Funerals and the Future

Trent's Aunt Bert died.  She was named after her father.  She's been old and falling apart and needing assistance as long as I've known her.  Blind, half-deaf and somewhat eccentric (is that the nice word for crazy?), she's been one of those colorful relatives I think everyone should have one of.  Or two.  But not more than that.

She moved to our area just before Trent and I married, away from the East Coast where she'd lived the past 50 years.  No one I talked to seemed to know why she and her husband would move so far away from their children and friends.  It just meant that Trent's folks spent a lot of time caring for them.  And Trent got calls to help unclog toilets and the like.  It's OK - we all are in a bind sometimes, and it's always a good thing to help.  A few of Aunt Bert's children ended up here as well, and they all had their hands full in the helping.

We just went to the funeral, and it was lovely.  There was hardly a mention of her oddities, or of how much was required to care for her.  Instead, we heard heartfelt appreciations for a dearly loved mother.  She was a beauty pageant runner-up in her youth, dedicated to her family, a help to those in need, and devout in her faith.  There are many who were lifted and loved by Aunt Bert.  Besides, they said, who wouldn't be a little batty when you have eight children to care for?

Wait a minute...  She did have eight children.  Seven of them were boys, including a set of twins.  Only one girl.

Oh man.  I'm in for it.

Blogging Break

Yeah, so I took a break.  I just up and quit writing for a while.  I don't have anything interesting to say about it, or even a fascinating excuse about how we have been so busy with ... anything ... that I didn't have time to write.  I just didn't write.

In fact, I felt something like a bratty child, who when told to do something she knows she ought to do, gives a defiant, "No."  Even when that thing she ought to do is something she likes.  She just doesn't want to.  So there.

I like writing, I really do.  But I just haven't felt like it.  And that's the truth.  Phbbbt.

Maybe I'll write some more tomorrow, though.  Maybe.  :-)

Happy Birthday, Chris!

Chris, my third-born.  How happy I was to see you!  And how puzzled I was to receive so many condolences!  I guess people thought that a mother just had to have a girl.  Don't all mothers intensely wish for girls?  Not me, evidently.  I was just thrilled to be having another boy, even though it seemed everyone else around me was sad that I was getting "another boy" and not a girl.  Girl, shmirl.  I wanted my boy, and have been happy with you ever since.

I love how you find something you want and go for it.  When you wanted to be in the school's top band, but there were too many other kids who played your instrument, you switched.  Even if that meant you had to learn something a bit different and now coax lovely music out of the band equivalent of an ostrich.  Your baritone saxophone is a big beast, but you play it well, both in that coveted highest band and in the highest jazz band. And you like it.  So proud of you.

I love seeing you in a tux.  It's just classy.  And you make it look so great.  Your freewheeling spirit works well when channeled within those formal restraints, and you're classy.  And good looking.  Moms can say that.  But this time it's true.  I've seen the girls look at you, you cutie.

You got your braces off.  Oh, happy day!  You wanted me to give you a haircut that day, and to get contacts too.  Then no one would recognize you.  Maybe they still would.  I still owe you the haircut, and although I think you'll still be recognizable, I think contacts would be a fine idea for you.  I've loved mine, and you've forever had problems with your glasses.  They always seem to break or fall off or get hit my a basketball or get grabbed my a toddler or bend out of shape.  You've done a swell job taking care of your specs, and I don't have any question that you're responsible enough to care for contacts.

I love your sense of humor, even when your younger brothers don't.  Yes, I am laughing when I turn my head away just before the reprimand.  Remember that kindness always trumps humor, but don't get all straight-laced and boring on me.  Your keen mind easily finds the pun or the joke - just let it be in a way to help other people feel happy.

I'm one proud Mama when I look at you, Chris.  You have a sharp mind and you learn so quickly that you forget others have to work at things.  Your schoolwork has improved so much over the past year, as has your gentleness.  I love how the twins give their big brother a hug and a kiss goodnight.  They look up to you - all four of your little brothers, and the sister too.  They think you are awesome.

And so do I.

Happy fifteen, Chris!

What To Do With A Burst Bubble

You know that tall tower of plastic balls at the store?  The one full of big and little playground balls that is strategically placed just where the little ones have been shopping for long enough and are about ready to have a major meltdown right there in the store?  Yeah, that one.  It's hard to resist.  As a result, we always seem to have an inflated rubbery ball at our house.  Or two.  Or maybe three.

