The Spiritual Side to the Dead Gerbil Story. Really.

When Cameron found the dead gerbil, he cried and accepted my hugs and condolences, and then he sort of shook off his emotions and went to help Troy with the cleaning of the cage and disposing of the chewed up little corpse. He caught the other two gerbs, put them in a little container, and started moving things out of the cage. He was all business. He wondered aloud if we ought to just buy a new cage. If anything was going to ease his pain, it would be spending money.


I wasn't sure if we should even tell Aaron. As I've written before, he has a lot of worries, and some of them are definitely related to the death of our dog, Jeffrey, last April. None of us are "over"it, and Aaron in particular has had a hard time dealing with his loss. Having the gerbil die would be nothing compared to losing Jeffrey - I was just wary of having all those old feelings freshened up.



Troy called Aaron up from the basement and told him the sad news. Aaron came running to me, his face contorted with tears and worry. I hugged him tight. He broke away from me and started pacing, wringing his hands and crying, and then coming back for another hug. This is the anxiety at work. Poor Aaron!


And then, he knew what he needed to do. Aaron has an amazing testimony of prayer, and this time was as good as any.


"We've gotta pray, Mom!" He was practically frantic.


I followed him into the front room.

"What do you want to pray for?"

"Just... like, comfort and stuff. So I can stop worrying."


We knelt down at the couch. Aaron looked over at Troy in front of the cage, spatula in hand, ready to start scraping. Cameron was watching in horrified fascination, trying to calculate if we had enough time to go shopping for a new cage before the party started.


"Guys! Come on! We're praying!" Aaron wanted the whole family in on this.


Troy looked at me like "Now?" and I shot back the look that said "Duh!"


If Aaron says we pray...by golly, we are praying!


We all knelt down and Aaron asked that I say it. Afterwards, he hugged me and said,

"That was a really good prayer. Thanks."



And then he was fine. Completely. He got his "comfort and stuff".

This kid is so close to the Spirit, I can hardly find the words to describe it. His testimony of the Holy Ghost and comfort and our Heavenly Father's love is so pure and profound. I am humbled by him. Whenever there is a feeling or a thought that isn't right, his first thought is to pray. His faith is enormous. I can sure learn from him.


What a blessing he is!

One Down,Two To Go

For Cam's 9th birthday (he'll be 11 in January), he got gerbils. A friend had recently gotten some for their kids and Cameron and Aaron had latched on to the idea that gerbils would be fantastic pets to have. My friend's supplier of the gerbils had some babies that were ready to leave their Mom, right in time for Cam's birthday, so we agreed that the gerbils and all the stuff that goes with them would be his present.

When your kid's birthday is 10 days past Christmas, it's easy to imagine that yes, gerbils would make an excellent present. Cam got Petsmart gift cards as other presents, which he promptly redeemed for a cage, wheel, food dish, water bottle, food, and stuff for the bottom of the cage. We went to go see the lady with the procreating gerbils.

With a lot of advice and a guarantee that she could tell the males from the females, we ended up taking home three (!) males. I did not want to be having any gerbil babies! The kids were thrilled. We got home, set things up in Cameron's room, and prepared to enjoy gerbil ownership. The boys named them Cookie, Lollipop, and Licorice.

For me though, it never happened - the enjoying part. I decided fairly quickly that the gerbils, or gerbs as we started calling them, were just one step up from the mice that we occasionally get in the house in the summer. They also turned out to be noisy - endless chewers - and we had to move them out of Cam's room so he could sleep. Now I had a big ol' cage of gerbils in the hallway.

After the initial few weeks of having the gerbils, even the kids pretty much ignored them. They were hard to hold, always wiggling and sometimes biting. Twice, a gerbil wiggled out of one of the boys' hands and the frantic chasing and cornering and finally catching that ensued was enough for me to declare that the gerbs stayed INSIDE the cage at all times.

Cameron would feed and water the gerbils, but only when I would remind him. He'd clean the cage every month or so, taking them out and putting them in a holding bin, while he dumped out the old and put in fresh newspaper. Then the chewing would really start. He took care of their basic needs, but there was no real enjoyment on his part either.

True to the gerbil lady's word, all three were males - we never had any babies, thank goodness. However, one of the gerbs was either confused as to the gender of the other two, or he decided that being straight just wasn't for him. Life inside that cage was like a bad prison movie. We could hear him attacking the other gerbils, their tiny little screams announcing the latest violation. The boys called this gerbil "the mean one", the "one that always climbs on the other's backs".

I kept reminding myself that gerbils usually only live about a year. I've been on the countdown since last January, waiting for them to expire. Last Saturday, one of them did.

We were cleaning up the house for a get-together with some of Troy's family, and I reminded Cameron that (a) he owned gerbils, and (b) he might want to clean out the cage before his cousins came over. He went to work.

Thirty seconds later, he came back into the kitchen, looking a little queasy.

"Mom, one of the gerbils is dead." He pressed his lips together to stop the quivering.

"Oh no, Baby. I'm sorry." I pulled him in for a hug and squeezed him tight. Just because you don't love something, doesn't mean you aren't sad when it dies.

"Better tell Dad." I said, soooooooo glad that it was a weekend and that Troy was home to deal with this. I went to find a box for the funeral.

