Cliff Notes

We were in Tennessee for most of the week, so when I woke this morning I left John a-dreaming and came down to check email. And then I got into a longish conversation on the phone and all of a sudden it was noon. I decided I should really go upstairs to get dressed (not that I plan to do anything on this one delightfully open day of Christmas break, but someone could come to my door and catch me in my slovenlies) so up I went.

And SOMEBODY has made my bed.

I stared at it in mild shock then pulled on my Harvey pajamas and came back down to report on this wondrous turn of events. Aren't you glad I did?

Now if you stop by and catch me in my Harveys, you can't say you weren't warned.

Mom: Do you remember the names of our cousins who are coming?

I found this while lurking on a friend-of-a-friend's blog. So very warped. But also the funniest Bean I've seen.

When I sat down to write this post it wasn't going to be all about cookies. But then it kinda turned out that way.

This morning I thought I'd do the last bit of Christmas prep necessary but the online gift research muddled my brain and depressed me enough that I balked at going out and instead baked 3 dozen peanut butter blossoms for Kate's Young Women cookie exchange tonight. I had made the dough on Monday and flash-frozen the balls so all I had to do today was bake them and push chocolate stars on top. Nice!

Tomorrow I will bake an additional 6 dozen for another cookie exchange. I'm supposed to bring some extras to sample, but I'm thinking my quality control efforts have taken extras out of the equation. I'd have to make another batch. By the way, I highly recommend making your cookie dough ahead of baking day. It eliminates most of the mess and contributes to feelings of smug Martha-like domesticity. Or pure holiday enjoyment. Whichever.

Come to think of it, I can't believe I've never heard of a cookie dough exchange... wouldn't that be fabulous? Imagine having a freezer full of cookie possibilities. Sugar cookies would be so much more fun to decorate if the mixing, rolling, and cutting part was out of the way. How about snickerdoodles pre-formed and coated in cinnamon sugar or thumbprints all ready to bake and fill with jam? Maximum fun and minimal mess. (Any takers?)

Anyway, despite the pre-made cookies, my kitchen was a disaster because Kate decided it was more worth her while to leave early and lug her life possessions (no fewer than three bags hauled back and forth each day of middle school) to the bus stop than to clean up the kitchen and ride in comfort with Mom. I am secretly hoping her bus stop experience was unpleasant -- but only enough for her to rethink the kitchen deal.

By the way, Kate rocked her district cross-country race last night. So I guess I shouldn't begrudge her skipping out on kitchen detail. And then, there is that plate of cookies she's bringing home tonight...

Kate's $60 black dress for Symphonic Band came home today in a plastic bag. Un-hemmed.

Their first concert is in two days.

So many things to be thankful for: 

Do you need family photos? MadMarie Photography is fabulous!

We had a really fun family photo shoot at the Arboretum yesterday and Madi just posted a few of our photos here on her blog. BTW, Madison will be in town until December 1st and has a few photography dates left.

I'd call her...

I couldn't sleep -- happens sometimes -- so came downstairs to catch up on some email, surf the Church website, and update my blog. Only now there's a rumbly in my tumbly and I don't feel good.

Not cool.

Best Date Night Ever

But what I really wanted to write about was the Best Date Night Ever, which was on Friday. We cruised down to Dallas to schmooze with Humanities types from BYU and hear about the Dead Sea Scrolls from Dr. Don Parry. Because he's seen them, touched them, studied them.

Cool.

The event was at the Kimballs' home. We were in the same ward way back when we lived in Dallas and I remember their oldest sons (one now on a mission) as little boys in Primary.

As we walked up to their door, I spied a familiar face through the window. It was the Dean of the College of Humanities, Dr. John Rosenburg, otherwise known as my bishop when John and I were engaged.

Blast from-the-past within a blast-from-the-past? Cool.

Trunk or Treat: Flo, '80s Girl, Leopard

I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself  than be crowded on a velvet cushion.  ~Henry David Thoreau

From ghoulies and ghosties And long-leggedy beasties And things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us! ~Scottish Saying

When witches go riding, and black cats are seen, the moon laughs and whispers, ‘tis near Halloween. ~Author Unknown

What do you do when the button that holds down the rear-flap-pocket on your pants gets caught on something and rips off? You take an extra button on hand (available because you decided against rolling up the cuffs and removed the extraneous side button to camouflage said pants' original design) and sew that sucker back on.

What do you do when it happens a second time? Nothing.

Buttons are overrated.

"Fair Day"  2010

I got tired of seeing the creepy spider.
And the boring box at the top of the screen.
It seemed a bit sterile.
But I liked the swirlies --
if I could manipulate the colors it would be so lovely.
But they only came in orange.
Whatever...
I should be good through Thanksgiving.

Not part of my seasonal decor, however appropriate.
Ewww.

Pumpkin Village, Dallas Arboretum

We've lived here for about 14 years, and after years of moaning I guess I've resigned myself to the normal-for-Texas range of heat and humidity that effectively mocks my favorite season of the year.

September was predictably warm. But this month has been a pleasant surprise, a tender mercy, an unusual bounty of weather fabulosity. Day after day of blessedly gorgeous autumn weather. We're talking brisk mornings, warm afternoons, and deliciously cool evenings. (Think of early September anywhere else, minus the fall color.)

I am loving it.

