Pass the Sugar, Sugar. Pass the Honey, Honey. Pass the Pork, Pig.

I knew I was right about cooking pork! For years, Neal, the worried pork consumer, has been peering over my shoulder as I cook pork. Which I find somewhat annoying/humorous, considering that I do 99.9% of the cooking around here and have 99.9% more cooking knowledge than my husband.

He's afraid of pink in the pork, and all the health conditions that could possibly come of under-cooked pork. I think he may have a type of paranoia. Although his knowledge in the kitchen is somewhat limited, he also knows that the meat thermometer states that pork needs to be a scorching-meat-drying 160 degrees Fahrenheit. I've always known that was a load of crap. So, I ignore the thermometer when I cook pork, and just go by gut instinct.

When I was reading the paper the other morning and saw the new FDA guidelines for cooking pork, I put the paper in his face and told him I was right all along, and rubbed my rightness in his face.

Now, I no longer have to be sneaky when I cook pork and he asks me, "is the temperature right?" I no longer have to lie and say, "Yes dear. I checked it (which I never did), and it won't kill us or give us diarrhea."

What a relief to not have to lie anymore!

In other kitchen-related news, my whole family is a bit bugged at me. I threw away R2 the trash can while they were at work/school. I think they are nostalgically sad. Too bad. I was sick of that old trash can always being in the way in the kitchen, and I was sick of always having to clean crap off of it because the kids can't seem to throw away anything without rubbing it all over R2's head first.

My plan was to get a can under the sink. But, the dang disposal and pipes take up lots of space and they don't make skinny enough trash cans for that space. So, for now, I'm doing a Grandma Ginger and using paper grocery sacks.

I miss my grandma and her Harmon's grocery sacks.

Refreshing

I found this cute picture of Kate with her Auntie La circa Christmas 2002? Oh Kate and that deliciously large head of hers. I'm looking forward to that mouth-watering baby smell to come into our house again.

A couple of days ago, Sarah was calling from the school. Apparently, I answered the phone when she was in mid-middle-schooler-girly-yackity-yak-conversation. This is what I heard when I picked up the phone.

"I'm afraid of rapists!. . . . . Mom???" giggle giggle giggle, mixed with some hysterical laughter. It kind of made my afternoon.

Back in February, we had an awesome experience. A friend of ours who was baptized in our old ward, went to the temple. He also took his wife. We were fortunate to be at the sealing with their family. Nothing beats seeing little kids in the temple with diapers and binkis. It was a special moment for everyone who was there. They had a child who had died as a baby, and I got to be proxy for that daughter as she was sealed to her parents and three other siblings. Moments like those make everything seem so clear and focused - what matters, what's good and right, and what I just don't need to worry and fret about. It was so sweet.

I wish those feelings could stay with me always. But I'm glad I have memories of those feelings to remind me of what's important.

A nice man in our ward was just baptized on Saturday. His sweet wife has been a member of our church for just under 2 years, and recently made temple covenants. Again, seeing him be baptized and making those covenants help make everything so clear. It's the new branches being grafted in to the old tree and root, and it strengthens and energizes the old "lifers" in the church. I'm looking forward to when he goes to the temple to further keep those covenants.

There is nothing quite like missionary work. Nothing. It motivates, energizes, strengthens, puts things in perspective, and helps me with my funks. And it's an added bonus to have a good set of Elder's in our ward. They're at our house often and I love their guts. One guy, Elder Ball, is only about 6 weeks fresh. They came to our house on Mother's Day to call their Mom's. Missionaries can only call home twice a year - on Christmas and on Mother's Day. When Elder Ball went upstairs to call home, he said, "I'll probably cry a lot." He made me cry when he came downstairs after talking to his family. He could barely talk, he was so emotional. He's a cutie.

Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment. I get to make my appointment to have an ultrasound in about 2 weeks. People ask if I'm going to find out if the baby is a boy or girl. Heck yeah. I don't want to be in the delivery room when I find out "It's a girl!" and have a little Debbie Downer moment.

Now THERE'S Your Problem!

Perhaps this contributed to my grouchies on Mother's Day. The day before, we shoveled gravel and dirt all day. Literally. I was so tired, I couldn't sleep.
We filled in the sink-hole in our back yard, and put in garden boxes.
Here's to hoping our garden grows.

Sarah is a digger! It's nice to have 3 adult bodies when there's physical labor to be done.

A couple of days ago, Kate and I were at the bank. I hopped out of the van to go to the ATM. When I returned, Kate said, "MOM! You won't believe this! The guy next to us had to roll down his window like this!" And she mimicked the manual window-roller-downers. I had a good laugh. I told her that I remember when the only cars with automatic window roller-downers were the fancy cars.

Pretty funny, considering both of our cars only have cassette tape players. No cd players or mp3 jacks. Good thing for those cassette tapes with the wire that hooks to your phone/mp3 player. They work pretty good!

So, the toilet in our down stairs bathroom has been malfunctioning ever since Kate ejected the scrubbing bubbles non-flushable toilet cleaning head into the bowl, and none of our paws could get to it. That toilet was already dubbed the "Don't poop in that toilet!" because it never did flush well.

Saturday, Neal decided to get the scrubber out. He removed the toilet and went for the clog from the bottom. Not only did he find a scrubbing bubbles non-flushable toilet scrubber, he also found a clam shell. A real clam shell. Like from the beach. It wasn't small, and I'm certain it wasn't from us. It explains why that toilet never did flush well.

It's now a full-service toilet. Which means the entry way could occasionally smell of poo.

Tonight is Keizer Public Works Day. Free hot-dogs at the fire house, and a ready-made family night. Woo Hoo! And, don't forget the handsome fire fighters.

