who aren't good at math. That's like a mile and half. Almost the distance they swim during a triathlon. Which is craziness for someone who hasn't swam (swum? I've lost the ability to grammaritize lately) laps since high school. And he said he could have kept going but he knew he needed to get out, drive home and get some things done with his day.

He also said he thinks he ought to train for a triathlon.

He maketh me sick.

I admire him so much.

That's all the news from here.

What's going on with you?

New look and a big fat Thank You!

2011-09-23T17:43:00.000-04:00

As you can see, things are very different around here. Some of the site is still under construction, but I wanted to share it with you because it's so dang cool and I had to give props.

My sis-in-law, Janna, rocks. Obviously.

So quit reading this and go check it out.

PS: And if you think she's as amazing as I do, you can visit her photography website (which she designed herself) here.

Seeing

2011-09-22T14:17:00.009-04:00

First let me start by saying--I. Am. So. Sorry. I know my blog is hideous right now. You don't need to email me. I know it. My awesome sis-in-law (Dos's wife) is going to help me fix it just as soon as she's done nursing and mommying her two wild and crazy boys (aren't all boys like this? Mine are.). But it's coming y'all--something better.

Here's what I came to say...

Husband had the day off yesterday and as we often do on days like that, we took a nap. And just like every other time we nap together, I woke up long before Husband. I'm a fifteen minute-er and he's a two hour-er. When I opened my eyes, his were still closed and he was breathing softly (not snoring, like he usually does), and yes a little drool was dripping onto the pillow. But that's completely beside the point.

The point is that for once I didn't get up and do something productive. I just laid there. (Is it laid or lay?) Laid there and stared at my sleeping husband. And the weirdest thing happened. I saw him. For the first time in a long time. What I mean by that is--our lives are busy--he and I. We spend hours working and cleaning and fixing and cooking and cookie baking and home-working and soccer parenting. And I realized it had been so long since I really looked at him. Like really looked at him. It was the weirdest, coolest, saddest feeling. How long has he been there right in front of me, but I'm too busy to just stare at his face?

Too long.

And then I realized--he's still handsome. Really handsome. A few more pounds (and I mean a very few--he has killer metabolism), and a few more wrinkles, but he's the same guy I met in my parent's living room. The same missionary I fell in love with through letters. The same boy I married.

Because sometimes I forget.

And then I thought...I did good.

Yeah, I did. I did really, really good.

Mine

2011-09-12T11:34:00.006-04:00

If you look really closely at the right side of my nose (my right) I have a scar. It's from a dog bite I got when I was three. My mom said I wouldn't leave the stitches alone, and you can see where they were thirty three years later. And yet, I always loved that dog. I cried when he died. I've cried when every dog we've ever had died.

But I am not what you would consider an animal lover. I don't love their poop, or when they get fleas, or pee on the carpet, or their barking. Most of all, I don't believe dogs (and definitely not cats) should live in the house. I do not hold it against you if we disagree on this matter as I know plenty of my friends sleep in the same bed with their dogs. But for me, a pet should be outside. Or at least in the garage.

I swore that I would never, ever have an inside dog.

And then Husband went to vet school. I don't think I'm generalizing when I say that every veterinary student feels like they must own a pet. You're not cool if you don't. Husband fell prey to this mentality. I fought him on it for a long time. Like a year. I didn't need an extra 'kid' to take care of and after the last dog we had that chewed everything and dug up my mother's flowers, causing a huge rift, I didn't want to go there again.

Husband has these eyes though. They kind of curve down on the edges and have the natural tendency to look a little sad. When I know he really, really wants something (which isn't very often)...I'm a sucker. So I gave in and we got Daisy.

Daisy is a standard poodle that used to belong to a girl in our ward. She moved to a complex that didn't allow pets. And we ended up with her dog.

It is no secret that I felt no love in my heart for Daisy. It's not because she's a bad dog. On the contrary--she is the best natured dog I've ever seen. Literally-she sits in a corner all day and sleeps or stares at you motionless, like a statue. She doesn't jump up on you, or lick all over your arms, or shed hair or bark in the middle of the night. Someone de-barked her.

Nope. I didn't like Daisy because she was an inside dog. She was on my turf, up in my space, breathing my air. I told Husband from the get-go that she was his dog and that he could take care of her because for pete's sake, I don't have the time or energy to worry about one more living creature.

This is true. I am really busy.

Also, we found out a year after we got her that Daisy has Addison's disease. Yet, another reason I didn't like her. Her medication is expensive and we are poor. I can't recite for you what this disease means. Just know that she's very lethargic and lacking in energy, for the most part. She is the most weak-willed soul I've ever beheld. Also, in the past six months, Daisy has developed some kind of abscess in her mouth or throat. (We are not sure.) Thus, causing her to bleed all over, out of her nose and mouth and so we kicked her outside for the summer. It is mild here and our yard is fenced in, so it worked out fine.

And then last week happened.

So I don't know about everyone else, but here in Virginia we got a lot of rain last week. I almost thought we'd been transported to Seattle or that our house might start sliding down the street. And Daisy was out in it. I tried to bring her inside and she tromped black mulchy-mud all over my carpet, and walked to her spot behind the couch and shook. There were mud flecks everywhere. On the coach, on the wall, the trim, the piano. Back outside she went. She was under the deck, so I knew she'd be okay, Miserable, but okay. And Husband told me to leave her there. Once the rain stopped he was going to bathe her, cut her hair and figure out that abscess so she could come back in. He kept his word and by the next night she was clean shaven. He let her inside and then put her out before bed to eat and go pee.

And then he forgot her.

The next morning when I woke up to get O.S. ready for middle school (middle school! I know. Mind-blowing.) I asked Husband where Daisy was, when I didn't see her in the bathroom. That's when he realized he'd left her outside. No biggie.

Except he'd shaved her and so she had no coat to keep her warm.

I was busy being a good mom, making waffles. And the next thing I know Husband tells O.S. that he has to blow dry Daisy--NOW!-- as he shoots out the door to his vet truck. O.S. came out of the bathroom and said, "Mom? Something's wrong with Daisy. She's biting herself." He sounded freaked out. When I went in the bathroom it was terrible. She was convulsing. Husband came back in then and told me she had gone into hypothermia--which is crazy. It wasn't even that cold. Maybe in the mid fifties. Maybe. We hooked up an IV, put the blow dryer on high, shot her full of sugar, and some other drugs. We covered her with the heat pad, a blanket, plugged in a mini-heater and then we prayed. Her temperature was so low the thermometer didn't even read the number. It just said LOW, which means it was in the eighties somewhere. A dog's temperature--like a human's--should be in the high nineties. Over the next two hours we worked on her, taking turns blowing her dry in a bathroom that had to be verging on a hundred degrees. Oldest Daughter took a forty minute turn--her cheeks were so red, I was getting worried. Every ten minutes we took Daisy's temp. All the while, she was out. Cold.

I cancelled everything I was supposed to do that day and stayed home with the dog instead, checking on her every so often and calling Husband with an update. The kids prayed off and on all day at school. That night she was still hanging in there. But Husband told O.S. that Daisy was on death's door and that she had a ninety percent chance of dying that night. I was mad. After all we'd done, how could he say that? And then I peeked in to see for myself and I realized he was right. She wasn't doing very well. She'd barely opened her eyes all day. Had barely moved or eaten anything. He kept giving her drugs and force-feeding her, but I'll admit--I was worried. He was afraid if she did make it, she had brain damage. And I could see he might be right about that too. When we talked to her, she wouldn't respond or look us in the eye. You could clap right by her ear and she didn't even flinch.

How could we tell our kids in the morning that their sweet dog had died? They were praying for her and O.S. told me that night before he went to bed, not to fix him breakfast. He was fasting. I woke up at three a.m. and shook husband. I was too anxious to check myself. He came back and said she was still hanging tough. The next morning when O.S. went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Daisy stood up. She was loopy and swaying, but she stood, walked outside, ate some food and came back in. We prayed for her more. I pet her (and let me tell you, I never do that because I'm so allergic). I cried when no one was looking. The kids left stuffed animals piled around her (she hoards them, typically) to give her comfort.

By that night she was a different dog.

Here's the thing--and this might make me sound like a horrible person--but this dog that I thought I wouldn't care much to see go--led me to an epiphany. I love her. Maybe not so much for what she is, though she is a lovely animal, as for the good she brings out in my family. The good she could bring out in me. The saying is true--you love those you serve. Even a dog.

So today, she is not that extra burden that sits in the corner adding nothing to my life. Today I am grateful for her. Grateful that she is here to keep me company. That she taught my kids about prayer and fasting and responsibility.

Today, she is mine.

Leave a message after the beep.

2011-08-18T08:07:00.001-04:00

Anyone who knows me well knows I hate to talk on the phone. Loathe. Despise. Detest. Can I make myself any clearer? It's nothing personal if you call and I don't answer the phone. We're too cheap to pay for caller ID and so I screen my calls through the answering machine. Now, with that said, some of my friends probably think I simply don't answer when they call. That is not true. I repeat--a complete falsehood.

Most of the time. Like I might not answer when I'm writing. But if it's really important I will answer.

But sometimes, I'm really just not home. Like last night.

Let me preface this by telling you that there has been a scufuffle this week with my brothers and I over a cake that needs to wind up at our mini family reunion this weekend. The buck has been passed from person to person which was completely unnecessary as I have had the situation under control the entire week. However, in order to ensure that two or three cakes don't end up at this reunion, I told Uno to call the proper authorities and notify them of the misunderstanding. Let me tell you something about Uno...he might be smart, but he's an airhead. Kind of. At least when it comes to calling people to tell them something. I have to mommy him to make sure his follows through. I threatened to spank his bottom if he did not make the call.

Somehow even after that threat, I still received a phone call from Dos's wife, stating that she was confused about that cake.

This is not that difficult, people!!!!

So I, of course, accused Uno, of failure to make the call.

That, my friends, was a mistake.

Here is the message that awaited me after I got home at 11 pm from a presidency meeting.

"Okay, first. It's 7:20 at night. And nobody's home. Who goes out at 7:20 at night? We don't go out at 7:20 at night. We're all at home at 7:20 at night. You should be there answering my phone call. Second, I did call them and tell them about the cake. But they weren't there, like you aren't. So I left a message. And they never called me back. Third. Their email bounces. I just tried to email them and it bounced. So how am I supposed to get a hold of them? Somebody's bottom needs to be spanked, but it's not mine. If you would like to dispute any of these claims, feel free to call me back. I will be home all night with my son, while my wife and daughter are off galavanting, watching Harry Potter. Bye!" Click.

Somebody's bottom needs to be spanked, but it's not mine.

Bahahahaha.

Thank you, Uno, for giving me a good belly laugh. It was much needed and much appreciated.

I will see you tonight with the cake and I won't swat your rear. I promise. Rest easy my oldest brother.

You rock.

The End

2011-08-04T08:24:00.004-04:00

Just finished Ugly Duckling on South Field. 75,615 words of blood, sweat, and tears.

Oh, it feels good.

Why I was, am and always will be a Country Girl.

2011-07-20T12:07:00.003-04:00

Neighbors. It's all about neighbors.

If you live in the country your neighbors are far enough away that they live 'over yonder.' And when you drive by their house, they wave. And when their garden is ripe and ready, you are the recipient of all that is good and juicy and hand picked. And when they see you, they pull you into their sweet, chubby arms and hug you and tell you how scrawny you are and how you need to put some fat on your bones. Then they pull up a chair and y'all sit down for a spell and catch up on everything that's happened in the last week, or month, or year.

And, if your neighbors are really good, when you're a tween and the foreign exchange student that is currently residing at your house ticks you off so bad that you have a knock down, drag out fight in the middle of your front yard, and then you get in trouble for a tussle that SHE started--you can sneak up to that neighbors house and they will let you cry on their shoulder. They will rub your back as you sob about how no one loves you, or understands how your life sucks. And then once you fall asleep, they will cover you with a blanket and let you hide out until your family comes looking with worry-filled eyes. (Payback is sweet.)

But we were only speaking hypothetically.

Now. I'm going to tell you an actual story, because we both know that's what you came here for.

We are a camping family. However, between Husband's job, our new callings and all the activities our kids are involved in--we haven't set up our tent in over a year.

Oldest Daughter was lamenting this fact and so, suckered Husband into putting up the tent in our backyard. We roasted marshmallows in the chiminea before we snuggled down, all six of us in our sleeping bags. Or rather, on top. It was hot! I read them a story from the New Era. Husband regaled us with one of the many camping stories from his youth and then it was lights out.

But apparently the neighbors didn't get the memo.

The house next door must have some kind of magnetic pull for unwed couples with small yippy dogs. Did I mention that I hate small, yippy dogs. They're small and they yip. Did you see True Grit? That part where the guy kicks the kids off the front porch? It made me laugh until my stomach ached.

That's what I want to do to small, yippy dogs.

And both couples that have occupied that house have them.

To be fair, the first couple was very nice. We loved them. Never had a bad moment between us. And their dogs weren't too annoying. And then they moved.

The neighbors that took their place are okay. Except for the one time Girlfriend decided to sunbath in her bikini, right next to our fence, when Oldest Son was outside. But other than that, no big complaints.

And then last night happened.

So there we are at ten thirty, snuggled down when the girlfriend let's the dogs out into the yard. I get that. Dogs have to pee, too. She turns the back porch light on, and I flinch. That song about One Little Light in the Darkness, and how bright one light can be--well, let me tell you--it's true. That light was bright and I was starting to worry that she was going to leave it on all night. But about twenty minutes later, she started yelling for 'Sherman!" over and over. Finally the yipper ran up the stairs, she let him in, and turned that light off. By this time, my kids are breathing gently, as is Husband. In two minutes, I was right along with them.

Until 12:30 A.M. when these neighbors decide to have a party on the back deck. Mind you, our tent is huge and extremely visible from their yard. There is no way they could have missed it. So there they are with a couple of friends chatting it up like it was lunch hour. And I thought, "Are these people for real? Can they not see our tent? They know we have four kids. Have they lost their minds?" Of all the places they could have talked inside the nice cool house (a house much bigger than ours) they had to come out and talk right here by our sleeping children.

I sat up and glared at them. Don't worry, they couldn't see the glare. Probably. Yeah. They couldn't. But they could see me. And they kept on talking.

Then they added a dash of swearing to their talking. To be more specific--the F-Bomb.

Can I tell you that I hate the F-word? Any time I hear people spew this word I think dark, evil thoughts about them. And I heard it four times in less than twenty seconds last night. You remember how Joseph Smith stood up in Liberty Jail and rebuked the jailers for using such atrocious language. Well that was me last night.

In my heart.

I didn't actually say anything because I knew I had to live next to these people. I sat up and glared again. I know they saw me that time. And thankfully for them, they turned tail and ran in the house. They must've been able to feel my Joseph Smith like ferocity.

Yeah. I'm sure that's it.

Anyway. I'd say it's about time for us to move.

I'm not cut out for this city stuff.

First Impressions

2011-07-10T22:15:00.001-04:00

I've come to realize something about myself. I'm no good at first impressions. What I mean by that is--I used to think I had people figured out after the first time that I met them. Occassionally, I do. But lately, I've realized I don't know jack about people, or things, after one introduction.

Take my calling for example. I wasn't shocked when the Bishop asked me to be YW's pres. My patriarchal blessing says my main calling life is to work with the youth of the church. So the way I see it, it was inevitable. And I thought I knew exactly what I was getting myself into--a bunch of trouble and a mess of headaches. That's what! Wrong. I'm kind of crazy about my girls now. And not just them. After Youth Conference this weekend, I'm kind of crazy about a lot of the youth in our stake, and the boys in our ward. I love them all. Seriously. I mean that. Like heart-bursting-open-tears-pouring-out-want-to-squeeze-them-so-tight kind of love.

So basically, I was all wrong about my calling. That's why I'm not the bishop.

So we got a new YM's president a few months ago. I swear the minute this guy moved into the ward, the bishop snatched him up, and we were sustaining him in Sacrament meeting. And I honestly thought, "How in the world can Bishop know if he's even got any personality in that amount of time? These boys need someone fun, and down to earth. Someone with some pizazz." And I didn't think this guy had any of that.

WRONG. Wrongity-wrong-wrong-wrong! I am a complete loser at first impressions. This dude came to YC with us. I was happy about that, because I needed to get to know him better since we should have a working relationship. Who in the world would have known that this guy is the most kick-bum dancer EVER! And that he trash talks during water volleyball, of all sports! And that he can Dougie better than any of the 45 youth at YC? Or that he's so stinking hilarious that every time I looked or talked to him, I ended up with tears pouring out of my eyes? And that he cries when he bears his testimony?

The bishop knew. That's who.

But not me.

Nephew went to YC conference, and Tres left me with one instruction. "Make sure he dances at least one dance while he's there." And I thought, "Shuh!" Yes, shuh! "I would have to be a miracle worker to pull that off because there is no way Nephew is going to dance."

By the second night he was a dancing fool. And he was asking girls to dance--The Slow Dances.

Can you believe that? I've known this kid since the hour his Mama pushed him out. I thought I knew him better than anyone.

And now he's the Redheaded Dancing Machine.

There's a lot of other stuff that shocked me--in the best way--at YC but it's personal, life changing, miraculous stuff.

So I pretty much give up on thinking that I have any clue about anything. I don't.

But here's one thing I know for sure.

Heavenly Father knows people and He doesn't give up on them. Ever. And even when you think they're a lost cause, you have to keep trying, because suddenly and completely, because you loved them and because they felt Heavenly Father and Jesus's love for them--they are different. Forever.

I thought I would teach these youth a thing or two when I got this calling, but I was wrong about that too.

They're teaching me.

Promotion Day

2011-06-10T12:08:00.002-04:00

A few nights ago O.S. came into my room at 10:30. 10:30! And I told him to get back in bed, and why wasn't he asleep? Then he starts crying. Remember how O.S. has hated fifth grade and how he's ready for middle school? I guess, not so much.

He's not ready to leave Belview. And I don't blame him one bit.

When we moved here I didn't check the schools out. I drove up five times trying to find a house and by the last visit, I was determined. We ended up in this subdivision which had never been the plan. We were used to country life and that's how we wanted to keep living. But when the realtor drove us into the neighborhood I felt peace. I knew it was the right thing. It wasn't the thing I'd wanted, but it was right.

Fast forward five years.

I never could have known how much we would love our neighborhood, our ward, but most of all our school. If your kid/s go to a good school you know what I'm talking about. There is nothing like a good educational experience.

So thank you Belview teachers and faculty. We love you. Enough that you make an eleven year old boy cry in the middle of the night. That's deep stuff.

And thank you Heavenly Father for leading us where we couldn't know we needed to be.

But that's not really what my post is about. My post is about recognition. I was never nominated to be in the gifted and talented program in grade school. I was never the kid winning the spelling bee or the good citizen award. Have you ever noticed how some kids win all the awards and others are the ones clapping as they do. Well, that was O.S. today. His good friend won the Ruritan Citizenship award. O.S. clapped hard. His other friend received the National Physical Fitness award and got straight A's for the year. O.S. clapped hard.

But as I sat there watching my boy I felt sad. We recognize one kid for good citizenship? That seems wrong. But we clap for the kid anyway. Husband and I not the kind of parents who try to make everything fair for our kids. As a matter of fact Husband can often be heard saying, "Oh well, life isn't fair." The kids hate it.

Today as I watched my kid cheer everyone else on I felt sad because he's a really great person and a lot of people don't know that. He's a quiet, thoughtful kid. He's not the kid who's going to go out of his way to help a teacher walking down the hall. He may not ever get straight A's the entire year. He'll probably never be in the gifted and talented program. I doubt any of my kids will.

But that doesn't make him any less amazing.

O.S. is the kind of kid who won't stop reading after he's finished his column in the scriptures and it's his sister's turn, because he feels good and he wants to continue. He's the kind of guy who always does what's right and internalizes it when one of his friends is making bad choices. He's the kind of boy who out of the blue, cleans all the dishes after dinner when it wasn't his turn so that we can all have more time to hang out. He's the kind of child that brings me a blanket and snuggles under it with me as we watch a movie. He doesn't swear or say unkind things. He works hard to be a good student. He's a boy scout, a hiker, a soccer player, a leader, a loyal friend.

No, I wasn't in Gifted and Talented. I didn't win Homecoming Queen, or Student Body President (I didn't run), or Most Likely To Succeed. But I did do a lot of other things. Honor Society, Drama Club, Basketball Co-captain. And they all took hard work. A lot of hard work.

I don't want you to feel too sorry for O.S. He did get recognized for A/B honor roll. Dang that Reading grade! And on Monday he's headed to the 'Ham to spend and idyllic summer on Grandma and Grandpa's farm.

He may not know it yet, but he'll be fine in middle school. He'll be better than fine. Because he has determination and a strong desire to do what's right.

Congratulations, O.S. Dream big and work hard.

PS: Oldest Daughter did get the National Fitness Award.

And Y.S. Lost a front tooth.

A Jordan thing to do

2011-05-24T08:33:00.006-04:00

A few things that are going on over here:

Last Saturday we went with Husband to his church softball game. I was on the team last season. If you want to read about my antics, you can find them here. But this year, I decided to leave it to the guys. We pulled up to the field and got the kids out of the car. I was busy getting things situated while Husband headed off to find his team.

When I finally got over to the field I started looking around. There wasn't much going on--people warming up, chatting, getting a tan. But I did notice a guy off to my left. I hate to admit it but my first thought was, "Wow. He's hot."

You need to know this doesn't happen to me very often. I am happy with the one I am married to, and don't go looking around even just to see what's out there. So the thought threw me off. I knew I should feel a little guilty for thinking this. I am not that kind of girl. So what did I do? I kept oogling. I couldn't stop myself. He had dark hair, and a nice tan, with sunglasses on. And then he smiled. Dimples. Sigh. It was a very nice visual.

Finally, my logic kicked and I realized.

That's my husband.

I'm married to the hottie with the chicklet smile. My heart went pitter pat.

We had a lesson in YW's on Sunday about eternal marriage. And I assured them to be careful in picking their future spouse. Friendship is a key ingredient, but having a moment like mine is some nice, pink, fluffy frosting on top.

Next thing.

Look up to your right. I put up a running word count for my work in progress. Melanie J. does this on her blog and I love watching her progress. It motivates me. So I asked, and she was happy to show me how. Currently, my count is a little deceiving. I started my story, realized I need to rip one of the main characters out and started again. I have not deleted the word count from that, but I've just about made up the difference. Keep checking to see my progress. And feel free to tell me if you think I'm slacking. It's good accountability.

Thirdly.

I woke up at 5 am on the dot with some great thoughts for my story. If you've been writing long you know that the worst thing you could do is try to stick it in your long term and fish it out in the morning. It's goner than gone by then, baby! Happens every single time. You might remember some of it, but it's not as powerful. You must jot down those things you're thinking as you come out of a nice rest. Don't believe me? Just ask Stephanie Meyer. So I rolled Husband over, flipped open my MacBook air that boots in .7 seconds, faster than a Porsche can go from 0 to 60, and typed my ideas into the bottom of the manuscript. Then I laid back down.

And laid and laid and laid.

Ten minutes later I realized I should just get up. This guy at the writer's conference swears your bio-rhythms are at their peak early in the morning. I was going to take him for his word.

His word is right, people!

I pounded out two thousand words before I made a single bed, combed a strand of hair or kissed a cheek good morning.

When Husband came downstairs all showered and clean smelling, I was smiling.

He said, "What's up? What are you doing down here?"

"Writing," I said, and then I sighed. "I love my story."

I love my story. I'd forgotten what that feels like. I'm back to my happy place.

"And," I told him. "I came up with the most kick butt title."

I did too.

Ugly Duckling on South Field.

It paints a certain image but when you get into the book you'll realize it means something completely different than what you thought, yet it's perfect. I'm excited about it, and I've never been excited for a title before.

