A MORNING SONG FROM TAYLOR

Two hours of sleep, two hours of wakefulness, that's how Wednesday's night went. When the second round of wakefulness occurred I had a "morning song" running through my head. I knew it was from Taylor. These are the words that came:  

"...but 'till that day, I'll be your man and love away your troubles if I can."

It was from a Glenn Yarbrough song called THE WORLD I USED TO KNOW. Here's the whole song if you want to listen to it. Click here.

I knew that he was telling me he would help me through the rest of my life, being there when I needed him. He always wanted to know how he could help me. 

Not all the words came, just those few because they were relevant. "...I'll be your man and love away your troubles if I can." 

He always said about himself, "I'm you boy, Momma." Oh how I miss my boy. 

Here's the rest of that stanza:

"Some day the world I used to know
Will come along and bid me go
Then I'll be leavin' you behind 
For love is just a state of mind
But 'till that day, I'll be your man
And love away your troubles if I can

"But 'till that day I'll be your man
And love away your troubles if I can"

Thank you, my boy.

OUR SON, TAYLOR

 Writing on Taylor's casket.

Taylor's children, too young to lose their father. 

Taylor, age 24--he died at age 43

We buried Taylor’s body three days ago. It’s alone, in a steel coffin with everyone’s last words written all over it with magic markers. We buried him at East Lawn Cemetery in Provo. All that is there is a temporary headstone in the ground, with his last name spelled wrong. The flowers that covered the coffin were made of gerbera daisies in bright colors. It was beautiful. The deer, and perhaps the rabbits too, are snacking on it. It’s an expensive midnight treat for them and is fitting. Taylor always shared whatever he had.
Here's his obituary. Click here.

Some of the family has found peace—a feeling of peace washed over Trent when he got my first phone call, even before he knew what was wrong. Some are grieving. I have gone through every stage of the grieving process several times. Mostly I cry.

Who was this boy (of 43 years) that we buried on Saturday? Besides his extreme loneliness and sadness he was usually a joyful person, somebody unlike anyone I have ever known. He was a boy whose great humor covered up something. He once told his dad he never felt worthy. He set the standards too high. He was worthy. Worthy of our love and worthy of the love of countless others. 

He was bright and often had an unmistakable testimony of the Savior. He helped Phil give me a blessing once as I was suffering from depression I had had for several months. After the blessing Taylor asked to talk to me privately. He told me, “You don’t have to suffer this, Mom. The Savior has already suffered it for you.” The next morning I woke up and the depression was gone.

Mostly Taylor loved. He loved deeply and completely. He also forgave. No matter what was done to him he forgave. Who was this extraordinary individual?

He was my son.

I know that one day I will die and he will be there, with his sweet smile and open arms, and all will be well.

I hope I can disguise my grief from the world and the rest of the family until then, because I don’t want them to know, I want them to see me being happy and loving them, because I do. But always, for Taylor, I will grieve.

ROADKILL GRANDDAUGHTERS

Lisa was dragged behind a car. Well, not quite, she still needs a bit of work.
One more pass and she was wounded a bit more

Poor little things.

Kate's eye is a little messy. What's a grandmother to do?
The process. Taylor paints the tire with black paint.

Phil backs up.

Well, girls, is this all right?

Happy Halloween

PIE

Taylor made a chocolate, peanut butter pie today. There were only three of us at home. There is one piece left and that is only because we put it away, out of sight, and promised Phil he could have it for tomorrow's lunch. We're practicing restraint.

PS Taylor was just down here and whispered, "I'll make another one tomorrow."

PPS At this rate I'll weigh 300 pounds by Thursday.
I know this is blurry but if I go out to the garage and open the freezer and take another photo, Phil will not have pie for lunch.

I FEEL SO LOVED

Yesterday, after my part time job, I went to the Personal History luncheon, which we hold once a month. I took the ugly salad on my cookbook site and Sarah had made candied yams and everyone else brought desserts, which is just about right.

