Where I'm From

I am from heat, dry and wavy.
From cactus, rocks and transplanted palms.
I am from feet burning hot on the concrete.
I am from gliders on the back porch,
and the call of mourning doves. 

I am from trees with painted white bark,
dangling large yellow globes from their branches.
I am from grapefruit, eaten with serrated spoons
(They aren't even sour if you eat them first thing.)
I am from a tree house surrounded by fruit,
carried home in the trunk in brown paper bags.

I am from wind chimes
and the glug of fresh water delivered by truck.
I'm from a window sunny and large,
watching small birds in the bath,
and humming birds drinking.

I'm from Chester and Virginia
From the sound of fingernails clicking on keys
as the piano is played.
From scriptures read and long evening prayers. 
I'm from "Goodbye until next time--
We'll see you again."





* * *
I took this prompt to write about where I'm from (while not actually writing about "where" I'm from) It's more like what I come from--if you get my semantic difference. I decided to focus on just one part of where I'm from. 

Enjoying citrus season has had me thinking about childhood visits to my grandparent's home in Phoenix a lot recently, so I wrote just about that.  I'd love to use this prompt again to write about when my family lived in Germany, and also for my childhood as a whole.  Exploring "where I'm from" is a fun exercise for someone like me who doesn't have a certain place to call "home". 

Read more "Where I'm From" here.

Bravery and Big Girl Points

When I was 19 I went on a summer study abroad to Vienna Austria.  I'd been living away from home for a year and a half already, but there's something very extreme about being separated from anyone you know by an entire ocean!

The overnight plane rides are tough, you get to your destination after hours of not really being able to sleep on the plane, and right when you get there it's morning and "time's a wastin'," you're in a foreign country after all--go make the most of it.  

Our first day in Austria we went around as a whole group of students with our program director.  It was rough. Everyone was tired (and cranky) and most of us didn't know each other yet.  One place the director took us to go walk around was the Naschmarkt--a big outdoor market.  Some kids bought lunch there to eat, but my queasy-from traveling, and not-enough sleep, and nervous about this whole experience tummy wouldn't stand for it.  Vienna is sometimes called a gateway to the East and this market showed it.  There were so many foreign fragrances.  As we walked past Kebab stands and huge barrels of purple olives, I could hardly stomach the smell.


Later in the day we returned to the Austro-American Institute for a reception and to meet our host-families.  Ing. Rosch picked me up and drove me home to where she had a dinner prepared for us.  A dinner composed of all the strong foreign smells of the Naschmarkt.  Now, my mother raised me well--so I ate my dinner--white asparagus and all--but it wasn't easy.

After dinner Ing. Rosch took me out for a walk.  I don't remember exactly where we were--but I knew I was going to be sick.  Maybe it was by divine intervention that someone she knew walked by and they took a minute to talk to each other while I ducked behind a shrub and threw up my dinner.  I really hoped she didn't see.  I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but really--it was out of my control.  Back in her home that night, I threw up again in the bathroom.

I didn't know what else to do, so I went to school the next day.  When it finally came out that I'd been sick all night my director sent me home to go lay in bed.  ("But go pick up some Coke and pretzels from Billa first," he said.)

After a day in bed and some fruit tea from my host, I was feeling better again and more comfortable with my surroundings.  But as I talked with my Mom from a phone booth across the street, I felt how alone I really was.  Mom hadn't been there to hold my hair out of my face and rub my back while I threw up.  She hadn't been there to buy and prepare me snacks for my sick tummy.  I was on my own.  Either I was going to be a "big girl" and take care of myself or no one would. 

So at some point thereafter I started awarding myself "Big Girl Points" for things I had to do or experiences I went through that were difficult for me, or required courage .  The points didn't give me anything but my own personal satisfaction about being a Big Girl and taking care of myself.  But it was important for me to recognize those moments, particularly where I went against my regular nature of shyness and insecurity and conquered.

First on the list is 10 points for throwing up all by myself.  The list also includes 4 points for not being emotionally crushed by a woman being grouchy with me at a store.  There's 2 points for not crying out of embarrassment when I was checking out at the grocery store and had forgotten to weigh my bananas (you have to weigh your own produce and print out a price label) and had to jump out of the line where people were waiting behind me and go back and weigh my bananas.  I also gave myself 3 points for walking home like a dozen blocks when the street car stopped running one day in the middle of the route.

Living in Austria for four months alone was hard for me.  Living in Washington DC for four months was hard for me.  Being away at college for four years was hard for me.  Living here in Kansas the last 5 years has been hard for me.  It's not that I don't love my family as much as other people love theirs and don't want to be around them.  I wish I could be always near my family.  But I would never trade my experiences of living in Europe or anywhere else I've been--there have been so many cultural and life-experiences that I have gained living different places.

But that's not all.  There are also personal benefits.  And though I hate to say it--I would not have made as much personal development if I'd had my whole family along.  For personal development you have to have personal experiences.  If my mom had been in Vienna with me I would not have had to work so hard to overcome my insecurities.  I wouldn't have needed to be so brave if my mother was with me because I would have relied partially on her bravery to sustain me. 

The concept of Big Girls points has carried on just a bit through a few major life events since then.  Certain things come up in your life that YOU are the only one that can take care of it, and you just have to be brave and face it because there is no alternative.  My siblings sent me flowers after my ectopic pregnancy, and the card read: "You earned a LOT of Big Girl points for this one."

All of us will face these experiences in our lives.  We just have to be brave.  Carry on.  And if it helps--assign random points to ourselves when we do a good job. 


(Read more stories of bravery here.)

Syrup

One chipper Saturday morning in college, our apartment of three girls headed over to our friends' (three boys) apartment for a waffle breakfast.  They had the table set with an assortment of toppings for the waffles.  There was maple syrup of course.  Peanut butter graced the table as well I'm sure, but the one that surprised me was corn syrup.

"You aren't seriously going to slather your waffle with that are you?" I asked the tall boy. "It's corn syrup--straight sugar."

"Of course I am." he asserted, pouring it on his waffle.  "It's the exact same thing the maple syrup is made out of anyway!"

I couldn't argue with that, but just because it was the truth about the "naturally flavored" maple syrup didn't make it right--didn't mean that I wanted to embrace that fact, and skip the maple flavor and go straight to the corn syrup.

Jeremy and I use exclusively pure maple syrup in our home.  The number one response I get to that is "But it's so much more expensive!"  Sometimes followed by, "With how much my kids use we'd go broke!"

