Ice Stage

Dear Jack,

I'm so happy that you finally ate enough Golden Grahams cereal that you were able to collect all four of the 'Ice Age' characters. It is so fun to hear you play with them in your room. I can't figure out why you call Sid, "Ice Stage". Is it because you don't really know his name? Or is it because you just are kind-of a weird kid? I also don't really know what the character's name is with the patch on his eye. It sounds like you are saying either Burke or Burt, but when I ask you you always correct me by saying something that sounds like Burke or Burt...and then, I still don't know. What I do know is that Burke/Burt is a central part of most of your animated adventures with Ice Stage.

P.S. I keep telling you that I don't know what the Squirrel's name is, not to confound you, but because I don't think the squirrel has a name. This was a major design flaw by the movie producers. Please take your concerns up with them.

Love you,

Mom

Letter to Lachlan

Dear Lachlan,

I know that you really want to comb your own hair, but I'm just not ready to have you look like Richard Beard.

Sorry.

Love, Mom

That's What She Said

Lachlan's version of Jingle Bells contains the line:

"Bells on butt-tail ring. Making spirits bite."

A recent conversation went something like this:

Me: You've got to be good because Santa's always watching.
He might be up on the roof listening to you right now.
Lachlan: Yeah, Santa is very sneaky. Yes, he is always
sneaking around. Yes, he is always sneaking and watching me. He's sneaky cause he keeps candy canes in his pants.

Oh, that Santa. I can't stop laughing about him.

Simple Kitchen Apron

We had an sewing project in Relief Society a while back. I get pretty stoked by stuff like this because they generally select projects that I can actually accomplish successfully. This project made me feel like a rockstar because it was so simple that a monkey could have made it--and someone with intelligence ranking near mindless (like me) could even improve upon the whole thing. Hence, the pride brought about by a charitable women's organization.

Oh, the irony.

In fact, the ego made me make two of them. The first one, was for me--mostly because, even monkeys need a trial run when using a sewing machine.

I lined the back and the front pocket. I got the fabric from JoAnn's because it was cheap, but I sort of wish that I would have had the money to look at Bernina. They have some great stuff in there.
Modeling session. Forgive the model, it was midnight. I had to stop sewing and go to choir in between the appliques and the trim. And below, you will see the iron-on/applique trims. I saw these on the clearance rack at the fabric store. They looked so cool, but they didn't turn out as crisp as I would have liked AND they were a holy pain in the grass to "iron-on." I don't think I ever did get them to fully "work according to manufacturing standards" but it was late and I decided to chalk it up to the bad decision category. I AM glad that I hadn't invested in a major project that was dependent upon the success of this measure.

I learned my lesson on the first one and decided to make a few changes on the second one (for Nanny Nancy). It's much cleaner with the embroidery stitching. Overall, my sewing was much better on this one.

For the record, I'm making a couple more and I think that I'm going to trim the pattern down and make a couple for the kids. But not before Christmas. I haven't lost all of my faculties, yet.

FYI

Just so that you'll know for the next time--

1) I am in love with InStyle magazine. I read it cover to cover and I love every page, every article--I dream about the boots (much less expensive versions of course), the faux fur vests (although I wonder if I could pull it off with my busty bust), the sparkly eye shadow and oh, how I dream of wearing red lipstick without looking like a hooker at the local 'FoodTown' picking up some grape tomatoes and sweet potatoes.

2) I'm mad at you Becca. That's right. We're in a fight. After all this time, your secrets have to be anonymous? What the what?? I already know about the time you made out with Taggart in college. Did her lips taste like a Whopper (with meat)?! Yeah, she wasn't a real vegetarian either. ha.ha.ha. The jokes on you.

3) I bought a $7 glittery tank top from Old Navy this weekend. I wasn't sure that I was going to like it at all, but I bought it anyway because it was only $7!! Well, turns out that it is my new favorite thing in the closet. I might wear it 5 of the 7 days this week.

4) My kids watched a lot of television today. I'm not thrilled about it, but oh, well, too late now.

5) I saw a recipe for braised short ribs and creamy polenta on 'Pioneer Woman' this morning and I think that I might actually have to buy beef ribs. I KNOW, I can't believe it either! It looked so good and quite easy--AND I've been having really good luck with the Dutch Oven lately, so I might have to go for broke.

6) I bought Jeff the new Andre Agassi biography at Costco. He's been pouring through it for two nights in a row. The dude loves tennis. He laughs at parts of the book. You really gotta love tennis from the '80s to laugh at parts of this book.

7) Didn't do the dinner dishes for the second night in a row. Figured that eventually Bruce would lug his fat butt up on the counter and drink the rest of the milk out of the kids glasses so at least we will be ready for breakfast.

Confess Your Sins

I KNEW it!! You know that gal that does the whole "confess your darkest secrets by putting them on a postcard and mailing them to her" thing? This is one that was recently submitted. I told you guys that I was really on to something. Seriously, I am a genius...in an incredibly disturbing/alarming sort of way.

Jeff can guess who the new Stake President is going to be weeks in advance, but I am only able to shark out the secret store poopers.

We each have special talents.

I really want to know what your secrets are--don't you want to share them with me? If I can get 10 of you to share your darkest secrets than I will reciprocate by sharing 10 (that's right 10) of my secrets.

Play this twisted game with me, please. Pretend it's for charity.

Veteran's Day

I wanted to post this yesterday, but between the 4AM wake-up call, the University of Utah teaching rotation, and the Veteran's Day choir concert, it just wasn't a possibility. Nonetheless, I have given some thought to this post.

