NOW THIS IS TIRED!

I know a lovely, gentle woman who was so tired one time that she fell asleep while reading stories to pre-schoolers at the library. This is a true story, so help me.

I'm going to bed.

May you have pleasant dreams and wake up happy.

I FELL ASLEEP IN CLASS TONIGHT

I have always raised one eyebrow at people who fall asleep in church. No more. We attended the scripture class tonight and I fell asleep probably twenty-five times. Our teacher, Brother Jack Welch, is very knowledgeable and tells us things about the times the New Testament was written that a normal person wouldn't know, and I fell asleep anyway. Every time I woke up he was looking at me, in a kindly way. No eyebrow raising.

I'm ashamed that I've judged other fall-asleepers. From now on I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they were up until 3:00 a.m. too.

I'll read your blogs tomorrow because I'm falling asleep as I type and spell check is having to work overtime and now he's mad. He wouldn't even tell me how to spell knowledgeable, said he had no suggestions. He's a spoiled baby.

Goodnight. I hope each and every one of you finds comfort this day. And money in an unexpected place. And a treat you had forgotten about. And good dreams.

Night.

PS I loved the Star Trek movie we went to this afternoon. How come I didn't fall asleep then?

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 .

TODAY'S LIST: WHY I AM TIRED

1. I stay up too late, getting my fix of back episodes of "House."
2. I stay up too late, reading blogs.
3. I stay up too late, trying to find interesting things to eat, even though I said I wouldn't eat after 7:00 because Oprah says it's THE rule. Oprah doesn't know everything. Does she? I usually don't eat it, I just look for it. I DON'T EAT IT PAM, I PROMISE.
4. I stay up too late, worrying about things like, is it spelled "to" or "too." The Grammar Nazi's should tell me so I can go to bed--after watching "House," of course.
5. I'm taking YET another round of antibiotics.
6. I'm worrying.
7. I'm old.
8. And perhaps moldy.
9. I'm dying. Aren't we all? Don't panic. I'm pretty sure we are.
10. I think I should blog every day and then when I can't I have the stupor's and who can go to bed with the stupors? I usually go to bed with Phil but maybe the stupors are more interesting and maybe they snore less.
11. I have too much to do and not enough a) time b) ambition c) talent d) motivation e) energy--because I stay up to late.
12. I think perhaps the Epstein Bar Syndrome has reared it's ugly head. Again. That would also explain the stupors.

The end. The bitter, total end of life as we know it, as only people who stay up too late can really understand.

FAMILY PRAYER

Last night it was Phil's turn to say Family Prayer but I could tell he was tired. I asked him if he wanted me to say it. He merely nodded.

While praying I must have been extra grateful for all our blessing, and I must have asked for quite a few blessings for people in my ward who are sick, and for family members, and a friend who is in California and will be driving back to Utah alone, and other friends who I have been thinking of and loving. I must have prayed for a while. When I said "Amen." I looked up to see Phil crumpled against the wall.

"Are you all right?"

"I should have prayed," he said. "I could have been in bed and asleep by now."

FUNERALS, SANDWICHES AND OLD AND MOLDY

Today we went to a funeral of a nice man in our ward. He raised nine children. All his children spoke. His last said something like, "I am glad my dad had faith during trying times, because here I am, number nine." Other people would have stopped at three or five or surely eight. She is a girl any father or mother would love to have. She was the treasure at the end. I think we all have treasures at the end, but some of us decide when the end is and not let God do it.

~~~~~

Because I was so tired from being on my feet for so long today I made grilled ham and cheese sandwiches for dinner. One I made with mayo--Phil's. One with Miracle Whip--mine. But I forgot which was which.

"You'll have to taste each of these," I told Phil. "And then tell me which one is mine."

He sniffed them.

"You can't tell that way, just have a bite of each."

"This is yours," he said, handing me the sandwich at his plate.

I looked at it. It didn't have a bite out of it. I furrowed my brow.

"Aum," he said, with a sheepish grin, "I licked your bread."

~~~~~

And now, because I actually feel Old and Moldy I am going to sit in the old-folks-recliner with the new afghan my friend Judy gave me and have a snooze so I can read blogs way into the night and avoid writing my book.

But, DeAnn, you better be WRITING YOURS! And I hear Her Excellency of Mousehole is doing some writing, too. Yes!

SIX WORD SATURDAY 5-24-08

I think I will post a six word "Story," every day. That way people can click on it and be done, won't have to read the real blog at all. So here's today's:

Dog cried all night. I'm yawning.

OUR LUCKY 13TH GRANDBABY WAS BORN TODAY

We went to Kraut and Soap Queen's this morning, early. Anything before eight is early for me in my declining years. I feel old today. We watched their two little ones while the other four went to school. I conked out on their bed for at least an hour and Phil watched the kids. Then he left because we are on a tend-schedule for a few weeks to watch some of the other grandchildren on Tuesday afternoons.

Kraut called at about three to tell us we had a new grandson. We all "knew" it was a boy. I don't know how, as they don't find out until the baby is born but we all just felt this one was a boy. They have five boys now and two girls. They lost a little girl when The Soap Queen was 7-8 months pregnant, a perfect little girl and the doctors never could figure out why she died. So, technically they have eight but seven living.

Here are pictures of this new little miracle and some pictures of the other kids.

Here he is, as yet unnamed with his beautiful mother.

The other children were as happy to see their mom as to see the new baby.

This is the entire group, from oldest to youngest, Kraut, my dear son, the Soap Queen, his wonderful wife, Book Worm, The Gamer, Butterfly, Entomologist, Lego® Boy, Taz and of course the newest, unnamed wee one.