There are a couple of reasons why this doesn't deter us.  First of all.  Real maple syrup is a lot thinner than the corn syrup based version.  So it spreads out thinner and will therefore last longer if used accordingly.  Also the higher price helps us consider exactly how much we do let our kids use.  Even the smaller containers that pure maple syrups come in from the store help give a visual reminder to use it sparingly so we teach our kids that.  Although a natural one--it is still a sugar syrup. 

Recently I've been interested in making fruit-based syrups as a way of providing for our pancake syrup "needs."  (Though one day I'd love my very own maple bush (grove) to make real maple syrup.)  I was contemplating how to get a thicker syrup rather than just adding sugar to make fruit juice more "syrupy".  Of course pectin was the answer and I don't know why I never thought of it before.  I was excited to become familiar with Pomona's Pectin which is a citrus-based pectin as opposed to the standard apple-based varieties.  Pomona's can use significantly less sugar and still "jell."  You can also use honey and other sweeteners--not just white sugar. 

The website suggested for making syrups to use 1/4 the measurements of pectin from jam recipes as a starting point.  My first try was with elderberries foraged from a couple bushes in the university gardens.  Jeremy had a large elderberry bush at his house growing up and he remembers his dad making elderberry syrup when he was a kid.
I'm excited for the potential of making more natural and lower sugar syrups for our family pancakes.  Though truth be told--maybe elderberry wasn't the best choice of fruit for trying to go low sugar!

Walk and Talk

My first semester at college overlapped with my sister's last semester.  I lived in apartment dormitories and she lived off campus but that didn't stop us from spending hours together every day.  Sometimes we'd pick up a mini-loaf of bread with honey butter for a mid-morning snack.  Sometimes we'd head to my apartment for lunch or so Evelyn could take a nap in my bed.  And sometimes we'd just say "Hi" before heading to our next class. 

On a campus of 30,000 students it could have been a hard thing to try and find each other everyday--but it wasn't.  Not for us. 

I had started college in January after Christmas break, but in anticipation of the semester our brother gave us walkie talkies for a Christmas present.  Every day after our morning classes we'd switch on our walkie talkies for an update: where are you, where are you headed, what do you need to do this morning? And then we'd align our paths to intersect.  We'd keep up the casual exchange until we finally made it face to face and would switch off the walkie talkies. 

We were the model of efficiency.  We never had to wonder why the other wasn't at a pre-arranged meeting spot, or question whether we had remembered the time or place incorrectly. 

We got the whole range of looks while conversing on our Walkie Talkies.  Some people were confused.  Some would laugh and point (in the good way. . . I think).  Some were probably annoyed in some kind of teenage angst-y way.  But it was a great system, and we were just the smart ones that thought of it first.

A Tale of Two Clocks

Jeremy and I married with a joint dream of having a really awesome library.   We each had a selection of cool books that we brought to the marriage, and we sat together lining them up on a sleek new shelf bought with Target wedding gift cards.  My books next to his, we arranged the books on the shelf by category.  No longer were the books "mine" or "his" they were "ours," and together we dreamed of the future library the books would inhabit. 

Our clocks, on the other hand, have not provided us with such an easy integration.  Apparently alarm clocks are an extremely personal devise--which I never would have guessed, but experience has most undeniably taught me.   When we first were married I took a look at Jeremy's old alarm clock and thought, "That old relic is one "snooze" short of the junkyard." 

It was obviously some "family heirloom" that had been rotating bed-side tables for at least a few decades. 

Not only that, but it bore the brands of cheesy not-really-applicable-though-I-wouldn't-go-so-far-as-to-call-Jeremy-a-'poser high school counter-culture groups, via the "skateboarding is not a crime" sticker. 

. . . You tell 'em Jeremy. 

So, naturally, I wrapped the cord around Jeremy's alarm clock and packed it away in a cupboard, opting instead to utilize my own sleek, attractive model of an alarm clock that I had picked up four years earlier during my first semester on my own at college.

This worked fine for a while.  At least we could both agree that never under any circumstances should one use the buzzer feature of a bed-side alarm clock.  The radio, set to a low volume, was sufficient of a jolt to the senses to induce a morning rousing from slumber.  But I could tell that my clock bothered Jeremy, and every once in a while I could tell something had gone wrong --in the form of (his) user error-- as the set time and alarm times would be all jumbled up and not anywhere close in alignment to the GMT. 

So finally, out of love, I decided to set up Jeremy's alarm clock instead.  Jeremy had never slept and roused, with such little fuss.  I--on the other hand--did not have the same success with his clock.  How was I supposed to get the alarm set, and where in the world was the magic button that turned off the alarm so it didn't just keep "snooze"-ing every 10 minutes all morning long?  It wasn't really that big of a deal, since I didn't need an alarm very often--just once in a while for an early doctor's appointment or something. 

This year with Jeremy in school and me responsible for getting Owen to school on time--I needed a reliable alarm clock.  I didn't want to have to wake up with Jeremy and reset his alarm for later.  And it wasn't his responsibility to do it either.  So I pulled my clock out of a back cupboard and set it up on my nightstand. 

And there it now sits--staring across the bed at Jeremy's clock, the two of them glowing red in a perpetual digital duel.  Though Jeremy and I have tried over the years to develop a seamless joining of our dreams, and goals, and practices to allow our life to progress unhindered together --we found the one that was just too hard to accept. 

What ever they may say the keys are for a successful, happy marriage--joining book shelves or bank accounts--don't ask either of us to give up our own alarm clock. 

We Were Busy

Last January I was really struggling to figure out how to do right by Owen.   There were also less life-changing concerns as well like what exactly was the color of our old car? 

February brought our sixth wedding anniversary and some fabulous cupcakes.

In March we tampered with tradition and altered a time-honored holiday to suit our own tastes.  And Jeremy got pretty angry over a few printed words. 

In April the boys celebrated a green Easter. (Not that kind of green.) And our family was forever improved by the peaceful (but perhaps not-so-quiet) addition of baby Wyatt. 

In May I contemplated my inability to really fit in.  And while I was at it I ruined Jeremy's chance at getting any invitations to watch the Summer's world cup soccer.  (Sorry Love.  I couldn't mention that you do like soccer--It didn't fit with the story I was trying to tell.)

In June the color of our new car was determined once and for all. And Owen turned five.

In July we experienced the good, bad, and ugly of a family reunion.

