REALLY?

1. Phil and I were in Costco late this afternoon. "Shouldn't we get a chicken?" he asked.

Getting a roasted chicken is the highlight of Phil's life. Well, almost. Getting a Costco chicken means I won't have to cook dinner so it's a win-win. So we got a chicken, and then we went into the fruit and veggies room. We had been in there maybe five seconds when he said, "Hurry!"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because, he said, with a worried look on his face, "my chicken is cooling off."

Really, Phil.


2. I was in the living room, talking on the phone with Hillary, tonight.

"Maddy (age 11) was going swimming with Bailey today," Hillary said. "A huge thunderstorm came up and Maddy came in the living room and threw herself on the couch in despair. Face down."

"Face down, Mom," she said. "What am I going to do with her?"

"You better watch her," I said. "You know what happened to Elizabeth when puberty hit?"

All during this conversation Elizabeth was downstairs, with the TV on. Obviously she has excellent eavesdropping capabilities.

"What?" she yelled. "What did I do?"

Then she got on the phone and said, "In my defense, I am sweet and lovely." Hillary and I were speechless. "Sweet and lovely," Elizabeth continued, "With bouts of naughtiness."

Really, Elizabeth, bouts of naughtiness?


3. One day when Liza (age 11) was here, she was sitting on the couch and had her feet up. The bottoms of her socks were so worn out you could see her feet through the weave.

"Liza," Hillary said, "nice socks."

"Thanks," Liza said, "They're breezy!"

Which sounds like a good thing to me. Somebody ought to market socks that way. Breezy socks. Really. Liza should get royalties. Really, she should.


4. Hillary told me that last night Maddy had a glass of water and a glass of milk at dinner. She took a drink of her milk, pulled a horrible face and said, "Ugh, milk. What a horrible surprise."

"What a horrible surprise," is now a by word in their house. I think that phrase can be used for lots of situations. It's kind of like the word "Interesting." Sometimes it means interesting and sometimes it means interesting! Know what I mean? I'm sure you have had some interesting things happen in your life, and so have I. Really.


5. Hillary and I continued talking. How we got on this subject I don't know.

"I hate the word 'beloved'", she said.

"You do? Even when it refers to Jesus?"

"Yes," she said, "and I hate the word 'gorgeous,' too."

Now that this is published on my blog, if any of her siblings read it--which is unlikely--they will have the perfect ammunition for getting her goat. They will probably tell her they think that one of the reasons Jesus was beloved was because he was gorgeous.

I hope this isn't sacrilegious, talking about Jesus this way. Really, I hope it isn't.


6. Which reminds me, Trent was always good at "getting people's goats." He probably still is, he has seven children to use as victims. When he was still living home, one day he was teasing one of the kids (I can't remember which one) Whoever it was came running to me, tattling.

"He's got your goat," I replied.

Whereupon the child turned around, marched back to Trent and yelled, "Give my goat back."

"He gets your goat all the time." I said. "He has a whole herd of them by now."

"Give them back!" the child yelled.

"Where will you keep them?" Trent asked. "A whole herd of goats is a lot to take care of."

"They can live in the back yard and eat grass," the child said.

Now one begins to wonder, did that child really think Trent had real goats? And then I wonder, no, I'm sure of it, they must take after Phil's side of the family.

Really.

I'M THANKFUL TO BE ALIVE THIS THANKSGIVING DAY

Tuesday night my desire to be a good mother won over common sense.

For two days the weather forecasters had been warning us about a blizzard that was coming on Tuesday evening. I even got notice via email that one of the local craft stores were closing early so their employees could get home before the storm hit.

Then I talked to Hillary. She was sick and the baby--not even two weeks old, threw up all over her. If Max had been there I knew she would be fine but he was working out of town. I threw a nightgown, robe, clean underwear and cosmetics in the car and took off. Point one for motherhood.

"If I hurry," I said to Phil, who was wide eyed and disbelieving, "I can beat the storm."

I ran into the storm right out of Provo. There would be no hurrying. I didn't consider turning around. Point one for stupidity.

The storm grew worse. I have sight in only one eye and that makes driving more difficult, especially at night, but I preserved--my daughter needed me. Point two for stupidity. Point two for motherhood, too.

Soon all signs of lines on the road were gone. I followed a car that seemed to know where he was going. He slowed from 40 miles an hour to 20.

When he took an exit to Spanish Fork I waited for someone else to pass me and then I followed his tracks.

Santaguin--where my daughter and grandbaby and other two grandchildren live--is a thirty-five minute drive from my house to hers. It had been thirty-five minutes already. I wasn't even to Payson.

I slogged on and finally I saw the exit I wanted. A car was following MY tracks, the stupid fool. Who would follow me? But, because he was following me I couldn't just stop in the middle of the road and try to figure things out.

There was NO STREETLIGHT at that exit. What is the matter with the powers that be in charge of roads? Is there some road-ology rule that says there should be inconsistency in road signs and street lights? I had no idea where the exit road was and was afraid if I just turned toward the right I'd go right off the embankment. Besides there was that fool following. And visibility was about ten feet. I should have slowed to a stop and waved him around, got out and found the road but, stupidity earned another point and I kept going.

I saw a car coming up from that exit onto the freeway. I thought about turning around and going down the exit ramp, WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN A GOOD IDEA as there were no other cars for miles and miles around but stupidly earned point four. I pulled over to the side of the road, the car following me hurried to catch up to the car that just came from Santaguin and then I called Hillary.

"I've missed my exit."

"Oh, Mom. The next exit is ten miles down the road, at Mona."

Motherhood earned another point as I said, "I just wanted you to know I am fine"--liar, liar, pants on fire--"and I'll go to Mona and turn around. Call Dad and tell him I'm fine." Make her a liar, too. The two cars were out of sight by now so I took a deep breath and started again.

When I got to Mona there WERE THREE STREET LIGHTS AT THE EXIT. Three! Talk about conspicuous consumption, especially when the Santaguin exit had none.

