Wednesday, September 30, 2009

9 months. . .

Kylie had a check up and shots today (just two shots, instead of five this time!) She's, um, well. . . .she's a big girl.

She's 9 1/2 months old now. She waves bye bye (if she feels like it--she's not terribly consistent), claps, feeds herself, stands well on her own, climbs everything, plays peek-a-boo, etc., etc. I knew she was a butterball, but I admit even I was surprised when they put her on the scale.

She's 27 1/2 inches long (dead average). She weighs 21 pounds and 14 ounces. Yes, my 9 month old weighs nearly 22 pounds. This should not be surprising, I guess, since she started out weighing 9 pounds and 11 ounces--she didn't actually double her birth weight til around 7 months. But for heaven's sake, no wonder my arm's been so tired the last couple of days. She's had a cold and consequently has wanted to be held a lot. Yowzers. Build those arm muscles.

As her auntie Amanda says, "She's just a marshmallow!" I love my little pudge ball, rolls and all.

Monday, September 28, 2009


Michael and Becky, "attack babies"
prowling for hugs and laughter, his flaming
enthusiasm and her quiet insight an unlikely rightness,
their twinned laughter a gentle background,
their difference a way of fitting.
~"Remember, Holding" by Michael L. Umphrey

I love this guy. The news that my sister-in-law is pregnant with twins has caused a lot of reminiscing for me about all the things I love about being a twin. Always having someone there to play with. Always having someone there to hold onto during those scary new situations. The delightfully bittersweet compliment of having someone who's always jealous of your best friend and instinctually dislikes anyone you date:) Someone who gets your off the wall jokes and who, for reasons you can't quite articulate, always gets a Get Out of Jail Free card from you for offenses that would land anyone else in the dog house. Someone who always makes you feel like you're special, simply for having shared a womb with them. . .why is that? Someone who's opinion always means more to you than it should, and you don't mind so much. That one person in life who'll always give you a hug and may not always understand you, but usually does, and loves you even when they don't.

Is it like this for all twins? I don't know. We're both shy, sensitive, affectionate creatures, so maybe some of the things I love so much about sharing so much of my life with Michael are somewhat unique to us (undoubtedly), but I'm sure every other set of twins out there has their "thing". I haven't actually known a lot of twins, and the ones I have known have been identical, which is different. Whatever the reasons, a very special place in my heart is always reserved for Michael, a little piece that no one else gets.

So Christa, I know they're going to drive you crazy and that first year or two will be rough, but find the fun in your little pair. They will often be double the trouble;), but they will almost certainly be double the fun a lot of times as well. And if you ever need a break, remember that auntie Becky is happy to take them for a spell and delight in all their gleeful mischief.

Sometimes unrighteous dominion really comes back to bite you in the butt.

A fact I shouldn't take pleasure in.

But at the moment I'm finding it hard not to.

I'll be a better person tomorrow.


Weekend Nourishment

Saturday morning we dropped our kids and our pooch at Amanda's house and headed up to Fresno. A couple in our ward were receiving their Endowment and getting sealed to each other and to their kids.

It was wonderful just to be in the temple again. Its been almost a year since the last time we did a session (I know, I know. I'll work on that). I needed that so much. The last six months have been a real struggle for me in many ways. Now that I see that in writing, I know how ridiculous it is. I know how easy my life is, how miniscule my problems and challenges really are, but there it is. I think I resented that I got mule-kicked in April and sucker-punched in June. Feeling like a single parent for much of the last 9 months has added to that stress a bit. [Don't get me wrong--my husband rocks. Truly. He's such a fantastic dad and his kids adore him. He's had a lot on his plate this year, however, so I've kinda gotten used to just being on my own with the kids more often than not]. I needed those few hours where I just left that all outside. To feel completely at peace--no to-do list in the back of my mind while I do something else (like blog), no nagging feelings of guilt or inadequacy or embarrassment. Instead I felt cozy and complete. Despite my late night the previous evening and then an early morning, I felt recharged. We lingered in the Celestial Room long enough to watch all the family members and friends greet the couple as they came in, to absorb some of that joy and love.

