The Things Kids Write

"I think my mom is funny when she tutes stinkely"--*I'd Never*;)

Genevieve has an honest heart and an honest face and so it's often easy to know how's she's feeling and if she's telling the truth or not. So when she stepped off the bus an afternoon three months or so ago, I knew something was wrong. And sure enough she hemmed an hawed before it came out that she had gotten in trouble for something. The rest came out in bits and pieces drawn out by careful questioning.

The trouble was her spelling homework. One of her activities is to use her spelling words in a sentence that she makes up. I try to be as hands off as possible with homework so that I'm not caught in the trap of doing it myself or having to nudge her along every step of the way, but I guess the night before I was too hands off. I checked through the homework and saw the offending sentence and decided against making her change it because I rationalized that I was getting to worked up over nothing. The sentence was this, "Behave or else I will kill you". My initial apprehension with her sentence, was my fear that someone would think Russ or I actually said that in our normal disciplining routine. I thought, "Here I go again being crazy and worried about what people will think. I really need to stop that. She's just being a kid". I suggested that she might want to change the sentence, but she was stubborn and wanted it to stay and I was tired and wanted to be done so I let it slide.

Her teacher had a talk with her, the principal had a talk with her and I was scared out of my mind with the thought of parent teacher conferences in a couple of weeks. I was so embarrassed. My child got in trouble. My child talked to the principal. I could have prevented this and I didn't. Every day when I would open her folder, I was scared to see the offending homework. I was scared for a phone call or a reprimanding note. And when the violent piece of homework made it's ominous appearance, I could hardly bare to look at it. I know I should have saved it for a laugh in the future, but the poor thing was promptly shredded. And it's only taken me three months to be able to laugh and share. Enjoy!

All Work and No Play

Up until this year I had successfully avoided kid birthday parties for my children. They looked like a lot of work and stress. And guess what? They are. I spent days driving back and forth between Micheal's, Target, Costco and the dreaded Walmart. I cut, glued and crafted my non-crafty brain crazy. But if I was going to do this thing, I was going to do it right. I was going to do it like my mom does it. If you didn't know, my mom, Karen Stewart, taught Aunt Martha everything she knows. When the day of the party arrived, I was still in a frenzy with all the things that still needed to come together before I was ready for that first guest to arrive. Russ and I were running around and still finishing pinning up the banner when 11:00 popped up on the microwave. Of course someone was very prompt. Darn on-time people. The little girl and her mom were very sweet, but after five or ten minutes of pleasantries I realized the mom is not leaving, no one else has arrived and the crayon coloring activity was quickly losing its appeal. I cannot have parents sitting around watching me when I've never done this before, when I still feel like everything is not quite perfect. The parents are supposed to leave when their kids are five and go to preschool half day, five days a week. Now I've got a prompt and a very protective parent shattering my already frail nerves. Thirty minutes after the first guest/parent arrived, the rest of the attendees arrive in rapid succession. And soon I realize that mom #1 was the rule and not the exception. I've now got a house full of gabbing, scrutinizing parents to attend to and their not alone. They've brought the whole family. I don't have enough lunch, party favors, cupcakes, straws, silverware, plates, napkins or plans for these unexpecteds. I'm flustered, anxious and nervous. Things worked out, but the whole two hours felt like someone was spinning me about blindfolded while I tried to set my best china. And guess what? I'm doing it all over again. Gen turns seven in nineteen days and I've got to keep things fair. Hopefully, after I carefully freehand and construct a giant replica of Hello Kitty's face for a pin-the-tale on the donkey game, a parent doesn't ask if Hannah made that.   

I was so proud of my free-hand, Hello Kitty Cardboard cut-out, but apparently it looks like my five year old created it.

The Cupcakes

Hannah's Actual Birthday

  

Part Two-Roaches

I didn't drive home, I sucked it up and joined the gaggle of guys congregating in a circle next to the cars. We drove down to Norwalk, donned our yellow vests and joined the group that had a mix of women and men. The apartments had been flooded during the hurricane. Many of the tenants belongings had been ruined by the water and the walls had been sitting in a foot or so of water for an extended period of time. We needed to get the damaged goods out and the walls washed down with bleach.

Wally was very scared to let us in. After sending in one person to convince him that we weren't going to steal all of his things and that we were there to help, he let us in. Wally told us how he'd been a player in his younger years in an old worn out suit we moved out of the closet. His right eye had been clouded over with cataracts and he stooped with age. But he made sure we had some Motown to clean to.

