How?

My patience level today: -1.

Why is this? What makes the difference? I got a pretty good amount of sleep last night, considering that I still have a baby who wakes up at night.

I'm not stressed.

I'm not pregnant.

The kids weren't particularly challenging today.

Joel and I have been extra loving toward each other.

I had a good scripture study session.

What changes things? Does anyone know the answer? Does anyone have a remedy?!!?

Year's Supply

Lately a significant portion of my mental power has been dedicated to building our year's supply.

Nope, not of food; of clothes for the kids. Since we're going to be starving students, I figured I would hit all the post-winter sales and get the clothes the kids will need for the upcoming year. I hoped to get everything, but I didn't think I would manage it.

But I have! I have everything all set for a year for both kids. Because I have been spreading it out, I have gotten some phenomenal deals and the entire lot hasn't cost much at all. The best purchases were ones I made at Ross and TJ Maxx. I was too cheap for the regular aisles and only shopped the clearance racks. . .and I found two pairs of 40 dollar jeans for Everett, totaling 12 dollars! I also found three pairs of shorts, totaling 15 dollars. They are all great brands, which is the best thing. I was so happy. The best part was, the only ones the stores had just happened to be the exact size that I needed.

The whole time I was getting kids clothes, I was worried about getting snow gear, especially for Everett. I have looked for winter coat sales but I didn't find anything that worked out. I was starting to get a little discouraged, but. . .

This past week, I was browsing the kids section on Craigslist, and I came across a listing for a parachute (you know, the kind with handles that kids use) and immediately remembered that some of the nursery leaders and I were talking about getting one. I contacted the seller and picked it up the next day.

And, guess what? When I walked in her house she had bags and bags of clothes she was donating. I am too shy to ask her about them, but for some reason she looked at me and held up a pair of size 7/8 boys winter snow boots.

"Would you like these as well? I'll just give them to you," She said.

Would I!?! Those are the exact size I was looking for! I happily accepted. Then she gave me a pair of winter snowpants and a coat that matched. She also threw in four pairs of knit/athletic shorts. All for free!

What was it that made her ask me about those particular items, out of all the ones she had in her house? They were exactly what I needed.

What a blessing! It was a small thing, but it really made me feel that the Lord is mindful of our family. That is more meaningful to me than the items I received.

Am I the only one who thinks this way?

This post is completely self-indulgent. Ready? Ok.

I have been realizing lately that I am sympathetic, pretty much to a fault. I would make a terrible, terrible police interrogator.

I would start asking the person questions, get down to the meaty stuff, notice that they are looking uncomfortable, and reflexively inquire if they would like anything to eat.

The whole time I would wonder if maybe, possibly, this man--the person the beat cop found in the act of mugging a man to death--really was out of his mind, and didn't mean to do it. The poor guy. I mean, right? Maybe his wife is dying of cancer and his children are starving and they are all about to get evicted, which would be too bad because they don't even have a car to live in anymore, since he sold it to the woman down the street for far below bluebook value, but it didn't matter because he needed the money to get his children food after watching them starve for three days, so he sold it to her anyway, and now the money has run out, and he just became desperate.

AND the guy he chose to mug pulled a knife on him, and the mugger didn't know what to do, so he tried to grab it, and an all-out knife fight began, but since the mugger was so desperate, his adrenaline kicked in--because his family would certainly be gonners without him--and before he knew it, the knife had worked its way somehow into the man's stomach, and as he started backing away in horror, he heard sirens wailing, crying "you're guilty! you're guilty! you're guilty!" like some sort of ambulatory conscience, and then, he tried to run but stumbled because he was also wounded, and the police caught up with him. . .and suddenly he didn't even know himself anymore.

[Whew.]


But then I'd take a look at the hardened, deadened glint in the mugger's eye, and I'd tell myself that certainly that story--the story that my mind completely fabricated--couldn't be true and he must have meant every inch of that knife fight.