Watching Jose and Diana at that alter brought back such tender memories of my own sealing. Sitting in a room surrounded by strangers, the only face I truly knew was that of my new husband kneeling across the altar from me. For all the challenges that came with that day for me, what I felt above all else was an absolute certainty that I had made the right choice and that no other moment in my life had been or ever would be as important as that moment I was in right then. I saw that look on Diana's face as she kneeled across from her husband, overflowing with love and gratitude and humility. Their two very young boys were brought in, in their little white shirts and pants, looking as adorable as always. The grandmas helped hold the boys at the altar and place their hands on their parents' hands as the sealer bound their family together. I was grateful for the reminder that this is what its all about. For all the busyness and successes and challenges that occur in our lives, sometimes we lose the perspective of what we're doing it all for. This life is about building successful, eternal families, bound together by love and Priesthood power. The rest is just details. I love my husband, and I love my babies. I know I say that a lot, but I can't ever say it enough.

While we were waiting for the family, everyone was trying to figure out logistics in the sealing room. Most of the family of the couple speaks little or no English, and the sealer spoke no Spanish, so bi-lingual friends were placed strategically around the room in order to translate all that was happening. The next day, I was teaching the lesson in Relief Society (as I always do on the 4th Sunday), going back and forth between reading in English and reading in Spanish, having a bilingual sister in the RS presidency translating all the comments back and forth. The Lord admonishes repeatedly to strive for unity, to be of one heart. I have often been struck by the unity in our ward. There are many hurdles in our way, a language barrier being one of the biggest, with nearly half of our ward speaking primarily or only Spanish and the other half speaking primarily or only English, with a few, blessed bilingual folks helping the rest of us along while we learn. But if unity is truly what you desire and what you're seeking, the Lord will help you along. There is a wonderful Spirit in our ward, a tremendous unity in spite of the challenges. Or perhaps because of them.

Those who speak Spanish are trying very hard to learn English and many of us who speak English are trying hard to learn Spanish, and it requires quite a lot of humility on both sides. To open your mouth and attempt to speak in a language that is not your own, particularly in large groups of people, is quite intimidating. Last year, in a hugely inspiring moment, Antonio Vega (nearly every other Spanish-speaking member of the ward is somehow connected to him--he was one of the first converts), who grew up in Michoacan, stood in front of a very, very packed congregation and humbly bore his testimony. In English. He didn't let a fear of sounding stupid or mispronouncing something or using the wrong word stop him. He wanted everyone in the room to hear his testimony in his words and his voice, so he bore it in both English and Spanish. That brave and humble example was a watershed moment for our ward. Instead of letting that language barrier hobble us, we have tried harder to reach out to one another, to truly communicate with one another and to create one cohesive ward unit, not two semi-whole pieces of a ward.

After all, unity is a result of heeding the Spirit, and the Holy Ghost communicates with individual after the manner of their own speech, and their own understanding. The Comforter communicates to hearts, and so through him our hearts may be made one.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Admit it

You wish you were this cute!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Vanishing Posts

I didn't even realize that two of my posts were gone until someone asked me what happened to them. I did some investigating and it seems that last week when I opened the Edit page to work on something else and then walked away from the computer, Keilana may have deleted a couple. Sorry! They weren't terribly interesting, so no worries.

Oh, kids. I will never forget the day I walked into the living room of our little tiny apartment and found my not-quite-18 month old up on the desk with a Sharpie, the entire screen of our practically new Mac covered in black permanent marker. She dropped the marker and looked at me in fear as I screeched, "NNNNOOOOOOOO!!" I spanked her little behind once, put her in her crib and started trying to scrub the marker off the LCD screen while crying and repeating the mantra, "Its only a computer. Its only a computer!" (I was very pregnant with Destructobot #2, so hormones did influence my emotions a bit). I felt both greatly relieved and remarkably stupid when Doug got home and easily cleaned every last trace off with a little bit of rubbing alcohol and a paper towel.