August ended with me not succeeding in impressing Owen with his own special (and seasonal) back-to-school dinner. And I decided there might be some other things I need to work on as well. 

In September we designed and made Owen a number of super-cool shirts for the color days in kindergarten.  Also, I fell in love with urban foraging. 

In October I elaborated on some success with Owen.  Halloween was celebrated in full Steampunk Fashion.

In November we took a simple weekend opportunity to crush Owen's entire world.

And I ended the year in December exploring the virtues of my homesteading homemaker hobbies.

I love that blogging has preserved this record of the year for me.  I love to look back and read my old posts.  When it comes right down to it--I blog for myself.  Stephanie Meyer isn't everyone's hero--or even mine for that matter--but I really appreciated something she said.  She said whatever you are going to do--do it because you love it.  Do it because it brings you enjoyment.  So that's what I do and why I blog.

Reunion--Giant Hole in the Sand

Me (and my 84 closest relatives) were on the beach last week for a family reunion.

We aren't from California. But it's only a 7 hour drive from Arizona, and being on the beach is way nicer then getting together in southern Arizona in the middle of July.

This is me and my cousins back in the day. I'm the little one in pigtails down in front--not paying attention to the camera at all.

We thought it might be fun for this reunion to recreate that photo of 20 years ago. We're all a bit bigger, so the hole had to be much bigger.

But we made it.

(There I am--front and center.)

And while crouched down in a giant hole in the sand, with 14 people who I have grown up with over the years, recreating a silly picture, laughing our heads off, and yelling about how much our thighs were burning from squatting down there-- I knew it was true:

I love my family!

All 84 and then some. . .

Operator

A few summers ago my grandma Virginia was clearing out her large house in preparation to move into small apartment. Many of her belongings were being passed along to children grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We were living here in Kansas at the time so my mom asked if there was anything in particular that I wanted, and she would see if I could have it.

I knew exactly what I wanted.

I remember playing in grandma's room. Climbing on her bed with the piles of silky pillows. methodically going through the drawers in her sunny bathroom. Looking at makeup brushes and nail files and magnifying mirrors. Sitting in front of her jewelry boxes trying on clip on earrings and jewel-set rings and necklaces. Pulling down high heels from her shelves in the closet.

And, I remember sitting in her cream-colored swiveling armchair and playing secretary with her old rotary telephone. The phone was an "old-fashioned" novelty as far back as I can remember, because really I'm not that old. But it was totally awesome and I knew I would love to have it.


Well, as luck would have it, I got it without a fight. (Just kidding--no fighting over family heirlooms allowed.) It's been sitting at my mom's house because it is too heavy for a suitcase. My mom drove it out after the baby was born.

Now, I love old-fashioned things, but I don't want my house to be a museum collection of a bunch of old junk that isn't actually useful in any way. I know that the phone is in working order, but there was just one little problem.


This cord . . . won't quite fit in my phone jack. I did some reconnaissance in my house (our house is old) and amazingly found an older-style phone-jack.


It was a simple thing to take the front cover off.


And I found colored cords corresponding to those on the phone's cord. Except, unfortunately. The jack was dead. No longer connected. Like I said--this house is old.

On to plan B which was Google. And I found all the info I needed to splice the old cord onto a modern phone cord. The main issue is that my phone had three wires and the new ones use two. Apparently the two important wires are the red and the green. The yellow and (if applicable) black wires were for the old party lines.


I looked through my old things and finally found the cord on the right with the right colors I was looking for.

Then I got to stripping and splicing.  I love the internet--it's so empowering.


I stripped the wires from the new cord and just wrapped them around the connectors on the old cord. I guess I could have stripped the wires from the old cord too, but I didn't want to. Then I wrapped them up in electrical tape, and wrapped the whole joint in white duct tape to look nicer.

And it works!

We're excited about it. It's got a lot of character already, and Jeremy thinking about modding it to be a little more steampunk. Either way--it's definitely a keeper.

Gaming

In searching for a potential spouse we all look for someone with the "right" combination of characteristics. I don't just mean finding the guy that has the most checkmarks on the "Man of my dreams" list. (Has a good sense of humor--check.) I also mean the person who doesn't have very many checkmarks on the "Things I couldn't stand to live with" list.

I could not be married to a sports nut. I would rather poke my eyes out than sit down and watch an entire game of football on TV, let alone a season's worth of games for each of my husband's six "favorite" teams. (Don't blacklist me from your Superbowl party or anything, if there's good food and good company--I'll be there. Also, "live" sporting events also fall into a totally different category.)

But everyone has to have a hobby. I married Jeremy knowing that he liked video games. I wouldn't go so far as to call him a "gamer," but that was a hobby of his that I knowingly accepted as something I was willing to work around, es specially if that meant that our home, for the most part, was going to be NHL, NFL, NBA, and MLB-free.

Video games haven't had a prominent place in our marriage. Video games were probably most visible in our life the first 4 or so months of Owen's life. Jeremy would play in the evenings while I sat on the couch performing my never ending nursing duties. And to this day Jeremy's big advice to first-time Dads is to get a gaming system--He claims it's the only thing that helped him keep his sanity when he'd take his turns being up in the middle of the night with the baby.

We didn't bring a system out here with us for grad school, and we've developed a generally anti-technology reputation in Jeremy's program. But based on our history I've always figured that we'd end up with a game system again.

And so we have.

We did it. After 10 weeks we "earned" our Wii. Owen couldn't be any more excited about finally getting to "play some wiis." Who knows, maybe he can still remember those early months playing Prince of Persia with his dad, and he's been waiting all these years to finally get his hands on a controller of his own.

Decade in Review

I was recently on the blog of a friend's sister-in-law who also happens to be someone Jeremy worked with at the Canon Center at BYU (don't you love playing the 7 degrees game?) and saw a recap she did on the last decade of her life now that it's 2010.

I think general overviews of life are good things in their own right. My mom has worked hard to be an excellent journal-er. My childhood Sunday afternoons were filled with the clickety-clickety sounds of Mom's typewriter getting it's workout. However we always tease mom that her journal is going to be the Book of Alma (the longest of the books in the Book of Mormon) of our family history.

So, though I love the amount of detail that can be captured in a single blog-post, I thought a recap of the entire last decade might be fun as well.