In celebration of this gloriously perfect weather, and to kick off  my last carbo-centric weekend for a while, I am making Apple Apple Bread Pudding (Dorie Greenspan's Baking, p. 408) for Craft Day at the church. Drop by and try some...

Book Fair is my favorite PTA gig. Our grade school does "buy 3, get 1 free" for volunteers and I am happy to oblige. Today, along with selections meant to entice Anna (unfortunately, she rejected Charlie & the Chocolate Factory out of hand) I came home with this charming book. Wanna know what it's about?

I just realized my parent homework was due tomorrow (October 1st !?!) and sat down to write about my scholar "In A Million Words or Less." Then I read it and realized how impressive my girl is. Sad that I needed a reminder.

Lately it's been all about the messy room, the attitude, and I-asked-you-four-times-already-that's why-I'm-yelling. But there's so much more that is good:

Do you get big answers to prayer?
Like a neon sign that drops down to point the way?
Me neither.

Elder Bednar beautifully explains why not here.

Last year the middle school bent over backward orienting the new 6th graders (and parents) to the new school, schedules, etc. We had no problems. The sixth year of back-to-school at the elementary school was easy.

This year?  Not so much.

Last week it was my turn to provide "Sweet Rewards" for Relief Society. Our presidency hatched this idea to encourage the sisters to report their community service hours, as requested by our stake leaders. So off I skipped to church on Sunday with a basket full of goodies.

Each beribboned cello bag held six cookies. They looked good. (Presentation is everything!) I had made up a few bags of toffee meringues for my gluten-free friends but the bulk of the basket was chocolate chip. That's the cookie my first counselor had brought the previous week so I repeated it for continuity.

Chocolate chip is not my fave.

I just don't find much to be charmed by the average recipe, unless it's been doctored up quite a bit. Nuts or oatmeal at the very least. The more the better. A few months ago I stumbled across an amazing chocolate chip pecan coconut version at Flour Girls and Dough Boys. Yummy. Unfortunately, that bakery is in American Fork, Utah and I am not.

My college roommate Erika was a master (doctor?!) of messing with the cookie -- she never used a recipe, just tossed in whatever sounded good. And they were good. Now Erika has joined the ranks of my gluten-free friends, but she's passed the cookie making torch to her daughter. Unfortunately for me, they're both in Utah with all those yummy bakeries. Fair? I think not.

So last Saturday I set out to make a mess of cookies. Maybe it was because I knew I'd also be making toffee meringues from scratch, or perhaps is was my innate lack of enthusiasm for chocolate chip cookies, but the first thing I pulled out was a tub-o-dough from Costco. It was a first.

I dumped the contents into the kitchenaid, added pecans, coconut and oatmeal (and some Penzey's vanilla for good measure) and mixed until it looked good. Then I used an ice-cream-style scoop to place perfectly portioned rounds onto parchment-lined cookie sheets and into the oven they went. By the way, the scoop is the key to achieving uniform cookies. People notice. (Presentation is everything!)

So this morning when Sister Clark (Aloha!) called to ask for the "recipe" I laughed. And then I shared it with her. Here's the printable version:

Cliff's Gourmet Cookies
1 tub of dough from Costco
chopped pecans, to taste
coconut, to taste
oatmeal, mashed between clean hands, to taste
Penzey's vanilla, to taste

Mix. Drop by rounded scoop onto parchment lined sheets. Bake. Cool. Enjoy.

I got another one. But again, I cannot complain...


Last night was Kate's first Stake Softball Tournament experience, and the first time we went as a family to cheer her on.

Of course it wasn't MY first stake softball tournament. No, after years of serving in Young Women I am well versed in this super fun stake tradition and have become accustomed to cheering loud and long for our ward's batters -- with an emphasis on the loud. Because it's just more fun that way.

John joined me in cheering/heckling. My reassuring "don't worry, not your fault" called out to less-successful batters was echoed by his slightly more aggressive "you don't need to swing at the bad pitches" jab, which did not go unnoticed by the pitchers. (Of course, true to form, I was the one who caught grief for the comment.)

Kate bore it all extremely well.

While we cheered on Kate and the team, Anna roamed around socializing and helping herself to free snowcones. And once the sun went down and the heat index dipped into the 90s it became downright tolerable out there at the ball field.

I think it was around sunset, as our ward was playing our ward (double the fun, since I only heckle my own) that Brother Jolivette said I reminded him of Sandra Bullock.

Must have been the heat...

This has always been my favorite food.
John makes it best. Here is his recipe:

Basic Ingredients:
1 medium onion
1 lb hamburger
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 large can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
1 8 oz can tomato sauce
salt & pepper
basil (fresh is best)
1 box lasagna noodles -- ubiquitous Barilla
1 lb shredded mozzarella cheese
grated fresh parmesan cheese

Besciamella ingredients:
4 Tbsp - flour
6 Tbsp - butter
3 cups 1% milk (hot)
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

Ragu Instructions
Dice/chop medium onion.
Saute in olive oil until transparent on medium heat.
Brown ground beef -- add salt & pepper to taste. Drain off excess fat.
Add crushed tomatoes and tomato sauce.
Add basil to taste. Simmer for 30-45 mins.

Besciamella Instructions
(do this while your sauce is simmering)
Melt 6 tablespoons butter. Add flour slowly and whisk.
Continue to cook until golden. Add milk -- 1 cup at a time, whisking constantly.
Add nutmeg. Whisk constantly until mixture thickens, but do not allow to boil.