But it would be too late. The doubt would have already fogged my judgement.



You know how at the end of those crime shows, the guilty person is finally apprehended by the police, and at first they start to deny everything, but then they realize that they are caught and there's no way out? And you know how at that moment, they look as though they are watching their life get snuffed out in front of them, and despair sets in, and they begin to look a little frantic?


Well, whenever I watch those shows, this is the point where I feel pangs of pity for the murderer/serial killer/thief/cold-blooded whatever. I can't explain it, but suddenly I feel deeply sorry for that person.

Sure, I feel sorry that they commited the crime, but I also feel sorry because I know that at that moment, they realize there is no more hope and the rest of their life has been completely altered for the worse. There is nothing they can do, they've fallen into the deep, deep hole they created for themselves, and everything they love is all over.

You can bet that if I was the interrogator at that point, I'd quietly excuse myself from the room and ask my superior if we can offer some sort of anemic plea bargain. Because really, this scare might be enough to change them, right, especially if this person was not the sort to ever do this again?

Right?

But deep down, I'd know that the murderer is getting his due consequences, I'd be glad that the person in question is off the street, and I'd only hope that they have the opportunity to repent before they get to the next life.

And then? Then, I'd want to go home, crawl under my covers, and watch a movie about people who are so happy, so perfect, and so loving, daisies sprout involuntarily out of their foreheads.

They'd be singing and frolicking and laughing, and it would be lovely.

Absolutely lovely.

What To Do?

Everett is asleep on the couch. Joel is asleep next to him. Ashley is still sleeping in her crib, which is in my room.

The next thing on my list was to organize my room and get things ready to give away. But I can't do that with a sleeping baby in there.

What should I do? I've all ready gone through the kids clothes and boxed them up. I've all ready cleaned up around here. I tried to ask Everett if he wanted to make cupcakes with me, which always gets me big, big reactions, but this time? Nothing. Just a groan and a roll over on the couch. I would make dinner, but everyone is still sick, and no one would want to eat it but me!

If I sneak away now, no one will probably notice for a while. Do you think I should go take myself out to dinner? I'm starting to really think about it. . .

(knock on wood that I don't get sick. knock on wood. knock on wood.)

Having Fun

Know what's fun?




Cardboard box tunnels are fun.

Really fun.

It almost makes you forget that you are sick.

(But your mother announcing that it's bedtime will miraculously make your symptoms reappear.)

It's a good thing the five minute warning works with this child.

Getting Well

Today is an interesting day. Everyone is sick but me! I think it is just a cold, but the kids are feverish and cranky, and Joel is feverish and lethargic.

I remember when I had strep throat growing up, that my mom would rent Anne of Green Gables and make me campbell's chicken and rice soup--per my request. I don't know why I liked it so much. Now I would definitely prefer homemade soup, or at least a better pre-made kind.

So, this morning I ran to the grocery store to pick up some gatorade, popsicles, and milk, and I stopped at the video rental store. I was going to pick up the Lion King, but the movies were in complete disarray because they were "renovating." After spending a while looking through all the movies, and only finding "Simba's Pride," I had to settle with "Brother Bear." None of us had ever seen it before, and it is kind of cute. Everett is captivated, anyway, which is the goal.

In a way it is kind of fun to play nursemaid to everyone. It is fun to think of special things to do to help them feel better, and it is nice to be needed.

But, I'm sure I won't be singing the same tune when bedtime rolls around!

Ologists

I have already mentioned that Joel and I went up to Philadelphia on Thursday to watch BYU's tournament game. It was a lot of fun. The last time I went to a basketball game, I saw the Jazz with some friends, but it has been a while.

I really enjoyed the basketball game. The time flew by and the excitement of the fans was infectious. It helped that we had really good seats; we were on the corner, but we were sitting in the 11th row. I thought the seats were pretty good, and this thought was confirmed when Joel noticed who was sitting a few rows back from us:

Joe Lunardi, who looked like he was really enjoying himself.