Lastly. See my title up there about Jordan?

Well, it's a new saying in our house. "That's a Jordan thing to do."

Remember when I told you about how Dos shot out the back of the bus window? And how foolish that was? Well, there's a kid in O.S's grade whose always doing stupid stuff like that. He's a sweet kid. I actually feel a little sorry for him. I think he does these desperate things to get attention. And he gets attention. The wrong kind. A few weeks back he brought those little popper fireworks to school. The ones that the you throw against he ground and they explode into a tiny puff of dust.

He thought he'd impress his friends.

He got majorly suspended.

O.S. pulled out his slingshot this morning to shoot a bouncy ball across the room. I took one look at that and told him it was a Jordan thing to do. Nothing else needed to be said. He slid the slingshot back into the drawer.

Have a great day.

And don't be a Jordan.

Three things

2011-05-16T12:56:00.002-04:00

I'm so busy lately I don't have time to sit down and pound out some really thoughtful, or hilarious post. Sorry. So today you're getting the random unconnected thoughts that are floating up in my brain.

1. Why can't we have it all?

I mean you can live in, as my dad would say, the greatest nation that ever existed, or you can have lovely coins jingling in your purse. But you can't have both. Husband spent three weeks in Mexico last year, and when he came back we were oohing and aahing over the exquisiteness of the coinage he brought back.

I just removed a load of laundry in the washer to find that Youngest Son had filled his pockets with some of those coins. It's been a year and a half and he's still in awe, stuffing them in his pockets so he can pull them out at any odd moment. Do you think there are any kids in Mexico oogling over our quarters?

Doubtful.

And yet, I would never want to live in Mexico.

2. Proof that the Book of Mormon is true.

As many of you know, I met my husband when he was serving a two year mission in Virginia. (And if you don't know that story you can find it here. I know. Shameless plug. *shrugs*) At the time I was a cashier for Deseret Book's outlet store. Which meant I got good deals on things that were seconds, or they had too much of. Anyway. At some point in this ~~courtship~~ pen-pallery (yes, I just made that up) I sent him a journal with his name on it.

And guess what?

It is completely untouched. To this very day. Completely void of any words. That was over thirteen years ago.

Back to the truthfulness of the B o M.

How in the world Heavenly Father got all those men to record, on metal plates no less, the important happenings of their day, I have no idea. Men hate to write. Shoot--they hate to talk. Anytime I tell Husband we need to talk he shrivels up in the corner and starts shaking like a leaf. I think he'd rather change a poopy diaper than actually talk. So putting words on a paper, words that they have to write...

Like I said. Miracle. No other explanation.

3. At the Storymakers conference some big, swanky New York agent told us we should not only have a blog but we should also have an author page attached to our blog. So guess what I'll be doing very soon?

You got it.

Calling Tres to make me an author page.

HAHAHA. Just kidding. He'll only sit by my side and talk me through every single step. But, and here's the fun part, I will have a link to some things that I've written. I found out, also at Storymakers, from another author who, in an effort to protect the innocent, will not be named, that my Like Rachel short story is NOT EVER going to be published. I won't get into how I feel about all of that, because it wouldn't do any good. But. I love that story so much, and I have to thank LDS Publisher anyway because I truly enjoyed writing it. And because of that experience I am going to write other similar short stories from the scriptures, written from a teenage girls point of view. I'm hoping that when I'm done, you will all direct your Young Women toward this so they can be uplifted and edified. Because that's what I do.

I am the uplifter.

But I am also a writer. Which means I gotta go write real words that will be printed in a real book some day.

Adios, amigos!

Thoughts on Storymakers '11

2011-05-10T11:25:00.003-04:00

Last year I walked away stumped, wondering why I'd paid so money to attend. It was so mediocre that I wasn't planning on attending this go round. But being the daughter of a former VA State PTA Vice President, I sent in my comments. I'm a change the world kind of girl. It's just in my blood.

Lo and behold, when I saw the class list for this year's conference I noticed someone took note of my suggestions. There were actual 'advanced' classes. It wasn't all for beginners.

Most of you have been rolling your eyes at me from all across the country . It's okay. You can admit it. I know you have. And I deserve it. I've sunk down into the depths of 'clueless writer syndrome.' See, when I wrote Putting Up Stars, it just kinda flowed out of me. And I'm not just saying that. Even with both of my rejections on this book, the comment was made that it was such a well written story and that I was a talented writer, and yadda, yadda, yadda. The book just wasn't right for them.

So then, you're asking, 'what the heck has happened to you?'

That is a very good question. Up until last weekend, I'm not sure I could have given you an answer. I was...well...clueless. I would sit down in front of the computer, start a story and wait for the muse to kick in. And then when it didn't, I'd scrap the story and start over again. I have about fifty beginnings taking up memory space on three different computers, and no finished novel to show for all my hours of writing this year.

I told myself about month or so ago, to chill. I was trying too hard and that if I relaxed and went to Storymakers it would magically solve all my problems.

And guess what?

I was right! I'm all better now. Cured. Unblocked. It's all good.

But it's not really magic. It's logic. I just needed more knowledge on how to craft a story.

First up was Clint Johnson's class on Conflict and Mechanism. I was bummed when I realized I'd signed up for this. I mean, please! Look at the title. Of course, boring title=boring class. Right? RIGHT? But M.H., swore up it would be worth it. He was her boot camp instructor last year and she said he was amazing. I still doubted.

Can I admit something here?

M.H. and I promised each other that this year we were going to walk out of bad classes. We didn't do it last time, and ended up sitting through some horrible classes simply not to offend the presenter. And we left the conference disappointed. That was not happening this year.

So, like I said, my behind was placed lightly in the seat, feet turned toward the aisle, ready to run out of this class. Well, let me tell you the first thing I learned.

The more boring the title, the better that class will be.

This class was DA BOMB! If every single other class at the conference had sucked rotten eggs, this one class alone would have been worth the price because it fixed me. I came out clicking my heels and dancing down the hall.

He taught us that happiness is a writer's enemy. The minute your story is happy, it's over. Conflict drives a story and once you've fixed it all, you're done. You have to have conflict in every chapter, so that the reader keeps turning and turning and turning. And before they know it, it's 2 in the morning and their spouse is tearing the book out of their hands.

I knew my last story was good. But I didn't totally understand why, and now I do. It's all about the conflict.

Other things I learned. I have an issue. If someone writes fantasy I worry that we won't click. Which is ridiculous since M.H. writes fantasy and we totally get each other. So I was worried that even though I felt like I should attend Lisa Mangum's class on what makes a good first page, that I wouldn't really connect with her.

Wrong!

That's what I get for judging a book by it's cover. A cover with a big fat hourglass on the front of it.

Again, I was on the aisle, ready to bolt.

And then she started. There was a power point, and Snoopy cartoons, and jokes and examples to support each point. She was charming, and engaging, and confident, and witty, and funny and smart. And no, I'm not sucking up. She was truly awesome. Her class was organized and cram packed. Something, for which, I am truly thankful.

Oh, and she's a fan of prologues. My story has a prologue, which makes me a fan of hers.

The end. On that.

Not every class was stellar though. I feel I would be giving a lopsided review if I didn't name a few things I was less than impressed with.

If I come to a writer's conference you can guarantee that I had to sacrifice to get there. I had to give up time with my family, money for leisure or clothes or bills, and my husband's vacation time because he has to take time off work to watch the kids. So you had better make sure if I choose to come to your class that you don't waste my time. Please be on time to teach your class, and please be organized. I found myself almost walking out of someone's class because they wasted 1/4 of the class trying to figure out where we were and what she wanted to talk about next. It was like she was making it up as she went.

Next gripe.

Also, most people who attend a writer's conference already know the very basics on writing. Maybe this is just my opinion but I truly believe that. So if I go to a class that is labeled 'basic' I still feel like I should get more than fifth grade info out of it. But maybe that's just me.

Things I realized that stretched over both conferences: If you're an author and you are really nice to me, I will tell people for the rest of my life how awesome you are. I will buy your book even though it's really not my favorite genre, and my friends will do that same. If you're an author and you don't have the time for me or you act like you have way better things to do then answer me when I ask a question, I won't buy your book even though it is my genre, and I won't go to your class because I think you're a jerk, no matter how engaging people say you are. Last year, M.H. went to a class and the author was fifteen minutes late and then told everyone one to basically get over it, it's just the way she rolled. Guess who won't be buying or promoting her work. Ever again. And no, it's not M.H.

I'm tucking all this info into the back of my mind for when I'm big and famous. 'Be nice to the little guys. You were once a little guy too.'

I'm mixed on the first chapter contest. One of my friend's did amazing and won the Special Recognition award (and a kindle nook. Oh, la la). I am so happy for her. It was well deserved. But my other friend had the most mixed review. It's exactly what happened to me last year. What good does it do when the reviewers totally contradict themselves? How is that helpful? I wish there was a better way.

Things that didn't matter: It didn't matter if there was a power point or not. Clint Johnson had no media/techonolgy. Lisa Mangum did. Both classes were fantastic. What matters is that you try to teach in a way that you are enlightening everyone in the room. Try to hand us material and knowledge we couldn't have gotten elsewhere. And pack every minute full of as much info possible. Don't just try to get through it. Enjoy it, and we will enjoy it in return. If I took at least one thing out of your class that I didn't already know, or hadn't thought about then I considered it a success. And almost all the classes I attended fit into this catergory.

So here's the thing I learned. Last years Storymakers was probably a lot better than I gave it credit for, I think I just choose the wrong classes. I went for the lectures with snappy, catchy titles, and for the most part they were all wrong for me. Maybe they were right for someone else, just not for me.

Next year I'll be sure to pick the ones that sound like they might confuse me, because no doubt, I'll come out of those classes learning the most.

I'm signing off now, because goll-darn it, I have a book to write!

One monster down.

2011-05-02T13:52:00.002-04:00

O.S. was just asking me last week about why those nut jobs ran their planes into the Twin Towers.

He was only one and half when it happened, but he's heard us talk about it many times. It came up because someone at school mentioned the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania. So I told him all about the Americans on the plane who would always be heros to me.

And then he asked who the person was that was in charge of the whole terrorist scheme to run the planes into all the buildings. I told him, Osama Bin Laden. And I told him that's why our country was at war right now--to get that sucker and to try to eradicate terrorism.

And then he asked me where Bin Laden was? And I was sad to tell him that I had no idea, and that we'd been looking for him for a long time. And that I didn't know if we would ever catch him, because I truly believe he is best friend's with the Devil.

On a nightly basis my boys call out from their dark bedrooms that they are scared. Y.S. swears a monster is going to get him. I am fully aware that when I tell him there are no such things as monsters that I am lying. Monsters definitely exist. Just not in the way he thinks.

So I just got on our family forum a few minutes ago, and Dos (who remember works for the CIA) confirmed that Bin Laden is dead. That Obama sent in six Seals to do the job, instead of bombing the building. He risked those mens lives to make sure there was no doubt that we got him. Then they took his body back to a boat, ran DNA testing, took some photos and buried him at sea. There will be no shrine made of this lunatic's grave.

I am feeling many things right now: patriotic, spiteful, humbled. But mostly, grateful.

Thank you to all those who fight for our freedom, risking their lives. And thank you to all the those behind the scenes who never get to tell anyone they were a part of it. And thank you to a president for finally giving me a reason to be proud of you.

Today when I pick my boy up from school, I can tell him that the world is a whole lot safer today.

And maybe when my boys cry out for me tonight, and I soothe them by telling my lie, I will feel a little less guilty.

Newsflash

2011-04-27T09:54:00.000-04:00

In an effort to get us all over the awkward moment between my mother and I, I thought I'd update you on some of the people that have, at one time or another, taken up residence on the farm. (See above photo.)

UNO is probably, maybe, finally going to get to enjoy a culminating moment that he has worked for these last eight years. I am sure I don't have a clue what I am talking about and will get it all wrong, but, I think a robot he's working on/building/tweaking is going to make its debut into outer space. This robot is meant to fix space stations so that we don't have to risk Astronauts lives to do the same job. Whatever this is all about it is totally awesome! My brother really is a rocket scientist. How lucky am I that I can brag about that?

Dos SOLD HIS BOOK!!!! He's hoping up for pre-Christmas release date. The publisher is Touchstone, an imprint of Simon and Schuster. I am lacking other news since his wife delivered a bee-u-ti-ful chunky baby girl two weeks ago. They are smitten and in love, and I can't wait to hold her, and sniff her and run my nose along her sweet cheeks.

Tres's wife is planning a big Royal Wedding Gala for this Friday morning at 5 FREAKING a.m. And guess who gets to go? (I'm a good sis-in-law, hence the use of the word 'gets.') There will be lots of food, little girls, poofy dresses, tiaras, and squealing. I'm sure fun will be had by all. I may not notice though, because I may be curled up in the corner under a blanket with wedding cake drooling out of my mouth.

Husband's littlest brother (who yes, lived on the farm for a few months) is tying the knot. IN THE TEMPLE!!! Yes, those words deserved to be capitalized. I've had to beat this boy over the head multiple times. I will be as proud as his Mama when he walks out of those doors with his cute little wife on his arm. FYI--he's not thankful enough, but if it weren't for me, he wouldn't even know his fiance. She grew up in the 'Ham. I was her A-days leader--I think? Anyway, I approve. She's a good girl. He's definitely marrying up. (I'll probably get a phone call about that comment.) Congrats you two! Now behave yourselves.

I actually do have some big news, that I forget, maybe purposely avoided posting because I've tried to not make a big deal out of it. But then I decided what the hay?

I got a MAC BOOK AIR!!!

Okay, that's not really my news, but I did get one. And I am in deep smit. Seriously. It boots up in .27 seconds. Faster than a Porsche can go from 0 to 60. The keyboard loves my fingers, and the other way around. I don't spend half my writing time undoing the vodoo the computer weaves on me.

But here's my other news. I won an award for Putting Up Stars. It's the Marilyn Brown Unpublished Novel award. I get a good chunk of money, a fancy certificate, a press release, my name on a plaque, and bragging rights. My mom thought this gets me published. HAHAHAHAHA. That's a good one. But I did get to take a fun trip with my mom and Toddler to go accept the award last week, in Utah.

Speaking of Utah. I am getting on a plane next week to once again attend the LDS Storymakers conference. I've been looking forward to this for a very long time. My friend, Melanie J., will be presenting, along with a lot of other great LDS authors. And I get to fly with my writer friend M.H. who I haven't spent much time with lately. I will not be pitching this year. I'm glad about this. No taco pits for me this go around. I'll be the one kicking back, chilling, watching everyone else sweat it out.

That's it for all the folks on the Farm.

As Al Roker would say, what's 'happening in your neck of the woods?"

Dear Mom

2011-04-26T15:16:00.001-04:00

I've been debating for a few days as to whether I should post this or not. But what the heck. It's my blog, and I want to. Besides, it's good to get things out every now and then, even if they are very personal and revealing. And I didn't have a chance to post something on Easter.

Dear Mom,

You commented on my blog the other day. "I am wondering why you believe you need your mother for at least 15 more years (not that I am planning to leave anytime soon), when you have shown me over and over again, that you are doing very well on your own."

Well, I'm going to tell you.

I had a dream the other night. In that dream, my teeth were falling out. Really. They were just loosening from the roots and falling into my mouth. It was very distressing. I knew it had something to do with the antibiotics I was on--the same antibiotics that at this point in my life, keep me breathing, thus keep me living. And I couldn't go off of them simply to spare my vanity. I told Husband, and he just laughed it off. We were walking into a fancy party, and I knew you would be there, and that you would take me seriously. I found you, and showed you my mouth. You responded just as I knew you would. Compassionately. You grabbed me by the hand and said, "We need to get you to a doctor right away!" We took two steps, but suddenly you were like a lead weight in my hand. I turned back, and a horrible look flashed across your face. I already knew. You were having a heart attack or a stroke. I reached for you but you tumbled to the floor. I dropped to the ground in the midst of all these oblivious people and held you in my arms. You were conscious, but we both knew you wouldn't be for long. You tried to cry out for Dad but he was so busy telling a story to some acquaintance that we couldn't even get his attention. And I knew he was going to miss your last breathe. He just wouldn't stop talking long enough to listen.

My eyes darted around and I yelled for somebody to call 911. There were dozens of people hovering, and of course, as it always is in a nightmare, none of them could get cell service.

And then I woke up.

I was so glad it was only a dream. But it made one thing clear.

There will come a day when you will leave me behind. And I won't be ready for it. A daughter is never, ever fully prepared for that time, no matter how old they are. I don't care if you're six, thirty six, or seventy six. It will still be hard, and scary and dreadful.

But.

I know that I will be okay. I will be okay because of everything you have taught me. Because I know my Savior lives and He atoned for our sins. Yours and mine, Mom. And because He was resurrected. And because you didn't marry that good-looking Catholic who wanted all your sons and daughters to be priests and nuns. And because you waited seven more years until Dad came along. And took a leap of faith and got married in the temple. And because you and Dad stayed strong to each other and to us and to Heavenly Father. No matter what.

We are a Forever Family. And I will love you no matter where you are. I will always need you.

Because you're my mom.

Love,

Susan

What will you bury?

2011-04-11T21:33:00.004-04:00

We've challenged the Young Women in our ward to read the entire Book of Mormon by July 1st. I've been struggling in the execution of this challenge. I read each morning with my family, but in order to finish by the goal date I have to read additionally on my own later in the day. It's been hard to find time to read twice a day, and I've been disappointed with how quickly my eyes are scanning the words, just trying to get through the allotted pages.

The point is not just to read, but to ponder and have your life be changed in some way by what you read.

Every Monday night, around the world, members of our church have something called Family Home Evening. It can be a little daunting trying to come up with activities/lessons that my children will find engaging. Usually I do something out of The Friend (a children's magazine put out by our church) or copy someone else's idea of Sugardoodle.net.

But today I had a fantastic idea.

I was reading Alma 24. In this chapter a group of people who have spent their lives engaged in bloodshed and wars, have a change of heart. They become followers of Christ and realize how badly they've sinned. I've heard this story a hundred times, but today I saw it in a completely different light. The short of it is this: they feel bad for all the killing they've done, and make an oath that they will never kill another person again. They want their swords to be bright at the Second Coming, not stained with blood. They believe in this promise so much that they gather all their weapons and bury them deep in the earth. But they didn't just bury their weapons knowing they could go dig them up later if they needed them. They promised that they would die before they would pick them up again. And when the Lamanite bad guys came to fight them, rather than fight back, they laid on the ground and let themselves be slaughtered. And not only that, but they praised God as they were being killed.

How could they be that strong? How could they lay there as those they loved were dying on every side and do nothing, all because they'd made a promise? And how weak am I, that I make a resolution in the morning and by that night I have failed miserably?

Can you imagine being one of the Lamanite's doing the killing? Murdering people as they laid on the ground and prayed aloud? After they'd killed one thousand five hundred people, they stopped. Because their hearts were swollen at the atrocities they were committing, and at these people's faith.

Here's the thing I thought about today when I was reading this. I may not be a murderous sinner turned good but I have things I need to bury. Things that I would rather die than to ever do again. They aren't terrible things, but they are things that make me feel terrible. Things that make other people feel terrible.

Tonight for FHE I shared this story with my family. Then we all sat down and cut weapons out of paper. On the back we each wrote one behavior that we wanted to bury. One thing we wanted to give up so badly we would rather die than do that thing again. My kids wanted to make multiple weapons with bad behaviors to bury, but I wouldn't let them. Because I was serious. I wanted them to work hard on the one thing they had chosen. Husband led the way outside where he dug a hole and one by one, we laid our weapons down in the earth. Then he covered them up.

Many things were buried tonight: hitting, bad attitudes, a lack of appreciate and the inability of seeing life the way it really is. And many things were brought to light. When reading the scriptures I try to figure out why certain stories were included. Most of the time I'm stumped. Not on this one. Not anymore.

We need to bury our sins, really bury them, one by one, if it takes us the rest of our lives. And hopefully by the time we face our Savior again, our swords will be bright and clean, and free from stain.

What do you want to bury?

Undercover testimony

2011-04-03T16:28:00.000-04:00

Blogging isn't really my thing. I started this blog because I knew, being an aspiring writer, that I 'should.' Because that's what writers do. It's a way to network. But even after almost two years, I don't love it.

Sometimes I wonder if I have anything worthwhile to say.

I worry that the time I spend blogging (which isn't much compared to some folks) is wasteful.

I worry that no one will read it, or that no one cares.

I worry that I'll say the wrong thing.

Today in conference, President Uchtdorf said that we should blog, and text our testimony. I know they put out a statement a few months ago stating that we should share our testimony through our blogs and through Facebook. That's when I wrote the post I Am Mormon, Hear Me Whisper.

But it was rejuvenating to hear the words spoken from an apostles mouth. I haven't talked about my faith on my blog in a long while. And I realize I haven't shared with you how I came to have a testimony.

As was stated by Pres. Uchtdorf in conference, my testimony wasn't like Paul, or Alma the Younger, or Joseph Smith. I didn't have an angel appear to me, or see God and Jesus Christ. Mine is like the puzzle he spoke of, fitted together one piece at a time, until I could see the whole picture.

But that doesn't mean I don't remember each and every jigsaw piece. I do. And I continue to understand each time a new piece locks into place. It's like a tiny little A-ha moment that I didn't see coming, and suddenly the picture is a little more clear.

I worried a lot about feeling the Holy Ghost when I was a kid/teenager. I worried that I wasn't capable of feeling it, because up until that point I didn't think I had.

Now, I laugh at that because I know what the Spirit feels like, and the more I feel it the easier it is to recognize His presence. And, looking back, I know I felt it often.

But back then, I thought something was wrong with me.

Here's what I didn't understand. Gaining a testimony isn't some huge moment that knocks you over and changes your life forever. Not usually, anyway. Not for me.

It's line upon line, precept upon precept.

I was sneaky when I was a kid, in a very good way. My mom was a seminary teacher (this is a class most LDS kids take in High school. They get up an hour earlier than the other kids in their school and go sit in a religion class every school day. It's awesome!) for nine years, I think. This, like all the callings in our church, was a voluntary assignment. She had to prepare the class everyday, and then teach it the next morning. I've had this calling too, and it is very demanding, yet very rewarding. I remember one year when her box of materials arrived. We sliced it open and checked out the contents. There was a new video series (I can't for the life of me remember what it was called. They were the ones that were taken like slides, but it was a video. The kids in the video lived in Box Elder--I remember that much). I was so excited. Things were different then. There were no movies like The Best Two Years, or Testaments or anything like that. We had a few videos like Families are Forever, and Labor of Love. But to hold in my hand an entire collection of videos for teenagers was like finding a chunk of gold.

And then my mom told me that I couldn't watch them. I was devastated. I think I was probably twelve at the time, and seminary didn't start, for me, for two more years. Uno, Dos and Tres got to watch them, but not me. The church wanted the younger kids not to see them so that they would be able to appreciate them when their turn came in seminary.

I knew all of that, but it was too much temptation. I would sneak upstairs and pop them in when no one was watching. And I felt the spirit. Not because I was being sneaky, but because of the videos. I craved anything like that.

Looking back, I realize that yearning was the Spirit encouraging me to seek after truth and testifying when I found it. I felt the Spirit. I felt it all the time, I just didn't know it. Looking back I can pinpoint times I felt the truth.

When I would watch church videos put out by the church. Curled up reading any and every Jack Weyland novel, or The New Era. Listening to Bounce Back, a motivational tape. (Does anyone else remember this?), when I sang in church, when I bore my tiny sliver of a testimony at Girl's camp. When my mom would sit with me and bear her testimony to me, or try to counsel me. She didn't think I was listening or watching, but I was. Every single word, every single action.

That was just when I was growing up. The list continued and continues still, each time another piece dropping into its spot.