Troy looked inside the cage and came over to talk to me quietly.

"There's not much to bury. It's pretty far gone. I think the others have been eating on it."

We asked Cameron when he'd last seen all three gerbils alive. Just a day or two. Which gerbil was the dead one? The "mean one".

Okay, that explains a lot. I think the other two finally stood up to him and took him down. Hard. Eating him was the final revenge.

Troy took care of disposing of the corpse. I was all ready to hold an elaborate send-off, but since he was stuck to the bottom of the cage and needed to be scraped off with a spatula, we decided to skip the formalities. Spatula went in the garbage too.

After the boys' tears were dried and Troy had scrubbed the cage, Cameron put some fresh newspapers, food and water inside for the remaining two gerbils. Total time of grief...maybe 5 minutes. We haven't even talked about it again. The "mean one" is not missed.

The two remaining gerbils continue to live peacefully, chewing and running about their cage, no worries to weigh them down. They took care of business. Don't mess with these gerbils.

I walk by their cage dozens of times a day. If I ever glance down and see them, all I can think is...cannibals.

Movie Quote Monday #5

Good Morning!!!



I was going to start off with something a little spooky, a Halloweenish sort of quote, but this caught my eye instead.



"I've been on a diet every day since I was nineteen, which basically means I've been hungry for a decade. I've had a series of not nice boyfriends, one of whom hit me. Ah, and every time I get my heart broken, the newspapers splash it about as though it's entertainment. And it's taken two rather painful operations to get me looking like this."

Go.

Get Your Quotes Ready!

Just a reminder about Movie Quote Monday, starting at 8am, even though I don't have to work and could easily (take a Tylenol PM and) sleep in and start later.

Rules refresher for those new to the game:

I'll post a movie quote and if you know the movie, write it in a comment along with a movie quote of your own. There may be more than one quote in play at a time, if two people guess at the same time. Please remember to use asterisks and such in the place of any cursing - just in case the kiddies are reading along. Have fun with it!

You're all so awesome to play - see you in the morning!

Off Track Trucker

Aaaaahh, the kids are off track from school. They love it and so do I. Aside from the obvious delights of sleeping in and staying up later than usual, Aaron no longer makes faces like this when it's time to do his homework:


Can't you just feel his pain?

Instead, he hits the road with the coolest trucker he knows.

It's pretty much his favorite thing to do.

They make a good team.

Troy does all the driving, and Aaron rides along. They listen to Radio Disney on the XM. Aaron knows all the cities they pass, the weigh stations, the truck stops with the "good" bathrooms, and how to talk on a cb. He climbs in the back sometimes, to nap or play a video game, but for the most part, he just rides up front. He doesn't complain or whine about the long drive, he loves the whole experience.

Aaron is 8 years old, a kid with a lot of anxiety and stress in his world. For the past few months, he's been seeing Rachel, a counselor that he adores, to help him deal with the things that stress him out. They do a lot of talking, working on appropriate responses and ways to manage his emotions when he feels anxious or out of control. They've done some deep breathing exercises and visualization - ways for Aaron to relax himself.

Rachel asked Aaron to tell her about the happiest place he could think of. Yes, it feels a little new age-y, Aaron closing his eyes and "going to that happy place". We're going with whatever will help him right now. He chose this. Not Disneyland, not in front of the computer (thank goodness!), and not on the trampoline, though that might have been a close second. Aaron's most favorite place in the whole wide world, his happy place, is inside the semi truck, going over the Bay Bridge in San Francisco.

Troy and Aaron got into S.F. late last night. Aaron had napped earlier in the trip so that he could be awake when they went over the bridge at 2am. He sits up high in the passenger seat, his body and head looking so small inside this gigantic truck. He can see the city, the lights, the ships, the water...and he is happy.

Later, they had to drive through the city, right as the clubs were closing. They stopped at a crosswalk and watched as big groups of laughing girls made their way across the street. The girls saw Aaron sitting up front, wide awake and wearing his trucker hat, and they all pointed and waved at him.

Aaron climbed in the back for another nap. He told Troy to wake him up when they were leaving the city, so he could see the bridge again. He woke right up and climbed back in the front seat at 5:30am. After all, it's his happy place. He couldn't just sleep through it.

I miss him when he's gone. I call and talk to him and he tells me about the things he sees, and we blow kisses over the phone. Troy tells me over and over about how relaxed Aaron is, how utterly comfortable and content he is, in and around the trucks. How he loves going over that bridge. I miss him, but knowing that he is so happy, makes me happy.

On a side note, Cameron hates going over the bridges - so he won't go on the SF trips. Go figure.

If you were visualizing your happiest place on earth, where would that be?

And Now My Home Smells of Cinnamon, Nutmeg and Pumpkin

I am a conflicted woman. On the one side, I write about spinning class, eating edamame and generally trying to be healthy. On the other side, I love talking about the homey, comfort foods that I grew up with, and wanting to give those same delicious memories to my family.


Guess which side is doing the writing today?


Earlier this month, I promised to post my Mom's Pumpkin Bread recipe. Mmmmmm. It's super easy, ingredients you probably already have on hand (if not, what's one more trip to the grocery store? You need to go anyway.), and it will make your house smell wonderful. Your family will follow their noses into the kitchen and hang on the counter and say,


"Whatcha makin'?"