Last night, we (me and the other 299 folks in the American Festival Chorus) hosted our 2nd annual Veteran's Day event at the KCH. I love it. I never tire of singing patriotic music. We closed the concert last night with the 'Battle Hymn of the Republic'--and honestly, when those men sang, "In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea..." Oh, it was glorious. GLORIOUS! I had tears running down my face because it was so spiritual.

Military service.
Can I be really honest?
The cold, hard truth is that if Jack or Lachlan came to me and said, "I want to be in the military," I would freak out. freak. out.
Not because I don't love this country. Not because I don't have an absolute ache for every soul to feel safety, peace and freedom.
But because I'm not really sure that there will be an end to these current conflicts. And there aren't going to be any simple solutions. And more lives will be lost. And I think that it is going to take something great and terrible to end it all--and I'm not certain whether that will mean something like Hiroshima or something like Vietnam.

What I know for sure is that there are good people who wouldn't freak out. Yesterday evening, a Lieutenant Corporal shared his experiences of what it was like to pray with his fellow soldiers before they search for IEDs along roadsides in Iraq. I was so touched by his humility and strength. Ultimately, by his faith, that despite the circumstance they were going to do their impossible jobs. And I'm grateful for that.

My favorite part of the concert is when we sing the military anthems and ask the veterans to stand while we sing their prospective songs. Dr. Jessop always salutes them and they cheer and really it doesn't get any better than that moment. And I think about Grandpa Carver, he would have gotten a real kick out of being saluted by Craig Jessop (btw, he's a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force). Two short guys, with big hearts, they would have really enjoyed sharing Air Force stories. So for my grandfather, my Uncle Alan (stationed in ABQ), my dear friends the Meeks (stationed in CA)...I'll leave you with the best part of the song:

"Off we go into the wild blue yonder,

Climbing high into the sun;

Here they come zooming to meet our thunder,

At 'em boys, Give 'er the gun!

Down we dive, spouting our flame from under,

Off with one hell of a roar!

We live in fame or go down in flame.

Nothing can stop the U.S. Air Force!"

Do you believe in miracles?

It is almost two years to the day when we were about half-way through finishing our basement and Jeff said to me, "I'm going to move the stuff from the basement into the garage so that I can finish this project."

For the record, I KNEW that this was going to be a bad deal. I asked him how long that stuff was going to BE in the garage. He said, "a couple of months."

I agreed, but immediately went on anti-anxiety drugs.

For TWO YEARS I have lived with the shame that has been the state of our garage. I've been embarrassed to even open the garage door while pulling the car in if there have even been signs of neighbors on the street. I've even read two Dr. Phil books about coping with problems you cannot solve and dealing with the lingering pain of bad decisions.

But no longer. My prayer has ascended to heaven. It is with great pleasure, relief, gratitude and with resounding voice I announce that THERE. IS. A. GOD.

And he hath manifested himself in motivating Mr. Murray with an overwhelming desire to "get 'er done."

To the piles of ski boots, snowboards and drill bits, I bid you good-day.
To the mounds of bird seed, wads of plastic tarp, two bikes, two strollers, 4 kids' tables, 10 folding chairs, 3 garden hoses and some disgusting foam pads...good riddance. May you never block the path to the emergency exit again.

And now, for all you women out there who dream of a separate storage unit, or even a large burglary...hang in there. Keep your chin up. I'll count the Rosary for you at eventide.

Before:
After:

Doing Your Best

This morning I read this post from Segullah.

Angie and I both stood in the church hallway, bouncing our fussy babies on our hips. Our conversation turned to temple attendance. I sighed, “I’ve been going once a month to do sealings. I should probably go more often, but I’m doing the best that I can.” Angie stopped bouncing and looked at me, ”You’re not doing the best that you can. You could go more often. The temple is only five minutes away. I have two more kids than you and I go every week.” I was flabbergasted. I barely knew Angie. How dare she say that I wasn’t doing my best? But I thought about what she said for months. Was I doing my best?

“Just do your best.” We hear that all the time. Just do your best as parents and your kids should turn out OK. Just do your best as a wife, a student, an employee, a member of the ward. Technically “do your best”, should mean just that. Our best. The best we can do. But too often it seems like a copout. Too often “just do your best” ends up meaning “just do something”.

I think people use this phrase to mean, “don’t overdo everything and exhaust yourself trying to meet everyone’s expectations.” But is that what it’s supposed to mean? Or is it actually, “decide for yourself what ‘your best’ is and strive to meet that goal”?

What throws me off is the way that people rattle this phrase off whenever I do a poor job of something. My son gets in trouble at school? “Don’t beat yourself up”, says a kind neighbor; “you’re doing the best that you can.” But I’m not. Deep in my heart I know I could do so much more for my son. I think of all the ways I could help him. But it’s a lot of extra work. Some days I’m up for it, but most days I’m just too worn out or busy doing a million other things. It shouldn’t be that way, but that’s the truth. So it rankles me when people toss that phrase around. In so many ways I’m not doing my best: I squander my time. I don’t always choose what matters most. I could try harder at just about everything. I feel like I’m somewhere between decent and good in most areas of my life. But doing my best? I don’t think so. Unless “my best” is simply another way of saying “enough”.

Is “doing your best” just another way of condoning mediocrity or does this phrase remind you to strive harder for your goals? Or maybe it only reminds you that you can’t be perfect and to take it easier on yourself.

Wow. You know the phrase, "the guilty taketh the truth to be hard," well this post made me a little bit sick inside. Do any of you really know what it feels like to operate at your best? I've done some things that I know were good and I've had an occasional day that I knew was 'right up there.' But, to consistently strive for BEST. Hum, I'm really going to have to give this some thought.