GRAPE-FLAVORED WATER

About ten years ago we had to go to California to clean out Phil's mom's house, as it was being sold. That very week I stepped on a downed tree branch in the garden--it rolled just as I stepped on it and I fell. I cracked the bone in my calf. I was on crutches so couldn't go. Taylor and Bentley volunteered to go and help their dad.

They had adventures--oh the adventures those three had--and both boys played pranks on their dad...many pranks. One of those many things they did was to fiddle with Phil's water bottle--he kept finding grapes in it. When Phil got home he said it was like living with two monkeys.

Last week Taylor borrowed the Yukon to move some things. When the car came back this is what Phil found.

THE LAST DAY OF THE THANKFUL MONTH

First of all, I know this is too long to read. I hope my kids will read it and if they do that will make me happy.

This is the day my very first baby was born--seven days late, I might add. I was so happy, so content, so new-motherish. Phil couldn't stop beaming. Trent was a wonderful baby, but not a cuddler--I think that's changed--he has seven kids, after all. He was always leaning back, looking at everything. He has never gotten over this habit. Everything fascinates him. When he was a teenager I had to tell him, "Go to bed and stop being interesting!" I blame him for my night owlish habits that got etched deep when he was a teen--but, don't tell--it sure was fun to be up late with him. He has the best heart--would do anything for anyone, and does volunteer work for the Sheriff's Department. When he leaves here, with a car full of kids, he always makes two circles in the cul-de-sac and the kids--and me too--love it. He is quirky as well as hard working. Everyone should be a little quirky and he does it well. He would go anywhere to help and has, even in the middle of the night. There seems to be a middle-of-the-night theme to his life.

Next--four years later--came Taylor, the cuddler. A fast delivery--forty-five minutes (Phil reminded me it was 20 minutes--it seemed like forty-five, times five) once we came through the hospital door, but seven days late. A chubby, happy baby. Then, at about year one he got sick, lost the chub and never put it back on. Well, until he worked in the bakery at a restaurant, when he was a teenager, and ate half a dozen rolls, hot out of the oven, slathered in butter, every morning. When he realized what was happening to his fit form he gave up the rolls for slimness. He is now a great cook and the things that boy cooks/bakes are divine. He asks us to Sunday dinner often, and we can hardly get there fast enough. Whenever his department (at BYU) has a cooking contest he takes first prize--every time. The last one was called, "I don't know what's in it but it sure tastes good." He reassures me when I am doubting and when I am worried. And the things that boy says! Totally off the wall. We're always laughing. His sister-in-law says he has "an excess of personality," and he does. He is quirky but tender too. Reads to his girls every night and then says and does things that keep his wife laughing--and shaking her head in disbelief.

Hillary, my first girl came 2 1/2 years later, two bloomin' weeks late. Her name means "happy" and it fits. Everyone loves her. She woke up happy, was happy all day and went to bed happy. I often tell her I think she is really Aunt Pat's child that got misdirected. (Aunt Pat was a total joy and I have moments of stoic grumpiness.) She has more friends than you could count and they all think they are her favorite--and they probably are. When she calls she often says, "It's me!" in the kind of a voice you would use to say, "You won the lottery!" And with her as a daughter we think we did. She is easy going 99% of the time but when she says she doesn't get mad, she gets even, she means it. She is the bestest friend a mother could have and we "play" often but not often enough. It was the saddest day of my life the day she left home. She is funny, compassionate, strict with the kiddies but says such off the wall things to them that they now say off the wall stuff too and we hoot with laughter.

A full five years later came our last boy, Bentley. He was three days early. Way to go, Bentley. Blond and blue eyed. A self assured little boy. "Counting" never worked for him. He just looked at you as if to say, "What kind of silly manipulation is this?" He was slow to read--wanted to be outside, in any kind of weather. When he was ten months old we couldn't keep him from crawling into Bear Lake--c-o-l-d Bear Lake. The first book he read was "Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nim," in second grade, and from then on he was an excellent student. Nothing stopped him from good grades. We never had to say a word. He's put himself through college with scholarships and hard work. He makes me laugh and his laugh makes me laugh more. Then he laughs more and on it goes. I'm almost laughing just thinking about it. My favorite time is having him in the kitchen when I'm cooking, him hovering over me, holding a spoon or a fork, saying, "Maybe I should just taste that." He does love good food. He calls me for cooking advice, which I love.