2000- I started my second semester of Junior year in high school. By mid-point in the semester my dad had decided I was spending to much time messing around (with boys) and needed to think about just leaving for college already. We'd missed the deadline for fall applications, so we submitted one for Winter (January) 2001. Mid summer I got my letter of acceptance and called big sister Evelyn to celebrate. That fall I went with my parents to pick up my brother Brian off his mission in Russia. It was an interesting (and kind of frightening) experience, but it was also therapeutic for me as his departure two years earlier had left a gaping whole in my life that needed a greater understanding for me of the work he had been doing to help fill it. That last semester in high school was fabulous. I completed all my classes with flying colors including second semester English and History through Saturday school. Then we packed me up to go to BYU.

2001- I got to BYU with only my Arizona fleece jackets. We'd ordered me a wool peacoat but it was yet to arrive. It was that semester I decided never to take an 8am class again--it's just too cold and dark. Evelyn and I had tons of fun hanging out with each other, and dating other boys. The best thing we did was get involved with the Polynesian Club Luau, and learned hula dances and participated in the huge performance! Then I went home to get a summer job, and Evelyn had to graduate. While working that summer I met my Jacob. That fall I returned to school to live in the dorms with a friend from high school. I found the transition very hard, as many of the girls were on their first time away from home ever, and I just didn't mesh well with all that staying out until 4am, watching boys throw up on the grass trying to do the "gallon-challenge", seeing how many people you can actually fit into a minivan (21-I believe it was).

2002- I decided to get a job in January. I worked at Cosmos, a little grill and ice cream place. I worked the 9pm-12am shift and loved it. The little tape would ticker out the orders that had been placed and I would challenge myself to have as many orders at a time on the grill as I could (I took over the grill because the other girl literally would work on one burger at a time and would sit there and watch it cook while the orders stacked up!) And then one Sunday afternoon in the dish room. . . I met Jeremy.

Things went well. I was planning on doing a study abroad that summer, but we decided that if we felt the same way about each other after I got back and we dated a bit more, then we would probably get married. My summer in Austria was a great experience. So good that even through all the heartfelt letters exchanged and growing our relationship did during that time, that I had decided I wasn't ready to settle down yet. The rest of the year was a mess. Boys were jerks and I was trying to decide on a new major. But there were a few occasions, when desperate for. . . a ride to the airport or a shoulder to cry on. . . Jeremy and I found each other again.

2003- Life was decent. I jumped into the Marriage, Family, and Human Development major program with enthusiasm. Jeremy and I saw more and more of each other, and I began to see my life unfold ahead of my eyes--a happy life, a good life, a life that felt right. And then Jeremy broke up with me. In all fairness, I had broken up with him the year before, so he deserved a chance to have a little time to figure things out for himself. So I told him I'd wait.

That summer we became unofficially engaged as Jeremy worked life guarding in his hometown, and I worked as a sports and dance camp counselor at BYU. Then at the end of the summer we both went down to see my family in Arizona and became officially engaged. Then I left to do an internship in Washington DC. It was hard for us--but I'm glad I did it. It's one of those things that I can pull out in my mind to reassure myself I would have value to the greater working world if I was out in it. I did have some great experiences with it, and even sat in a congressional hearing with Hillary Clinton.

2004- Jeremy and I spent an intense month and a half together trying to make sure we were making the right decision, and then were married on Feb 13th. . .(that's President's weekend for anyone who's wondering--no clue what this "Lover's Holiday" you're referring to is.) Later that summer we took a honeymoon to France to revisit some of Jeremy's mission stomping grounds--though not many of them because parts of Paris can actually be quite ghetto.

That fall I finally broke down after the longest stretch I'd been without seeing my family, and underneath all the pressures of trying to be a new little homemaker/student/worker, and we flew home one weekend. A few weeks later we found out I was pregnant. I tried really hard to not be a total pregnant bum, but it was hard. After 4 hours of work then 4 hours of class a day, all I wanted to do was lie on the couch all night and eat otter pops--they made my heartburn feel better.

2005- I got a 3/4 time job tutoring at an elementary school and finished up my last class via independent study. I graduated that semester with a huge belly that was almost obscured by my cap and gown. Except when I stood sideways. Owen was born in June after a bit longer wait than we expected--but we made it. Motherhood was quite the adjustment. Nursing was endless and I watched countless hours of HGTV while Owen would sleep-nurse.

Jeremy finished up all but one of his required classes that fall so we got packed up and moved down to Arizona to live with my parents.

2006- Jeremy finished his last psychology class via independent study, took landscape architecture classes at UofA and applied to 7 master's programs. I got registered and started substitute teaching. I missed my little baby while I was gone. He was at the age where he was growing up so fast. We got an acceptance to Kansas, and eventually a round about acceptance to UofA.

We decided we'd rather go where they were excited to have us, so we moved to Kansas. A few weeks after moving there I had an early miscarriage, and dove into that little known before trying to have children world of all the fertility difficulties that everyone around you has actually had--just never mentioned before. Jeremy started his program and a part time job and it was intense. I started to wonder what the purpose of having an eternal companion was if by the time you died you'd never even spent enough time together to know who each other were.

2007- Having moved into a second apartment in our complex, we were distressed to find out that our newly acquired neighbors were smokers, and we were able to reap the benefits of all their smoking. The end of February told us that I was yet again pregnant, but when I started bleeding after a week again we assumed another miscarriage. Another week of blood work and then an ultrasound which led us to suspect an ectopic pregnancy. I went in immediately for laproscopic surgery. My mom flew in that night to help tend to me and my toddler. While in town my mom helped us look for a new house with no health-compromising second-hand smoke.

Three weeks later we were in our new little house. Grateful and excited for a little more room of our own. That summer we were excited and scared to find out I was pregnant again. The week and a half after we found out I was pregnant before it could be confirmed to be a uterine pregnancy was paralyzingly hard for me to deal with. After some questionable bloodwoork and before I was scheduled to leave town we had a super-early ultrasound in which we could see a yolk sac in my uterus. No fetal pole yet, but my tube was clear, so it was enough to lead to family celebration. The baby grew normally and I had a great belly by the time of Logan and Carolyn's wedding in December.

2008- This was the year of Jonas' birth, which was easy and uncomplicated. Jeremy was accepted for an internship position in Salt Lake City. So at the end of the semester we packed our little Accord full and drove west. We enjoyed our time in SLC and enjoyed it's more convenient location to family members who we got to see numerous times over the summer. Then we came back to finish Jeremy's last year of master's program.

