2013: out with a bang, in with the new!

We are gearing up for a fun-filled family party. Everyone got to pick out one treat for tonight, but when we went to the store to pick up said choices, we ended up with much, much more. If you don't have any plans for tonight--stop on by. There will be plenty!!

Joe chose barbecued sausage, I chose fruit and veggies, Logan chose shrimp, Madison meat/cheese/crackers, Grant chose desserts, and Ammon chose pizza. We also came home with cheese balls, chips and dip, nacho makings, and at the last minute Grant asked to make pigs in a blanket. We are going to get fat with a bang!

We made muddy buddies and some cake pops that look nothing like the picture on the box. Grant said something to the effect of, "It's fun getting ready for the New Year." What he meant was, "It's fun spending time doing things together as a family."

We have silly string and those popper things and light sticks and loud confetti. I might ask myself what I was thinking at 12:01 a.m.

All of this brought me back to our first New Year's Eve as a married couple.

We had just returned from a semester in China, and we drove from Pennsylvania to Rexburg, Idaho, where we enlisted the help of his boss and our Chinese teacher to move a few boxes, a table, bed, and sofa (that's all we owned) into our third story apartment.

We were wiped out, so we put the mattress on the living room floor and set the alarm to wake up at 11:50 p.m.

I woke up at 2 or 3 a.m. and realized we had completely missed our first New Year celebration together. I cried about how unmemorable it was, never dreaming that every year we would tell this story and have a good laugh.

I should probably go take a nap. Right now.

Happy New Year! May we all be healthy and strong, happy, and better tomorrow than we were today!

another year comes to an end

This is just an old-fashioned, boring, journal-like post for posterity. Sorry. :)

This year has been... interesting. A good, year, but hard (although I know it could've been much, much harder). It started out with a few months of physical unwell-ness (for me), with the flu, strep, and then 8 weeks of trying to recover from a second degree muscle strain in my back/right shoulder--and let's face it, when mom's down, everyone suffers. For years, I have felt that I have done ok at keeping my anxiety under control, but it has been a bigger struggle this year, and at times, almost debilitating. Because of that, it's also been a year of learning about my limitations, acknowledging that it's ok to be imperfect, and in general, a year of getting back to the basics. Like--we didn't get a family picture this year--the first year we have missed ever. I didn't send out cards, or even do a blog card! Maybe I will get around to all of that when the kids are back in school and the Christmas decorations are all packed up. Oh well.

So Christmas came again, and we tried to keep everything basic and simple. Early in our marriage, we decided that Christmas Eve we would eat Mexican food and do a nativity play that my family did with my grandparents when I was younger (grandma sent me the scripts and the nativity scene that she made--I feel so special to have it!). We invited friends over for dinner and to act out the nativity and for some singing.

Madison's picture of Jesus

Logan's

Grant's

This might seem silly, but I feel embarrassed if there are a lot of presents under the tree! I felt like we balanced the presents aspect of Christmas pretty well with thoughtful, meaningful gifts, and everyone was happy with what they gave and received.

I got Joe a gift certificate for a 2 hour shooting class by his office and some books on emergency wilderness survival.

He got me a gift certificate to go to a murder mystery dinner--something I've been wanting to do for years! (I also got several books from my to-read list.) We were also gifted a new wheat grinder--which I am SO excited about because my old one blows out ground wheat and is difficult to clean). 

Logan got an ipod alarm clock/speaker dock and electric circuits.

Madison got money to save for an ipod touch, but her favorite present was probably the Frozen soundtrack, and we have all been enjoying it with her; in fact, I am listening to it as I write!

Grant got 12 inch Star Wars characters, and he's been playing with them non-stop.

Ammon got a Super Man sleeping bag and a car race ramp.

We also got the kids some shared gifts: a WWII book for kids, family games, Gilligan's Island season 2 (they love Gilligan), and some poles for building forts--something I might regret in the near future, but so far it has been fun to see their forts and to hear the kids playing happily together.

The kids drew names for people in the family, and they all did a terrific job with their $10 gift limit.

Madison got Joe a huge container of Nestle chocolate powder mix and a Duck Dynasty cup. That was probably the winner of the day, and the one all of the kids were most excited to see someone open. In case you didn't know, Joe is especially fond of chocolate milk.

Logan drew my name and bought me a book by an author he knew I liked about a some men who tried to rob Lincoln's grave. I'm excited to read it!

Grant got Ammon, and he got him two big balls, a play sword, and gummy worms. The older kids got a big laugh when I told Ammon to smile so I could take a picture of his balls. When did my kids get that vocabulary?!

Joe bought Madison some perfume and hair things, and now we can tell whenever Madison has walked through a room. 

I got Grant a child Anakin Skywalker, another play sword, and some army men.

Ammon got Logan a game called Pictureka and a book about gross facts. 

The other memorable item was Grant's gift to Joe. He came home from school with a folder full of this semester's artwork, and after we finished looking through it, he asked me if he could wrap it for Dad. What a thoughtful gift! 

We ate a wonderful Christmas lunch and then set out for Joe's parents in Salado, TX with the leftovers. Except we left the uneaten pies sitting on the stovetop!! We ate dinner and then exchanged gifts with them. The kids were amazed that Lola knew exactly what they wanted! (A Percy Jackson book and movie for Logan, doll clothes for Madison, Spidermen web shooters for Grant, and a talking Woody for Ammon.) 

Christmas morning!

Joe will be embarrassed about this picture, but I love it

On Thursday we went on a fabulous hike just a few miles away from my in-law's home. It is the second time we have been there, and I hope we get to spend a few hours exploring the area every time we go to visit. It is really the BEST place I have found to hike here in Texas. 

They loved climbing up the "mountain"

The suspension bridge was a winner

Here's the part where I talk about my plans and goals for next year. It's been on my mind a lot!  I sat down to make a personal goal list; here's the sneak peek: sleep!, scripture study, and exercise (especially strengthening my upper body/back). I know. Nothing amazing or out of the ordinary. Going to bed earlier will be the hardest goal ever, but if I can do it--I know that it will be easier to be the person I want to be and to achieve the things I want to do every day and throughout the year. 

So--that's it! We are ready for another year, and hope that you are, too! 

Procrastination

I haven't submitted anything for my class for almost a month!! My next assignment is 10 pages on my parents--and I just haven't been able to figure out how to tell my story about them. I would start, and then start again, and then I just stopped. I mean--how do you start? Where do you start? How can I possibly get down in words the wonderfullness of my parents? The feelings of waking up, toasty under the covers in a cold room, to the smells of bacon cooking and pancakes and maple syrup? Who knew that you can relate bacon smells to parental love?  Everything I wrote seemed bland and listed and boring compared to that! (Ironically, I talked about this very subject with my dad a few weeks ago, and he said that scientific studies do show that bacon smells actually are a very good way to wake people up!)