Off I went, and because there were plenty of streetlights I could actaully see the on ramp and I got back on the freeway. I should have gone to a random house and asked for asylum.

Have I mentioned that this section of I-15 is under construction? So, there were odd barriers all over the place? Barriers in the blizzard that I couldn't see anyway, until they were ten feet away.

Last week Phil installed brand new windshield wipers on my car. From Costco. The Costco he loves. The Costco that can do no wrong. Except the wipers collected ice and soon I had exactly a three inch swath of clear windshield that I could see out of if I sat up tall. When that bit of clean windshield disappeared I stopped the car, got out and banged the ice off. Of course I didn't have any gloves because I was speeding to my daughter's rescue and finding gloves would have taken sixty seconds. Phil would have tried to talk me out of going all of those sixty seconds and I was not going to be talked out of going.

I started saying, "Have faith. Have faith." about every three seconds. And, "Heavenly Father, just keep my windshield clear and I will do the rest."

Thank goodness for those annoying groves the road-making people put at the edge of the road to wake up sleepy drivers when they drift off the road. I was a drifter and how was I to tell? I couldn't see anything, but my hearing was good. When my tires hit the groves I veered back to the left. I prayed, "Heavenly Father, just let me have enough clear windshield to see out of. I promise I will not speed"--most of the time my speed didn't even register--"and I will be kind to people and not kick dogs." I tell you, when you are in a real blizzardy pickle you think of odd things.

The windshield wipers now had 1/2 inch of clean window and when that closed I stopped, stepped out of the car, took my other foot off the brake and the car went on without me! I had left it in gear. I hobbled, one leg partly still in the car, I got in, and put the car in park. I put my head in my hands and said things like, "Thou fool," and then I got out, banged the ice off the wiper and got back in the car.

Somewhere along there I uttered another simple prayer. "Dear Heavenly Father, please don't let me die tonight or Hillary will never forgive herself, even though she didn't actually ask me to come down. And she has always said she won't speak at my funeral because she won't be able to talk and I've always said, 'well, you can write it out. Trent will read it for you.' And so, Heavenly Father, don't let me die tonight, because then she'd feel guilty for two things."

In five minutes the whole windshield wiper scenario played out again, even the part about leaving the car in gear, AGAIN.

One good thing about this whole horrible bad night, I thought, my hobbling skills have improved greatly. I probably have hobbling muscles that I didn't even know I had and they are now exercised and will be big and strong in case I ever have the need to hobble in the future.

I banged the ice off the windshield wiper and saw that there was one lone semi coming--oh wait, he had three cars behind him, if I hurried I could follow the pack. But, he was almost to me.

Do I stay in front of the car and if he hits the car it will run over me? Or do I stand behind the car and if he hits me he will smash me into the car?

I did neither, I decided to get IN the car but of course there wasn't time because he was really speeding, probably twenty miles an hour and so I flattened myself to the driver's door and he passed within four feet of me. He blared his horn. Was that a greeting? I decided it was his message, "Courage. Have courage and keep going." The three cars following soon were out of sight as I was so shaken I couldn't get behind the wheel in time to follow. When I did, I found out that I had TURNED THE LIGHTS OFF when I got out of the car. Old habits--turn off the lights when you get out of the car. No WONDER he blared his horn at me, it wasn't a "courage" message at all. It was a "You are a stupid fool" message. A car with no lights and a wild woman standing there in a blizzard? He probably thought I was an escaped mental patient PLUS a stupid fool, and by then it was a possibility--I would be glad to be in some nice warm mental hospital, in a nice, safe, padded room.

The blizzard blizzarded on and I did too. But the windshield wiper now had a mission--to collect ice--and it was doing a fine job, Costco would have been proud. So I had to get out and bang the windshield wiper. And like magic, here came another semi. I'm sure they were twins but probably not identical because this driver only tooted his horn five times as he passed because--and I swear, this is true--I had flattened my self AGAIN to the car because there wasn't time to get inside, and when I did get in I found that AGAIN I had turned off the lights. I put my heard in my hands and muttered a prayer, "Never mind, Heavenly Father. Anyone this stupid doesn't deserve to live." I thought I heard a chuckle but that was probably my imagination.

But, whether I deserved life or not, I was on a mission, to take care of my daughter and granddaughter, so I put the car in gear, turned on the lights and went on my way, ten miles an hour. The tracks of the semi and his entourage were already covered with blizzardy snow and so I was relying on the inadequate poles at the edge of the road that have too-small florescent circles on top. Florescent circles that have pretty much lost their florescent-ness.

What is the matter with the people in charge of the Utah road budget? I thought. It's not being spent on what really matters. There should be taller poles, closer together, and with bigger, brighter, more florescent circles for one, and streetlights at ALL exits, but the groves in the road were a pretty good idea so they get some points.

I had been watching my odometer and it was not anywhere near the ten mile mark when I PASSED my exit. I PASSED MY EXIT. AGAIN! I don't know what the stupidity ranking is by now but it has left the motherhood one in the dust. If there were any dust. There was only blinding snow and a stupid woman, who stooped on the bridge, that was over the road, that went to my daughter's house. My windshield was un-look-out-able anyway so I got out of the car--I put it in park and left the lights on--and banged the ice off my windshield wiper. It came off in my hand.

I just looked at it. And then I did what every woman in the world would do. I threw a tantrum. My hair was wet, I looked like Medusa--and she was surely a mad woman--and so I did a mad Medusa fit. And then I got in the car and called Phil with my frozen fingers. What he was going to do I had no idea, but he is the voice of reason in our relationship and I wanted to hear some reason.

"Okay," he said, "It's really easy to put back on. You just blah, blah, and then the blah blah, a little black hook, blah blah, and then it snaps into place and it's fixed."

"What about the little hole?"

"What little hole?"

"On the windshield wiper?"

"Listen," the voice of reason said, knowing full well that instructions go right over my head. He proceeded to tell it all to me again and so I got out of the car and found the little hook but there was that darned hole and didn't it have something to do with anything?