Lasagna Noodles
(cook these while sauce/besciamella are cooking):
Cook box of lasagna noodles according to instructions. Don't overcook.
Drain. Rinse with cold water until cooled, so you can handle them.
You will use 9 - 12 noodles depending on whether you do a 3-layer or 4-layer lasagna.

Assembly
Place meat sauce on the bottom of your pan.
Add three lasagna noodles.
Add meat sauce on top of the noodles.
Add besciamella sauce (about 1/2 - 3/4 cup).
-Repeat for each layer-
Add mozzarella to top layer, top with parmesan.
Bake for 45 minutes at 350 degrees F., covered with foil the first 30 mins.

Delicious.

Remember how I remind some people of the Progressive Girl?

On Saturday I heard another one: CNBC's Erin Burnett.


I didn't know who she was, but when I checked it out -- wow, thanks. Younger, thinner, potentially smarter. Good job. Great hair. She's a bit more -ahem-expressive than your average financial news commentator. I'm pretty sure that is what prompted the comparison. And from what I gather the supposed lad mag cover is a fake... so that's a relief.

Because ewww.

There are many women I admire and would like to resemble more closely. None of them are famous.

Last week I had a little health scare that I kept mostly to myself. My kids didn't know, nor many of my friends. One of the first things I did was get my hair done and toes painted. Somehow it felt like if I was falling apart on the inside I shouldn't have to look like it on the outside. The polka dots made me smile for days. I indulged myself by pointing them out to random strangers at the salon and friends at church.

In fact, as I went about my week keeping these things to myself, I indulged a lot. I wondered what people must think of a woman fresh from the salon, with polka-dot toes, leaving her kids to fend for themselves at home while she gets treats. What would I think? It gave me pause.

One bad morning I indulged in too much internet research and was rescued by a good friend who insisted I step away from the computer, get dressed and go to lunch with her. That helped. Another day I was distracted by Relief Society work (have you tried indexing yet?) and helping out a friend. I was grateful to lose myself for a while.

But then came a very bad day involving a small, relatively painless breast biopsy and more emotional upheaval than I anticipated. It was truly awful. As I prepared for my appointment, what came to mind was part of the blessing I received when I was set apart as Relief Society president -- a blessing of health to be able to fulfill my responsibilities. So I paused and considered that.

And although I'd like to say that I immediately felt at peace and went about the day with a quiet reassurance that everything would be all right, I was only calm on the outside. I couldn't stop myself from weighing potential futures. I pushed aside the comfort of those words and continued running mental scenarios in an attempt to prepare for various unknowable outcomes.

By the next day I was closer to accepting whatever the future brought and waited somewhat calmly for the test results. And it turns out I am fine. But what if that were not the case? No amount of polka dots would have comforted me.

In Matthew, the Savior taught, "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows. " (Matt. 10:29-31)

I know this to be true. I have had many personal witnesses of God's love for me and seen my life blessed with tender mercies of the Lord. My favorite verse of scripture, also from the New Testament, is this:

"Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." (John 14:27)

Next time my heart is troubled I hope to more quickly remember to "trust God and believe in Good-Things-to-Come." I wish the same for you.

I bought one of these books in an airport bookstore. Although I quickly rejected the one with the red cover, a brief perusal of the yellow book failed to reveal anything objectionable so I grabbed it and ran for my plane.

I should have known better. And I think that if I'd been less rushed I would have recognized how an ick factor in one practically guarantees corresponding yuck in the others. But I was in a hurry and I wanted something to distract me on the plane and the writing and characterization seemed pretty strong.

And guess what? The writing is strong. The characters are interesting and the plot is compelling. Which is why it's a bestseller.

But there's some disturbing stuff in there. Made me sick. I am not sure what OCD-fueled impulse pushed me to finish the book, but I will not be reading the other two. And I recommend you not read them, too.

Which is a shame, because the author is obviously gifted.


Read any good books lately?

Too sweet and too gooey
Barely made a dent in it
Blecchhh... so not homemade


(For John)

Barely made a dent in the thing.
Too sweet, too gooey.
Not homemade.

Blecchhh.

Yesterday we lived up to expectations doing boring stuff around the house, but today Anna and I were outta the house early. We went to our new dentist, the post office, Home Depot, and the Sears appliance store for vacuum bags. Glamorous stuff, I know.

Just for fun we ran into Cinnabon along the way. It was our first time. (See how I'm exploring new vistas close to home?)

At the dentist I spotted a little round tin on the desk and asked, "Is that what I think it is?"

It was.

So of course I proceeded to gently heckle the man checking us in about my surprise at seeing that in a dental office -- how he knows what that's doing to his gums -- and how I just thought I'd help him start the day off right.

He said it was fine, that he gets it from his wife, the dentist and hygienists all the time. (At this point a co-worker poked her head around the corner to claim heckling credit along with the rest of us.) I smiled to offset the nosy busybody nosiness.

Surely you're not surprised that I would heckle a perfect stranger?

Didn't think so.

Yesterday, because a.) we are trying not to be so boring and b.) we were so intensely boring all weekend, and c.) the only other option was to stay home and clean, we made like the Wilks and declared a Family Fun Day!

John and the girls got a head start while I had presidency meeting. They went to IHOP for breakfast and Sam Moon for purses. The girls did a good job! A rose-colored bag sporting a large matching rosette for one, a denim-sparkly-bow mini for the other. If you have met the two ladies in question I'm sure you can match the girl to the purse.