Some women from the Spanish Branch were leaning against the wall, when I noticed thirty or so reddish-brown bugs scurrying. I quickly grabbed Maria from off the wall and pointed behind her since my Spanish is lacking at best. She and Evita screamed and in the mix of other Spanish words flying out of their mouths, I caught a few squealed cucarachas. There must have been thousands of them crawling over every surface of the house. When we picked up a pile of clothes from off of a water soaked chair, hundreds emerged from their make-shift nest. I felt so horrible for Wally having to live in such disgusting conditions. I wondered what happens to someone who gets to this point and I was also so sad that in America this kind of thing happens and likely happens more than I'd ever want to know.

Despite my desire to kick stereotypes, they seem to have a serious hold. Despite the six men who were supposed to be in this with the four women that were helping with Wally's place, they spent a good amount of time with their hands in their pockets, talking to each other and waiting until someone else (the women) did the work. I looked around at many points and it was the Hispanic women and me cleaning the house. And I couldn't stand the lame irony. To be fair, the guys did pitch in somewhat, but when it came to the really difficult, disgusting tasks, they just fidgeted and watched.

We got Wally all set up with a cleaned out house, bleached down walls and headed back home. I loved getting to go and do something to help, but next time I think I'll hand the rag to the guys and haul a couple of chairs out myself.   

The Rut We Need to Leave

He's pretty awesome.

I was in high school and we were eating the usual Sunday dinner at Nana and Popa's. I don't remember what we were eating, but I'm sure it was one of the rotating usual five meals. (I miss those usuals and I miss Sunday dinner with my family and my grandparents). Often our conversations were very opinionated and sometimes heated. I usually avoid confrontation. I don't like anger between me and anyone. But sometimes, when I feel passionately about something, I can't help myself.

Dad and Popa had just made their usual exit. Nana was fantasizing to my mom about throwing the plates off the deck, instead of doing the dishes.Then they both lamented the fact that the men were off watching the TV and they were doing the cooking and cleaning. They verbally threw up their hands and in a few minutes of complaining, decided there was nothing to be done. My blood was boiling. This situation was wholly unjust. "Well I'm never going to marry someone who is like that." Nana just shook her head and said "Just wait".

I waited and I didn't. He helps me do the dishes and a whole lot more. I'm lucky. We think we should both be in this together. I can mow the lawn and he can sweep. My X and his Y, doesn't mean we can't do whatever we put our minds to. But old habits die hard for all of us.

I get annoyed that whenever someone moves in or out. It's always me that is "supposed" to stay with the kids while Russ gets to go hang out with adults and move boxes. I can't lift an elephant, but I can lift whatever moving stuff I've ever had to lift.

So when we were asked to volunteer with hurricane Sandy. I was miffed that it was just assumed that the men would go help and the women would be stuck at home again. So Russ agreed that it would be a good change of pace for the both of us. I showed up bright and early Saturday morning in the agreed upon parking lot and as the cars kept pulling in, the men kept getting out. I lost my feminist ire and felt really stupid. I was going to be the only woman and I didn't want to get out of the car. I wanted to drive back home. To Be Continued. . .



     

"The Mess"

On Saturday we headed down to the City to check out "The Scream" at the MoMA as part of Russ' birthday celebration. The whole journey was a fast one. We needed to get in and get out, both because of timing and the fact that we have three kids six and under. Two of my favorite highlights: People giving us the stink eye, despite how well-behaved (When you strap two of them in and your touring the paintings at 25 mph, their too stunned to do much else) our children were. I think they were merely disgusted that we had that many or that we brought them in a sacred "adult" museum. Second highlight: We entered a room filled with the art below and as soon as we round the corner, Hannah says, rather loudly in a surprised and puzzled tone, "THAT is art?". Yep love, that is art. The whole room of art admirers let out a little chuckle. I guess they all aren't that stuffy.

Robert Morris, Untitled (Although Genevieve thought it should be called, The Mess)

 

Dog Drama

I can hardly bear to watch shows like Meet the Parents or any show where everything that can go wrong does. Initially I thought it was just because I would cringe and find most of what happened absolutely contrived, but then I came to the sad fact that it was too much like my own, real life. I think many of my posts have illustrated this, but let me share with you a little slice out of my Monday morning. 

I cease to do myself any favors by waking up far later than I should. I throw on some jeans and a blouse and run downstairs to usher Hannah and Luna into the car. Only after finally strapping Stewy in and going back inside a couple of times to retrieve a bunch of things I've forgotten, I realize that I haven't taken Luna to the bathroom. But I don't have time. If I don't leave now, they will close off the drop-off door to Hannah's school and I'll have to take "the walk of late shame" and take her to the front office and then I'll be late for Luna's appointment and that won't do, so the pottying is going to have to wait.