"I can't fix it," I said when I called him back.

"Okay, call 911 and have the Highway Patrol come and help you."

So, on this deserted road, where only about one semi and three cars came by every half hour I sat and thought of my options. It looked like I was on the pioneer prairie, in a snow storm, pushing a handcart to Martin's Cove. No signs of life except the service station lights that I could kind of see through the blizzard, that was on the other side of the freeway, on the road I wanted to be on, that would take me to Hillary. I had no other options, I had to call for help.

Luckily my phone charger was in the car because that was another thing I left without, checking my phone's battery, which was pretty much dead.

So I plugged my phone in and called "911" and talked to the nice gentleman, who was probably sitting in a warm office, with a cushy chair that rolled around where ever he wanted to go, maybe he had tasty snacks like Cheetos and a diet Pepsi at hand. He said, "Calm down." No, he really didn't say that but he probably wanted to and he probably rolled his eyes at the cute girl who was maybe next to him, talking to someone else who was stupid and in trouble in a blizzard. He had a "calm down" sort of voice.

He called the Highway Patrol and I sobbed my story out to them and said, "Yes, I was off the side of the road," and then they said they would send someone right out.

Did "right out" mean two minutes or ten? It didn't matter. I had a full bladder because I had ignored my own rule: Go to the bathroom before you leave the house. It is even known as "Grandma's rule." I didn't want to take the time to go to the bathroom because I was afraid Phil would try and stop me and because I didn't want to take the one minute it would take when my daughter was sick and needed me, and because I would be at her house in 45 minutes for sure because there might be just a little snow and the roads might be a little wet and so I would probably only drive 50 miles and hour instead of 75.

Ha!

So, I did what any full-bladdered woman, on a bridge, in a blizzard would do. Yes I did. And I'm sure when the Highway Patrolman got to me, he could follow my tracks in the snow and see the only spot for two hundred miles that was free of snow. It might even have been still steaming.

So help came and the first thing the nice Highway Patrolman said was, "You are in the middle of the freeway. Follow me and we'll go to a safe spot."

No wonder the semi's honked at me. I was in their driving spot, with no lights on. In a blizzard. With a full bladder. (Oh, wait, that wasn't relevant to the semi-drivers. Unless they had full bladders too, but if they were men, and had a soda cup handy--darn men, built so conveniently.)

So, I followed the nice Highway Patrolman, only because I could see his lights faintly through my snow covered window. When he stopped I thanked God for men--and they can be conveniently built as long as they saved insane woman, with wild, wet hair, who are too stupid to know how to put the little windshield wiper hook in the right place and ignore the little hole.

I gave him my windshield wiper and immediately he said, "You've lost a part of it. This one won't work."

And I said to myself, See Phil, I'm not stupid, part of it is missing and if it had been there I would have figured it out. Which I knew was a lie but I said it to myself anyway to make myself feel better.

He took the other wiper off. How he did it, I don't know. The only way I could ever get one of those things off is to bang it on the windshield in a blizzard. He put the windshield wiper on the driver's side. I don't know if he noticed the little hole.

By then there was another Highway Patrolman there and they conversed and then the first man asked, "You missed this exit? This one, right here? Twice?" And then they probably snickered to themselves but they were nice and didn't let the snicker reach their faces but they both had smiling eyes. Maybe they were born that way and always looked happy, I hope so.

They decided I should go down the up ramp and the second man would lead the way. I started to follow him and I yelled out my window to the first, windshield-wiper-fixer, "What's your name?" He told me and then I yelled, "Thank you, Sergeant..." and then I bumbled his name so bad I'm sure he not only snickered inside but also had a good long laugh. And I don't even know if they are Sergeants or if I've watched one to many CSI type shows. So I followed the second man's car but I could couldn't even see as well as I had before, in fact it was almost impossible to see and I thought, How on earth am I going to be able to make it to Hillary's? My eyesight is failing! I'm going blind in my other eye! Please Heavenly Father, not yet. I really wanted to say, not at all, but I didn't want to appear bossy. He knows how I feel and what I fear.


When we got to the bottom of the hill I realized I had my interior light on. And so I turned it off and I could see much better. I waved to the nice smiling eyed Highway Patrolman and I s-l-o-w-l-y made my way--in the middle of the road--in the middle of the night--to Hillary's house--who is our middle child.

I stopped when I was almost there and called Phil. "How do I put this car in four wheel drive?"

"It's always in four wheel drive," he said.

Bah! That's why I get such fantastic gas mileage! Four wheel drive, 24/7, in case a driver is out in a blizzard for several hours once every fifty years.

He told me to go into Hillary's driveway very slow, and in the lowest gear, because Hillary's driveway is on a slope--just like the ones on mountain passes where you see signs that say, "Trucks use lower gear on this grade." This is because the people who were building their house got tired of digging one bucket of dirt with every five buckets of boulders and they gave up and her driveway and garage should be four or five feet lower--but there were all those pesky boulders--and so to get to her garage you have to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. In low gear. Slowly.

I called Hillary and said, "Open your garage door," and she did and I put the car in 1st and drove very slowly up the mountain slope, into Hillary's garage and then I slumped over the steering wheel and wept. After the shudders stopped I composed myself and when I got inside I asked how she and Daisy were.

"We're fine. I feel fine and Daisy hasn't thrown up any more," she said.

And then my eyes crossed and my whole life flashed before my eyes and, let me tell you, the last two hours and twenty minutes counted for almost half of it and then I said, "Thank goodness," instead of saying, "You have a fool for a mother, who goes out in the blizzard of the century, with inadequate information, and I hope this gene was not passed on to you, but watch out, it may have been. You won't find out until your children are grown and need you and you should stay home because they are really probably fine."

I washed my hands and said a little thankful prayer to Heavenly Father who obviously looks out for fools, and I took that baby and I didn't let her go until Hillary got up at 4:00 am and said, "Give her back. She needs to eat."