That afternoon we went to the local fun palace and zoomed around on go-karts for a few hours. John gave the girls some pointers in the batting cages while I looked on, trying not to vomit sports anxiety all over the children. I'm not so athletic -- have you met me? After one round I stepped away from the cage and left the instructing to someone who can actually hit a ball.

Go-karts I can do. Our friends' eight-year-old son was a speed demon in a blue kart, so when they moved on to mini-golf I claimed his kart and zipped around the course, lapping Anna several times. John and Kate rejoined us and after a few more runs we went to test drive a real car and then headed to the Tropical Sno shack behind Kroger.

It was our first time. We tried Tiger's Blood, Root Beer Float, Blue Raspberry, and Bubblegum. Yummy yum yum.

At home I helped the girls play each other in Scrabble and John made pasta. Then the girls watched mindless Disney channel programming while John and I saw Invictus. Loved it.

This morning, after I address the dishes (regular readers will recognize my morning routine -- some day I may switch to evening pots and pan duty) we are heading downtown to a free museum day. The girls are not quite as enthusiastic about this plan, but I LOVE it.

Side note: John, Karissa, and I visited Aunt Carolyn years ago when they still lived in South Carolina and she got us tickets to tour Biltmore Estate. We asked if my cousin was going to come with us, and Aunt Carolyn assured us he was not the least bit interested. "Our kids were raised in amusement parks -- Richard and Cathryn's kids went to museums." This comment delighted John so much he repeats the story to this day.

So we're off to the DMA to uphold a family tradition. With some Indian food thrown in for good measure. And maybe a second shot at the snow shack on the way home. Just for fun.

But let's be clear: I'm pretty sure Wednesday is going to be boring. I can't keep up this pace all summer!

It's not the 4th... and I'm not at Grandma's watching the world's most charming small town parade and enjoying Call family brunch in the cool Evergreen backyard. I did get to enjoy a family dinner last week, though, so I'm slightly appeased.

Anna asked if we would be going to our local parade but when I explained they don't throw gobs of candy like they do at the East Millcreek parade she seemed fine with missing it. I'm not sure if they didn't cancel it anyway because of rain. The rain this week has cooled things down, although today the humidity is up with a vengeance and something that blew in stuffed my head up.

I feel icky. So I sent John with the girls to see that other Avatar movie, since I went with them to Karate Kid yesterday -- it was good. Particularly entertaining to watch Will Smith expressions play across son Jaden's face. This version's a lot harsher than the original so I don't recommend it for younger kids. Anna (8) was disturbed by the fighting.

I have been bumming at home with a book. There has been talk of go-carting later if the weather allows or we may go look at a used car, but I think I'll hold off on the additional excitement until Monday since it is a holiday weekend.

The girls are looking forward to snow cones after the movie. I'm content to hibernate in the A/C. I'm hoping there's a frozen lemonade bar out in the garage.

Big times at the Cliff house!

Ohhhhhhh! Anna wants to see the OTHER Avatar movie -- the one that has a longer subtitle and something to do with four elements.

We can probably do that.

This morning as I heard dishes clanking in the kitchen I called out to inquire which daughter was my favorite? Because whichever child is most helpful is my favorite -- a designation I cheerfully and shamelessly encourage. This morning it was Anna loading the dishwasher. I love Anna. She's my favorite.

After the dish loading, which lasted all of 30 seconds and did not include the sound of pot washing, Anna came in to snuggle on my lap and ask when we were going to see Avatar. It took a bit of the bloom off the kitchen help.

She's been campaigning for days. Although she's rather artless, the dishes first thing in the morning caught me off guard. I told her one of my friends said it might be inappropriate for younger kids and she protested, "It's only her opinion" and slumped off upstairs.

Kate is reading in the family room. She is approaching her twelfth birthday and can sometimes be relied on to wash pots and pans. How does she feel about doing the dishes? An encouraging clank, then silence. Curses! Should never have bought that book at Target yesterday...

Anna's back. "Maybe on Saturday I can see it with Daddy?"

Sigh.

Can hardly believe no one wants to clean pots and pans this morning. Yes, they are from last night. And no, they are not science experiments because I did rinse them.

"Kate! Don't you want to do the dishes so I can blog about what a good helper you are?"

Prolonged moan. Encouraging getting-up-from-the-book sounds. Then nothing. No one is my favorite!!!

Excuse me while I go do dishes.

Four years ago I went to my cousin Ashley's funeral and for the first time really understood the power of the non-spoken word. The interpreter signing for the speakers was amazing. For those of you who are unfamiliar with sign language, it is expression in face and body and the manner in which things are signed -- the physicality of the signing -- that convey the emotion and subtle nuances in meaning that hearing people express using volume and inflection. And just like some people are more dynamic speakers than others, some people sign more eloquently than others.

Beautifully.

Today I will attend the funeral of my cousin Camille, Ashley's younger sister. There will be an interpreter who will sign what words alone cannot express. It is fitting. But can anything capture Cami's vibrant spirit, the memories, the joy and the sorrow? We are all inadequate to the task.

