News Flash

"Apparently teaching pre-school and going to the dentist are too much for one day", responded a local pregnant lady. She plans on falling lifelessly into bed as soon as she brushes and flosses*.

*Flossing guilt is reported to last two to three weeks following a visit to the dentist.

How to Wash Dirty Unders

Rinse them in the tub. Taking them off the child is optional.



Ivory decided to go to bed without a diaper tonight, showing that she is a big girl. I did NOT think this was a good idea but somehow I was overruled. Tyler thinks she needs to realize for herself that she is not quite ready to go the night without a diaper.

However, I am not sure how much of the situation she grasped being awakened from a dead sleep. Tyler put her standing in the tub and told her that she need to take off her underwear. She gave him a confused look, then sat down anyway. I am pretty sure that she had no idea that she was still wearing them, or that I was taking pictures (notice the sleepy yawn).

Poor duck. She is safely tucked back in bed, with a diaper, and I hope Tyler is done with his experiments.

Day of Rest?

When I was young, Sunday was such a long, boring day since my parents wouldn't let us do anything. Now, I long for a Sunday with nothing to do. Somehow that is not our lot. Tyler is gone every Sunday morning with meetings, and I always leave early for church to ready things for nursery (i.e. pack snacks). Having late church doesn't help because we come back, eat dinner, and then the day is closing. Somehow it doesn't feel very restful.

This morning we were up and running before 7 a.m and didn't stop until after dinner at 5 p.m. By then several children were very cranky, and we really just managed tempers until we could throw a couple in bed. Add to that the fact that I don't get to go to normal lessons, and Tyler has Daisy so he spends half of his lessons in the hallway chasing her; and somehow church is not the same experience as when I was younger. I admit that I miss the days where I blithely went to class and came home with nothing to do but take a nap.

Yet, I feel my testimony of attending church has only grown in the last few years. Because I am denied some of the spiritual experiences and discussions, I know how valuable they are. I help every week in the nursery so other parents can go and fill their spiritual cup, and mine is filled through service. I struggle through Sacrament Meeting hushing children, chasing babies, handing out snacks while catching tid-bits of what is said. However, I feel that is the most important place my family could be.

One definition of rest is: "Peace, freedom from trouble, tranquility." I have plenty of peace knowing that I am doing the right thing. Sunday is not always an easy day to get through, but I feel tranquility knowing I am building a foundation for my children and living the principles I believe. In that case, Sunday is certainly a day of rest. . . if not in the most literal sense.

Gardner Village

I try to get to Gardner Village at least once this time of year. I am crazy about their Halloween stuff, but I am lured by their normal selection of odds and ends as well. This year I went purposely looking for a nativity. They have so many to choose from, so I chose mainly based on price (I want to expand my collection, but some are a tad spendy for me at the moment). I apologize that there isn't a picture here but I refuse to get my Christmas stuff out until after Thanksgiving (current purchases included).

We (Tricia and me) browsed other shops and then we ate dinner out there. It was such a fun night and it certainly put me in the holiday spirit. I am getting really excited to start some new traditions this year and bring back some of the old ones. I encourage each of you to try something new this year with your family. After all, when you look back at Christmases gone by, do you remember the gifts you got or the things you did with your family each year?

I'm going on a date in twenty minutes and this has nothing to do with my post.

Today was a glorious day. The weather was amazing. It was so warm and beautiful outside. I noticed this and quickly kicked everyone out of the house including myself. We walked/biked around the neighborhood and ended up over by the church where the girls could play in the plethora of leaves dropped by the enormous tree in front. I wish I had brought my camera. They played, giggled, piled leaves, jumped inside, and had a fantastic time being kids. Daisy even joined in the action and would lie down on the cement as long as a few leaves were scattered on top (she was hilarious).

But that is not what I sat down to write about today. Instead, I thought I might bring up a grievance of mine. I know this doesn't hold with the spirit of Thanksgiving, but let's get real; we all have pet peeves.

I despise white socks.



Not for me. I actually prefer to wear white socks myself (I know...boring). But for the girls, I will never buy them white socks again. Simply because it is so hard to find all the matches. And that is my least favorite part of laundry. There are always socks missing, and then there are the different sizes that have to be matched. Give me a Tinkerbell sock or a nice stripey one that jumps out and says, "Here I AM!! And my match is right over there!!" And even if you can't find the partner sock, at least they stand out in the mass of miss-match socks that we have accumulated over time.



I think for Christmas, I am going to buy a whole bunch of new unique looking socks and then I am going to toss all the old white ones. Or, we could move to Hawaii and wear flip-flops year round. That does seem the best option . I wonder if I can convince Tyler.

Why Not Everything Becomes a Hand-Me-Down

June came home today and told me,

"I don't need these shoes anymore."

No kidding. I think you have gotten all the use you are going to get out of them (and perhaps a bit more).

She will make a good missionary.

---

The following comes from Raging Stallion, who felt it appropriate to add to the post:

As the only missionary in the family I bear a mantle of missionary history. That means that if there is need for a mission story, I'm it. If there's a need for a missionary experience, I'm it. If there's a need for clarification of missionary-related information, I'm it. Thankfully, I am prepared. Among family I am known as Elder Cazier II. Among some Brazilians, I am known as "O Leão de Sião," (The Lion of Zion).

Without getting too much into that (you who know, know I'll go on for hours—), there's a need for missionary-ness here, which I'm all too happy to provide. The astute reader has already noticed the word "missionary" above in reference to shoes. If you went to a walking mission (not these posh bike missions, or *gasp* a car mission), you know what happens to your shoes. For those of you who don't know, here's what they look like. These are my old friends. They have carried me through dust and mud, tears and blood. They've held me together when the path is hard, and tripped me up when my pride was full. These shoes have been with me through thick and thin—robberies and baptisms alike. They are as much a part of my mission as I am. As my soul was worn out in the service, so too were their soles. These were my best companions. My daughters have some pretty well-worn shoes to fill.

And hey, they still fit. :)

Possibly I am Part Reptile

As many of you know, November is national blog month (or something like that), and many people see if they can post every day. I figure I am off to a good start so why not try it?

It is helpful that November is also the month of thanks giving (meaning giving thanks, not the holiday), so I figure I can throw in some small posts related to what I am thankful for.

And today, since I can't seem to get my pictures in working order, you get a thankful post (or something I love).

As the days shorten and the weather gets colder, it seems my body can not find a good temperature. In the morning I am cold (freezing), but we turn the heat on and my bones start to defrost. Then, I start to get a little too warm, so I turn the heater off for the day knowing that the house will warm up on its own anyway. But then I get cold again. I do have some self-control, so I usually leave the heat off and sure enough, by the afternoon, things warm up and suddenly I am sweating. I can't seem to find a happy medium. I'd like to blame the pregnancy, but I seem to recall that this happens every fall.

I guess the answer is layers, but I dislike dressing and undressing all day. Anyway, this is just a really long way to say that I love sunny patches. You know. . . when the curtain is open and a spot of the room is drenched in sunlight. Moxy usually finds the spots before I do (poor dog being from CA, I think she hates Utah weather even more than I do), but I will walk through a ray of sunlight and I will stop and press my body against the sliding glass door, soaking in all the heat I can. It feels luxurious. Or that feeling when you are chilled and you get into the car which has been sitting in the sun for a few hours and the heat just envelopes you. Mmmmmm. Warmth. Good stuff. Thanks sun for shedding a little light and heat.