But its nice that, at 5 years old, she has graduated to more sophisticated destruction.

Monday, September 21, 2009

A moment

Most of the time, I do just fine with the fact that I live 1300 miles from home, from the rest of my family. I miss Montana, and often long for the beauty, familiarity and freedom of that place. I miss my mom and dad and brothers and sisters. Its been more than half a dozen years since I lived there, though, and I've adjusted. I don't spend my time longing needlessly for a place and situation I can't have right now. But every now and then I have a moment. My sister posted this picture a couple days ago:
These are the 2004 cousins. The year Keilana was born, every one of my siblings also had a baby, all between May and October. This year, the other four are all playing soccer together as kindergarteners. My Keilana is the only one not there. Being so far away from my family is always made harder by the fact that I'm the only one not there. Even more so by the fact that my kids are the only cousins not around. When I see pictures like this, that's when I have the twisted-stomach moment. It makes me feel like a little kid on Christmas morning who wakes up and realizes that Santa has brought everyone a present except you. I feel like the forgotten child. I almost want to cry, wishing my kids had this with all those cousins around to play with (17 all living within a few miles of one another--with another arriving shortly). Wishing my children could have the Montana childhood I had.

But then I lock those feelings away in that little box in my mind where I trap such things, put a smile on my face and try to remember how deeply grateful I am for the life I have right here.


So every morning I walk Keilana to school, usually with a full double stroller and holding onto Ginger's leash. Then in the afternoon, the four of us (Dylan, Kylie, Ginger and I) walk back to the school to pick her up. Its around a third of a mile each direction and usually makes for a very pleasant walk.

Ginger is pretty good on a leash. She's still a puppy, so every now and then she pulls on the leash or darts after something and wraps around me, but for the most part she has already learned to just trot at a steady pace beside the stroller. There's a house we pass twice on each trip (so a total of four times a day) with a large fenced yard. The fence is a rather tall chain-link, with vines and boards covering it so that you can't see into the yard. Two American Bulldogs live in that yard, and they usually bark at Ginger. Initially she would bark at them and try to jump at the fence, but after a several choke pulls from me and some firm "no"s, she has learned to move to the opposite side of the stroller and keep her mouth shut most of the time.

So today we're walking by and they start with their usual big, deep barking. Ginger walked around behind me to look at them, as they were farther up the yard than usual today. Suddenly they both leapt at the gate, which came flying open and out they came. Two full-size, non neutered male bulldogs with their jaws all over my lean 20 pound puppy. I'm freaking out and kicking and hitting like crazy, though probably not as hard as I should've been. While every bulldog, pit and boxer I've personally known has been sweet as can be, they're called bully breeds for a reason and I had no idea what the temperament of these particular dogs was. So I'm trying to get them off the dog while hoping, with both my little kids sitting in the stroller right there, that they don't turn on me. I was on the main street in Lindsay, nearly the time school gets out and yet there was no one around. I kept thinking an owner would come out while I was beating these stupid dogs, who seemed pretty much unfazed.

Fortunately for me, some random teenager came flying over on his bike and hopped off and just started kicking as hard as he could. That got the smaller dog to back off. The larger one had latched on to Ginger's back end and would not let go, and I alternated between kicking the smaller one to keep him at bay and the larger one to get him to let go, while my teenaged rescuer focused his whole energy on kicking at hitting the larger one. Finally, we managed enough force to get the bigger on to let go and my new best friend yelled, "Grab her!" and I scooped Ginger up into my arms (no small feat at this point) and started running while trying to push my double stroller. My young friend stayed on top of the dogs long enough for me to put a reasonable distance between them and myself.