Cami's beautifully written obituary gives a glimpse of my beautiful cousin's life:

"Camille blessed the family of Richard DeYoung and Marilyn Tiller Call with her birth on October 3, 1978. She was born deaf and loved her life as part of the Deaf community. Her life was short but her accomplishments were amazing, she was never just ordinary. ... Camille had a great time growing up in both Riverton and Taylorsville. She had wonderful hearing friends who learned sign language in both neighborhoods. Her life long Deaf friends and their families were always precious to her. Camille graduated from Cottonwood High School with honors in 1996. She was included in Who's Who of America's High School Students all three years. She graduated from Utah State University in 2000. During her college years she served as Miss Deaf Utah. She attended the Miss Deaf America Pageant three times, first as a contestant and later as a chaperone. She next served an LDS mission to Portland, Oregon and loved the Deaf community there. Her work life included teaching at the Missionary Training Center at BYU, mentoring families with deaf children and serving as an ASL instructor for Utah Schools for the Deaf and Blind. She served in Relief Society presidencies and Young Women's presidency for LDS Deaf Wards. Her crowning achievements; however, were her marriage to Samuel Garcia, Jr. in the Salt Lake Temple December 28, 2002, and giving life to two special sons, AJ (Alberto Jordan) Garcia (4) and Ashton Samuel Garcia (3). She will continue to love and guide them from above."

On this day, at this time, I am especially sorry that I cannot sign.

I only have words.

I've posted before about partisanship (stinks). And my less-than-pleasant experience as a county and state delegate (now jaded). But reading my friend Pmom's blog just now I had a bit of an amen moment. So bear with me as I borrow some of her words:

"I don’t want a tax cut. The American tax burden is at the lowest rate it’s been in years. There are services I want from my government: lower class sizes, better transit, and more people with healthcare, and I am willing to pay for them. What I don’t want to see is an increase in the debt."

"This may be judgmental, but when I hear someone mention “Obamacare,” I wonder if the person has thought through these issues. To me, the term “Obamacare” suggests the worst of talk radio, punditry, hype, politics for politics sake, perhaps even hatred."

(Talk radio -- meh! Bunch of haters.)

"Although I consider myself conservative, I don’t want my representative to be the conservative voice on every issue every time. Conservative is not a synonym for right or good. I want my representative to make the best possible decision every time. I want her to be a voice for what is right, for what is good, for the powerful and for the powerless. If these decisions and opportunities coincide with conservatism, then great. If something else, then great. The label isn’t important, the thinking is."

(What she said.)

You can read the whole post here.

I bought a mutlti-pack of "fruit bars" from Costco last week and didn't get around to sampling until yesterday -- last one, last flavor. It was unbelievably good. Frozen lemonade deliciousness.

I think I'm ruined for other popsicles.

Thanks for your comments... and non-comment, Adam! Didn't know you were a lurker. At least not here.

Helen! How fun to hear you read my blog. I could write a post dedicated to my brief experience with your hub. But that might be weird. On the other hand, why stop now? Cliff Notes version: Stalker in JSB. Front-row Joe at Varsity theater, where hyper movie guy's candy toss ends up beaning me in the forehead with a Jolly Rancher. Nicest nicest guy will make an excellent husband for someone. Years pass and my sister's amazing friend is engaged to this great guy whose name sounds familiar. The next summer my girls and I go with sis to Ryan and Helen's new home for dinner. It is yummy.

I love that story.

Anyone else out there?

Pmom, I actually already blogged about the flourless chocolate cake here but it was Thanksgiving season, so you probably didn't rush right into the kitchen to make it. But you should. Because it's easy. And yummy. And gluten free.

Melanie, get Aleah or David to make it for you... it will become an invaluable tool in their dating arsenal. And beyond. John Cliff won over my roommate with his homemade lasagna and makes me fall in love again a bit whenever he makes it for me.

The cake is easier than lasagna but just as good. Having both at the same sitting could be dangerous to my health. But great for my psyche. Hmmmm...

So maybe my random thoughts are too random for comment, but I've been wondering exactly who is reading this blog-o-mine? I attempted to use Google analytics to track it, but apparently installed the code incorrectly because I got nothing.

I'm gonna do it the old fashioned way -- begging! Just comment below and I'll enter your name into a drawing. Winner gets a personalized shout-out from yours truly right here on this blog. Be the first kid on your block to comment.

It's a low-tech approach. But I hope it works.

I'l be your friend...

John and I both served missions to Italy. And yes, we were there at the same time. Just never in the same place. Well, technically we were in the same place twice, but only briefly. We each remember separate meetings and have absolutely no recollection of the other. Weird.

I started my mission in Milan. For the first two months I shared an apartment with five other sister missionaries, including my friend from the MTC, Miriam Horne. Then she was transferred to Torino and I eventually left Milano for Genova. A few months later she was transferred to Genova and we became companions. As we compared notes about our experiences, two recurring players in her funniest stories were Anziani (Elders) Cliff and Fuller, with whom she'd served in Torino. Who were these guys?

Sometime after Christmas I was transferred to Torino, but by that time Cliff and Fuller had been transferred elsewhere and I was not to meet the intriguing duo whose exploits had so amused one of my favorite companions. So it was with some surprise when, during a P-day excursion to the Shroud of Turin church, I turned to see an unfamiliar elder with a nametag that identified him as Anziano Cliff.

The encounter I remember, lasting perhaps 5 seconds, went something like this:

What are you doing here?

Questura.

Oh...


Ta dah!!! Sorry to disappoint you, folks, but that's all there was.