 Ammon wanted to eat lunch at 10:30 this morning, and then he went down for his nap early, so I am finding myself with extra time. I decided to stop procrastinating and started another rough draft. So that's what you are getting today. My parents are amazing. This is not. But it's a start; a work in progress, and not finished. If you want to smell the bacon and feel the warmth of a farm home in the winter--you might just have to go there and visit. They love visitors, and they would invite you in, and then you'll know why I've been procrastinating.

This is the first picture I found with them. 

Connie and Doug, Mom and Dad

The first words she said to him were, “Ya big flirt,” as she walked by the tall, thin man with the bike leaning against a dorm window, talking to the girls inside. They would end up in the same Family Home Evening group at BYU. Later, he would define them both as “social retards.” Their relationship grew as most relationships do; they became friends, then confidants, and finally, deeper feelings emerged and commitments were made.

Connie Goss was smart, athletic, and as the third of nine children (seven living)—she was in control of her destiny. She graduated with an associate’s degree from Ricks College, and then went to BYU to graduate with a Bachelor’s in Elementary Education, with a minor in Bilingual Education. She got through school with a full tuition at both schools, and worked as a part-time, early-morning janitor.

Doug Foster was a science-loving runner. He ran track at Cobleskill College, and counted on his running prowess to get him into a 4-year university; however, he over-trained for the big meet, and because of an injury, was unable to place high enough to catch a scout’s eye. His coach reassured him: he was friends with the track coach at BYU, and could get Doug onto the BYU track team. He warned him, “Watch out for those Mormons, though; they’ll try to convert you.” Doug signed the honor code, shaved off his facial hair, cut his curly shoulder-length locks (he says he looked like Napoleon Dynamite—and he kind of did), and promised to stop drinking alcohol and coffee. He says the only thing that was really hard to give up was the coffee.

His first week at BYU, someone from Doug’s dorm offered to help him find a Lutheran church to attend, but since he had never been active in the Lutheran church, Doug declined the offer and instead decided to accompany his roommates to their LDS services that first Sunday. During the second week of school, the Sunday School President called to ask him to give a 3-minute talk. Doug said yes! He had taken one week of the mandatory Book of Mormon religion class, and they had covered the first few chapters of 1 Nephi; Doug gave a short talk on the relationship between Nephi and Lehi, and the importance of listening to your parents. He was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints a few months later, in March of 1978. I have always wondered what Dad’s Cobleskill track coach thought of that!

One of my favorite stories is Mom and Dad’s engagement. They chaperoned a youth church dance, and afterwards went to get something to eat. They were sitting in a booth when Doug said, “So what are we going to do?” Connie said, “Do what?” He said, “You know, how are we going to make it?” She thought, “Did I just get engaged?” Luckily, 33 years of marriage has improved their communication skills!

They were poor and in love. He melted down his class ring and made it into two matching wedding bands and a thin engagement ring with a pearl. They are beautiful, formed from loving sacrifice, and there aren’t any other rings in the world like them.

They were married on April 22, 1980 in Mesa, AZ temple, and I was born less than 13 months later, on Mom’s 22^nd birthday—after nine very sick months for Mom. Ben surprised them 15 months after that, and Dennis, Rene, and Brent were to follow over the next twelve years, until finally, our family of seven was complete in 1993.

I did not grow up in a traditional LDS home. Dad was doing janitorial work in the early morning, teaching school all day as a biology teacher, and then coaching track in the evening—and still, his paycheck was barely covering their small trailer mortgage and other small living expenses. At one point, they did not have enough money to fix the car, and Dad snow-shoed the two miles to work during the freezing Idaho winter months. They decided that the best thing for the family would be for Mom to enter the workforce, and for as long as I can remember, Mom worked either part or full-time teaching.

 Mornings worked like this: Mom helped get kids dressed and got the girls’ hair done, Dad made breakfast and packed lunches. After school, chores and household duties were split pretty evenly (and as kids got older, we contributed). Dad did a lot of the cooking and cleaning. We like to tease Mom about not knowing how to use a vacuum cleaner that had been purchased many months previously. My future husband had a lot to live up to my Dad’s example!

Mom has always been the rock—the listener, the patient, the one that wouldn’t get mad. And I would try! On my 18^th birthday I told her I was going to go buy a pack of cigarettes, just because I could show my I.D. She said, “Well, if that’s how you want to spend your money—go for it.” I didn’t. I did show my I.D. at a jewelry store for a second ear piercing that I knew she wasn’t thrilled with, and when I showed her my new holes she just smiled.

Ironically, my favorite memory is the one time I remember Mom losing her temper. She wishes I would forget it—or at least never bring it up again. She and I had been disagreeing about something—the topic, I actually did manage to forget! We must have started our conversation in the kitchen and moved into the living room, because she was holding a recipe box filled with 3x5 cards. Her volume increased slightly, and I looked at her and said something to further rankle her—and she threw the recipe box down, scattering cards all over the living room floor. I looked at her with surprise, and looked back a me, silent for a few seconds, and then she started laughing, “Well, that was a dumb thing to do. Help me pick them up, please?” I think I started laughing, too, and we picked up the cards together, our argument forgotten. I love this moment because it showed me that she was human—but then she was quick to laugh it off and make things better. Classic Mom.

Not only do I share Dad’s physical features, but I also have more of his personality than Mom’s calm. We are pessimistic (I like to say realistic), easily stressed, and we don’t like to sit still. Dad recently said he has mellowed out over the years, and he has. He was the one with the quick-temper, and I knew not to make him upset. He is also very humble. Once, in Phoenix, he asked me to lift the garage door so that he could carry a box in. In those days (or at least those days for us), you had to manually lift the garage door. I was probably seven, and was unable to lift it high enough to clear my dad’s 6’3” frame. He walked right into the garage door—and because he walks briskly and with purpose, it was probably not a soft bonk to the head. He was unhappy with me, and I went away crying and confused—after all, I had tried to be obedient. That evening, I returned from a baptism and found on my dresser a vase full of flowers and a card with a nice apology on it. This experience, and many throughout my life, taught me that even when we make mistakes, we can admit to them, apologize, and then set out to do better.

I don’t remember Mom and Dad fighting. Ever. It still amazes me, even though I know that they must have had their disagreements; they either worked them out quietly or waited for privacy. I asked Dad about it a few years ago, and he said that early in their marriage he decided that in most cases, it was just easier to do what Mom wanted then to spend the time and emotional energy arguing about it. This concept, while true, is not very easy to actually put into practice! 

Grant's letter to Sister Bradley

Grant's primary teacher at church passed away yesterday. She started out as his Sunbeam teacher, and she moved up with his class to CTR 4--so she has been teaching him for a while. We found out at the ward Christmas party, but decided not to tell him until later; however, our Bishop shared the news and encouraged us to pray for her family and to help them, and Grant ran back to ask us what he meant. I explained, and his face got all twisted as he started to cry, and the rest of the evening he was crying off and on. Some of the statements he made included, "No one told me she was going to die; I didn't get to say goodbye."

