Whatcha readin?

I love to read.

I am not a fast reader. In fact it takes me about 3 to 4 weeks to read a book. But I love to read, nonetheless.

Best book I have read in a long time:

I could read it over and over and over again. And have. It's a must read.

Right now I am reading this:

Should be a good one to read during the Christmas season!! Short and sweet.

What are you reading? I would love to have some suggestions from some of your favorite books.

I'm serious.

Have a great weekend!!

I heart children

I love children
Yes, it's true
That's why I had
a hundred and two

Okay five

The things they do
when they are small
I know I cannot
list them all.

But I'll try.

The chocolate ring
on nose and chin
Doesn't even
bother them.

"Ehhhh," they shrug.

"Knock. Knock." "Who's there?"
I'm telling you, folks
To children, there are
zero bad jokes.

Though I've told a few.

My children have been
blessed with lungs.
No inhibition
with my young.

They can sing! Loud!!

Out of bed
They roll each day
One track minds
"It's time to play?"

.....all day.

Wearing shoes
without their socks,
Walking barefoot
across the rocks.

Why? How? Ouch!!

Fashion faux pas?
Not a problem.
At my house
we always got 'em.

Orange and purple...interesting choice.

The greatest thing
my kids possess,
The quality 
I love the best,

Should be most, I know.

 Love! That's right,
The unconditional kind,
More forgiving hearts
You'll never find.

Except maybe in a dog.

I can yell, spank,
Even forget,
You know, the usual
list of regrets.

I won't list them.

And yet, despite
all my wrongs
In my lap's
where they belong.

...and want to be. 

So come on people,
have offspring,
Greater joy can
nothing else bring.

Plus, they'll take care of you later!


Thanks to Jenny and Mama Kat for the prompt.

So I Married a Deaf Man: The hills are still alive

I grew up in a home filled with music. Probably because my dad loves music. There was a piano and most of us could play. Dad had a guitar and would sing us to bed at night. As we grew we were either in band or choir from Jr High through High School. I was in both.

I went to Allstate choir all four years of high school. I got a music scholarship for the first two years of college where I was in the band, in choir, and accompanied some of the quartets on the piano. For those two years, music was my major. Music was my life.

Sadly, when I transferred to BYU, I wasn't accepted into their program...because every Mormon and their dog is musically talented and their talent was more than mine. But I did stay in choir and had a great time.

Needless to say, music has been a huge part of my life. When I am sad, I turn to music. When I am scared, I use music to calm me. When I want to have fun...Music. Music Music. It is just a huge part of me.

A huge part of my life that I can't share with Hubs.

Yeah, it's great that he doesn't care if I listen to Christmas music on Nov 1st; convenient that I always get to choose the genre that we listen to in the car. Never have to explain why country music isn't stupid and why rap is.

And yet....I wish he could share it with me. I wish that he could feel what music makes you feel. Instead, all he feels is the vibrations. I wish he could hear my children as they learn to play "Oh When the Saints Go Marching In" on the piano instead of just putting his hand on the frame and nodding.

How do you describe harmony? You can't really. At least not adequately. Or the sweetness of a child's voice. You can't interpret music...lyrics, yes...but the sound of music. Nope.

It's just one of those things that I gave up marrying a deaf man: sharing my love of music. Sharing that part of me.

But some day, I will be able to introduce him to music. Someday, he will be able to feel what I feel when I hear strings playing, and children singing, and harmonies that touch you to the core.

It's not because I want him to not be deaf. I just want to share that part of me...of who I am...with him.

Maybe not this life....

...but someday.

Swiss Miss, take me away!

Last night, my daughter laid her head on my lap and asked me to tell her a story. A real story. In our house Real means made-up by me. You see, I am the real deal. Whoot!!

So I told her a tale about a mean woman (Mean Molly Mommy) who stole all the candy canes from Santa's candy cane garden. (You know that he has one of those, right?) And Santa's four elves and his neon toothed reindeer, Briggy (we are original), went on a journey to get them back... from the South Pole...because that is where MMM lived.

They discovered that she loved hot chocolate and so they made the most delicious hot chocolate that she had ever tasted. (Cream, chocolate...lots of chocolate, whipped cream and a little bit of Christmas cheer). She wanted the recipe so bad, but the only way they would give it to her is if she gave back all the candy canes so that all the girls and boys around the world could have a candy cane in their stocking.

She promised that she would give them back. At least she had planned to until she remembered that she had melted all of the candy canes in a big pot. But luckily they were able take the melted candy canes and put them in circle molds. That was the year that children all over the got mints in their stockings, not candy canes.
Not sure why I told you the whole story. But there it is. However, that is not the point of this post.

While telling the story, Kyla was lying on my lap and I was running my fingers through her hair. When the story was done, she sat up and said it was her turn to tell a story.

"Okay. But that means I get to lay my head on your lap now," I told her. She obliged.

"Are you feeling squished, Kyla?" I asked, concerned that she might feel claustrophobic.

"No. I feel more like....like there is a huge hippo on my lap."

Mint, anyone?

(Talking about water on Ooops...there goes my butt Blog.)

Mormon Myth Buster

I am a Mormon. Could you tell? Not that it matters...except that it is pretty much my life. And since this blog is about my life, I thought it would be an important thing to put out there.

Being Mormon, I get some of the most interesting questions. So, let me save you all the trouble. Here are the FAQs and answers.

"Do Mormons have horns."

We do not have horns. Nope. We file those off of our young before we leave the hospital, before the hearing test and after the circumcision. It's just easier that way.  (Actually never got this question, but I read it somewhere and it made me laugh.)