After taking my 96 year old friend, Mona, home, I hightailed it to Smith's because it was the last day of their case lot sale. (See yesterday's post.) After I was finished shopping I started the car...almost. It was doing it's Clown Car antics. Tried again, nothing. So I did what I always do in any bad situation. I call Phil. He is my "voice of reason." I knew he couldn't help but I called him anyway. He told me it was probably flooded and to just let it sit for a while and then try again.

So, I went to Sally's Beauty Supply and looked at all the fingernail stuff for 20 minutes and then I went to Tuesday Morning and looked at all the stuff that is supposed to be terrific bargains but just seems like a bunch of junk, with some good stuff mixed in. All of it was higher priced than I think it should be, but I spent a good half hour or so and then I left and thought I'd try to start the Clown Car again.

Just outside of Tuesday Morning I met Taylor, my son. "Oh, Mom," he said, "you're all right." And then he gave me the biggest hug. It was worth an hour of inconvenience to get a hug like that.

"We've called and called you."

"You have?"

And so I looked at my phone and there were 17 missed phone calls, from him and Phil. (I had the phone on vibrate at work and hadn't changed it.) I also had a bunch of texts that said things like, "Are you okay?" "Where are you?" "WHERE ARE YOU?!?"

Both Phil and Taylor had come to my rescue.

The car started right up.

Taylor rode home with me to make sure I was all right.

Phil followed us to make sure the car wouldn't quit on me.

I must be loved.

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.

A HANDY EXCUSE FOR ODD BEHAVIOR

Here are a couple of photos of Taylor's new and improved ankle. Now, if one of the screws dislodge he can always say, "I have a screw loose." That will explain many an odd behavior, Not only that but he can blame it on someone else--the surgeon.

GOOD THINGS

Today our son, Taylor, who thinks he is sixteen years old and that jumping down EIGHT stairs won't be hurtful, had surgery on his broken ankle. The doctor put two screws--that look like they are three inches long--in his bone to hold it together. The good news: His ankle is going to be fine. The bad news, he can't walk on it for six weeks. Get well and heal soon, son. We love you.

PS Being sixteen years old is overrated.This is our neighbor, Boyd who is also our home teacher. The little porcupine is his eight-month old grandson who has had hair like this since the day he was born.

And how nice is it that Boyd came to share his grandson with us. Who else would do such a thing? Boyd would, who is the best kind of a friend. We love him and his little porcupine, too.

This is the amaryllis Boyd gave us for Christmas. It bloomed in early February. Now, in March it is blooming again. So far it has two flowers but two more are on the way. What a faithful flower it is. The first bloom is busy making seeds. The last good thing is that I've found a new fingernail polish that I love. It's called China Glaze and is way superior to O. P. I. I bought a red and it lasted five days before I had to redo it. Then I bought a pink and it lasted a week and four days before it needed redoing. The index fingernail had to have a quick redo after day six, not because it chipped but because it wore off the edge from constant dish washing and my repotting the geraniums that I had stored in the basement. Really, this is the best fingernail polish I've ever used. You should buy some. Unless you are a boy and then you should buy some for your favorite girl.

I hope you had some good things in your life today, too. If not, they are a comin', I just know it.

OUR BOY IS IN THE HOSPITAL

This is our boy, Taylor. He is in the hospital tonight.He went to the doctor today because he has been feeling rotten, even throwing up for two freaking weeks! (This family doesn't procrastinate, oh no.) He checked his symptoms out with everyone's best friend, Google, and finally agreed that he might have a problem, Houston. His appointment was for 2:00 o'clock and later today he was resting, un-comfortably, in the hospital, minus his appendix.

He now feels like this:

Sharee called me to see if I could pick Bailey up from school. I was talking to her on the phone when I could hear Taylor talking in the background, "Tell Ma (he always calls me "Ma") that I'm going to go get my 'Kitten pouch' out." When he says stuff like that his wife says, "Say what?"