Georgie got a hold of Angel's pink ball and decided to bite it.  And then bite it hard.  You just have to see what happens sometimes.  And who knew?  The ball popped.  At first, he was frightened.  Then, he held it up and looked at the big open gash in the side of what used to be a ball.  He examined it carefully... and then popped it on his head.  Daddy cut it down a bit so it wouldn't cover his face.  Georgie loves his new hat.  Especially when Freddie or Angel or one of the big boys is wearing it.

It's pretty ridiculous-looking.  And funny.  And I'm looking for when I can quietly dispose of it because it's a little bit of a safety worry.  Moms are no fun like that.  In the meantime, we have to take a picture.  Because when your bubble busts, sometimes you just have to make something fun out of it and grin anyway.

Spring Break

It's Spring Break.  I love having everyone at home.  Love, love.  We hang out in our pajamas.  And watch movies and play computer games.  Oh yeah, we worked in the garden too, until it started to rain.  And we went shopping together - eight of us and two shopping carts and almost $300 of groceries.  It was a riot.

We went to the library.  This is the stack of books for Ben and Angel.

Alec installed a thingie on the computers that shuts them down every half hour.  I love it - they don't.  We have watched a lot of "Chicken TV."  Those little chicks are incredibly entertaining.

Chris is helping me design a chicken coop.  Man he's good at Sketch-Up!  Trent wants to see our plans, because he's sure he'll have half the supplies somewhere so we don't have to buy them again.  Tomorrow, we build.

Sleep Tight

This was our bedtime story tonight, after we are all tired as can be from the events of the day - not to mention pajama wrangling and toothbrushing.

Once upon a time, there were three pigs who built some houses.  The first was built out of grass, the second was made with sticks (Freddie: Dix!  Hit people!), and the third was out of rocks.  And the big bad wolf came.  (Knocking sound)  (In a low voice)  Little pig, little pig, let me in.  (In a high squeaky voice) Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!  (Wolf voice) Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in! (Blowing noise) And he blew it right over with one puff.  (Squeaky voice)  Oh dear!  Oi oi oi oi oi oi oi! (Narrator)  And he ran to his brother's house.

But pretty soon, the two pigs heard, (knocking sound).  (Wolf voice) Little pigs, little pigs, let me in.  (In a different high voice) Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!  (Wolf voice)  Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in! (Blowing, and blowing again)  (Georgie blows and spits all over everyone)  And he blew it right over with two puffs.  (Squeaky voice)  Oh dear!  Oi oi oi oi oi oi oi! (Narrator)  And they ran to their brother's house.

Sure enough, in just a moment, the three pigs heard, (knocking sound).  (Wolf voice) Little pigs, little pigs, let me in.  (In a medium high voice becasue the squeaky register is giving out) Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!  (Georgie: chinny chinny!)  (Wolf voice)  Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in! (Blowing, and blowing, and blowing) (All join in with the puffing, blowing faster and faster until we sound like a Lamaze practice session.)  (Narrator)  But he just couldn't blow over that strong house.  And what did he say?  (All: Too bad!  Angel:  Shucks!)  He went and got a hamburger instead.  And the little pigs were safe.  (Georgie: And they had a party.)  (Freddie: They watched a moo-fie!)

The End.

Love my little kidlets, all curled up together!

Happy Easter

Hope you had a happy Easter!  Ours was a rather quiet one, because I can't seem to handle too much hubbub right now.  Or planning any hubbub.  We didn't do the whole Easter bunny / baskets thing when I was a kid, so I have to make an effort to remember to get presents.  This year, there wasn't an effort.  Oh well!  We will read the resurrection scriptures and dye eggs for Family Home Evening tomorrow, so I figure I've done the important things.

We had a nice Easter dinner anyway.  All the kids helped, and I enjoyed working with them in the kitchen.  Even though I was in there for hours.  We had my dad come over for dinner, and as we sat around the table it occurred to me that I would not always have such a happily full table.  And I love having all my kidlets around.  So I had to shoot them.  Forgive me, my dears, for being a Kodak Moment Mom.

David, Chris, the top of Angel's head, Ben, Alec, Opa, Eddie, Trent, and Freddie.  Georgie was having a hard time staying at the table.  And Mom takes the pictures so she's never in them.  I looked fabulous, I'm sure.

Ham, scalloped potatoes, green salad, stuffing, green beans... yum.  And, since we are getting into chicks, we had to have them for dessert, too.  Ben made the cupcakes, and Chris and David decorated them.  It's mostly sugar.  What's not to like?  (Um.. the way our oven always burns the bottoms of cupcakes?)