This afternoon Anna's teacher sends homework for the parents. Her class is working on an autobiography project that requires us to provide all the usual stats. I fill in date, time, place, etc., working from memory and fudging the parts I am not sure of. The most egregious response, for time of birth, is "dinnertime." I'm completely unrepentant.

After the basics are covered, feeling as though I've contributed enough, I pass the survey over to John so he can share an anecdote about the day Anna was born. He starts with, "Your mom looked at the calendar several months before you were born and decided May 1st looked like a good day to have a baby."

AWESOME.

But no way. I remember my mantra "38 weeks" worked. But fixing an exact date? C'mon, John...

He insists. Says my friend Amanda will remember. Amazingly, I get her on the first try and she vigorously corroborates the story. She says when she found out she was expecting her third, I encouraged her to pick a date and give it a try. How obnoxious. No wonder I've blotted it out of my mind.

But now that I think about it, I remember my sister Kristin telling me how she shared my plan with her visiting teachers, who laughed, "you can't just pick when you have your baby!" and how she said something like, "If anyone can do it, Sharon can." Which, apparently, I did. And then forgot about it.

How could I forget such a triumph? I remember the name of my kindergarten room mom (Mrs. Case) the first several lines of the "Wham Rap" (be afraid) and the tune of the theme from the Rockford Files... but not this?!

What a waste.

Remember the insomnia-fueled list of things I wanted done before our recent guests came for Anna's baptism weekend? And the follow-up list that mentioned closets and cleaning? Yeah, I didn't get it all done. In fact, I only finished the cleaning because one of my friends, who wishes to remain monogamous, showed up to help me out the day everyone arrived.

I was just stocking the guests' rooms with chocolate as my parents pulled up around 5:30pm. The girls got the door and I greeted them in tardy, sweaty glory, served dinner from the crockpot wisely set earlier in the day, cleaned up the kitchen and excused myself to shower before John 's parents arrived. For them, I was clean. And in pajamas.

Impressed yet?

The wingback chair still sits in the playroom, awaiting in tattered expectation its fresh new green upholstery. (The wicker dresser was sold in a garage sale.)

My closet purge, scheduled weeks ago, got put off until today. It took me four hours to pull dry cleaning plastic and weed out hangers from John's side, sort his wardrobe and mine. I removed winter items and replaced them with summer items, segregating piles for CCA and my friend Karen.

An entire section on the left holds the clothes I can neither fit nor bear to give away. Maybe seeing all the cute things I could be wearing will help me get back into them? Way back out of view are two dresses from another lifetime -- hot pink linen from our engagement party and lapis blue from our wedding day. A girl can dream...

My friend Amanda pointed out I can do stuff like clean out my closet for four hours because I don't have a two-year-old. True. So if you are a stay-at-home-mom whose kids still stay at home with you, give yourself a break. And remember that I welcomed my in-laws to our home in pjs.

Did I mention that the closet got done because my sis Karen is coming this week? Think how amazing this place would be with more regular visits.

That's what I think Steve Yocum's business cards should read. But for some reason, that's not the way he went.


Some of the work he's done around here:

Removed and replaced the trim on two sides of the garage doors and beneath the kitchen bay window. This was John's favorite project. I think because the rotten wood out front was visible to passers by. Didn't get a photo of it (boring) but stop by and we can play "which side is the original?" Another little repair involving the whacked-by-friends'-kid-seven-years-ago stairway spindle was John's second favorite.

Laundry room overhaul. This involved manufacturing a double door to fit in the space where the dysfunctional laundry room door used to be -- the one that opened into the room, so you had to shimmy around it to go out the garage door, which it hit if you didn't catch in time -- and finding an acceptable way to install handles never meant for that purpose. I'd say he MacGyver-ed it, but that implies a lack of finesse. See how pretty?


Next, he hung a closet rod for drying clothes in the random air space next to the cabinet above the washer and dryer and installed wood rails with coat and backpack hooks. Fabulous! Functional! This was my favorite project.





The Big One: ripping out the hurts-my-eyes-in-more-ways-than-one flourescent lighting box above the kitchen island and replacing it with can lights.


The Twister board on the ceiling was to help me visualize where I wanted the lights to go. I rearranged them several times. Fantastic Handyman Steve did not get annoyed. Ugly old lights came out, stuff got wired, gaping hole was filled in, new holes were added, then mudding and texturing and retexturing and painting until the ceiling looks like it's always been that way.

LOVE the new look, but not gonna lie: even with ET plastic sheeting dust kept settling for days.




So worth it.



Now check out this beauty. This is where John was rocked as a baby. And where I rocked my babies, if only symbolically (antique = beautiful and small).

The left arm had split and broken off. Several of the spindles beneath the arm had broken off, and the whole thing was creaky and coming apart. Steve carefully dismantled the arms, built up the spindle ends, drilled out holes for the newly improved spindles, repaired the arm (not sure exactly how, but it involved about 11 clamps of various shapes and sizes) and put it all together again. All the kings horses and men couldn't have done a better job.

He also fixed the garden gate (boring, no picture) put up the garage organizer system (come see it) and fixed two of my kitchen desk drawers held together with duct tape. He is coming back this week to replace worn and stripped doornobs with functional new levers.

So my projects are just about done and this is my report. If you've got projects around your house, give Steve a call. Just don't call him MacGyver.