I wait for those tiny moments. I wait to feel that peace and joy. To know that my Heavenly Father listens and loves me, and that He hears me when I pray. That He has a plan for me and my family. That Jesus is my brother and He is very actively rooting me on and giving me opportunities to grow and change and help others.

I still remember sitting in front of the t.v. watching those videos I shouldn't be watching, and I smile.

I was hungering and thirsting after righteousness.

I still do.

I know I always will.

Go ahead. Laugh at my pain.

2011-04-01T13:30:00.002-04:00

Husband is a genius. At least he thinks so. Last night he came home with a bunch of casting material, so he could enable the kids to pull the World's Most Awesome April Fools joke today at school.

The kids were so excited. Well, except for O.S. I don't know what his problem was. He has an old soul or something. Doesn't believe in being the center of attention or living it up a little. He's very cautious, the complete opposite of his dad.

O.D. and Y.S. gladly held their arms out while Husband rolled the material around their wrists. They thought this was a brilliant idea. I coerced O.S. by telling him he didn't have a choice because I could see he was conflicted.(And in the name of Father/Son bonding) He does this on a lot of things, dirt biking, snowboarding, etc. But once he gets the hang of it, he's in love.

The kids went to sleep in their casts, and woke up excited, and ready.

Well, O.S. not so much. Actually, I might have yelled at him and told him to stop being such a party pooper.

When I dropped them off at school they had their back story's ready, and their poker faces on. I went home, cleaned the house, and ran some stuff to the Institute building for Husband's stake activity tonight, and forgot all about the casts.

Oh my word, you would not believe what was on my answering machine when I walked in the door.

A message from the school nurse asking me to call her as soon as I got this message. And she did not sound happy. Not one bit. Usually when she calls she's all chipper and tells me immediately that my kid is fine but they have a headache, or got a scratch on their knee. This was a completely different person.

I could invision her telling me that maybe Y.S. had gotten ticked and whacked somebody in the head. Or O.S. had come into her office complaining that the cast hurt. Or maybe, simply that, she did not find this funny one bit. Alls I knew was that I was going to get a lecture, and I wasn't calling back. No sirree.

So I called Husband and told him that he would have the pleasure of fielding this call since it was his bright idea.

You need to know that I ALWAYS handle the uncomfortable calls at our house: telemarketers, bill collectors (okay, that rarely happens, thank goodness), angry mothers of our kids' friends, etc. But I wasn't doing it today. Uh. Uh. Today, I was putting my foot down.

Husband must have sensed my knees knocking, because he agreed to be a man and make the phone call. I told him to be sure to call back and let me know how it went. I proceeded to chew my nails to a nub, waiting.

He didn't call me back, so a few minutes later, I called him. He had the most solemn tone to his voice, and I knew something was really wrong. He said that yes, the nurse didn't think it was funny. She'd called Child Protective Services and that they were on their way to our house right now. I swear all the air left my lungs and I felt sick. We aren't those kind of people. But I know people who have had CPS come to their house for lesser offenses. Husband said he was on his way home right now.

A hundred things ran through my mind at that moment. My sweet kids having to go live with someone else until we can make CPS see we really are good parents. Me hugging the CPS lady's knees as she drags my children away. How, if we got to keep the kids, that I was going to have to switch schools, because there was no way I was ever showing my face down there. Ever Again.

Me telling O.S. he was being silly and just to have a little fun.

I felt like a horrible person for not listening to him.

Husband busted into my mental montage by asking me what I was going to do, like maybe I had some brilliant plan of how to wipe all of this away. I told him I was going to pray. And cry. The tears were pooling. I love my kids so much, I can't even imagine someone taking them away. Then his voice got shaky and told me to hang on, and repeated that he'd be right home. Then I heard a sob. "Are you crying?" I asked. Husband almost never cries, but I knew if he was crying, then this was so bad. He can't cry. I'm the one who cries! He's the one that hugs me and tells me it's not all as bad as it seems. Even when I almost hemorrhaged to death, he made a joke about it. Pointed to one of my veins and said, "You still have blood in there. See? You're going to be fine." And now he was crying?

Then he made some kind of strangled, shaking noise. So I asked him again, terrified, "Are you crying?" The strangling sound came again, and I said, "Are you crying, or are you laughing?" No answer. "You're laughing!!!" And then I realized.

He freakin' April Fooled the crud out of me.

Husband should have been an actor.

Apparently, the school nurse was going to be the one to tell me the whole CPS story, but when Husband called her, the second she picked up the phone she burst out laughing and said she couldn't do it. She congratulated us on one of the best April Fool's jokes ever.

Can I just tell you once again how much I love my kids' school?

I know this is TMI but if we all had days like this more often, there wouldn't be a need for laxatives.

(Oh, and please don't try this at home. It really could have ended badly. There will be no more fake casts at our house, except maybe on Halloween.)

Happy April Fool's Day, everyone!!!

March Some madness.

2011-03-21T10:43:00.005-04:00

I'm only a week late...

From the beginning of January to the end of March we celebrate every birthday in our family, except for one. This is not including extended family members, and we have plenty of those mixed in too. But March? March is the rockinist month.

It's my birth month.

I think I'm an okay looking in person but when a camera gets a hold of my face, it's not pretty. Suddenly my teeth are big, my smile is crooked (and not in an Edward sort of way), my skin turns blotchy, and my hair brassy.

I hate my face in pictures. It's like hearing a tape recording of your voice. The whole time you're wincing and thinking, Eehh, is that really what I sound like?

This would explain why I hardly ever post pictures of myself. So for Birthday Fun at the Farm you will be seeing lots of pictures that I took. But none of me. Here's the photo journal.

Yee-haw. We teach 'em early around here.

I wonder if she could get a job with Kazeem's High Flying acrobats.

This child never gets tired of swinging at the farm. Once, when we were getting ready to come back home, we couldn't find her. She was way down by the barn, swinging.

Boys will be boys. Let's get this going a little faster. Notice Y.S. in his socks. Like I said, boys will be boys.

The view I used to have out of my front window. Sigh. I miss this.

Does this even need a caption? So much cuteness in this picture.

Crazy troll doll hair. Gotta love, Grandpa.

I lied. Here's one of me blowing out the candles. It's pretty safe since you can't actually see my face.

Speaking of birthdays, Oldest Daughter's is today. We had her dinner last night. The poor thing was sick so Husband had to remove each candle from the cake so she could blow them out individually rather than spread her germs all over for us to consume afterward.

But really, this is what March is all about.

This guys is being dogged all over Facebook.

Seriously, people. What's not to love? Quit fighting the Jimmer and just let yourself be sucked in. It's all for the best. I did and my life will never be the same.

Everytime he's up on the screen I just want to bust out the Hoosier's DVD. It's so emotional. I'm losing my voice from yelling at the t.v. My husband thinks I've turned into some crazy sports lunatic.

After twelve years, I'm still keeping Husband on his toes. And the best part, is I'm brain washing my kids. O.S. told Husband the other night to just get over it because we were going to be crazy BYU sports fans from this moment on. That's what it means to be Jimmered. Maybe. I'm really not sure. But that's the definition at our house.

But for real. This is the photo that captures all the joy of March in our house.

That's Nephew the Dork. Who made me laugh so hard last night I almost peed my pants. You had to be there. So glad I was.

Happy March, All!

On a dare.

2011-03-16T11:52:00.000-04:00

I'm not a very lucky person. I hardly ever win contests, or drawings. Last year at the LDStorymakers conference I think I watched every single person attending win a prize BUT me.

I know I told y'all that I would blog about my birthday fun on the farm next, but my friend Melanie Jacobson, the one who wrote The List, is having a contest on her blog. All I have to do to up my chances to win the cute green dress she's offering is write a bucket list and blog about it.

I'm pretty easy to please so I'm not sure how long this list will be. Here goes:

1. Be in the Nauvoo pageant with my husband and kids (We're hoping for next summer. It's a two week commitment, but it will be totally worth it IF we get picked.)

2. This one's a no brainer. Get published. And not just get published, but get published with one of the publishers I want to be published with. I have standards.

3. Own at least four acres with my name and Husband's on the deed. So we can have a big fat garden. The farm is too far away, and my .25 acres ain't cuttin' it. (I love that I'm from Va and can say words like ain't and y'all, and get away with it. Mwahahahah. Aren't you jealous?)

4. Finish my BYU degree. If the thought of taking Statistics hadn't already made me shake until my teeth practically rattled right out of my head, I would have already done this. (Yes, Rob, I totally expect a lecture from you now. I still hate math. Blah.)

5. Go on a mission with Husband.

6. Build a dream house, doing most of the work ourselves. Ambitious, right? But I just can't see paying someone else to do all that, charging us twice as much as if we did it ourselves. I'm a tightwad like that. I may or may not have been brainwashed by Husband.

7. Take our kids back to Hawaii where we went on our honeymoon. And this time, we're going to the PCC.

That's it. All my big dreams right there in a list of seven. Of course I have more, but these are the most important.

Seriously, next time, birthday fun at the farm.

But first, I want to see all of y'all's lists. Blogging is fun, but it's more fun when the people who read your blog actually participate. It's like a two way conversation here, peeps. I get tired of talking to myself. I get to hear my own voice all the time. Pipe up! Here's your big chance. It's called the comment box below.

Give me those cheeks.

2011-03-13T23:01:00.003-04:00

I think the last time I dreamed (dreamt. Whatever.) it was the one about the lady with the vegetable peeler. Remember, her?

Well, I had another dream the other night. It was just as scary as the lady who was going to peel me to death.

This one is a doozie too, but in a completely different way.

I wonder if I should even share it with you, but it's too funny not to.

Here's my disclaimer before I begin: I am perfectly, delightfully happy with my situation in life. With my husband, my kids, my house, my religion. Period. This dream is in no way a reflection of my secret hopes or wishes. My subconscious is merely betraying me by making up weird, wicked soap operas for me to see when my eyes close. I guess my life isn't exciting enough for my brain.

Disclaimer done.

In my dream I was at a church building. In the gym to be exact. And my ex boyfriend was there. This is the guy I dated for two years before I met Husband. We were pretty serious, but every time I brought up the M word, his eyes would dart around just like a deer in the headlights (sometimes a simile really does fit), and he would turn ashen. He was a great guy other than the fact that his biggest ambition in life was to live in a pent house in New York City and own a Porsche on the salary of a UPS worker. My dreams were fixated around a temple marriage, a house full of kids and a yard with a garden. Obviously we had a problem. A pent house is on the top floor of a really tall building. And that would require me to lug my kids and all our groceries up the elevator every day. (Little did I know then but O.S. would have a terrible fear of elevators. That would have thrown a big kink in things because there is no way I would carry all those bags up thirty flights of stairs.)

Oh, and we had one other problem. He didn't go to church as much as he should. His testimony was lacking in a big way.

I just veered way off topic. Oops. Back on track. So my ex-boyfriend was there. With his current girlfriend. She was a little weird, and not at all the type of girl I would have pictured him with. And why is he like forty and not married in my dream? Anyway, he sees me, and tells me that he wants me to marry him.

Uh, that's about fourteen years too late.

In my dream, I kept thinking, "Wow. Where is Husband? Is he dead in this dream? Are we divorced? Did he leave me for Vegetable Peeler lady?" I just didn't know.

And I didn't know if I should trust Ex when he was telling me he wanted to marry me as his girlfriend sat next to us staring off into space. I seemed to lose all control over my reasoning abilities while I'm dreaming.

Thankfully my Stake President showed up. I knew I could trust him. He saw me chatting with some attractive guy who was not Husband and so he walked over to us. He started interviewing Ex when he found out that he wanted to marry me.

Ex told Stake President that he's active in church. Stake President gave him this disbelieving look and said, "No, you're not." But Ex swore he was, and at this point he had his arm around me. I guess my indecision was sending him some kind of message. This is when I finally started to question Ex in the dream. My Stake Pres. is usually pretty in touch with things, and if he's questioning this guy then maybe I shouldn't marry him. You think?

Stake President looked at Ex's girlfriend and said, "Why don't you marry her? She's right here and she's your girlfriend."

Ex shook his head and said, "I can't be married to her. She drives me nuts."

So Stake President nodded. Apparently he understood Ex's desire to not be married to someone who gets on his nerves. S.P. walked away, leaving me alone with Ex, and his spacey girlfriend.

At this point I start having a conversation with my dream self.

"What are you doing? Why are you letting him put his arm around you? If Husband walks in this is going to be really, really bad?"

Dream Self is thinking back at me. "We used to like it when he put his arm around us. Why wouldn't we like it now? Besides I can't figure out what our relationship status with Husband is. If he's still married to us, then where the heck is he?

Good question.

Anyway. Ex still has his arm around me. Then Primary lets out and all the kids come running into the gym. I tell Ex that he needs to drop his arm from around me because it's really going to freak my kids out if they see that. But he tells me that we're getting married and they need to get used to it. I tell him again that he really needs to drop his arm. But he doesn't.

Guess what? This part is da bomb. The only realistic thing in the whole dream.

Y.S. (that's Youngest Son, if you've forgotten) comes running straight toward us and screams, "Get off my mom!" And then he tackles Ex to the ground. I'm happy the arm has finally been removed, but my stupid dream self scolds Y.S. who then shrugs and runs off to play with his friends.

I tell Ex, "That's my Youngest Son."

He looks at Y.S. and says, "Hey, he looks like me."

And my dream self agrees, as does my real self.

Screech.

Creepy, huh? Because he kind of does. Wavy surferish hair with big brown eyes.

Want to see what he looks like?

Isn't he cute? (No that's not Ex. Ew, you really thought I kept a picture of him as a kid, even though I've been married for 12 years to Husband? I guess you don't know me at all.)

The guy in that picture? He's my hero. He busted me out of the clutches of the evil Ex boyfriend. Couldn't you just eat up those cheeks. I do. Every. Single. Day. And I can promise you if I'd married Ex, Y.S. wouldn't look like this. Because he looks just like his daddy, who looks absolutely nothing like Ex. Don't ask me how all that works. It just does.

For reals though, I did a little thinking in the thirty seconds after I woke up. When I was dating Ex, every time I would picture us getting married in the temple (because for me, there was no other place) I pictured marrying a different, better version of him. Clue. If the guy you're dating isn't the same version of the guy you picture marrying, you're probably with the wrong guy.

'Cause when I met Husband, he didn't have to change a thing. And when I knelt across the altar and looked into his eyes and promised to be his forever, it was to the same version of him I fell in love with. He didn't have to change to walk into that building. He was already everything he needed to be.

There has to be a lesson in that somewhere.

Thank you, Husband. Thank you for being what you needed to be when you needed to be it. And thank you for giving me kids with awesomely kissable cheeks.

I love you. Forever.

Up next...Birthday fun at the farm.

I told you I would...

2011-03-08T10:08:00.001-05:00

Let you know when my friend, Melanie Jacobson's, book was released.

So here's the big announcement:

IT'S OUT!!!

In case you forgot what it looks like--

I still love the cover. Don't you?

Remember what I told you about Melanie? She and I hung in the same circle of friends in college. I don't remember a lot about the crazy antics of our group except we went dancing A LOT. And dated A LOT. And laughed A LOT. But that's what college at BYU is all about, right? We probably studied a little too. Anyway, then we sort of all went our separate ways--got married, graduated, etc. And I didn't talk to Melanie for a decade. Then I found her on one of our mutual friends Facebook walls. (Yes, M.J., I totally stalked you.) I think I saw her profile pic a couple of times and kept wondering if I should friend her. You have to know I only friend people I really want to be friends with or had some kind of history with.

Oh, I'm about to get mushy.

So I friended her. I had no idea at the time that she was a soon to be published author who writes for the LDS market just like I'm trying to. And then she said something in a status update about 'when my book comes out...' and I freaked a little, and then I asked her about it. I'd written a book, but I really didn't have a clue what I was doing trying to get it published (obviously, I still don't :-) ) So I asked her if it was okay if I pelted her with questions. She probably regretted it later because I seriously inundated her. Soaked up every single word she would feed me. I can honestly say that probably 1/3 of what I know, I learned from her.

I let her read my first book and she told me the beginning sucked rotten eggs, but by the end it was pretty wonderful. Ouch. But it was exactly what I wanted/needed to hear. Because for the first time since I'd started this journey, I'd finally met someone who could help me step out of the darkness of ignorance and into the light of empowerment. Every now and then I wonder where I'd be right now if I hadn't friended her. I'd like to think I still would have figured my stuff out. But who knows?

After she said I needed to revamp my book, she gave me the biggest compliment you can get from a fellow writer. You're dying to know what it is. I can tell.

She said,

"Would you like to read my book?"

Are you serious? I thought. Yes!!!!

And then I read it. Inhaled it, really.

I have a secret. When I read The List, I was totally intimidated. It's that good.

The friendship didn't stop there. I've become one of her beta readers, and she one of mine. She drops whatever is going on if I need her to read, oh say, my entire novel in twenty four hours. Then she calls me on the phone and we talk for two hours about the edit she just did for me.

That really only happened once, but it could happen again.

With every rejection she emails me and tells me to hang in there, my day is coming.

What I'm saying is this. You know me, and I know you (I think). You don't know Melanie. But I do. And if you're going to plop down money for any fun, lighthearted romance, make it this one. You won't regret it.

But I'll stop rambling now.

Here's a link to her website.

And you can buy her book here.

But don't take my word for it. Go here to read the first chapter. You'll see that I'm write. I mean right.

Surf's up!

The Men in My Llife

2011-03-04T15:21:00.001-05:00

Y'all may not know this about me, but I tend to be a little headstrong. I know, it's news to you, right? Sometimes I forget about it myself until drama falls upon me and then my claws shoot out like a grizzly bear.

It's been one of those months, let me tell you.

Actually, I can't tell you, so let me give you a little parable.

Life is like an ocean, and I am like a boat. My sail is out and all is right with the world, and I'm thinking to myself, "This is easy. This is good. I can handle anything when I'm feeling like this." And then, as if the sea was just waiting to be tempted, a large wave comes crashing down. I sputter and I spew, but I get that sail back up. It may take me a few hours, or a few days, but I never stay down for long.

And then a storm hits, and wave after wave after wave pounds against me. I'm capsized and filling up with water and just when I think I can't take anymore, another one comes. But I don't give up. I never do. Because I've got too much spit.

But that doesn't mean I handle my storms right. I usually don't.

And since I know nothing about sailing, let me switch to something I'm more familiar with. Dirt. I am a farm girl.

When someone slings mud at me, or one of my kids my initial reaction is to pick up a nice, big sun hardened dirt clod and fling it back as hard and fast as I can. And if it happens to smack them right in the forehead and knock them out, oh well. It's what they deserved.

Thankfully I don't do that. Here's what I do do. (Not that kind of do do. Ew.)

I pick up the phone and call one of the men in my life. It's usually husband. And he says, "Stop! Whatever you do, don't fling that clod! Don't do it! You'll regret it!"

I usually tell him he's wrong. And the sad part is, I'm not sure I would regret it. If the person has pushed me to this limit, honestly they probably deserve a nice goose-egg. But I know that husband has better sense about these things than me. He's calmer, more steady, which is exactly the opposite of me--impetuous and all uptight.

He's like the Savior. (I mean that metaphorically. He definitely isn't perfect.) He is merciful.

But if things are too out of control and I know that I just can't handle being quite as Christlike as Husband, then I call someone else.

Tres.

I did it today.

The thing I love about Tres, is he is what I think Heavenly Father must be like--ever loving, very wise. BUT. He also believes in justice. He sees my side of the story and vents very maturely and appropriately. He understands my frustrations and lets me feel justified. But then he will tell me when I'm too uptight, or Mama Bearish. I can trust his opinion because he is the kind of person that doesn't fly off the handle (you know, like me), but he doesn't back down from calling it like he sees it.

Don't get me wrong--I am not pretending to tell you the nature of God, and this is not the Gospel according to Susan (because I'd come up with better analogies than this if I wanted to have a book of scripture named after me). It's just me scribbling on my Scribbles.

If you understand this post, you might want to email. Because I don't understand me, myself. And I definitely don't understand other people.

So I'll leave you with this:

The waves may crash and thrash and beat me down, but as long as I listen to the men in my life--all four of them--I won't drown. And I may just come out on top.

Amen.

PS--I'm still on a little P-Dub kick. Can you tell?

The End.

A post, P-Dub style.

2011-02-28T22:40:00.002-05:00

I was thinking today, that if I want to be popular like Pioneer Woman I need to change a few things. But mainly, I need to post pictures of my husband's jean clad hiney all over my blog and write The End underneath.

There's only one problem with that.

Whenever I come close with the camera, he sits on it. (His hiney. Not the camera.)

Can you believe that?

So then I thought, I can't be just like Pioneer Woman. I have to have my own brand, right? How about the lady who posts actual pictures of her husbands face? That would be original.

I gave it a shot.

Oh well. I guess it wasn't mean to be. Thirty years from now when we're still eating our rice with real butter, I can pin point it back to this moment, and blame it all on him.

While we're on the topic of pictures, I have to show you this thing that has been going on in my house this week.

Oldest daughter has created a monster. I'm not kidding. She took this witch broom she got for Halloween, put a dress on it, and her Barbie styling head. It gets worse. The broom actually cackles. I'm not making this up. It's like something out of a horror movie. So why does my daughter keep giggling about it?

I swear it follows me. And the really creepy part is, it's about the same height as Toddler, it's wearing Toddler's dress, and it's hair is the same color as Toddler's hair. So for a split second I think it's Toddler and then I realize it's the poltergeist.

It's totally freaking me out. I opened my bedroom door earlier, and BAM it was staring me in the stomach. I 'bout had a heart attack. And O.D. was snickering.

I keep threatening to toss it in the trash, but I can't because Grandma is the one who bought the broom and that just wouldn't be right. Darn that, Grandma!

Maybe I'll leave it down at the farm the next time I go. That would be payback. Because my dad can't ever throw anything away. So it could just spook them out all the time. HAHAHA. I think I totally will.

One last thing. We went out for Mexican tonight. It was a school fundraiser. Our school gets fifteen percent of the proceeds from any money made this evening. Remember how I told you the stork messed up Husband's drop off point? He landed a couple hours north of Mexico, up in L.A. So y'all have to know that using the terms 'authentic Mexican food' and Southwest Virginia' in the same sentence is just an oxymoron. Ain't happening. But that doesn't stop Husband. Believe it or not, all the employees in this restaurant were real live Mexicanos. So when our waiter comes up and has a thick accent, do you know what Husband did? He tried to talk to the guy in Spanish. I guess he thinks he's fluent after he spent three weeks there last year.

I burst out laughing right at the table. You should have seen the death look he gave me. I feel bad about it now. But I can't stop snickering. Gracias. HAHAHAHA.

Amen.

PS: On a not so funny note, I thought y'all might be interested to see the picture of the hole that tow hitch put through our windshield.

Here it be...

The End.

Today

2011-02-27T17:24:00.001-05:00

I'll admit it, I've been having a hard time with this new calling. It's been since November that I got the call, and in those three months I haven't felt like I hit my groove a single day. There's so much to remember: announcements, agenda filling out, meetings, lessons, Mutual. And that's just touching the surface.

I told myself when I went into this calling that I was going to have fun, just like I did with my other calling. Remember that one? The one where I wasn't responsible for anyone's eternal salvation other than my own?

Primary Chorister. Seriously, the most divine position in the church. Those kids would jump through hoops like a lion at the circus if I asked them to.

I'll be honest, yesterday if the Bishop had come to me and said, "Just kidding. We made a mistake. You're not supposed to be Young Woman's president. You're supposed to be..." I would have jumped up and shouted for joy. That's the kind of month I've had.

And then today happened.

First of all, it's Husband's birthday, which has absolutely nothing to do with my calling. BUT. We gave him a pink tie this morning, and shockingly, he actually wore the thing. And he looked super handsome. So when I sat down in Sacrament meeting, I was feeling hopeful for today.

