Changing aspirations

I'm driving in the car with Eli yesterday, when out of nowhere, and in all seriousness, he says:

"Mommy, I've decided I don't want to be Santa when I grow up (which he announced a few weeks ago).  I want to be a rock star."

"Why do you want to be a rock star?"

"I just want to."

I shake my head and wonder where this kid comes up with this stuff.  But then I realize we do have a habit of turning on loud, get-you-going, ignore-the-task-at-hand music in our house for cleaning up together, and Daddy has been busting out some of his favorite hair bands lately.  You should see those three boys rock out together.  Seriously funny.  Angry head nods, game-face expressions, legs planted in guitar solo stance with one leg thumping to the beat, and of course the hands working the air guitar and/or mic the whole time.  I wish you could see it.  Then again, if Eli sticks to his guns, you will get to see it when he grows up and becomes a ROCK STAR!

Photo vote

HELP!  Costco's canvas enlargements are on sale this month, and I'm hoping to take advantage with some much-needed, updated shots of Millie.  Thanks to Liz and her camera, the orchard down the street, and some sunny sun this afternoon, I have some options.  The only problem = I can't decide which one to enlarge.  If you have a minute, cast a quick vote and help a gal out.  Thanks, y'all.





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To see more of the shots, go here.

Welcome winter weather

With all the cold rain of late, it's nice to remember the sunny seventies we were enjoying only a few weeks ago. Although we happened to hit a rather windy afternoon/evening at Capitola Beach (all the locals were telling us everybody had their swimsuits and surfboards out just the day before), it was still nice to feel the sand between our toes and the ocean air against our cheeks. There's something mesmerizing about the sound of those waves, too, especially after I haven't heard them for quite a few months. We flew kites, threw footballs and frisbees, dug and built in the sand, chased dogs--okay, just Millie on that one, and ate pizza for dinner.

I've said it before about early February being graced with unexpected sunshine, and while I don't know why it happens, I sure do like that it does. Flip flops and t-shirts make their early debut, "popcorn popping" trees bloom full force, the frontyard and backyard get a whole lot more use, and date night moves outdoors for some tennis at the park. It reminds me of what I've been missing the past four months and what I have to look forward to in another two or three.

Where credit is due

After reading that last post about having Stephen around on a Sunday, I realize it sounds like I normally do everything on my own while he's handling his bishopric duties.  Not true.  Not true at all, in fact.  Sure, we miss him in the morning and afternoon when it is just the four of us at home, but the hardest part of Sunday--right before, during, and after church--is survived only because we have so much help from the amazing Liz Boyd. 

She comes down at 8:30 in the morning, utterly exhausted from just having worked twelve hours at the hospital (oftentimes her second or third night shift in a row, mind you) to change poopy diapers, dress squirmy kids, pack up snacks, comb and gel snarly hair, and generally save the day.  Then she sits through sacrament meeting with us, playing, reading, disciplining, and putting up with my hooligan children, when I'm sure she'd rather just put her head down and take a well-earned nap like all the other tired folks in the chapel.  It's not over, either.  She drops off and picks up Millie from nursery so I can take care of the sunbeams in primary, she comes home and puts Millie down for a a nap while I feed the boys lunch, and then for the first time all day gets to think about her own needs and wants.

Let's be honest.  If it weren't for Liz, I would very likely be one of those stories:  "She went inactive after her husband got called into the bishopric.  All very strange. . .  people say she used to come to church regularly, but now that he's so busy and she has those three crazy kids to take care of herself, well, she just can't do it."  There is no way I could survive Sundays without her.  Plain and simple.  Heck, I couldn't survive most days without her.  She is my daily dose of adult sanity, my late afternoon support when I feel ready to throw in the towel with my kids and their attitudes, my sounding board for so many ridiculous things that she patiently puts up with sans complaint, my BF who goes so far above and beyond the call of duty that I get overwhelmed with gratitude just thinking about it. 



With her cousin in D-land

 Her move out here a few years ago, although at the time it was a decision for and about her own life, has blessed my life and my little family more than I ever could have imagined.  I feel like the Lord inspired that decision for both of us.  So here's giving credit where credit is due.  To the kind, generous, patient, funny, smart, hard-working  gal who saves my bacon every Sunday morning and then some.

Why can't every Sunday be stake conference?

I don't think I've ever loved stake conference the way I did this past Sunday.  Awesome talks, you ask?  Actually, yes, one of the Saturday night talks was exactly what I needed to hear at that given moment.  It changed the way I think and pray about something that has been pressing on my mind.  The Sunday speakers, Presidents Eyring and Packer included, did not disappoint, either.

It wasn't only the talks that made me want to repeat stake conference over and over again, however.  It was getting to be with my husband between the hours of 7am and 3pm on a Sunday, almost start to finish.  That hasn't happened in quite some time.  We ate breakfast together, we got the kids ready together, (I wish I could say we drove to church together, but he had to be there a little early so I got to figure out how to get a kid with a cast on his foot into church during pouring rain without getting the cast wet while holding a baby, a gigantic, 2 hours-worth-of-stuff church bag, and a giant umbrella to cover all four of us), we wrestled and entertained the kids at church together, we went home together, we fixed and ate lunch together, we put kids down for naps together, and we relaxed together.  Talk about glorious.

A few shots from later that afternoon when we were all enjoying a little Sabbath downtime:




Pretty typical, Millie with a book and Stephen with a remote

 



The gimp playing some Rummikub with me

 



And then there's Eli... I mean, Annakin, as we were corrected several times that day

 



I took these, the boots that is--not the gloves, off after getting home from church, and he discovered his new favorite costume

 



Maybe Millie's been a brute all along.  Look at this shot I found from a year ago.

  p.s. I promise to start having Stephen take some photos with me in them.  I'm realizing how sadly absent I am from my own blog!

Multi-tasking already

Brute

Millie definitely knows how to be heard.  She can be downright scary, in fact, the way she screeches and squawks to get her point across.  I feel so bad for unsuspecting kids who walk up to her and want to talk or play.  She's yelling, "Hey!" at those kids before they've even reached her, letting them know that she was there first or that they can't take away whatever's in her hands.  I'm afraid that learning to stand up to her older brothers, although important for survival at home, certainly hasn't done much for her social skills. 

This little clip from a month or two ago showcases her range and rasp with one simple word, "Ma."