Last night, after we got home, we sat down to talk to him, and he told us all about why she was a good teacher. He brought us a little clay manger, baby Jesus, and Mary that he had made with her, and said, "Jesus is broken. Now how is she going to help me fix him?" We decided that today we would sit down and write a letter to Sister Bradley, to tell her thank you for being a good primary teacher, and to record some of his memories so that he would have them always.

Here is what we wrote. We changed from "you" to "she" pretty fast, because it was hard for Grant to understand why we would write to her if she would never be able to read it. Also, these are his words (like--he really wanted to make sure I wrote the date down).

Saturday December 14, 2013

Dear Sister Bradley,

I am sad that you died yesterday, Friday, December 13, 2013. Sister Bradley was my Sunbeam and CTR 4 teacher. You were very nice because you brought us food that we liked. She taught me how to play Angry Birds with a bean bag and pictures. If we  didn't know how to draw the pictures, she would help us. She taught us how to be good. Last year we had a Christmas party at her house. I made a baby Jesus and a Mary. She helped us on the clay, and when we were done and washed our hands, she let us play with her doggies. She would always say we were good. If you were good in class, she'd tell your parents you were good. If you were bad, she would tell your parents that you were good.

For my birthday, she gave me a letter "G" with red paint to paint it. She gave me a card that said, "I love (heart) you, Grant." She always gave me pictures of my friends.

She was just really, really nice. She really did love me. I loved her, too, because she was a nice teacher.

She would tell us that the way to have a lot of money was to not buy things, and to save my money.

I love Sisdr Bradley!

I will miss you,

Love,
GRANT

Rainy Cold Days Make Me

Happy. Rainy, cold, miserable days make me happy and motivated and energized.

I know, it's backwards. Maybe if it were weeks upon weeks of cloudy, gray, freezing cold days I might feel depressed, but right now I'm loving it.

The kids are out of school for the week, and I'm loving that, too. Today I slept in (well, until 6:30, but it felt amazing). We made sopapillas for breakfast and Madison and Logan took turns shaking the fried dough in powdered sugar. We spent the rest of the day playing outside, then inside, then outside. We spent over two hours putting a 300 piece puzzle together (Madison and Grant gave up after about 30 minutes). I canned 9 pints of chicken and Madison and I canned 14 quarts of potatoes. We made butternut squash soup for dinner. And we washed lots and lots of dishes. What a perfect way to spend the day!

Yesterday, Sunday, I taught Sharing Time in our primary at church, and we learned about taking care of the gifts we are given. I brought in a few gifts I found around the house--and one of them was a teapot that my Chinese "boyfriend" gave me. I have given or thrown away every other thing that was given to me by a boy other than Joe except for this teapot! Probably because there's not really a lot of sentimental value, so I feel that it's ok. And I like the teapot. The kids thought there was a genie living inside!

Well, there is a great story behind it.

As you know, I lived in Wuxi, China during the winter/spring of 2000 (before I met Joe). We lived about an hour's train ride from a city called Suzhou. We loved going to Suzhou because there was a lot of good shopping, it was beautiful and clean, and there was a Pizza Hut there!

One evening, as we were leaving Suzhou and returning to Wuxi, my friends and I were sitting on train talking. I pointed out that there was a taller, good-looking Chinese man sitting kitty-corner from us. We were laughing and talking about how one didn't see tall, handsome (we probably said "hot") guys in China that often. The cute guy and his friend were laughing and having a good time, too.

I was feeling pretty brave, apparently, so I went over to the good-looking guy and using made-up sign language said, "Will you (point to him) take a picture (pantomime a camera clicking) of us (point to our group)."

He said, "Sure."

Holy what? My cheeks probably got pretty red as I realized, "Wait, do you speak English?"

"Yeah. I study it at the university."

Crap! He understood all my brazen talk about how hot he was! That's why they were laughing!

Well, what was there to do but to introduce myself, give him the school's address, and get a picture taken to prove that I had a Chinese boyfriend named David (no clue what his real name is)?

(Sorry, I simply do not know how to turn the picture. It's not my best picture, and I think I have another one somewhere, but I don't know where. I still say he looks cute and....very young.)

So he started coming over to the school to visit me once in a while (the security guards were not impressed that I gave a stranger my address) and the day before I returned to the U.S. he brought me a teapot. 

I have a few letters from him, and we exchanged emails for about a year. The last email I sent to him I explained that I was getting married and he wrote back chastising me for getting married so young.

Now it's just a fun story to tell, partly because it's so unlike anything I have ever done before, and partly because I can say that I had a Chinese boyfriend. 

We Are Truly Grateful

The kids have been singing this around the house and I finally asked their music teacher for the words because I love it so much. Here's a picture of her copy. Too bad you can't hear the kids' lovely voices as they sing it.

I'm feeling really grateful today. Grateful for the rain and the cold, Thanksgiving-appropriate weather. Grateful that I got all of my visiting teaching done this month! Grateful for good parents, good kids, good husband. Grateful for Duck Dynesty. Seriously, so good.

It all started when I walked into the boys' room and felt really ungrateful that the three of them were squished in there and ungrateful for the resulting clutter. Then I walked into the playroom and saw the 6 loads of laundry I had been folding spread out all over the floor. And on top of that (well, really in front of the clothes), Grant decided to build a fort and had pulled out tables and chairs and tunnels and blankets and teepee poles. It was truly a disaster zone!

My first thought was, "I can't wait until we buy a bigger house. I hope it happens soon! And I hope that somehow we can find what we really want!"

Then I checked that thought with, "Stop complaining, woman! Look at all of this glorious evidence of a glorious life! So many clothes that you can spread them out all over the floor! A washer and dryer that allows you to do it all in one day (if you really wanted to, anyway). Three boys who get to spend a lot of time together because they share a room! That fort--remember how excited Grant was about his creation? Sure, a bigger house would be nice, but this is what you have right now and it is awesome!" 

I knelt on the floor by my bed and thanked my Heavenly Father for all that He has blessed us with, and said that whatever was store for my family would be perfect.

And then Ammon climbed up on my bed, got close to my ear, and started yelling, "Mom! Wake UP! Time to play!"

Seriously, Truly, Grateful.

sometimes you just have to laugh

Joe is entering into his busiest work months as his clients are trying to close everything up by the new year, and he ended up going into his office this morning. We decided to fit all of our family time after he got home, at four. (Boo to work on Saturdays, by the way.)

Before I continue, let me explain--Ammon did not get a nap today.

So Joe got home at four and we left immediately to go to the church and set up the primary room for church tomorrow. Then we went to Texas Roadhouse for dinner.

We never--seriously, very rarely--go out to eat. Especially not with everyone. It's a money/time/health issue, and I always feel like the food is nasty. But we decided a few days ago that it would be a fun family experience, so we went.