My kids were fairly well behaved during the meeting, which is always a plus. There were lots of hugs and writing messages on backs, and Y.S. trying to sing as many words as he could during the hymns. It was *sigh* good.

This is where it started to get really good.

So I walked back to the primary end of the church to see if the Primary Prez possibly had a spare Book of Mormon since Y.S. has eternally lost his. She did. I followed her into the classroom where the primary closet is, and what do you know. That happens to be O.S.'s Sunday school class. (I would have known this if I'd made it down to that end of the church in the last three months.)

The fun thing about O.S.'s class is that it is full of the cutest little boys ever. I kid you not. If you have an eleven year old daughter and you're trying to think of a good place to move--you should come here. Because when they're sixteen there's not going to be any girls for them to date, and it's such a shame. They're not only an abnormally good looking class, they're all really good kids.

Back to the story...

I walked in. Five little boys heads snapped up. And all their faces were glowing. At me.

"Sister Auten! Are you teaching our class today?" They were seriously hoping.

I hated to be the one to break the bad news, but I had to. But I told them that if I could that I definitely would. They looked kind of bummed. I asked them if they missed me, and their eyes lit up again. They missed me so much, they said. Okay, maybe they didn't say so much. But they're eyes were shouting it.

When I left the room I was walking a little lighter.

But the goodness didn't stop there.

Next I stuck my head into the room where the youth--all my Young Women and the Young Men--have Sunday school class. I glanced around, because I was looking for a prop for my class, and I heard the same thing.

Eyes were lighting up and one of the boys said, "Sister Auten, are you teaching us today?" They looked genuinely excited. And it hit me--hey, I must be doing okay. They like me.

So by the time I left that room, I was bouncing.

And then my lesson. Wow. It was fantastico. Because instead of sticking to the rather dull lesson material (I'm not trying to slam anyone. I'm just sayin'...) I made up my own lesson about Eternal Families. I talked to them, and they talked to me. And there were two activities, and scriptures, and stories. And I showed them pictures of Husband when I met him as a missionary. And I told them that if they wanted a temple marriage to a hottie like Husband that they could have it. And that Heavenly Father wanted them to have it. And I felt the spirit, and I think they did too. My Personal progress leader was sitting in the back row, nodding her head, and practically praising like a Baptist lady.

It was that good.

Then, and this is the very biggest kicker of all time, when that was over, one of the two kids from primary who I thought absolutely detested me when I was chorister walks past me and says, "Will you please come back and be our teacher?"

"Do you miss me?" I asked with kind of a shocked look.

And he looks at me like I'm crazy. "Yeah. Come back!" Holy, make-my-heart-so-happy moment.

Then we had our first ever class presidency meeting, and I had to break some bad news to my presidency. And you know what? Not a single person complained. Instead, they threw out oodles of ideas that we could do instead of the thing we'd planned on doing.

You know what I think made all the difference?

That pink tie.

It started me off in the right mood, and that was what I needed. To change my attitude. It changed everyone's attitude around me, or maybe, for the first time in a long time, I could (as BYUTV likes to say) see the good in the world.

Today felt like it's supposed to feel. Happy, and excited for life, and ready to help these girls see how good their future can be.

And finally, I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

Lucky 13

2011-02-24T11:06:00.004-05:00

Between my mommying, wifing, writing, sistering, daughtering, visiting teaching, neighboring, friending and my church calling I don't have much time to do any blog hopping. But the little amount I've done in the past week has me thinking it's time for another list. Because, I have to follow the crowd like that.

And because I am in great need of some positivity, I'm going to focus only on the things I'm loving right now.

1. A curly brown haired man who slips into my house every evening looking as good in a pair of faded jeans and a flannel shirt as he did ten years ago AND who I caught putting dinner away last night. There is nothing more attractive than a man putting dishes in the dishwasher. Am I right? I think so. And guess what? I'm married to that guy. Forever. Lucky me.

2. Oldest Son and his Justin Bieber hair. I hate to say it but he just looks better that way. Tres bugs me when it gets too long, but the truth is, this is my choice and not O.S.'s. O.S. would just buzz it, but I love his hair just a little shaggy. And I love the way he blushes when I tell him what a handsome boy he is.

3. Four dollar Wal-mart prescriptions. This is going to save me so much money, we might be able to retire early.

4. Homemade bread. I'm making some today, and I can already smell it up in my nose.

5. A mother who loves to help out whenever she can. Bless her for all she does. I couldn't ask for a better Mom.

6. A clean house. I know, I know. I write, and my house is clean? Unheard of. A messy house makes me, as my kids would say, Kamicrazy! It's a cross between a kamikaze pilot and a crazy women. Yeah, it's not pretty. You've heard the old saying, "If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." That's the truth around here. We all do better when the house is picked up.

7. Michael Buble'--because how can you not be happy as you sing along at the top of your lungs, with your kids pretending to blow a saxophone or trumpet in the back seat. Speaking of musical instruments...

8. O.S.'s band try out is today. All that means is that someone from the middle school is coming over to let him try out all the instruments. I can't wait to see what he chooses.

9. Writing something new--and I mean new. But I'm not ready to share what I'm up to yet. You'll have to wait for that.

10. Morning walks with a friend. They clear my head and keep me sane, and somewhat skinny.

11. Visiting teachers who bring me chocolate.

12. Date night. My husband and I had one a few weeks back. We're going again very soon.

13. Hugs of every kind. Toddlers who wrap their tiny little arms around my neck and squeeze, and little boys that wrap their legs around my waist and I can't breathe. And big girl hugs that are squishy and sweet and full of smiling dimples. And O.S. hugs that are quick with a pat. Hugs from my brother, and nieces and nephew. And hugs from my hubby where he pulls me in and won't let go. Yeah. Hugs can fix just about anything.

I'm leaving it at thirteen, because ever since that tow-hitch went through my windshield I don't believe in superstition. God is over all. Even the number 13.

What are you loving right now?

The day it all changed.

2011-02-17T10:06:00.007-05:00

Today is Oldest Son's birthday, and I've gotten a little misty eyed thinking about it. All of our kids are special in their own way, but his birthday is always sentimental because he was the one that made all of our dreams come true.

Some people know and some don't, that we had a miscarriage before O.S. was born. Never in my entire life have I felt the heartache I felt then. I'm sure we've all heard the overused cliche of having your heart ripped in half, but I would say that if there ever was a time when it is perfectly used it would be in the case of a miscarriage. Especially a first baby miscarriage.

And then we got pregnant again. And it stuck. Yay! And I went through nine months of nausea, and getting super fat, and finding out I was a gestational diabetic (which explains the super fat part) and that meant I had to basically deprive myself of anything that sounded good. Basically, it was torture.

And then the labor. Oh my word. I puked my guts everywhere when my epidural didn't work, because my pitocin was turned up full blast, and I couldn't get the nurse to believe me that I wasn't just being a whiney first time mom and no this was not just back labor. (Sorry for the run on sentence, but it had to be said using one breath.) Sure enough, the epi had slipped out of my back. Then finally it's time. And I pushed that gigantic 9lb. 8oz. sucker out of there. Holy hugeness. And man did he have a set of lungs. I winced when he started screaming, and then I laughed and said verbatim, "He's the cutest baby in the world." And then I cried. Talk about overwhelmed in the best kind of way.

Nothing can ever prepare you for what it feels like to have that first baby. It's like God himself is slipping that sweet little bundle into your arms and you know this is a blessing like no other.

My favorite part of the experience was watching Husband. When they laid O.S. in his arms, he couldn't talk. My mom and I kept asking Husband what he thought and he wouldn't answer us. He was just staring down into that tiny sweet face and I knew. He was trying with all his might not to let us see him cry. But he didn't make it. He cried, and I love him so much for it.

Then after the nurses had cleaned O.S. and everyone was gone and it was just the three of us, Husband finally called his family to tell them.

He was holding O.S. in his arms as the phone was cradled up against his ear. As soon as his mom answered, he said, "He's here," in a soft, excited voice.

Through my drug induced haze, I could hear the excitement on the other end of the line. They'd waited sixteen hours for this phone call.

Husband's mom asked him something, and I could see that Husband was struggling still. He choked up and said, "He's amazing." I've never seen so much love before or since from anyone, anywhere.

A while ago a neighborhood/fellow lds mom gave me the best compliment about O.S.

She said, "You know the good thing about him? He doesn't care what his other friends are doing. He's going to do what he wants to do."

I love that about him.

He's starting middle school next year and initially a lot of his friends said they were going to do band. Since that point almost all of them have changed their mind and decided to do related arts instead. He was complaining about this right before he left for school today. I told him it was okay if he decided not to do band.

He said, "No, I want to be in marching band in high school, so I'm going to do it."

And we decided he'll just get the opportunity to make some new friends.

Could I have asked for a better child to be the oldest, to set the example for the rest? I think not.

I love him so much.

O.S. is the one we'll be showering with gifts today, but we're the lucky ones. Eleven years ago he gave us the best gift we could have ever been given. He made us a family.

Happy Birthday, O.S.!

Apologies

2011-02-12T06:39:00.001-05:00

Sorry, I haven't been around. I'm doing this thing we writer's like to call writing. Because once again I am headed off to that writer's conference to pitch yet another book. But that means I have to have a book to pitch. Thus, my week long absences.

Also, I've been sick, and so has toddler. It happened after she choked on a penny and barfed all over the carpet. Then magically, we all got these really awful colds. Hacking, and sneezing, and fevers. It has not been a pleasant week.

I will leave you with this tiny insight into my life.

That bed in my room that I've mentioned multiple times as being the best thing we ever did for our marriage has come back to bite me in the you-know-what. Because suddenly husband is waking up with back aches. For the past week he's been trying to work the kinks out by sleeping on the couch. Well, that bed is way too big for me, and my subconscious knows when the other half is empty. So my kids have been taking turns having sleepovers with Mom.

The other night it was Youngest Son's turn. He's a fun one because he doesn't jab you in the ribs for half the night like Oldest Son, or snore in your face like Husband. At some point in the middle of the night Toddler decided she wanted to join the party.

The thing you have to know about Toddler is that she has a blanket. It's pink and brown, and she's very particular about it. It is the only blanket she will use even if she's covered in goose bumps or she's just snotted all over it. And she will only allow the pink side to touch her. No brown.

She's yelling my name from her crib, so I lay her down between Y.S. and me. And this is the cutest thing right here. When the sunlight just barely pops up over the horizon, Y.S. stirs. He looks over and sees that Toddler is next to him. Her blanket is down around her ankles. He pulls the blanket, pink side down, up onto her and smoothes it all out so it's covering her from chin to toes. Then he rolls over and goes back to sleep. And I caught it all on my Mommy mental cam. And there it will remain until the end of time, a.k.a. Forever.

Until next time...

Why I need a personal assistant.

2011-02-06T15:28:00.000-05:00

I thought I was getting better at being on the ball.

For a while there I truly thought I'd gotten slight brain damage when I almost hemorrhaged to death a few years ago. But about a year after Toddler was born I began to get my brain back. Up until then I would space all sorts of things: the time piano lessons began (3 weeks in a row), class parties for my kids when I was the class mom, doctor's appointments, etc. I'm sure there's more stuff I forgot but I can't remember.

I know, I'm so funny, right? Except I wasn't trying to be.

Anyway. It's happening again. Ever since that thing happened to me, the thing where I was called to be Young Women's president, I'm simply forgetting all kinds of things. Before a bunch of you comment and tell me to write it down on a calendar, or a sheet of paper and lay it on the counter, or to get a day planner, I want you to know I've done all of those things. Nothing works! I can look at the calendar at nine and by ten I've forgotten that I was supposed to do such and such.

Want to know what I've simply forgotten about in the past three weeks?

'Course you do.

1. I simply did not show up to do my Visiting Teaching last month. I wasn't doing anything spectacular in its place. Just some YW stuff. And then I get a call from one of the lady's I visit teach, asking me if I was coming. Uh, no. I was still in pajamas. And that was the second appointment of the day. I'd already missed the first. My poor companion.

Forehead slap.

2. Playgroup. Toddler is a very social, fun loving kid. And I often feel guilty that instead of playing with her, she spends too much time watch Barbie and not enough time being read to. I guess that's just part of being the fourth--you get neglected. I would know, right? Anyway, one of the things that makes me feel better is that there is a playgroup every Friday. Yet, I have failed to remember it since before Christmas. I get the email. I write it down, and then we don't show up. As a matter of fact I don't even remember that I forgot until the next day or even days later. And then I feel terrible. She would have loved the activity they did.

3. Relief Society Meeting. There was going to be a fabulous one on Thursday about Gary Chapman's book on The Five Love Languages. I actually own this book, and support the principles a hundred percent. I was totally stoked to go to this meeting. It's been a while since I opened my copy and I was all set to get charged and ready to come home and hug all over my husband and whisper sweet words into his ears. (I think he's a cross combination of Kind Words and Touch). But on Saturday--Saturday!!!--I realized it happened without me.

I'm sure there's more things I've forgotten, but I can't remember them. I'm not trying to be funny.

If there was just someone following me around all the time I would never miss anything. I'm not irresponsible, or undependable. I feel strongly in supporting those who have worked hard to put these things together. And then I don't show up and I look like a big dope.

Oh well. I blame it on Young Women. Being around all the teenagers must be sucking out my brain cells. But at least I'm having fun.

Here's to a better, more responsible week.

What have you forgotten to do lately?

Forget about Blue Monday. It's Tuesday that's blue.

2011-01-29T00:22:00.002-05:00

Take a look at this quote from one of my Facebook friends.

"There are days that one would enjoy taking a drive... out to the mountains, perhaps, to take in the splendour and beauty of what nature has to offer. To perhaps find ones way to the highest peak to gaze at the creation of this earth from an unmatched vantage...

and jump..."

Seriously. The words paint this really beautiful image, and then WHAM! your feet are knocked out from under you.

This is exactly how my Tuesday went.

Everything started off great. My kids had a two hour delay, which is always enjoyable for me. We get in some extra snuggles and our piano practicing and any homework we know about ahead of time so we can play after school. We were on the ball, and the outlook was good.

As soon as I got home from dropping them off, I made the mistake of checking my email.

I think we all know I'm a pretty candid person. I don't believe in hiding my failures, or rather my inability to please others (because really, it's my life and I only have a handful of people I really HAVE to please). I believe God put us here on this earth with other people to learn, and grow, and share our trials and our triumphs. And I do that.

I'm going to do it right now.

Tuesday wasn't a triumph day. Not at all. I got my third rejection letter. And basically, in my opinion, the end of the line for Putting Up Stars. At least for now.

I cried for a few minutes, utterly frustrated at the turn this has all taken, or rather hasn't taken at all. Then I picked up the phone and called the people I would want to talk this over with--my husband, and my local writer friend--and guess what? Of course, neither of them answered the phone. They were busy with their own everyday stuff, and it made me feel so insignificant in a moment where I needed to feel important and loved. It's not their fault, but it still sucked rotten eggs.

But in a way it was good, because there was only one person left.

So I got on my knees, and I let Him know that I was having some doubts. Most people don't know this but I never intended to write for the LDS market. I was just going to write for me, and give the national thing a try. But when I started writing my first book (okay, really my second. But the first one was so pathetic I doesn't even make the final tally) I kept feeling over and over that I needed to write this book for the LDS market. So I changed things around, and turned it into an LDS book. It's completely backwards, I know. But I don't care. It's what I want to do, and the thing I feel like I'm supposed to do. I will never get rich writing, and truly I couldn't care less. If I could get published in the LDS market and know that I've changed the lives of the girls who read my stuff, that would be more than enough for me.

More than enough.

So, like I said, I was feeling very frustrated, and slightly crushed. But mostly numb. This was the third rejection after all. You only have to get dumped once before you learn how to suppress the hurt.

Do I sound pathetic enough yet? Don't feel sorry for me though because I'm pretty much over it already. Remember my tough skin?

Just keep reading.

So, I speak my peace and let Him know I'm unhappy and lacking faith in his Omnipresent, Omnipotent, Omniscient abilities, and then I pop up off my knees and jump in my van to go pick my kids up from school.

O.S. pretty much hates fifth grade. It's boring. The teachers are strict, and the work is hard. He's ready to be done, and he lets me know it everyday when he gets in the car. And every day I smile and tell him to recount at least one positive thing that happened. I usually get some answer like, there were chicken nuggets for lunch, or my teacher passed gas, and it made everyone laugh.

But that day? Tuesday? I let him complain.

All three kids climb in, along with one of O.D.'s friends who we take to violin class with O.D. And remember that Toddler is in the car too, sitting right behind me.

O.S. climbs into the front passenger seat next to me (the airbag turns off and I allow him to sit up front to minimize the wrestling between him and Y.S.) and says (and I quote exactly), "I don't know how this day could get any worse."

I look over at him and say, "I have to agree. Today sucks. I don't know how it could get any worse either."

His head snaps around at me and his eyes get wide, and then he asks. And I tell him. But in the back of my mind I feel guilty for commisserating because I do know how it could get worse. Someone could die. And I keep thinking that over and over again. But I can't take my words back because they've floated off into space now, never to be recalled.

Right then Husband finally calls and I tell him. He's flabbergasted at these LDS Publishers, and says a few choice words (you know, like freaking and heck) which of course allows me to feel vindicated and loved, which is all I really needed.

You need to pay attention here.

So I'm on the phone, my eyes tearing up again, when out of nowhere I see a large rock-like object fall off the flat bed truck in front of us, bounce once off the pavement and come flying towards us. I slammed on my brakes and thought, "Great! We're going to have a nice big crack in our windshield. Just another way to top the day."

Can you believe I could think all that in less than a second? The human mind is quick.

I braced myself for the impact, but it didn't just crack our windshield, it busted straight through and into the car. Like a baseball sized bullet, it shot right past me. Glass sprayed us in the face. In our teeth, our hair, down our shirts. Even down my pant legs. I don't even know how that's possible.

Husband hears the crash and panics, "What was that?" I hear him call. So I told him.

Remember how he used to be a firefighter? He's an expert on windshields because when he would come up on car wrecks a lot of times they'd have to bust the windshield to get the victims out. Did you know that windshields are made of special glass that crinkles insteads of shattering. You have to have a special tool to crack glass.

Apparently no one told this rock.

He's level headed and tells me that a rock shouldn't have been able to shatter the glass and to pull over and make sure everyone is okay. It hadn't even occurred to me that someone might be hurt because I honestly thought the thing had landed somewhere in the vicinity of my feet.

I pull over, and all six of us are fine. Wide-eyed, but fine.

The truck is long gone, and I look over at O.S. and say, "Don't ever ask how the day could get worse ever again. Because we just found out." I already know I will never say those words again.

Then we drive home.

When we pull in the driveway I ask the kids where the rock is, and the friend says he's pretty sure it wasn't a rock. It was metal. I have no idea how an eight year old deduced this, but he was right. We found it in the very back of the van. A rusty old tow hitch with jagged pointy edges. And I sucked in air. What if that had hit one of them in the head?

And then I felt like crud. Like I'd taunted God. Or jinxed us somehow, even though I don't believe in that sort of thing.

There was a lesson in all of that just for me. I knew it then. I know it now. God didn't send that thing crashing through my windshield because he was ticked at my wavering faith. Nope. I don't think He works that way even if that is what I deserved. I think He was trying to remind me of that scripture. The one about His eye being on the sparrow. His eye is on everything and everyone, every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day. He is in control. The lesson wasn't in that metal tow hitch smashing the windshield. The lesson was that even though there were six people in my van, not one of us was hurt. Not a drop of blood, not a scratch. No one even cried.

Just think about it for a second.

My cousin left a quote for me on our family website. It sums all of this up perfectly.

"The Lord just commands us to push, we don't actually have to move the mountain. That's His job."

I know He's real. How else could getting rejected and having a metal torpedo shoot into my car leave me feeling more loved than ever before?

___________________________________________________________________________________

To be fair to this publisher, it was the most positive, clear cut rejection letter I've ever gotten. They think I'm a great writer and would REALLY like to see anything else that I have written.

That's gotta be good for something, right?

A few of my favorite things.

2011-01-25T11:22:00.006-05:00

I feel bad I was so depressing yesterday, so I decided to cheer things up around here.

I was working out this morning and realized that I've been using the same work out video for almost twelve years. Sure, I've swayed my allegiance at times, but I always come back to this.

I'm not really sure why I love it so much, but I do. There's a twelve minute workout, a sixteen, and a forty five. It's not super intense, but it works. I lost all my baby weight with this. If I wanted to rev things up I would do the forty five minute workout in the morning, and the twenty minute right before bed. I've even converted another friend.

As I was working out I decided to share a couple of other things with you that I really love.

This is one of my favorite things and has been since I discovered them a few years ago.

Who's Your Hero, by David Bowman. This is a series of picture books about the hero's of the Book of Mormon. My kids love these, and I love them. We read them over, and over, and over, and over (you get the point) and we never get tired of them. We are like the picture perfect Mormon family when we crack one of these open. The wiggling, giggling and fidgeting stops. Eyes widen, jaws drop and drool trickles out. Someone points out something funny, we all have a laugh and then we get back to the story.

I love David Bowman. I've never met him, but I've been meaning to write him a thank you note for a while now. I am going to do it today. I noticed on his last book (which is not part of the series) The Great Plan of Happiness, that he changed publishers. I don't know if the old publisher thought his books weren't selling enough, but that would be my guess. And it makes me feel awful. This writer/illustrator has done something truly great here and I would feel terrible if I didn't tell everyone I know about how great these books are. The characters are drawn caricature style. Each page has great detail, and fun things that will make you laugh. Not only that but he really brings the gospel to a level that children can understand. I especially love his new book because there's even a little romance.

I have to stop talking about him now because I could write a whole post about David Bowman.

Another lds author that I love.

Gerald Lund.

Yeah, yeah. I know everybody's read The Work and the Glory. I've read them too, and I like them very much. But you want to know what I love?

The Kingdom and the Crown Series.

If you haven't read these, or you've been putting them off, you need to stop what you're doing, locate the first book--Fishers of Men--and dig in. The great thing about these is that they're not Mormon specific. They are for anyone who believes in Jesus Christ. This man is so brilliant in his knowledge and his ability to weave a story. He takes a fictional group of people, inserts them into the era of Christ's ministry and shows us upfront what Christ's parables meant, and who the Pharisees and Sadducees truly were, and why Peter denied Christ, and so much more. Basically, he takes the things we aren't sure about and shows us how to be sure. There's action, romance, tragedy. And he totally makes it work.

They are kind of expensive, but you'll feel like you have at least a Master's degree worth of education about Christ's ministry by the time you're done, and it won't hurt a bit. You'll love every second of it.

Since I'm listing some of my favorite things, I wanted to remind everyone that Secretariat comes out today.

As soon as I close this post, I will be heading to my local Wal-mart to pick up a copy. I can't wait to share it with my daughter who fell asleep in the theater. (Her daddy tried to take her to a nine thirty showing. Didn't work so well.)

Last thing.

My friend Melanie J. has a book coming out with Covenant in March. She writes Chicklit, which means you'll laugh a lot, you'll sigh, you'll fall in love with Matt Gibson (okay maybe not love, if you're already married, but deep smit), you'll want to go shopping, and you'll suddenly get a yearning desire to surf. At least that's what happened to me. It's the kind of book you read when you just want something light, witty and you don't want to cry. There's no crying in her books.

Here's her cover, but her book is not up for pre-order yet. Trust me, I'll remind y'all later.

Doesn't it look fun? I have no idea who did the cover but it does a great job of giving you a feel of the inside of the book.

Now you have something to look forward too. And ah, my text is suddenly the same script Melanie uses at her very witty blog.