2009- Jeremy worked hard on his thesis on edible landscapes, and looked around for job possibilities. Unfortunately there were none. His college normally has job-placement ratings in the mid 90's. This year it was like 4%. Jeremy and my parents along with my freshly returned from Russia brother Mark came to visit for graduation. We still didn't have a real plan.

We considered a few options, and decided that Jeremy would pursue a PhD in Environmental Land Planning and Design. Another three-year program. Jeremy and I had talked a few times over the years about a PhD, but I had generally vetoed it reasoning that we needed to actually start making money at some point in our life. But after getting used to the idea (which took me a long time) it really will be a great blessing for us and makes sense to do at this point in our lives rather than later as I had always suggested.

At the end of the summer we found out we were pregnant with baby #3. More bleeding followed by ultrasounds showed that this was going to be a viable pregnancy but was just going to be "complicated." But we're experts of that by now. Jeremy got started with his PhD classes and we all adjusted to our new --similar but not quite the same as before-- life.

We're grateful for our house and the fact that having it already made this transition easier for us. We're excited for the new opportunities that will come based on Jeremy's increased education. We're excited for baby boy #3 who will be joining us shortly.

I'm generally pleased with the last decade in my life. I'm glad for my college experiences. I'm glad for the time I spent out on my own. And I'm glad for the time that Jeremy and I took to come to each other, not jumping in to marriage before either of us was ready. I'm so grateful to have Jeremy in my life, and can't imagine being happier any other way. I'm also grateful for the difficult times which have helped me to grow and develop into hopefully a better person.

I don't know what the next 10 years will bring. 1 + (?) more children. A "real" job or two. A new house or two. A new town or two. Schools for the boys. Owen will be entering teenagerdom. Hopefully better mothering and homemaking and wife-being skills for me. We'll just have to see.

Coconut Shrimp

When Jeremy and I were engaged we went on the obligatory trip to Target to use the super scanner guns and create a wedding registry. It's always an interesting learning experience, I'm sure. It really should be a required activity for pre-marriage counseling, as it forces you to come to some important realizations about one another.

Just for example, when Jeremy and I were registering for bath towels, we were trying to decide what an appropriate number would be. At some point Jeremy said something like, "Well, we'll all share them all anyway." And I stopped in my tracks and said, "Um, no. . . we won't." To which Jeremy chuckled and said, "What?" To which I calmly (with maybe a teeny bit of a death-glare) explained that when I step out of the shower I want a nice clean towel to dry off my clean skin or at least a towel that only has "my germs" on it. Then he understood (or at least recognized that he never wanted to mess with "my" clean towel.) See-- issue resolved, before we were even married to be able to have a married couple fight about it!

I've heard, and seen evidence of, hilarious wedding registries where the future wife gives a little too much free-reign with the scanner gun to the future husband and so they end up with things on their registry like a box of cereal and a gallon of milk, or an entire page of Action/Adventure DVD's. So when we were in the kitchen appliances aisle and Jeremy said, "How about one of these?" and pointed our gun at a Fry Daddy, I scoffed and asked, "What in the WORLD would we use one of those for!?" "I don't know," Jeremy said, "Fried shrimp and stuff?"

As the woman and future homekeeper of the relationship, I nixed the idea. The only thing my mom had ever fried for us growing up was tostada shells, and you definitely didn't need a Fry-Daddy for that.

Now, as a married woman of nearly 6 years, I am mature enough to admit that I may have been a bit short-sighted on the Fry-Daddy issue. It turns out Jeremy grew up with a Fry-Daddy. In his family they would fry up homemade french fries and onion rings, scones, and batter-dipped shrimp. His mom makes shrimp regularly for the special occasions we visit home for.

It also turns out that Jeremy and I have done quite a bit of our own frying as well throughout our cullinary adventures. We've made homemade churros, funnel cakes, doughnuts, eggrolls, and this week a new one: coconut shrimp!

In fact we've done so much frying that when I go to the store and look at the Fry-Daddys I think: "Pshhh! We need a fryer WAY bigger than that one!" So as it stands, we still don't own a fryer, and apparently until we can afford our own industrial-sized "donut fryer" we probably will just have to keep making due with what we've got.

But what we've got still makes some really good. . .

Coconut Shrimp with Peanut Dipping Sauce
Recipe: Alton Brown, Food Network

Ingredients

* 24 large (15 to 20 count) shrimp, peeled, deviened, and butterflied (We actually used a 1 lb 40-50 count bag)
* 1/2 cup cornstarch
* 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
* 1/4 teaspoon fresh ground white pepper
* 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
* 4 egg whites
* 2 1/2 cups sweetened shredded coconut, or 2 1/2 cups shredded fresh coconut
* Canola or peanut oil, for frying

Directions

Pat the shrimp dry with a paper towel. In a small bowl combine cornstarch, salt, pepper, and cayenne. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg whites until foamy. In another bowl, place the coconut. Coat the shrimp with the cornstarch and shake off any excess. Dip into the egg white and then press into the coconut to get full coverage. Try to keep 1 hand dry, this will keep things a little cleaner.

In a large pan, heat the oil to 350 degrees F and gently submerge the shrimp, 6 at a time. Fry for about 3 minutes or until golden brown. Remove them to a rack to drain.

They were delicious! Owen Loved them. Jonas picked off all the coconut and ate it, and then ate the shrimp separately. I don't know what that's all about.

We served them with the peanut dipping sauce (follow A.B.'s link) and brown rice.

A Wicked Early Birthday

Once upon a time there was a boy and we were friends (who had dated in the past but were not currently doing so). And I loved that boy, and I was going to marry that boy. I was just waiting for him to come to his senses and realize it.

So in the course of a certain phone conversation in which the boy was talking about his home in the "Pacific Northwest," I interjected, "I've never been to Oregon."

To which, due to the flow of the conversation and strategically placed coy hints, I was certain he would respond, "Well do you want to come visit this summer?"

"Yes I would." I stated, very self-satisfactorily.

And so it was planned. The trip, which would take place the week after my brother's high school graduation in AZ and the week before my summer job started in Utah.

Unfortunately, making the trip in that time slot meant I would not be able to travel with the rest of my family on a trip to California to visit my sister, and go to Six Flags, and go to this new show opening in San Fransisco--destined to end up on Broadway--called WICKED!

But I had my future to look after you know, so the trip to the potential future spouse had to be priority!