And then she smiles because he says stuff like this all the time. It's a veritable joke fest around their house. So now the "Kitten Pouch" is removed and they didn't even get any kittens. No wonder Taylor looks like that, getting no kittens for all the pain. He once told me--when I told him, "No, we can't get another cat," that he was going to grow up and have 17 cats. They do have two dog and two cats and four kids. I think that's plenty, don't you?

Get well, Taylor, I had my appendix out--what was left of them after they had ruptured 30 hours earlier. You were just five weeks old. I know just how you feel.

I'll bring more Russian teacakes and fudge when you feel up to it. Just let me know. Yup. When you feel this good. I'll bring them. Fudge and teacakes. And maybe Muddy Buddies. Elizabeth reminded me that I should make some of those but they weren't on my list (and I just got an order for 17 pounds of caramels) so it's only a maybe.

But, you gotta get better first.

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.

QUOTE FOR TODAY

This week has been a bummer week and, as Taylor said, when he was about ten, "I hate bummers." So I'll leave you with a quote which brings me comfort this week.

"Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."-- Carl Jung

I hope you do not have too much sadness and that your happy is in full swing. And I hope the turkey is waiting patiently in the freezer, that the pie recipe is dusted off and that you have some family to look forward to next week.

And get the sadness (and the bummers) over early so you can have some laughs.

Love,
Lynne

PS I liked this blog post today entitled, "How to find happiness."

TAYLOR'S TERIYAKI CHICKEN BOWL

This is my son, Taylor. Now, before you get all sorry for me, take a minute to think. Did you EVER pull out the camera to take a picture of your darling children that there wasn't one who pulled a face? Right. Me neither. And it wasn't usually just him, either. They all did it.

Here he is almost normal, just coming out of a "face pulling stunt" or just going into one.
And here he is with his normal face but of course you get the hand.
The reason you are being treated to this joy-of-my-life is that he invited us over for dinner. Teriyaki Chicken Bowls.

The boys gobbled it right up.

Only one of the girls were home but she did likewise. So did I. Phil wasn't there and neither was Sharee because she was on a hundred mile bike ride! The second one she's done this summer. I'm tired just thinking about it.

Anyway, dinner was great and the recipe is here.

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.

CLAM CHOWDER AND A FLOWER

We went to our son's house for dinner tonight--the best clam chowder. Thank you, Taylor.

After dinner we checked out the garden and a poor sunflower had fallen over so I took one of the blooms home. What could be better for a summer evening: good food, a beautiful bloom and then home to sit on the lawn swings with a neighbor.

But it's freezing here tonight. Not real freezing, not the ice-forming kind, but really cold for August 15th. The low tonight is going to be about 50 degrees. That's 10 Celsius. I'm going to go put a hot brick in my bed now.

Not much of a post, is this? Not funny or even very interesting. So, imagine you open your door and find a sunflower like this greeting you. Mother Nature saying, "Here, I made this just for you. You are loved. Really, really loved." And you are.

Feel better, now?

THE MIRACLE OF THE SLEEP-OVER SISTER

Let me tell you about a miracle that my sister, Julie, participated in. Actually she was the star, she was the rescuer, she prevented tragedy.

This happened years ago. Her daughter was in college here at BYU. My kids were young; Her Excellency of Mousehole wasn’t even born yet. I was an overwhelmed young mother. I wasn’t one of those women who run a perfectly organized home with gourmet meals. Oh, wait. I did pretty well in the meal department. You could set the clock when I called the family for dinner and they were delicious--the meals were delicious, not the family. But, then again, who can resist a baby or a toddler or even a child, and on occasion, a husband? So maybe the family was delicious, too.

I was overwhelmed one week and I had prayed for help. I remember actually saying the words, “Heavenly Father, please send me some help!” I had no idea where it was going to come from.