Our last baby, Elizabeth, was a surprise. Nine years after Bentley was born--our oldest was 21 and on a mission. She was five days late and the doctor hurried her delivery--she's been mad about it ever since. When I wrote an April Fool letter to Trent with a bunch of silly stuff and wrote "The Rabbit died," (we had a powder blue VW Rabbit) he knew I was pregnant. Mom had died the year before and I have always been sad she didn't get to hold this beautiful baby. But, I'll tell you a secret. I think Mom is with her a lot. She looks a lot like Mom too. She is sassy, funny, and smart. I love staying up late with her--there's a staying-up-late pattern here--and I love when she leans over the back of Phil's recliner and talk to me as I'm on the computer. She is independent and determined. She should go into counseling as she can "read" people and sees things no one else does. She doesn't take any guff, well, at least not from her parents and I wonder where that strong will will take her. Good places, I think. Her grandma Snyder was hard headed and we think she watched from Heaven and took note. She is just two inches taller than her tiny grandma and sometimes, when I catch site of her, she takes my breath away as she is so pretty.

These are the things I am most thankful for.

Except for my main thankful, the man I fell in love with so hard so many years ago. He is my strength, my lifeline, brings sanity to my insane moments. He is positive when I doubt. He is steady when I waver. He holds me up when I fall down in a quivering mass of of self doubt. He is the Priesthood holder that I look up to. He goes forward in faith when I whine and look over my shoulder. (I'd probably be the pillar of salt. Well, not really, but I might be a pillar of tears.) He likes facts and numbers while I like Science Fiction. Numbers are Greek to me--I don't even know my own cell phone number. He has every church book ever printed. (Well, he wishes he did.) If you ask him what he wants for a birthday or Christmas he will whip out a 3x5 card that has a list of ten books on it. (He always has 3x5 cards in his pocket.) He is faithful in his church duties and goes the extra mile. He loves his children. He would walk through fire for them but can't express it. I'm the expressive one but he is the one who never steps off the mark. I'm all over the place, dancing along through life, laughing over my shoulder, until I bump up against an obstacle and then Phil rescues me and makes the bump on the head all better. He is a no nonsense kind of guy, so when he says things that are odd, I take him seriously instead of seeing the "funny" in it. Once I learned how funny he really is and quit taking him so literally, life has been a lot more fun. I hope to live through eternity with him by my side.

These are my biggest thankfuls. And my parents and siblings--there is no way to adequately give them the honor they deserve.

Also I adore the people my kids married, and are dating. How did my kids pick so well? I love their partners as if they were my own children. They each have wonderful qualities that complete my children and I honor the parents that helped make them who they are. I am lucky. And blessed.

And up too late, as usual.

LYNNE'S EULOGY ADD ONS

I hope whoever reads my eulogy will say this:

Phil: I can still see him, with a grin on his face, looking up at me from the window of his white Thunderbird. Who wouldn't fall in love with that face? We have gone through some tough times, he has given me more fun times, is the father of the children that I love, is patient, kind and hardly ever says, "I told you so." He worries about his kids, prays about them and loves them as only a father can. He is my rock and I lean on him for all things in my life. He loves the Gospel and wants to serve the very best that he can. I believe he does. I love him with all my heart.

Trent: "Mom, don't take that milk away. It's not even solid yet." Age four. And this one: "I still remember when I figured out math. I was sitting in the hall by my bedroom, looking at the white wall." He was four or five years old. And the day his barefooted friend ran all the way to my house to tell me Trent was stuck on the sidewalk, afraid to move because it was hot and burned his feet. His friend ran on the grass. My Trent. So brilliant and so spacey. He asks me, occasionally, "Does your dog bite?" (From one of the Pink Panther Movies) He has lots of quotes memorized and yes, he really should vacuum the other half of the piano. He drove the Subaru off the road and it rolled a couple of times and only got his pride hurt. Thank goodness. He would do anything for his parents and his siblings. He loves us all, in our undoing and unwinding, it doesn't matter. He loves us.

