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 DON'T KNOW WHY I BOTHER!

Don't even bother reading this...it's long and depressing.

Our neighbors gave us some of the most wonderful apples on the planet and my busy little brain--and I emphasise the "little" part--decided it was time to can Apple Pie Filling.

One year, the kids and I canned over 50 quarts in the fall. They stuck with me until we were all finished and at one point--one of the favorite memories stored in my little brain--is when Trent picked up a double handful of the peelings--picture a pile of those about a foot high--and threw them in the air and yelled, "Happy New Year!" Gosh, I love that kid. (Well, he's a man with a wife and 7 kids but to me he will always be a kid.)So, today I watched things I had recorded on TV--The Event, House, NCIS, Katie Brown Workshop, 16 minutes of Studio 5 about photography, and other things that my tiny little brain cannot recall at the moment--while I peeled apples, but right from the start things went wrong.

I spilled apples all over the floor and the noise of the stainless steel, pan hitting the floor, annoyed people two blocks away, and permanently damaged my hearing.

Then I couldn't remember how to load the apple peeler and so had to peel and slice a lot of the apples by hand. Then, my brain--the little one--kicked in and remembered how to do it right.

I think the highlight of my day was seeing previews of the movie "Unstoppable,"......with Denzel Washington......and it's rated PG 13. Hooray! (We don't go to "R" rated movies.)Lookit, there are men running on top of trains......and trains crashing......and trains blowing up and school kids on a field trip and other exciting things.Which is more than the excitement of my apple pie filling boiling over and six out of eighteen of the jars NOT SEALING because of the boiling over bit and even the sight of all this bounteous beauty cannot mend my broken heart about 1/3 of my efforts a failure. Another day, another failure.

Phil opened one of the non-sealed ones and ate it over ice cream and said he didn't care if any of them sealed as he would eat them all, one after another, on ice cream, and it was the tastiest stuff in the world. He's nice like that and my love for him grew some more, if that were even possible, because I am already rather fond of him.

And so, now six quarts will have to find a spot in the fridge or freezer. I hope we can go see "Unstoppable" (hopefully soon) to mend my wounded heart, but right now I'm going to go have a good cry in my huge pillow--pronounced "pilla"--and know that tomorrow will be a better day. Hopefully. And because it's Sunday, I will have a nice Sunday nap after church.

I should have consulted The Damsel from Old School--she knows how to do everything and she even has a blog of the 50 best canning sites, which I looked at--too late, but I did look at them--and did you know you can can bacon? (Or maybe "can can" is a dance. I should ask The Damsel.) And did you know you can can rabbit and squirrel? (They do a lot of that in Minnesota, I guess.) And there is even an article--thanks Damsel--about Mormon Food Storage Techniques. I should definitely have gone there first as this Mormon was not doing things right.

If you have had a recent failure would you please tell me so I can know that I'm not the only one in the whole wide world that does things inadequately. Thanks so much.

And come on over. I'll give you some apple pie filling with ice cream underneath.

PS Knock loud, because I might not hear you because of my damaged hearing. And if I don't answer the door just stick you head in and yell, "Yo-hoo." (There's not enough yo-hooing done now-a-days.) But if it's on a Sunday after church, I'll be napping, so you might have to get in the fridge and get your own.

PPS I have never actually made an apple pie with the 100's of jars of apple pie filling I've made over the years. We just heat it up and eat it as a side dish. You should make some--that is if you can can successfully--or dance, either. I'll put the recipe on my cookbook blog soon.

MORMON FAMILY KEEPS IT CLEAN WITH PIONEER SOAP

This is Michelle, our daughter-in-law, married to our oldest child, Trent. She is an amazing woman. She does everything, and I mean everything. She sews, she cooks, she cleans, she belongs to a book club, she belongs to a card making group--usually meetings are held at her house. She keeps track of which child has which assignment and who needs money for school lunch. She was the Primary President for about five years. She is currently the Relief Society President. For those who are not Mormon, those are church callings and are HUGE. She makes jewelry--beautiful and unique items. And...she makes soap--liquid and bar soap. She makes wonderful lotions and bath bombs.

She has one customer who drives miles and miles, dashes in, grabs an armload of soap, practically throws the money at you and dashes out. All this dashing is because she is so busy and she drives miles and miles because Michelle's soap is the only soap that doesn't make her skin break out. And the throwing money thing? Really she does, I was there, tending the kids when this customer dashed, grabbed and threw. Then she opened the door again and whispered, "Thanks." then she dashed some more and drove off in a cloud of exhaust.Michelle has been featured in two newspapers. The Daily Herald, article here. And the Dessert News, article here. That is where the title for this post came from: Mormon Family Keeps It Clean With Pioneer Soap.