Oh well, I'm leaving it.
Everything on this list can be purchased at Amazon.com, except for The List, which I expect will be available there closer to its release date.

And that's it. Enjoy!

Better

2011-01-24T10:16:00.004-05:00

I'm getting ready to sling some self-righteous indignation. I know it, and I'm doing it anyway. It's my blog. So just try and stop me.

I'm stepping up today. To the plate and on my soapbox.

Don't expect something inspiring. Just sit back and read.

Because I need to rant a little.

People are inherently selfish creatures. This, of course, is a sweeping generalization, but I think most people would agree.

Here's my big question: why, when people get screwed up by their parents, do they turn around and make the same mistakes and use the whole martyr excuse? I'm not talking about the little personality traits we pick up from our parents, or are embedded in our DNA. I'm talking about, for example, "My dad used to beat me, and now I beat my own kids. It's just who I am. I don't know how to be any different."

I've actually heard people say, "I scream at my kids. My parents did it, and I'm pretty much the same." Even when they know it's wrong. Huh?

Isn't that the point of life? To become better than you are. To rise above your circumstances and be different? To be the best you you can possibly be?

I am the Young Women's president in our ward now. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that, oh say, ten times at least already. When I was dropped into this calling I got the feeling, though nobody said it outright, that I was going to be dealing with a rough group of girls.

Well, I've been in for a few months now, and I've learned one thing. I don't have a rough group of girls, I have a fantastic group of girls. But some of them come from rough situations. And this is where I struggle. Love those girls? No problem. But ask me to be patient with the adults who raise them? Not quite so easy.

I have a lot of patience with kids. As a matter of fact, when I get upset with my own children, I can always see where I could've handled things better. And I'm always reminding myself, they're just kids. And I'm taking the good from my parent's and leaving the bad in the dust, just as they did.

I expect. I do. I expect adults to be better. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying we shouldn't hold kids accountable. We definitely should.

But how can we expect something from our own kids/youth that we slack on ourselves?

How can we swear and tell them not to? Dress modestly and not do it ourselves? Oh, and don't you dare text in church, but it's okay if I do. It was an emergency! I had to tell Rhonda (two rows back) how boring this speaker is.

Teenagers/kids aren't stupid. They watch. They see. And then they do.

Let's make sure what they're seeing from us is something better. Something for them to step up to. Someone to be like.

We only get one life. I don't know about you, but I don't want to stand at the judgment bar before God and know that my example or actions deterred someone else from receiving eternal life. That's what we need to think about folks. Not today. Not this hour, or this minute. We need to think about forever. Put away our bikinis (not mine! I would be caught dead), our sweater dresses that are too short, but then we justify them because we have on leggings (hey, doesn't that mean you're wearing pants to church?) our jack mormon/baptist/catholic style of living, or slang language, and every other thing that might hold us back.

And just be better.

I'm stepping down now, and you may get back to your regularly scheduled life.

The end.

Everything I ever needed to know, I learned at Disneyworld (or somewhere in the near vicinity).

2011-01-20T14:56:00.003-05:00

Disneyworld really is the happiest place on earth, it's also the most educational. I learned so much on my trip last weekend that I must enlighten you with my newfound knowledge.

Let's jump right in.

1. All those marriage counselors who tell you to take time out from the kids and continue to date your spouse are on to something.

--Our twelve hour drive down to Florida was so quiet, not because we left the kids at home (though I'm sure that had something to do with it) but because I was determined to talk about something other than the kids. Toddler was potty training herself while we were gone, and we were getting hourly updates from O.S and O.D. It was so hard not to go on and one about it, but I was determined to talk about something other than pee and poop. I could hardly think of a thing. This vacation was kind of a wake-up call for me. I love my kids so much, but one day they're going to grow up, and Husband will be the only person I have left. He needs to be my top priority. I always thought he was, but I think I was delirious.

What does this mean?

Board games, and date nights, here we come.

2. Just because you're famous doesn't make you special.

--When I realized we were going to be driving through Savannah, Georgia, I just knew we needed to go eat at The Lady and Sons restaurant. Y'all don't know what that is? Well, you need to subscribe to the Food Network. It's Paula Deen's restaurant, of course. So as we followed the little car on the Garmin, I kept picturing how it would go. We'd walk in, smell and hear the fried chicken popping off the oil. As we were filling our plates up with green beans smothered in bacon grease and onions, Paula would walk up and ask us where we were from. She'd of course fall in love with my magnetic personality and chat with us for an hour as we stuffed ourselves full of her home-cooking. It was going to be perfect.

Of course that's not how it went. When we pulled up, there were construction guys standing outside the door, with their bellies hanging out. This is never a good sign. There was a note on the door that said, "Hi, y'all! Sorry, but we're remodeling the restaurant. Be sure to check out my brother's restaurant, 'Uncle Bubba's Oyster House' seven miles from here."

I was slightly disappointed, but let's face it my delusions had only played out in my own mind. I hadn't been stupid enough to share them with my husband. So we plugged Bubba's address into the Garmin and we were off.

Bubba's was alright, but definitely not worth the seven mile trip. I mean, we paid sixteen bucks for a bowl of grits with five microscopic shrimp mixed in. And Bubba needs to hire an interior decorator. He couldn't seem to decide if his restaurant was a diner, a fish house, or a rock and roll bar. And, this is probably my biggest beef, he needs to stop riding on his sister's coattail to fame and find his own wagon. Her face was plastered all over the place. I felt like I spent the night at a motel that said it was the Hilton only when I walked in, it looked more like Motel 6. Complete rip-off.

Next.

3. There is such a thing as survivor's guilt, even if nobody died.

--How else can I explain that I actually cried when I saw how ginormous our Villa was. Yes, I called it a Villa, because hotel room just isn't the correct term. And when I say cry, I don't mean the happy kind. I felt terrible. We'd debated whether to take our kids with us, and decided that we needed some alone time, which we did. But there is absolutely no reason why we needed five beds. None whatsoever. I exaggerate not when I tell you that this place was bigger than our house, and much nicer. I wanted to get in the car and drive back up to get my kids. I felt bad for Husband. I think he thought I was sinking down into a depression. All I could mumble for the first five hours was, we should have brought the kids, we should have brought the kids.

Oh well.

4. All roller coasters should have Aerosmith playing in the background.

--Seriously, I don't think a regular roller coaster will ever do it for me again. It's not that Rockin' roller coaster was the coolest coaster ever. It wasn't. It's too short for starters--like about sixty seconds long. But it was pretty kick butt because how can you not feel like a movie star with Aerosmith blasting through your ears as you swurve, curve, flip, and corkscrew your way through the imaginary rush hour traffic.

5. When someone older, wiser and more experienced tells you not to do something, don't think you're smarter than they are.

--Tres and his wife are avid Disney lovers. I mean avid. They go to the World at least once a year. It is their vacation destination of choice this year and every year. They set us up on a plan before we left and promised that if we stuck to their plan that we would rejoice at the end of the day when we'd hit all three parks--Hollywood Studios, Epcot, and Magic Kindgom all in one day. They were absolutely right. They could probably get rich if they wrote up plans for people who were too lazy minded to do it themselves.

Anyway, they told us where to eat, what to ride, when to get fast passes. Seriously, they knew everything! And they gave us one warning. Do. Not. Ride. Mission. Space. Orange. Mission Space Green is fine, but Orange? Stay away!

Mission Space is a ride at Epcot that simulates what it would be like to fly in the space shuttle to Mars. So we rode the green side. It was pretty fun. So then my thrill seeking Husband (and yes, I feel fully justified labeling him that way. He used to be a professional firefighter, and now he's a large animal vet. I tried to talk him into working on cats and dogs because they're fairly safe. But no, he wanted to risk having his skull smashed in by half crazed horses and cows who don't like his hand up their you-know-whats each and every day for the rest of his working life) talks me into riding Mission Space Orange. I called my brother to tell him we were doing it, and he sounded leery and told me he wouldn't. But Husband knows best, right? WRONG! Seriously, I didn't know it at the time, but to simulate the G-Force feeling of lift off, you are spun around as fast as humanly possible. You are warned before the ride starts not to close your eyes, or look left or right as it could cause disorientation. Look right into the screen and everything will be just fine, I repeated over and over.

Everything was not fine!

I truly thought I might die before we even made if off the launch pad. (They have a couple of people every year who walk off this ride and keel over dead.) I'm not kidding. I was terrified. I couldn't breathe, my ears were filling up but wouldn't pop, and my brain kept telling me to close my eyes to make it all go away. It's like in Percy Jackson when they're trying with all their might not to look at Medusa's eyes, but it's just so hard. That's how I felt. But I was stalwart and made it through. I will admit by the time we landed on Mars, I was contemplating grabbing the barfbag to my left. Yes, they keep them on the ride at all times, and for good reason. I don't think I've felt that nasty since I was in labor with our last baby for eleven hours with no epidural. And people think this is fun?

When we got off Husband was laughing. "That wasn't too bad," he said. I just glared at him. I wanted to pop him one. Never again!

Don't ride it, people!!!!

There. You've been warned by someone more experienced. Take from it what you will, but don't say I didn't tell you so.

6. I'm not photogenic.

--Actually, I already knew this. But every time we got off a ride we had to go check out the kiosk where we could once again relive the look on our faces as we dropped to our near-deaths. Husband looked great every time. All rugged and tough. And I looked hideous. Double chin all squashed to my neck, one eye open, the other closed, my hair crazy and scary. What can I say? I married him for his genes. That's why our kids are so cute. It has nothing to do with me.

Okay, here's the most important thing I learned on my trip to Disneyworld.

7. That decision I made twelve and a half years ago to marry this curly haired boy with the great smile for time and for all eternity was the right decision. (Yes, I know that was a terrible run-on sentence. Get over it.)I've never doubted that, but it's nice to have a reminder. No matter where I am, at Uncle Bubba's Oyster house, sharing the saddest, most overpriced bowl of Shrimp and Grits, or fearing for my life on Mission Space Orange, or moaning and rolling our eyes together at O'hana's as we chew on steak and shrimp and bread pudding with banana foster's sauce, or anywhere else, he is the person I want to be with. He takes care of me, and loves me, and makes me feel safe.

The whole reason we went to Florida was for a Veterinary conference. So Husband sat in these boring meetings while I went shopping, or slept or wrote, or whatever. At one point, they were handing out ice cream during break. He snagged one for me and left it in the freezer so it would be waiting when I got back to the villa. It was just a small gesture, but it made me so happy. Sometimes we forget that our spouse is the person we picked and all the reasons why. I'm telling you all, you need to get away every now and then just so you can remember.

I love him so, and I may never have remembered why if it weren't for our trip.

So I personally want to thank Walt Disney for his vision. Disneyworld truly is Magical.

My love affair.

2011-01-12T06:33:00.000-05:00

Truth and I have a love affair. I'm not sure when it started exactly. Probably not during my teenage years. Sure I liked truth then, but I listened to the lies too.

I'm guessing sometime in college.

But it has grown into a full blown explosion in the last few years.

That's why I love the mutual theme this year.

I won't quote it all, just the part that pertains to my topic here. "We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things."

So there you have it. I'm a truth seeker.

I've written two books both of which, I feel, reveal truth. Now, in the first book the male lead is hopelessly devoted (just like Sandy) to his girl. He would lay his coat over a mud puddle for her, he would save her from a raging inferno even if it meant his own skin melted off and he died, he would wait months for her to return after a mysterious leave of absense never knowning why she'd left him hanging with one heck of a broken heart. (That part actually happens, but not the skin burning off because what kind of story would that be!?)

But that's not realistic! you're thinking at me right now.

We'll come back to that.

In my second book the male lead is awesome too. But he has expectations from his girl. He expects her to love him above all else, to help him toe the line, and most importantly he expects her not to kick him when he's down. And when she does (kick him, that is) he walks away.

Now that's realistic. Yes, I know. That's why I wrote it.

So I have this very, very good friend. She's one of my readers. She LOVED the first book. The one with the guy who's hopelessly devoted.

When I had her read my second book, she was ticked at me.

And I quote," Ethan needs to be more like Josh (the guy from the first book), or Edward."

Do I need to expound? I mean, really? Yes, she was referring to that Edward.

I blame it on the fact that she was pregnant at the time, which we all know can cause slight delusions.

"I can't do that," I told her. "Because I can't lie to all the thousands of LDS girls who are going to read these books. Sure Josh was pretty close to perfect, but that's what Emily needed." See, Emily is my main girl in the first book and she went through some really hard stuff. And there are a few guys out there roaming this earth that are hopelessly devoted. Like maybe five.

But the rest of us ended up with guys that are real like Ethan.

"I have to tell the truth to these girls."

Now, don't worry. There's nothing wrong with Ethan y'all. As a matter of fact if I were a teenage girl and Josh and Ethan were real, I'd pick Ethan. Hands down. I think. No, I would. He's cute, a little cocky, and slightly flawed. I'm like Anne in that way--I want a guy that could be bad, but wouldn't.

Switching gears here.

Anyone who knows me knows at least two things: 1. I do NOT love fantasy. I wish I did, but it's like doing Calculus. It takes too much work. It's just not the way my brain works. And 2. I DO love movies. Probably more than books. I'm lazy like that, but mostly I think it's because my husband doesn't like for me to idle all my hours away reading because then the house goes to shambles and the kids are swinging off the ceiling fans. Movies are relatively quick and painless and the kids can watch them with me. See the fans are safe. I'm not saying I don't read, I'm just saying I watch a lot more movies than I read books.

So, in the past year I've sat in the theatre three different times and cried. And no it wasn't when Bella chose Edward over Jacob. Because as fun as that was--it's totally fake. As in not real. As in untruthful.

Toy Story 3, Secretariat, and then just yesterday...Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

Screech.

I know. I know. That's a fantasy movie.

And I was wiping my dripping cheeks, surrounded by my kids and niece and nephew. I loved it. Every single second of it. My favorite was the last five minutes. Truth was spewn all over the place and my jaw practically dropped open. Yes, I know all the symbolism of the books, and that C.S. Lewis was a great Christian.

I just couldn't believe Hollywood would sell me truth three times in one year.

My favorite quote is when Lucy and Edmund are leaving Narnia for the last time, and they know they can not return.

They ask Aslan if they will see him again. He tells them that he exists in their world and they ask why they didn't know him there (or something to that affect.)

"Because there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."

Really, you'd have to be half blind not to see that truth in that.

You have to see it, people!!!!

People in our church are always complaining that there's not enough good stuff out there, that it's so hard to find anything clean for our youth to enjoy. But it's there. We have to seek for it just like Paul admonished.

Because the crazy cool thing is truth is truth no matter where you find it. And when you find it, it makes your chest swell, and your eyes water, and this awesome joy fills you up.

On a side note: I'm leaving in thirty five minutes to go to Florida. Husband has a conference and I'm tagging along kid-free. And we're going to Disneyworld tomorrow. And eating at O'hana's. And going to the beach.

You have my permission to be jealous.

Pass through my lips

2011-01-08T10:01:00.002-05:00

Once when I was in college I went on some medication which sent me into a terrible mental tailspin. I've heard other people praise this drug, but I personally think it's of the devil. Okay, not really. But be careful before you put your kids on Accutane. You may want a prescription for Prozac to go with it. It messes with the chemicals in your brain, which apparently is a very effective way of getting rid of acne. And also a great way to shoot you down into the deepest darkest depression you've ever had.

My point is, I had to go see a counselor. My mom was super worried about it all, and could only watch from afar. As in two thousand miles afar. So, being the good mom that she is, she hopped on a plane and came to make sure that when I told her I was okay, I wasn't lying. And I thought I was doing okay. It had been a week or so since the almost nervous breakdown, and I was feeling more normal. But when she stepped off that plane, she pulled me into her arms and I broke down in sobs. I was so glad she came.

She went with me to my next counselor appointment. I was curled up next to her, holding onto her arm, as the counselor counseled from across the desk. She left the room to go do something and while she was gone, the counselor said, "You know you act like a kid when she's around?"

I nodded and said, "Yeah, I think I'm about sixteen again." And then I giggled. I was 22 at the time.

He smiled. "I just wanted to make sure you were aware of that."

I nodded.

And that's my point. Why is it so hard to act your age when your parents are around? It seems like a plague. Is it because they treat you like a child, or because subconsciously you revert to some point in childhood because of the way they just spoke to you? And oddly it's comforting and infuriating depending on when it happens.

I've had so many moments like this in the past week. I have many traits from my parents, both good and bad. (This isn't a slam on my parents, who are wonderful people. It's simply truth. I see traits in both of them that they inherited from their own parents.) I've been trying to overcome the bad.

My kids were bickering like crazy earlier on in the week and it was so frustrating to be around them. And I kept thinking, where do they learn this stuff? And then came the moment of truth.

Husband said something irritating Sunday afternoon. He does that often, just to get my goat, and most of the time I can handle it. But that day, I snapped. Mentally and vocally. "Ding, ding, ding," I cried out. Which is code for 'get your rear end in the corner 'cause we're wrestling this out!' Which he did. Of course he pinned me in two seconds, because for some maddening reason God thought it was important to make men unequal, as in men are strong and women not so much. Some people probably think this is romantic. 'My big strong man will save me.' Not me. Just once I'd like to pin HIM. Maybe in the next life.

Then Husband, who was being the more mature spouse that day, said, "I don't want to fight with you."

I shook my finger at him and said, "You're the one who started it." Here it comes. Can you feel it? I looked down to see Toddler shaking her finger at Daddy as she yelled something in toddler speak.

Could it have been any clearer?

I think not.

My kids bicker because I let the bickering happen. I've taught them how. And they are so proficient.

So all week I worked and worked to get things right in the house again. And then today it all fell apart. My mom was trying to make a suggestion that sent me into a mini-tantrum. I thought she could have handled herself differently which is funny because I could handled myself differently too.

I was sixteen all over again.

I'm sorry, Mom. I love you and we'll work this out.

Thank goodness tomorrow is Sunday, and this is a New Year. I only had one resolution up this point, but I just added a few more to my list. So as I lift that sacrament cup to my lips I will not do it in vain. Tomorrow it's going to count for something.

I will not waste this week or this year.

Lessons learned

2011-01-03T10:37:00.006-05:00

It's been a while, huh? When I take a vacation, I take a vacation. The only thing I keep up on is the laundry and only because I have no other choice. We all need clean underwear.

Now that I've gone hoarse playing Rock Band with the youth on New Year's Eve, and again New Year's day with my brother's family, I can only type. Which makes it a good time to blog.

The trip to Wyoming was right out of a Norman Rockwell picture. Let me paint it for you--there we all are in a huge log house, snowed in, mountains on every side, Christmas music playing on the Bose, the Salt River flowing lazily and ice cold a hundred yards away, every one with a cup of hot chocolate in their hands as their snow clothes/boots dry by the fire.

Could not have been better. Seriously.

And when Christmas morning dawned bright, snowy, and freezing cold, there wasn't a single complaint about the gifts received. Not by my children or anyone else's. I call that success.

I learned some things this Christmas:

--First of all, never rent a car from the company that rhymes with Fludget. At least not at the SLC airport. Their lack of customer service skills might be enough to ruin your entire vacation before it even gets going.

--Next, all this hype about the full body scanners is overrated. We never even walked through one.

Now on to the important stuff:

--My kids aren't half bad snowboarders. They'd never been before, and by the end of the day O.S. was begging for a board for his birthday.

--No matter how many times you take him, O.S. is terrified of snowmobiling.(But he makes a cute wise man.)

--After following Husband around, I'm terrified of snowmobiling. It's a miracle no one died.

--Husband makes a great donkey.

--Y.S. may not remember his cousins from last time, but they're best friends anyway.
(Another cutie.)

--Toddler can charm anyone. It's a gift. After two seconds she had the household wrapped around that pinky.

--O.D. likes her solitude. So many times when the house was full of playmates, she was found in the bedroom coloring by herself. I love that about her.

--The M&M game, and the Chocolate game are gut busting. I've never laughed so hard as when my sister in law broke out in her old lady German accent, dawning a scarf, hat, and gloves, trying to cut through a candy bar with a fork. You totally had to be there, and I'm sorry for you that you weren't.

--Toddler doesn't care if it's 8 degrees outside. If she got a new Gymboree swimsuit with a flippy skirt and a frog on the front, she IS going to wear it. Every day, all day.
Even when it's time to be the angel for the Nativity. (If you look close you can see the swimsuit through the angel costume.)

--I can drink exorbitant amounts of hot chocolate and not gain a single ounce. Thank you Mom and Dad for the lovely metabolism. (That insta-hot feature on my in-law's faucet is evil.)

--Wyoming is one of the prettiest states. At least Star Valley, Wyoming is.

--In-N-Out Burger is still the best burger in the world. I'm salivating just thinking about it.

--I'm not sad a drop that we didn't move to Evanston, Wy. My word, I've never seen a harder looking group of people than I did when we stopped at the Wal-Mart there. I lie not when I tell you I could not find one person there who didn't look rough. (If you're from Evanston, I'm truly, truly sorry, but I must speak the truth.) It was verging on scary. And no, I didn't take any pictures. It wouldn't be nice.

-The lights on temple square never fail to bring tears to my eyes. I love that place.

--My cousin E. makes my heart oh so happy. Some things never, ever change.

--There's nothing like coming home and sleeping in your own bed. Nothing.

--I'm very good at taking the pictures, and not so good at being in the pictures.

I hope you all had a Christmas as lovely as mine.

And Happy New Year.

Don't cry for us, Argentina (Or anybody else for that matter)

2010-12-21T06:06:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time, Husband and I had the opportunity to spend Christmas somewhere other than Virginia. We were so excited to do something different, and be wrapped up in other traditions than our own. We were poor back then (hey, that must be a perpetual thing!) and had saved much for our journey.

Christmas morning we woke up to our meager pile of gifts, but we were joyful.

And then the children came out.

I'm not talking about our children. All we had that year was O.S. (This was a very long time ago).

I'm talking about someone else's children. And these children were very, very, very blessed in what they were given. Did I say very?

They each received more than I probably received in three Christmas's when I was a child. I was oohing and aahing over their presents. They were amazing, and wonderful, and expensive.

And these kids whined. There were actual tears that they had not received what they wanted.

And I wanted to smack them.

I told myself right then and there that I would do my level best to make sure my kids never acted that way. I wasn't sure what had happened to these kids, as they had a very good set of parents who most definitely did not act that way themselves. And I wasn't sure how to assure that my kids were thankful for what they received. But I was determined.

We are going to Wyoming for Christmas this year. Yes, I know I shouldn't post that because someone might break into my house and steal all my stuff. Go right ahead. I could use the insurance money. (Just kidding, USAA. I'll keep my sad little treasures. Thank you very much.)

Like I said, we are going out of town for Christmas. So FHE last night was gift opening time.

I didn't tell my kids to, but about a month ago they really got into the spirit of things, and began making their own gifts for eachother. I'd never even told them that they had to get each other anything, because frankly, I can't afford for all four of my kids to exhange a gift with each sibling. And I was too overwhelmed with all that needed to be done to care anyway.

Yesterday, I was gazing over at our pile of gifts and I felt sad. My kids were going to get some fun things, mostly because Grandma always comes to the rescue. But I wished I could give them more, better, expensive stuff.

But last night they taught me a lesson.

First thing, our kids exclaim that they can't believe we have so many gifts under our tree. Than we sit down and sing our opening song, Toddler says that most darling prayer in which she prayed for everyone, including Barbie. And then the gift giving begins.

O.S. walks up and hands me a manila envelope. I already knew what it was. A few weeks ago, he confessed that the present he had tried to make for me was too arduous, and asked what else I would like.

"Write me a story, Buddy."

So he did.

It was about a boy that really wanted a Lego Star Destroyer, which any parent of a boy must know costs one hundred and fifty dollars. The boy's mom gently informs him that he might want to dream smaller.