And then I had a delightful morning with the girls--my girl, Hillary and her two charming older daughters, Maddy and Ruby and the captivating baby, Daisy. I told chapter one of a new story and Maddy and I ate "toad-in-the-holes" for breakfast--which is ironic. I won't let anyone in my family call Acini de Pepe salad "Frog Eye Salad" because I think it's plebeian and not respectful to the frogs of the world but I will eat a Toad-in-the-hole.

I have only been this frightened one other time in my life and that was when I was seventeen years old, riding on a bus, in Switzerland, driven by a bus driver who spoke not one word of English but had a full vocabulary of Danish, driving on high mountain hairpin roads, in the lane closest to the edge--which--I swear--was crumbling into the abyss--in a horrible, thick fog, at night! That was the only time I have been as frightened as I was on Tuesday night.

Today, on Thanksgiving, I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful for the voice of reason, who I married and who deserves better than he's getting. And grateful for every person, who is in any way, mine. Especially my children, who are really amazing, but maybe don't know it yet.

I hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving--I know some of you didn't have Thanksgiving today, but I hope you had a nice day and are having a nice life, and that you don't have to be a stupid fool, like I was, to know how precious life is and how very important relationships are. We should nourish them in the most careful way.

And now I must make my life count for something. I guess I better get to bed so I can get up in the morning and start.

PS Why do you suppose there is a little hole on the windshield wiper apparatus if it's not used for something? It makes no sense to me. If it makes sense to you please leave me a comment and tell me why.

OUR NEWEST GRANDDAUGHTER--DAISY

This is baby Daisy having her first bath. She had been all stretched out, so content, when the nurse swabbed her down and then put her head under the faucet and scrubbed it. Daisy was not happy. Her lungs are functional, that's for sure.Daisy's Daddy comforted her.I accidentally erased the photo that Max sent me of Daisy and her Momma, taken just a minute after her birth. I'll have to have him send it again. Here's a photo from Hillary's Blog. Max is already giving Daisy a helping hand. He loves all his girls. He has three, now. Four, counting Hillary, Daisy's momma. This is two days old. Being born is so tiring.Her big sister, Ruby.

Ruby, Phil--Daisy's grandpa--and Maddy.
Daisy had to come by C-section because her sisters were so big at birth and the doctor says he lost two weeks of his life trying to get them here safely. But Daisy is the smallest one of all. Nine pounds nine ounces doesn't seem small but she is. I think she will loose that baby fat quickly and think she may take after her great-grandma Snyder, who was just five feet tall. I guess time will tell.

Phil, had to have throat surgery the same day as Hillary had her surgery. Almost at exactly the same time! I abandoned Phil, pre-surgery, to go see if the baby had come. Indeed she had. I made it on time to get her first bath photos.

Phil is recovering nicely--he had an esophageal pouch that had to be--not removed--but incorporated into the esophagus. He said he had "popped a gizzard." You can see where my children get their odd sense of humor.

He is supposed to eat soft food for several days and tonight he blended spare ribs (boneless), corn, noodles and sauce with some water and poured his dinner into a bowl. I couldn't watch. It looked like what gruel must look like.

So, all in all, last week was a good one for us. The birth of our newest little one. Phil's throat fixed--it had been bothering him for close to ten years.

Baby Daisy has some jaundice and is spending time under the "lights." Both her sisters also had jaundice and it was harder on Hillary than anyone. They let Daisy go home with portable lights but she will have to be checked at the hospital tomorrow. We're keeping our fingers crossed that the jaundice will be under control.

Congratulations to Max and Hillary and thank you for giving us another granddaughter to love.

TEXTS FROM AND TO HILLARY

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 7:27 am) Why does Maddy insist on telling me her dreams every morning? Plus she Mumbles so I can't even understand her. I'll tell her to call and tell them to you.

From Lynne (Nov 4, 10:24 am) First of all I am comatose at 7:30. Second of all I detest hearing other people's dreams. Third of all I'm old, do you think I can hear mumblers? Fourth, I would love to listen to anything Maddy said. That'llbeall! :)

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 11:07 am) A. I know you detest hearing about others dreams. That's where I got it from, apparently. And 2. I am not amused that you would listen to Maddy's BORING dreams when mine are so captivating. Do you love her more than you love me? And last but not least, I didn't think you'd actually be up when I sent you that text.

From Lynne (Nov 4, 11:18 am) Well, first of all I certainly love Maddy the most. You are a hair behind because you quit piano and I hope you are sorry, and besides that, you didn't always mind. B) Maddy probably has charming dreams and it's all about the charm. 3) I don't remember what was third because so much of my brain is filled with ways to be charming that I can't be bothered with mundane lists which might, or might not, be pesky.

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 11:46 am) Excusez-moi? I was the one who gave you Maddy! Shouldn't that count for something? Plus you've ruined stringy chicken for me.

From Lynne (Nov 4, 11:58 am) Oh, I forgot about you giving us Maddy...but you didn't let me see her birthing, AND furthermore you scared us nearly to death when the crash cart, with running technicians came screeching around the corner and banged into your room so...Maddy is still ahead, In fact, she's inched forward a bit. Stringy chicken is what it is.

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 12:01 pm) If you should be mad at anyone here it should be Maddy! The was the twerp that wasn't breathing. I am a pleasure and the light of your life. Let it be written.

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 12:02 pm) You squose the breath right out of her. You should be spanked. Remind me to do that.

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 12:03 pm) Squeezed. You squeezed her.

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 12:05 pm) I just like squoozed and that's all.

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 12:06 pm) Fine!

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 12:07 pm) And why am I always the one to blame? I was helpless on the hospital bed minding my own business. Why am I to blame for my gargantuan baby not breathing?

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 12:15 pm) Well, besides the maniacal squeezing, how about the ounces of baby chunkiness the chocolate bars put on?

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 12:17 pm) Wasn't that you that ate all the chocolate bars when you were pregnant with Taylor? You've got some splaining to do about that kid. I was a picture of health with Mads.