Taylor: I have a mental picture of him running across the lawn with his hair bouncing every which way--he was about four or five. That kid loved to run. And I will never forget the look on his face when I squirted him with the hose through the screen door. It was worth the mess. And on the way home from Thanksgiving with Cole's borrowed guitar--he fiddled with it the entire time and within a month he could play the guitar. He cleaned my kitchen every day for car privileges and at the time I was fixing four dozen gourmet meals which I sold to businesses. The kitchen was a mess. He walked home from Orem (at 2:00 and 3:00 a.m.) where he worked as a janitor because I slept through the phone when he called for a ride. He was never mad. He always forgives. Always.

Hillary: "I a big goil and can do it myself." And she pulled away from my hand and marched across the street all by herself. She watched as I tried to teach Taylor to tie his shoe. I tried and tried and he just didn't get it. "It's like this," she said and showed him how. She was 2 1/2 years younger. We always ended up in her bedroom, the kids and I. She said because it was the only clean room in the house but that wasn't why and she knows it. She doesn't get mad, she gets even. She fits her name which means happy. She is my get-out-of-the-dumps girl. Just call Hillary and I'll be all right. She cuts our hair and stays and visits instead of going to Target. She lallygags on the lawn swings with me and the girls. She won't speak at my funeral which is okay because I'm not going to die. She loves me. I can't go.

Bentley: The doorknob was broken on his and Hillary's bedroom door. Trent and Taylor and I were playing board games in the kitchen. Bentley couldn't get out of his room. He knocked and knocked. No one came. He went to Hillary for help. She was asleep. By the time we finally went to rescue him he was sound asleep, standing up, with his head on her bed. He jelled his own hair and stuck it straight up in the air at age four. You've never seen a more proud kid. He put himself through college with scholarships. We never once said to him, "Do your homework." He just did it. He drove the Suburban into the creek at Sundance and only got his pride hurt. Thank goodness. He makes me laugh and laugh. His first batch of chocolate chip cookies took 2 1/2 hours but he is quick to tell you they were the perfect cookies. He saves all his receipts and could start the Chicago fire with them, which he wouldn't do because he is in love with Chicago. That's how he lives his life, doing things to perfection. And if anything, that kid has the perfect laugh.

Elizabeth: She made herself a bed in Hillary's room on a shelve in the closet. She wanted to sleep in her big sister's room. She was all bedded down when Hillary came in to get dressed from a shower. The scream can still be heard. She told Hillary's friend, "Your mother doesn't love you," for no reason at all. She told me a string of insults when I made her eat her soup including, "This is swamp soup." And the ultimate insult, "Jesus doesn't love you." She wants to be named for Mom, who died a year before she was born. One day I may legally change her name. She sometimes looks just like Mom and I think there is a special bond between the two of them. I have asked Heavenly Father to "send Mom." to watch over Elizabeth and I think she does. She now says, "I love you too," when we hang up the phone. It makes me happy. She is tender and strong, all at the same time. She always forgives. Always.

When all is said and done...and is it ever EVER all said and done...I've had a great life because of the great people in it.

THINKING OF MICE (24 years ago)

Women are supposed to sew clothes for their kids. That’s what I thought. I didn’t like to sew. I didn’t want to sew. But I was supposed to sew, especially since Aunt Dorothy had given me a sewing machine a long time ago, a sewing machine that would have been collecting dust if it weren’t tucked neatly into it’s case. In the closet. In the spare room. Behind a closed door.

I decided to make some pajamas for four-year-old Bentley. I bought seersucker fabric in a cute print—it would be cool for summer, I thought. But summer came and they still weren’t made. Bentley slept in large T-shirts. I don’t know why I didn’t think this was okay. I fretted about the pajamas all summer. Because I was supposed to sew.

Mom and Dad came up to see us in late July. “Why don’t you just get in and make them,” she said.

“I don’t know, Mom. You sew all the time. You like it. Every time I sew I end up giving the half finished, awful looking item to DI. I hate it. Why don’t you take the fabric home and make the jammies? You can give them to Bentley for his birthday.”

She thought that was a good idea and so did I. On his birthday there was a soft package wrapped with bright colored curly ribbons dripping off the top. Mom and Dad were anxiously watching him open the gift we all knew he’d love. He took the paper off and stood there. No emotion. Nothing. His eyes looked at the ceiling. I thought maybe he didn’t know what they were.

“They’re jammies,” I said.

The ceiling-looker said nothing.

I took them out of his hands, shook them out of their folded state and said, “See? Jammies,” They looked like they'd fit perfectly.

Nothing.

