I came home from an early and quick trip into the city to find a three foot snake in my hallway.

Well, where would you be if you were a snake?  My hallway, or course.  That brown nearly-shag is so irresistible.  I called Dad who said he’d send my oldest brother over.

But after I hung up, something wild welled up inside of me.  I suddenly wanted to get rid of it myself… to conquer!  Fight!  WIN!  Armed with gardening gloves, a toy sword, and an orange kiddie bucket, I did just that.  And the girl snapped a picture for proof.

Thank ya kindly, older brother… but little sister’s got this one covered.
Between my canned goods and snake charming (or pissing off, whatever) skills, I now firmly believe that I could stare Satan dead in the eye on not flinch.
I.

Am.

Spartacuuuuuuuuuuus!

It’s one of my all-time favorite quotes.

When I was a teenager and right about everything (and completely unhappy -total coincidence, I’m sure), I had a very loving bishop tell me that my father would be happier behind a plow than under a car.
“I know,” I sighed, realizing the Tragedy that was My Life. Only as I sighed, I realized that my bishop wasn’t being critical of my dad… in fact, he was actually giving the man a COMPLIMENT.
I didn’t understand. Didn’t the bishop even HEAR his own WORDS? He said my dad would be happy behind a PLOW.
And just like that, I lumped my bishop into my Pile. Pile o’ Adults That Don’t Know Anything About Anything At All. Poor, poor ignorants.

Well, somewhere between 14 and 27 I grew up a very little.
And there’s a part of me that wants to go back in time and whisper in my own adolescent ear, “In 13 years, you’re going to listen primarily to music that was made before 1960. You’re going to spend your time obsessed with antiques stores and black and white movies, and for your 22nd birthday, you’re going to ask for a home canning kit. And you’re going to LOVE it more than the wide-leg jeans you’re wearing right now. Oh, and you should probably buy your Dad a plow for Christmas…”

My Pile o’ Adults is still there. It still has all the same people in it, but I changed the title up a bit. They’re now my Pile o’ Adults That Know Absolutely Everything About Anything -Call Them Daily.

My Dad, who endured many-an-adolescent eye roll from me, taught me very well about labor.
I didn’t realize that when he was teaching me about labor, he was also teaching me how to get every good thing from God. I just thought I had it pretty rough.
Right now, I’m pregnant. I want to keep up my pace. I like to play pretend… Pretend I’m NOT Pregnant. So I do. So I DID this weekend, and then on Sunday I was an absolute waste. A day of rest? How about a day of comatose?
My Stake President once said there was TWO parts to the 4th Commandment: Six days shalt thou LABOR, and on the 7th day… rest.
“Some people forget that we’re supposed to be laboring,” he said.
Thou, O God dost sell unto us all good things at the price of labour.”
I canned. I realized that isn’t saying much, but it always makes me feel SUPER human. A few years ago, I walked into my Grandmother’s house and said, “I just canned 11 quarts of peaches!”
And she was proud. She really was. Then she said, “I remember when I used to can 100.”
“One. Hundred. Quarts?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it.
“Oh yes. We didn’t have a choice then though. We had to can because that’s what we had to eat.”
Suddenly my 11 quarts seemed pretty sad… and Grandma wouldn’t purposefully make me feel that way, but it put everything into perspective for me.
This weekend, I squared off with 10 dozen ears of corn, 2 1/2 quarts of homemade v8 juice, a few pounds of homegrown sliced jalapenos, and a storage tub full of crab apples.
Friday, it was corn.