We pull into the vet parking lot only a couple of minutes late and I bound out ready to grab the wild beast. I grasp Luna's leash just before she bounds out of the van. My arm is almost ripped off as she attempts to greet another large dog who is leaping out of the car. I congratulate myself on remembering to curb her. After marking territory and giving her some extra time to decide if she needs to poop as well, I grab Stew with my one free arm and pull him onto my hip. Have you ever held a wiggly toddler as you are dragged rapidly ahead by a Lab? The feeling is one of complete lack of control. We whisk through the front door and immediately a middle-aged woman with a cocker spaniel  gasps, "oh my!" Now my brain has moved from fast to hyper-drive. What did she mean by that? Is it because my dog is wearing the cone of shame? Is it because she thinks I'm nuts because I'm dragging in a baby and being dragged in by a dog? Is it because Luna is looking so hyper? Is there something on my face? What is wrong with me? What is wrong with my choices? Why is this lady gasping at me? Now I'm basically in a state of panic. I try to get Luna to sit, I try to sit Stew on the bench and I try to tell the receptionist we are here, while at the same time I'm still trying to find out what this lady is thinking about me. And then, in horror, I realize that Luna isn't just merely trying to sit, she's squatting. I abandon Stew in a panic and try to rip Luna out the door before she can leave a pile of poop. But it's too late she's squatting and I'm pulling and she's dumping a little out with every tug. So instead of one neat, tidy pile of poop, there is a trail of logs and one or two has missed the linoleum and is residing on their carpet door mat. I begin apologizing prefusely and watch in shame with the rest of the waiting room (including gasping woman) as they call in the minions and make them clean up the mess. As one of the techs is finishing the deed, she asks, "Is that blood?" "Is she bleeding?" And being the stressed out, embarrassed idiot I am, I say in mocked shock "Oh no! Where? Is she?" See the thing is, I know she is, she's in heat, but I don't want cocker-spaniel woman and the rest of the waiting room people and receptionists to know. Sitting here now, I have no idea why I didn't want them to know. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't all point their fingers at me and Luna and scream "unclean, unclean!". But my survival or moron instinct has kicked in and now there is no turning back. When we finally get shut into our own room, she remarks about the blood again and this time I know I can't keep this facade up. I've got to come clean. So I act like nothing happened in the other room and tell her how she's been in heat for the last week and a half. Luna continues to drip drops of blood across the exam room and the vet tech keeps mentioning the "heat" thing to the vet. I swear she's doing it on purpose. And me? I'm trying to keep Stew from bursting into their backroom while "discreetly" scrubbing out the blood with my shoe. I nod my head through the whole appointment and forget to ask any of the questions I needed to ask. I practically throw my money at the receptionist and retreat to the safety and privacy of the car where the dog can poop and Stew can scream and only I will know. Can someone else take Luna next week? Please!

Dog Thoughts

Sometimes I think one of the biggest lessons we learn, is to eat our stubborn, set in stone words. I was never going marry someone who went to my high school, or wait for someone and so on. But I am incredibly happy to be wrong. There have been many, many times when I have changed my thoughts, feelings or beliefs that I thought I'd never alter. Owning a dog is becoming one of those.

I've always wanted to have a dog. I even wanted to breed Luna and maybe keep one of her puppies, but now I'm not so sure we'll have another dog after Luna. Dogs are almost as hard as children and so far Luna has been far more expensive.

Three weeks ago Luna bolted passed the girls and out the door, as they were going outside to play. She then darted a few houses down and onto a very busy cross street where she was quickly hit by a car. The whole event was very traumatizing. We spent awhile with helpful neighbors trying to assess Luna and identify an emergency vet. Russ stayed with the kids and put them to bed. And I drove off with a whimpering, squished dog. The emergency vet waiting room is a depressing place to be. There were owners sobbing over dogs that needed to be put down, serious decisions to make and serious money being bled from panicked owners.

After being told that it was dangerous for me to take Luna home with a broken radius and ulna and that I should leave her in their care overnight with surgery in the morning, I timidly took her back home. We still were unsure of their insistence that her breaks required a very, very expensive surgery with a bolt and seven screws. We tried to frantically explore our options in the morning and after a visit with a normal vet in the morning, we felt like our hands were tied and our only option was to go with the emergency vet surgery and the huge price tag.

After four cones of shame, an infection and a break-up with a very expensive and, we must do everything in the book for your pet, vet, we're on the backside of the infection and happy with a much more practical, understanding vet. Lots of money, stress and tears later, we are ready to be done with pets and very well versed in bandaging, cones of shame and emergency pet dos and don'ts. And if you're thinking about getting a dog, my advice, don't.

