wish granted

Remember this post? The one about my love for these books.

That's what I got for Christmas from my momma. They were on sale, and free shipping, and I'm the luckiest girl on earth. I've already read 2 of them, and my own Girl Child is begging to read the one which bears her own name. I can't yet decide which is my favorite.

It made me think of the movies that have been made of these classic stories, the old versions and the new (clueless doesn't really count though- since it was set modernly and the story irreparably altered, and really step siblings- that's just yucky). I realized that I can't help but have the quality of the movie hold some bearing on which is my favorite story. Sad I know. But Even when I've read them all I still don't know if I could choose a favorite- can there be an 8 way tie?

not in the literal sense

I've been worrying for more than a week. Sick in my stomach, can't think of anything else- but don't want to think of 'it' kind of worrying.

It was hinted that (potentially) The Girl Child had bipolar disorder. So many of the symptoms fit, stupid red-flag check list. A few weren't quite right, though. I've been going crazy waiting for, and dreading, the appointment- the one that I was expecting would doom us to a lifetime of medications and I don't know what else.

I've seen bipolar disorder, and it's so hard to watch. The spiraling depression, the loss of control. I didn't want that for The Girl- a burden too hard to bear.

Turns out it was nothing of the sort- thank heavens for professionals, is all I have to say. Abandonment fears, and separation anxiety. Totally treatable, and fixable, and disgustingly easy when compared to the alternative.

Turns out I'm not barmy after all, well not in the literal sense anyway.

thankful thoughts

Resurrection Lilly- Elizabeth's favorite flower

I have this friend, she's amazing, my Elizabeth- she was like my umbrella that I held tight to through my own personal hurricane.

A counselor, and consoler- she listened, and taught me to really listen, not just hear. She taught me about being a good mom, and how to love people- flaws and all. She taught me how to make, and properly enjoy, jambalaya and et-tu-fe, and beignets

Then she moved, and I cried. But I still remember all that she taught me, and I still call her for advice.

Elizabeth is who I want to be like when I grow up someday.

*Lightning has struk my brain

Some things I learned at girls camp, in no particular order:

The leaders are always chattier late at night than the girls- who knew?

Our camp director is the craftiest person I've ever met, I love her.

I love doing crafts, when I don't have to come up with the ideas (see above).

Beehives are very darling and very excited!!

Mia Maids and Laurels are very darling, but much more subdued in their excitement.

You have to watch out for the quiet ones.

Even speaking at church is worth it, if I get to go to girls camp. maybe.

I love girls camp, don't love the prep work, but love girls camp.

There is no such thing as too many swedish fish, until there is, you know?

'The cat came back' will never leave your head once you sing it. It get's trapped in your head and stuck on repeat, it's a good thing you do the fun hand slap thingy to the chorus is all I can say.

Sharpies + table paper= hours of entertainment

We had the best skit, even though they were all lip syncs really, ours was definitely the best.

A grown up should have proofed the song choices, since the YCL who did the choosing probably did not know the meanings behind most of the songs she chose (don't stop believing? seriously?).

My most brilliant discovery at camp:

I now know what makes childhood magical- I'll impart my knowledge freely. The magic of childhood is just showing up for stuff and having fun, childhood is gone when you are in charge of the preparation- and can no longer just show up for the fun.

p.s. *please tell me that you know what movie that is from! I'll love you even more- I promise

My kind of gift

Some women get jewelry for their anniversaries, some get gift certificates for massages or shopping trips. Some get dates to dinner and the movies. I got magic.

It happened on Tuesday, I left the house that evening- for young women's; the back yard was dirt, the crater from the lost peach tree was still almost as deep as the ache over losing it, and the patio was a dusty mess. I came home and there was this lush green lawn where the dirt once was.

The patio was still a disaster, but there was lawn. and it was the most beautiful sight I think I've ever seen. Sod is magic people. And I have a backyard worthy of a swing set- built by a daddy who loves his girl (*ehem Shcroedad, do you still remember?)

It's still a happy shock to look out the back windows as I walk by and see green lawn there, instead of dirt and dog poop. Even the weather is celebrating my good fortune, it has rained every day since the sod got put in- she's a good gal that Mother Nature.

And my gift to the Schroedad? I cleaned the patio of course.
And I'm planning our date too- ideas please.

the trek saga: part 3

And Lo, it came to pass that the trek was to be embarked upon, and it was good.

It was breezy, not too hot- the perfect day to trek if ever there was one. Our company was first out and apparently we set such a fast pace that we were more than half way done before lunch time. The consequence: women's pull after lunch, and red company got moved to the back {those strong Strongs- setting the pace!}. We splashed through mud, pulled through puddles, and the Schroedad even carried one of our daughters across on his back. The missionaries told of heroic stories of perseverance and rescue, we were all humbled.

Our Stake President called all of the men together and took them up the hill- told them that we women didn't really need them and they needed to be worthy enough for us to want them around, or something that went a little like that.

We sang 'As Sisters In Zion', were told that we are stronger than we think we are and that we could do this. That when our trials come, not to ask why me, but instead to ask why not me. Our trials are what acquaint us with God and we're pretty lucky to be chosen to be tried. I cried. we prayed.

We pulled our handcarts up the steep hill, lined with misty-eyed men, we sang hymns to them while they watched in silent awe. By the end the young men were pulling hats down and sunglasses on to hide the tears, the old men were freely weeping. As were the women. We were strong, and brave, and happy.