My kids helped. This corn was not our corn. Someone else grew it, and they didn’t get a chance to spray for bugs. The corn -although DELICIOUS -was riddled with worms. They didn’t bother me a bit. Having grown up raising sweet corn, I knew all about worms in corn. I also knew about choke weed and gnats and farmer’s tans and how to use choke weed to stand up a corn plant that you’ve accidentally chopped down in the middle of early-morning hoeing.
But my KIDS.
They’re too young to know about worms in corn. We sprayed for bugs in our corn and the worms were scarce. The kids love husking corn, so when they saw the 10 dozen ears on the counter… they were pumped.
“We can help!” They cried. After all, I have them convinced that THEY ARE the best corn huskers in the entire world. I think they feel they owe it to corn husking to help out.
And so! They did.
They each started peeling away the layers on one ear of corn and were HORRIFIED at what they found. My daughter was so startled she threw her entire ear into the giant black trash bag I’d hung on the back of a chair.
“MOM! There’s WORMS in THERE! We can’t DO THIS!” She cried out.
My son isn’t one of those boys who loves creepy things. In fact, he HATES them. He handed me his ear of corn with big, pleading eyes.
“I don’t want to do this,” he said.
I changed their tune -not in a sweet way, mind you because I’m pregnant and tired and had approximately 3 gashes in my hands from removing corn kernels.
“Be BRAVE,” I told them, “Be BRAVE and you will feel so great inside knowing that you did something that scared you. If you’re afraid of the worms, learn how to BEAT them.”
And so! They did.
They would husk and beat their ears of corn against the trash bag with a vengeance.
“Get OFF, worm! Get OFF!” They’d jump up and down, worried the worm might actually touch their skin. Each time they “beat” a worm, I would praise them and ask them how they felt.
“GREAT!”
“I DID IT!”
And then, in my daughter’s case, “I FEEL THE SPIRIT THROUGH MY WHOLE BODY!”
Well.
I thought to myself, ‘Oh, how can she feel the spirit in this kitchen? I’m grouchy, sweaty, impatient, and nagging at them.’ And then I realized that when we fear something, we can’t feel the Spirit. When there’s no fear, we can.
She had overcome her fear. She was right. Despite me impatient nagging, she DID feel the Spirit. And it was evident as the night went on. Each ear became a conquest… and she sent me into stitches when she thrust a big ear as far into the sky as she could and sing-songed, “NOOOOOOOOOO WOOOOOORRRRRRMMMMS!!!!!!!”
And you haven’t really heard a sing-song until you’ve heard the girl sing-song.

We didn’t HAVE to do that corn, you know. We could have snuggled together on the couch and watched a movie. I could have sat at my computer and surfed the net while the kids played in the living room.
But:
We teamed up together and conquered fears in the kitchen. Conquering fears is definitely a GOOD THING that comes at the price of labour.

Saturday morning, I pulled out The Champ -my parent’s old juicer. I made homemade v8 juice (because I never have, that’s why):

I used a quart of it to make crockpot beef stew yesterday and it turned out amazing!
After the v8 was made, I washed the juicer and started on the apples. My kids love The Champ. It makes them feel like champs to juice things… plus they get a big kick out of watching the “poop” come out the end.
Pulp? Poop? What’s the difference?
We made juice (sweetened) and jelly (with and without pectin) and cider (our favorite. I made up a recipe).

Somewhere in there, I candied some jalapenos and was depressed YET AGAIN that no matter how many jalapenos I grow and slice I only ever get 4 pints of that candied goodness and 4 pints is not near enough.
Friday night, I completely cleaned my kitchen. I gave it the works. There was NO SIGN of cornage (ha) anywhere in sight. Saturday night, I sort of kind of cleaned my kitchen. I cleaned it enough to work in on Sunday.
But by the end of Saturday night, I was a complete zombie. My kids quickly fell fast asleep, and even though we were all worn out… it was the most fulfilling weekend we’d had in a long time!
There’s so many things to be learned from something as “mundane” as canning and preserving and freezing.
Not the least of which is that worms always pick at the sweetest corn.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to whip that baby out when my daughter comes home from school, crying over some silly bully teasing her because her backpack isn’t cool (which is totally is, but anyway).
Today I’m off to the dentist to get a nasty cavity fixed.
I love my dentist, but I hate dentistry work in general. So pray for me.
I’d rather be canning.

Yesterday, I tried to do something nice. And I came away having had something nice done for me.
I’m starting to get suspicious because the SAME thing happened a few weeks ago. And a few weeks before that. AND a few weeks before that.
I once took a plate of brownies to a pregnant woman. They weren’t just any brownies. They were MINT brownies. FANCY MINT brownies. She was at the end of her pregnancy, and she wasn’t feeling well at all. Surely, the brownies would help! I knocked on the door, handed her the plate, she thanked me and then said, “The doctor said I can’t eat food like this until the baby comes, but my husband will love them. Have you had lunch?”
I told her I was fine. I’d be going home soon. And all the while I talked, she nodded, led me into the kitchen…
Then SHE fed ME, though I did protest.

I’m starting to wonder if I’m cut out for being nice.
I’m starting to wonder if this town is just too fattly full of nice people, or something.
I’m also starting to wonder if trying to do nice things is a skill beyond my reach.

It reminds me of the “Friends” episode where Joey and Phoebe argue about how there’s no such thing as a good deed.
I can’t embed this video, but please WATCH THIS edited clip from the entire episode.
You’ll see what I mean. You can’t WIN in this world, folks. Not with all the bee stings in the park.

via

On Sunday evening when I was out at Granny’s along with a bunch of my relatives, my pretty Aunt Krista asked me if I was getting uncomfortable.
I told her no, I wasn’t. I was actually okay. Not too big.
It was like my belly heard, or something.
“She’s comfortable?! Well, I’m obviously not doing my job!” The past few nights have been riddled with my waking up because my back hurt so bad I couldn’t sleep through it anymore. I took my regular walk this morning -the one I usually take when I’m not pregnant, and by the end of it I was HUFFING and PUFFING.  My poor neighbor down the road couldn’t understand me when I walked by and asked if maybe he’d like some cherry tomatoes.  When he finally made out what I was trying to say, he said, “You just walked quite a while, didn’t you?  Well, thank the Lord you feel well enough.”

Yes, yes.  But also: no?  Because I didn’t feel well about it at all. Ha!
And so, Home Stretch, you officially have me in your clutches. I still have 15 weeks left, but that just doesn’t seem like long at all, does it?
FYI: 15 weeks until my life changes also happens to mean 15 weeks until Christmas. Not to panic you, or anything.

Speaking of panic, I watched an innocent video yesterday that detailed relaxation techniques that can be used during labor, and THEN I was blindsided by the end of video showing a woman giving birth.
The camera… was BEHIND the doctor.
Did you know that women throughout the world are… DOING that?!?! I mean, I just about fainted watching a human HEAD come out of a woman… but then the REST of the body came out! It was horrifying! HORRIFYING! I wanted to look away, but I. just. couldn’t!

And on that note, I want out.

PS: I later found a picture online of a pregnant 5 year old Peruvian. It made me cry. I need to break up with the Internet.

Because yesterday was our actual anniversary DAY, we thought it would be fun to send the kids to bed early and stay up to watch a movie together.
We’re hard core, I know.
My husband picked the movie. I protested. He assured me it would be fine.

“It looks like a good movie,” he said.
“It looks like she dies,” I argued.

via imdb.com

And of course she does. Pregnancy aside, there’s a writer in me that gets so attached to characters. I made a rule three years ago after watching PS: I Love You.
I would NEVER watch a movie where a movie centers around the death of a character.
I thought I was being generous by breaking that rule last night… I thought I was being kind and caring and thoughtful of my husband’s feelings.
NEVER AGAIN will I break My Movie Rule. NEVER!
I’m still devastated over the whole thing, and I’m walking around my house this morning feeling like one of my close friends died of colon cancer last night around 11:30 pm.
I had to leave while the movie was playing because I literally couldn’t breath properly. I had to run to the bathroom and clear my head of a variety of mucus (muci?) and begged my husband NOT to pause it while I was gone.
“This needs to get over with,” I said.
A Walk to Remember.
PS: I Love You.
A Little Bit of Heaven.

You’re ALL blacklisted.
Does anyone out there have a list of any more movies I ought to blacklist on account of death? I really don’t mind Little Women because the movie doesn’t center around Beth dying.

I don’t think it’s wrong to want to spend your “relax time” watching something that lifts rather than depresses or scares or haunts or confuses.
I just want to laugh and smile and clap and get flutters. And if I’m going to cry, it’s going to be because Meg Ryan gets me every time.

Each year I relate the past year of marriage to a movie.

To view the last 7 years, click HERE.
This last year of marriage has, like all the other years before it, been unlike any other. In truth, I’ve told my husband “I love you” probably a million or so times. As a lover of the written word, and words in general, it’s a little unsettling that I can say the same thing time and time again and have it mean something entirely different as the days go by.

Last year, I set a quote from Oklahoma! as our 7 year anniversary quote. It was about toughing out the hard times. Our 7th year was the hardest thus far. Our eighth year was a year of rebuilding, of learning, of leaning more on the Lord on less on each other. After the dust settled, we found ourselves -surprisingly -closer together than we had been when we were LEANING on each other. Ironic, isn’t it?
In the last few months, I’ve been able to rediscover certain characteristics that my husband has -certain things I LOVE about him. Do you know how fiercely loyal he is to me? Have you seen the fight in his eye when someone scarcely HINTS in the vicinity of a criticism about me? Have you been present when someone cuts me off in traffic? Would you care to trade places with the doctor who ignored my completely validated complaints about an infection I was sure I had?

Last week, my husband dreamed that I died. He woke up sick.
“I’ve had dreams where you’ve died before,” he said (it felt like a big hug, I’m tellin’ ya), “But I could actually FEEL it this time. It was awful. I was completely alone.”
I sort of laughed it off, “Oh, my dying wouldn’t be so bad… at least you’d get some peace and silence.”
He didn’t think it was funny.
“I don’t want peace and silence. What would I do without you?” He said, and I couldn’t laugh it off anymore because the emotion in his voice was too… tangible.
He loves me.
He loves what makes me me. He likes how much I talk, he loves my jokes and my laughter and he bursts out laughing when I eek in a swear word when he least expects it. He loves to take me to places that make my eyes light up. He loves how happy I am -how I cry in movies that don’t deserve a hint of tears. He loves taking me by surprise with a dirty remark and seeing the shock factor take effect.
You know what he loved most about our weekend together?
“Hanging out with you,” he said.
After EIGHT years, he still prefers hanging out with me to anyone else in the whole wide world. And why? I would be so sick of myself by now. In truth, I DO get sick of myself at least once a week.
I have a theory: it’s an angel theory. I have some idea that there’s a guardian angel up above that flies down periodically and saves my marriage by way of blinders. She flutters down and places the FATTEST blinders heaven has to offer on my husband’s eyes, and then we go flitting along, side by side, ignorantly happy. Or maybe just happy. Either way, we’re still together.
And there’s no one else I’d rather be blinding than him.
I love what’s inside his body, and if you’ll momentarily take the blinders and put them on your own eyes while I say…
I love his soul.
Not that he isn’t easily the best looking thing I ever did date.

But today as I woke up, I was reminded of a scene in The Philadelphia Story. CK Dexter Haven and Tracy Samantha Lord are ex-spouses. They spend the movie having little tiffs as Tracy prepares to remarry. In the end, she throws off her fiance and is trying to figure out what to do with the wedding party waiting in the chapel… naturally CK proposes. He wants to marry her again. Of course they should be married again -we’ve all known it since the beginning of the movie when she busts his golf club over her knee.
And he “slugs” her.

[Dexter has just proposed]
Tracy Lord: Oh Dexter you’re not doing it just to soften the blow?
C. K. Dexter Haven: No.
Tracy Lord: Nor to save my face?
C. K. Dexter Haven: Oh, it’s a nice little face.
Tracy Lord: Oh Dexter, I’ll be yar now, I promise to be yar.
C. K. Dexter Haven: Be whatever you like, you’re my redhead.

After eight years, we can honestly look each other in the face and say, “Be whatever you like.”
Be whatever you like, darling. And I’ll be whatever I like. And we’ll both like each other best that way.
We might even love each other best.

Let’s not make each other promises to make the other happy.  Let’s not promise to be yar now.  Let’s just be.  And let’s just leave each other to be.  You be whatever you like.  I’ll be whatever I like.

I’m fatter. You’ve got a little less hair.
I’m getting to be a pretty good cook. You’re getting to be a pretty good gardener.
We’re both learning that the more we say “I’m sorry” the easier it is, and the quicker we say it… the better everything is.
Let’s keep laughing, love.
Let’s laugh ourselves into the grave and beyond.
I said it once 8 1/2 years ago, and I’ll say it again, “I think I’m jonesin’ you.”

Getting married on Labor Day weekend was the greatest marital decision we ever made. Well, that and the whole “let’s have a gaggle of kids” thing.
My biggest reason for hiring a housekeeper was so the house would be in smart working order when my brother in law and his new gorgeous wife came to stay overnight and watch our wee ones. My husband whisked me an hour away to The England House, of which I’ve gushed about before. Lots of times before.
We stayed in a different room this time, and it was equally as amazing. My husband is so sweet and understand and indulging when it comes to whisking me away. Sure, we only went an hour from home. But where I’m at now, I can look out my window and see desert, brown, and desert. From my window in The England House I can see pine trees, mountains, and pine trees. It’s like being a world away. Isn’t that one of the greatest things about living in Arizona? There’s forest, desert, palm trees, The Grand Canyon… it’s awesome!
Our room was half part of the original house and half part of an addition. The original balcony was made into a room -so we actually had two rooms all to ourselves.
There’s no TV, so we spent an hour of Friday night sitting in the Balcony Room just visiting.
The Balcony Room (I loved the extra day bed!):

We talked about the last 8 years, our kids, our respective jobs, cracked jokes, and listened.
Our phones didn’t ring. No one knocked on our door. There was no Netflix streaming in the background -it was just us.
Danny took me to eat at The Outback Steakhouse. I’d never been before, and so it was a new experience for me. All I want is seafood, and neither of us actually ordered steak from The Steakhouse… mostly because we have steak at home that we love and steak from steakhouses never seems to satisfy us the way our homegrown steak does.
I ordered crab filling topped tilapia. He ordered chicken.
But the best part of the meal was my husband’s clam chowder. It was like eating Venus -the Roman goddess of Love and Beauty.
My husband took me shopping and bought me a new outfit!
We went to the tiny mall in the city, and we just walked around… wandered in and out of stores, pretended not to hear the people standing at the kiosks wondering if we had enough time to evaluate our current beauty routines. My husband’s legs were sore from a work out he’d done a few days prior, so I found him a comfy chair to sit it.
It was total coincidence that it just happened to be plunked down in the middle of Motherhood Maternity.
“You sit here, poor baby,” I cooed and rubbed his back, “And I guess I’ll just… shop around.”
I honestly didn’t plan on buying anything, but much to my delight I discovered that Motherhood now makes and sells LONG maternity jeans for only $30! I’ve spent years scouring the Internet for long maternity jeans! Old Navy carries some, but they’re barely long enough and the belly band sits right on my bladder. Not only that, but the jeans are constantly slipping down because I have no butt to pick them up.
My poor husband, marrying a long-legged lady with no torso or butt, but man shoulders to beat the band!
I tried their jeans on, and it was all over. For $30, I couldn’t resist! Other long maternity jeans I’d found online were $300! I’m going to be pregnant in the middle of winter, so buying new pants was a no brainer for me.
But then he also bought me the cutest new shirt… and some ginger massage oil for my growing belly. I was completely spoiled!
Clam chowder AND a new outfit? It was like a Pregnant Dream Come True.

Saturday morning, we had breakfast… I was hoping it would be ham, cheese, and apple croissants…

…and it was! Also, I’m pretty sure we ate breakfast with the guy who plays Creed from “The Office.” See the man behind my lover?

After breakfast, we walked around an art fair:

Took a quick stroll downtown to snag a picture of me in front of The Hotel Monte Vista which is the hotel that both frightens and excites me all at once. It’s HAUNTED. It’s REALLY haunted. John Wayne met a bell man ghost there once, and I know it’s true because John Wayne never, ever, ever lies.
I want to stay there someday. Also: I never want to stay there.

We love downtown Flagstaff -we never get bored with it, and if we ever do we can always book a room at The Hotel Monte Vista.

My husband is so nice about my love of Old Things and The Past. He so sweetly books us a room at the historic England House once a year, and I just love soaking up the old furniture, the old bricks… everything! The England House is RIGHT next to downtown (but are enough away that we miss all the noise), and downtown is full of Old Things and The Past as well! It makes me all smiley and giddy and fluttery to read see all the old paintings and bask in the atmosphere of What Once Was.
I love that about my husband. What I love even more than that is that he actually enjoys it. It isn’t a huge sacrifice on his part. We enjoy it together.
On our walk back to The England House, we stopped to look at a Trading Post and saw a huge display of cast off wedding rings.
It was like sad, deep art. Look. Look at this entire display of individual stories of lost hopes, dreams… the rings were once so happy on so many fingers. And then, one day, they weren’t so happy and they ended up in a trading post.

I also snapped a picture of some cuff bracelets. My Dad used to buy me turquoise cuff bracelets when I was a little girl. I loved them.

We walked back to The England House to pack up:

Said, “See ya soon,” to the owners… they’ll never be rid of us… and then we went grocery shopping by ourselves. If you have kids, you know how exciting it actually was to walk inside Sam’s Club with just a cart and another adult.
Weeeee!!!!
It also rained on us. It rains on us every Labor Day weekend, and I LOVE it! It rained on our wedding day, so when I saw drops on my dirty jeep windshield, it made me so stinking happy.

We came home to our lovely kiddos, and after a few hours rest were able to spend a few hours with some cousins we don’t get to see very often.

Sunday morning, we made it church… my son embarrassed me at the podium by bossing me around when I tried to pull him away from the microphone because he was so close it was giving loud obnoxious feedback…
“MOM… STOP IT…”
We left church and went straight to Grandpa Click’s 80th birthday party!

Is it just me, or do those two look alike?
A quick collage:

After his birthday bash, we dropped Danny off at home and the kids and I took off with Grandpa Hansen to play with horses. My Uncle Marlin and Aunt Jennifer (Mom’s brother and his wife) were here visiting and I wanted to see them!
When we were little kids, we couldn’t wait for Uncle Marlin and Aunt Jennifer to come and visit. They always were the most fun. Sometimes they brought floating coins with them. Sometimes they made chocolate pies… and once they even brought “Beauty and The Beast” on VHS, when it FIRST came out.
Blinding fun for kids, they are.

Dad’s horse, Ribbon (? right, mom?) decided Aunt Jennifer needed a back rub. Or maybe the mare just liked Aunt Jennifer’s conditioner.
And forgive me father, for I have posted a picture of your behind:

But I just love how well it illustrates my long legs/man shoulders point. My Uncle Marlin is a little taller than my Dad, but look how much longer Dad’s legs are! I love it!
Now. Dad. I challenge you to find maternity pants that fit you! It’s not an easy ball game.
Oh, and I get my shoulders from my Dad. Or maybe from hoeing corn. Either way, shoulder pads are no friend of mine.
After spending some time getting cozy with the horses (thank you, Smokette, for letting me scratch your neck and pat the dust from your back), we headed out to Woodruff for the tail end of the Smith/Gardner Family reunion.

We ate watermelon fresh from Grandpa Max’s garden and then we indulged in homemade ice cream. A dust storm eventually chased all of us inside where Grandpa Max told me that between all of the children and grandchildren and great grandchildren… there was nearly 100 of us.
That’s a lot of ice cream.
And diapers.

Good job, Granny and Grandpa.
A quick collage:

We came home and just… crashed. Thank GOODNESS for Labor Day! We’re all still rambling around this morning in our PJs. Today we’ll muck up the mess from this weekend, and then we’ll head out for some fishing.

Hope you’re having a great day!

A triumph, Ms. Pierce. I total triumph!

Wednesday night, I made an audible list of things that needed doing on Thursday. Halfway through the list, I sighed.
“I physically can not DO it all,” I said to my husband, “But it needs done. I just need one extra set of hands -another me -just for a couple of hours.”
“So get one,” my husband shrugged, his eyes intently focused on his video game.
“I can’t do that. I would cost $20.”
“We have $20,” he said.
“No, the two of us can just work a little harder…”
“Just take one thing at a time,” my husband said, giving kindly-meant advice. He doesn’t understand that women aren’t blessed with the gift to take one thing at a time. At least, not when they’re mothering two and a half children.

Then I slept on it. I woke up and texted my cousin, and between the hours of eleven and one I DID IT. I finally hired housekeeping help!
It was liberating, to say the least. While I braided hair, made lunches, marked homework, folded laundry, did dishes and bleached counter tops… my living room floor got vacuumed -and not just vacuumed… it was VACUUMED. Trinkets were unearthed. Nails uncovered. Polly Pockets sucked into the machine!
It was glorious.
Just shy of two hours and my bathrooms were sparkling and my floors were all cleaned.

I never thought I’d actually DO it, but indeed I did.

I had four piano lessons yesterday afternoon… they would take two hours of my time.
Well.
Not-a-one student showed, so I felt really silly about hiring help to clean (sorry, cinderDolly!) when apparently I would have had the time to do it myself. But I couldn’t have known that. And I ended up using those two hours cooking.
I would have been too worn out to clean toilets by late afternoon.

Is my house magically transformed into a modern palace? Nope, but at least it’s in order (ish).
And I’m proud of myself for actually doing it.
And I’m thankful for Dolly for being so willing and not minding my hot house (we were both covered in sweat) and the fact that I use mostly homemade cleaning products (vinegar isn’t a cleaner you take to on first use).

I can almost hear the servants singing to me, “Congratulations, Professor Higgins! On your marvelous victory!”
And now I need to go clean my house.

What? Like it really STAYED clean… Anyway, it’s only surface clutter.

“[The house] is really lovely, underneath it all.” ~Gwen Stephani

There’s something about sitting next to the bed of your small children, cracking open a musty-smelling old book, and reading classic poetry to them.
It’s storybookish.
Until…

Mary dies.
I had just finished reading the MOST beautiful lullabye poem, gently turned the page, and started reading the very non-biblical story of Mary and Martha. As I read, I had to catch a cough in my throat.
Maybe the kids wouldn’t understand what I was reading. But maybe they would… and they’d be scared in obedience.
I do confess to using the story of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” to scare my children into honesty, and it worked wonders. I read another beautiful poem about two birds, newly wedded, trying to find a place to build their nest. It was adorable.
And then.

Who knew soap could be so deadly?  I mean: TURTLES FATTENED ON HIS BLOOD!!!

I also read a beautiful poem about Toyland… my daughter’s favorite. And then I read a poem about a little girl named Helen who didn’t wear her galoshes outside in winter and (you guessed it!) died of croup.
Sweet dreams, babies! *yikes*

Progress just sounds so much more awesome when you pronounce it pro-gress. Prawgress just sounds so… uncivilized.
Everyone, raise your tea cups and little finger to pro-gress!

When my alarm went off this morning, I GOT UP. I’ve had my alarm set for the same time every day for the last since-I-can-remember. But for the last few months, I’ve been waking up only long enough to shut it off (snooze button, you say? For weenies, I say). Opening my eyes was seriously difficult, and if I couldn’t open my eyes I wasn’t about to try getting up and walking around.
I’d get out of bed at 8 sometimes. 8:30 sometimes…

The past few days have been ridiculously hard on me. Why is it so hard to control my appetite for sugar? I mean, Little Debbie looks so wholesome on the box! But her food! It’s the most delicious poison on Mother Earth!
Killing me softly with it’s song!

I can say that about her, you know, because we’re such close friends. If we weren’t, she might get offended. But we’re tight. No matter now much sugar I chop out of my diet, there will always be room for her -even if it’s only once a week.

Vixen!

Monday was hard. Tuesday was a little better. Wednesday my alarm went off, and I popped out of bed. I went for a 20 minute walk! I visited with a neighbor, gave her some veggies from our garden and came home with four freshly picked JUICY peaches (you should see my pregnant belly, all covered in peach juice) and a bag of garden-grown red potatoes.
My kitchen runneth over.

On Sunday, I taught sharing time. We talked about Moses delivering the slaves out of Egypt. One 11 year old boy asked (snarkily) from the back of the room, “Why is Egypt all cool when we’re in school and then we get to church and it’s all evil.”
I looked him directly in the eye and seriously said in my best churchy voice, “Pray about it.”
And then I laughed and said, “Because in school you learn about the kings! In church we learn about the slaves! Would Egypt be cool if you were a king? Heck yes! What about if you were a slave? Yeah, not so much…”

We talked about how if the freed slaves (Israelites) did what the Lord asked them to do, he would always take care of them. He sent them manna, telling them to gather only what they needed for one day. If they gathered more, the manna would become worm-infested. Yum.

via susanbailey.org

But the manna that came before the Sabbath was different -it was still manna, but it would not become infested with worms. They could gather enough for two days so as to rest sufficiently (sans wormy manna) on the Sabbath.
They obeyed and followed Him -He took care of them. That promise is still rampantly in place today!

I prayed for help to eat better, and like manna from heaven so has healthy food been plopped on my door step -no foolin’. I’m out of food budget money, but I am not hungry. I have cantaloupe from the neighbor’s garden in my fridge (it is to DIE for -seriously, it could start it’s own religion and have a roaring following). I have peach juice on my shirt. I have potatoes.
The Lord wants us to take care of our bodies, and I’ve had to make silly, stupid sacrifices to follow and obey His instructions. So I didn’t eat a lick of cookie dough while I baked cookies for Show and Tell. So I only ate one cookie. So I didn’t take the frosting can from the cupboard, douse my finger and then lick it all off in one cavity inducing motion.
Dumb stuff. Kid’s stuff.
But guess who noticed? Heavenly Father noticed! He saw my little sacrifices, understood how BIG they actually are to me, and He’s blessed me with all kinds of health-related blessings.

Yesterday I went to my Father in Heaven with a problem, apologizing before I could even get out what the problem was because the problem was so small -so dumb -and sososo STUPID. I poured my heart out. I opened my scriptures, and throughout the rest of the day ending ONLY minutes before I closed my eyes to sleep, I was flooded with answers.
Specific answers.
Answers SO SPECIFIC to what I was dealing with that I was again completely humbled and floored… like, “Even I know in my head how ridiculous this whole ‘problem’ is… but Heavenly Father really doesn’t? There’s a hurricane blasting a multitude of his children in the South. There’s an AIDS epidemic. There’s children out there being starved and beaten. There’s wars. There’s corruption. And you mean to tell me that Heavenly Father can STILL manage to put answers into my lap about things that I WOULDN’T BOTHER MUCH WITH IF IT WERE MY CHILD AND MY OTHER CHILDREN WERE OUT STARVING AND DYING!?”

God is in the details.

I don’t pretend to be perfect. I will never be perfect on this earth. I don’t bother trying to put off that I AM perfect, that I have a perfect marriage or perfect children or a perfect home… I believe strongly that perfectionism is the shallowest plague that’s ever touched American soil.
More importantly: God doesn’t want me to wait to perfect myself before I come to Him. BECAUSE I CAN’T PERFECT MYSELF. Only He can perfect me and save me.

So instead of not bothering him with my stupid issue (because bothering him would mean I wasn’t perfect and couldn’t handle it on my own -for shame!), I bothered Him. And He wasn’t bothered a bit. He showed me two specific articles, a few specific scriptures passages, and even wrapped my day up with a phone call from a friend that began with her simply saying, “I know it’s late and I’m sorry… but are you okay?”
Not to mention the handful of texts I received at random from friends that read something like, “I like you.”

I’m humbled. I’m completely humbled. What a great lesson I’ve been taught.
My little problems really ARE little now.
As little as the brand new baby calf that greeted me on my morning walk.

Thanks to my walk, today has been thought out.
My great-great grandfather, Joseph Christian Hansen, used to sit each morning on what he called a “calculating couch.” His coined phrase was, “A day well thought out is a day half done.”

Well, I don’t have a calculating couch. I have a functional futon. That’s worth something, right? Instead, I calculated while I walked (women always were the multi-taskers), and my day is officially half done.
Here’s to a day of laundry, deep cleaning what I missed on Monday, and chopping up jalapenoes for my yearly stash of candied jalapenoes.
I’m so grateful today. My kitchen AND my heart runneth over.
Let me leave you with just one more Hansen coined phrase:

Say Hi to Grandpa on the left, and then enjoy your Wednesday.
And don’t forget to bother Heavenly Father with your stupid problems. You might just be overwhelmed with how stupid they really aren’t.