Montreal

When we found out that Russ and both of the girl's had president's day off, I knew we needed to plan somewhere fun to go. I also really want to take advantage of living in New England as much as I can. One of the great things about living where we do, is the close proximity to awesome places to visit. But my need to visit and fit in as much traveling as possible sometimes backfires. Montreal in February is cold, very, very, very cold. Russ and I were fairly sure we were never going to convince the girls to go back. We spent a long time on the way home explaining that in the summer Montreal is warm. I think they believed us, but not without emphasizing that they'd only go back in the summer.

Montreal was surprisingly European. Everyone speaks French and some people only speak French. But everyone is very kind and patient. Russ and I loved exposing the girls to a "foreign country" and putting the girls and ourselves a little out of our comfort zone. Genevieve, at our first stop in a Montreal Costco, expressed her dislike at everyone speaking French. But they adapted quickly and we all loved eating delicious croissants, crepes, sandwiches and candy. The architecture was beautiful and of course the hotel pool was the highlight of the trip for the kids.

Christmas '12

So long February. . .Hello March!

Blech! Dirty, nasty, crusty, February snow.

Today I get to do what I've longed to do for a month--wipe clean the month of February from our calendar and write March in big green letters. I'm sorry February, but you are my second least favorite month, right after January. You are looooong and this winter has been even longer. The kiddos have been sick since November. No exaggeration. We just keep picking up one bug after another. You are happily met March. I can't wait for warmer weather, greener surroundings and a healthy family. To end off February here is the good and the bad:


Bad:

Luna, in a frenzied state, stomps and breaks off the passenger side mirror. And no, she didn't get that squirrel.

Good:

I'm fixing it myself. I'm half-way through.

Good:

We have a fantastic time exploring Montreal and bring back a lot of good chocolate and food. Oh and we eat poutine, crepes and the best, warmest, flakiest croissant I've ever had.

Bad:

It was cold, really cold (like single digit with a nasty windchill factor) and the girls have only conceded to going back when it is summer.

Good: We get to attend a Late Show Taping with David Letterman and eat a yummy dinner at Angelo's.

Bad: No bad, it was all good. I highly recommend the City without children.

Bad: We are nearing the end of treatments for ear infections and pink-eyes.

Good: We've got to be up for a break, right?

Oh and the best part about March-I'm going home. Just me. No kiddos. A break, a real break. I'm super giddy and super in love with Russ.

Disney August

The summer was a crazy time for us, we were in limbo between school and figuring out where the next job would take us and squeezing out every bit of fun with our friends and family in Utah. Posting about our adventures and much of anything that happened took a back seat to actually living those adventures. But I've got to document for posterity, so I'm warning you here comes the long, boring slide show. 

Snow Dump!

The snow came and dumped twenty inches and then just took off and left. Can you believe it?! How rude! Russ and I got our work-out for the weekend shoveling. Luna expelled some serious energy bounding through the dunes and the children didn't last too long outside with the cold, mean winds. Happily no power was lost and the "driving ban" was lifted in time to go get some dinner. Can you believe it? They completely closed all of the roads in CT and if you drove, you chanced getting a ticket. Welcome to Cuba my friends.

I'm Calling You Out New England

And so it Begins

What the East calls Nemo, would be a regular old snow storm in the West. I asked my mom today how much snow they got with one of their snow storms this winter. She said 18 inches. We're projected to get 10 inches and the Governor is declaring a state of emergency. We most likely will lose power and it will take them a week to get the power back on because they refuse to bury the power lines and someone akin to the Mafia runs the world back here. I hope Mr. Governor can just get the power companies to actually work.

School was never closed for snow, never ever, when I was in Utah. The bus would crash, the roads would be unplowed, slick and dangerous but we were expected to be at school, work or appointments. I think we've had five or so either complete cancellations, late starts or early releases, thanks to snow. The roads have been clear and there has never been more than four inches. I just don't get it. Some days they've called a half hour before they are releasing the kids and expect us to have gotten the message and be there to get them. But I guess if it happens in NYC, it's always a big deal.

We'll see what tomorrow, after hours of snow brings, but for now, I'm not impressed Blizzard Charlotte/Winter Storm Nemo.

The total so far. . .

Once I Pop (MSG), I can't stop!