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 12:29 pm) Taylor was just anxious to meet his charming momma--it's all about the charm, remember--that he hurried to be born, 20 minutes once we got to the hospital. YOU were the one who fiddled around, biding your time and then you, and those two other naughty babies, decided to come AT EXACTLY THE SAME TIME, and my doctor barely made it for your birth. That was the ONLY time I said "I'm going to die!" Over and over I said that. I think you've slipped in the polls.

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 12:33 pm) Firstly you have it all wrong. Charm is not most important. Cuteness is most important. And second Taylor was just prolly trying to get away from all that bad food you were feeding him. Bless your taste bud's heart.

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 12:46 pm) Charm is more important than cuteness because once you get old, and the cuteness deserts you for wrinkles and thin hair, at least people will say, "My, isn't she a charming old lady?" But, if you never develop charm you will just be a mass of bad tempered oldness.

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 12:50 pm) Besides I was trying to make an entrance. On account of I'm so fabulous. You can't rush greatness.

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 1:02 pm) I've always thought you were a charming old woman. And do you have my old pea coat? Shouldn't it fit one of my people yet?

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 1:41 pm) Are you ignoring my inquiry or just frantically trying to find my coat?

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 4:02 pm) Do we have your pea coat? I've been frantically buying good grocery deals and somehow missed your text. Oh, and some of that time was spent being charming to grocery store checkers. The world is a better place now. Your wedding dress is here--if I can't find your coat will that do? I might still have your clear dishes, too.

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 4:07 pm) I FOUND IT! As soon as I saw it I could see you standing there w/a grin on your face. You were such a cute little poppet.

From Hillary (Nov. 4, 4:10 pm) Yay, what size is it or how old was I when I wore it? The girls need warm school jackets besides their snow coats and Old Navy is having a sale.

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 4:17 pm) No size on it. Oh wait. There was a little piece of paper, folded up like an origami crab, in one pocket. It was the size tag. Size 10. Woo hoo! It will fit Miss Madds. Your coat looks brand new. It's very well made. When I wasn't being charming I was buying you good clothes. I'm nice like that.

From Lynne (Nov. 4, 4:42 pm) PS Charming OLD woman??? You are in big trouble, sister.

And then Hillary called me and we chatted in real voice and she is indeed in trouble, but I might forgive her because she's going to give me another grandchild. Her baby is due on the 18th but she has to have a C-section--because both of her other girls gave the doctor a heart attack, practically, because they were so big and he thought he was going to lose them and Hillary, and he said the next one would come safely. And then he quit practicing and went on a mission and so Hillary's new doctor has scheduled the baby's birth day and that's that. Baby Daisy will be born on the 11th.


PS I once had a picture of Hillary in the pea coat, which will now belong to Maddy. It was on the fridge for years! I think Hillary stole it. Now she is REALLY in trouble.

TO BE FUNNY OR FUNNY LOOKIN', WHCH WOULD YOU CHOOSE?

My oldest daughter writes on her blog only occasionally but when she does she says funny things that I don't think she meant to be funny. Yesterdays blog was probably un-funny-to-her-life, but funny-to-me. Click here.

My other kids are funny too.

And I am funny lookin' so we're all pretty happy about things.

Hope you are funny too and if you can't be funny, then funny lookin' isn't so bad. At least you'll be memorable. There isn't much I hate worse than being un-memorable. Except this. People in my ward misspell my name. They get emails from me every stinkin' week--I'm the Relief Society Communication Specialist--isn't that a funny title. See? Funny. Anyway, I get emails from some of them occasionally--they even reply to my emails, and they call me "Lynn." My emails say "from Lynne Snyder." And their emails say, "Dear Lynn..."

I tell you, this is beginning to bother me. Now if they would say, "Dear person who looks like she's lost a lot of weight lately..." then I might be happier. But then again I might think, So, you thought I was a beached whale before, huh?

I tell you, tonight I just can't be pleased. I'm going to go read Hillary's blog again and see what she and her husband didn't tell each other because they weren't speaking. Then I will go to bed amused, instead of annoyed that my name is Lynn.

But I'm certainly annoyed that it is again after midnight and I am wide eyed and an hour and a half ago I was yawning! I don't have enough sense to pound sand in a rat hole. I'm not sure what that means but it was one of Mom's sayings and so it must mean something. Just like everything "means something" on Close Encounters of the Third Kind. And even Close Encounters of the Nerd Kind. I love those movies.

Okay, I'm going to bed now because I have become annoying, even to myself.

NO EMPTY CHAIRS

Today Hillary and the girls came for a visit. We didn't do anything outstanding, just visited and I fixed them "Toad in the hole" for dinner. I know, a horrible name and a breakfast food to boot. I loved having them here. They are mine and I am theirs.

When they left I thought, There goes my life. Then I thought, Phil and the other kids and grandkids are my life, too. And then I thought Heavenly father and Jesus are my life too, they were my life first. They are the reason I'm here, with this family that I love so much. They make it all possible.

Standing there in the doorway, waving to them I had the distinct impression--almost words in my mind from Heavenly Father: "Without every one of you my family will be incomplete." It was so strong, this impression, that I told Phil about it. And then I told Hillary, when she called to say she was home. I don't know if either of them understood the significance of what I heard. It IS significant. Each is valuable, wanted and all will be wrong if even one doesn't make it back.

Before my last child was born--she was a late arrival--I was 42--I had no idea she was coming and yet, sometimes, when setting the table I took one too many plates and had to put one back. This happened so often that I deliberately tried to take just the right number but often, there it was, an extra plate. I knew, somehow that the family wasn't complete yet. And now it is. My earthly family.

Take of it what you will. I think "my" thoughts earlier were right. Without every single one of us, there will be a hole in our Heavenly eternal family. And incompleteness. Empty chairs.

Let's have no empty chairs.

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.

DO YOU REMEMBER JUMP ROPE RHYMES?

This is the one I remember the best:

Not last night but the night before,
A Pickle and a pear came a knocking at my door.
I went downstairs to let them in,

They hit me over the head with a rolling pin.