On Christmas morning he opens his one present from his parents. It's a Christmas Wreath. Then he opens his one present from Santa. It's a sleigh bell. He tells his parents thank you, hugs them, hangs the bell on the wreath, and runs out to go sledding with his friends. It was the best Christmas he ever had because he got to be with the people he loved.

This story was a complete omen for our own little Christmas.

O.S. and Y.S. both got some Mega Blocks they'd been wanting months ago. You should have seen the delight on their faces. They couldn't have been more thrilled.

Daughter opened the new Tangled doll and exclaimed, "Oh, thank you, Mom. This is exactly what I wanted!"

Toddler loved the baby doll car seat and carried it around all night, when she wasn't lying on the fluffy new sleeping bag Grandma had given her.

Husband got a puzzle, and a Dave Ramsey book, and some passes to the new aquatic center in town. (He's getting a helmet later. But he has to pick that out for himself. I wouldn't dare try.)

I got some fun stuff. Chocolate fudge pop tarts, which I will moan and roll my eyes over, as I inhale them straight from the toaster, slathered in butter. A new spatula, some measuring spoons and some earrings. (Hubby says I can buy a nice souvenir in Wyoming).

The family got other things too, like a new game for the Wii, a couple of remotes, and a new movie.

But the thing that I loved the most was that every time a homemade gift was opened they were so excited to see what the person had made for them. There were hugs all around. And laughter. So much laughter. I thought the boys would drop everything when they saw the Wii stuff, but an hour later they were still at the kitchen table working together to put their Mega Blocks together, as Daughter played her new American Girl phonograph in the background. (Courtesy again of Grandma).

Never once did someone cry that they didn't get what they wanted. There were no looks of disappointment, or tears of frustration. There was only happiness, and thankfulness, and joy.

What better gift could I receive than these children who already understand what Christmas is really about?

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Tithing settlement

2010-12-13T08:02:00.003-05:00

I try to be a good mom. I really do. I mean, I cook dinner most nights. I make them cookies after school at least twice a week. The house is clean most of the time.

But to hear my kids tell it you would think I was a soap opera watching, bon-bon eating, mu-mu wearing bum.

Last night we had tithing settlement with the bishop. Mind you, this man must think somewhat highly of me since he just called me to be Young Women's president. And I would like his opinion of me to remain as is.

Not happening.

First thing when we get in there, I realize Toddler girl has no shoes on. That wouldn't be too terrible if we lived in Southern California, or Hawaii. But we live in the mountains. And it was snowing outside.

Gosh, what a terrible mom I am.

Anyway, so we sit down and he starts asking us all of we're full tithe payers. Schew. We totally are. I'm thinking we were looking pretty good too since each of our kids went to Grandma's house for a few weeks this summer, and earned some pretty pennies, and then they each paid tithing on those pretty pennies.

(That Grandma pays a heck of a lot better than she did when I was a kid. I'm just sayin'...)

It was going very well. Until he handed out the tithing statements.

On the statements are listed all of your personal information like: full given name, address, baptism date, confirmation date, etc.

Oldest Daughter holds hers up and says to her dad, "What does that word mean?" with an angelic little face that was really saying, "I've heard this word. I know it's not good. And I know this is not the appropriate place to discuss my question, but I'm going to ask it anyway even if it leaves you squirming."

The word? Sex. As in--are you male or female.

The Bishop raised an eyebrow, but gave a smile.

Husband handled it very well, and soon we were moving on.

Then the Bishop asks each of us what blessings we derive from paying tithing. My kids gave fabulous answers--a house, our family, food to eat.

We were redeeming ourself for the s word, right?

I'm last, and I have a great answer. "I get to be a stay at home mom."

Oldest Son looks at me with his face all skewed, like why would that be a blessing, and says, "You don't like being a stay at home mom. You always want to leave."

My mouth dropped open, because seriously, where did he get that idea? I LOOOVVVVVEEEEE to be at home. Then he went on and on about all the times I try to leave. They weren't even true, but it must appear that way to him.

I stammered and tried to correct him, but he kept disputing the fact, and the more I defended myself the worse I looked.

The Bishop kept a straight face but he was probably questioning his own judgment, and maybe even the Lord's.

Husband was laughing at me.

I guess it's payback for the Chinese farter.

What goes around comes around, right?

Applause, please.

2010-12-10T13:38:00.001-05:00

Oldest Daughter's violin recital was last night, and I didn't get to go.

Our toddler got sick with a nasty stomach bug and there was no way we could take her. So I volunteered to stay home.

I was lamenting over how it sucks to be a mom sometimes as I watched Barbie in A Mermaid's Tale for the fifth time that day.

And then the rest of them got home. And now I'm not lamenting at all.

I said, "How'd it go?"

Oldest Daughter chimes, "Great!!"

Then Husband shoots me the dirtiest look ever and says, "Terrible." As if I am somehow responsible. "We sat next to some Chinese dude who farted the entire time."

You have to understand, I think my husband is a little OCD. He hates poop, cleaning toilets, stinky gas, etc. Of course, I've watched him shove his arm up inside a horse's behind, but it's different. According to him.

Then Oldest Son says, "Yeah. Dad thought it was me. At intermission he told me to knock it off, because I smelled terrible. But I told him it wasn't me. And then we see the guy next to us look all sheepish." (He didn't say sheepish. He just imitated the guy. It was a sheepish look.)

Yes, the guy actually heard them talking about it. And guess what? He still ripped them all the way through the second half of the performance.

That guy has nerve. And stinky gas.

I laughed until my eyes were leaking, and my stomach muscles ached. Who needs sit ups?

I asked them why they didn't move and Husband said it was standing room only. There was nowhere to go.

They were trapped, in stinky gas.

The more I laughed the more I thought my life might be in danger, but I couldn't stop.

I said, "It was really bad, huh?" as I tried not to pee my pants.

Then Husband says, "Smelled like something had crawled up inside him and died. "

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

I wanted to say that maybe that's a custom where he comes from. You know--like in Tonga where you're supposed to belch after a good meal. The louder the burp the more of a compliment. Maybe this is the way they applaud in China. But I couldn't say it because I couldn't speak. I could hardly breathe.

I know. I'm terrible, and I shouldn't have shared that with you. But, I just had to.

Tonight I'm going to pop some corn, kick back and watch that recital on my t.v. And as I do, I'm going to inhale deep.

I am Mormon, hear me whisper

2010-12-07T08:47:00.006-05:00

It's inbedded in my brain and has been my whole life. Get your food storage. What does that mean? Well, it means that as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I won't be a burden to anyone if something happens and there is a food shortage in this country. It means that I'll be someone to turn to, not turn away.

So I realized the other day that my flour and sugar storage was running low, and I was appalled at myself. Husband says that my idea of food storage is a year supply of ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. Sadly, he's not far off. If I run out of green beans I'm not ruffled. But if there aren't any chocolate chips in this house, it's very upsetting. Anyway. I realized I was low on the important stuff, so I headed out to Walmart. I loaded up my cart with a twenty five pound bag of sugar and another of flour. Then I dumped in some of those huge bags of chocolate chips, some brown sugar and some powdered sugar. That made up the majority of my shopping list. (This isn't a years supply in my house. It's just all I felt I could afford at the time. But I will be going back very soon.)

And I was so happy. Life was going to be alright again.

The cashier lady began ringing me up. I don't know how Walmart workers are where you live, but here in Southwest Virginia they chat with you like they've known you forever, even if this is the first time they've ever seen you. So the lady says, "I just have to know. What are you baking with all of this?"

Her eyes were sparkling. I'm sure she thought I was going to divulge some great Christmas cookie recipe.

I shrugged and said, "I just hate to run out. That's all."

She gave me the oddest look, and I was reminded that not everyone in this world gets the whole food storage thing. Many people have cupboards only stocked for the week. Some people run to the store on a daily basis, and are always running out of this, that and the other.

I could have expounded that I was LDS but I was pretty sure her weird stare might just turn into crossed eyes. So I paid and left.

Smack, smack, smack. I should have done better.

Ever since I've started this blog I've wondered--is this a good way to spend my time? Am I distracting folks from other things they could be doing that are so much more important than this little piece of space out there in cyberworld. But Sunday our Bishop read a letter from our Prophet. We are encouraged to share our testimony through Facebook, Twitter, and our personal blogs.

Sigh. Big weight off my shoulders.

And then I realized, that's really what I've been doing all this time anyway. Most of my posts are in some way linked to my beliefs and my love of the Savior. But I also realize that some of you probably don't really have a clue what it means to be Mormon.

Let me start with what it isn't.

It doesn't mean that my husband has more than one wife. (Yes, my neighbor I've known all my life saw this on a talk show and asked me if my dad had another family somewhere) I'm his, he's mine, and that's all. It doesn't mean that we have secret horns that come out when we're at church meetings, or that I don't believe in birth control. It does not mean that I believe Joseph Smith was a gold digger. Because he wasn't. And it definitely doesn't mean that I'm a member of a cult.

It means that I serve my callings at church on a volunteer basis, as do all of the members of position, including the Bishop, who is equivalent to a pastor. It means that I pay one tenth of my income to my church, of my own free will, as a tithing, because I am thankful for all my Savior has done for me and I want to help build up his kingdom in every way possible. And I am blessed until there is not room to receive it. It means that once every few months, I take my turn, go down to the church with my family and help clean our building so it can be beautiful and sparkling. It means that I don't drink alcohol, coffee, tea, partake of tobacco or drugs, or any other thing that is addictive or harmful to my body. It means that I believe my body is a temple, a gift from my Heavenly Father, and I do not defile it with tattoos or excessive piercings. I dress modestly, but beautifully. I read my scriptures everyday, including the Bible. It means that I love the same Lord and Savior that you do, with all my heart. I love Him more than anyone on this earth because I owe Him everything. I am grateful for and partake daily of His atonement. I believe in the resurrection. It means that I believe in grace, but also works. I have to earn my spot in heaven. I pray sincerely daily and I feel the whisperings of the Holy Ghost because I do. I attend every Sunday, even if I'm on vacation. I sustain my church leaders and do what they ask because I know they are inspired. I love my Young Women, even though I was just called two weeks ago to be their leader because I feel the love Heavenly Father has for them, and I know they are important to Him. It means I'm not perfect, but I'm trying. My family has been sealed in the temple and that means that we will be a family forever, even after we die. It means that my husband holds the same priesthood as Jesus Christ. Literally. It is the power to act in the name of God. And when I, or one of our children, is sad, hurt, discouraged, or downtrodden, my husband places his hands on our head and with that power blesses us, and we can feel that power working. It means I believe that miracles still happen today, not just in Biblical times. I have seen them and been a part of them. We have a prophet on the earth today and I know he is a prophet because the spirit has testified it to me. I know the Book of Mormon is true scripture--translated by Joseph Smith through much sacrifice and tribulation. I have felt the sweet peace it offers when I partake of the words there. And when he prayed as a fourteen year old boy, I know. I know. He saw God and Jesus Christ.

It means I am not ashamed.

But most of all, being a Mormon means that even though you may not believe what I believe, I still love you with all my heart and respect our differences.

On my sidebar I have posted a link to Mormon. org. Feel free to browse and look around. And if you have any questions I am more than willing, and happy, to answer them.

Book Covers

2010-12-02T13:08:00.001-05:00

So I have this really spectacular friend who did the most spectacular thing. For me. For free. And it took many, many hours of hard work and sacrifice from her, and her sister in law. But mostly from her.

She made some mock-ups for the cover of my book. No this does NOT mean I'm getting published. It has nothing to do with a publishing company and she is a free-lance graphic design artist. She just did this out of the goodness of her heart, because she loves my book. She believes in my book, and she wants to help any way that she can.

I'm sure you're dying to see them, and I'm dying to show them to you. Things you need to know: the model in three of these is my beautiful cousin who is one of my favorite people on this earth. I have talked about her on this blog before. I love that she's the model for Sarah (the main character in my story) because she is beautiful inside and out just like Sarah. She has lived through hard things like my main character and she has risen above them to become better than her circumstances, also like Sarah. Also, she reads all my stuff and seems to be one of the two people most in tune with what it is I'm trying to do, and where my story is going. Maybe it has something to do with sharing similar DNA. I don't know. I just know when I get my edits back from her I feel lifted.

If I get published and if by some crazy chance I get to use one of these, I will be thrilled to the sky. I am posting my comments below each picture so that I don't taint your initial reaction.

I love them all but of course I have my favorites, so I will post from least to most.

Drum roll please...

This is one of the first she finished. The model is not anyone that I know but I loved her sweet face. And C. (my graphic design friend) put in the fireflies which I also love since the story takes place in Virginia.

Next one...

Do I even need to explain what I love about this one? My cousin thinks she looks hideous--and will probably die when she finds out I've posted these--but I think, and C. agrees--that my cousin looks gorgeous. This one leaves me feeling peaceful, and probably gives a good feeling of how my story feels. At least I hope my story makes people feel peace.

And another...

I love this one because it's all my idea, and it tells you exactly what the title means. Throughout the book Sarah changes and grows, becoming less and less self centered and more like the Savior. Her last act is to put hundreds of glow in the dark stars on the ceiling of someone that she has hurt. It's something he's done for her before, and the ultimate way for her to express everything she's feeling. So I love, love, love this one.

The last one is my very favorite though, even if it doesn't explain perfectly what Putting Up Stars means.

Here it is...

Why do I love it? Well. For so many reasons. First of all, Sarah falls in love with this little sister that she thought she didn't want. This baby heals her after a tragedy occurs that makes her feel that she will always have a hole in her heart. Also, see the football lights in the background. Nobody planned this, but when I saw the lights I was so happy. There is football in my story. Football ties them all together in the beginning. It's not so strong later on, but I can see Sarah on that field long after everyone has left her and all she has is her baby sister, her memories and those glittering stars. Also, I love the title in this one. Don't you? It's just looks right.

So there they are, and my hope is that I'll get published and that one of these will be used, or at least that the cover will be taken from these ideas. And if they aren't, these are still mine to treasure.

--------------------------------------------------------
I would love to hear what everyone thinks and which one is your favorite, what your initial reaction was to each cover and why.

Adam's Big Day

2010-11-24T10:27:00.001-05:00

Do you guys remember when I blogged about my nephew who was battling Leukemia? He's doing fantastic. But I wanted to share something with you that my brother posted on our family forum.

It's just another reason why I love this country and those who sacrifice to protect our freedoms.

One thing you need to know before you read--Adam LOVES helicopters. Which I find ironic since the only helicopter he's ever ridden in was the one who lifeflighted him to the hospital the day he was diagnosed. But from his hospital room window he would watch the helicopters come in and out of the hospital with other sick and mangled people.

Get your tissues handy 'cause here we go.

In Dos's words:

Adam's "Pilot for a Day" actually started on Monday. We met the program coordinator (Major. Rob Balzano) and his "host pilot" (1st Lt. Frank Gilliard) for lunch at National Harbor, where they presented Adam with a real USAF flight suit and jacket, complete with a patch with his name on it. They had also worked with the Gaylord hotel to put us up in a suite for the night (free) and with restaurants to feed us lunch and dinner. The hotel was amazing--

http://www.gaylordhotels.com/gaylord-national/

We also got to take Adam swimming for the first time in his life that evening, as he just got clearance from his doctors.

We got up Tuesday morning and met Lt. Gilliard in the lobby at 0830 and then we all drove over to Andrews. As we drove around the base, we passed a large LED sign on the main thoroughfare that read "Andrews AFB welcomes our 'Pilot for a Day' Adam Henshaw and his family and friends." Nice.

We arrived at an office building where they were flying a large sign that said something very similar and we were welcomed by several other pilots from the 89th Airlift Wing, the 459th Air Refueling Wing, and the 113th "Capitol Guardians" Air National Guard wing. They escorted us into a conference room where maybe twenty other people were waiting with breakfast. They kicked off the day with an opening ceremony, where the Commanding Officer, 459th, Col. Mike Allman had Adam (dressed in his flight suit) repeat an oath making him an honorary Air Force pilot and putting him under orders to "ask questions and have as much fun as military regulations permit."

Our first stop on the base tour was the 459th hangar where Adam got to watch the Andrews security team give demonstrations with a bomb-sniffing dog and a German Shepard attack dog. Adam loved the dogs. Immediately after, we got to board a KC-135 Stratotanker.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boeing_KC-135_Stratotanker

The unit had painted Adam's name under the cockpit window--P.F.D Adam Henshaw. Adam got to sit in the cockpit and Russell spent some quality time in the back lying on his stomach at the refueling boom controls. The KC-135 is a modified Boeing 707 that can carry 200,000 pounds of fuel--enough gas to run a family car for 30 years nonstop. Lt. Gilliard, btw, is a KC-135 tanker pilot.

Our next stop was at the 113th hangar. The 113th flies F-16 "Fighting Falcons" and is the unit charged with enforcing the airspace restrictions around Washington DC--they were the ones who were in the air on Sept 12, 2001 with orders to shoot down any planes trying to fly into the city. The 113th had an F-16 with Adam's name stenciled on it and we got to take some pictures next to the planes. We didn't get to sit in cockpit of that one, but our next stop was at the 113th training/office facility where Adam and Russell both got to fly an F-16 simulator, put on a real flight helmet, check out a night vision monocle, and see other kinds of pilot gear. One of the F-16 pilots landed while we were there, so he came in dressed in full pilot's gear and talked with Adam and Russell in the hallway.

The next stop was across the base at the hangar's of the 89th Airlift Wing. The 89th is a unit that flies Air Force One, and smaller aircraft to ferry around senior military officers (3- and 4-star generals, admirals, etc) and high ranking government officials (cabinet secretaries, Congressional leadership, etc). One their Tarmac, they had a special surprise for Adam--a medical airlift helicopter like the one that had flown him to the hospital the day he was diagnosed with leukemia came in and landed right in front of us. Adam ran up and gave the flight nurse a hug when she got out, and he got to spend some quality time in the cockpit of that one. Then, the Maryland State Police landed one of their larger medical helicopters and their pilot had another surprise--he offered to give Adam a ride! So Adam, Russell, and Dad got to fly in the helicopter. Adam was in the co-pilot seat while Dad and Russell were in the back. Then, without warning Dad first, the pilot asked Adam if he wanted to fly the helicopter. Adam, of course, said yes and the pilot took his hands off the stick and let Adam move the helicopter around the sky. The pilot then said, "Dad, that's your son flying." Dad was thinking that it was a good thing this was a medical helicopter, as he was about to have a heart attack.

They landed the helicopter and we all got to eat lunch aboard a Boeing C-40B (a modified, *very* swanky Boeing 737). Then, to get us to our next stop, Adam was asked to be the Captain of the plane while they taxied us across the airfield to the Air Traffic Control Tower. Adam got to make the announcement over the intercom--"This is Adam Henshaw. I will be the pilot on this flight. It might be a bumpy flight. I'll do my best." (Something to that effect). We taxied over, deplaned, and got to climb up to the top of the ATC. While there, we watched some F-16's take off. Once that was finished, our final stop on the tour was the base Fire Department. Adam, Russell, and Mom got to ride around in a real pumper truck, fire the water cannons, and handle other fireman gear. That unit gave Adam a blanked and a real fireman's helmet (used, complete with fire damage).

At that point, we were all wearing out pretty good, but we were almost done. They took us back to the 459th conference space for the closing ceremony. A professional photographer had followed us around all day and he and Major Balzano had put together a slide show of pictures from the tour. Then all of the units that had taken part on the tour and some that hadn't gave Adam presents--unit patches, challenge coins, toys (all airplanes, naturally), t-shirts, stickers. And then the capper--Major Balzano had started a foundation to help out these kids with cancer. Noting that Adam loves helicopters, they presented him with a gift to help his dreams of becoming a pilot come true--a $500 check to help pay for flight lessons. Janna is going to open a bank account in Adam's name to deposit the money so he can use it for that or something else important to him when he's old enough. After that presentation, we had an informal reception. The 89th Airlift flight stewardesses brought in a cake with Adam's name on it and the "Pilot for a Day" logo.

So it was a busy day, and we left with so many presents that we had trouble cramming them all into the trunk. I haven't included everything we did and saw, just the highlights; but Janna and Major Balzano should have some pictures posted soon for everyone to see. It was an amazing day, and was a great reminder why the US has the best military in the world--it's populated by some of the best people the country has to offer. It was fun to feel the "military is a big family" feeling again and to see how willing the military is to adopt people into that family.

-------------------------

When Adam's mom posts photos on her blog, I'll link over so you all can take a look. I know I'm dying to see how much fun they all had.

Today I am Thankful for this great country, and for those men and women who serve so we can be free. And I am thankful for those people who must know how hard it was for Adam and his family to overcome this terrible illness. And thankful that they worked so hard to make the day a good one for them.

This country rocks.

Giving my Thanks

2010-11-22T21:35:00.003-05:00

If you've been wondering where I've been, well, here it is: I was called as Young Woman's President of our ward this past Sunday. I've known for a while it was coming, and my brain has been broken ever since. And since I can't write or blog worth a dime this week, I'm going to list.

Thankfulness

1. I'm thankful for a husband that works very hard, every single day. He has a testimony and can fix anything that's broken. Just about.

2. I'm thankful for my parents who, though I'm grown, continue to help in any way they can. They buoy me up and let me know that I will never be left hanging.

3. I'm thankful for four adorable children who do kind things for each other like: turn a brother's bedroom into Sherwood Forest because he's on a crazy Robin Hood kick. Or who play outside with their little sister because their mom has a presidency meeting and really needs their help. I'm thankful the most when their plump little arms encircle my ribcage and they squeeze with all their might. What will I do when they grow up and move away? I'll miss those squeezes so much.

4. I'm thankful for three awesome brothers who inspire me, each in their own way. I'm very thankful that one lives very close by, and that his wife is cooking the turkey this Thursday. Not me.

5. I'm thankful for prayer, and that when I pray, I get a peaceful feeling that reminds me someone is definitely listening, and loves me.

6. I am thankful for my small home, in this modest neighborhood where people wave when you pop your head out the front door, or who stop and talk when you're out walking your dog. There is no place like Virginia--in all the very best ways.

7. I am thankful to be in a ward where unity runs thick and testimonies are strong and service is plentiful. Every week they hand out free cartons of eggs. The man in charge of the 'egg project' realized I didn't get any this week. When I got home from church there were 2 cartons of 18 eggs each sitting on my porch. I've been in many wards, and the friends I have made here are not easily found everywhere.

8. I am thankful for a car to drive. I almost rearended someone today. I am thankful I looked up just in time, and that I didn't hurt anyone or anyone's car. Scared me half to death. That'll teach me to actually look in my rearview mirror. Sometimes I think those are more of a hurt than a help.

9. I am thankful for a Heavenly Father who never ceases to show my husband and I how much He loves us. I keep wondering if He'll stop. But He never does. Even when I'm sure we don't deserve it. I pray He never does.

10. And I am thankful mostly for my Savior. He offers me all that he has, and I'll tell you one thing--I'm taking it. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. If it weren't for him...

I can't even think it.

I will never forget to be Thankful.

What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?

Golden

2010-11-15T17:19:00.002-05:00

This has been an eventful week. Some of it good, some of it not so good, and some of it stumping. (Is that even a word?)

One thing I realized this week is how common it has become for people to let you down. (I'm not saying this to get lots of sympathy--I have a point I'm going to make.) And how easily offended people can be. Seriously, you can have every good intention in the world and somehow you still come out scathed.

But that's not what I'm going to tell you about.

Oldest Son came home from school the other day and we got to talking. He told me something a friend of his said purposely to get under his skin, and he was so frustrated by this friend's actions that he was in tears. And not the two second tears that you wipe off and move on from. The kind that makes a mother ache. I hated to break it to him, but felt like if I didn't then who would? I said, "Buddy, this is just the beginning. Next year you'll be in middle school. Prepare yourself now for the possibility that the friends you have now may very well not be the friends you have two years from now."