When I think of MSG (mono-sodium glutamate), I think of Chinese foods and packaging/signs touting their lack of the nasty ingredient. I had no idea why MSG was dangerous and I was confusing it with other cancer causing chemicals. The research seems mixed with some claiming that it can give you horrible headaches, heart palpitations etc. And other research suggests that in small amounts MSG is perfectly safe. The studies that grabbed me are the ones that talk about MSG's addictive and weight gaining properties. MSG is found in all kinds of stuff I never realized: Campbell's Soup (almost ALL), Pringles, Lipton soup, Doritos, fast food and basically anything processed that is salty. No wonder when I dig into some Pringles "I pop and I can't stop". And did you see the crazy goat and the crazy man commericial who are insanely hoarding and munching on the Doritos? Maybe it's not so far from the truth.  Many of the studies linking obesity and MSG are done with rats. They inject baby rats with MSG and voila they become super fat rat adults who eat and eat and eat. No wonder Cream of Chicken soup casseroles are so yummy and I way overeat. What do you think?

Huffington Post Article: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/beverley-golden/obesity-msg-and-rats_b_842332.html 

Book I've Been Reading: The Science of Skinny

The Hannah Pick-up

The Naughty Dog in Stew's Bassinet-Naughty, Naughty!

Dropping Hannah off at school or picking her up from school is strangely bothersome. I fantasize about her riding the bus to school with Genevieve. Part of the reason is that I often disrupt some part of Stew's sleep schedule which with my sweet, temperamental child is less than optimal. A few drop-offs ago I found a new reason to fear the pick-up.

Luna is a dog after my own heart. She loves to get out and about, so she usually accompanies me to and from Hannah's school. I was running late that day and of course the gas light blinks on. I have no time to grab gas before picking up Hannah if I'm going to be on time, so I just pray that I'll be able to make it to the station after I've collected my preschooler. I pull up right in front of the pick-up doors. Hannah is waiting behind the glass, so I leave the car running and scurrying up to help her down the steps and into the car. Upon reaching the car I'm horrified to find that my sweet, stupid dog has locked us out. She's sitting perched at the driver's seat, looking excessively pleased with herself. I swear I saw a sly smile creeping out from the side of her mouth. I'm pretty sure if she could have grown two thumbs and some longer legs she would have driven off cackling. Instead she just stared at me as I'm shamelessly trying to encourage her to push the button again and again and again.

Of course I'm in my pjs with some frumpy coat I've thrown on to cover up the fact I am braless. I would like to say that this is a very rare occurrence, but that would be a wee bit of a fibby. So at this point, I'm horribly embarrassed, but not enough to stop yelling at Luna in a high-pitched, enthusiastic voice to "shake". Luna humors me a couple of times and gives me a half-hearted high five, but quickly gives up and just stares at me as if to say "Get in the car already silly. This is boring." At this point I give up and figure it's time to call Russ. But throughout waiting for Russ I never give up. I try throwing sticks, a discarded water bottle and snow at the car in the hopes that it will throw Luna into one of her crazy moods and she'll haphazardly unlock the door.

Gen and Hannah are, much to my chagrin, incredibly shy and at times rude to strangers, so of course today of all days, Hannah decides to become chatty. She yells to everyone that comes out of the school that her dog locked us out of the car. At this point I look like a hobo, I'm throwing trash at the car, talking like an insane person, the very little gas I had is wasting away and Hannah is calling over everyone to come and have a first hand view of the embarrassing scene. Luckily Russ was working from home that day and had Stew safely sleeping with him instead of screaming his head off in the car and fifteen minutes later Russ arrived with an extra set of keys. I even made it to the gas station in time. So all is well and Luna still gets to come along for the ride, but I always take the keys with me now.    

Crazy Times

It's been a long time since I've written. First, it was because we were scheduled to give a talk which was all consuming until the scary moment it was finally over. Finally I felt like I could actually start working on Christmas and the five hundred other projects awaiting me. Then came the awful shooting, fifteen miles away, in Newtown. Whenever these tragic events happen, I always feel sickened and have to avoid all media for the next week or so, but being physically close to this one was unbelievably jarring. Genevieve and Hannah's schools went into lock down and while it was mostly clear that the person causing this horror was dead, I felt a little powerless and was anxious to have them home. The hardest part of all of this has been thinking about how we looked at a few houses in Newtown and realizing we could have been one of those grieving, missing a daughter. One of the families who did loose a daughter goes to our church building. It was so painful watching their grief and seeing so much of our own family, in their family. We could have so easily been there too. And I guess really in life, we are all on a razors edge between life and death. Life is so precious. I'm so grateful to also know that healing can happen through the atonement, comfort can be found through Christ and we can again be with all those we love because of His sacrifice.