This one I made up for Hillary when she was ten:

Hillary, Hillary, Hillary Snyder.

Went to bed with her hair on fire.

Woke in the morning with coal black hair,

Ashes, ashes, everywhere.

(I have no idea why I pictured my little girl with her hair was on fire--she had lovely dark brown hair but certainly not on fire and not black.)

And this one was for Bentley:

Bentley Snyder, our baby in blue.

He's a year and a half old, he's not quite new.

He stands on the table and throws off the food.

We're not really sure but we think it's rude.

What jump rope rhymes do you remember?

I'M STUFFED

I found a bunch of my old clothes in the spare bedroom, which used to be Hillary's room, which "poof," almost overnight turned into a junk room--when she got married and moved away, years and years ago--and now it's time to clean it out. And guess what? Some of those clothes even fit--they used to be too tight. How did that happen, I wonder. So I hung them in my closet and now my closet is stuffed and I need to clean it out and I don't want to but if I don't I won't be able to find the new/old clothes and if--by some miracle--I do find them they will be wrinkled and I'll have to iron them and I hate to iron and so what's the use of finding them in the first place? I think I have a self defeating behavior. Besides run-on sentences with no punctuation.


The closet. Can you see how close the hangers are? Those clothes are positively gasping for air. The hangers on the far right are Phil's. See how nicely they are spaced?

I have 27 black items. How am I ever going to wear 27 black items?
I have 17 white shirts. Who in their right mind has 17 white shirts?

And there, on the far, far left are the darling clothes I bought when I only had a few pounds left to loose--okay, twenty. That was about a million years ago and I still have the clothes. They still have tags on. Will I ever get back to that impossible weight? sigh They are still darling. Still stylish. Still too skinny.

This is level two. The every-day-knock-about clothes. They are stuffed just as tight. Oh my.I don't even dare count the shoes.

And some of the clothes are in the dirty clothes or in the to-go-to-the-dry-cleaners stack. Where will they go when they are clean?

I should have left Hillary's old bedroom/the junk room alone.

BOOKS! BOXES AND BOXES OF BOOKS. OH MY.

My daughter, Hillary wanted a book from her childhood. Anastasia Krupnik. I was NOT home. When I got home I found 13 boxes of books that she had her dad bring up from the basement and garage. Thirteen boxes of books. Books, everywhere. Anastasia Krupnik was not in any of the thirteen boxes of books but hundreds and hundreds of books were. They are now in my living room. The Book Searcher left and went home. I'm overwhelmed.

These are going to DI. Do you think if I just burned the living room down the problem would be solved? The one bright spot in the day? Her daughter's funky toenails. Every one a different color.

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.

THE FACE WASH

When the three oldest children were little--the oldest about ten or eleven--the youngest about five--I noticed one of them was getting some blackheads on the nose area. I didn't want to make them self-conscious nor did I want to make them feel they weren't doing a good job taking care of themselves, so I instituted the "Face Wash."

I took a clean washcloth and got it wet with the hottest water I could run. I rung it out and called the kids. I said something like, "Come for your free face wash."

They came, just out of curiosity, I think. I may have demo'd it on myself, sighing at the wondrous hot cloth, soothing my tiredness away. I can't remember for sure but I do know I got their attention and one volunteered to be first. After that child was done I gave the next one the "face wash." When the last child was done I looked and the first and second one were lined up behind, waiting for another turn. The continued to line up until my hands couldn't wring another drop of water. They learned that a Face Wash was a wonderful thing.

Every night, when I get ready for bed and I've cleaned my face I give myself three "Face Washes." It's a great way to end the day.

Yesterday, Hillary and her two kiddies and Hillary's friend, Shan (who is also now my friend) were here. (Technically, Shan didn't come until later--just to set the record straight. For some reason that is important to Shan, setting the record straight.) We had talked and sat on the lawn swings--even in the 99 degree heat--for hours. It was a lazy day.

We finally decided to go to dinner at 7:00. The girls were so good, never complaining but almost fall asleep in their food.

When we got home Hillary had them change into jammies and then, low and behold, she gave them each "Face Washes!" Who knew?
You can see how tired the littlest one was. Phil wasn't much more lively. He looks like he has "become one" with the chair. He didn't get a face wash.
Hillary has taken the experience to a whole new level. They also got "Foot Washes." I hate it when someone takes my traditions and makes them better. I really only hate it because I don't live at her house and will have to do my own foot washes. Bah.
One of the good things in life: Face Washes and now Foot Washes, too.

PS Hillary did give me a foot rub so I guess I'll forgive her for one upping me. She probably should give me a foot rub about a hundred more times, just to make sure .

DINNER WITH THE SHOE-HOLICS

Tonight Shan and Gilmore Girl came in from Mongolia and Outer Mongolia to get a J-Dawg and hang out on the lawn swings for a while. But the weather had different ideas--rain by the buckets full. We ended up at Heaps, which certainly isn't any hardship.

My life won't be worth a plug nickle when they see this picture.

At one point they talked about shoes. Did you know there are eight minute shoes? Those are shoes you can wear for eight minutes without pain. Hour long shoes? Those you can give a Relief Society lesson in--Shan wears these on the 2nd Sunday of the month when it's her turn to give the lesson.. All day pumps. But, obviously, according to Shan, they are comfy but not up to much in the style department. Gilmore Girl had toe surgery just so she could wear a certain pair of shoes! They have bought shoes that they can't even wear because they love them so much.

That makes my Clark's hide in shame. Comfy, comfy shame. No photo of the Clark's as they are shy and the above are not. I don't want them to be intimidated.

THE BIRDS AND THE BEES--AND THE DRAGONFLIES

Mother was fidgety. She had been fidgety for a couple of months. She would call me to her, get flustered and then say, “Never mind.” Then one evening she gathered me up on her lap and read a children’s book to me. It was about dragonflies. Then we went out onto the front porch.

“Look, see here on the screen door? See all those dragonflies?”