(for those of you who don't know who Joe Lunardi is, don't feel bad. He is called a "bracketologist" and gets overhyped to
talk about which teams will with the NCAA tournament. If you care (I don't), you can learn more about him here).

And don't worry. He didn't know we were taking the picture. I pretended to be taking a picture of us, even though Joel kept making fun of me.

So, that was fun. Even though I really don't care what Joe Lunardi thinks, and I can promise you that not one ounce of my mental energy has been devoted to determining the tournament winners, it was kind of fun to know that we saw a "celebrity".

Tonight OR I'm Feeling Nauseatingly Sentimental

Joel and I had a quick adventure in Philadelphia today, where we saw BYU's Basketball team choke, sputter, and die in a period of two hours as a result of being proverbially sucker-punched in the gut by Texas A&M.

But that isn't what this post is about.

This post is about tonight. We arrived home a little while ago after picking up the kids from my parent's house. We drove home, peacefully and quietly lit by all the headlights on the freeway (well, quiet except for when Everett started eating his play-dough, but that is another story). We got home, put Everett to bed, and my attention turned to Ashley.

Joel's attention turned to Villanova. But that is also another story. Wow, scatterbrained today, aren't I?

I fed Ashley while completing my daily ritual of checking blogs (come on folks, if you haven't posted in a while, do it for me). She sat up and immediately leaned against me. She was sleepy and calm, and all of a sudden it almost felt like she was a tiny baby again. I could almost see her black hair, fine as silk threads. I could almost feel her tiny, tiny hands, and I could almost imagine that she fit neatly along the length of my forearm again.

Two minutes ago, I had been all ready to send her to bed and enjoy the quiet time to catch up on a few projects.

But suddenly I was rapturously, deliciously paralyzed--I was whisked to that place where it is just me, my sweet, drowsy baby, and a timeless amount of rocking, smelling, breathing, feeling, loving. Our surroundings fade. We melt into each other.

And then, after a few heavenly moments, I began to emerge from my state of happy delirium. But everything was still calm and dream-like. Ashley had fallen asleep on my shoulder, and I could feel her rhythmic breaths against my arm, like an airy heartbeat. Occasionally she would sigh contentedly and when she did, strands of her still delicate, still silky hair would tickle my ear. With every tickle came the reflexive desire that she would stay in this state forever. . .

But I remembered Everett, and the sweet little boy kisses he showers me with on a daily basis. How he gets excited about basketballs, dogs, stickers, sand, and cooking. How he laid down happily and calmly for a diaper and clothes change tonight. How he is just beginning to be old enough that we can really carry on conversations, and that he is still excited to talk about the nose on a hippo and the legs of a caterpillar and the sounds of heavy machinery.

And I realized, it keeps getting better. More complicated, maybe, but even better. And I can't wait to see how much better it will get.

And then, Joel shouts over some call by the refs, and I am broken out of my dreaminess, and brought to the dishes and the laundry and the sweeping and all the other things that call to me this time of night. So I get up and busy myself. But I don't think my smile will completely disappear--at least not until the next time I find poop in my boys hands and marker on the wall. And it's okay. What would we dreamers be, without these little moments to lean on?

And where would we be, without all the kids (our own or others') in the world that bring them?

Today. . .

by 11 am, I have already done these things:

--Put Everett's pants back on him no less than 47 times.

--Cleaned up packing peanuts, balloons, and cards from various games that some little busybody tossed all over the place

--Told a screaming (did I say yelling? and screaming?) toddler that yes, he does have to eat his sandwich without pulling it all apart and only licking off the peanut butter.

--Cleaned up marker from the wall. Which, incidentally, was done by the only two non-washable markers in this house. The very same ones I thought were hidden away. Nope. Not well enough for a certain toddler's magnetism for trouble.

--Swore a hundred times over that I would never paint my house with flat paint. Once that stuff is marked up, nothing can fix it, not even a magic eraser.