They didn't seem intent on doing any real damage (something I didn't realize until after I got out of the situation). They were biting her and chasing her around for several minutes, but certainly didn't break any bones and didn't draw any blood. She seems to be fine, other than a little shaken up. They didn't ever come after or jump or nip at me or the kids, and didn't try to chase me once I had the dog in my arms. I was furious. The owner either wasn't home or didn't hear me yelling and the dogs struggling (I'm afraid Dylan heard an earful of not-so-fake swearing--"dang!" and "sugar!" were not the words I was using to express myself, I admit). When I told Doug where it happened, he was pretty sure its the same house where Pepper (the lab we used to have) was attacked by a rott. Grrrrrrrrr.

On a pleasant and entirely unrelated note, I ended up putting the mattress from Dylan's bed in the crib (he's sleeping on the couch in his room) this weekend while I had an extra baby and decided to leave it there. Last night I put Kylie in the crib for the first time. She cried for about 40 minutes and then slept peacefully all night. I actually woke her up at 7 this morning so that I could feed her before I took Keilana to school. This morning I nursed her at nap time and she fell asleep while eating before I put her in the crib. She woke up when I laid her down, but only cried for 7 or 8 minutes and then slept for an hour and a half. After I picked up Keilana, I put her down in the crib wide awake and she cried for less than five minutes before she went to sleep. Sleep training success! She is the easy-peasiest baby.

Friday, September 18, 2009


I had cause recently to think about an exchange I had with my mom when I was 16. We were in the car on the way to Missoula, chatting back and forth. She's one of my favorite people and was one of my closest friends at the time, so we had a fairly open and easy going relationship.

Anyway, she made a funny, teasing remark to me, and I responded, in a playful tone, "Shut up." There was absolutely no disrespect intended. It was said in jest the way I would have said it to one of my friends if they were teasing me, the way many teenagers do. I am confident that if anyone had overheard it, they would've known undoubtedly that I was just teasing. My mom smiled, but cocked her head ever-so-slightly and asked, "Did you just tell your mother to shut up?" It wasn't said as a stern rebuke, because she knew I was being playful. But the point was made. I'd gotten too casual with my tone and even the words I used. My language had gotten sloppy. If I spoke that way to my own mother, what did it indicate about the way I was probably talking to everyone else?

Not only do we understand our own parents better as we become parents ourselves (well, most of us--some people are just stubbornly clueless well into parenthood, and some people's parents fall outside the bell curve of understandability), but I think most people understand the Gospel better as well.

A lot of times, the Lord either allows or sends little trials to give us that opportunity to change directions. Not big things, but just little day to day challenges that serve as those gentle little rebukes to remind us, "Hey, you need to shore things up here a little bit" or "You've gotten a little sloppy in this area. Could you work on that?" I'm better at heeding my mom's subtle (or not so subtle) hints than I am at heeding the Lord's.

I will give my children three opportunities to heed "nice Mommy". Up to three times I will say, "Will you please (insert appropriate task here)", or give them a gentle nudge in the right direction. But sometimes they decide to be stubborn or willful, so I have to bring out "mean Mommy"--the parent who doles out spankings and bedroom timeouts and nose-in-the-corner-while-you-count-to-20 punishments. In the midst of challenging trials that push me to shore up my weaknesses, I often will look back and realize that there were a lot of little nudges here and there where the Lord was trying to push me in that direction, trying very gently to get me to address those weaknesses in myself. But I wasn't paying attention. I'd rather keep playing robots and race cars, as it were. So there I find myself, sitting with my nose in the corner, my toys taken away and nothing to do but think about what I've done or failed to do. My mom doesn't really make a habit of telling me what to do any more (actually, she never really did--I never took well to be bossed:) ), so I'm going to resolve from now on to try to pay closer attention to my Father's little hints. Just as my children's lives would be much easier and more pleasant if they would just listen to me the first time, I'm sure my life will be much blessed by trying harder to just do what I'm supposed to do the first time!

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Late evening nostalgia


The would-you-two-just-sit-still-and-smile-for-20-seconds-please?! faces.
I know, I know. "Aaawwww. . . ."

No, please Dylan

tell me how you really feel. . . .
But, at least Keilana was showing her true colors, too. . . .

Getting there

I like how the red hair and blue eyes stand out in this one.