We get to the restaurant, and I look over and see my long-haired, mismatched, sweaty kids (it was 80 degrees today and they played hard outside) and I thought to myself, "boy do we look rough." Luckily, the lighting was low and they sat us in a corner, so I told myself that we were less conspicuous. Then they passed out five coloring books with three crayons each and two roll bowls, and within seconds, the table was looking pretty rough, too.

We order. And then we wait. It probably wasn't any longer than usual, but Grant was sitting by Logan and they kept poking each other and squealing, and Ammon was crying, "I want juice!" (remember, he's tired). We give him his water cup and straw and pretty soon I simultaneously hear and feel ice water crashing to the floor. He had poked a hole through the styrofoam. So he's soaking wet and crying and I'm trying to soak it up with a napkin (thank goodness they are cloth and more absorbent), and we have to lay the cup sideways on a plate to keep the rest of the water contained. The waiter came and all I could do was laugh while I handed him the holey cup.

Joe starts loudly telling the boys to stop being so loud, and Madison starts asking me knock-knock jokes. I look around to see who can hear the crazy clan.

We rush through dinner as fast as possible and almost run to the car. Whew! Now I remember why we  don't go out to eat; and I promise myself that we can try again in a few years. Not at Texas Roadhouse, though. Gag.

We head over to Sam's club, where we just got a membership (thanks Groupon). We stand in a short line that takes a long time, only to find out that we printed the wrong thing. They send us over to a computer and printer, where we print off the right thing, and stand in a short-long line again. Joe suggests I start shopping. Fiveish minutes later he calls and says, "they want you to take a picture. Get over here asap." I'm on the other side of the store! So I rush back with all the kids, who are doing annoying kids-at-the-store things, and I get an ugly squish face picture taken.

I tell Joe that I need a few minutes by myself and leave him with the cart and four kids while I speed walk around Sam's Club. Finally, I call and say, "meet me at the cheese." Right then I see them walking towards me, Madison trailing behind, frowning. Joe explains, "Madison just set off an alarm. She was trying to steal an iPad." She explains, "I wasn't trying to steal it! I just picked it up!" The rest of the evening we joke around about her stealing habits and she pouts and says, "It's not funny."

Right before we get home at 7:00, we give the kids the schedule: Madison is to hop in the shower while the boys get their hair cut, Ammon first.

Ammon does the crazy cry when we get out of the van because he doesn't get to help carry the item of his choice in (bulk cheese, which he could barely pick up). And then, because he's closing his eyes crying, he face plants right as he walks into the living room (at least it's carpeted), and I think the crazy cry might never end.

I feel like I'm missing something funny. Maybe you didn't think it was funny. But all night I was thinking I better just laugh, because if I don't, I might cry.

change

My parents are hard workers—which is good, because there was a lot of work to be done after moving into the old house. If my memory is right, that first fall they hired a company to put white vinyl siding on the house and to replace all of the windows with the highest-tech, best energy-efficient windows available. Not long after that, the living room was painted white, right over the old wallpaper, with a blue trim around the door and window frames. We hosted Thanksgiving with my dad’s side of the family that first year—which must have been difficult with the old kitchen, but it was great fun for me. My mom agreed to let me wear an old maroon lace dress that she had made for me (or bought at a thrift store and refitted for me). I thought I looked very pilgrim-esque in that dress, which was convenient because my uncles and aunts brought us pilgrim and Indian hats and weapons.

The following summer my parents sent the four of us up to Seneca Falls, NY to spend time with our paternal grandparents while they installed a modern kitchen, complete with hard oak cabinets and cupboards, light-blue counters, a stainless steel double sink, and a dishwasher. Hooray! Somewhere along the way the walls were papered with a vegetable print pattern and the linoleum was ripped up, only to reveal a beautiful hardwood! We spent a Christmas vacation in Phoenix, Arizona and came home to a newly sanded and refinished floor.

            

The next big project was the two kids’ bedrooms upstairs. It is truly a sign of love to me that my parents decided that our rooms took top priority! The walls throughout the house were made of lath and plaster, laced with horsehair. They were not flat, but bumpy and uneven. They decided the best course of action would be to lay wallboard on top, shrinking the already tiny rooms by a few inches. These were exciting times! I don’t remember where I slept, or how long it took, but with both parents working full-time jobs, a larger family, and a house and lots of land to take care of—the remodeling was a huge time-commitment and probably took months to complete, even with the majority of the work taking place during summer break. My room was completed first. The estimated finish goal was near Christmas. Mom and Dad sat us down one evening and explained how our Christmas gifts were going to work: we were going to get to choose how to decorate our rooms, and we could determine the amount we had to spend by how clean we kept our rooms. Every day we made our beds=$1. Every day our rooms were clean=$1. Because there were two kids in each room, there was a possibility of $3/day. We started around September, so the maximum was probably about $120. It seemed like an enormous amount of money.

           

Despite our good intentions, we did not receive the $3 everyday, but I think we did pretty well—over the 4 months Rene and I earned around $100. My parents paid for the paint and carpet, and we spent the rest of the money buying a bookshelf, a small wardrobe, a lamp, and a black mailbox—the kind that is hung on the front of the house. Yeah, I’m not sure why I wanted a mailbox, but it is a testament to me of my parents’ agreeable nature to let us spend money on what we wanted, even if the things made no sense. It was a good lesson on earning and saving money, and an eye-opener as to how much things cost.

The house is somewhere around 1400 sq feet, with a dirt-floor basement (which I try to avoid at all costs because it is stinky and full of cobwebs). My great-great grandparents, John and Mary Faust, purchased the house in 1887 as a two-room house, which included what is now the kitchen and living room. In 1900 they added two rooms downstairs and two small rooms and a small landing upstairs. My grandmother, Evelyn, was born in that house in the 1930’s, and I have always loved to hear about her life growing up on the farm. The story goes that there was no bathroom—only an outhouse—until my dad (Douglas) was born in 1957. At that time, Grandma Evie told her parents, Ernest and Geneveive, that she would not bring the grandkids to visit until a bathroom was added to the house. Shortly after, a tiny bathroom was built, as well as a pantry and mudroom, which now also includes the laundry room. The outhouse has only recently been demolished, and when I was younger, I took great pleasure in showing my friends the 3-seater behind the house. That bathroom remains the only bathroom in the house.

            

Since leaving home in 1999, the bathroom has been completely remodeled, the backroom refinished, an upstairs wall removed and a game room finished, and my parents finally got their own bedroom looking nice. The work seems never-ending: the living room has been repainted several times, the ceilings in the kitchen and living room replaced, and last summer they again updated the kitchen and had the silver metal roof replaced by a beautiful red metal one. The upstairs of the detached garage was converted into a small apartment for family and guests to stay, a falling-down building across the street removed, and the painting of the porch a continuous effort.

           

The picture my sister took for me today. Love that new red roof and my dad's ham radio antenna. My bedroom was the second story window on the left.  This is home! And now you know why I want a colonial house with a front porch and a little bit of space out here in the city. 