And although my position as future spouse was unofficially secured before making the trip, and the societal necessities of meeting the parents before our official engagement had to be observed, there was still a little bit of me that was sad to miss out on the family trip. Especially when hearing all the great stories after the trip and hearing everyone "Ooooh" and "Ahhh" about how wonderful the show WICKED had been, and recieving a copy of the fabulously fun music!

But with a husband that appreciates musical theater as much as I do, I knew the day would come that I would get my chance to see the show. That was June 2003. I apparently never realised it would take over 6 years for my chance to come.

Oh, there have been so many near-miss opportunities over the years, like the flight back from our honeymoon to France where we would layover for 9 hours just outside New York City, but where if we could have just layed over for 10 hours then we could have gone into town and caught the WICKED matinee! Not to mention the 3 times that the traveling company was coming through during finals week or just the next week but where end-of-semester plans could not be adjusted to accomidate a night out of town to go see a show.

But the opportunity finally came. Thanks to my mom gifting me with a one month early birthday present!

Also thanks to some friends who were willing to devote their entire Saturday afternoon and evening to hang our with our boys,

And also lend me the coolest WICKED-green shoes ever to wear to the show!

(I only fell once!)

Silly Songs

Way back before portable DVD players and "hand-held gaming systems" were invented, I was young and we lived up in the White Mountains, and every few months would make the four hour drive down to Phoenix to visit family, do shopping, and whatever else needed to be done in an actual city.

We were stuck playing "I Spy" and listening to cassette tapes. We had three I believe. One was a tape of little songs all about different animals. The second was a "Little Thinker" where it takes you on this make believe journey in the desert, and there are parts where you are supposed to stop the tape and draw pictures about what you're hearing. And the third, and maybe our favorite, was WeeSing Silly Songs.

I found an unopened copy of this tape at a garage sale a few years ago and bought it for a dollar. About a week ago I pulled it out for Owen to listen to in bed while he's falling asleep, and he loves it!

This week I've caught Owen--the one who's never been interested in singing ("No, you sing it to me mom")--singing some of these silly songs to himself.

I went and laid down with him in bed the other night, and we started the tape. The first song is one about grashoppers playing the game "leapfrog." Then the second song started and Owen says to me: "This one is my favorite!"

This peaked my curiosity because Owen can often be quite generally apathetic. The singing begins:

I'm bringing home a baby bumblebee,

Won't my mommy be so proud of me?

I'm bringing home a baby bumblebee,

(Owen leans in and gives me a significant look)

Ouch! It stung me!

"Hahahah!" Owen Bursts out. "The end is my favorite!"

Laundry Lessons

Second week of fall semester 2001--I walk in on my roommate. She has her dirty laundry spread out on her bed separating it into five or six piles.

"Emily," I confronted her. "What in the world are you doing?"

"I'm separating my laundry into colors." She defended.

"This is college," I said stating the obvious. "We pay by the load here, so you need only two piles: lights and darks."

She defended herself further "Well, this is how my mom always did it!"

"Emily," I retorted "Your mom has five kids, there is just one of you!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Snarky teenage attitude aside, it was a conversation that I found funny, and obviously still remember 8 years later. It came back to me tonight as I was sorting my backed-up laundry piles.

After throwing in a load of dark blues I sorted the rest of the mountain of laundry from the last week or two. And was amused to find this:

(I threw one of my pink crocks on top for size reference.)

I don't know when it happened, but with my family of four I can now officially sort my laundry piles into every color!

Dinner in a Pumpkin

Dinner in a pumpkin is a longstanding fall tradition from my own childhood. We loved it as kids, what's not to love about baking a pumpkin whole in the oven?! I made it throughout college as well, introducing Jeremy to the tradition, so we've continued to make it every year since.

Pumpkin has a nice mild flavor, like many of the other winter squashes. You'll probably get the most preferred taste by buying a "pie pumpkin" or "sugar pumpkin." These are smaller pumpkins that are bred for flavor (as opposed to size like jack-o-lanterns) and these days can be found in most supermarkets. Look for a big one so your whole family can be fed. I was able to find one with about a 6 inch diameter.

First put the dad and children in charge of cutting a wide lid off the pumpkin, and cleaning out the seeds.

Preheat oven to 350°. Put 2 T. oil in a saute pan over medium-high heat and add 2 cloves minced garlic, and 1 pound ground beef. Brown the beef.

Next I added 1 small green pepper, chopped (mine was red and green) and ¼ C Finely chopped onion. Add remaining ingredients: 1/2 (15oz) can tomato sauce, 2 eggs, beaten, 1/4 C chopped stuffed green olives, 1/3 C raisins.

Add the seasonings 1/2 tsp oregano, 1/2 tsp white vinegar, 1/2 tsp ground pepper and 1 ½ tsp salt, then cook until green pepper is tender.

Scoop meat mixture into the middle of the pumpkin and place the lid back on. I also added the rest of the can of tomato sauce since there was room.

Bake at 350° for 1 hour, until squash is soft. You should be able to insert a "butter knife" in the squash easily. I place it on baking sheet to catch any dribbles.

The skin takes on a nice dark color. Serve whole on the table for an instant centerpiece.

To serve scoop some squash with the meat mixture. Look at that pretty delicious squash! I love this dish the sweetness of the raisins against the briny tangy-ness of the olives, the hearty addition of the ground beef aside the smooth clean taste of the pumpkin. Give it a try!

Dinner in a Pumpkin

1 large pie pumpkin

2 T. oil
2 cloves minced garlic
1 lb ground beef

1 small green pepper
¼ C finely chopped onion
1/2 (15oz) can tomato sauce
2 eggs, beaten
1/4 C chopped stuffed green olives
1/3 C raisins

1/2 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp white vinegar
1/2 tsp ground pepper
1 ½ tsp salt

Cut a wide lid off the pumpkin, and clean out the seeds.

Preheat oven to 350°. Put 2 T. oil in a saute pan over medium-high heat and add 2 cloves minced garlic, and 1 pound ground beef. Brown the beef.

Add 1 small green pepper, chopped and ¼ C Finely chopped onion. Add remaining ingredients and the seasonings, then cook until green pepper is tender.

Scoop meat mixture into the middle of the pumpkin and place the lid back on.

Bake at 350° for 1 hour, until squash is soft. You should be able to insert a "butter knife" in the squash easily.