My Mom made this pumpkin bread every Fall. She made it for the family, for her visiting teachers, for my Dad to take in to work, and for all of the kids to take to their teachers. I loved doing that - taking a pretty little loaf of pumpkin bread to school and proudly presenting it to my teachers. No wonder they loved me.


The recipe says that it makes two large loaves, but Mom always used smaller loaf pans - the perfect, cute little size to give away. I remember seeing a dozen or so of the loaves lined up on the counter, wrapped in plastic wrap and tied with some curling ribbon, ready to give to neighbors at Thanksgiving.



This is the size pan that I use. A little smaller than Mom's, the loaves are about the size of those great big bakery muffins. I got two pans of this size out of one batch.




Oh, Baby.

The bread is moist and delicious, pumpkin-y and perfect. I can't think of a better way to welcome Fall into your home. Or your stomach.

*********************************************************

Perfect Pumpkin Bread

Mix in a large bowl:

3 1/2 cups flour

2 tsp. baking soda

1 1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1 tsp. nutmeg

1 1/2 tsp. salt

3 cups sugar

Add:

1 cup oil

4 beaten eggs

2/3 cup water

2 cups pumpkin

Mix well with beaters. Pour into greased pans. (And really grease them good - you'd think with all that oil, you wouldn't need to. Trust me.) Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour, if you're just doing 2 large loaves. Less time if you're making "give away" loaves. Just watch them, and poke 'em with a toothpick to see if they're done.

Remove from the pan and cool on a wire rack. Wrap in plastic wrap, and give them to people you love.

And always, serve with cream cheese.

Oh, and while the loaves are baking, you might want to take care of this.

Would you scrape it and lick it, or just wash it out?

You know what I did...

It was delicious.

Random Stuff From School

As I work with my little reading groups, we sit at a long table in a common wash-up area. I have to sit on tiny chairs so that my legs fit under the desk. This puts us all very close together. Sometimes I lean even closer to try and get some good eye contact, making sure that the kid is paying attention.

We were sounding out the word "spring". First we did the "s" sound. Then I was really trying to enunciate and show them how it would sound when they added the "p" sound. I leaned forward and gave my best "sp". Three little boys all leaned towards me and did a "sp" right back.

"Sp" is also the first sound in "spit".

**********************************************************

My next group was three little girls. I still haven't decided if I like splitting them up girls/boys. As it is, I have a funny, super-charged group of spitting boys, and a well-behaved, sweet group of girls. I wonder if it would be easier to mix it up a little.

We were reading the same book as the boys, The Farm in Spring, and I was being careful to keep a safe distance as they sounded out words. The book was a simple walk-through of what you can see at a farm in the Spring: I see a brown horse and two foals...I see a black dog and three puppies...I see a grey cat and four kittens, etc. At the sight of every baby farm animal, the girls would just melt and sigh at the utter cuteness of the bitty little thing. They'd ooh and aaahh and try to tell me about any real life baby animals that they'd seen. I'd rein them back in so we could keep on reading. Even though I love all their stories, we've gotta keep reading.

Then we came to "I see a red hen and six chicks". After the initial "ooooooh" from all of them, one girl launched into telling me that her Dad takes her to some guy's house to see the rooster fights. Rooster Fights!

Okay, reading time is OVER. I love this stuff! This is what she told us:

It's her Dad's favorite thing to do.
It was when they were in Mexico.
It's kind of bloody.
She feels sorry for the roosters, but her Dad just likes it. A lot.

Reading with the kids just doesn't get any better than this!

I know we have a lot of teachers and people that work with kids out there...

What are the funniest, most awesome things you've ever been told by a kid?

You Can Keep Reading, Just Promise You Won't Judge Me

Last night I was tired. Really tired. I'd spent the evening catching up on my Tivo, and as usually happens when I lie down on the couch, I get really sleepy. Sure, I'd watched Marie Osmond fall down (over and over and over again!), and while that was enough to keep me alert for a while, by 10:30 I'd had it. Time for Mama to go to bed!

Unfortunately, the boys were still up, reveling in their off-track from school status. This is where you can't judge me. When they are not in school, I become very lax in putting them to bed at a decent hour. They also get to sleep in, since I leave for the school long before they get up. Yeah, we don't have a whole lot of structure. You're not judging, remember?

But now I want to go to bed. I start whining to the boys.

"Guys, I've gotta get up early. Come on. Go brush your teeth and let's say prayers so I can lay down with Aaron."

I lie in Aaron's bed every night for 5 minutes, plus I stay in the basement until he falls asleep. Add that to the teeth and prayers, and I'm looking at 11:30 before my head can hit my pillow. I whine louder.

Cameron stands in front of me and with complete seriousness, says,

"You go ahead and go to bed. I'll put him down."

Huh? Oh, I must really be tired, did he actually say that?

"What?"

"I'll get him to bed before midnight, I promise."

I thought of my alarm clock going off at 5:30, and all of a sudden, this didn't sound so bad. You betcha. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Okay...thanks Cameron. Give me a kiss and tell Aaron to come tell me goodnight."

And then I went to bed.

When I got up this morning, I went into Cameron's room to check on him. I found that he had indeed put his brother to bed - right next to him. They had brought Aaron's bedding up from the basement and made up a little corner of the bed for Aaron.