--Tried to clean the marker off said toddler's arms, legs, hands, feet, and face. I promise. I really tried.

--Found the same toddler clutching something in his hand, in the act of raising it to his mouth but hastily turning away from me upon realizing he was spotted.

--It was poop.

--I still don't know where he found it.

I Asked, but all he said was "yuck"

[blech]

--Looked online to see if I could find a way to contact those children-stealing gypsies. Anyone have a good contact number?

Gordon B. Hinkley Challenge

Is it too late to re-do the Gordon B. Hinkley challenge? I have recently set the goal to start and finish the Book of Mormon again. I haven't been doing well with remembering my daily scripture study, and I was trying to think of a way I could be more motivated. Because, let's be honest, in the time I spend writing blog entries, I could easily read a chapter or two.

So, I decided to start another blog--an online scripture study blog. I invited some writers, and some of them invited a couple more writers, and now we have six! Each writer takes a day (my day is Monday) and goes over the chapter we have scheduled for that day.

It is called The Bucket Filler. Here is the site: www.thebucketfiller.blogspot.com

We've only just started the Book of Mormon, so I believe we're doing 1 Nephi Chapter 11 today. Have you been wanting to renew your dedication to scripture study? It isn't too late to catch up to us! Feel free to hop on over and leave comments in the discussions. We're on track to finish before the end of the year.

This blog isn't anything big or fancy. We didn't start it with the intention of getting big and attracting a lot of readers; we are doing this because it is uplifting for us to read and discuss the scriptures with each other, and because it is difficult for some of us to get out of the house whenever we want to attend religious classes. Nap schedules will do that to you :). So far, this has been some of the best scripture study I have participated in. When I read a chapter, I will often have thoughts that the person posting that day will address more fully. We can share experiences and thoughts, and it is a great experience.

So anyway, if you've been feeling the need to get your motivation up, feel free to come join us when you can! We don't bite, and we'd love to get to know you and to have more insights brought into our discussions. And don't worry--I don't have any expectations for you. I myself am more inclined to be interested in what a General Authority has to say about the scriptures than Mrs. Random-Sally-thinks-she-has-something-to-say (that is, unless I do know the person). Still, it is nice to have a little online scripture community.

Growth Spurt

All of a sudden Ashley is looking more like a toddler to me. She is losing that sweet little baby look and is gaining the curious and sweet toddler look. Sometimes I look at her and miss the little squirmy, squealy, peanut of a thing she used to be, but seeing her figure out new ways to move is so fun that those feelings don't last long.

However, I still looooooove newborns. I still think sometimes that it would be nice to have one around the house again. . .

But really, I am not baby hungry, not yet. Really, truly. I'm sure I will get there pretty quickly once Ashley starts running around--but that isn't an open invitation to her. I'm glad I can still out-move her at this point!

How to: write a James Bond movie

Joel and I recently watched a James Bond movie. I had to restrain myself from saying "gag me with a spoon" the way Joel always does when we watch a "girly" movie. It had been a long time since I had seen a James Bond movie, and I was completely taken aback. Somehow, I remember a lot more to those movies (read: plot) than what I actually saw.

In this vein, I present to you the transcript from a meeting of the movie's writers. Enjoy. I'm sure it will be informative:

HEAD WRITER: OK guys, as you know, we're here to write the script for the new James Bond movie. I guess we'll follow protocol and begin the way we usually do.
First, how many people do we want to die in this movie, and how?

WRITER A: Well, we killed off seven in the last movie, not counting all the incidental fillers. We have to do at least ten here.

WRITER B: I think we really, really need to throw machine guns into the mix this time. You guys outvoted me last time in favor of the harpoon. Think of all the raw destruction and power!

