HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

I will share my sidewalk chalk Happy Mother's Day greeting with you. Thank you, Her Excellency of Mousehole and The Boarder. May each of you know how much our Heavenly Father and the Savior love you. May this year be a wonderful one for each of you, married or not, with children or not.

And if you have children, may they someday know how much you love them, as much as I love mine, I'll bet, which is an unimaginable lot.

Happy Mother's Day.

A SMALL ACT OF KINDNESS

Tonight we took Her Excellency of Mousehole and The Boarder to dinner at Heaps. When Phil paid the bill he tipped the waitress very well. She didn't look at the check, just took it, along with the bill and said, "Thanks for coming in."

It took us a few minutes to leave and on the way out she came up to Phil and--with tears in her eyes--said, "Thank you so much."

It was no big thing, but maybe tonight she needed to feel appreciated. Her appreciation made Phil's day. And because it made his day I realized--once again--how tender and caring he is and I'm so glad he belongs to me. It was a win-win experience, all around.

HER EXCELLENCY OF MOUSEHOLE AND KRAMER

"Come on, Kramer," says Her Excellency of Mousehold. "No, I'm just going to stay here--with my electric eyes--, under the chair."

But he does come out and nestles under her leg. He keeps his eyes on electric-mode.

I say to her, "Smile!" and I get this look...

...and then she rewards me with a big cheeser, my girl.

She hasn't squashed Kramer, he's actually gone to sleep. He follows her around like a...well, like a puppy dog and ignores Phil and me. It's very discouraging.

JUST "GOOGLE" IT

I was talking to Her Excellency of Mousehole on the phone tonight and I said, "I wonder how old so-and-so is?"

"I don't know," she said.

"I'm going to "Google" her and find out.

"WHAT," she said. "You're going to "Google" her name?

"Yes."

"That is so lame. That's an invasion of privacy. That's...she's 47 years old," she said.

"What?" I said. "How do you know?"

"She's the second one down on Google."

I hadn't even brought a "Google" search box up yet and she...the one who criticized me for my curiosity...already had the information.

And so it goes. As human beings we might think what someone else has, wears, thinks, eats, etc. is stupid but pretty soon we want one, are wearing one, thinking about it, eating it, etc. It's just human nature.

But some of us aren't quite as quick about it, like my genius child is.

She takes after me. The genius part.

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY, HER EXCELLENCY OF MOUSEHOLE

We took our darling no-longer-a-teenager daughter's belated birthday present up to her today. We went to lunch and she showed us where she works. I insisted on photo's of the new birthday item and of course, being EXACTLY like her siblings she gave me her best sneer. I can't actually tell if the photo is good or not until I get it home. Thanks for the wonderful surprise, daughter dear. The sweater looks good though, don't'chathink? Jason's dog, Ruka, looked at her delightful sneer and decided that's what she was supposed to do when I bring out the camera. Sneer. An obedient dog, to be sure.

Kramer had no intention of sneering, He was right where he wanted to be. Right next to Her Excellency. Asleep.
But Your Excellency, I need

to be right next to you, too.
Oh, all right, you big baby. Let me just get
the tiny one out of the way first.

And so Ruka slunk up for a cuddle and
Kramer hopped off to welcome her.

And then there was more

snoozing. Two snoozers.

See what I have to put up with?

Yup, this is pretty much my life.
Happy late birthday, our beloved daughter. .
...and many more.

We love you,

Mom and Dad

HER EXCELLENCY OF MOUSEHOLE'S NEW PUPPY

The Boarder came by today to show us this. Her Excellency of Mousehole's "Happy Birthday to You," present:


How cute is he? And The boarder too.

Then he took wee doggie home to her and we haven't heard from her yet. Why? Because the doggie has never been out of her arms, we're betting.

Happy Birthday, Her Excellency of Mousehole. There is nothing we can ever give you that will come anywhere close to this.

Does that mean we don't have to try?

No, we didn't think so.

The Boarder did well. Congratulations to both of you and to the little barker who will be very pampered, we're guessing.

Update: She called ten minutes after I posted this. She loves him and is naming him Kramer. His hair does look like Kramer's, doesn't it? And I was right. He is going to be very pampered.

SIX WORDS FOR SASSY KIDS

Smiling, scheming, snarling, laughing at Mom.

WHEN BABIES GROW UP

Yesterday's post showed a baby so I thought I'd show you my baby. This is Her Excellency of Mousehole and the Boarder. The Boarder isn't mine but I love him like he were.
They were here yesterday and I wanted pictures of them. They agreed...maybe a little too easily. Look at those faces, there is trouble brewing.

Sure, you can take our pictures.