These are my boys, sleeping side by side,

ages 10 3/4 and 8 1/2.

Could they be any cuter? They've done this before.

I guess co-sleeping has always been going on at our house.

They napped together as a baby and a toddler

And as they grew older.

Jeffrey was always helpful, making sure that the baby wouldn't fall off the bed.

He was a furry, patient, body pillow.

Heck, even Troy enjoyed the occasional group nap.

I don't know, there's just something about seeing the people you love the most, curled up together, sleeping peacefully. Makes me want to cuddle up with them.

Or take their picture.

Who do you like to cuddle up with?



.

Movie Quote Monday #4

Good morning! Time to start off with a little...




"Wait a minute, Doc, are you trying to tell me that my mother has got the hots for me?"


Have fun, and...

Go!

Got Quotes?

Come and play Movie Quote Monday, starting tomorrow at 8am!



Join in for some "Oh I KNOW that one, I just can't think of the title!" kind of fun.



Hope to see you here!

I Hate to be Late...part two (also known as a rant)

Yesterday I started out writing a little back story for the real story that I'm writing today. I just got long winded and kind of off topic, and in the end, I wanted to eat ribs and laugh at Steve Carell with my family. The story could wait until today.

Two mornings a week, I take a spinning class - indoor cycling. I've grown to love this class, even more since The Biggest Loser says that a one hour spinning class will burn 700-1000 calories. It's super early, (5:45 am) and the class is fairly small, the instructors are good and so is the music. My kind of class.


The bikes are the upright kind, not the recumbent, and they have a little knob that you can turn and make the resistance harder or easier. The instructor leads the class on different "courses", up hills (crank the resistance up), races or sprinting to "get ahead" of an imaginary biker, jumps (resistance high, alternately standing and sitting), etc. The sweetest words are "take it to flat road", and you turn the knob to zero resistance. It's all timed to the music and it is seriously fun. Did my fingers really just type that? Shoot me now.


The lights are out during the class - the only light coming in is from the hallway. I like to close my eyes when it gets really hard, pedaling and trying to get to the end. My balance seems to be okay, and I've never felt like I was going to fall off (though wouldn't that make a good post?).

The first time you go to the spin class, you're supposed to go at least 5 minutes early to get set up on your bike. It's not hard, just a lot to adjust, so the bike will fit your body. You can move the seat up and down and closer and farther (to the handlebars). The handlebars also move those same ways. It needs to be "just so", so that you don't hurt your knees and so you can be as comfortable as possible. The instructor shows you how to set it up, explains the resistance knob and some of the terminology. It takes a few minutes - that's why the class schedule says to come early!

A few weeks ago, I convinced my friend Susan to come spin with me. She's a night owl and getting up early is her definition of hell, so I knew how hard this was for her. She did it though, and has come faithfully every Thursday morning for the past month. I told her she's hardcore. We rode together, and we got there plenty early to get her set up on her bike.

Unfortunately, not everyone who is new to the class comes early. Remember I said that other people being late doesn't phase me at all. Well, all that has changed, at least as far as the spinning class goes.

For the past three weeks, people are walking in right at 5:45 or later, without a clue as what to do. The instructor has to take time with each late person to get their bike set up and several times, the actual class hasn't started until almost 6:00. The rest of us just keep pedaling, warming up. (Okay, it just occurred to me that I could hop off my bike and help one of them get set up, but I would sure hate to do it wrong. Nah, they are still wrong to be late and make the whole class wait).

Now I wouldn't mind the starting late too much, except that the class has to end at 6:45. When it starts late, we get less time in workout mode, or we have to skip the abdominal work at the end of class altogether. Yes, I could do the abs at home, but I know me, and I don't. I just don't.

And the kicker...by the time the class starts, the rest of the class has been warming up, as in our bodies are getting hot and sweaty, while the late-y lates have been trying out different handlebar positions. They are still cold from walking in. The instructor asks, "Are you ready for the fans?", and the not-warmed- up people shout out "NO!".

Excuse me?

Don't mess with my fans!!!!! I will take you down, I swear...

Yes, this is petty. I know that if this is the worst thing going on in my life, I have nothing to complain about. But I just had to get it off my chest. Thank you.

Anything bugging you lately?
Go ahead, I'm listening.

I Hate to be Late (in two parts)

Ever since I was a little girl, being on time was very important to me. I have a very distinct memory from when I was in the third or fourth grade, of a time when I was late to school. We lived in California at the time, and for some reason, there was a day in the middle of the week where school started earlier than the other days. I can imagine how irritating that was to parents. I mean, ending early one day a week (like my kids' school does) is one thing, but starting early? Come on.

We lived in an apartment complex that had a passageway onto the school grounds. I walked to school every morning, home for lunch, back to school and then home again. My grandparents had come to visit us all the way from Indiana. They weren't just any grandparents...they were THE Grandparents. While my mother worked as a nurse (after her divorce), my Grandma and Grandpa had been the ones taking care of me and my older sister. We were extremely close. I loved them so much and missed them terribly since we moved away. Their twice a year visits out to California were something I looked forward to and I would cry for days after they left to go back home. Seriously, days.