WRITER C: Well, I don't care about the machine gun, but let's have a main battle sequence be on a jet--

WRITER D: Nope. I veto that. We all ready did that one. However, I suppose we can come up with a sweet helicopter in this movie. I'm thinking. . .stealth-like. . .powerful. . .can't be detected with electromagnetism. . .

WRITER D: OH! And a TANK! Can we please write a tank somewhere in here? Imagine the explosions!

WRITER B: [shrugs] I don't know, it seems awfully overdone.

WRITER C: Wait! I've got it! We can have the tank be in a really old European city, you know, with all those small space. What about St. Petersburg? There are some old buildings there. . .dark alleyways. . .communists. . .

WRITER A: [eyes bulging] Wait, wait! I have this awesome idea! We can have Bond get into the tank to chase some bad guy who is in a little car. He'll find the tank in the middle of the city somewhere--

WRITER B: Come on, man. In the middle of the city?

WRITER A: AND THEN, he'll plow through the city, smashing cars, trying to chase the bad guy, and--get this--he'll crash through buildings, and explode things, and nothing will stop him. Imagine the visual on this!

WRITER C: DUDE!

WRITER A: DUDE! [bumping fists with writer C]

HEAD WRITER: [taking notes, nodding] Got it, got it. OK guys, these are some good ideas. I'd say we have a good start on the movie. But we need some scenes where Bond has trouble. . .got any ideas for those?

WRITER D: Oh, I had a great idea last week about this. Why don't we have a. . .wait for it. . .a giant satellite dish that is hidden underneath a vast amount of water, which inexplicably gets sucked away when it is raised, and Bond fights on it with an agent that defected and turned against him. AND, the drop is thousands of feet. Hand-to-hand combat, old school style. Think of the potential for hair-raising almost falls!

WRITER C: Well, I kind of wanted him to be trapped in a train car that is about to self-destruct, and it is constructed out of inches-thick pieces of steel, so there is no possible way out, except that at the last second he uses the tiny laser in his watch to cut a hole, and he and some girl run out just as it explodes. Cause, you know, you gotta have the girl.

WRITER B: THAT is what I'm talking about!

WRITER A: Well, I don't know, those ideas are passable, but I thought it would be better if he and a girl were trapped in a helicopter that is about to self destruct (way to steal my idea, Mike), and he is tied up and unconscious, and the girl has to wake him up by kicking and screaming, and he has to work his way free, but before he does he notices that they only have ten seconds left before the whole thing explodes, so he finds the eject button which for some reason is by his head, and so he has no choice but to hit it with his head repeatedly until they are both ejected. . .just as a huge fireball comes up from where they just were.

WRITER D: [huffs] Well come on. At least my idea was original.

WRITER A: What, a satellite dish? So tell me, did you come up with this idea when your cable guy was over?

WRITER D: What, Dave, you think your idea is impressive? A six-year-old could think of that.

HEAD WRITER: Relax, guys, we can use all these ideas. [scribbles furiously] In fact. . .I think we've pretty much got the movie now. All we need to do is cast a hot female lead, add a little dialogue, and we're set. Anyone have any last thoughts?

WRITER B: Well, I do think we need to add a few more explosions.

HEAD WRITER: Not a big deal. We'll just make a bunch of chemical plants explode. We can kill off some more henchmen that way.

[writes some more]

Well, that's a wrap. I'll notify the director. We can start filming tomorrow, as soon as you get your son to fill in the gaps, Dave. You said he'd do that tonight, right? You sure he's up for it? I mean, I know he's all ready 12, but it might be a late night for him.

WRITER A: Sure, he's ready. Should only take him a couple hours. I mean, this is the easy part, right? What, like people come watch these movies for the plot.

(WRITERS A, B, and C snicker, WRITER D holds back a chuckle and rolls his eyes)

WRITER B: [stretches, looks at watch] Wow, this took us a half hour longer than the last time we wrote the movie. [considers that thought] That means this one will probably be even better.

WRITER C: Well, I'm out! See you guys at the next movie.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And that, my friends, is how it's done.