Sometime this afternoon or evening my mom and dad will arrive. Sometime this evening John's mom and dad will arrive -- unless they don't come until tomorrow.

I am mostly prepared. I only have to finish the vacuuming, mop the floors, make the guest beds, and clean their bathrooms. Anna has school at 8, Relief Society luncheon is at 11:30, and Costco is my only other stop.

It's 5:38 am. So I'm good.

After I blogged about not sleeping (during the wee hours of this morning) I spent a few hours surfing party sites and figuring out what to do for Anna's birthday: games, food, activities, and parting gifts. At about 5am I heard John hit the shower and figured it was morning, so I went back to bed -- snuggling up to Anna, because my room was now quite cool. Next thing I knew it was 7:44. Thankfully, Anna was ready for school so we hopped in the car and got her there before the late bell.

When I got home I made a list of the things mentioned in my previous post and started knocking out the easy ones: invitations created and delivered. Party favor located and purchased. Hamper for new-and-improved laundry room located and purchased and installed. Lampshade on newly functional lamp. Thermostat programmed. Broken ceramics repaired. Laundry in. Trip to Canton scratched (I have to bring cupcakes to Anna's class that day). Calls made. Flowers watered. Dishes done.

Which leaves me with closets and a whole lot of cleaning. I sent the girls up to sort their things, but I know it's on me. My closet will have to wait 'til tomorrow because I am tired (say that Texas-style, please). There is a new layer of fine dust today. I think I need new filters if I am going to get ahead of it. I vaguely recall having a nightmare about clogged filters spewing renovation dust just before I woke up.

Ugh -- I might have to do that tonight.

Sleep is what I should be doing right now, but cannot. Why?! This bout of insomnia is early, too. Less than three hours into my night and I'm up cycling thoughts round my brain. Maybe if I get them out I can sleep?

This is where the "random thought of Sharon Cliff" comes in. You've been warned:

My room should be cooler. With the windows cracked, the temperature should be lower. I need to actually finish programming the new thermostat so it can start learning how to maintain the temperature I set. (Did you know new thermostats can learn?!) Turned on the fan, pulled window a bit more open. We'll see.

What woke me? I heard Anna get up to use the bathroom, but I think I was already awake. She came in to cuddle. I love that. It should lull me back to sleep. And John's snoring is nice and gentle tonight. I don't think I ate too much or too late. Why can't I sleep?

I want to clean. The kitchen ceiling project wrapped up yesterday (need to blog about it) and the dust should be settled, mostly, by now, and the floors needs another go round and all surfaces everywhere. The blinds need to be vacuumed, every single one. The window tracks, too. The windows need cleaning. I need to get up on the big ladder and dust the very tops of the second story ledges in the family room. And rig up a way to finally get that tip-top window clean (the one with paint smear dating from my big paint with Michele). I need to relieve Kate of vacuum duty this week and see that each room gets properly vacuumed, with crevice tool around the edges and furniture moved. The caulking in the shower needs to be replaced. I think there's a page in my big Home Depot reference book on that. That sounds like fun, doesn't it? I mostly ignore my ugly shower and pretend it isn't there, so maybe the caulking can wait. But I need to work on the sink down in the powder bath, because my usual bleach it routine down there isn't cutting it. And people use that bathroom.

More laundry to do. Then a big purge... big purge. With the cold weather is past, I need to go through the girls' things and set old/outgrown/worn out items for CCA and store usable off-season items somewhere not easily accessible to them so I can stop laundering fleece jammies in April.

My closet needs thinning again and I need to do my own seasonal rotation and organization so I can see the cute things to wear and not what I've been running around in this week. Some of the really cute things I've been hanging on to for the day I get back down a size... or two... will be offered to my friend Karen before they are completely dated. And I need to let go of some old faves that have seen better days.

John's side of the closet needs to be reviewed and organized, since he no longer commutes downstairs in short and polos, and so he can more easily find things to wear each morning at the crack of dawn when he gets dressed. If I do all this correctly there should be less laundry, right? Because right now, I'm washing cold and warm weather clothes and least-favorite items that get worn because the most-favored things are at the bottom of a pile of fleece jammies!

I'd like to find a new laundry hamper. The old one is shot, and it is not pretty enough for the new-and-improved laundry room. Which I need to blog about.

Why is my refrigerator beeping? I noticed it the other day while working in the kitchen. It's a quiet sort of popping beep from the inside. I'll google it. I google everything. Wish I had that google stock.

The guest room closet needs to be cleaned out and the room prepared for whichever set of grandparents will be staying there. I think the crib I can't give away can fit under my king bed, and the pictures can be stored in another location. Do I like the rocker in there? Do I want to move it back downstairs to the family room, and if so, should I rearrange the furniture down there? lt's been awhile. I'd like to try the antique furniture "recipe" on the icebox and scratched kitchen table. The camel saddle bag needs to be taken off and vacummed/beat. Where will I relocate the mola that was in the hall bath? I like the idea of the playroom upstairs -- I've got colorful prints up there already. The smaller mola would actually make a cute pillow. What is going on the new shelf in the bathroom?

What about Anna's birthday?!!! In my focus on preparations for her baptism next weekend, this week's birthday snuck up and now it's four days away with nary an invitation tendered. She insists that this year (following two years of family celebration) she must have a friend party, and it must be on her birthday. We've narrowed down the possibilities to an at-home party for late afternoon into evening on Saturday and now I must negotiate invitation calls with the moms. So proud to be so last-minute. Mother of the year...