“Don’t you like them? Grandma made them just for you,” I said.

“I’m thinking of mice,” Bentley said in a quiet voice.

Everyone in the room leaned forward, even the kids, Trent, Taylor and Hillary. “What?” everyone said in unison.

“I’m thinking of mice.”

I looked at Mom. I could tell her feelings were a little bit hurt. “If you don’t like them I know a little boy in Annabella who would love them. Should I take them to him?”

Mother had used this tactic on me all my life. If there were something I didn’t like she threatened to give it away. It worked on me because I was probably selfish but Bentley knew what he liked and what he didn’t and he didn’t like those jammies.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

I never did find out what Mom did with the jammies. I didn’t want to remind her that her ungrateful grandson didn’t like her gift so I never mentioned them again.

“I’m thinking of mice,” has become Snyder family code for “I really don’t like this but I’m too polite to say so right to your face.” It hasn’t been used a lot, but enough. I’m thinking of mice right now, as I write this story that I really can’t do justice to.

LIZA'S BAPTISM AND SOME RAMBLING

This is a picture of my granddaughter, who was baptized today. She is barefoot because by the time we got to her house, after the baptism, she had already changed out of her church clothes and I made her change back so I could take a picture. She looks like she's trying to be patient with me, doesn't she? She really wants to go play with her cousins.

Her Dad had changed too and I made him change back. I'm bossy that way.

He baptized and confirmed her a member of the church and gave her the gift of the Holy Ghost. I gave a talk on the Holy Ghost before the baptism. I tried to make it simple for her and another darling little boy who was being baptized too. It was a beautiful day for us and for Liza. I am so happy for her.

She will do well in this life. She is a sensitive little soul, very caring, very loving and a hard worker. And loved by her Daddy.

Here is my son, mugging for the camera with Phil. He's such a joker, my boy. As you can see, Phil loves it.

I'd show you the picture of me but, sadly, I look my age and it makes me ill so there will be no illness here today.

This is the backyard. I am so happy to learn how to download pictures that I take pictures of everything, except for my old self. This is the arbor that one of my other sons, Bentley and his new wife, Trisha, stood in front of at their wedding reception a year ago last August. It was so hot we thought we'd die and now look at it.

That's the way things are. You can hardly stand whatever you are going through, sometimes--not the wedding , it was a wonderful thing--but I'm speaking metaphorically here--I got off on this tangent remembering the heat at the reception.

So, you are going through a bad time, a hard trial, maybe, you are despondent and sad or anxious or however you experience tough times. I get a horrible anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach and I imagine the worst. Then, six months later, you have gotten through that time and you look back and can think of it differently. I often am able to write about times of stress with humor, later--not that I'm successful at the humor but you know what I mean, at least I can see it differently. Some people can't. They never let go. They remember and are angry or sad or hurt or whatever it is that they feel justified about.

I am sad to have to admit that I am that way too with some things and wish I weren't. My birth dad got on a private plane in a blizzard when I wasn't quite two years old, with my mom pleading for him not to go. The plane crashed and she never saw him alive again. I have been living with that abandonment all my life. Angry at times, hurt at others, feeling like I was not important. I have got to learn to let it go. To realize that he, my birth father, has other responsibilities. One of them may be to watch over me, to whisper in my ear when I need help or comfort. Do I realize that? Now, as I'm writing this, I do, but not as I live my life, realizing I didn't know him, wasn't taught by him, didn't learn the things that he held dear.

Well, I had no idea this post was going this direction. Maybe I needed to think this through a bit. I really do need to let it go and not feel cheated. Mom did remarry and Daddy loved me with all his heart. He was a good father, he even taught me to drive my sister's Army jeep which is more than any father should have to do. That is another story for another time. What a dear, patient, Daddy he was.

Okay, enough of that. This is the arbor up close.

And Chloe, who lives outside and loves it. I wanted to take a picture of of Pinky--the cat--with Kate, the four-year-old, but Pinky was asleep on the arm of the couch and Kate somersaulted onto the couch and flipped Pinky, head over tail, right on the floor. Poor now-awake Pinky was frozen, wondering how he got to the floor. Walter, the pup was banned to Chloe's doghouse until all the company was gone so no pictures of him either.

This last one I loved for no reason.

Have a great Sunday one and all. Thanks for stopping by and wading through my pictures and odd thoughts.