Well, it was the day for them to leave, and it happened to be on the day that school started earlier - a fact that neither my Mother or I remembered. I'm not surprised - it was just an emotional, stressful day to begin with. My grandparents were going to walk me to the gate that led to the school, tell me goodbye and then head back to Indiana. I was trying to be brave, swallowing and swallowing, trying to get rid of the ginormous lump in my throat.

And here's a question, 31 years later. Why did I have to go to school that day? Why did I even have to go to school that entire week? My GRANDPARENTS were visiting! From halfway across the country! Hmmmm? I shall be bringing this up with my mother at Sunday dinner.

Anyway, we made it to the gate, said goodbye, and I started to walk towards the school. Grandma and Grandpa started walking back through the apartment complex maze. Suddenly, I realized that the school grounds were empty! It was the early day...and I was LATE!

Fear and absolute horror washed over me. I lost it, bursting into tears, and running, screaming all the way to the gate. I think I was hyperventilating. My Grandma retold the story of how she could hear me shrieking "Grandma! Grandma!", and they ran back to meet me. I went back home, got a little more composed, and then my Grandma went to the office with me and checked me into school, walking with me, so I wouldn't be alone. Again, why did this poor, hysterical child have to go to school on this day? It was traumatic - I'm breaking out in a sweat just writing about it! The funny thing is, the fact that I was late was as traumatic as having my grandparents leave. At least that's how I remember it.

Being on time is still a huge deal for me. I like to be early even. All through school, any jobs that I've ever had, church, parties, etc., I'm itching to be on time. My family doesn't necessarily feel the same urgency, and that has led to many mornings of me screaming tapping my foot impatiently, while they poke along. If I am ever late - it has absolutely nothing to do with me - it's their doing, all of it.

I'm trying to get them to see that I don't ask for much - I just need to be on time. It's an actual need. Can they just please do this one little thing for me? Church, for example. If we are late, I would rather skip Sacrament Meeting than walk in and have people see me. But I need to be a good example to my kids and make sure they are there each week, so I go in. My stomach is in knots, I'm blushing fiercely, sweating, but I manage it. If you ever see me, walking in late to a church meeting, please know that I am dying inside, and that walking through those doors is possibly the bravest thing I've done all week. And it wasn't my fault!

If it takes 30 minutes to drive somewhere, how much time do you give yourself to get there? At least 40 minutes, right? You never know what traffic problems you'll run into. Troy thinks that every place in the valley can be reached within 20 minutes - and he hates to be early. He imagines that the roads will be clear and that there's always time to stop for a drink. Honestly, it's a wonder we've stayed married, our views on this are so different. The stereotype of the man waiting by the door, while his wife finishes getting ready...reverse that. At least he's willing to take the blame when he makes us late.

Needing to be on time - it's kind of my thing. Surprisingly, I'm not upset by other people who are late (unless they are making me late). Doesn't bother me in the least to have a friend late for a lunch date or to see others come into a church meeting late. Other people can be late all they want - maybe they have a traumatic childhood experience that involved being on time for something. To each, his own. Except for you, Troy, Cameron and Aaron. I need to be on time and that means you do too.

At least I thought it didn't bother me when other people are late. This post was actually going to be a rant of sorts, about...well, you'll just have to come back tomorrow. My storytelling got away from me. The BBQ ribs in the crock pot are falling apart, they want to be eaten so badly, and my family is waiting for me so we can watch Evan Almighty together. I wouldn't want to be late for that.

Late, on time, or early?
Does it matter to you?

Experiencing Difficulties

Nearly 30 years ago, my family moved from California to Utah, and into a lovely rambler home that was newly built and ready for us to move into. Well, almost ready. There was a problem in the kitchen, an inconvenience really. The stove and oven didn't work. Or they weren't there yet...I don't remember the exact circumstances, just that for a few weeks, we (meaning my Mom) didn't have them to cook with.

This was before microwaves and outdoor gas grills and the option of eating out was unheard of. My Mom cooked everything for every meal in an electric skillet, plugged into the wall and sitting on the counter. The skillet was on the counter, Mom was standing. She probably used the crock pot too.

She made grilled cheese sandwiches and one dish meals, pairing them with cut up apples and salads. I even remember her making those chocolate-oatmeal no bake cookies, boiling and stirring them in the skillet, and dropping them onto waxed paper to cool. Now that's resourcefulness - no oven to bake cookies...no problem, Mom had a recipe for boiled cookies.

If I were to have to go without my stove top and oven for a week or so, it probably wouldn't seem like that much of a big deal. I have my trusty microwave, my crock pot, the grill, the griddle, the value-menu at every drive-thru. We would be just fine. I wouldn't be making no-bake cookies to keep my family's spirits up - I'm not even sure if the family would notice if the oven went out. I'm into crock pot cooking lately.

Last week, however, we did have an appliance stop working - and we all knew about it. And have suffered.

How long can you go without one?


Of course it happened while Troy was gone. And being the delicate flower of a woman that I am, I don't like messing with things that look like this:

Or this:

The water heater wasn't cracked or leaking. It seemed to just be a problem with the pilot light staying lit. Which sounds a whole lot cheaper than having to replace the thing.