I hated the need to break some of my kids innocence and talk about what happened. I don't want to have that kind of conversation. I want them to grow up in a world where everyone is safe and people don't do evil things. I don't want to tell them that a bad thing happened at a school, but at the same time try to reassure them that they are safe and all is well.

Mental illness needs to loose it's stigma and the silent way people have to try and work their way through such difficulties. I don't really know a whole lot about the shooter and his mental problems, but I do know that the mental health system is broken and most of all, people have a hard time admitting they or their family member has a problem. Finding the proper help is also difficult because of the immense fear of repercussions personally, professionally and internally. LDS Family Services was awesome. They came to our ward and told us all how to help ourselves and our children through a tragic event. They also made themselves available to talk to anyone who needed to talk, for free. I kept seeing emails and Facebook posts begging for people to take advantage of the counselors and their offers of help. But I assume no one wanted to admit they needed "help". In fact one of the pleas tried to inadvertently quell their fears, by saying they didn't need to do a "session", but they could just talk to the therapist or ask them questions about their kids. What's so wrong with a "session"? What's so wrong with just talking to them about you and your fears? What's so wrong with wanting to talk to someone when something so unimaginably horrific happens in your community? I think we could all use someone understanding, sympathetic and trained to hear our fears and feelings at such a devastating times. I'm ready to argue that we could all do with a "session" every once in awhile in everyday life. We all need a therapist to talk to. Sometimes a parent, spouse, friend, hairdresser, cab driver or stranger can be that therapist. But why is it so scary, so shameful to go to someone whose trained to do that very thing? I'll admit that when I told my friend I was considering going to talk to them, it took her encouragement to actually go and talk. And talk I did. And while it was so hard even after being to therapy in two different states, I feel so much better now and I'm so happy I swallowed my pride and my fears and stepped into a session. 

Hurricane Sandy

A hurricane visit threatened a few times in North Carolina, but one finally found us here in Connecticut. To be honest we were fairly lucky, we didn't get a ton of rain and so we were saved from any flooding. The wind was strong and crazy and after six hours of surviving it's wrath, the power flickered a few times and went out for good for six days. My poor parents picked an exciting or rather boring time to come and visit us. But they got to experience their first hurricane so I guess they'll always have that. I don't think any of us expected their trip to be a camping trip, but that's what they got. No showers, cooking over a tiny camping stove and reading by flashlight and lantern. The storm also had poor timing as far as effectively trapping us in right after my uncle passed away. We made flights out soon after we heard, but they were subsequently cancelled. Russ was a saint and watched all the children, plus worked from home, when my parents and I finally flew out four days after the storm hit. We weren't sure we were going to get off the tarmac, after sitting on it for two hours, but I think all of us practically melted in relief when we left the hurricane mess behind us.

The morning after the storm we were greeted with a couple of small trees that fell over in our yard and two huge trees, that fell in just the right way, a couple of houses down the street. I was amazed how so many people were so blessed that trees and debris fell in just the right way.

Last Saturday Russ let me be the one to go and help with some apartments that had flooded in South Norwalk. It was a Stake service project with the new Mormon Helping Hands campaign. I loved being able to get out and do some good work that seemed to be appreciated and was very much needed.

Tree Blocking Our Street

Downed Power Line

Tree Slingshot

Another Look at the Tree Blocking Our Street

Top of the Power Lines Hammocking in Other Power Lines

Additional Huge Pine Across the Street from the one in Earlier Pictures

Kim Taylor Stewart

My uncle passed away two weeks ago. He was so young and he was such a big part of my life. I've never had someone pass away unexpectedly, especially not someone whom I considered a second father. Growing up my family and his family would see each other at least four times a year, even though they lived in Washington and we lived in Utah. We would meet each other at a beach house in Capistrano and invade Disneyland, the beach, San Diego and Magic Mountain every year, in the spring. He was always there at Christmas and Independence Day. So many of our vacations were coupled with his. He let me come and spend weeks at his home in the summer. We camped together and hiked up Timpanogos and across Southern Utah. My Dad and he would talk every Sunday night and I always looked forward to his calls. I loved answering when he called, because I got to sneak in a chance to talk to him and find out when we'd get to see him and his kids next. If I didn't get to talk to him, I would shamelessly listen into their conversation to see when we'd be getting together. Every time he left, I'd ask when he was coming down again. He always laughed and I know he must have been slightly weary with how insistent I was, but it was that important to me.