Smile for your mother.
Okay, since she's taking pictures lets give her a good one.
" Okay, I'm ready," Her Excellency said.

" No, wait for me," The Boarder said.

"There!" he said. "How's that? This is my 'pirate' imitation."

" He says, 'Wait for me,' and then he makes a face without me! How fair is that?" she said.

"Maybe not fair but it was a dang good face," he said.

"Okay, this time for sure," they said together.
"Taa Daa!"
"How'd we do? "
"We did good. You love us, don't 'cha?"

Yes, I do, my beautiful, funny baby and handsome, goofy Boarder. And now, today I miss you, too. Are you coming back soon?

BATHING IN A BUCKET

Lord Bumhampton climbed up on my lap. I nuzzled his little neck, he smelled of summer. Sometimes I’d lick my children’s arms just to smell the rich summer fragrance. It made them laugh, to see, and feel their mother licking their arms.

“I should take him in and give him a bath,” I said.

Mom didn’t say anything.

“I really should,” I said, halfheartedly.

“You know,” she said in a quiet voice, swinging the lawn swing with a slow rhythm, “there’s nothing says he has to bathe in the house. When I was a kid we bathed in a tin tub. Even a bucket would do.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

I set the bucket of warm water on the patio and tried to persuade my boy that bathing in a bucket was going to be fun. He wasn’t buying it. Getting naked in the back yard was out of his two-year-old comfort zone.

I swirled my hand in the water. He did too and soon he was splashing and laughing. He hardly noticed as I stripped his clothes off. When they were in a pile he stepped into the bucket and stood still while I soaped a washcloth and washed his plumb tummy, his arms and legs. I soaped the summer smell off his neck, then scooped water and let it cascade over his head. Water ran down his summer-browned arms and dripped off his fingers. I soaped his round little bottom and he laughed. Mom smiled.

When he was rinsed off I bundled him in a towel. Mom dried his hair with a corner of it and then wrapped the towel around him, tucking the end in so he could walk around. We called him our little Tongan.

I dumped the water on the grass. He poked at the wet grass with a stick and then came to get dressed. He climbed on my lap and snuggled down.

The stars came out; there were more stars then, city lights were fewer. Lord Bumhampton fell asleep.

We swung in the dark for a long time--Mother, daughter and grandson, his breath warmed my breast. He sighed in his sleep. Mom and I smiled in the dark and talked softly.

It was a night made of magic. Thin magic. Warm-toast kind of magic. I didn’t know it then, but it was also the future’s I-wish-I-could-go-back-in-time kind of magic. We stayed on the swing long after the stars filled the sky with specks of light and the crickets courted.

We were three generations. Maybe we were watched over by unseen generations, the ones who had gone before and those unborn, waiting to come, maybe one of those unborn was Lord Bumhampton's little sister, Her Excellency of Mousehole. I like to think that’s true. Maybe Lord Bumhampton's future children were there too, there might have been many generations, stretching in the distance on both ends, and the three of us, in the middle, swinging together, held together, by silken family threads, one summer night, so long ago.

CAFE RIO SALAD-TYPE-TACOS THAT YOU SHOULDN'T EAT THIS LATE!

It's 11:40 and we finished dinner about a half hour ago. Lord Bumhampton and Nurse Giggleswich were in Salt Lake City all day, planning the funeral for her father, and didn't get home until late.

Such a sad time, she is handling it well. Thank you to all who sent your sympathies to her in my comments section and in emails to me. She appreciates it so much.

I made chicken for Cafe Rio salads--the chicken recipe I kept finding on the Internet. But, Her Excellency of Mousehole got involved in the tasting and decided it needed her expert spice-shaking-touch and by the time she was finished it was outrageously delicious. Her cooking skills have passed my own--as you might guess, she is hanging over my shoulder, telling me what to type. Now she sighed and called me an idiot and then said, "Bless your heart." We understand each other, my last-born-favorite-child. Her words again, but I guess she is my favorite last born child.

I fried some raw tortillas--from Costco--put a bit of chicken on top--so much for a vegan meal today--I wonder if it would work with tofu?--added some S&W Caribbean Beans, rice, chopped romaine, Cafe Rio Salad dressing, and Red Hot pepper sauce on it, rolled it into a taco shape and ate it. Three times. It was fantastic! Now I am one and a half tacos too full. I must figure out what our combined efforts for the chicken were so I can post it on my cookbook blog. I forgot to take a picture to post with it. So much for late dinners and starving participants, gobbling everything down with no chance for a photo.

Don't eat this late. You'll be miserable, like me who is too full by one and a half tacos. But if you do eat this late be sure it is something worth the misery.