Wondering how my friend's husband is doing, post-op. And how she is. And the kids. Wish I were closer. One of my former YW had her tonsils removed last week. Hope she's feeling better. I'm bringing lunch to a friend later today, also recovering from surgery, and wonder if I will pick something up or make sandwiches? Egg salad sounds good.

The fridge just beeped six times. Weird. Don't really want to deal with it. My very brief google search made my brain tired... a couple of suggestions to unplug and re-plug, someone posted something about how they cleaned the circuit board with alcohol and a q-tip. I really don't want to deal with it.

I need to get back to the gym. I hate the gym. It's not so much the gym itself, but I try to avoid mommy time and I hate getting "haven't seen you for a while" commentary from trainers. I would like to get back on the weight machines. I hate cardio.

Where am I going to put the second set of grandparents? I can convert the daybed and trundle in Anna's room and offer the girl's bath and have all four of us use the master. Or do we move out of our room (and closet) and then have all four use the girls' bath with them? That would be nicer for guests, but a lot more complicated with John's early morning work schedule and church meetings. I think we'll have to stay put.

Back yard needs weeding. Front bench cracked -- do I want to make a quick and crazy run to Canton on Friday to replace it? I am afraid it is only a matter of time before someone sits and crashes.

I ordered new lever handles to replace the worn and shiny brass ones on our interior doors. Once they are switched out, will I need to replace shiny fans? I'm not a big fan of they shiny but they still work.

Will I ever find a lampshade I like for the lamp in the front room? I should just bring the lamp with me to check out the one I saw last week at HomeGoods. It would make me feel better about not having the chair done for that room. Wish I'd found the fabric for the wingback chair earlier. Now the reupholsterer is backed up and it will be weeks...

I hate it when a plan with a self-imposed time frame is thwarted. Does it really matter? No. But with so many of the house projects done now, I am antsy to get all these things in order. I really wanted it all done before Anna's baptism. Oh, waaahh.

It should be enough to clean and organize and throw a fabulous birthday party on the fly and try to take care of the things I can control. That's plenty.

The fridge just beeped again.

Does this remind you of anyone?







Yesterday at church I heard that the Parker kids think I'm like her. (Or she's like me?) I told my friend Michele, who said a few people in her house think so, too.

Good thing she's cute.

I've been trying to come up with a delicate way to describe the apparent demise of Rambo squirrel, and I've come to the conclusion that it can't be done. So if you are at all squeamish, just scroll down and read the nice post on bread you'll find below this one.



Two days ago I came home to find a rather large, almost certainly dead squirrel on the road in front of my mailbox. Obviously the victim of a hit-and-run, yet strangely intact. It was not pretty. I hesitantly took stock of the situation. I'm not gonna lie, the part of me that creates horror movie plot-lines in my sleep whispered to me of the potential for a stunned rodent to recover ("he's only mostly dead") and that was more disturbing than reality.

A few quick peeks to desensitize myself and I couldn't help going for a closer look. No movement. Probably dead. So then I'm hauling out the tape measure to document its size. I don't know why. (If you're wondering, the unofficial length from the safety zone was eighteen inches.)

What to do with dead squirrel? I didn't want to leave him out there in the road, and I certainly didn't want to get any closer, but it didn't seem like a job for animal control. So I walked away.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

And some time later Rambo was mysteriously gone. Of course, I can't be certain it was Rambo Squirrel. And who knows where he went? But it stinks of sequel.

This morning the first thing that popped into my head was that I should make bread.

It so happens that I often get impressions right there on the border of sleep and waking -- and in the moment I can't be sure if it is inspiration or random thoughts bubbling up. Either way, why ignore it?

Our stake president has encouraged us to ask in prayer each day what the Lord would have us do that day, listen, and follow through with the impressions that come, however insignificant they may seem.

Henry B. Eyring put it this way:
A morning prayer and an early search in the scriptures to know what we should do for the Lord can set the course of a day. We can know which task, of all those we might choose, matters most to God and therefore to us. I have learned such a prayer is always answered if we ask and ponder with childlike submission, ready to act without delay to perform even the most humble service.

So I am trying to act on impressions I have, including those that come unbidden. Even if I'd rather make cookies. Which is why today I ended up making bread... and cookies.

As I rolled out the bread dough and shaped the loaves, I experienced a distinct feeling of pure satisfaction. It was enough for me to pause and contemplate how much I enjoy baking and working in the kitchen and wonder why don't I do it more? I pondered my relationship with domesticity as I turned the loaves into the pans and set them in the oven to rise.

I washed and dried the Kitchenaid bowl and beater and started on the cookies. I chopped and mixed and stirred and felt good as I spilled flour and pecans and re-dirtied the kitchen counter, a few of the dishes I had just washed, and several more.

The bread came out, the first trays of cookies went in, and I waited.

I waited for an impression -- who needed bread today? But except for the memory that my friend Michele won the bidding on my 100% whole wheat bread at our Relief Society service auction, I got nothing.

Anna's after-school snack was fresh bread. "Mom, you make the best bread in the whole world." Middle-school Kate came into the house purring, "Oooooohhh, did someone make bread for me? It smells so good!"

And I was so glad I had made bread.

And the thought came to me that, perhaps, making bread today was for me.