New Tricks

Ashley has enthusiastically discovered clapping. I find her doing it all the time now. She especially loves to do it to any of the clapping rhymes or songs we know (Pattycake, If You're Happy and You Know it, etc.), and even Everett gets a thrill out of doing it alongside her.

Apparently her verbal comprehension is developing as well, because generally all I have to do is say "clap, clap, clap!" and she will beam and start hitting her little hands together. Sometimes I do it with her, sometimes I don't, but either way, it is a lot of fun.

It seems that I'm always surprised when Ashley reaches milestones. I think this must be typical, since she is the second child and I've been through all of this before. She seems so much younger to me than Everett did at this age, but I know this is because my primary focus in life is not counting down the days to her next new skill.

Here is a quick video of her clapping. She looks all retro--that shirt is a hand-me, hand-me, hand-me down, and I think it was probably for a boy! (not that we care.)

Empathizing

Just a post to say to those of you in Utah with six inches of freshly fallen snow. . .

We sympathize with you. We feel bad for you. We really do.


. . . .Hah. But we sure are enjoying our 70-degree weather!






Especially when accompanied by trips to the park to hit some balls around in the softball diamond.

I had some good hits, but when we tried to get Everett to let us help him hit the ball with the bat, he insisted on doing it by himself. It will be funny to see how willing he is to take pointers from Joel in a few years when he really needs them.

Everett was more interested in the men playing soccer, however, and would escape so he could watch. Every time I tried to get him to come in the diamond with us, he would protest, point to the soccer field, and say matter-of-factly,

"ball, mama!"

Well. I supposed I couldn't argue with that. As much fun as we were having, we stopped and sat on the bleachers to watch the men play.

"Oohhhhhhhhh!"

Another perfect day. Joel was home from work, it was beautiful weather, and the smell of spring had filled our apartment, thanks to our open windows. Perfect.

It's happened!

Well, it's happened. Ever since Ashley has learned to crawl (though it was only days ago), she has been trying to pull up on everything she sees.

Now it is her activity of choice. Ashley will pull up to the couch, up to the exersaucer, up on the DVD drawers, and up on me. The other day while I was cooking, she kept coming in and pulling up on my leg, then laughing and laughing and laughing. I think she was pretty pleased with herself that she "caught" me.

So far she isn't much of a trouble-maker. In fact, she has been a lot happier since she has learned to move around, though she does get frustrated when she finally gets to a room where I am only for me to leave again.

I don't know if she will be an early walker or if she will just be content at this stage for a while, but I don't care either way. She is happy and pretty pleased with herself.

The best

This is my husband, Joel. He is some kind of wonderful.

I know you're dying to hear why he is so wonderful, so I suppose I'll let you in on just one of the many reasons:

He puts effort into the housework. Without reminders. And without resentment.

For instance:

We are having some dear friends over for dinner today. What did he do when he woke up this morning? He started cleaning, folks. Yes, that's right, cleaning. I did not ask him to do this. I was not going to ask him to do this (there wasn't that much to do). While he was at it, he even organized Everett's room.

And you know the best part? He does this every time we have company over. He does not have to be asked, he just looks around and finds something to do.

I tell you what, my husband is the best.

Sorry, he's not for sale, trade, or borrow.

Although I would be willing to work out a housework labor/monetary exchange sort of deal, if you want to use him for that. Interested? You know where to reach me.

Busted

Last Friday, Joel and I experienced first-hand the benefit of having family living close by. My wonderful parents volunteered (volunteered!) to watch the kids overnight so Joel and I could go on a date together. It was the perfect timing, with Joel having just come off busy season, and with me ready for some quality time.

We went to Tyson's Corner, shopped a little, ate, and came back to the mall's parking garage just as a magnificent coral sunset was filling the sky. At my suggestion (eyelashes may have been batted, but that will not be confirmed here), we drove to the very top of the parking garage where we could enjoy the brilliant rays in solitude.

