You'll Be Stone Dead in a Moment

Today I played a rhyming game with Mr. Wiggle Brows while we were running errands. I was asking him for words that rhymed with "car." We listed several, then I asked him what was the word for the things you see in the sky at night. Once he figured out the word I was after, he said:

"I like looking at the stars at night. Sometimes, after I check to make sure you and Dad are not dead, I go look out my window at the stars."

Should I get him a little hand mirror?

Small Miracles

A few weeks ago, we had Phil's former girlfriend, Heather, and her beautiful daughter over for dinner. My dear friendsister, Katie, asked, "Wasn't that really awkward for you?"

She has a point. Heather sent Phil a "Dear John" letter while Phil was on his mission. I think it was hard on Phil, but they remained friends. When I finally came into the picture, I thought it was a bit odd that they would still want to spend time together. My mom thought it even stranger. But I accepted it. After all, she was married, and I had some guy friends too, though I wasn't as close to them as Phil was to Heather.

We kept in touch with Heather off and on for a while. She was kind enough to invite me to social events, which I appreciated, even though I couldn't always attend. She was my nurse when Sweet Boy was born and was one of the first to hold him. It was comforting to have her with me in the hospital--not at all as weird as I thought it might be. She always was a little intimidating to me: tall, beautiful, and confident. (And her singing voice is gorgeous.) Still, I liked her, though our friendship was maintained more through Phil. Then she moved to Nevada and we lost track of one another.

After some life shaking events, I came to understand Phil's relationship with Heather a little better. Suddenly, so many things became clear to me. I had an all new appreciation for Heather and felt the kind of connection with her that comes through shared experiences. I wanted to reconnect, to talk to her again, but I didn't know how that would happen.

Then I got more involved in Facebook. Imagine my delight when Heather sent me a friend request! We began to chat and send messages back and forth. When we arranged a time for her to come visit us with her daughter, I was thrilled. And I wasn't disappointed: we had a wonderful evening. She took as much delight in my children as I do (or at least she pretended to). I was sad to see her go but grateful to know that we have reconnected.

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At the end of April, I went to Women's Conference at BYU. I knew that one of my aunts and her daughters, some of whom I haven't seen for a very long time, would be there. I knew that the chances of running into them were pretty small, but I still whispered one of those "wishing" type prayers that I might run into them.

You can imagine my joy when I discovered them Thursday morning sitting two rows behind me in the Instant Choir rehearsal! I could hardly believe it! We embraced, we visited, we had our pictures taken together, and I figured that would be it until I saw them at a family get-together that was planned for Friday night. I hoped I'd see them again during the two-day conference, but decided one small miracle was all I would hope for. Not so! They were sitting about 5 rows down from me during the closing session on Friday! It was amazing.

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Those chance miracle meetings were not the only ones I experienced at Women't Conference. There was one woman I had been thinking about several days before the conference that I haven't seen in a few years. We used to live in the same ward about 11 years ago, and the only time I ever see Shauna is at Women's Conference. But I wasn't planning to sit in the section where all my friends from that area usually sit. I sent a wishful thought heavenward that I'd see her there but didn't expect anything, until I saw her walk right past me in one of the classes I decided to attend. I got to talk to her for a few minutes and share with her some memories I have of her doing sweet things with her children. I don't know why Heavenly Father allowed me to "run into" Shauna there, whether it was for my benefit or hers, but I felt loved at that moment.

Directly after that class, while waiting for the next class to start, I decided to make a pit stop at the restroom. While waiting in the line, I saw a woman come out of one of the stalls, and I nearly passed out from shock! "Leisa?" She turned, and it was indeed Leisa, one of my dear, dear friends from high school who ended up marrying one of my cousins. I hadn't seen her in probably 15 years or so, and we run into each other in a small bathroom in the Wilkinson Center with 30 other women waiting in line? Not a coincidence.

It was also no coincidence to find out we were both going to the same class that hour. She was in need of some direction for a difficult situation that I ended up having personal experience with. I firmly believe that the Lord put us in one another's paths so that I could ease some of her pain. (At least, I hope I did. I tried to.)

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Thinking back on these interactions with dear friends and family, I realize even more how much God loves each of us. We are His daughters. He knows exactly what we need, and even sometimes gives us things that we really want. Logically, I should never have run into Leisa, Shauna, or my cousins and aunt. Social norms tell me that I shouldn't be friends with my husband's former girlfriend. God knows better for me: he gave me these small miracles because he loves me and knows what I need. He has always known, even if I haven't.

Because I would SO love one of these...

I can totally see Mr. Wiggle Brows and J Boo riding in the back and loving it. And I wouldn't have to hook up a bike trailer! If you, too, want a chance to win one, click on the link and follow the directions.

You know you're tired when...

...you find yourself falling asleep during choir practice, and you are the accompanist.



Oh yes, I did.


And I was playing parts at the time.





At least no one caught me.

Making Mistakes

I don't do Easter baskets.


I know, I know--I'm robbing my children of a great American {*ahem* pagan *ahem*} tradition, not to mention a sugar high. (I already got the look of shock from Pflower this morning.) I just don't want my children thinking that Easter is bunnies, eggs, and candy. I want them to associate Easter with the amazing gift of the Atonement. I want them to know that Jesus lived, died, and was resurrected for them.

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A few weeks ago, Sweet Boy called home from school. He had been there less than an hour, so when I saw "P-- School District" on the Caller ID, my heart did a giant leap into my throat.

SB: {teary voice} "Mom?"