Re-lighting the pilot light. How hard could it be? I sat down to read the warnings and instructions, reading and reading, and reading again. I did NOT want to be an article in the newspaper. But I also wasn't too keen on taking a cold shower in the morning. How would it sound to miss work because you don't have any hot water?


I followed the instructions precisely, and no flame. Cold shower it was. Well, not exactly a shower - I knelt by the side of the tub and ducked my head under the faucet. The rest of me got a sponge bath and I called it good enough. Troy would be home in the morning and it would all magically become his problem.


Troy always hates it when he's gone and things aren't working right. So he sent his brother over to mess with it. Say hi to Kendall.

He's a handy sort of guy to have around.

He gave it his all.

But no luck. Thanks for trying, Kendall.


I called a place that knew about water heaters and they said they could send a guy over on Friday afternoon, between 2 and 4. That was fine - I don't work on Fridays and don't need to wash my hair. Or take a sponge bath.



Now the problem was this:

And this.

Also

And

Funny how the laundry multiplies so fast.


Yes, I know I could have boiled water and done dishes by hand. Cameron said that if I did that, I should dress up like a pioneer. Instead, I emptied the dishwasher and just got them off the counter and out of the sink. Immediate problem solved.

At 5:30 on Friday, the boy who knows about water heaters showed up. (How could he really know what to do? He didn't even know that his pants are supposed to be be pulled up over his buttocks and covering his underwear.) He got down on the floor, and without reading any of the instructions or warning labels, started punching reset buttons and automatic ignition switches. I know for a fact that you are only supposed to push on the ignition thingy up to four times in a row before stopping and returning to step two, which involves rereading the instructions, waiting ten minutes, eating a piece of chocolate, and then trying again. The boy must have punched that thing 50 times while I waited for the whole thing to blow up.

It would have looked like this:

But it lit. And stayed lit. Nice boy, even with his low hanging jeans - didn't charge us for this house call to light the pilot light.

I did the dishes and all of the laundry, we all took showers, and then it went out. Now it's the middle of the weekend. Troy was able to relight the thing and keep us in hot water for about a day and a half, before it went out again - permanently. More icy hair washing would be taking place.

I called Whirlpool to talk about my warranty (6 years. And the water heater is only two years old! Yeah, Baby!), and wound up talking to Rosa in India. She was sympathetic, in a scripted sort of way, and kept assuring me that she was "sorry I was experiencing these difficulties," and that she would "be able to send me the thermonuclear trans-whirligig right away and that after we installed it, we would no longer be experiencing those difficulties".

"How long will it take it get here?" I asked, imagining myself and the boys showering at the gym.

"It will take seven to ten working business days before it will arrive and you will no longer be experiencing difficulties."

"I can't wait that long - I don't have any HOT WATER! Isn't there a place locally that has this thing?"

"No, Ma'am, I'm sorry. It is the new and improved thingamacurrybop and we have to ship it to you. I can overnight it to you, but you will have to pay for it. I guarantee that it will stop your difficulties tomorrow."

My voice became a little bit shrill, and I used words like "insane" and "outrageous". There would be no charming of computerized-response Rosa to get out of this. So I paid her overnight shipping charge, and listened to her assure me again of my soon-to-end difficulties. I think "difficulties" was the word of the day at Whirlpool, India Division. I bet she said it a dozen times.

It did not escape me that I was complaining about my lack of running, instant, hot water to someone who lived in India. Like I said, I'm just a delicate flower of a woman. She's got her problems, I've got mine.

Okay, fine...in the broader scope of life difficulties, hers are bigger.

A box from Tennessee arrived this morning with the new and improved, gas-o-matic flux capacitor. Troy was in town long enough to install it (perfect timing, Babe), and, true to Rosa's word, I am not experiencing those difficulties any longer.

Dishes are done, laundry is in the works, and I'm looking forward to a HOT shower in the morning. Aaaaah, hot water, running from the faucets.

What appliance could you just not do without?

As For Me and My House...

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. The kids get older, branch out in their friendships, and then the "world" starts to work its way into your home.

Cameron is a very social kid - the more friends the better. He's well-liked at school and church, the funny one that never quite crosses the line and gets in trouble with the adults. He's a peer tutor at school. A friend of mine has observed him at recess, organizing teams and getting a game going - telling kids to just stop arguing about some petty little thing, so they can play - time's a'wasting!

He has a list of friends to call every day, going down through the group until he finds someone that can play for a while. Sometimes, it's a whole group of kids that gather at one house - not always ours - and they play and play and play. No one in his group of friends is allowed sleep-overs, so we do "late-nights", ending between 10 and 10:30 on Friday evenings. Cameron is never short on friends.

He has good friends, wonderful friends. I know the parents a little bit, and I trust that they have the same core values that we do. I feel very, very lucky that Cameron has such good friends.

Last summer, a few boys from his class found out where we live and occasionally, they'd show up at our house, asking for Cameron. I knew the boys from school and knew that they were good kids and so I eagerly invited them in. They live kind of far away, and I felt even a little bit flattered that they had come so far to search out my son. My popular son.

I don't know the families of these few, new friends, but the boys are respectful (please and thank you, and thank you again), clean cut, nice looking and they tell me that I am very cool Mom. I bought that opinion with a bag of Doritos and a box of Capri Suns. They also think I'm funny and they love it when I poke my head in Cameron's class, which embarrasses him, which delights them. They say hi to me in the halls. I like it.

