a roman prayer

It was Roman's turn to say the family prayers the other night. This is verbatim:

"Heavenly Father,
Thank you we could get a pet snake, except I think our cats would try to eat it and then I would say, NO CATS!!....."



As soon as he started yelling, Weston cut him off. Of course, the rest of us were giggling--as reverently as possible.

(We're getting a pet snake???)

Rock On

Let's say your parents call you at 8:00 in the evening telling you that they are on their way up to your house with a big surprise. What's the first thing that comes to mind that you hope they're bringing?

You guessed it!

Special delivery all the way from Boise from my dear Papa (with much encouragement from my Mother I learned).

The coolest part is that the colors of the rock match perfectly with our house (and our dirt); of course, Dad takes all the credit for that.

Thanks, Mom and Dad! What a great surprise!

A Boy's Cure-All

This morning Roman complained that his throat hurt.

He insisted that I put a band-aid on it.



Afterward he said he felt much better.

Weak

I am usually a pretty healthy girl, but for some reason I have been very sick this winter. Three times have I been hit with the sore throat-headache-muscle ache combo. Yesterday I was couch-ridden all day. The children, being quite opportunistic, took advantage of this by sneaking cookies, graham crackers and whatever else they wanted from the kitchen all day, knowing I wouldn't do a thing about it. And they were right. I couldn't have cared less. As long as they kept the noise down, they pretty much had free reign of the house.

This reminded me of one particular day when I was so tired and I really just needed a nap. So I lay down on the couch and at that precise moment, Roman yells out, "Mom! I'm going to eat this ice cream for lunch, okay?" I was tired enough that the thought, "Ice cream is made out of milk" was enough justification in my mind to let him finish off the carton.

I guess I should be grateful that my children are old enough to fend for themselves in a pinch. And I guess a cookie (or seven) for lunch every now and then won't kill them--or me. But I just really hope I get better, soon.