My sister showed up on my doorstep the next day. She lived forty miles away and this was a rare occurrence for her to just show up.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

It was the middle of the winter, driving from Salt Lake to Provo is sometimes a challenge in the winter and that particular day was overcast and snow was predicted.

“I don’t know. I just felt like it,” she said.

I think the Holy Ghost whispered to her and she listened.

“I want you and Lezlie to go to a movie,” she said. “I’ll go home late this afternoon.”

“I can’t do that," I said. "You and Lezlie go to a movie.”

“Nope,” she said. “I’m staying here. I’ll watch the kids and tidy up a little.” She was insistent and forceful. She’s an older sister and so “insistent and forceful” come naturally to her.

So, Lezlie was called and she and I went to the movie. I don’t remember what we saw. I do remember we laughed and laughed. I have always had a loving relationship with Lezlie. She’s funny, and whatever she does I think it great. (Go here and see her books.)

When we got back, Julie had cleaned my house and taken care of the kids and then said, “It looks like snow. I think I’ll just stay the night. I’ll just sleep right here on the couch.”

Julie still had kids at home. I don't know who took care of them while she was at my house or who was going to get them off to school the next morning. This is one of the details that make this miracle--well, miraculous, that things were being taken care of at home. Maybe Gordon was a willing participant in the miracle.

And no one in her right mind wants to sleep on a couch but she was insistent and forceful and I was the younger sister. I was used to her deciding things. We had a whole lifetime-history of her deciding things, so I agreed. We stayed up and talked for a while. It was so nice to have her to myself, that didn't happen often. We finally made a bed with sheets and blankets on the couch and she said, “I’ll be fine.”

The next morning, when I got up, Taylor was sleeping with her. “Why is Taylor sleeping here? The couch wasn’t uncomfortable enough, you had to add a child?”

“Well, it was a funny thing,” she said. “It was the middle of the night and I heard something. I looked up and Taylor was on his way to the front door. I think he was going to go outside.”

Taylor had been sick and sometimes he sleepwalked when he was sick.

“So, I said to him,” she said, “‘Where are you going, Taylor-bug?’ but he didn’t answer, he just continued toward the door so I grabbed him and snuggled him down and he went right to sleep.”

It had snowed earlier that evening and was bitter cold. The possibility that she saved Taylor’s life was a real possibility. I don’t think either one of us realized it at the time but as all the miracles in my life, the realization that the hand of the Lord was watching over my family, came later.

How grateful I am to my sister, Julie, for preventing a tragedy in our family’s life. She didn’t know why she came. She gave me a break and sent me to the movie with Lezlie. She helped with housework that was overwhelming. She saved Taylor's life.

Three miracles. I had prayed for some help and help came, and for something I didn’t even know I was going to need help with. But someone did and sent Julie.

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?

LEAVING LIZA IN THE CARPORT

It was summer. Liza was still little, maybe seven months old. We were having a family dinner on the front lawn like regular red-necks. (If we all get together there are 23 of us and we can't really all fit into the house and it's so nice to eat outside--that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. There are no derelict cars, abandoned in tall weeds. I promise. Perhaps we are only pseudo-red-necks.)

Taylor, Sharee, Austin and Bailey piled out of their car. All doors were slammed. No one looked back, as if a baby was there. They just came to the table for "how-de-do's" and hugs.

"Where's Liza?" I said.

Taylor looked at Sharee and Sharee looked at Taylor. All the blood drained out of both their faces. Their eyes widened. I could see the whites all around their pupils.

"Oh, no. We left her at home, in the carport," one of them said in a horrified whisper. They both turned toward the car. One was fumbling with the keys. The other stumbled in haste, "Hurry," they said in unison.

I will never forgive them. Never.

They stopped, they leaned against each other, laughing hysterically.

Hysterical laughter is never, I repeat, never attractive. They laugh to this day. Not hysterically but in a kind of smirky sort of way. They think it is funny that I believed they would leave Liza in the carport. She, of course, was asleep in her car seat. In the car.