To serve scoop some squash with the meat mixture. Serves 6

Up and Wow

We recently took Owen in for a speech evaluation. As part of the developmental information they asked me to fill out (things like 'when did he first sit up on his own?'--I was supposed to remember that? I'm failing my "tests of Motherhood!") one of the questions it asked was what my child's first words were.

After snorting over the question, I sat back to think If I actually could remember Owen's first word. And I did remember it: "Wow." Really--it was hilarious. It was followed by "Uh-oh" and then a series of object names belonging to his favorite things.

So then I wondered if I could remember--from not quite as long ago--specifically what Jonas' first word was. It was "Up." (His second word may or may not have been "wa...ch" (a movie), no actually I think it was really yelling "chi-chi-chi-chi. . ." as he chased frightened chickens around the backyard.)

But I've been pondering over those two first words of my two boys, and realizing how much those two words tell about the different personalities of my two boys.

See, when we found out we were having a second son, it was hard to think of it any other way besides, "Ok, another little Owen," because that's all the experience we had as parents. But the truth is Owen and Jonas are very much individuals and have totally different personalities that were visible from a young age.

By six months of age Owen was crawling away from me at story time to go check out what those other babies were doing. His first word was "Wow!" As in: look at all the neat things that are going on in the world around me--I want to go check them out! That's Owen. "Mr. Independence."

At 18 months Jonas is still not interested in leaving my lap at story time. He actually cries when I leave him in nursery at church, as opposed to running ahead of me down the hall to get to nursery faster like Owen would. His first word was "Up." As in: Pick me up Mom, I want to see what's going on around me. . . from the safe vantage point of your arms.

My boys are different, and it's good. Jonas--who is so much more than a second Owen--is cuddly and affectionate and shows me all the devoted love I need. (The love I only thought I'd be shown by a baby girl.) He is growing up so fast--and becoming such a little boy--so I'm grateful for the extended mom and baby time we spent together, grateful I nursed him 18 months, grateful he still loves to be cuddled, grateful he taught me how to love him, and grateful that he is a boy.

Potato Peel Pie

Our selection for book club was a very non-traditional read. The whole book is made up of letters from one character to another. Therefore the storyline is not direct, you have to piece it together and fill in all the little blanks.

As the story develops the main character Juliette enters into correspondence with a group of people she's never met before--The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Through her letters she forms relationships with these people, and eventually feels driven to further develop their relationships by meeting in person. Yet we still only hear the stories of their meetings and developing relationships through Juliette's letters to others.

It was a very unique read. It made me want to sit down and write a good old-fashioned letter to someone. Their anticipation they had in waiting at the mailbox every day for the chance a new letter may be there, is almost completely lost in our current society.

I think this is a tragedy, because I was able to experience a bit of this kind of letter-writing in my own life. While I was studying in Austria, Jeremy and I corresponded by e-mail, not the quick "I'm sending you a short e-mail just in case I don't see you first, or maybe I'll call you if I don't hear back from you before lunch" kind of e-mails, but the long thoughtful, carefully chosen words and stories e-mail more akin to traditional letters.

Our relationship deepened and matured through those letters in a way that I don't know would have happened if we had been living that summer in the same town sending (not-yet-available) text messages to each other all day. Because of this history, I could relate with the characters ability to develop friendships--and even love--simply through letters.

True to Myself

I've never really been "big" on labels. Labels were a huge deal in high school of course where I dated two different boys. The first one was frustrated that I wouldn't place the label "going out" on our relationship. Why did it matter? We were seeing each other regularly, we would kiss. Why did we need a label just to let other people know what we were doing after school?

With the second boy I dated I did allow him to place the label on our relationship. But then it only caused problems when I didn't act the way he thought I was "supposed to" as defined by the label. Like when I had a party at my house and spent the night tending to my hostessing duties as opposed to being glued by his side like he thought a girlfriend "should" be.

But labels exist for adults too. I was recently looking at a book online about bringing more creativity into our childrens' lives. In the review section, there were comments stating that the book was not original the mom was simply practicing "Waldorf" education methods, so people interested in this book should just go buy a Waldorf book.

Another label that is big for adults right now is "Being Green" or "living sustainably." The problem with using either of these labels on yourself is that all of the sudden people start to nitpick every decision you make, product you use, or thing you choose to do. I was reading a woman's blog who said she loved to collect little "bits of nature" for her children to use in crafts. Things like pine cones, acorns, and sea glass. "Although," she admitted guiltily, "Sea glass isn't really from nature, but I just think it is pretty!" She had to defend herself before the whistle-blowing started.

Another label that adults take seriously and is pretty "hip" right now is "vegetarianism." Whether they abstain for ecological, social, or moral reasons, they are feisty too. They get angry about people who call themselves "semi-vegis" saying "a non vegetarian is simply a non vegetarian." Then there's always a "higher law." Because people who are really serious would be organic vegetarian. Or really more serious would be organic vegan. . .

Everyone is so anxious to label themselves and others, but labels put so much pressure on everyone. I just want to be able to live my life the way I feel good about.

I mentioned these three "adult labels" because they are all camps that I relate with but not that I want to feel pressured by actually giving myself the label. I want my kids to spend most of their time being active and creative. I want to help them to appreciate nature and enjoy the outdoors. But if I called us a "Waldorf home" then I'd be in trouble if I ever wanted to do a more =gasp= Montessori-based activity with my children, because those people are serious about the differences in their methods.

Jeremy and I would also like to live more "sustainably." (It's big in his line of work.) We've started recycling this year. We take our bottles and cans and cardboard three blocks down the highway and sort them ourselves. But if we say we are "Green" people others will ask why we only now started going to the recycling center after living here three years. And they may question why we even bother recycling when, for the majority of the time, we have used disposable diapers with our children.

Finally, our family rarely eats meat. We used ground beef in our delicious spaghetti and meatballs Jeremy made us for dinner last night. But, I can tell you the last time I bought red meat was in May when our families were out here for Jeremy's graduation. We had bison burgers--because it's a local novelty. I don't want to be "vegetarian" though, because sometimes I really want some bacon, and I don't want to hear the audible gasp of others when I do.

Jeremy said what we need is a family manifesto where we write down our goals ind ideas for raising our family--which aspects of popular thought we are using in our home.



We want our family to play outdoors, to appreciate nature, to have creative minds. We want our family to appreciate the things they have, and not be wasteful. We want our family to not buy too much into consumerism, and to be actual producers of many beautiful and useful things. We want to be good stewards of the earth. We want to be healthy. We want to be active and eat good foods. We want to enjoy the food that the earth provides us--grains, fruits, vegetables-- not just food that comes in plastic packages. Most importantly we want to be free to make the choices we feel good about. Free to follow inspiration not fads. Free from labels.