Perhaps the hardest part of living out in the country—the middle of nowhere—is the lack of readily available friends and the limited things to do. I did a lot of reading and hiking. There was a tree behind the house that I declared mine, and I would pack a survival bag full of food, paper, pencils, and books and spend entire summer days reading and dreaming in that tree. I may have shed a tear or two when I was in college and my brother, Ben, called to tell me that he and Dad had cut the now-dead tree down.

           

Somewhere along the way my dad, a biology teacher, was given the opportunity buy some Hampshire ewes from a farmer who was retiring. Another piece of his dream was coming true, and we officially had a sheep farm. Sometimes I would change up my routine and bring a blanket to spread out in a sheep pasture while I read Nancy Drew books and snacked on Little Debbies. Along with sheep, we had chickens and rabbits. That we ate. The animals were smelly and dirty (to me), and the idea that we were eating meat from across the street was devastating (to me). To make matters worse, my dad would go hunting and would occasionally come home with venison or some mystery meat like squirrel. My parents like to brag that we all ate whatever was put in front of us, but they have forgotten how much I complained and cried about the meat on my plate. I was getting older—probably around twelve or thirteen—and I was embarrassed that we were living on a farm. The shame was to increase over the years as I began to notice that the little house I lived in was a little cluttered and, well, old.

Going to the Farm House

It seems that I'm pretty good at starting something and then not finishing before moving on to something else. This is one of the something else's in my life right now! A rough draft of a piece of my personal history: our move to the farm house and the place that probably had the biggest impact on making me who I am today.

Here's....not a very great side view of the house. I am sure I have more and better pictures, but it's 10:00 p.m. and I don't want to spend another minute on the computer. I love it. And the snow. But boy am I glad I don't have to deal with that anymore!! (knock on wood!) 

Part 1

We moved from a 4-bedroom, modern house in Phoenix, Arizona, to a not-quite falling-down farmhouse in Wrightsville, Pennsylvania the summer of 1990. My parents, always trying to save a dollar, decided to make a trailer to tow behind their 1982 Ford F-150 pickup. My maternal grandparents, Douglas and Roberta Goss, helped us in the move by pulling a small trailer behind their white Cadillac. My mom said it did not handle the big hills very well. We also had a blue Oldsmobile, a ’78 used cop car, driving in the caravan. I don’t remember how long the drive took or where we stopped, but it seems that a few hours before reaching our destination there was a heavy rainstorm, and my grandmother asked my grandfather to turn up the windshield wipers. They were swishing back pretty fast when all of a sudden . . .they didn’t swish anymore. I listened wide-eyed as he yelled at my grandma, blaming her for their brokenness. We would stop every few minutes so that someone could wipe off of the windshield.

Finally, we reached the old farmhouse surrounded by close to 150 acres of fields and forest, and even a creek (which we hicks pronounce “crick”). I was nine and thought the whole move a glorious adventure. I had been to the farm before, two years earlier, when we visited my great-grandpa Foust, who had been born in that very house in 1901. I loved listening to my Dad’s stories about the farm he loved to visit as a boy, and his dream of coming back someday to raise his family in that house. It was his dream, come true!

As an adult, I realize the house must have been somewhat of a nightmare to move into with a family of six. Forget about the asbestos shingles, the 1920’s floral wallpaper literally hanging off of the walls, the bedrooms barely big enough to fit a set of bunk beds. Even the child-sized weeds surrounding the house could be dealt with in a short amount of time.  The kitchen, though—the place where families spend most of their time at home cooking, cleaning, eating, socializing—it was something straight out of a Depression-era picture. Stained green linoleum covered the floor with curling and torn edges. The sink looked more like a porcelain urinal, and when Ben and I marveled at the absence of a dishwasher, we were told that we had two dishwashers! The gas-lit stove looked like something from a 1950’s Good Housekeeping magazine; I’m told that shortly after we moved it had to be replaced because it was deemed a fire-hazard after some cookies caught on fire (I can only imagine how quickly that 100+ year wooden home would have burned to the ground out in the country with only a volunteer fire-department that would arrive much too late).  The most shocking thing about the kitchen may have been the complete lack of counter space, cupboards, and cabinets. I exaggerate--there was a small cabinet over the ancient stove and a narrow-chimney cupboard near a gas-heater—that was it. Speaking of heaters—there were 3 heaters in the house: the gas heater in the kitchen, one in living room, and a smaller heater in the master bedroom. Again, at the time it seemed completely normal. As an adult and parent, it is terrifying to think not only of the safety hazards that were those gas heaters (and they are the same ones that we now teach our own four kids to stay away from!), but that we moved to an uninsulated, drafty farmhouse, that didn’t produce a lot of heat! The second floor, where I slept, was always freezing in the winter, and to this day, I am unable to sleep in a warm room! 

Okay. If you want to live, you had better....

First of all, apparently Ammon threw up in his bed last night. And apparently, he didn't wake up enough to come and wake me up.

The good side(s) of this:

• I didn't get woken up last night to clean vomit.
• Meaning, I cheated the system and got more sleep than I thought I was getting. Or something like that. It makes sense in my head.
• He hasn't thrown up since then.
• I can let him stay in his jammies and watch movies all day. Nice!
• He's extra cuddly ("Mom, come snuggle me").
• He's mostly been sleeping all day.
• Which means that I a) have a reason to not leave the house, and b) can get a lot done (work or reading or whatever I want!) while he's watching movies and sleeping!

So I pulled out my next assignment to see what I would be writing about: TEN pages on a house I lived in. That's a lot of words about a house. But...I started thinking about it while I ate my lunch (in silence by myself....no, sick kids don't make me happy, but I'm looking at the bright side of things :), and actually--this is going to be a really fun assignment! I texted my sister, who happens to be visiting the parents in PA (just a little jealous here) and asked her to send me some pictures of the old farm house.

Then I pulled up Microsoft Word so that I could start clicking away, and was greeted by this:

   Okay. If you want to live, you had better drop this book. In fact, I dout  that you will.

Ummm.... So I'm definitely dropping the book.

Actually, it sounds like a really fun start to an interesting story. I'm thinking it's authored by Logan, and I look forward to hearing

The rest of the story....

(Remember that phrase? My dad used to listen to it on the radio. What a random memory pop!)

sometimes you win

Last night Madison did our family home evening (FHE). She chose to teach us about being kind to one another, which I approved of 100%, because lately it seems like there are a lot of loud voices and unkind words around here. I know, hard to believe, but yes, the McGregor's are not perfect.

Not even close.

So we sat down and went through what she wanted to do (that's the rule--if you want to teach you have to run the lesson by mom or dad). We chose a scripture from King Benjamin (Mosiah 4:14-15) and had an activity to act out different scenarios where it might be difficult to be kind (someone gets hurt, laughing at an unfortunate moment, someone saying something mean, someone taking something of yours. . . you get the idea).