Now, being that we had barely seen each other over the past week, and being that we were out without the children, we were happy to take the opportunity to park.

Oh, stop looking at me like that. Our vehicle was parked. We were just sitting next to each other. Juuuust sitting. I promise!

But, try telling that to the bored cop mall security officer who drove up right next to us just as Joel and I locked eyes and I began to think about leaning in. A hundred things went through my mind as I turned to my door, heard the mechanical hum of our respective car windows receding and saw the officer lean out of his window.

"You need to move down," he said.

"B-bbut, we were just watching the sunset," I squeaked.

"I'm sorry, but we've had too many problems up here. You need to leave." He eyed me, then Joel, considering our car's placement and our intentions.

I tried my best to look innocent and upright, and averted his gaze.

Joel started the car, we righted our seats, and then we crept down from the deserted upper level. I looked in my side view mirror and saw the officer following us a large enough distance away that his car resembled a medium-sized toy. We found a reasonable garage level, parked, and watched as the officer circled around the floor. Eventually he left--but slowly, so as to ensure we were indeed getting out of the car.

We laughed and slinked into the mall, feeling like rebel teenagers, and experiencing a strange sense of sheepishness mixed with incredulity. Needless to say, we learned an important lesson:

Never try to be romantic in your car when there is the chance of a police officer stopping you.

Or, as Joel would put it:

Sentimentality is overrated.

In Case Anyone Has Any False Assumptions

This is how we are the majority of the time at our house:

Crawling around on poorly-swept floors.
(And don't worry; we put all items we find on the floor directly in our mouths.
Lisa, I know you're shuddering right now.)





Very dirty shirts (spit-up on me, food on Everett).

Marker covering any and all exposed appendages.
Don't miss the dot on the cheek or the marks on the pants.

There is a reason I have only washable markers in my house, and this is he.

Sneaking contraband candy which is too big to fit comfortably in the mouth all in one piece, all while too engrossed in a movie to notice the waves of chocolate slime coming out of the mouth.

And, the entire time pretending to be unaware of any voice resembling his mother's.

Santa Claus potato faces. . .

And the eating without bibs because we need to wash the shirt anyway
and I have more shirts than bibs approach.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So don't worry! My kids are still alive, I am still alive, and Joel is still alive. And we're building very healthy immune systems while we're at it. My kids rarely get sick, and this is all for their overall good. Right? Right?

Snow Day

We had a really good snowfall yesterday. I don't know what the actual count was, but it seemed that there were at least six inches covering the ground (this is nothing to you Utahns, but we take what we can get out here).

And, since Joel finished up with busy season at the end of last week (hurrah!), he was told to stay home.

That's right folks, we had. . .a Snow Day! All together!


Joel took Everett out after his nap, and when Ashley and I joined them, I discovered that Everett was having a lot of fun. Much more fun, in fact, than when I take him out.

When I take Everett out in the snow, we generally just have a running commentary of nature.

"Look, son, notice the distinct shape the icicles coming off the slide have, similar to stalactites one might find in a deep cave."

Ok, not really, but you get the idea. We do just fine, and Everett does learn how to describe things with words like "cold, wet, white, soft", but we're usually lacking in jumping-around-energy.


But this is what happens when Papa takes him out (I'm a little surprised Everett could do anything, given the 47 layers I dressed him in):

Climbing

Sliding so fast your jacket will blow right off





Snow Angels

Laying in the snow

Aaaannnd. . . what's this? We can throw balls made out of snow?

That's so neat--wait--RUN!


Then, in case Joel didn't get Everett snowballed enough, there's always this approach:

(warning: this movie is not edited for length, importance, or clarity)

Then if you add coming inside to a dinner of split-pea soup and hot rye bread, well, you can't have a day more perfect than that. I'm so glad we had this snow day, probably the last of the season, though I haven't checked the forecast. It is always fun when Joel is home on a work day.