 I loved being able to talk to him about everything. He is such a wise, careful, intelligent person who thought things out thoroughly and at length. I valued his opinion on everything from school, cameras, traveling and life. He had such a quick, dry wit and loved to tease. He was incredible with kids. I used to love having my uncles play and chase me and he always made me feel so important, special and loved. Watching him play with my kids and knowing how much they loved him, allowed me to go back to my own childhood all over again. Genevieve and Hannah will miss him so much. He was so smart. I swear he knew everything. When we would play Trivial Pursuit I'd always laugh and say, "We just pretend to play and instead we just watch you and Dad play."

He took the most beautiful pictures. I always loved getting his daily picture email that he would send to the family. I was able to put together the slideshow for his memorial and I will be forever grateful for all of the gorgeous pictures he took and all of the wonderful memories that will live on because of those pictures. Even in pictures where he was only behind the camera, the picture said so much about him. He loved his family fiercely and his greatest joy seemed to be when he was with them. He was incredibly loyal and would do anything for his family and forgave over and over again. He was very good with money and extremely humble. He lived in a very modest home which housed a few well-made creature comforts, but the majority of his money was carefully saved and spent on his family. After he passed away, a concerned neighbor asked Matt if he was going to be alright financially and if he'd loose the house he was living in with his dad. Kim had had that house paid off forever ago, but of course he was so quiet and unassuming, no one would know that.

I also learned at his memorial that he was an incredible dentist to the Native American people in the Okanogan area of Washington. Many patients expressed that he was the best dentist they had ever had. His co-workers, friends and patients also spoke of the kind, sweet man he was and how they never heard him say a bad word about anyone.

He helped me pick out my first camcorder, plan my adventure across Europe, introduced me to Costco, Rick Steve's and my forever obsession with all things Costco, the best traveling websites, Cananda and camping, Nakusp, Diana Krall, Dick's and White Elephant. He was such a good cook Everything I ever had that he made tasted divine. Who knew Asparagus could taste so good?  I loved knowing that he read my blog and he would occasionally tell me how much he enjoyed reading it. I hope he can still read it now.

I will miss our good talks, his wheezing laugh, his happy hiking steps, dollar movies, camping under the stars, his quiet little snore, his advice, eating good food together, traveling with the best traveling partner, Costco trips, playing board and card games, cruises, watching him read a book with his narrow reading glasses, listening to my dad and him tell stories of growing up, watching how giddy and happy my dad and he would be when they got together, seeing the roses he'd bring my Nana and watching him be the proudest best dad to his two awesome kids.

I know that everyone always says after a loss how grateful they are to know that life continues on after this one is over and that we can be with our family forever. The reason they all say these things is because they feel it now more than ever. I know that I will see him again. I feel that more strongly than I ever have. And I'm more grateful for that knowledge and for our Savior Jesus Christ, because the pain of losing someone is raw, real and terrible. The separation feels unbearable and long, but because of His sacrifice the loss and pain isn't forever. God is SO good! But man, is this life ever hard.

Freedom to Have a Childhood

When we lived in good old Orem, UT we had a fairly large, fenced in back yard, but I was still so worried to let Gen roam around by herself. I was seeing horrible stories of child abductions and Elizabeth Smart was still fresh in my mind. I seriously remember thinking that it was a good possibility that someone from the street, if they walked to the back yard could see through the chain link fence and possibly or most certainly steal my child. So I would trudge out there and monitor the kids every move. I kept thinking about when I grew up and when my parents grew up and when their parents grew up and I wondered if it really was a different, scarier world than back then. I thought a lot about roaming my yard and neighborhood after school or in the summer. Those roamings changed me. They gave me a sense of independence and plenty of time, space and material to use my imagination. I deeply felt that this was an important part of growing up, as well as in developing a good sense of self and confidence. I wanted this for my kids and I wanted this for myself. I needed a little time to have my own independence. But everything-from TV, to friends, strangers and who knows where else, seemed to be screaming at me that it just wasn't safe. I would be a terrible mom if I wasn't helicoptering around at every moment and my children were at a great risk for being hauled off.

Six months ago I heard a piece on NPR that was done in conjunction with when the first kid was put on a milk carton. The whole piece talked about how that one abduction and the subsequent publicized kidnappings had gone on to misconstrue our sense of safety. They sited several studies and numbers that I can't remember, but the gist of the message was- Most abductions are not random and are by someone in the family or that the family knows and that children today are a lot safer than they were in the past. "Selfish Reasons to Have More Kids" also brings up this point and attempts to convince parents to let their kids roam a little more and talks about the uproar and demonizing that went on when a mom let her 9 year old ride the subway and how ridiculous that was.