Why I Hate Mother's Day

Back in April, a few moms and I took our kids to The Wooden Shoe Tulip Festival. It's pretty much breath taking.
And I'm the stupid idiot mom who didn't stuff her child's pants into her rain boots. There was a lot of mud.

So, Mother's Day was last Sunday. I must admit, I'm not a fan. It's weird, and it stems from selfishness, and I think it's complicated because I can't quite put my finger on it, but honestly, I usually have a grumpy day on Mother's Day. I think it brings out the worst in me.

My day started with the rush to get ready for church. Which is normal, and I'm pretty good at getting us there on time. But Neal was home that morning, because he had cancelled all the meetings so that everyone could be home taking care of their wives (his words). Except I guess I don't count, because he left enough time for himself to get ready, then dashed off to the church. So, I was a sour bitty by the time I got to sacrament meeting. Seriously, I think I had a cloud following me which was generated by my scowl.

Then, Abby was honestly the naughtiest little thing in church. Screaming in her high-pitched manner, slapping me, and making tons of noise. Top-form brat. I'm good at getting her out and making her sit on my lap in the lobby. Which is what I did as quickly as I could, about 5 times. But then she really let loose, and I had seriously had it. Normally, my perspective is pretty good when she acts up. I smile and tell myself that it doesn't last forever. But on that particular Sunday morning, I felt like it would last forever, and I felt totally incapable of dealing with it.

We found an empty class room, I swatted her butt (yes, I've been known to spank my kids, so judge me), and I stuck her nose in the corner. Then I sat in a chair and cried. She saw me crying and her cry changed from a rage-of-fury type cry to a holy-crap-my-mom-is-crying-and-it's-making-me-SO-SAD cry. It was sad. We hugged and loved each other for a bit. Then, we walked back in the meeting for the millionth time. After that, she was pretty good. Maybe I should cry at her more often.

During Sharing Time in primary, the nursery worker came and got me to take Abby to the bathroom. After our potty attempt, I headed back to take her to nursery. She started crying and yelling "I WANNA GO HOME AND TAKE A NAP!!" as loud as she could (her giant mouth makes her voice louder, I think), and she took off down the hall. She really can run faster than me. She pushed the door open, and headed straight for the parking lot. Which freaks me out, because she can get loose and run into traffic quicker than a squirrel. And I've been having nightmares about her getting hit by a car. So, my pregnant butt was chasing after her down the hall as fast as I could run. And I was yelling, "ABBY! NO! DON'T RUN INTO THE PARKING LOT!!" I zoomed past Neal in the lobby and it freaked him out, seeing Abby running, and me running so fast I almost fell over with my forward momentum. He was mid-conversation with someone when he took off running after us. I think Brother S. almost pooped his pants when Neal went running off.

What a freaking circus.

I really wanted to go home.

You can imagine how the rest of the day went. It didn't matter what Neal and the girls might have had planned for me. I was broken. I cried a few more times, then crashed for 4 hours.

It took me a few days to shake the bitter. But I did.

Then, I got the comment yesterday. A lady in my ward told me how hard it was to sit in sacrament meeting because Abby was so naughty. I'm going to censor some of my thoughts here, but I sure made Neal laugh and cringe with my assessment of the woman. As you can imagine, I was not kind about her as I told Neal what happened.

I seriously almost started to cry. She went on to say, "You know, it's your older kids who tease her, and they should know better. You really need to discipline them." And I was thinking, "Holy crap, you have no idea. Yes, Kate can tease Abby, but it's mainly just Abby being a freaking brat."

So, I pulled a Linda Hansen. Although my brain wanted to pull a Mike Tyson and punch her in the mouth, then bite her ear off. I smiled (because I was trying to hide my trembling lip), and said, "Well Sister _________, I try my very best. Really, I do. I take my kids to church every single week. We're never late. And I know this won't last forever, and some day I'll miss it."

I think I just found a new bench to sit on. Right behind hers.

This is often what I find in my bed. And those are only some of the horses. We have too many.

American Blue Heron Regrets

About that Blue Heron. . . .


So, a couple of days ago, I was sitting in my family room, looking out the sliding glass door, when I noticed a very large bird. I stood up, got closer, and realized that it was a blue heron - landing on the roof top of a house in back of us. Just like Sarah insisted happened late one night. . . and we laughed her to scorn and thought she was imagining things. He disappeared before I was able to whip out my camera.

Sarah felt very vindicated at my sighting.



Buh-Bye, Miss American Car! Most of you start to get really expensive at around 100k miles. Our American-Made car only lasted to 111,000, with many costly repairs starting at around 80,000. Only handy mechanics like your Americana, but we are not handy, nor mechanics. But, we are American. Case in point: we cheered last night when a breaking news alert interrupted our AFV Sabbath tradition and announced that Osama Bin Laden was dead. I even went through a mental inventory in my head of our garage contents to see if we had any old fireworks we could explode. Nope.

Note to self: keep fireworks on hand.

Anyway, through the magic of Craigslist, I listed the car and sold it in about 10-20 minutes, then turned around and bought a Toyota Camry all in an hour! Not just any Camry, but a Camry owned by an 87 year old woman, with low miles and not a scratch on the paint. And, a great deal to boot.

This is what Abby does when no one is looking. She hollowed out a great deal of that loaf of Albertson's french bread. Sneaky little kid.

A couple of days ago, Abby was standing at the edge of my bed, playing with 2 partially clad barbies. They were talking to each other, of course. Usually one asks the other if she wants to go to Target and get some popcorn and a soda. Then, I heard her say something that made me listen very carefully. She was saying, "How are you, honey?" But what I heard was "Hi! Are you horny?"