It wasn't funny. They owe me. Those unattractively hysterical laughing people owe me. They really do

NOTES FROM BEING WITH THE CRAZY PEOPLE

Promised from Saturday's post:

They aren't really crazy, just pleasantly so. Just enough to take the hard edge off life and give it a spin and let the colors bedazzle you.

Sharee asked me if I wanted to go with her on Saturday to one of her favorite stores. I did. Taylor brought me some funky blue-type cheese. I gave him some cheddar sticks mixed with wasabi peas. We're like that, bestowing odd things on each other for no reason. Actually, we haven't given each other odd things much but it would be a great tradition. We should do it more often.

Bailey was with them--see Saturday's pictures for Bailey's good looking face.

The three of them are quick. They keep up a constant barrage of comments. You have to have timing to get your ideas in. They are quick in other ways too. Sharee was driving. We left a furniture store and wanted to turn left--on State Street. It was a "stop sign" street, not a "stop light" one. NO ONE turns left at a stop sign street onto State Street. No one. It's foolish, you will wait there four days.

"You'll never get across"--there are six lanes of traffic. "You'll have to turn right." I'm like that, always ready with helpful advice.

A side note: We have all been reading Carol Tuttle's book, Remembering Wholeness. In part of it she talks about petitioning your angels. Carol tells of an instance when her daughter said, "Have you noticed when I'm with you in the car you get mostly green lights?" When Carol asked her why she said, "I ask the angels to give us green lights."

So, Sharee cruises up to the stop sign. I again offer helpful "you'll have to turn right," advice, only its more of a command.

She turns her head, looks at me and says, "Oh ye of little angels."

She looks right, she looks left and there is a hole in the traffic--so help me, there is never a hole in traffic on State Street. There is a hole in the traffic going north and one going south. She turns left, and three seconds later all six lanes are clogged with traffic. I burst into laughter, she gives me a smug smile and away we go.

"Oh ye of little angels." My new favorite phrase.

Later we were discussing where to eat lunch. Everyone had an opinion including Bailey but he couldn't get a word in. He'd start to say something and someone else would drown him out.

Finally he yelled, "HOW COME EVERYONE'S WEARING CHICKEN-CHEESE UNDERWEAR." Only he yelled it so fast all the words ran together, like a flood.

"What?" we all chorused together, as if we had rehearsed.

"How come we never go to Chuck E. Cheese, anymore?"

Well, then.

After we ate--at Chuck A Rama--a local buffet restaurant--I heard Taylor say, "I'm sorry, Sharee, about the seat. I didn't know you would feel the vibration."

There are some things a mother shouldn't overhear although it is nice to hear that he apologizes for his indiscretions.

All day Taylor kept tattling, "Bailey's eating my sticks."

We reminisced about the time they left Liza in the carport. A post for another day.

I taught them the ever handy phrase, "We're gonna die," which Hillary, my wonderful daughter said so often, when driving with me. Again, a story for another day.

How lucky I am to have five children that I adore, and the people they have married I also adore and they have given me grandchildren, that I adore. How lucky can one woman get? All of them, all of them, are just a little bit crazy. I wonder if that's lucky too. Probably.

AN AFTERNOON WITH CRAZY PEOPLE

I spent the afternoon with these people. My beautiful and pretty-much crazy daughter-in-law and my full-on-crazy son. Here she is, being beautiful, and

here he is, plotting how he is going to mess up my photo opportunity.

More thinking. He's getting an idea. One finger on the mouth for concentration. Notice one eyebrow is going up. That's a bad sign. Okay, he thinks, I'm ready.

Thanks, Taylor. I always appreciate your cooperativeness.

This is their second oldest son, who seems fairly normal but the craziness is manifesting itself. Yes, Bailey has the beginnings of the crazy's too. Thank you, Bailey, I'd hate for you to go through life ignoring your heritage.

More tomorrow about my day with these interesting people, that I call family.

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.