It should have been a great lesson. And it was...if we could've just gotten through it without the contention we were trying to talk about not having in our home.

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose.

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

Tuesday is my volunteer at school day. Only one teacher took me up on my offer to help out this year, so Ammon and I go to Grant's kindergarten classroom to put together the Tuesday folders (the day all the papers get sent home across the district). It works out really well because the kids have lunch at 11:00, 11:30, and 12:00. So we take turns each week eating with one of the kids and I try to make sure I get to see and hug all of them.

Today is Tuesday. It also happens to be the coldest day so far this fall, so Ammon and I decided it would be fun to take the kids some hot chocolate for lunch (they usually have water in their thermos's). We stopped at the gas station and got 5 small hot chocolates; an employee there deserves a gold star for finding me a box that fit all of the hot styrofoam cups--couldn't have done it without his help!

First we headed to the cafeteria to drop off a cup for Grant. He gave us a hug and was excited for the treat.

Then Ammon and I went to the classroom and assembled folders.

From there we went back to the cafeteria and ate lunch with Logan. He was happy for the cup of hot chocolate after a cold recess, and I enjoyed getting to talk to his friends. They are nice boys!

Logan left and we waited for Madison to come into the cafeteria. She didn't see us sitting in the back, so we walked around and surprised/scared her. She was so excited--for the hot chocolate--but mostly because I brought her the hot chocolate. She gave me this big, happy hug and said, "Mom, this is perfect!! I have been cold all morning and this will warm me up." I think she felt extra loved, and I felt extra loved with her reaction.

Sometimes we win. :)

Coffee Beans and Candy Closet

If you're on facebook, then you've probably already seen/heard these stories. Unfortunately, sometimes I put things on facebook and then don't journal it--and I don't want the stories to get lost in cyberspace. So--I'm documenting.

Joe went to Chicago for a few days to take some classes to keep up his Texas and Ohio bars. I tend to be extra productive when he is gone--not so this time. I did manage to clean out the closet under the stairs (which used to have all the baby toys in it). It's a decent sized closet, and now there's a lot more space. He got home Wednesday night, and last night I had some meetings to go to, so I scarfed down my dinner and prepared to leave. As I was walking out the door, I heard Joe tell the kids that they could have a piece of Halloween candy for dessert.

In unison: "It's gone. Mom threw it all away."

I had to go back into the kitchen to explain that Grant and Ammon had found the empty closet and had spent close to an hour sitting in the dark back corner whispering and unwrapping candy. Yes, I knew what was going on. It was kind of cute, they were being quiet, and I decided to just let them finish the candy so that I could stop finding wrappers all over the house.

When they finally emerged (I think it was dinner time), there weren't that many pieces of candy left. Logan and Madison had also eaten most of their candy. So I just dumped the remaining sugar pieces into the trash and packed up the Halloween buckets for another year. Yay!

(By the way, I do not sneak my kids' candy anymore. They are too old and notice, plus I feel bad because I really am stealing candy from kids. They did promise me all the of the Almond Joys. . . but alas, there was not a single Almond Joy passed out this year. Boo.)

I've been refilling my pantry and freezers with the good holiday food sales. I don't know what went wrong, but Tuesday morning I opened up the van and thought it smelled old car-ish instead of the new-car smell we have been enjoying. I made a mental note to clean it out sometime during the week. That night we got in the van to take Logan to Webloes and the kids started saying, "What's that smell? Who farted? Gross!" I got in and WHOA! They were not exaggerating! We ended up with another boy, who held his nose the entire time in car. That night I bought some car air freshener and crawled through the van trying to find the smell. Lots of candy wrappers and socks.... but no obvious smell-maker.

Wednesday morning I got in the car to go to Target and buy Joe a belated birthday gift (he was in Chicago for his birthday, plus he bought himself this surprisingly expensive camp sleeping pad but I still needed something for him to open--Duck Dynesty--who's seen it?). Anyway, I got in the van and holy moley, the smell was worse. Like rotten milk or a dead animal. BAD!! I asked for advice on facebook, and the most promising was to use coffee beans. I decided that if it could clear our noses to sniff perfume, then maybe it would clear the rotten smell?

For the first time in my life, I checked out the coffee aisle at Target. It took a while to finally find some unground, whole coffee beans.

I got home and spread them all over the floor of the van. Ammon helped me by carrying the grocery bags, but I suppose he got impatient waiting for me coffeegate our van, so he started swinging the bags, and right about then I heard glass cracking and he started running towards me--his short little legs going so fast with spaghetti sauce trailing behind him--it was kind of funny. "Mom! It's bleeding!" It did indeed look like someone had bled out on our driveway. It had been raining for the past 3 days, and it was still overcast, but when I checked the forecast--only 20% chance of rain. I got a few pitchers of water and tried to wash the sauce down the driveway.

When the big kids got home from school they asked me about the blood in the driveway.

That evening Madison had Activity Day (sort of like cub scouts for girls). When we got in the van she asked about the rabbit droppings and coffee smell (admittedly better than rottenness, but still not what you want to see or smell when you get in the van).

Did it work, you ask? Well, the coffee beans are masking the smell--but it's still there. I'm going to have to go clean them up before I go to pick the kids up from school, though, because teachers stand at each pickup spot to help the kids get in the car, and I don't really want to have to explain the coffee seeds all over the van floor (or worse, not explain and just let them think we are slobs).

Hopefully time will cure the vile smell.

Mrs. Huff

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us. --Albert Schweitzer


My Dear Mrs. Huff,

I have been thinking about you quite often lately as I recently pulled out my Christmas music and have spent hours playing the piano while Ammon, my two year old, interrupts me to get him food or to take him potty. He asks to sit on my lap so he can "help" me play. . . well, you get the idea. Most often, he tells me that it's his turn; I think he might be my musical genius. At night, my older children, Madison and Logan, ask me to play when they go to bed. They tell me that "it makes them feel good, and it's nice to fall asleep to the music."

I share my gift at church, to accompany others. I play to remind myself that I am still a person--more than the folder of clothes, the mopper of floors. I set goals to learn new songs--and spend days (weeks, sometimes) perfecting them. Most recently, I have gotten into Scott Joplin's music--boy is it fun to play! I love his "Maple Leaf Rag." 

I will forever be grateful for the gift you gave me to not only know how to play the piano, but to love to play the piano, and to love music. I feel that, with some life experience, I am finally beginning to add  the emotion that you wanted me to feel into the music that I play. I play Rachmaninoff when I'm angry, Chopin and Mozart when I'm happy, Jon Schmidt when I'm in a lighter mood. I play religious music when I'm in need of spiritual uplift--and it's through these songs that I know God exists! I feel it in my soul; the existence of such sound persuades me of His presence.