To get a good photo for great-Grandma for her birthday. Before afternoon snacks and naps. Stupid, stupid mommy. Mostly disaster.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


This is Stephen. We were best friends growing up. No, we never dated (we always knew that we were ridiculously incompatible in that regard, even if no one else could see why). But between the ages of 10 and 18, I spent half my life with this guy. He's very, very smart, tremendously talented (he has a gift for writing that I always envied), hilarious, and in his better moments a touch of his mom's sweetness would come out in him.

We were pranksters and wanderers. Our off-the-wall creative brains bounced off each other well, sometimes to the hilarious detriment of those around us. We tended to exaggerate one another's subversive tendencies, a fact that seemed to both annoy and amuse the teachers at our tiny school. We were both mushy idealists wrapped in sarcastic armor.

Long story short, I haven't heard from him at all in 3 years. Barely at all in the year or two previous to that. By his own admission, he wasn't keeping in very steady contact with his Mom back then either. Doesn't sound like he is now.

When I see Kimimi (his mom and one of the sweetest people on the planet), there's this strange compulsion I can't quite describe. Its important to me that she knows I'm glad to see her, that I love her. She's always so to glad to see me, my kids and to hear about my life. The only thing we've ever had in common is Stephen. And neither one of us can mention him to the other. If it makes me sad and hurts me, I can only imagine the kind of heart break his mother must feel. But what is there to say?

Its such a strange thing to have someone be such an important part of your life for such a long time, and then to have them just fall out of your life completely. I'm rambling now, but there's a melancholy I can't put into words. . . .

Friday, September 11, 2009


Eight years ago today, I started my day like any other. Hit my snooze button at least three times before I finally concluded I absolutely could not wait any longer to get out of bed or I'd miss seminary. Brushed my hair, took 5 minutes to throw on some make up, picked up my backpack and keys and hopped in my car to drive to the church.

It was a particularly fabulous day in seminary. Every day with Rod was great, but he was in rare form that morning, both poignant and hilarious at appropriate times. He was color blind, and that morning he had put on two different shoes. When Trent and I (as always, sitting at the back of the room together writing amusing notes to one another in our notebooks) noticed and asked if he was mismatched, he stood up on the table at the front of the room, so the other 8 students could get a good look. Left for school in a great mood.

I pulled into the parking lot at the same time as Ligas, and walked into the south door with him, making jokes about the crazy Mormon kids and their early morning seminary. Walked down to my locker to throw in my sweater, and as I got to the senior hallway, Sam walked out of Biggs' classroom, bitterly muttering something about "the towers, then the Pentagon". When I asked her what was wrong, she just threw her hands up and in an irritated tone said, "Go in Biggs's room and look at the TV."

He had the TV on FoxNews, and it took me a second to put together what I was looking at, as I watched smoke billow from the twin towers. I listened in disbelief as Shepherd Smith repeated that they didn't know exactly what had happened--planes had hit both towers, but no one knew why. I saw things start flying from the buildings and thought for a moment that chunks of the building were starting to fall. In an instant of horror I realized I was watching people fall. The only choice left to them was how to die and they chose to leap rather than perish in the burning building. I decided I needed to take a moment away from the television and got up to leave the room just as the first tower collapsed. I couldn't move. Live, before my eyes, I watched that vast building, steel and concrete, came tumbling to the ground.

The bell rang not too much later, and I headed off to calculus in Ms. Mikk's class. She turned the volume on the TV all the way down, but left it on so we could follow what was happening. She tried to start going over the previous evening's homework with us--it seemed odd to me at the time, that such a practical and compassionate woman would think we would actually be able to accomplish anything on such a day. I realize now that trying to continue on as if there were any sense of normalcy in the world at the moment was her best coping mechanism--her husband was working for our state representative at the time and he was in Washington DC that morning. Stephen and I sat at the back table transfixed by the images on the TV. Some time into our class (I can't say exactly how long), we both gasped audibly as the second tower collapsed. That was it. Ms. Mikk knew at that moment there was no point in even trying. There would be no sense of routine or normalcy on that day. She turned the volume back up and we all sat and watched, trying together to make some sense of what was happening.