Some summers were dragonfly summers; some were not. Some summers were giant beetles summers; some were not. This was a dragonfly summer and there were about five dragonflies on the screen door.

“Un huh,” I nodded my head.

She talked to me about the dragonflies. I stood there nodding my head but honestly everything she said was going right over the top of it. I thought the dragonflies were pretty, clutched to the screen door with their tiny feet. She kept saying that there was nothing to be afraid of. I wasn’t afraid but she kept saying, “Don’t be afraid,” so often I wondered if I should be afraid.

After our book reading and her little talk—on the porch, with live examples —Mom calmed down. For about three or four years she relaxed and then she started to get fidgety again.

One day I was in the bathroom, washing my hands. Mom barged in. “Sit down,” she said, pointing to the toilet seat. That was weird, but I sat down. I wiped my wet hands on my pants. Then Mom did something weirder. She locked the bathroom door. No one in our house locked the bathroom door. She sat down on the bathtub.

“We need to have a little talk,” she said. Then she told me some vague version of "the birds and the bee’s.” So vague I didn’t get it.

“Remember when I read you the book about the dragonflies?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, this is the same thing. Only with people.”

I still didn’t get it but she was agitated and we were locked in the bathroom and I wanted out, so I said, “Okay.”

Mom let out a huge sigh; I think the toilet paper fluttered in the breeze of her sighing.

“Well, then,” she said. "I'm glad we had this little talk."

She unlocked the door, gave me a hug—more of a quick pushing my face into her bosom, and then she rushed into the kitchen and started banging pots and pans around.

My cousin Holly called me later that afternoon. “I’ve got something to tell you,” she said in a stage whisper. “I’ll be right there.”

We sat at the kitchen table and Holly gave me her mother’s version of the “birds and the bees.” Holly’s mother’s version was more thorough than my mother’s version. Holly’s mother’s version was graphic, even. My eyes widened so much I thought my eyeballs might fall out.

“Nuh, uh,” I shook my head.

“Uh, huh,” she nodded her head. “Honest, that’s how it’s done. And then you get a baby. It grows inside your stomach and then…” She proceeded to tell me how babies were born.

Now we lived in a small town. Everyone had some kind of animals. Cows, chickens, sheep, horses, some people even raised mink. We had dogs and cats but neither one of us had ever seen “the deed” being done nor did we know how baby cows got here or baby kittens or baby babies. We were backward children with no curiosity.

Holly and I made a pact. We were never going to do "that one thing.” Not ever. But we both wanted to be married and have kids. “We’ll adopt,” she said.

“Yes, we’ll adopt.”

And then we grew up. And fell in love. And got married. Even though I never quite forgot our pact it was Holly who broke it first and I always did what Holly did. She was my leader.

And I bless her. I have five wonderful children, whom I adore. But, sadly, I could never figure out how to have the “birds and the bee’s” conversation with any of them. In that area of motherhood I am a failure. I didn’t have a book on dragonflies—not that it was much help but it made my mother feel better. I would love to have had a book that made me feel better.

Hillary, my darling daughter, says, “Yes, you were a miserable failure as a mother. I had to learn about sex,”—I cringed when she said the word, “sex”—“from my friends.”

If I had been a smart mother, I would have referred her to Holly because Holly knew how to explain things in eye-popping detail. Hillary would have gotten an educational experience she would never forget. When she was old she could have written the experience for her personal history and posted it on the Internet. Then she would have felt better. Maybe.

COMPUTER WITHDRAWAL...and...WHAT IS MY DARLING DAUGHTER THINKING?

Yesterday this is what happened to the monitor screen while Phil was preparing his Sunday School lesson. His document was reduced to a one inch width.

As you might imagine he panicked. He had three pages of his lesson done and was afraid he'd loose it. He called for help. First to me, who knows Naahthing about computers, monitors, anything technological and can't even speeal easy words.

Phil called Taylor, "Help, my computer screen is one inch wide and I don't know how to save my document?" Taylor told him how to save it using key strokes. One problem solved.

Then he called Trent, "Help, do you have an extra monitor?" Of course he does, the computer junkie that he is. Two problems solved.

But we talked to Hillary too and she had an extra one and would bring it into us if we'd meet at the mall and shop the sales the next morning. Who could resist that? Sales and seeing Ruby, the golden haired moppet.

Last night I had computer withdrawal symptoms, I itched, had facial ticks and I sulked--no checking blogs--my new hobby--and no writing on my blog, either, which isn't such a loss but you know, it's kind of a habit by now. Phil had to relinquish the TV remote and then there was more twitching as he had to watch girl-stuff.

On the way to meet Hillary this morning, on University Ave., it was 33 degrees. We saw two men. One wore shorts, a short sleeved shirt, sandals and was carrying a coat under his arm. What was the matter with that man? He thought he was in the Caribbean. What would his mother think?

The second man wore a parka, ski gloves, pants made from the wool of 100 llamas, a scarf, a this-is-a-stick-up hood with just his scary eyes showing and a very large furry hat. What was the matter with that man. He thought he was at the South Pole. What would his mother think?

When we met my darling daughter, this is how she had Ruby dressed. In a sweater! Did I mention it was 33 degrees? What is the matter with my darling daughter?

Does this child look warm?

And look at this. Dressed the same exact way in a 72 degree store as in a 33 degree parking lot.

And, to make matters worse, look how adoringly she looks at her grandpa. I would be thrilled beyond normal sanity and would give up twitching, sulking and chocolate if Ruby loved me as much as she loves her grandpa. I would give up twitching and sulking, for sure.

So, I had a heart to heart talk with my darling daughter about dressing Ruby warmer and this is the kind of a respectful look she gave me. I ask you, is it any wonder I twitch, getting no respect from the girl who calls herself "yfc"--which stands for Your Favorite Child. I ask you. Seriously.

What's a mother to do?

And notice, this respectful child is not wearing a coat, either. Really, what's a mother to do?