Me: "Sweet Boy! Are you okay? What happened?"

SB: "My backpack is gone!"

Me: "Gone? What do you mean? Was it stolen?"

SB: "I don't know! I thought I had it on my back--it felt like it was there on my back--but when I got to school and went to take it off, it was just gone! I looked everywhere, but it's not there. And I won't have a lunch today because my lunchbox was in there too!" {breaks down into tears}

Me: "Oh, Sweet Boy! It's okay. You won't go without lunch because I'll bring you another one. It will be okay--we'll find your backpack. But in the meantime, I'll make sure you have lunch today."

SB: {sniffing loudly} "Okay. Thanks, Mom."

I hung up the phone and got J Boo and Mr. Wiggle Brows loaded in the car to do the drop-off at preschool. I told Phil what happened, and he offered to drive by the school on his way to work and see if he could see the backpack outside. I planned to do the same on the way back from my drop-off duties. Neither of us saw anything.

When I returned home, the thought came to me to check Sweet Boy's room before starting a 2nd lunch for him. Lo and behold, there was the backpack, hanging on the hook where he keeps it in his room, lunchbox and homework present. What a relief! Sweet Boy was so happy to see his backpack (and even happier to see his lunch). He laughed when I told him where it was and was a good sport when his classmates teased him. Happy day for Sweet Boy, happy day for mom.

Later that evening, as Phil and I were getting ready for bed, Phil asked THE QUESTION.

"So, what do you think Sweet Boy learned from this experience so that it won't happen again?"

(Can I tell you how much I detest THE QUESTION? It always feels so patronizing. When I goof up, I don't really want to verbally rehash the painful lesson learned in order to "prove" that I learned something. And the kids don't like it either. Some lessons are meant to be learned privately.)

Here was my response: "He learned that his mother loves him enough to make him another lunch if his gets lost so he won't go hungry to school. He learned that it's okay to make mistakes, and it's good to be able to laugh at yourself when you do."

It stopped Phil dead in his tracks.



And it got me thinking about making mistakes.



Not long after the backpack incident, Sweet Boy was scheduled to take part in a violin recital. He was nervous. When we got there that night, I could see him getting more and more agitated. He got teary and told me, "What if I make a mistake? I'll be so embarrassed, and then I'll burst into tears, and I'll be even more embarrassed! It will be just like the fiddle contest!"

The recital started, and I did my best to help ease Sweet Boy's fears. There were several performers before it would be his turn, and it worked out great. Every single performer made some kind of mistake. I'm sure the people around me who could hear my whispers were annoyed to have me pointing out the mistakes to my little boy, but I needed him to see that everyone makes mistakes, and it's not the end of the world if they do. He began to relax a little.

Then Lorien's oldest son got up to play his pieces. He sounded great! But part way through one of his songs, he forgot where he was and had to stop completely. His mind went blank, and he could not remember where he was in the music.

"Whoops, I forgot where I was," he grinned, sheepishly. Then he picked up his bow, found a different starting place, and finished the song.

I leaned over to Sweet Boy and said, "See, C-- goofed up big time. Did you notice how he responded? He just said, 'Whoops,' and started over. Maybe, if you make a mistake, you could say, 'Oh poop!'" He started to giggle. (I had to play to that potty humor streak that boys have.)

"Or maybe you could say, 'Oh poop nuggets!'" That got him laughing even harder. He was no longer near tears, and he got up and played his best. No one noticed his goofs, and he didn't get embarrassed, and he didn't cry.




Not long after that, we attended the Draper Temple dedication. During the program, President Monson made a mistake in his conducting and announced a song from the choir that they had already sung. President Uchdorf stopped him, he corrected the error with a bit of humor, and went on. I leaned over to Sweet Boy and said, "See? Even the prophet makes mistakes sometimes." He smiled.

And I prayed silently in my heart that he would remember these mistakes--the ones he made, and the ones others made. I prayed that he would remember that making a mistake does not mean the end of the world. Mistakes can be handled with humor and grace. Making mistakes is an opportunity to learn, grow, and repent.

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So I don't do Easter baskets. A mistake? I don't think so. Because my children will know that, because of the great and powerful Atonement, they can make mistakes and still return to live with Heavenly Father. Because of their relationship with their Savior, mistakes can be rectified. Because of the Savior's gift of blood, sweat, death, and then life, they, too, will live again, even if they have made mistakes. And no amount of plastic eggs, chocolate rabbits, or jelly beans will teach them that.

Fashion Fil, Part 2

Remember this post? Well, Phil's coworkers went one step further. They have a "Name Phil's Style" contest going on--written up on the side of Phil's filing cabinet.



Awesome.

Booger Air

I was talking with Mr. Wiggle Brows this morning about wind. This is what he told me:

"When the wind goes in through your mouth, it's still wind. But when it goes in through your nose, it turns into booger air."





I think I actually blew some booger air onto my shirt from laughing so hard.

Just a Flesh Wound

As requested, here are some "after" pictures:


That steri strip is driving me bonkers!

But not as much as the rash from the dressing adhesive. This is the biggest patch of it (about as long as my hand and three fingers wide):


I told them I had a tape allergy. (And no, that is not boobage showing. It's my left shoulder, thankyouverymuch.)


On a tangent, here is what Sweet Boy and Too (Mr. Wiggle Brows) were doing tonight with a blanket.


Upon emerging from the cocoon, I asked Too (Mr. Wiggle Brows) if he was now a butterfly.

"No. I'm a biskeeto!"