I'm the popular Mom.

So last Friday evening, Cam had this friend over (one of the boys that I don't know much about), Troy and I were in the living room, catching up on some Tivo, and the two boys were in the next room, playing Xbox. They were laughing and eating and having a great time. All of a sudden, Troy turns the sound off on our TV and tells me to listen to the boys.

Cameron's friend was swearing. He was taking the Lord's name in vain.

I'm sure the boys hear it a dozen times a day at school, and I know that it's said plenty on TV. We cringe whenever we're watching something with the family and there's profanity. I don't even know if taking the Lord's name is considered profanity (by the world's standards) anymore - it's so common now.

But not in my house, and certainly not out of a 10 year boy's mouth. Cool Mom or not, I couldn't just sit there.

Troy whispered, "Do we say anything?"

"Yeah...see if he does it again."

Poor kid...he probably doesn't even know that we consider what he was saying to be swearing. He wasn't angry or frustrated at the game - it was just his common expression of delight and wonder at what they were doing. Not in my house.

Sure enough, he said those words again.

I immediately called out "Hey in there...no swearing in our home."

Silence, and then "Sorry".

His visit had been impromptu - he and another boy had just stopped by - so I've never talked to his Mom. The other boy had called home a few times to tell his Mom where he was and when he was leaving. As it grew later, I kept asking the boy if he needed to call his Mom, or if he was supposed to be home at a certain time. For all I knew, his Mom didn't even know where he was. He just told me that his Mom didn't care, didn't need him home, it was fine for him to stay. The evening went on with no more offensive language, and he left about 7:30.

He's a good kid. He's polite, respectful, neat, (so, yes, his Mom does care), and now he knows the rules. He's welcome in our home any time.

Have you ever had to lay down rules for the house guests? About what?

Movie Quote Monday #3

Good Morning fellow movie lovers! Are you ready to play?

Here's the opening quote:

"I'm not asking much. Just a token really, a trifle. You'll never even miss it. What I want from you is... your voice."

Go.

Get your Quotes Ready!

Hey everyone, remember to come back tomorrow and play Movie Quote Monday with us.

Join in the fun!

I have my starting quote ready and waiting - I'll post it shortly before 8am.

Hope to see you there!!!

Snack Time...Grab the Salt Shaker

If you were to treat yourself to a snack right this very minute, what would it be? The Sweet Potato Queens - a very southern group of women, with several books dedicated to their own fabulous-ness - have proposed that all good snack foods must fall into one of four categories: salty, sweet, fried, or au gratin.

Where would your snack of choice fit in?

I have never been a "grab-an-apple" kind of a snacker. I enjoy chips and salsa (fried and salty), Whoppers and Reeses...okay, anything chocolate (sweet), Flaming Hot Cheetos with Lime (so hot, so salty and so so so fried), and leftovers. I guess if it's leftover Funeral Potatoes, I can count it as fulfilling the au gratin category. Most of the time, I head for a salty snack.

Mmmmmm, salt. I love it.

Love. It.

Whenever we go to Chili's and order the chips and salsa, I immediately grab the salt shaker and have at it. And when Troy turns his head, I salt them again.

McDonald's salt, in the little packets? It's so powdery and fine - and is it just me, or does it taste better than household salt?

My current snack of choice in the salty category, is this:

Don't laugh - it's delicious!

And this is why. No wonder I like it so much!

See the handy little portions? Right out of the freezer.

You make a big slit in the top.

Pop it in the microwave for 3 minutes.

It's pre-cooked - this is just heating it up nicely.

Careful - it's hot!

Dump it out on a plate...

and sprinkle that salt all over it.

When it's on a different plate, you can really see how salty it gets.

Can you see the extra tiny sprinkles of salt - sometimes I even add a

few shakes from the salt shaker.

I know what you're all thinking...hey, isn't she on high blood pressure medicine? Yes, but I 'm sure it's genetic - my diet has nothing to do with it. Probably.

Choose the plumpest, saltiest one...

And lick the salt right off of it.

Then squeeze the pod gently. I said gently!

Those soybeans will shoot across the room, I tell ya!

Then pop it in your mouth! Squeeze the other one in too. Lick your fingers and repeat.

I usually use two hands.

It's a very satisfying way to eat a snack - earthy and tactile. Like eating sticky, sauce-covered riblets and licking your fingers and lips, pulling a cheesy nacho from the pile and pushing the whole thing into your mouth, lest it drip, plunging your fingers into a bowl of buttery, salty popcorn, bringing it to your mouth again and again. And again.

I don't really suggest eating these in front of other people.

My biggest problem with the edamame?

Keeping him away from my plate.

His first question when I called him over so I could take his picture?

"Is there a ton of salt on it?"

He just wanted to make sure.

What is your favorite snack?

Feeling Perky

Back in August, I wrote about all the different jobs that I've had over the years. Not too many, 'cause I've always been pretty happy about where I've worked. I'm a firm believer that a job must have some decent perks that come along with it, or dissatisfaction will creep in. Over the years, I've enjoyed not only the perks that come with my own jobs, but also the perks that accompanied the jobs of family members.

For example...

