breakfast

This morning at family scripture study, two year old Holland taught us that a way we learn that the Book of Mormon is true is through the Holy Toast.

Maybe having scripture study during breakfast isn’t such a great idea.

enlightened child

My youngest is just about 2 1/2. That means, culturally speaking, that she needs to be potty-trained any day now.

I am in agreement 100%.

But she is my youngest, meaning that I’m pretty used to changing diapers by now. In fact, I would even argue that diapers are easier than a potty-trained child. (Have you ever had a full cart of groceries in the check out line when your child starts panicking that she or he has to go now!!)?

Even so I realize that she cannot go to preschool still wearing diapers and that countdown is putting pressure on me to get her trained. But I’m not worried, because, again, she is my youngest and the other three are fairly potty-trained--using that term loosely of course--and I’m confident in my abilities.

So I start with the classic: bribery. In my sweetest voice.

“Holland? If you go potty in the toilet, I’ll give you a (wait for it--) a potty treat!” Pause and hold excited face for seven seconds. Wait for positive and enthusiastic response from child. Optional confetti falling down. Optional hug for Mommy for being so generous. (See? I know how to do this. I’ve done it three other times after all.) Piece of cake.

She looks at me stupidly, wrinkles her nose and pouts a disgusted, “eeww!” my way and leaves.

Hmm. Probably have to re-think that whole “potty treat” idea.

so I’ve heard

Ah, the serene life of a mormon mommy blogger. Happily typing away on her clean, no fingerprints here! keyboard about the wondrous life of raising a family. Putting into words the hilarious moments of being a mother accompanied with timeless wisdom for others to read.

And what happens when a kid/s comes in bored or hungry or angry or crying wanting this perfect mother’s attention?

“Be quiet for just one minute! Can’t you see I’m busy! Just give me a break here!! For crying out loud!!”

This is not autobiographical in any way.

hello, again.

I have officially ended my seven month hiatus.

A hiatus, you ask? Doing what? Two words: Home. Schooling. I am not doing this anymore. (More on this later. I am still recovering.)

I can now blog again. And clean the house. And read my scriptures. And water the plants. And take a walk if I want to. And shower. And several other things that were not so feasible when telling the children to write their vocabulary words ten times. Or concentrating on not only teaching my 2nd grader her addition facts (math? bleh!) but not pulling my hair out at the same time.

It’s so nice to see them get on the bus.

But it’s also nice to see them come home. I’m refreshed and welcoming with a warm smile and a hug.

say cheese

Thanks to a recent Dads-Night-To-Cook, I have discovered that fried cheese is probably healthier than regular cheese. No way, Jose, you say? I jest not. (I am 93.875% sure on this!)

The reason being is that when you fry cheese in a skillet, there is always fat and oil left in the pan after the cheese is fried to a yummy crisp. Try it and you will see I am right.

I think this is very valuable information. Imagine all you dieters that can now break free! Break free from not eating cheese and eat fried cheese instead!

Yeah, feels good.

this is the place

How often do you get to walk the same ground that your great-great-great grandfather walked? We happened to do just that over the weekend at Pineview Reservoir for a family reunion. Dad was in charge this year and, ever the sentimental fella that he is, decided it would be best to throw in a little familiar education while we ate our potluck under the pavilion at the lake.

So we learned about Joseph Stallings. He was a convert to the church from Maryland that headed out west and homesteaded 250 acres in a quaint little valley by the reservoir in Utah. Can I say gorgeous? I was about to pack up my own belongings and homestead my own third-of-an-acre-on-a-corner-lot.

We were able to tour the property where he lived and took pictures of the original home that he built and, just as exciting, see the original outhouse that he used (where I’m sure a lot of great ideas were born.) We also got to see the local church that he helped to build, and a few other historical landmarks.

The most exciting thing about the whole trip, though, was hearing Dad tell how he knew about the place in the first place. He told us that a few years ago, while my mother’s family was vacationing in the area, he decided to go for a drive and just see if he couldn’t gather some info about this man. He knew that he had settled in the general area, he just didn’t know where.

He drove around and finally stopped at a house hoping someone might know something that could help him. Dad knocked on the door and an older gentleman answered. Dad asked if he had ever heard of a Joseph Stallings or had any information that could help him on his quest.

Well...

This is the place, he was told. The man just happened to be Joseph Stallings' grandson and Dad just happened to knock on the door of the very house that Joseph Stallings had built.

Of all the houses in the valley, it was the right place. Coincidence? I don’t think so. But, you decide.

what a gas

We have been having family dinner now for quite some time. It is quite revolutionary. But, I will save these reasons for another post.

Sometimes while we are eating we will play a game where someone starts a story and we each tell an addition of the story until we either run out of food or the character ends up dying. We try to always let the girls start the story because as soon as either Roman or Greggory share their part of the story the main character usually dies. And for no logical reason. Actually, most of the time the cause of death is from the character’s bowel movements or some gaseous explosion, aka, it farts to death.

So you can see why we like Brooklyn to start the story. We even give Holland a chance to add on, making up sentences from her burbles, trying desperately to drag the story on as long as possible until the inevitable death that awaits.

Yesterday, I was fed up with all the farts. A: we are eating. B: we are eating and C: we are at least trying to make this somewhat educational and so far it was back-firing. (haha) I told the boys that from now on farts and death were banished from our story game. They took it pretty well considering I just wiped out all of their material.

Brooklyn then started the story (I still didn’t completely trust the boys) about a rock named Fluffy. The plot grew and another character, Herman, a sting ray, was introduced. So far, so good. Roman’s turn. More plot. No farts. Great.

And then, I hear this:

Roman: ...then Fluffy dug and dug a big hole...

Gregg (muttering to himself): and then he farted (suppressed giggling)

Roman: ...and they found a key that unlocked the treasure...

Gregg (still thinking that no one can hear him): and then he showed his bum to people (more giggling)

Roman: ...and they rushed through the forest...

Gregg: and he farted! (more giggling)

At this point Roman hears Greggory and just bursts out laughing. And I can’t help it, I start laughing, too. Of course, this encourages Roman and he adjusts his thought mid-sentence and kills the character by, you guessed it, farting to death.

I don’t know if it’s the boys who will never learn. Or me.