The love of music that you shared with me, I am now sharing with my four children. Last year, Madison won first place at a talent show after playing a song on the piano while blindfolded. They like to play as long as I'm not sitting by them. It isn't an easy task to teach. . . How did you stand my evasion of theory? The weeks I didn't practice? My refusal to count? I tell myself it must be easier when it's someone else's kids. . . but over the 20 years that you taught the five Foster children--surely, you must think of us, in a way, as your own.

I remember going straight from school to piano lessons, where we might wait hours for our turn. Each week you had a box of snacks for us to eat; maybe you knew we would wait more quietly, or play more heartily. I remember running out to your car with the key fob (a novelty at the time!), and rummaging through the stacks and stacks of piano music in your trunk. What treasures would we find that day?

Thank you, Mrs. Huff, for your patience, your love, and your refusal to give up on me. Thank you for teaching me so much more than how to read notes.


Forever Your Student,

Jennifer Foster McGregor

the secret garden that we tend

Both abundance and lack exist simultaneously in our lives, as parallel realities. It is always our conscious choice which secret garden we will tend...when we choose not to focus on what is missing from our lives but are grateful for the abundance that's present--love, health, family, friends, work, the joys of nature and personal pursuits that bring us pleasure--the wasteland of illusion falls away as we experience Heaven on earth. --Sarah Ban Breathnach

Reread that. Slowly. Such a beautiful quote; the wording--inspired. "Conscious choice which secret garden we will tend...the wasteland of illusion." Wow.

These days I feel like it's easier to see the abundance in my life instead of what we lack (though I do spend plenty of time looking at homes and planning future vacations). A few years ago, right after Joe lost his job and we decided to move to Texas and start a law practice--I felt the spiral down from a cushy law job and a home I loved to home that was not very nice and a question of whether or not we'd make enough to pay the bills that month. In all honesty (and looking back), things never got that bad. Sure, we took some steps backwards, and not knowing what was ahead made it difficult to know how far we would have to stretch our savings. Things were tight! The kids would bring home (weekly, it seemed) school requests for money to pay for field trips, class parties, school supplies--I dreaded those notes. I remember feeling especially down one day when I found a stash of papers Logan had hidden in his bedroom. I asked him about the papers and he told me that he knew they were asking for money and he knew we didn't have a lot of money, so he hid them until he could find or make some money on his own. I think I hid in my room and had a good cry a few minutes later. He was in first grade.

Those times were life-changing for me. I knew I had a decision to make: either I could focus on the hardship and spend my days unhappy, or I could realize that I would never get those days back and I HAD to make them as good as possible. It was absolutely a choice I had to make, and one I had to make every day. Even though financially things are looking up for us, I still have to make the decision each day to be happy and to make each day as fulfilling as possible. It is not something that comes naturally, nor am I naturally inclined to be optimistic; it is something that I am working hard on and praying for daily with God's help.

I can honestly say I am thankful for those 2 hard years! I grew so much. I grew in faith and experience,  knowledge and empathy. You simply cannot put a price on those intangible things.

The rest of this journal challenge says to set a timer and list the things I am grateful for. Here we go:

The opportunity to be a mom, four beautiful children, a good husband, a husband who is willing to work hard to provide for our family and give me the opportunity to stay home with them, the option to be a SAHM, my talents, music, literature, the ability to write, the ability to communicate, being able to play the piano, a home with modern conveniences, rain, cooler weather, my van, being able to go to the elementary school to eat lunch with the kids and to help their teachers, friends who call me when they need help, friends I can call when I need help, ability to travel across the country easily to visit family, the means to take care of our family, book club, my metabolism, endurance, the gospel, the standards, my children's teachers, indoor plumbing, clean homes, knowing I am a daughter of God and that He has a plan for me, that I have a purpose, chocolate, soup on a cold day, sunshine, gardens, cheese, my treadmill, pictures to remind me of what my kids looked like when they were small, colors, a kitchen that makes it easy to preserve food and cook food for my family,

food for thought

As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them. --John F. Kennedy

I will never forget a conversation I had on one of my first dates. The boy was driving me home; I can remember the exact location--going down a hill in front of a bar about 4 miles from my house. He said something like this, "So... I got in an argument today with one of my friends. I defended you. He said you were Mormon." 

Silence.

I didn't know what to say... He made it sound like being Mormon was bad and he had defended me by saying--what? That I wasn't Mormon?

"Um. I am a Mormon."

"Oh."

I don't think I ever hid the fact that I belonged to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (the Mormon Church). It's not a secret. All of my close friends knew because I would complain talk about not being able to wear tank tops and they would ask me tons of questions about our health code (we don't drink coffee or tea, smoke, or consume alcohol). Many of them knew that my dad was a bishop, and they would even call him "Bishop Foster" when they saw him at school events.

I guess I just didn't broadcast that I was Mormon. 

Since then, I've become a bit bolder about my religion. I'm a little more confident about my beliefs (and Mitt Romney ran for president). I mention it on facebook; I bore you with it on the blog. My beliefs are a huge part of my life; I don't know who or where I'd be without them! 

I have a great friend who makes yummy food. She will invite me over for lunch, sometimes she surprises me by bringing food to my house, or she might text/call and ask me to come try something she's made. It's yummy. I savor every bite and enjoy our conversation--and wish I could make such delicious, healthy food. The truth is. . . I'm afraid to return the favor and offer her the food I make because I'm afraid that it's not as good.

So if I had something really yummy--I'd want to give it to you so you could enjoy something yummy--and of course, the company would be fantastic. ;) I'm still working on something guest-worthy. But I was thinking: Christ calls himself the "bread of life" and the "living water." So it appears that food and religion seem to go hand-in-hand; our bodies and our spirits both need to be fed. And the gospel food (our church doctrines)--I've tried it, and it's good. 

I know, does that sound corny? But I'm serious. I look at the people around me who struggle, and I want to help them and give them this knowledge that I know could change their lives in a positive way. I'm not saying I don't struggle--because I do; life is hard. But the church teachings answer the basic life questions: where we came from, who we are, why we're here, and where we're going. The (some would say strict) guidelines that we adhere to enabled me to be a good person who was worthy to meet another good person with the same standards and beliefs, and together we created a family of six. And now--we are teaching those same principles to our children so that they can live and lead fulfilling and productive lives with their own good families. 

Seriously. The fruit of the gospel is good.

So if you're looking for something--truth, hope, purpose, spiritual nourishment--I can share with you. You can come to my house, or I can bring it to you. That's what friends do--they share good things! 

Treasures

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. --Thornton Wilder

Treasures in my life:

• A righteous husband, who is also a wonderful father 
• Four intelligent, thoughtful (and cute) children
• A job that provides for our family and gives us the freedom to enjoy life
• Parents who taught me how to be a grown up
• A comfortable home; a refuge of safety and love
• The gospel and the knowledge and hope it gives to me
• The opportunity to be a mom
• Wonderful friends around the world
• The experiences I have had, good and bad

My life-journey is "rich" because of the people I am traveling with and the experiences which have made life rewarding and full of opportunities to grow and expand. 