I remember fondly those first few months after that tragedy. Red Cross was so overwhelmed with blood donations, they actually had to turn people away. Our senior class organized multiple fundraisers for the victims' families. Nearly every single business in Missoula, Ronan, and Polson was plastered with American flags and everywhere you looked, signs read "God Bless America". Our Congressmen, who nearly everyone on both sides of the aisle love to hate, burst into spontaneous singing of that very anthem on the hallowed steps of our Capital.

How quickly we forgot. We are more divided (and angrily so) than perhaps any time in the last several decades. We continue to indulge and even glorify behaviors and attitudes that are at best counterproductive and at worst evil. How often does the Book of Mormon admonish us, "O remember, remember"?

The prophets had to say that over and over and over again because human memory is short. We see now before us a good example of why it is more effective when we choose to humble ourselves than when the Lord has to humble us. My father has theorized that our society will crumble and some sort of Balkanization will occur to America, unless some large event occurs that breeds unity. I reminded him that unity brought on by outside forces is always short lived. For that type of unity comes of a visceral reaction--fear of violence, fear of famine, etc. When the fear is gone, the unity goes with it. Real unity requires that man has a true change of heart. The pride cycle plays itself out in individual hearts and in whole societies. When we turn from the Lord and harden our hearts, he allows our enemies to overcome us. It has ever been thus. He allowed a wake up call. Did we heed it? O remember, remember and perish not! The pride cycle in our society is pretty far advanced. We may well have our civilization destroyed in our life time. But we need not fear, so long as we are faithful. For we know that this time, when the people are ripe for destruction, it will be more ugly and brutal than at any other point (perhaps because human weaponry is so advanced?), but we also know that this time will be the last. That the Savior stands ready to appear to man again, to build His kingdom more completely, and to usher in, after the violence and destruction, one thousand years of peace. One thousand years of order and harmony and tranquility, where Satan is bound and the work moves forward unimpeded.

Perhaps that time will come after we have withered away and been lowered into the earth. But perhaps not. Perhaps it will come when we are still young and vibrant and in the midst of all our busyness. Are we prepared? Are we dedicated to the right things? What do we set our hearts upon? What are we to remember? Just as we have covenanted, we are always to remember Him. Remember Him and perish not. Because all things outside of Him perish and fade away. He only is constant, unwavering, ever faithful and loving. It is only in Him that we find salvation, whether we leave this earth in the heat of battle or as an old soul warm in bed. He is the only way. May we be more worthy of His love and constant care. May we always remember.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

One more

As if

I don't already spent too much time on pictures and the computer, and too little time writing and working on house projects. Sweet, digital addictions.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Labor Day Fishing Trip

Doug found out that Labor Day was a free fishing day in the state of California, so we thought we'd take advantage of that and head to a lake. We made fairly impromptu plans on Sunday afternoon with the Ashcrafts (very cool friends of ours--seriously, they're fantastic). We left about 6am on Monday morning, made a quick Walmart stop in Fresno on the way for food and supplies and then headed up to Wishon Reservoir. There were obviously lots and lots of fish, but they were all about 4 inches long, and not biting much. But by golly, it'll be the place to be next Memorial Day weekend. Wishon is surrounded by boulders, and we took a 3 year old, a 4 year old, a 5 year old, a 7 year old and a not-quite-9 year old. Climbing. Constant climbing. Two mothers holding babies and keeping an eye on water-loving autistic 5 year old while shouting, "Be careful!" and "I don't want you to go any higher than that!" And we were pretty consistently ignored, of course. I'd be more annoyed if I didn't remember the joy of boulder climbing and being that headache myself. "I'll be fine, Mom!"