But I think the pressure and the guilt-inflicting are frequent and pressing. The first day we were here and unloading, a nice man across the street was conveying how safe it was here and how he constantly monitored who came in and out of our little cul-de-sac. And while this was reassuring and very neighborly, I also wondered why he needed to be so vigilant. Genevieve's bus stops two houses down the road and by law "?" she has to have a visual on me in order to drop Genevieve off. It's annoying to constantly check my watch and freak out if I think I hear the bus. I honestly don't remember my mom waiting at the bus stop. I would just run home. Russ walked home from school by at least second grade.

So despite all the pressures, internal and external, I'm committed to my kids being able to have a real childhood. When I worry about them running over to the neighbors, I'm going to stop and think logically if I really have a reason to be nervous and then check my gut, but I'm not going to guard them at every turn and not allow them some autonomy for the 1 in 1,000,000,000 chance that something bad could happen. And I'm going to try equally hard to not care when I get nasty stares from the other, more "vigilant" parents.

Many Thanks!

Many thanks to all of you who lent your wisdom and especially, one of my best friends, who called me up and helped me sort through everything and find some serenity. I don't know why parenting is so confusing, frustrating and difficult for me. Maybe it's because everything else in my life up to this point was fixable, controllable and winnable and if I just studied or worked hard enough I could master anything. Plus, I thought I'd be so good at being a mom, and while I knew it was going to be hard work, I didn't think or know how hard it would be on me.

I've been reading a couple of parenting books, not to know what to do, but to either make me feel better about how my kids will turn out, or give me permission to parent like I want to. Sometimes I think that's the best way to approach parenting books. If you can't handle rocking your child to sleep every couple of hours and waking up to put your child back to sleep multiple times during the night, then find a book that talks about letting your child cry it out and how it will be life changing for you and your child. In short, find the book the justifies your methods. Because really whether you do attachment parenting or any other method of parenting they all promise that your child will be smart, well-adjusted and happy. The book that I'm reading to help me relax about my parenting, is surprisingly called "Selfish Reasons to Have More Kids". More children is the last thing I need right now, but the main concept that your child's genes play a lot more into how your kids are going to turn out, as opposed to your superior parenting, helps me relax and has got my brain a-churning. So in the next several posts I want to "talk" about some of tid-bits I've been mulling over. Here's to more relaxing and more enjoying.

A Call for Help

I need help. Here is my problem, Stew is a really sweet boy (see the above pic) and he's so much fun when he's constantly and I mean constantly being entertained, but left on his own for even a couple of minutes he begins to whine, then cry, then scream. So I spend most of my day feeling like a crazy woman who can't think straight because I'm trying to empty the dishwasher while my son is screaming. After twelve hours of switching off between feeling guilty, my arms falling off from holding Stew and feeling mentally exhausted, I can't bear the thought of doing it all over again. Genevieve was the same way and so perhaps it's my magnetic personality that my babies just can't tear themselves away from or maybe it's my parenting or maybe I just have high maintenance children. I know all of you out there are better parents than I am, so can you please lend your advice. What do I do? Do I just let Stew cry a lot of times throughout the day? I wonder if I can do that because it tears me apart and I feel horrible if I just let him cry. I barely make it through sleep training. But if I knew other people let their kids cry, then maybe that would help. I really just don't know what to do, but I'm going crazy. I can't get ANYTHING done. If he's awake, I can't do anything and if he's asleep then there is no way I want to do something that will wake him up. Especially because he's been a horrid nap taker and little sleep makes him even more clingy. And as far from getting something done, I don't mean making my house sparkle from top to bottom. I'm talking about wading through the mess to take a shower, or get a few dishes done. If you read, please comment.

Marriage Litmus Test

In seminary and in church there were often lessons about what to look for in a future spouse and while most things were probably on lots of people's list, the options for a complete list were endless. I doubt that there was anyone who just had one test on their list, but Genevieve does.

On driving home from dinner at a friend's house, Genevieve confidently announced that she was going to marry the eight year old son. Matching her complete seriousness I asked her how she had decided that he was the one she wanted to marry. She quickly came back with "He's really good a Lego's mom." Then she added that it was between this boy and another boy back in Utah because he was also quite good at Legos. Stifling the smile in my voice I followed up with "and why would that be important?" "Because moma, I think that when I'm an adult, I'll still like playing Legos and he'll be good at building stuff for me." A good parent maybe would have used this as a good teaching moment as to what's really important in a future spouse, but I was enjoying this moment too much and I didn't wanted it to remain untouched. Besides Legos are important to her right now and it does take some serious skills (ones I still don't have) and time commitment to create masterpieces and hopefully when she gets older, something like family will replace the Legos.

Tick Lesson

I knew a tick looked like this:

I didn't know it looked like this: