Yum-O

A couple of days ago Lexee was practically begging for cinnamon rolls.  She was thinking, of course, of those kind that you pop out of the little cardboard can, peel apart, and bake.  Then you sparsely cover them with that white stuff from the tiny little plastic cup (also included in that cardboard can) that melts over the top.  Fast, cheap, and easy.  

I, on the other hand, started craving the homemade bread-y kind, covered with lots of yummy cream cheese/butter/sugar icing.  So yesterday I broke down.  I mixed the bread, rolled the dough, slathered it with butter, cinnamon and sugar, formed the roll, cut it using my nifty thread trick (Mauri and Shilo were impressed, and wanted to try too), placed the rolls in the pans, let them rise, baked them, and made the icing, with which I topped them off hot from the oven.  The house smelled awesome (it's worth it just for that).

My family quickly ate through one pan.  We gave one pan away.  Lex had two of those big cinnamon rolls for breakfast.  We are down to one pan... just right for a great Friday after-school snack.  Especially when it is a last-day-of-seminary Friday (really, I shouldn't be so happy).

I am a messy cook/baker/salad maker.  (I'll admit it... I am only human after all.)  I am a mess in the kitchen no matter what I'm doing (except for maybe cleaning).  And, true to form, I left that mess to clean up today.  I'm halfway done... just took a little blog break.  And that loaf of bread made from the leftover dough?  Ugliest loaf of bread ever.  
I bet it will taste good.

Me and My Brilliant Idea

Again I woke up to snow (can you believe it?), so rather than post some hum-drum "out my front door" pictures (I've done that too many times in the recent past), I thought I would share something much more colorful.  With an explanation attached.

A long time ago, in a home/neighborhood/school district far, far away, Taylor brought home his first art masterpiece from school.  I proudly hung it in a place of distinction for all to enjoy.  Then he brought home another... and another.  As I tried to look into the future, a future that contained a number of children yet unknown, I contemplated the potential amounts of artwork that could possibly come through my door.  Oh my.  Then I had a brilliant idea.  Okay, I may not be able to take full credit because I honestly don't know where the idea came from... a scrapbook buddy?  a neighbor?  a mother with more experience than myself?  could I have possibly come up with this idea all by myself?  most likely not.  Regardless of where the idea came from, it has been the best idea ever for school artwork storage.  

Take pictures. 

The art is preserved, and then you can discreetly dispose of the large, oversized actual renditions once the family has adequately appreciated them for a respectable amount of time.

I have followed this procedure over the years with much success.  I have occasionally been a little backlogged, which is why this lovely creation of Mauri's from 1st grade was preserved in digital history only yesterday.  Here is what the original picture looks like:

(Because I know I will never remember which child made it and how old they were, I write out those tacky little labels that can later be cropped out.)

  

Lexee - 5th grade

Shilo - 4th grade

Mauri - 3rd grade

(In the not-too-distant future I hope to get one of those nifty negative-to-digital converters, then I will be able to access those countless 35mm pictures with our memories - artwork included - from 1988 to 2003.  I can't wait.)

And my not-so-fully random story for today: Last night we had dinner at Panda per Shilo's request. We had attended her final choir concert, so naturally, we needed to celebrate. As we opened our fortune cookies they contained things like, "Luck will soon come your way," and "You will find an unexpected treasure." You know, good stuff like that. Then I opened mine.

"Admit you were wrong. You are only human." WHAT?? Are you kidding me? Is that even a fortune? Mar woke up laughing about it this morning, so I guess it was good for something (other than making me feel like you-know-what).

Post Post:  If you read this post earlier, you may remember that I had labeled the first picture shown as artwork Mauri made in 2nd grade.  As I looked back through my earlier pictures I found that I had already taken a picture of it labeled "First Grade."  Somehow that picture ended up in the 2nd-grade-artwork-pile still needing-to-be-captured, which I did yesterday.  I have consulted with Mauri, and yes, she made it in first grade.  It really IS a good system... subject to mom error.  I'll admit it, I was wrong. Maybe that, "You are only human," will come in handy after all. 

As Pleasant As Possible

Ask anyone in my family and they will tell you that I, personally, am not a fan of Mother's Day.  I love that I can honor my own mother and mother-in-law, but for myself, for some reason, I could do without it.  Honestly, every day should be a day to honor, respect, and appreciate your mother.  With that said, despite a rough start with printer problems (just trying to get a little project together for that nursery class), and a bout of hormonal moodiness (TMI?), the day came together as pleasantly as possible.

Mauri gave me a fabulous foot and hand massage as Lex and Shi helped Bill with dinner.  Just as we were sitting down to enjoy it... the phone rang.  It was so awesome to talk to Taylor, and we managed to chat non-stop as we ate.  We had conferenced Britta in on the call, so it was fun to have the whole family participating in the blessed event.

(I think Mauri snapped this picture of us... speaker phone on, finishing dinner.  It doesn't quite portray the excitement we felt.  It really was a great conversation.  And how about those sunburnt faces from sitting at Lex's track meet the day before??)

Mauri and Lex then had a little "sisters photo session" in the back yard:

I do love being a mom.

On Motherhood

I couldn't resist posting this sweet picture of Taylor taken the day after he was born.  

As I have reflected on being a mother this week (because we are reminded constantly that the all-important one-day-of-the-year-to-honor-your-mother is fast approaching), I have decided that, as simplistic as it sounds, being a mom is just plain hard.  As my first child, Taylor experienced the blunders and mistakes of first-time parents.  But it wasn't like we knew everything by the time Britta came along... or Lexee... or Shilo... or even Mauri (although I was more able to let Mauri cry without stressing as much about it, which was good because that girl was not a very content baby).  Each baby brought new challenges, their own temperaments and personalities, and the need for love and attention.  I can remember my own mom telling me, after a particularly stressful day, that being a mom doesn't get easier.  The challenges just change.  I told her that it HAD to get easier, and that if I could just take a shower by myself without someone banging on the door needing me, or in the bathroom pulling back the curtain, it would be so much easier.  I only needed a few moments to myself each day then I could handle anything.

I now shower without interruption (most days).  Sometimes all of my children are out of the house for at least 6 hours at a time.  I know some women think I'm to the easy part of mothering.  Wrong.  Just the other day I was talking to a friend of mine and she said something to the effect of "Remember when we thought it was so hard to have all our little kids at home all day?  Wouldn't you just love to take those days back?"  So I will say what has been said to me (it's funny how we don't believe good advice when we are in that particular stage of life),  "Enjoy your little ones."  Life gets busier as they get older, the problems get bigger, and solutions more important.  And I'm sure it will continue as I move into the next stage of married-children-and-grandchildren (hopefully still a few years away).  I tell every young mom I know that once your child hits middle school, the time will fly.  

This precious little baby, with his fresh-from-the-womb misshapen head, and his swollen eye from a rough forceps delivery, is now a 6-foot 3-or-4-inch, nearly 21-year-old man (just months away from being the age I was when he was born).  
My, it went fast.  

And I still stress constantly about him.  Is he safe?  Is he well?  Is he happy or discouraged?  How has his week been?  What will he do when he gets home in September?  Will his adjustment from mission to home life be hard?  How can I make that easier?  Where could he find a job?  Where will he go to school?  What will he choose to study?  Will he get married right away?  He's going to need a car.  And a phone.  I need to get his room ready.  What will he want to eat his first night back at home?  Oh, I need to get that package mailed this week.  He needs his prescription refilled.  Is his eczema getting bad?  I'm telling you, I've stressed (and prayed) more about that boy (I can still call him that because, after all, I am his mother) since he's been in Mexico than I have stressed about him before.

And, through observation of my own mother and others, I know it doesn't get easier.  Even when they get married (or not) and leave the nest for good (or not).  Even when they have their own families (or not).  It's all hard.  Which is why we are here, right?  The learning never stops, but it doesn't mean we can't enjoy the journey.  And I'm working on not enjoying it in retrospect, but in full living color as it happens.

PBandJ Every Day

Every morning I get up at about 5:30.  I peek in Lexee's room to make sure she is NOT still asleep on her bed.  Most days, I am pleasantly surprised to see that the bed is empty and the smell of burning hair is wafting from the bathroom.  Then I go downstairs and start making sandwiches.  Today I thought about how many of those PB&Js I've made over the years.  And about how many my children have consumed (because I can't take credit for making ALL of them -- Bill has made his fair share.  For several years he kindly let me sleep a little bit longer while he attended to the early-morning-seminary-schedule of Taylor and Britta.  I miss those days).  I was reminded of a girl I knew as I attended cosmetology school at SLCC.  Her name was Allison and she was fresh out of high school.  I, of course, was a much more mature 22.  One day as we were heading to the cafeteria for lunch, she told me how she had eaten a PB&J sandwich every day for lunch throughout high school.  And she loved them.  I think I remember her telling me that to this day (over 20 years later) because I could NOT for the life of me understand how someone could eat a PB&J every day and still like them.

In elementary school I brought my lunch from home every day.  It usually had an apple or banana, some plain potato chips in a baggie, a dime for milk, and a sandwich.  But it wasn't a sandwich made on that soft, ooey-gooey Wonder Bread.  It was always made on homemade bread, and usually whole wheat.  My sandwiches were small, but thick.  And oh-so heavy.  And dry.  Definitely filling.  But I longed for hot lunch.  Those green beans soaked in something like butter were so delicious.  I only know because most kids hated them, so I would offer to eat them.  I would sit with the other cold-lunchers while the hot-lunch kids would wait in a line that wound around the cafeteria.  We would pull the lunch items out of our sacks or lunch boxes.  I was envious of the Wonder Bread sandwiches and the individual packages of Cheetos.  And Twinkies!  Oh how I wanted to have Twinkies.  Most days I had PB&J, but occasionally my mom made tuna sandwiches.  And I hated tuna.

In junior high I started taking hot lunch.  At least that's what my mom thought.  Most days I used the money (what was it back then, like 80 cents?) to buy a small bag of Cheetos and a package of M&Ms.  Once my family moved to Bountiful in the middle of my 9th grade year, I HAD to have the hot lunch offered.  My new school didn't even have vending machines.  There were no choices -- except between the two daily lunch options served (and nobody brought lunch from home).  

In high school I would sometimes eat from the salad bar at school, but most days my friends and I would make a lunch run to someplace like Rennys.  With my dollar I could get an order of fries and two ice cream cones.  I had a complex about being "too thin," so I would eat to fatten myself up. Unfortunately it didn't work, but it developed eating habits that were (and are) difficult to break now that I no longer have that problem. 

So why do I bring this all up?  Because I have chosen to send lunch with my kids to school, just like my mom did.  I've done it a little backwards.  In elementary school I allowed my children to frequently have hot lunch (I don't think they call it that any more).  Probably because of my longing as a child.  And the cost has been reasonable.  When Taylor and Britt hit middle school, I made a deal with them.  I would give them $10 a week.  They could use that money as "allowance," and take a lunch from home, or they could use it to purchase lunch at school.  ($10 was not enough to buy lunch at school every day, since most kids would spend at least $4 a day.)  Taylor and Britt, being savvy new teens, chose to keep the money and bring lunch from home.  That offer has not been extended to Lex and Shi -- we no longer give an allowance.  They just simply take lunch from home, no complaints.  Occasionally they will buy, so I keep some money in their lunch accounts, but at $6 a day, they can both see the cost-efficiency of the brown bag.  Lexee has even requested two PB&Js each day.  I have occasionally thrown in a turkey, ham or pastrami sandwich, when requested, but Lexee only wants PB&J (or maybe PB&honey), nothing more, nothing less.  And I now use wheat bread at least 80% of the time.  And Twinkies?  No way.  Those things have no nutritional value whatsoever and are still as pricey as ever.  Applesauce, Sun Chips or baked Lays (okay, occasionally Cheetos or Doritos), cheese sticks, 100% juice, and a treat (just not Twinkies).  

I have wondered if my kids will think about those sandwiches with contempt, like I do, or with love, like my friend Allison.  And I realize now, as a parent, that my mom cared about nutrition and cost effectiveness, just like I do.  I appreciate that she made me those lunches.  Thanks, Mom.

Coronation, Exultation, and Congratulations

Shilo advanced from being a Queen to a King in swimming yesterday.  And that's no Joker.

Cheer tryouts went as hoped for and Lex made the 2010-2011 team.  Practice starts when? Oh yeah, May 25th.  At least seminary will be done for the year by then, and we can get a little more shut-eye around here.

Give me a Y... give me an A.... give me another Y... what's that spell?  YAY!

And while I'm dishing out the kudos, Mauri brought this home on Friday:

Her first 100% spelling test of third grade.  (Seriously, they've probably only had 5 all year.)

Bill wins the parent of the week for last week.  He drove Shilo to swim practices, cheered Lexee through the final 3 days of tryouts, and helped Mauri study her spelling.  His results were excellent.  
He's hired.

BYUWC

Women's Conference was great.  I was uplifted and motivated once again.  I have returned to my home with the resolve to improve.  I know I've mentioned how I love Sister Beck.  She speaks to me (literally and figuratively).  I also loved what Elder Oaks had to say.  Over all, I brought home enough to keep me busy for the next year.  Here are some highlights:

We never get there early enough to get a great seat in the Marriott Center, but it's such an inspiring thing to be singing with so many women at once.  I love how they give all these "rules of courtesy," but at least a good 10% (if not more) of these sweet sisters totally disregard them.  And I must confess, I have left a class a tad early to hit the next one in a timely manner.  But that was last year.  This year I stayed put until the speaker was finished, even when the class went 10 minutes over and was somewhat uninspiring.

It was fun to drop by the super busy bookstore and see Britta.  She took a short break and had me go buy her books for the spring term (that's convenience).  We went to see her new apartment, then took her to dinner with us.  As we discussed where to eat (5 opinions take a while), we decided to try the Carne Asada fries from Rancheritos (less than a block from Britt's place) that cjane had recommended here.

We considered this our appetizer, since we had not eaten all day.  We were too busy driving to Provo, parking, finding seats, taking notes, running to the next class, and waiting in lines.  Rebecca had kindly purchased some cinnamon bears and Hershey's kisses to help us make it through the day, so by dinner time, we needed something of substance. Something with some weight.  Something that felt real.  We didn't really find it in the fries, but we truly enjoyed them as we sat in the car trying to make up our minds on where to eat.  
We finally settled on the Brick Oven.

Once there, only a couple of us ate...and not much.  It was more like an afterthought to those loaded fries.  
May I just say, our diet was not nutritionally sound.

We had an issue with our hotel, but Sheri Dew was right behind me as we were checking in, no doubt about it.  I would have asked for her autograph, but she looked like she didn't want to be bothered.  A couple of ladies had walked in with her, chattering on about how they loved the last Time Out for Women they attended.  She smiled politely in response, but I saw her face when she turned around.  I can recognize that "leave me alone" look.  I've probably even worn it myself on occasion.  Jill had seen Peter Cetera ("I am a man, who will fight, for your honor...") at the airport, so we had our share of those "Guess who I just saw..." moments.  Oh, and we met Sandra Rast.  The artist.  She thought Jill and I were "cute" (her word, not mine).  She signed our artwork and some cards we purchased.  I had a tear come to my eye as she told us the story behind one of her paintings (which is why she thought we were so darn "cute").  I almost feel like we are personal friends (which, just to clarify, is different than facebook friends).

So despite the cold weather, the snow, and the endless crowds of women,

we had a great time.  Before we headed back to Bountiful, Rebecca and I couldn't resist looking for nienie and cjane's homes.  
We even took pictures.  We are verifiable nuts.

 

I just hope we didn't frighten them... strange women driving by slowly, taking pictures.  
Not only blog stalkers, but actual house stalkers.  It was all in fun.

Bill managed everything at home, seemingly effortlessly. Why can't I do that?