After lunch we finished our trek, crossed the Sweetwater river and came home. The youth square danced, the leaders joined in and cheered on. We met with our own Bishops for a fireside, I missed my kids. The Bishop taught an amazing devotional, we sang 'Because I Have Been Given Much' and cried again.

After the fireside the kids ran around telling tales of their day to friends and stayed up way too late. Bishop put all of our stray kids to bed around 1:30- the ma's and pa's were all happily in dream land by then. I'm glad he, at least, was a good parent. I think we all decided we were off duty at 11.

The next day we were to stop on the way home at Rocky Ridge Hollow, but guess what, the bus broke, again. At least they'd emptied the bathroom- so the rolling golden turd was no longer an appropriate name for the broken bus. We did some shuttling, and eventually made it there.

As we filed by the mass grave of the 13 individuals who died there we were serenaded by a violin playing. It was silent and reverent, almost like the temple. A testimony meeting was to be held, the youth filled up all of the time- nary a single adult was heard.

The Stake president called for another bus to be brought up, since the repair didn't actually work on said bus. So most were sent home- some of our kids stayed behind to wait for the last bus, I fretted like any mom would. I gave them all of our bus snacks- they'd get home way after we would, I was sure. Not a good idea, especially since the anti-nausea medication I'd taken wore off around Evanston. Just in time to get obscenely nauseated through the windy Parley's Canyon.

I have a testimony that sometimes prayers get answered exactly how you ask them to be. For I prayed mightily, "please don't let me puke on the bus", was my plea. I made it 3 steps off of the bus and into the grass, I think I'll be more specific next time. Something more like "please just let me puke in my own toilet" where the bishopric and the whole bus won't see.

The fireside the next day was fun, we got to see all of the pictures taken on trek (I don't have them yet or you'd see some of the better ones). None of our kids wanted to go home, they were still enjoying the trek high, and I can't say that I blame them. It was a remarkable experience that I won't soon forget.

The End- as promised

The trek saga: part 2

And it came to pass that we finally made it to Wyoming, to which I am positive I am allergic. As we rolled in to Martin's Cove 4 hours late, I thought to myself. "Self", I said "there is a whole lot of sage brush and desert-ish space not so far from home in Utah, why, oh, why did we drive all the way up here just to trek through some sage brush?"

We did not receive handcarts to push, due to the tardiness of ourselves-thank heavens, as we trekked up to Martin's Cove. It was the hottest part of the day, and it came to pass that I was unimpressed- until we got to the part where we were serenaded with 'Come Come Ye Saints' and we heard the plight of said saints and started up the trail to the Cove. It was an epitomic ( I think I just made that word up) experience. I was awed that they were willing to come to Zion right away, instead of waiting for the train (I would've waited I'm sure). The faith that propelled them through the sweltering heat, step after blistered step, into the freezing cold, truly amazes me. And lo I was humbled, and grateful.

Even though we had to set up our tents in the dark-ish, I'm so glad we went to Martin's Cove, it got all of us in the right frame of mind to walk in the pioneer's footsteps the very next day.

Part 3- the end... tomorrow

an ode to the schroed (er)

Superman and Emma (aka kryptonite)

Dear Schroeder (aka Superman)

Thanks for folding all of the laundry last night, and putting it away too. I was stressing over that big time- the whole coming home to a messy house thing, crazy, I know. It was like having magic elves living in the house. Also thanks for scrubbing the black mold of death off of that danged tent with me, if it's toxic at least we'll die together! You pretty much swooped in and saved the day.

With much gratitude,
Smarty Pants (aka Lois Lane)

pain and torture part 1

I started p.t. for my elbow today, it took an hour and a half- 30 minutes of which was painful and slightly torturous. Ok so only part of it is torture- when I get to have a whirlpool for my arm, that's nice, and even the ultrasound is warm and snugly. The exercises aren't bad either.

It's the part where the therapist stretches my arm and gets it to flex and extend beyond what it has been doing for quite sometime, and then the ice. I hate the ice part.

Even after I've been pulled and stretched further than I can go by myself it still feels good. Then they put the ice on for 15 whole minutes and therein lies the torture. I feel like it solidifies again- just after I worked so hard to even get halfway to the consistency of a jelly fish. Wasted effort when the ice goes on it's right back to the tin man, you know, squeaky and in-need-of-oil-hinged.

I must lather, rinse, repeat 3 times a week- hopefully for no longer than 2 weeks, apparently I haven't met my deductible yet.

The good news- I touched my shoulder today, first time in 8 weeks, not by myself though. that's my goal- touch my shoulder before my next session.

Blistered in the sun

I'm really glad I'm not a pioneer woman, they had it hard- physically. I'd like to think I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but I know I have a low tolerance for annoying-ness.

Let me explain; a headache is annoying- it hurts yeah, but mostly just annoying, blisters are very annoying, but what do you do about them- suck it up is what.

And those pioneers, they had a whole life of sucking it up. Oh I know we have it hard in different ways- but seriously they had to suck it up with no air conditioning even.

I couldn't imagine doing the laundry, my nemesis of all housekeeping, their way- scrubbing the clothes in homemade lye soap, standing over boiling kettles all the live long day. Sheesh my shoulders hurt just thinking of it. We'd be much smellier and dirtier than we are now if that was the way of things. Thank heavens for huge capacity washers- but don't you agree?

I think I would be one giant sun-burned blister had I been a pioneer, and I'm kind of glad for my own stuff I have to suck up when I think of that.