Blessings in Disguise

So after a 30 minute pilates workout (that totally kicked my butt), I spent the entire morning with a friend helping another friend pack up her kitchen. I'm beat. I decided to cancel my treadmill session and take a nap instead. Before I could commit myself to falling asleep, I had to check facebook--and found this amazing 30 day journal prompt on gratitude (of course appropriate because this month is Thanksgiving). Now, I'd like to commit to 30 days of blogging gratitude, but since it's unlikely, and especially since I will have other things to write down (like yesterday was Halloween), I am committing to lots of gratitude entries this month.

The condensed prompt for today is:

What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise. --Oscar Wilde

So I actually have a huge essay written on one event that turned out to be a blessing in disguise. BUT since I still want my nap (and you probably don't have time to read a 3 page essay either), I will try to summarize.

Probably the biggest trial in our lives (so far) has been when Joe lost his job in 2009. We had three kids, a house, no income, and no one was hiring--especially not first year associates. It was scary! We decided to move to Dallas, TX and start an immigration law practice. Terrifying! I still don't know how I was brave enough to do it--except there was no other option and I knew that at one point I had known it was the right choice for our family (I questioned it--a lot).

Somehow we made it, and now Joe's practice is going well, and they are officially hiring two new associates this week because they found out yesterday(!) that they passed the bar.

Blessing in disguise? YES! Looking back, we can see God's hand orchestrating the entire event. We had to move to Cleveland to meet the dentists. Joe had to move to TX without us to meet the dental accountant that got him started on dental law (long story). Now his clients are all dentists (his partner took over 100% of the immigration work). His hours are better, he can take vacation, he can work from home--actually he can work pretty much anywhere in the world. Best of all--I have every hope and expectation that things will keep getting better.

Who knew? Losing a job can be a blessing in disguise!

I want it

1. Logan had a 10-year-old's birthday come true. Grandma and Grandpa sent him an ipod (used). It was an early-release day at school (how often does that happen on October 24?). Our chef-to-be has been wanting to go to an authentic Italian pizzeria, so we surprised the family and went to Pizzeria Testa for lunch. For the record, we appreciate and prefer both the cost and the taste of American pizza. Then we went to a pumpkin farm; this ended up being a sort of sour experience because we paid to park and then realized we were at the wrong place and had to pay again to park next door at the better pumpkin farm. Also, after having lived in Ohio--fall farms here in TX are kind of lame. Still, it was a fun experience and the kids got to go on a hale-bale ride, so I have no regrets. Then we came home, Logan figured out how to put music and movies on his ipod and then spent the rest of the afternoon ignoring us with earbuds in his ears. He had a cub-scout pack meeting, where he received his Bear award (huge thanks to his scout leaders--I got a mom pin, but I have to admit that his scout leaders did all the work this year). He also got to do a skit with the Webelos--which he is now a part of because he is 10!

The biggest hang-up was the cake. He asked for a vanilla cake so I decided to make a Tres Leches cake. . . from a cake mix. Big mistake. It didn't turn out very tasty, so we let him go to the store to pick out a cake (at 8:00 p.m.) only to return and find out that we didn't have any birthday candles. So... Joe ran back to the store and I got the kids bathed and jammied and they all got to stay up late eating disgustingly frosted store-bought cake. Also, his primary teacher from church stopped by with a birthday balloon and some treats--he felt very loved on his special day.

Happy Birthday, Logan!! Somehow you have survived these 10 years, and I have every hope and faith that you will continue to not only be a surviver, but a contributor for good in every aspect of your life.

2. The dryer broke. Again. 11 days ago. Need I say more?

After some google diagnosing, I decided that an idler pulley was at fault--an estimated 60 minutes to repair. Joe, bless his soul, is not really the fix-it kind of person, which is mostly ok because his billable-hour rate is more than we can afford. I could probably fix it myself, but decided that my time is also valuable (and it would end up taking more than 60 minutes, I'm positive), so we decided to hire someone to do the work so that it would get done in a timely manner.

This person supposedly ordered the part, and 11 days, two trips to the laundry-mat, an entire week of dirty-clothes/sheets/towels/washcloths spewing out of every room, and way too many unreturned phone calls and texts (I could've done it myself by now!!!)--Joe finally texted the guy and told him we were going to get help from someone else. This new person--a friend from church--called to tell me that the part we need is in stock and he is going to come by today to fix the dryer. My new hero!!

More than a week of six people not washing clothes not only means a lot of laundry, but a lot of unhappy people who can't find things like underwear and pants that they like (some crying this morning over having to wear brand-new, unworn stretchy pants). Last night I did a small load and then started hanging the wet clothes over doorknobs, baskets, and after a few minutes I gave up and just spread the wet clothes all over the playroom floor. It looks amazing.

3. I found a house! (You can click on there to see it.) I mean--I've been eyeing this house for months. Months! Since July! Someone put an offer on it, but I guess it never went through. A friend of mine just got her real-estate license, so I asked her to show me the house and I brought another friend with impeccable taste to look at it with me. It's only 5 minutes closer to Joe's work, (although, maybe closer with all the traffic), but on .58 acres of land!! Back home, PA home, that's not a lot of land. Here, where .1 acre lots are the norm--it's humongous. It's a colonial with a big front porch and a big backyard--so it kind of reminds me of home, and maybe it would let me forget I live in a big city.

The house--I'm not super in love with--although it does have a tornado shelter, which is awesome. The spaces are kind of odd and it's old without a lot of updates.

After we looked at it, my friend took me for my first model-home tour: a 5,000 sq ft home that cost $500,000. At first I was like, "I don't need a house that big." But as I walked through I thought, "I NEED this!! How am I living without it?!" Hah!

But after looking at hundreds of homes online and lots of land. . . I need land. I need space! So here's what I want to do:

Buy that house and rip out the kitchen and bathrooms and put in something that I love. I would love to move some walls around, but for now--if the bathrooms and kitchen were updated I could wait for the rest to happen.

I'm dreaming of apple and peach and pecan trees in a nice row along the side fence. A good-sized garden--which I already got my dad to agree to help me do. I am even fantasizing about a small chicken coup in the corner of the lot, and I would send the kids out every afternoon to gather eggs. I'm going to spend my fall afternoons canning and dehydrating the fruit and vegetables from my yard and labor.

I'm sounding more and more like someone I never wanted to become. . . my parents!!

I hope it happens! If not at this house, something similar.

And in case you were wondering. . . Joe hasn't seen it yet. He's more inclined to buy the biggest, fanciest lawyerly home he can afford. I'm tricking him into this by convincing him this is what will save us when the world explodes. He's been reading end-of-the-world books and watching The Walking Dead, so his mind has been on emergency preparedness--I've been using that: land so we can be self-sustaining with a garden and animals, and guns so he can protect his family and property. It's by a lake, so if we needed water we wouldn't have to go too far. I know what you're thinking: I should've gone to law school, too.