But then he named a friend that he thought probably would never let him down, and I had to agree that he was right. This friend is so good and so awesome, he will probably never let O.S. down.

Well, it got me thinking about a friend I had in high school. To me, she is a miracle. I've never seen anyone quite like her before or since, and I'm sad to say that I don't know that I ever will. She is a rarity among common people, and this fact makes me very, very sad.

But I'm not trying to depress y'all. I'm not.

So let me tell you about her. I hope she won't mind because I find her very inspiring, and I think you will too.

From the time I was five until I turned sixteen, our family drove 45 minutes both ways to attend church. For seven of these years my dad was the Bishop of our ward (like a pastor, for those of you non-LDS folk). But during my sophomore year, a tiny branch of the church was started down in the 'Ham, and suddenly there was no 45 minute drive. As a matter of fact, to go to church all I had to do was walk into my living room. That's right. The church was now at my house. That first meeting there was a whopping sixteen people. In a way it was comforting. Most of those people were related to me, or at least very dear friends. But it also meant I was THE youth in the branch. There wasn't another primary kid or youth to hang with. Talk about lonely. Every Sunday I recited the Young Woman's promise in my bedroom to my teacher. Just she and I.

I prayed and prayed and prayed that some family with a hot boy would move in. But I didn't get it.

But I got something. Yes, I did.

My junior year, I played on the basketball team. I noticed a younger oriental girl on the j.v. team who was horrible at the game. And I mean horrible. As a matter of fact the first time she scored it was in the wrong basket for the other team.

That's all I knew about her--that she couldn't play ball. But then one day she showed up at church with her step-dad. He was a real character but that's a whole 'nother story and not mine to tell, really.

Do you know what that's like? To be the only girl in a branch and then another girl walks in one Sunday? Talk about manna from heaven. You want me to friendship her? You got it! I was going to friendship her so good she'd never want to leave. And I did. Sat in on all the missionary discussions with her (which I think every teenager should do. What a testimony builder!), had sleepovers with her, drove twenty minutes out of the way and lied about it to my parent's just so she could go to seminary with me.

When she got married in the temple, after she got home from her eighteen month mission to Korea, I thought, "Man, I'm good. Look what I've done!"

Back then, I just thought that was how it was done. I was so naive.

Knowing what I know now, I'll tell you this.

That girl was golden.

Sent straight from Heavenly Father above to be an example to me.

Here's what you need to know about her. When I met her, her mother was on her fifth marriage (hence the father in law who brought her to church). They lived in a trailer out in the woods on the other end of the county. Her older sister, who was a year younger than me, was pregnant, which was pretty scandalous back then. My friend lived in Soddom, yet the worst thing she'd ever done was say the D word. No drinking, no drugs, no sex. No kidding. When I would spend the night over at her house, I was tense the entire time driving over. Seriously, I can't believe my parents even let me go. There's no way my daughters would ever be allowed into that house. But my friend and I would just slink past all the craziness, into her bedroom and shut the door.

And it was like heaven.

I remember she'd strung some Christmas lights around her ceiling, and we'd lie on the bed talking about how hot our husbands were going to be (FYI--we two 'Ham girls married guys that grew up ten minutes apart out in buzy Southern California. How crazy is that?) and laughing about how dumb the guys at our school were, into the wee hours of the night, gazing up at those lights. Those are some of my happiest high school memories.

As the years passed, her home situation dwindled. Her mother got divorced again and became a tattoo artist. Her sister struggled. My friend ended up staying at our house quite a bit. She was the sister I never had, and boy could she get under my skin. But I loved her anyway.

Like I said, I realize now friendshipping doesn't always go this smoothly. In fact, I bet it rarely does. What this friend was, was a gift to me. She would have joined the church without me. All she needed was for a missionary to knock on her door.

Now I know this girl was the amazing one, not me. She came from the worst situation and rose above it. Today she has four boys and an awesome husband. They live in Utah where she teaches school, and probably inspires those kids every day.

She wasn't what I asked for, but thank goodness Heavenly Father knew what I needed. Most important, I realize now, He was trusting me. She is precious to Him. There's no way she couldn't be.

And He trusted me to lead her back to Him.

To let me be a part of that--there is nothing better He could ever give me.

Mama Bear

2010-11-06T22:14:00.001-04:00

As a writer everything you write is, at least in part, a reflection of yourself.

There's a line from my book: "Sometimes, I really hate myself. I always get too upset about stuff. I make scenes in places I have no business making scenes..." The line continues, but that's all I needed to steal today.

So like I said, sometimes, I really hate myself.

Today is one of those times.

Today was the last game of Oldest Son's soccer season. Granted, my Oldest Daughter and Youngest Son both played soccer as well, but their seasons ended last Saturday. Let me preface this--because trust me, you need a little background info here--by saying that I was sad to see their seasons end. Oldest Daughter's team went undefeated, and while that's amazing and was so fun to be a part of, it has nothing to do with the reason I loved every minute of it. (Okay, maybe it has a tiny bit to do with it.) Her coach was spectacular. He taught them their positions, utilized every minute of practice time, and got down on his knee to talk with them when they needed help or simply to encourage them. These girls came from a rinky dink little school that used to be the worst school in the district, and they kicked butt! They trusted each other. They passed. They helped each other score. It was a lesson in charity to watch them out on the field. It was like a mini version of Hoosiers.

Seriously, I'm tearing up just writing about it.

You may think I only loved her team because it went undefeated, but that is not the case. You see, Youngest Son was also on a stellar team. And they only won one game all season. But their coach was also magnificent. He did his best to teach them as much as he could. He was patient and kind and helped them love the game. Their last game of the season, they finally came together as a team and dominated. You could see that this team of first graders were buds. They passed. They scored. They gave each other high fives. I was so sad to see it end.

But Oldest Son? When I walked away from that field today I was split on whether to be livid or relieved. I made a silent idiot of myself. Maybe in no one's mind but my own, but an idiot all the same. His coach is a perfectly nice man. As a matter of fact, he has been nothing but encouraging to O.S. who was a first timer on the soccer field. But. And I mean a big butt right there--I do not agree with his coaching style. At practice there is more fooling around going on than practicing. In games he lets the kids play whatever position they want, for the most part. He's super laid back and keeps saying 'this is just rec league' in an effort to support his lackadaisical coaching methods.

I knew before today that I wanted O.S. on a different team, mostly because all the other boys boss him since he's a rookie. He needs to be on a team where he's treated as an equal, and where the other boys trust that he can get the job done. He needs to feel that he can get the job done, and that can't happen when he's treated like he doesn't know anything.

But today clenched it for me.

I look out onto the field and all I see are boys running around telling each other what to do, hogging the ball, not passing, bickering over who's going to throw the ball in because they all want to get their hands on that ball. They are not a team. Heck, I don't even think they like each other. Some definitely think they're too good to be there, and play like they are a gift to the game. I am generalizing here. This is probably only a handful. There are other boys who, if guided correctly, could really be amazing. But that's my point. There's no guidance.

The moment of truth came when we were up 4-2 with only five minutes left. The coach told O.S. to switch from defense (his position of choice, and what he thrives at) to goalie. Goalie! The kid doesn't play that position, and he doesn't play it for a reason. He's no goalie. You have to have a certain mentality to play that position, and O.S. is just not that kind of kid. I swear, I thought this man had lost his mind. My heart dropped into my shoes. I knew exactly what was going to happen, because I know my son. He clenches under pressure. He gets that lovely trait from me. In time he will grow out of that, but for now, he's sensitive and spring-loaded. Seriously, he was so stressed he couldn't even get the goalie shirt on, and I had to walk out onto the field and help him pull it over his head. He literally just froze and quit, while everyone was yelling at him to hurry up already.

The game starts back up.

So what happens? The defense collapses and O.S. gets scored on twice. It wasn't for lack of trying. The child tried, he just couldn't get to those balls fast enough.

So what, you're saying? They still tied. Yes, they did. But they could have won. They've only won 2 or 3 games this whole season, and they easily could have won this last game but my kid caused them to tie. Or I should say, the coach caused them to tie, but it looks like it was my kid's fault. Do you understand why I was seeing red? My child got into the car and started to cry.

What was this man thinking? I'll tell you what he was thinking. No one else wanted to play goalie, and because he lets the kids play equally everywhere (a kindergarten soccer tactic in my opinion) and wherever they want to play, he shoved Will in a spot no one else wanted, no matter that he was severely inexperienced.

Talk about pressure.

So here's why I hate myself. Did I bless this man out? No. I did yell at the defense and tell them to start playing their positions. They all looked at me like I'd lost my mind. But I yelled it because I knew if they didn't play Will would clamp up even tighter and we would lose. The coach gave me one look as I walked away, and I looked right back. He made this Mama Bear very angry.

I'm sure I looked like the witchiest mom in the world. And maybe I am. I came straight home, emailed the man man who drafts up the soccer teams, and told him that under no circumstances should O.S. be on this team in the spring. Our nerves can't handle it, and neither can his self-esteem. I also told him my husband could coach if he needed someone, because I don't like people who complain without offering solutions. Guess what? Not only will O.S. be on a different team, Dear Husband is going to be the coach of that team.

I hope he'll forgive me.

Last story. I played basketball my last two years of high school. The last year I was co-captain. And we sucked. Oh, yes we did! The year before I started, the team was fabulous, but the whole starting line up and the first girl off the bench all graduated, and we were what was left. But you know what? We played our hearts out each and every game. During those two years, we won two games. One each year. While that was kind of humiliating, I didn't feel bad about it. My coach taught us everything he knew. I mean, the year before they won championships. We were just the hand he got dealt. But he still coached us like we were winners. And when the season was over, I was sad to see it end, and happy that I'd been a part of it.

That's all I want for my kids. To feel that they did something great and that, win or lose, they gave it their all. I want them to feel how amazing it is to be on a team full of people who are all united toward one goal. A team that likes each other.

So why do I feel so torn? I almost want to apologize to this coach, but I think he was wrong. I think he's been wrong the entire season, and I think I'm just starting to realize that sometimes we just have to walk away and not look back.

Here's my point. I look at myself, and though I am much more mature than I was back in the day, I still have so far to go. Why can't I be more laid back? Why can't I just say, 'oh let's just play soccer and have a good time?' Why do I expect perfection from my children when it comes to sports and academics?

I really haven't figured this out. The only thing I'm certain of is that I still have a long way to go. Because today, I don't like myself at all.

One eternal round

2010-11-03T22:22:00.002-04:00

The warm weather has run away and, I think, taken my muse with it.

I'm not going to wax eloquent here. More than likely, I will ramble, but there are some things I need to throw out there regardless.

You know that scripture about God's time being one eternal round? I think I've got that whole thing figured out. This is about as deep as I get, but here goes.

I think God is this stable center of the universe and we kind of swirl around him. In other words, time is relative to him. At any given time he can see what's going to happen, and when it's going to happen, and how it's going to happen, etc. You get me? It's like a time line wraps around Him and He knows all because He has an all access pass.

Just think about it. It's kind of comforting.

My heart is pretty full right now. A friend of mine, someone I haven't seen in twelve years, passed away this week. He wasn't a best friend, but a boy I went to college with, someone who made me laugh almost every time we were together. We were totally platonic, not even a hint of anything more. But I could always count on seeing his short little, twerpy self, red cheeks framing a toothy grin, chatting it up with any one of his hundred friends at the old LDSBC mansion. He was born with a heart defect and was the longest survivor on record. Because of this he was not able to serve a normal mission at the age of nineteen. En lieu he served a full time mission in the temple where he lived.

I lost touch with everyone at LDS Business College after I graduated. And then Facebook happened. Though FB can be a life wasting, time sucking, celebrity wannabe, breeding ground for affairs with your ex boyfriend, it also has its good points. Like getting in touch with old friends you never, ever would have spoken to again, otherwise.

But I never friended this guy. I meant to. For six months I meant to. I even looked his name up a few times, but I couldn't find him. I should have dug deeper, stalked some of my other LDSBC friend's walls to get to him, but I didn't. And now. Now I'm so mad at myself. You see, this eerie, yet totally fantastic thing happens on FB when someone dies. Suddenly, this living breathing wall of status updates and family photos, becomes a memorial to that person. People posting all over about how great he was and how much they love him and how he made their life happy and how they'll miss him. But guess what? If he didn't add you as a friend before he took that last breath, you can't leave him a message.

It's like the ten virgins parable. I didn't have my oil, but I'm ready now. Please let me in? But I knock and no one's there. Nobody can let me in. It was something only I could have done for myself. And now that option is closed.

So I'm sad. But not desperately so. Because it was just FB, not the real second coming. I'm ready for that. Got my testimony nice and filled up to the tippy top. And I know God knew this was going to happen. That's why I felt like I should friend this guy six months ago. I also know that somehow though my words will not be etched on his FB page for eternity, Heavenly Father can get my message to him even faster and more clearly. That is comforting. Yes, indeed.

So here it is:

Jeremy, you will be missed. Thanks for being my friend. Now's your chance to serve that mission your heart stopped you from serving. Nothing will ever hold you back again.

God be with you 'til we meet again.

________________________________________________________________

PS: I didn't write this so I could get condolences. I really didn't. What could you do for me? Pray for this man, and for the three kids he left behind. And for all those who love him, that they will feel peace.

The reason why I write

2010-10-27T13:47:00.001-04:00

I knew when I married my husband, that he wanted to be a professional firefighter. That was the big dream. I was fine with that because I knew it would make him happy, which in turn would make me happy. It took a couple of years to realize this dream, but eventually he got his job. He loved it. He really, really did. Our life was going to be good. We'd stay in the 'Ham and live on some land that my parents were thrilled to hand over--25 acres with a waterfall and an old mill. Really, life was good.

I was pregnant with our third child and had driven to Richmond where Bryan would meet me for my OB appointment. On the way home, since we were in separate cars, we used walkie-talkies to pass the time. I remember it like it was a week ago. You have to understand my husband, he's quiet and thoughful and likes to keep his thoughts in his own head. So I was just cruising up the road when I hear the walkie-talkie crackle and him say, "I think I want to be a vet."

It took me a few seconds to realize what I'd just heard. Then I said, "That's like four years of Veterinary school, and you hate school?"

"I know, but I can't stop think about the example it will set for our kids. To show them that with hard work they can be anything they want to be."

It's true. What a great legacy to leave to our children. This was something Bryan really wanted, so we went for it.

But over and over I could see the doubt in people's eyes. Some of them our own family members. Bryan be a doctor of something? Whatever. He got to the point where he didn't want anyone to know, and I thought--absolutely not. So I convinced him not to give a flying-flip what other people think, and eventually he caught on to my vision. We were going to vet school, and we didn't care what anyone else thought. Can you picture my shoulders thrown back and my in-your-face expression?

He had to take lots of prerequisities, the GRE and volunteer hundreds, and in some cases, thousands of hours before he could apply. Oh, and then the wait to get in. It was tortorous. I remember the morning we got the phone call. My dad was at our house, just checking in to see if we'd all made it through the night without dying. But he'd missed Bryan who'd already run out to check on the cows. The phone rings and my dad snaps it up. It gets real silent and then he turns and grins the biggest grin you have ever seen. Then he says, "Do you have a spot for him?"

And I knew exactly who was on the other end of the phone. It was the Veterinary Admissions office. My head snapped up and the room went silent. I ran over and took the phone away from my dad. It was the secretary and she needed to talk to Bryan. I gave her his cell number, hung up, and jumped on the four wheeler. And when I found him out there in the field he was grinning the biggest grin I'd ever seen.

He was getting his dream. He was going to be a veterinarian.

Last May I couldn't help but wipe a tear away when he walked into Lane Stadium at Virginia Tech dressed in his grey and black robes. Here was a guy who'd never even wanted to go to college. His parent's never really pushed him to go, and not only that, he wasn't a very good reader when we got married. And his spelling! Atrocious. It took all my self restraint not to correct everything he wrote.

Now we call him Dr. Auten and he can spell words I can't begin to pronounce.

Last night I went to see Secretariat with some of my friends from church. I'd heard all the wonderful reviews, but all I knew is it was about a famous race horse who'd won the Triple Crown. Whatever that is. But you know? It's about so, so much more. Mostly it's about Penny Chenery Tweedy, Secretariat's owner, who, against all odds and without the backing of her brother or her own husband, took a chance and threw her heart into what she believed was the right thing to do. What were the stakes if she failed? She'd lose her family farm, the horses, and I'm sure a lot of her dignity. I won't tell you the end, but I will say this--it is spectacular and jaw dropping.

But the end wasn't my favorite part of the movie. My favorite scene is when Secretariat is racing the Preakness. It isn't filmed on location with Penny watching. It's shown through the eyes of her husband and her children. They are watching the race from home in Colorado. Through the movie I'd been disappointed over and over by this husband's lack of faith in this woman. But this was the scene I was waiting for. The husband is sitting at his desk, I think too afraid to show that he really wants this horse to win, because what if it doesn't. He'll look a fool for being married to this ridiculous housewife who thinks she can race horses. Anyway, the husband is sitting at his desk at the back of the room. The four kids are on their knees, with a bowl of popcorn just watching. As Secretariat comes from behind and begins passing the other horses you watch the husband get tense and lean in more and more until finally he's standing up muttering, "Do it. Do it." And then of course, Secretariat wins. In that moment it's all pretty clear. This 1970's house wife has done the impossible. Her kids have learned from her that anyone, even a housewife, can do the unthinkable.

And I'm sitting in the theater wiping my eyes from that short little scene. Not because the horse won the race, but because I am her and she is me. I am Penney Chenery Tweedy. I want to show my kids that a housewife can do the unthinkable.

I want them to know that they should dream big and then work for those dreams, just like their dad, just like Penney Tweedy.

Just like me.

The difference between now and then

2010-10-25T22:31:00.002-04:00

My kids love to climb up in my king sized bed at night and listen to me read whatever I wrote that day while they were at school. I debated today on whether I should share what I'd written. It was slightly risque. In my story a teenage boy spreads a rumor that a teenage girl went skinny dipping with another teenage boy. It's all hogwash and meant to be very hurtful, as in a malicious rumor. As in, not true.

But I wondered if I should skip it--if I would be a horrible, horrible mother for reading the word 'skinnydip' to my kids. (Actually it's two words, but who's counting?)

Here's what I concluded: Oldest son would already know what it was as he was educated on all things sex by his best friend back in the third grade. I know. My stomach still knots when I think about it. I didn't give him 'the talk' early enough apparently. 'Cuz I should have known he would need it that early, right? Anyway, I figured he could handle 'skinny dip.' I mean, come on, he is in fifth grade now.

Oldest Daughter is so sweet and naive that she would probably just smile and not care that she didn't know what the word meant.

And youngest son would definitely not have a clue.

Okay. So I went ahead and included the dreaded word. I know you're dying to know what happened, so I'm going to tell you.

Does oldest son say anything when I read the word? Nope. Oldest Daughter? Nope. She reacted just as I thought she would.

Here's what did happen. My youngest son--my sweet little first grader--starts giggling, raises his hand like he's at school and bounces up and down. "I know! I know what skinny dipping is." Like I'd asked for a definition.

So I lean back and look at him like there. is. no. way. And then he says, "It's when two people get naked and swim around together."

Talk about a jaw dropping moment.

Want to know the first time I realized boys and girls even wanted to touch each other anywhere inappropriate? When my best friend told me she went into a closet with her boyfriend and let him touch her. I was horrified! Grossed out! Completely and utterly mortified that she'd told me that, or worse that she'd seemed to enjoy it.

I was in seventh grade.

And I remember thinking how young we were, that we were kids. I couldn't even be her friend anymore after that.

I don't have anything enlightening or earth-shaking to share here. I am truly in awe.

First grade.

So I did the only thing I could do. I giggled with him, gave him a noogie and kept on reading.

I paid how much for that?

2010-10-20T14:35:00.006-04:00

I am not a prejudice person. I'm really not. I just had to clarify that before I went on.

Because...

We went to the circus for FHE on Monday. For those of you that don't know what FHE is, let me explain. As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, we take Monday night every week to spend time with our families--play games, have a lesson, a treat, sing a song, etc. It's really fun most of the time. And I mean most. Sometimes my kids wrestle during the prayer and get in trouble. Or Second Son likes to draw pictures in the air when he's supposed to be conducting the opening song. This greatly irritates his Older Brother and then they get into a talking fight, which leaves them tied to each other with duct tape. So. Mostly fun.

This past Monday, Husband got the brilliant idea that we should go to the circus for FHE. The kids each had a free ticket and it would be fun, right? I'll be honest--I didn't really want to go, but when I found out that never in his 33 years of life had Husband ever been to the circus (and it was his idea) that we should probably go. Everyone should go to the circus at least once, right?

As we drove to the big city a half hour away, I spent that time reminiscing about when I went to the circus for my tenth birthday. It was the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus at the Richmond Coliseum. There were lion tamers and tight rope walkers and clowns, and cotton candy. Loads of fun, right? Only I'm not sure what to expect with a title like Kazim Shrine Circus. Maybe it's mideastern. But hey, I like Persian rugs and The Prince of Persia, so this should be fun.

Well, first we get to the ticket window and hand over our four free kid tickets. So we only have to pay for Husband and me. The lady says, "That'll be thirty two dollars," and I have to scoop my jaw up off the cement floor. Yeah. That would explain the free kid tickets. It's a scam, people! Don't fall for it. But I pay it and off we go.

The first clue that this is no Ringling Bros is when the Lion Tamer doesn't actually do anything with the lions. Seriously. All they did was step onto a stool and step off again. L.T. would move the stool and then the lion would step back on and back off. Move the stool and repeat. I'm kicking myself for leaving the camera in the car because this guy was unbelievable. Really. HE was the show. Not the lions. He was mid-forties, had on black slicker pants, no shirt and blond fuzzy mullet hair from the eighties. Yes, this was clearly his back up job after a part with Def Lepard fell through. Obviously, no one had told him that headbanging in the middle of bunch of sleepy lions did not make him cool or that in 2010 he was simply pathetic and he should give it up. His big finale? He grabbed the cage, jumped up on the bar, shook it as hard as he could as his mullet flung wildly and he screamed like a gorilla. Needless to say our eyebrows were all cocked in astonishment.

My cute Second Son looked around and sees that probably half the kids there have these cool glow in the dark light sabers and asks if he can have one. I warn him that the price would be exorbitant, but we asked the concession worker anyway. Sure enough--fifteen dollars. I felt like the Evil Mom of the Century when I told him we couldn't buy that. I mean, obviously I'm not a good mom since all the other mommies had bought them for their kids.

But I did cave and buy a four dollar bag of cotton candy. For all four of my kids to share. We still eat beans and rice, people! Remember that. One day it won't be so. I hope. But for now, that's just the way it is.

At this point though, I'm beginning to realize this isn't even a show that's been cooked up in the U-S of A. Want to know how I figured that out? Here comes a lady wearing a caberet outfit. Seriously, immodest. It only took two seconds to realize this lady wasn't just Spanish. She was Mexican. And somebody had taught her how to do a fake American announcer voice. It was seriously the cheesiest thing ever. But she had the kids yelling so it was all good.

Actually everything was all good. Until the glorified pole dancers came out. I kid you not. It was scandalous. Somebody should let these people know this is NOT how we do it here in America. Oldest son slid down in the seat and hid his eyes under his coat. Husband was laughing as I shot him dirty looks. Second son just watched in awe. Thank goodness he's only six. And then my Oldest daughter, here's what she says, "Mom, they're so beautiful."

Shudder.

I finally realize what the Kazim Shriner bit was all about when I see bunches of old guys sporting bedazzled shriner hats, watching the pole dancers spin around their ropes. This whole thing is a con.