The Entomologist having his turn to hold the new baby.

Taz doesn't realize it yet but he is no longer the baby of the family. Let's just remove that binky, shall we?

See? he is right where he thinks it is his 100%-of-the-time-right-to-be, right on his mom's lap.

Butterfly, who fits her name, holding new baby.

The Book Worm found my magazines, that I foolishly thought I'd have time to read while tending today, and she opened them with an almost hunger. She is also a very responsible oldest sibling. She is not yet eleven! Seven kids under the age of eleven. Amazing.

This is the oldest boy, The Gamer. He is such a nice boy. We were at the house the other day and he came in from playing with his friends just to say hello and give us a hug and then he was out the door to play again. When we left he stopped playing, made sure we saw him and then waved and waved. You sure feel loved with a grandson like that.

This is so out of focus.

(Michael, where are you, with my photography lessons?)

The soap Queen is the Primary President in her ward (Mormon Church--Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints). She is a serious "soaper." Her soap is in the Holy Cow Boutique which is in Pleasant Grove, Utah this weekend. She has marvelous friends and family who set her booth up and will keep it stocked. We LOVE her soap.

How does this marvelous woman do it all? I don't know. I spent the day with their wonderfully good children--who ask permission to go play, who help when I asked and I am almost too tired to breathe and I didn't do laundry or any of the normal daily things The Soap Queen does.

More power to the two of you. Thanks for the gaggle of wonderful grandchildren. We adore them all. The new one is certainly beautiful.

I'M TOO TIRED TO POST

I'm too tired to post tonight. It would just be nonsense. I wrapped caramels all day. Okay, so that part is exaggerated but it seems like all day. I didn't get the ornaments on the Christmas tree, that's for sure but my Dolly Parton candle display is beautiful. Phil calls it Dolly Parton because it's glittery and glitzy and my granddaughter, Miss Dolly Parton incognito--masquerading as a seven year old, will love it. I made him turn all the house light out, including the several hundred lights on the Christmas tree so I could light the candles and bask in the glittery display. He just chuckles. I do love a man with a good chuckle.

I must learn how to put pictures on this blog soon. Pam will come to my rescue, she rescues me at all times, for all kinds of reasons. She calls at a moment's notice and we speed off for unmentionable pleasures. Not that kind of unmentionables. Okay, I'll tell you. We sneak off regularly and get J-Dawgs. Evil, horrible, probably nitrate filled hot dogs from Heaven. (The Polish are best--they only offer Polish and beef dawgs--this is enough to make your mouth water. "Slurp.") They are evil and horrible because they are an addictive substance and should be registered with the narcotics division. Once you've had a J-Dawg you can go about a week and then you are finding reasons why you have to drive on 7th east, where it dead-ends into lower BYU (Brigham Young University) campus, and just happen to pass this tiny little kiosk type building that used to sell flowers, of all things. "Hey," you say, "Look at that! We're driving right by J-Dawg's. Might as well stop--as long as we're here."

There is no sign. The owner doesn't advertise and he looks like he's all of nineteen years old, for Pete's sake and he is making a bundle of money, a good deal of it mine. J-Dawg's are sold out of a little shack and there is pretty much always a bunch of people standing in a line that sometimes snake into the street. Do the line-snakers care that they might get run over. You bet, if it is before they get their J-Dawg. If after they would just lie in the road and chew. One day I will do a blog about this phenomenon and maybe post a picture, after Pam teaches me how.

So, Pam, who rescues me will surely help me soon to figure out how to screech into the photo blogging business and you will see my Dolly Parton candle display and I will take a picture of a J-Dawg and you will have to come on a vacation to Provo so you too can have a new addiction to add to your whatever-you-are-already-addicted-to list.

What is on your list anyway? I am working on carrots. I am trying to drown all the sugar, from my Christmas-goodies-addictions with beta carotene. It's not working so well but I'm determined. Never underestimate a determined woman, especially one with carrot breath.

And when I'm not to tired to write maybe we can have a decent conversation about something meaningful. Like my son's belly button lint collection. Bless his weird little heart.

Or we can talk about my other boy's dreadlocks that he had his sister, the talented hair stylist who is cheerful beyond my level of understanding, cut off years ago, and that he has saved the dreaded things in an Altoid's tin. How this blond haired boy got his hair to make dreads is beyond my level of understanding. It is also beyond my level of understanding why my youngest, beautiful daughter--I have two beautiful daughters--anyway, the youngest has the hair of the God's and is also dreading her hair, at this moment. There are many things beyond the level of my understanding.

Or we can talk about my other son's addiction to radios. Not the kind that play music and news but the kind you hear a whole bunch of static and then he says, "Did you hear that? That was someone in Japan!" And you say to yourself, sure it was, all the time rolling your eyes. But he gets so excited and after all, he is the son who introduced me to the computer and built the one I'm typing on--even though it is old and has an attitude--and so whatever he says is all right with me. Japan? "You bet," I say, "he sounded like he was speaking Japanese." With a static accent.

What were we talking about? Oh, that's right. Nothing. Because I'm to tired. I'll write something tomorrow maybe, if I get the ornaments on the tree and soon, when Pam is unbusy, I will learn how to put pictures on my blog and then watch out! I may get interesting.

Right now I'm going to eat more carrots and go to bed. Right after I check out my favorite blogs. Or not. Because I really am too tired. So if I usually comment on your blog and I didn't tonight you'll have to make allowances.