THE CHIN HAIR

I have one pesky chin hair that I can never tweeze. I can't see the darn thing but I can feel it, every day I feel it and every day it feels like a horse hair. Not as long but as coarse. Some days I have to stop myself from whinnying.

I keep tweezers in the drawer of the computer desk and it is a daily ritual to tweeze. I don't want to be one of those women with a moustache. I could wax but then every hair would grow out at the same time. Hair that is going to be waxed have to be a little long before you can wax again. I've seen a plethora of "waxing" women with tiny, very short, bristly moustaches . It's not a pretty sight. So I tweeze daily and hope to not shock the world with stray runaway hairs. But there is one on my chin that I simply can't get. I can feel it but not pull it out. Frustrating. When my daughter, Hillary comes I hand her the tweezers and she takes care of it but she's simply not here often enough and not just because of her tweezing responsibilities. She's just simply not here enough.

This morning I felt Hairy with my finger, positioned the tweezers and pulled him right out! He now resides on a 3x5 card and I am admiring him--not "her," a "her" hair would be soft and blond and INVISIBLE--and I'm feeling the lack of him on my chin with my fingers--smooth and hairless.

It's going to be a wonderful day. How could it not, starting out with such a satisfying chin-hair-removal success?

CHRISTMAS PROGRAM AT CHURCH

Today my daughter, son-in-law and their two kiddies came to our church. They are staying at my son-in-law's house with all the grown kids and spouses--they have come from the east, from Canada and California--Hillary and Max are the only ones with kids although Max's sister is carrying twins! Hillary and Max only live 35 or 45 minutes away--depending on who's driving--but this way they get all the time the family time they want. They came to our church because Max's parent's ward did their Christmas program last week.

Two things I noticed, well, besides the exquisite story of Christ's birth, read from the scriptures and the wonderful musical numbers. One: My daughter is absolutely beautiful. I was watching her and nudged Phil. "Look at Hillary, she's beautiful." He nodded. He had already noticed. She is beautiful inside too. A nice person who cares about others and is genuinely happy to be here on Mother Earth. I didn't notice this but Phil told me later that she cried during the program. He saw her wiping tears off her face. She is so tender and genuinely loves her Heavenly Father and Savior. She says she can never remember a time when she didn't believe.

The second things I noticed, well not noticed, but thought about, was Joseph's role in the story of Christ's birth. I think Mary must have put his hand on her stomach and said, "Here, right here. Feel that?" when the baby kicked or had hiccups. And I imagine Joseph smiled and felt an overwhelming love for that baby, yet unborn. He knew, I think, what lie ahead, well, maybe only somewhat. When they had to leave for Egypt I imagine he spooked at every noise in the night, was suspicious of every stranger on the trail. He had a wife and young child to take care of and not just any child. That trip couldn't have been easy on either Mary of Joseph. But it was Joseph who had the responsibility of keeping the two of them safe. He had to provide for them once they arrived in Egypt. I have often thought that the gifts the wise men brought were used to buy the things they needed on the way to Egypt and maybe kept them in food, shelter and necessities while they were there.

I am most grateful for the Savior, for his atonement and for his continuing watchful care over each of us.

I am grateful for the beauty of my child--the kind you cannot see although the kind you can see is nice too. (She probably takes after me! Just kidding.)

I am grateful for the good man that Joseph must have been. I watched my son-in-law with his children during church. He truly loves them and I know he would walk through fire for them. Just like Joseph would have. Perhaps there are fathers everywhere like this. I hope so. I really hope so.

THE NAME GAME

Tonight, while I was pondering about today's blog I came across this photo: Bond . . . James Bond. Here's the text that went with the photo:


"Have you ever thought about how your personality would be different if you had a different name? Does Bond . . James Bond ever feel so much stress that he just wants to go back to bed? If that was your name would you suddenly feel bolder? More daring?

"Or maybe you are having a little trouble threading a needle and you were suddenly called Harry Potter would it make a difference?

"Or is Shakespeare correct?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet.

"Would you still want to crawl into bed if you were Bond . . . James Bond?"


Today, two of my granddaughters were here. Kate--age four, and Ruby--age two. I was talking to my daughter-in-law about Kate's name. I told her it was a good strong name. Not wimpy, like Lynne. I told her that I wondered if I had a different name, a stronger name if I would be stronger.

We talked about Katherine Hepburn, who was called Kate by her friends and was such a strong willed person. Then I told her my favorite Katherine Hepburn movie is BRINGING UP BABY. Katherine Hepburn actually pulled a leopard around by a rope around its neck in that movie and I remember reading that the leopard wasn't a trained leopard--or maybe there were two leopards and the one she was jerking around was the one that wasn't trained--in fact it was darn cantankerous--and how she said later that she could have been killed but she just pulled it around, like she had good sense.

She was a strong woman, that Kate and our Kate is strong too.

Ruby, is an individual, just like her name. She didn't like me for the first year of her life. It didn't matter what I did. I could have stood on my head with candy bars for ears and she wouldn't have been impressed. She adored Phil--still does. She is past the hating stage and past the tolerating stage with me now and likes me but not like she likes Phil. I probably will never be able to charm her like he does. Maybe if I changed my name to Shaharazade. Or Rosamunde. Humm, both names of tellers of tales. I want to be a teller of tales so maybe....

No, maybe not. That would be infringing. I can't find a name I couldn't live without. Once I called myself Lyndy-Lou Dorthea Mae and there were a couple of other names tacked on but time has befuddled my memory.

I gave my girls perfect names. Hillary means happy and she is, in every way, and brings happiness to everyone she knows. Elizabeth means gift from God and she is, even though it might be a few years before she realizes it.

So, I should give myself a new name. Perhaps Gabrielle, which means strong woman of God--I like that, in fact it's my goal, to be a strong woman of God. You could call me Gabby for short, which means something altogether different and fits me often, like the other night when I had A Vacant Mind and said I had nothing to say and then proceeded to say nothing for a good long time.

So Gabrielle it is. Gabby, for short.