Finally during intermission Husband runs to the car to grab the camera. He comes back in and we see that the kids can ride an elephant. Yes, you heard me right! An Elephant! Of course, being the cheapo that I am, I thought it would be free. Wrong. But I paid up--ten dollars a kid, because how many chances do you get to ride a real live elephant?

The elephant walked around the tiny ring twice and the ride was over. It lasted maybe three minutes. Once again I was scooping my jaw off the ground. But hey, now the kids can say they rode an elephant.

The second half of the show lasted about twenty whole minutes and was very anticlimactic. Except for the part where the pole dancers came out again. Want to see a pic? Sure you do. These pictures are of the second set of pole dancers, which you will thank me for since the first set had their fannies hanging out. At least these girls were covered. Oh, and what is up with all the bright colors. Most be a spanish thing.

So we went to the circus. We laughed our heads off, though I don't think the performers intended to be funny. We oohed and ahhed and seriously thought we were going to see someone crash to their deaths, and we educated our children, in some ways we would rather not have.

We spend 32 dollars to get in. $ 4 on cotton candy. $20 on two elephant rides. And $7.50 on ice cream at Sonic afterward.

Watching Second Son break out into full on dance mode when they played the song, "Who Let the Dogs Out."

Priceless, and completely worth every penny.

I have nothing against people south of the border. Their beaches are warm and beautiful, their silver cheap and their food heavenly, but I'll tell you something--if those pole dancers had come out a third time...I would have had to pull out my vegetable peeler!

PS-I was going to share more pictures but my computer apparently only accepts those of questionable nature. All the ones of my kids smiling or my husband glaring at me won't upload. Oh well, the girls of Kazim and Jose's High Flying Flashy Circus will have to suffice. Happy Day All!

4 Things

2010-10-17T22:30:00.001-04:00

I saw this over on Bloggin' Bout Books--a great book blog by an LDS girl named Susan. I mean, hey, how can i not like an LDS girl named Susan who blogs about books. It's just not possible. Not to mention that I almost always agree with her opinion on the reviews she gives.

She didn't tag anyone specifically but I thought it would be fun to do this anyway. Don't worry, i won't tag anyone. I'm not much of a chain-email/letter/blogger kind of girl. That's just not my thing, but if you want to, feel free to comment on your favorites in my comment section. I'd love to hear them.

Here goes:

4 Things In My Handbag/Backpack/Briefcase:

--Regal Crown Club card so I can get points toward my next free movie, soda, popcorn or box of candy. I've left it home without it before when I head out for girl's night and I spend the first twenty minutes of the movie kicking myself.

--Gum, because I don't feel fully dressed unless I know it's ready and available.

--My keys, which are stowed in a pouch and zipped, because I am one of those people who loses my keys at any given day/time/moment.

--Way too much change which weighs me down.

4 Favorite Things In My Bedroom:

--My memory foam King Sized bed. We had a regular pillow top queen until a few years ago when I talked Bryan into a new one. I was waking up daily with a back ache. Whenever anyone asks, I tell them this is THE BEST thing we've ever done for our marriage. We can snuggle, or we can have plenty of room to ourselves. I feel like a queen when I go to bed at night.

--The bedding I bought on sale from Macy's to go on my king sized bed. It's tan and pink and yes, my husband doesn't mind a bit. This bedding also makes me feel like royalty.

--The view from my bedroom window. Whether I'm watching, my kids play, mist lift off the ground on the farm beyond our fence, or fireflies blink across the lawn, I can often be found sighing at the view through my bedroom window.

--My husband. Yes, I often find him in the bedroom and I don't mean that in dirty way. I love to wrap my feet around his calves at night or just reach over and know he is there.

4 Things On My Desk:

--The only thing on my desk is my computer. But I love my computer because that's where all my stories are stowed.

4 Things I've Always Wanted To Do (but haven't yet):

--Get published.

--Go to Jerusalem and walk in many of the places the Savior walked, but sadly with the way things are now, I don't know that this will happen in my lifetime.

--Live in a home that my husband built. I hope this one will happen very soon.

--Serve a mission.

4 Things I Enjoy Very Much At The Moment:

--Up until today, I was enjoying my See's candy that my friend C. from Las Vegas sent me. Unfortunately, my husband and I savored the last Brown Sugar and Bordeaux this afternoon. But I'm still enjoying the sentiment behind her kind gesture. That will last for a very, very long time.

--The lack of worry I feel over the fact that I have no idea what my writing future holds. I should be freaking out more that I can't get my brain to work, that I don't know if this publisher will be interested in my writing, but I feel kind of numb to it all. Like a girl who's been dumped and is too weary yet relieved to look for another relationship.

--My toddler's rapidly growing ability to form sentences. Today her dad put her dress on her for church and then told her that she looked pretty and she simply replied, "Thank you, Daddy." Her new favorite thing to do is rip her clothes off, smack her bum and say, "I naked, Mommy. I naked." I know i should nip this in the bud (especially since she tried to strip at the soccer game this weekend) but it's too stinking cute.

--That my heart feels like it's going to bust wide open every time I think of my mom or my Savior.

--I'm putting a fifth here since I only had one for my desk (see above)--I'm riding on this wave of excitement as I watch Dos get the dues he justly deserves with his writing. His book has been sent to publishers (via his agent). Last week he was compared to Tom Clancy. Tom Clancy!!! I think he's feeling humbled and for that, I love him even more.

4 Songs I Can't Get Out of My Head:

- Carol of the Bells-yes my kids already want to listen to Christmas music.

- Love story by Taylor Swift. We listen to her way too often. And i just got done watching Letters to Juliet

- Come thou fount of Every Blessing--Jessi Clark Funke?

- Follow the Prophet--man, i hope my primary kids can pull this off for the presentation in two weeks.

4 Things You Don't Know About Me:

- I love to sing loudly in the car and/or blast my music. Embarrasingly, it's usually something religious or country. I'm not cool like that.

-I have a lead foot and constantly have to remind myself to slow down and not be in so much of a hurry.

-I actually like to speak in church and to teach. I don't just not mind it, I like it. I love making something click for someone else. It's probably one of my most favorite things in the world. But only if I have the Spirit with me.

-I do not like for someone to ask me who my BFF is. I actually hate this practice we have of needing to have one friend that we call a BFF or a bestie. I despise exclusion and feel that this is just a way of excluding people while we try to make ourselves feel special. It's very fifth grade. I like to think I'm beyond that sort of thing and feel a little blown over when I see women my age calling someone their BFF. Even if they have one, I do not feel that it's something that should be flaunted. I have my friends and many of them are dear to my heart, each for different reasons. But I also know that throughout my life I will make many more, so how can someone be my best forever friend. I don't know what's coming. Stepping off my soapbox now.

4 Bloggers I'm Tagging:

- Nah, I'm not doing this, but would love if you would let me know if you do this on your blog so I can see your answers.

I'll post again soon. This is just to tide you over. Have a Happy Monday!

A time to mourn

2010-10-12T15:04:00.000-04:00

Apparently y'all are afraid of kissing just like you were back in third grade. What else can I deduce from the lack of first kiss responses that I got on my last post. Bravo to Toni, Becky, and Shannon who were brave enough to share, or at least comment. I'm glad I didn't scare at least three people off.

I have a confession to make: I know a lot of people read this blog. Well, a lot more than I suspected until I got Google Analytics. So why is it that fifty people a day want to read about kissing but only three people over the weekend wanted to talk about it with me? It's too risque, you say? I should be excommunicated for blabbing such things over the internet, you say?

Well, fine. I'll tell you a little bedtime story to lull you into your G rated dreams.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who wanted to be a writer. Her three oldest children were finally old enough to go to all day school. Only one child remained at home and that child was an angel. The angel baby slept three hours every day and was compliant and happy to do so, thus leaving the Writer with much time to craft her stories into perfection.

Until one fateful day, when the toddler woke up and BAM!--she was a big girl. (Though this may be fact, the Writer is still in denial and so the Big Girl will be referred to as Toddler anyway) When the Writer went Visiting Teaching the toddler played quietly. But we all know that a quiet toddler is one of the most dangerous things there is. And sure enough, the toddler was discovered to have painted her entire body in bright red nail polish. Lips, cheeks, hair, shirt, pants, fingers, teeth and all. Yes, she did.

It was an omen. The writer just didn't know it at the time.

On the way home, the toddler fell asleep in the car. The Writer carefully carried her sweet angel up the stairs and laid her in her crib. And suddenly, the toddler's eyes flew wide open. The Writer scampered out of the room with the hopes that her toddler would fall back asleep. Then the Writer snuck downstairs to write.

She was just getting into her groove when suddenly it felt like someone was in the room. But that was impossible, or was it? The Writer turned and screamed bloody murder, for standing there right next to her, was the Angel turned Demon toddler. It appeared that in one day the toddler had learned to unscrew nail polish, climb out of her crib, open her door and scare the tar out of her mother.

Oh, and she was poopy.

And now that Writer is crying for the three hour nap that very well may be a thing of the past.

The End.

Sharing the butterflies

2010-10-08T12:04:00.001-04:00

I had an ongoing email conversation yesterday with my cousin E. who lives in Utah. I was asking her to give me the dirt on her nieces--two girls that I adore, who just happen to have crushes on some sweet boys. Or so I hear.

So E says, "sometimes i live vicariously through their boy crushes, haha, its just fun to remember how that felt...i totally love [my husband], but the butterflies were fun." I have to admit, this is the reason I LOVE to write Young adult romance stuff. Let's face it--there is nothing quit like that first kiss/falling in love feeling.

As a rule, I don't watch old reruns of Mad About You. Do you guys remember that show? It had Helen Hunt, and I can't remember the guy's name. Anyway, a long time ago when I lived on that farm you see at the top of my blog, I remember that I watched a rerun of this show because out where we lived you only got one t.v. station clearly. I must have been bored. Anyway, the man and the woman on the show get into a disagreement about how you can't top a first kiss. Like even if you're crazy in love with your spouse--ten years down the road--the kissing just isn't as fantastic as that very first time. So they try to reenact the first kiss. It's really passionate and you're wondering if it's as good for them as it was the first time. And when it's over, they both look at each other deadpan and say, "Nah, it's just not the same." And then they roll over and go to sleep.

My point--you only get one chance for the first kiss with that guy you've been in love with for half your life, or maybe just a week. But either way, you dream about that kiss about a hundred times before it happens and then when it does happen it's toe curling, finger tingling, heart pounding, AMAZING.

Yeah, that's why I write YA. It's all about the kissing. Seriously, when I write a story, the kissing is the first scene that gets written in my head. If there's going to be more than one kiss, those scenes are mentalized next. And everything in between is just the stuff you have to write to get you to the kissing. It's like a reward for all my hard work. I'm not joking. I'm that shallow.

So I thought I'd share my two favorite kissing scenes that I've written.

This first one is from my book Putting Up Stars (the book I'm trying to get published right now).

A little background:

Sarah has been in love with her brother's best friend since the very second she laid eyes on him when she was ten. He's a good boy and is trying to go by The For Strength of Youth pamphlet. He likes Sarah but he never does anything about it because he knows it's going to get pretty heavy if he does. As a matter of fact, not only does he not act on these feelings, he pretends to ignore her most of the time because he really doesn't know how else to stay away from her. But finally, she pushes him over the edge when she goes out with a guy that he really, really, really, really dislikes. Leading up to this--they're outside of a restaurant where they--including Sarah and her date with the boy Ethan loathes--have just finished dinner. Sarah is about to leave with this guy and Ethan is trying to stop her. Sarah's date is waiting in the car.

Here it is:

“I’ve tried to play it cool, but I can’t do it any more.” His eyes were intense. “I love you, Sarah. And you love me, too. Don’t you?”

My eyes went wide. I couldn’t even process that he’d just told me the one thing I’d wanted to hear for so long. It didn’t feel real. I stared at him for a second, pressed as flat to the wall as I could get, trying to figure out what his motives were.

“No, why would you think something like that?” I asked.

“You do,” he chuckled. “I see it in your eyes.” My face turned hot.

“This is low, especially for you. I can’t believe you would do something like this. I’m your friend. You can’t just use me to get back at Justin.” I wiped at my cheeks like crazy, feeling so ridiculous and more hurt than ever before.

“Sarah, it’s true. I’m not just saying this because I don’t like Justin. I mean, I don’t like him, and seeing you with him is making me crazy. What can I do to make you believe me?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I have to go.” But I didn’t move. I stood there staring into his eyes, feeling them pull me in, wanting somehow for this to be real.

He reached out and rubbed my cheek with his thumb. “I’ve loved you for so long.” He stepped closer, our faces just inches from each other. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead down against mine.

I closed my eyes too and stood there, just breathing. I wanted to believe him, but what if he went back to being indifferent tomorrow? It was going to hurt so badly. Ethan’s a good guy. He doesn’t use girls, I told myself.

I was still debating when he pressed his lips up against mine. I slid my hands up around his neck and kissed him back, giving myself permission to let my insecurities go for the moment. He encircled my waist with his strong arms, locking me in place. It was everything I’d always dreamed it would be but a hundred times better.

But then I remembered Justin, sitting in his car waiting. And what I’d heard Ethan saying in the hall about the girl he was in love with. There’s no way, I’m that girl. No way! And I remembered how awkward it was going to be tomorrow when I saw Ethan and had to pretend like this had never happened. And how bad it would hurt if I found out I was just another girl to him. I stepped back against the wall, abashed at my own reaction.

“No, I can’t…I have to go.” I knocked his arm out of the way, making him wince, and escaped.

“Sarah!” I glanced back once to see him tugging at the hair on the back of his head, an agonized look on his face.
______________________________

I love it. Of course I do. I wrote it.

Okay the next scene is from my other book Slaying Goliath (or Locked. I can't make up my mind about the title). Emily has only known Josh for a short time, but boy are they crazy about each other. Even though she's sixteen, Josh is the first boy Emily has ever really like. They are not LDS at the beginning of the book, by the way. Not that it has any bearing on this kiss. It's completely appropriate, I think.

Logistics: Emily's cousin, and Josh's buddy on the basketball team, Cole, lives across the lawn in another house, so he can see Emily from his bedroom window.

Here it is:
Josh grabbed my hand and helped me down out of the Jeep. We walked as slowly as we could up the sidewalk and onto my front porch. I think neither of us was ready for ‘good night.’ I turned to face him, still holding onto his right hand. Maybe he would kiss me now. It was perfect. The classic first kiss, on the girl’s front porch, all alone, in the dark. It was something I would never forget. He must’ve been thinking the same thing because he stepped toward me and grabbed my other hand.

“I had a really good time,” he said as he looked into my eyes.

I stepped a little closer. “Me too. A really good time.”

Over his shoulder, I caught Cole peeking through the curtain of his bedroom. And about two seconds later, one of my parents—probably my dad—flicked the light on right above us. I could feel myself blushing. Had everyone gone crazy?

Josh dropped my hands, and scratched at his temple. “Okay. Well. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Enough of this, I decided. I wanted to kiss this boy and I was pretty sure he wanted to kiss me, and it wasn’t going to happen unless I made it happen. I reached for his hand and motioned with my head for him to follow me. He grinned and we walked around to the back side of the house. Past the back deck. I smiled up at the full moon. When we reached the oak tree and the tire swing, I pulled him behind it. He leaned his back against the tree, and let his knees bend to even out our heights. We looked at each other for a few seconds, and then he reached for me. I stepped up and put my arms around his shoulders. His arms were around my waist.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” my voice trembled. I wanted him to know that so he would understand why this wasn’t going to be very good.

“Me either,” his voice cracked.

My stomach relaxed. A little.

He ran his thumb across my cheek. “Emily,” he said just before his lips pressed up against mine. I’d never heard my name sound like that before. It was magical. But I’d have to think about that later, because right then, the boy who had captured my heart was kissing me.

I thought it was wonderful, so I’m not sure why, but when it was over, our foreheads resting together, I laughed and said, “That was terrible. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t laugh. His nose brushed mine. “It was amazing,” he said.

And then he kissed me again.

---------------------------------------
Sweet, huh?

So, if you guys want to, I would love for you to share your kissing scenes in the comments below. I know some of my writer friends have written some pretty sizzling scenes. I would love for them to share if they want to. Post the title of your book, and if it's published or going to be published soon. No pressure. Or if you are a non-writing person you can tell me about the first time you kissed your spouse. It should be lots of fun. C'mon, don't be shy.

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Not that I think anyone would want to, but please don't copy these. If you want to share them with friends simply direct them to my blog. Thanks!

Smarter than a teenage boy

2010-10-04T07:13:00.010-04:00

Once again we went down the the 'Ham for the weekend.

Did I ever mention how magical that place is? I'm sure I did, but let me do so again.

That place is magical.

The last time we were there the fields were a crackly, pale brown, and when you drove over them a trail of dust floated up behind you. But this time, they'd gotten rain. And suddenly it was like visiting Ireland. Green rolling hills, against vivid blue skies. The air was crisp, and cool.

Actually, I wouldn't know what Ireland is like. I'm really just going off the movies I've seen.

Anyway. The point of this post is that I think I've decided that if I could, I would like to freeze my oldest in a cryogenic freeze mold like Han Solo--maybe until he's done with the teenage years and them let him out and press fast forward so his body can catch up to where his brain will be. Get me?

I like the age he is right now, and I have a very good reason.

This weekend Oldest Son took a friend to the farm. This is his very bestest friend in the whole world. This boy is equally as nerdy as my son with equal amounts of athleticism--which isn't much. They are two peas in a pod. They would rather sit in front of the gamecube all day, or have their shoulders glued together as they face off in a Nintendo DS battle, than look at girls, or play football, or see how far they can spit.

I worry for their teenage years. I really do. I hope I can dress my son well enough that he can at least pass for borderline cool. Not that I care about popularity, but I do care if he's teased. Oh, and his friends mother is in need of worry too. Thank goodness for my son that he is being raised by two very cool people.

But this weekend, there was no trace of nerdiness. Nope. Not down in the 'Ham, on the farm.

It was dirtbike time! When we arrived and my Husband pulled said bike out of the back of the van, Oldest Son actually took off running towards Grandma's house. I kid you not. Running.

But we rounded him and his friend up and off they went to one of those rolling green fields. Pretty much that's the end of that story. After about a half hour those two boys were hooked and it was the easiest weekend I've ever had. No one wrecked, no one fought, no one cried. (Except when we forced them to watch conference) I'd say that dirtbike was worth every blessed penny even if it never gets ridden again. Oh, but it will get ridden because those boys are addicted.

Here's the part of the story that I love. Finally, last night it was time to come home. We'd driven two cars to the farm in order to fit the bike in the back of the van.

I exiled myself to the Jetta because the gas fumey (yes, I'm well aware that is not a word) bike and the very smelly dog were in the van. No problem, we would just listen to Husband's Ipod on the way home. But that isn't happening because he informs me it's dead and he doesn't have the charger.

What in the world am I supposed to do with two tweeners on a Sunday evening all that way home? Two and a half hours in the dark. So I run back into Grandma's house scrambling for a book on tape. Remember those? My mom is just like that. No matter that you can't even buy anything to play the tapes anymore. And guess what? She actually loans me her old school boombox with tape player and all.

I'm giggling under my breathe, truly thinking these two boys are going to KILL ME! I slide Jack Weyland's Nicole into the slot and press the play button. And we're off. I cringe and wait for the protests.

But they never come. And before you know it, when I have to pause to answer a phone call, these boys are hounding me to turn the book back on. Yes, they are.

Anyone who isn't familiar with the book--I'll give you a very short synopsis. Josh is a superstar basketball player and Nicole is in the pep band. He's cool and popular. Her? Well, not so much. Of course they meet and fall in love. The book is mostly about how Josh deals with Nicole's developmentally delayed brother, Richard, but it is also about Josh and Nicole's relationship.

It's a YA book for girls, and these two boys are eating it up.

My first clue that they are paying attention is when, in the story, Josh's best friend tells Josh to do something that he knows will hurt Nicole. And Josh does it.

I hear Oldest son's friend mumble under his breath, "Idiot."

And then oldest son responds, "I know, right? Are these guys taking drugs?"

"For real. Because if you get a girl like that," his friend says this like it would be the most amazing, out of reach thing ever, "you do whatever she tells you. You don't listen to your stupid friends."

See why we should freeze them? They are so brilliant right now. If only they knew how stupid they will be in a few years. Wow. That makes them wiser than their future selves.

If only all grown men had the mentality of ten year old boys...

And then we stopped the tape to discuss Richard's disability. And we stop the tape to talk about why Nicole's family went inactive. And pretty soon I realize I am having a really in depth discussion with them.

We listened to that book all the way home. I felt bad that Oldest Son's friend didn't get to hear the end, but O.S. did. He begged for me to bring that hefty boombox into the house and plug it in so he could fall asleep listening to the end. And then he asked if he could listen to it every night.

Yep. I'm going to price one of those Han Solo freezers today.

Starting in the right place

2010-09-27T14:50:00.008-04:00

This is a writing post. Maybe no one will appreciate it but me, but here goes...

I have one of the most beautiful toddlers in the whole world. Seriously, she's so darling. To add to that beauty, she has a very vivid personality. There is never a dull moment when this child is around. She lights up any room she's in, and boy does she let you know what's on her mind.

As soon as school let out in June I began taking my kids to the pool. We have a couple of friends who own memberships, so we were tagging along. It's a fun way to get out of the house--thus reducing the mess I have to clean at the end of the day and the amounts of fighting that go on otherwise. Everything was fine. We were having a fantabulous summer, and I was hopeful that I would make it without killing anyone.

But that all changed when my toddler's hair began falling out. And I don't mean just a little bit. It was a lot. I first noticed it when her car seat was covered in fine, blondish white strands. At first I brushed it off, thinking it was nothing. But it got worse and worse, until I finally noticed that she actually had a bald spot. And when I washed her hair, the whole top of her hair looked bald compared to the back. I googled Alopecia, hoping it had nothing to do with that.

Let me tell you something. Trying to self-diagnose hair loss is for the birds. It's practically impossible. So off to the doctor we went. They did some blood work which all came back normal. Thankfully.

Our appointment with the dermatologist was going to take months. Apparently, a toddler losing her hair is not high on the priority list. Not to them anyway. But it definitely was to me.

So I did what I always do when the doctor can't figure it out fast enough for my liking--I used my noggin and tried to figure it out myself.

As I went through all the things it could be, I had every normal thought a parent would have. What if it's permanent? Will she need a wig? Can we do some kind of hair transplant? How will this affect her social life? Is there any guy in this world who isn't so shallow that he could see past something like this and want to marry this darling girl?

Let me tell you, it was worrisome.

I couldn't pull her bangs back, or brush her hair. Every touch made her hair fall out. It got to the point that I had to let my husband brush her hair because the worry it caused me to see it fill the brush in clumps made me sick to my stomach.

I did finally figure out that it was the pool that was doing it to her. I'm not sure exactly if it's the chlorine, or being in the sun after being in the pool, or what, but every time we took her to the pool, for the next couple of days, her hair would expel in torrents from her scalp.

I was relieved. It was a easy fix. We just stopped swimming. It was a bummer for the rest of the kids, but a small price to pay for their sweet little sister. They graciously conceded, because my kids are amazing like that.

But it got me to thinking... What about those girls who can't figure it out? What about those girls who can't do anything about it? What about their future? And their plans? How would it be to have this problem? So of course I wanted to write about it.

I've been thinking about it all summer. I kept sitting down to start it, but I couldn't get it to go anywhere. It just never felt right. But I was determined--I wanted to write about this. I was going to do it. The eleven attempts on my hard drive would not disappear into a pile of unused words.

Then the other night, I realized, I'm trying to start in the wrong place. Like completely in the wrong place. As soon as I figured it out, the uneasy feeling left and I was so stinking happy.

How do I know I'm starting in the right place? It's the difference between dreading writing, and looking for any excuse to sneak back to your computer to jot down a few more paragraphs. When I have that feeling, I know I've hit it right on the head.