Haselnuss

Today is my next installment of the "You want pies with that?" challenge. I never mentioned, but my first attempt last month tied for first place! That's why I love my internet friends--they make me feel good about myself. I tied with Mary's Blueberry Hand Pies, an association I'm proud of since I voted for her! We won the opportunity to name the next challenge- it's gonna be good, but you'll have to wait and see! This month the challenge was named by someone else, and it was to create a pie starring nuts.


The nut that fills some great memories of mine is the hazelnut. Beginning with when my family lived in Germany and we discovered the delicious hazelnut and cocoa spread called Nutella. This began my love for hazelnuts. When I returned to study abroad in Vienna I enjoyed the locally produced Manner Schnitten-- waffle wafers filled with a hazelnut creme. But my favorite thing to do was walk down Kartner Strasse in the afternoon following classes and treat myself to creamy hazelnut ice cream cone.

"Ein Kugel Haselnuss, bitte." I'd say and pay my 2 Euros.

So picking my nut of choice for this challenge was--really--a simple task. I searched around a bit and in the end came up with a pie that is a bit of this, a bit of that, but altogether delicious.

Going with the classic hazelnut pairing with chocolate, here is my:

Chocolate Hazelnut Pie
--A chocolate pie in a hazelnut-graham cracker pie crust, topped with hazelnut-coca whipped cream and sprinkled with chopped hazelnuts--

Crust recipe:
1 1/4 cups graham cracker crumbs (I put the "kitchen elves" in charge of that one)
1/4 cup finely chopped hazelnuts
1/4 cup brown sugar
6 Tbl butter, melted

Combine dry ingredients, stir in the butter, and press into pie plate. Bake at 350* for seven minutes.

Chocolate cream filling recipe:
2 ounces/squares unsweetened chocolate
1 1/2 cups milk
2/3 cup Sugar
1/4 cup flour
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup cold milk
3 egg yolks, slightly beaten
2 Tbls butter
2 tsp vanilla

Begin by finely chopping or grating 2 squares of unsweetened chocolate. This means two whole individually wrapped squares, not just square segments. Place this in a small saucepan and pour 1 1/2 cups milk over it. Heat slowly to scald milk and melt chocolate.

In a medium saucepan combine sugar, flour, and salt. Slowly pour in 1/2 cup of cold milk and mix to combine. Pour in the melted chocolate and scalded milk. Bring quickly to a boil, reduce the heat and cook for three minutes.

Temper the egg yolks adding small spoonfuls of the hot liquid to the yolks while stirring quickly. When you've at least doubled the volume of the egg yolk mixture add back into the saucepan. Cook for three minutes. Stirring constantly.

Remove from heat, stir in butter and vanilla and allow to cool to lukewarm. Spoon filling into pie crust and place in refrigerator to cool completely.


Whipped cream recipe:
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
1 heaping tablespoon "Nutella" hazelnut-cocoa spread

Beat the heavy cream to soft peaks, add the Nutella for sweetness and flavor and beat until stiff peaks form.

Spoon cream on top of pie filling, sprinkle with chopped hazelnuts and garnish with a piece of hazelnut chocolate.

Enjoy!

Why I'm Glad I Blog--a story told through spoons

I have a spoon collection. Strange, but kind of interesting. When I was 7 my family moved to Germany for three years. My parents figured that instead of having each of their five children begging for this, that, or the other at every single gift shop we entered while traveling during those three years, that they would allow us each to have one thing that we collected as a souvenir. So each gift shop we passed through we were allowed to pick out a postcard that we were supposed to write on and keep as our journal of the experience and one of our souvenir of choice.

It's been like 15 years since we got back from Germany, so my spoons have been looking a bit tarnished--in other words: completely black.

My sweet Jeremy decided he was going to polish them for me, and got started on the job one day while I was away. He got about halfway through my collection.

And I thought: I should do a blog post about my spoons.

I can tell my friends all about my spoon collection. I can tell them how my dad and older brother and sister worked together in the basement to construct a spoon rack for me. How it looks like a spoon and has "Europe" inscribed in it. I can tell them how I filled it up, but that's ok because by handyman dad made me a second rack to hang underneath the big spoon, and I remember him picking out the right stain color to match the original.

I can show my friends the different types of spoons I have, like ones with famous buildings, churches, or castles on them.

The ones with flags and crests on them.

The ones with towns and cities on them.

The ones with other interesting objects "of note" on them.

I can tell them what my favorite ones were when I was a little girl. This crown with a "ruby" in it that my parents brought me from England.

The Eiffel tower.

The little Bier Stein.

The classic "Euro Disney" one which you would now be unable to find since the name was officially changed to "Disneyland Paris."

Then there's my favorite spoon of all time. The little cuckoo clock from the Swartzwald. With it's little cuckoo bird on top. Its swing-able pendulum, and little pine cone weights that you can actually pull up and down!

But. . . I didn't write the post. I was doing other things and hadn't gotten around to it.

"Then there was trouble."

Jonas loves to climb up on the table and play with the little spoons. I usually make him get down when I catch him, but the other day I was trying to get something done--you know, have a shower, or brush my hair or something like that--so I let him continue playing with the spoons to give myself a free minute.

Later that evening I was picking all the spoons he had knocked down up off the table and replacing them on the rack. And I found all but one. . .

My favorite little cuckoo clock spoon! (It's his favorite one too of course.)

We looked all over the house for it. We tried to think of where Jonas might take and stash something, but he's barely getting into that stage, so we haven't really noticed his favorite spot yet.

And I cursed myself for not taking the pictures and doing the blog post. Even if the spoon was lost and gone forever, at least I would have captured a little bit of it's essence in my post! I could live with that. But I hadn't.

Then I cursed my lazy unproductive self again.

Later that night. Jeremy had turned on some music, and was trying to put the moves on asking me to slow dance with him in the dining room. But I was distracted.

As we stood there slowly rocking in circles to my favorite stake dance song of all time, I suddenly gasped!

I walked over to the booster seat that has a quarter-sized hole in the arm where the tray pops on to it. I shook the seat. . . and out slid the little cuckoo clock spoon!

The world was right again. I was ready to turn over my attentions to my sweet husband for the rest of the night . And I vowed to write this post!