My sister (futurern, 'cause she's going to nursing school) used to work at Baskin Robbins when she was a teenager. We became really close that year. I couldn't get enough of the Pralines 'n Cream.

Troy used to manage a Dominos Pizza. He'd get to bring pizza home, of course, and, oooooh, Cinnastix. I was doing in-home daycare at the time, and at least once a week (okay, twice), I'd load the kids in the van and drive 25 minutes away to get a free pizza for our lunch.

Troy has a wonderful perk in his truck driving job: he can take the boys with him! How many kids get to say that they spend 48 hours straight with their Dad inside a 6 foot x 8 foot box on wheels. And drive over the Bay bridge in San Francisco all the time. And more importantly, how many mothers can get a weekend alone every once in a while? You know, to really plan ahead for Family Home Evening lessons.

When my other sister worked for an eye doctor, I got an exam and eyeglasses at her discount.

My brother-in-law worked for a furniture store for many years, and we definitely enjoyed his employee discount.

My needs have changed now though. I don't really need the free pizza or the ice cream (want them, don't need them), and I'm set on furniture for a while. What I do need is a relative in car mechanics, dentistry, and podiatry. Now those are some perks I could enjoy.

At my current job as a reading aide at my kid's school, I think I've got some pretty good perks. I know what's going on at the school, I know the teachers and the teachers know me, I'm two hallways away from my kids,and sometimes when I substitute for a few hours, I get to go to an assembly. A good assembly. Not the bus safety (boring) one, but the Say No to Drugs/Get High on Life assembly. There was music and dancing and clapping and cheering, and all the teachers got to go up and do karaoke to Twist and Shout. My friend Susan and I just looked at each and said, "Can you believe we get paid to do this?!!".

The other perk that makes my job so fabulous is the pictures that I get to have taken every year. What other job will give you this:




'Cause doesn't everyone want a big 8x10, 2-5x7s, 2-3x5s, and 4 wallets of them self? I know you're jealous - what can I say...some jobs just have really good perks.


What are the best job related perks you've ever had?

Go for it, just name them all.
The winner (sure, let's make it contest) gets a picture of me.

(Not the 8x10 though, I'm framing it and giving it to my Mom, just to see what she does with it.)

Romance, Schmomance...or Why I'm Not a Character in a Harlequin Novel

I got an email this morning from a young woman in my ward, asking me to answer a question for an essay that she was writing for school. The class was Marriage and Family, and the question was about romance. I needed to tell about the most romantic event in my life and explain why it was so romantic. Huh? Romance? Oh, dear, now where did I put that romance...?

Seriously, I think I'm romantically challenged. Don't get me wrong - Troy is not the problem - if anything, he is the more romantic of the two of us. I wrote about all the cards and the love letter or two that I found when I was cleaning out my underwear drawer. Troy loves to give cards that ooze with passion and romance, penned by the very best card makers at Hallmark. He always adds his own sentiment.

Cards like this:

With things like this, written on the inside:

Aaaaawwww.... I am loved. I really, really am, and I know that Troy spends a lot of time looking for these perfect cards. Imagine me holding my thumb and forefinger up, about 3 1/2 inches apart, when I say that I have a stack of cards like this, this high.

Last Valentine's Day, I very kindly told Troy that while I loved his cards and the beautiful words, how about if he looked for a funny card instead. Ungrateful, undeserving, picky woman? Probably...but this woman also knows the romantic value of a good laugh.

Laugh with me, show me that twinkle in your eyes, kiss me until the boys squeal and pull you away from me, give me a wink. Now I'm feeling romantic.

What else holds romantic value for me? This sign in my kitchen says it all:

Now ain't that the truth? Seriously, I feel loved when Troy pitches in around the house. Which he does do, fairly often.

I feel loved when Troy watches Dancing with the Stars with me and rubs my feet. He never complains - about the show or about my feet.

I feel loved when Troy stops whatever he might be doing to go get me something...Cafe Rio, for instance. That whole "my wish is his command" kind of thing.

I feel a rush of love for Troy when we go out with friends and we have a really good time. I like seeing him enjoy himself.

I love Troy when he spends time with the boys. He's a really good Dad.

I love Troy when he rushes to my side after a really scary car accident. Or a colonoscopy.

I know that Troy loves me because he puts up with me, and I put up with him.

Is this romance? Or are we pathetic? Is loving and being loved the same thing as romance? When you think of "romance", shouldn't it be about flowers and love notes, and petals on the bed, sipping Martinelli's and feeding each other chocolates, whispering sweet words and hearts skipping a beat as the passion envelopes the room?

I think the years and the ins and outs of regular old life have taken their toll.

When Troy brings me flowers, I cringe at the cost, the love notes sit in my underwear drawer, we have laundry, waiting to be folded, on the bed, our fancy glasses are broken, I don't share my chocolate, and sometimes, foul smells envelope the room.

But we have love. And we laugh. Does this count as romance?

What do I tell this young woman, wanting to know of my most romantic event?

"Well, this one time, I came home from doing the grocery shopping, and Troy had done the dishes and switched over the laundry! That's when I knew it was true love."

I think I'd better make up something about our first kiss. I know it was romantic - it had to be...I just don't remember very much about it.

What about you?

Do you have romance in your life?

What makes your heart skip a beat?