We spent most of the day just hanging out, enjoying the cool breeze and the lack of the world's ability to locate and annoy us through the use of electronic devices. The kids braved the cold water and all did a little bit of swimming. We didn't actually catch any fish. Everyone got sunburned, but no one really cared. (I feel pangs of guilt every time I look at my tomato-faced baby today--though she doesn't seem to notice, much less care). One time I was stepping down from some rocks (after putting a shirt on my rock-climbing monkey to help prevent such sunburns), when the dog ran underneath me and I tripped, tumbling backwards onto lots of big rocks. Jake and Dylan, sitting on the rocks just above me, thought that this was hysterical and immediately burst into gleeful laughter. I managed to bruise my hip and back and get big, nasty scrapes on my elbow and calf. Then, some time later I heard Keilana making a big screaming fuss, so I got up to investigate and was walking down the rocky hill when my ankle rolled. I was carrying a sleeping baby (the ground in entirely covered with large rocks, so I really didn't have anywhere to put her down), so even though I couldn't stop myself from falling, I did manage to control the direction I fell in order to keep the baby safe. As I landed flat on my back, I couldn't help it: this time I burst into hysterical laughter. All day long I'd been hollering at the kids to be careful and insisting someone was going to end up with stitches, and I was the only one that fell all day. And I fell twice! That would be my luck.

It turned out that Keilana's problem was that one of her flip flops had fallen from the high boulders where she was perched down into the lake and was floating away. Somehow Doug and Cotter managed to retrieve it without either of them getting in. As I write this, it occurs to me that I really don't know how. I think Doug's fishing pole was somehow involved in Operation Flip Flop Rescue.

We made it home at about 10 last night (after a Fresno In-N-Out stop, of course) and everyone's recovering. Wish we could go again next week!
Dylan pretending to be Spiderman as he leaps bravely (or stupidly, whatever) from rock to rock.

Keilana--neck deep in freezing water and smiling so big her cheeks could almost pop. That's my girl.

Doug takes a break from fishing and enjoys a snack with the Kylie bear.

Jake and Dylan descending from yet another successful climb.

Absolutely gorgeous day at Wishon--it was probably in the 70s, sunny and breezy.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Here you go, Becky

Forgive the picture quality--my D40 went on a field trip yesterday and has yet to find her way home. So the iPhone shots again. Odd colors for Mickey Mouse, but what can I say? Its what my little girl wanted today. The blue frosting is vanilla, the pink is strawberry. Atop good old butter cookies. This was sort of a hasty after school job, but Keilana and I agreed while we were finishing that next time we need to make some piping icing and the right colors to give our Mickey Mouse a face. Maybe over the long weekend. Sugar cookies are by far Keilana's favorite activity. She enjoys crafts, but you don't usually get to eat crafts when you're done. And yes, Dylan has a bare butt. Just as I snapped the photo (he came in the room behind me while Keilana and I were frosting), I realized he wasn't wearing any pants. Oh, Dylan.

Poor Baby

So we went over to Chuck and Katy's on Saturday for a little BBQ, swim and cake for Chuck's birthday (once again I must say: I love that guy!) and poor Rachel (everyone's favorite--seriously. She rocks) had been sick all week. She was still recovering, still a bit stuffy and coughy and what not. Fortunately, my little baby girl who is so shy and clingy, loves Rachel. Unfortunately, the poor thing seems to have caught her cold/flu.

She's been a little hoarse and coughing a bit the last couple of days, and yesterday the runny nose seemed to be getting worse. Today, she's all stuffy and runny and coughy and very, very tired. She's still pretty darned good natured (bless her little heart), but I just hate it when they're miserable and you can't do anything about it! So here's hoping for a speedy recovery.

On the upside, while we were at Disneyland, Katy couldn't resist buying a few things on the way out (I love her shopping impulses. And I thought it was hilarious that Doug didn't let her shop ALL day, because he was trying to get Chuck to all the major rides, so she had to stop at the Disney store at Downtown Disney on the way to the tram. LOL), and she bought some giant Mickey Mouse cookie cutters for everybody. Keilana was very excited to make Mickey Mouse cookies, so the dough is in the fridge now and in an hour or so we should be decorating! :)