Phil's favorite is Rosemary Mint--it's a manly scent and I'm quite in love with it too. I love anything with citrus. She has several--Fruit Slices, Grapefruit, Citrus and Sage, Red Current and Grapefruit, Bitter Orange Orchid and she has a tangerine something--maybe with mango--that I love but I can't find it on her website.All of her children help. This is Levi, her four year old.

She sells at boutiques--the Holy Cow Boutique was this weekend and is again on November 17-20 in Pleasant Grove, Utah. She sells at Farmer's Markets type things and just today she was a guest at Young Living Essential Oils where she taught a class on soap making using $130 worth of Young Living essential oils. Later in the day she had to "break down" her booth at the Holy Cow Boutique, clean everything up and put it away. Then she came to a family dinner that Taylor and Sharee hosted for Phil--yesterday was Phil's birthday! She brought me some of her lavender lotion--I call it Sleepytime lotion because the lavender scent is so putting-me-to-sleep-ish. I've been out for a long time and can't wait to have it on my face, etc. (never mind) and go to bed and have wonderful dreams.

Here is her Vanilla Lace soap. I haven't tried it yet. Oh, and most important of all, Michelle is a mother. A mother of seven. I told you she was amazing! She has given us half of our grandchildren .

When they were engaged, Trent asked her if she would like to teach for a year or two--she graduated from Brigham Young University with a teaching degree--before they had kids, she said, "Why would I want to do that? I'll teach my own children."

And her first was born eleven months later. They are: Meghan, Mark, Willow, Noah, Joseph, Levi and Enoch. They have been taught well. They are all wonderful. As is Michelle. Long live the Queen--the Soap Queen.

PS Hillary said today in an email that went to both Michelle and me, "PS MICHELLE I read your articles in BOTH papers. You are amazing and for sure I need your autograph."

PPS Which leads me to this thought. We are all amazing. Some have talents that we envy. Some have beautiful bodies that we envy. Some are smart and clever and fill in the blank. But, I think we are all special. The ugly, the uninformed, the not-so-clever, the fill in the blank. All of us. Special.

I remember the story of the Russian child, who was lost. People rallied around, wanting to help. "What does your mother look like," they said.

"She is the most beautiful woman in the world," the child said.

The people scoured the streets for a beautiful woman. "Is this your child?" they asked several beautiful women. "No" each one answered.

Finally the child yelled out, "There she is," pointing to a dowdy woman who was running to pick up her child and twirl her around and around.

When she sat the child back on the ground the child said, "I told you so, I told you she was the most beautiful woman in the world." And hand in hand the lucky child and the beautiful mother went on their way, leaving everyone with a new appreciation of what real beauty is.

Michelle has real beauty. She knows what is the most important, her husband and her children. But first she loves God. Then everything else just seems to fall into place--after all her hard work, that is. This woman is not afraid to roll up her sleeves and get to work. Whatever she does, she does well.

THE GRANDCHILDREN DANCE CELTIC

Tonight Trent called and said that Noah, Willow and Meghan were dancing their Celtic dances at the library. We flew and got there too late to see Noah but did see Willow and Meghan dance. I hardly recognized them. They had curly wigs on--well, not Noah. They did a wonderful job. I got a little teary eyed--as I always do when I watch children performing and since they were my grandchildren it was hard not to get emotional. I blinked a lot.

I wasn't up close so these photos are way too dark. When Willow saw us she grinned and waved. I missed it, of course. But I caught Meghan's smile.Getting dressed in regular clothes after they danced.
Their mom, Michelle in the background, making sure all the shoes and dress parts got packed.

Noah gave us a private recital.

He did a great job.

We are so glad we got to see the kids dance. They really put on a good show--in spite of the fact that some youngster pulled the fire alarm and we were told to evacuate the building. It didn't faze their teacher. "Dance on," was her motto. And they did.

REASONABLE ADULT, CONTINUED

A continuation from yesterday's post, kind of.

When we came home from North Carolina--where Trent learned that "pajamas" were "jammies"--to Utah for visits and eventually to live closer to family I realized my sister, Pat, was the Queen of slang. They didn’t have “roast beef” for Sunday dinner, they had “roast beast.” If you were sick, you had the “dreaded gomboo.” She sailed through life, putting her language stamp on everything. She was delightful. Life was a lark to her and meant to be enjoyed.