"So, Mormons don't like to talk about their underwear, do they?"

I don't think I know anyone who likes to sit around with a bowl of chips and salsa discussing their drawers. I think it is odd that people want to. Don't you?

"So, in your temples...do you... you know?"

No. No! Eeewe no!! Procreation, consummation, and intimate recreation are not things that take place there. Believe me. I would know.

"Polygamy?"

There are zero sister wives in my house. (Mormons don't do that.) But I might consider it IF she was really really ugly, and couldn't have kids, and loved to fold and put away laundry and mop the floor. Oh, and if she would sit and sing songs with me around the piano and she would blog too and follow me and tell me how funny I am. And she would watch the kids while Hubs and I went on a date. Almost like a live in maid-n-nanny. Is that wrong?

"Are you required to have lots of kid?"

Didn't you know that the more kids you have the better chance you have of making it into heaven? No? If it was that easy, I would be on fertility pills and have kids coming out my eyeballs and the name of my blog would be changed to "Ooops...My Head Just Exploded". (Cue sister wife laughing.)

"You don't drink? Ever?"

Well, we do have to drink water. Everyone does. I live on the wild side, though, and drink Diet Coke now and then...it isn't forbidden by-the-way. (I think I may have just lost a few Mormon followers.) No alcohol, coffee or tea. That's pretty much all that I don't drink. Oh, and Dr Pepper. I don't like the taste.

"Three hour church? Are you serious?"

I say this one to myself everyweek every once in a while, too.  It's tough, trying to teach my kids to be reverent and listen. But there is something to be said about worshiping as a family. For three hours. Not quite sure at this point what is to be said about it, but "good long nap" is what comes to mind.

A few last words:

No, not all Mormons like carrots in their Jell-O.
Yes, I will share my 20 year supply of food with you if there is no food anywhere else.
I will be accepting applications for sister wife after the New Year. Please include a picture.

Any questions?

Ultimate gift

I am a horrible gift giver.

Don't believe me? Ask my high school boyfriend. We had been together for two years. He gave me a very nice sports jacket. You know what I gave him? Cherry chocolates. You know, the kind that you can still buy 2/$1 at Walgreen's. What a horrible gift.  I was so embarrassed.

Still don't  believe me? Ask my daughter. Three years ago I chose a bike. She wanted a doll. Two years ago she got an awesome doll house...that she never plays with. Her brothers use it for their Star Wars Galactic Heroes more than she does. Last year I got her an iShuffle and she has only used it 3 times. In my defense, she is so hard to shop for. Seriously! Hard!

I am good at white elephant gifts...buying something that is a little bit silly and unwanted, but still intriguing at the same time. I am good with those. But that is about it.

Except that once. 7 years ago when I bought the best present for my husband. And he uses it all the time. Still.

Electric nose hair trimmer. Best gift ever!!!

It wasn't because he was having excessive nose hair. No. I had just noticed that he struggled from time to time to remove those stragglers. As entertaining as it was to watch, I could tell it was very frustrating. I had offered to let him borrow my eye brow tweezers. (Just thinking about doing that makes my eyes water and my nose itch.) He declined.

I just happened upon my pot of gold one day, walking through Wal-Mart.

"Huh," I thought to myself. "What a great stocking stuffer."

It wasn't the most exciting gift to receive. I can assure you there was no jumping up and down, taking pictures with his phone. Heck, I am not even sure it was mentioned in his "What I got for Christmas" report.

But he uses it. All the time. In secret. Behind closed doors. Because who wants their wife blogging about....oh, ahem. Nevermind.

I'm telling you, ladies.

It's the gift that keeps on giving.

Confession...a little late.

Why can't I EVER be on time? I ask myself this question over and over. It doesn't matter what time I start, I would say that 90% of the time I am late.

I have decided that it is out of my control. I was destined to be late.

Here is my reasoning:

* For starters, I am a woman. Now, hold on. Hold on. Don't get those undies in a ruffle. Admit it, ladies, we take a lot longer to get ready than most men. They may take longer in the shower, at least mine does, but beauty like ours takes time. Unless of course it doesn't. In which case we hate you!

* I was born into a family with 8 children, 7 of us were girls. Getting 10 people anywhere on time is quite the accomplishment. Needless to say, as hard as we tried, it didn't always happen. In fact, people would tell us that things started earlier than they did so that we would be there when it really started.

* I have short legs. Long legs = punctual. Short legs = tardy.
* I married into the Deaf culture. Late is the name of their game. When we went to our Deaf church in AZ, we showed up 45 minutes late for church every week once and it had just started. Late is on time.

* I have 5 children ages 10 and under. Enough said.

It's what I was meant to be. Some people are meant to paint masterpieces. Others are destined to be Olympians. Me? Wouldn't you agree that by birth and marriage, I was destined to be late?

Don't get me wrong, being late isn't all bad, really. There are some benefits.

* It gives people a way to get to know you. You are late to church and the only seats left are the ones up front. Without even one word coming out of your mouth, everyone knows who you are. See what I mean. Instant popularity.

* People don't ask you to bring anything too important because by the time you get there, they won't need it anymore.

* You get there just in time for dessert.

I do try to be on time. Really, I do. I've just accepted that fact that my time to be early or at least on time will come.

It just isn't now.

The tortoise was slow but steady. He may not have gotten there on time, but he did get there. He was destined for lateness, and see, he was a winner in the end. There is hope. 

Destined for greatness, maybe.

Destined for lateness... 
 
...that's me!!
 
Thanks, Mama Kat, for getting me to confess the obvious. What's your confession?