Years later, when our last child, Elizabeth was little, Pat gave her a fairy princess outfit. It came with a magic wand that played music when you pushed a button. Pat could hardly wait to have Elizabeth push the button. I thought it might play the Cinderella theme, but no. It played the music to “Hang down your head, Tom Dooley.” I was horrified but before I could say anything Pat said, “Isn’t that a scream? I love it. Don’t ever get rid of that magic wand.” She laughed. “Can you imagine, some Japanese committee, picking songs for the magic wands? ‘This one sounds nice,’ they probably said. ‘Has a nice tune.’”

I never did really see the humor in it, I’ve tried but I’m still uncomfortable with giving a song about death and murder to a four year old. We still have the magic wand somewhere. It probably doesn’t work but I couldn’t get rid of it because my sister, who died not too long after this incident, had thought it was a “hoot” and if nothing else, I loved my very original-talking sister and I kept her wishes.

I will never measure up to this sister, who had ideas no one else had, but never wrote them down. (This is one of the tragedies of life.) She loved the Lord with a pure and deep love. She took Institute classes as often as she could, even though she had to have dialysis three times a week and it prevented her from doing a lot of the things she loved. She loved my children like no one else did and I think she probably watches over them from time to time.

She lived in St. George so she could have her dialysis treatments and Larry went to St. George every weekend. When she died her funeral was held in Annabella, two and a half hours from St. George or two hours, depending on who’s driving. The chapel and cultural hall were filled to capacity and carloads of her St. George friends made the trip to attend her funeral. All the florist shops in Richfield sold out of flowers for her funeral and people brought every plant and artificial arrangement available.

When she died, a light went out of the world and Heaven was brightened. I am sure the language in Heaven has changed a bit. The angels are using new words for things and they smile and laugh a lot too. They probably change into jammies when they go to bed and have roast beast for Sunday dinner—although the “beast” is probably made of some vegetable concoction.

Well, this story didn’t start out to be what it ended up like. I just wanted to remember Trent’s language degeneration but--from his comment on yesterday's post--it didn't degenerate at all. But he is clever with words. After all, he is the one who called my little desk in the living room a “clerk.” “Because it’s not big enough to be a secretary.” And it will always be the clerk until the end of time. Maybe a tiny bit of Aunt Pat lives on in my children, her children, and my sister Julie’s children too. I certainly hope so. Hillary's language qualifies. And Taylor's. And the other three are as clever as can be. I'm proud of them.

PS Yesterday, Trent commented on my post. It seems he doesn't use slang so something must have sunk in from so many years ago. And my favorite part of his comment was that he said he kneels down to have nighttime prayers with his two-year old. What a great dad my boy is.

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.

NOAH IS BAPTIZED

(I've changed my settings to the "updated editor" and I can't move photos around, they won't stay in the format I want them to and ...AUGH. The only advantage is that you can do a strikethrough without knowing the HTML code, but I know the HTML code and this is frustrating. Trent and Noah's photo is supposed to be first and it's last. Michelle's photo is supposed to be centered and...where is spellcheck? For a creative speller like I am, spellcheck is essential. AUGH. I'm tearing my hair out. Again. As soon as this post is done I'm going back to the normal editor setting.)

Our grandson, Noah has turned eight and was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost on Saturday.

This is his darling Mother, who was supposed to have her picture taken with Trent and Noah, but child number seven took that moment to run into the parking lot of the church and...wow! Can Michelle run. And dance. She and her two girls take Celtic dance classes and also compete. She is very graceful and is also all things wonderful. (Number seven child is on the floor, having a meltdown.)

This is Trent, our oldest son, who baptized and confirmed his son a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and gave him the gift of the Holy Ghost.

Noah is very bright and a very good boy. I know he will take his responsibility of being a member of the Church, and taking the name of the Savior, seriously.

And just for the record, I got the very best hug I have ever had from him. Perhaps the best hug I have ever had. Period.

We love you, Noah. Congratulations!

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.

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?

MENTAL CAPACITY

I talked to my newly-a-year-older boy today.* We had a delightful visit; he is a fun person and had me laughing for an hour.

He had some startling statistics that had me saying, "So, that explains it!"

If you are dehydrated by just 5% your mental capacity will be diminished by as much as 25%. By the time your body says to you, "Hey, I'm thirsty," you are dehydrated by 10%.

This explains a lot about Utah drivers.