The case of the missing hairbrush

I could have sworn I brought my hairbrush back from my trip to Utah, but I haven't seen it or used it since coming home and unpacking (even though I swear I took it out of my suitcase and put it in its proper place). 

I looked many places.

I would say that I looked everywhere, but that would be hyperbole. I did not look everywhere. But I did look a lot of places. I looked in predictable places. I looked in unpredictable places. 

I thought about asking my mom if I left it at her house, but I knew she'd been in the guest room reorganizing things and surely she would have mentioned a stray hairbrush (that most likely would have been left on the floor of the room as I was packing or something). There's not a whole lot in that room, so a stray hairbrush would have been rather out of place. 

But—again—I swear I brought it back with me. I distinctly remember not only packing it but also unpacking it. 

Regardless, it was just...gone. 

So I've been borrowing from Phoebe's stash of brushes. She got a three-pack of these Star Wars themed hairbrushes for Christmas a few years ago when she was obsessed with Grogu (that obsession continues to this day). They're WetBrush brand, which I like, so it's not terrible using them. But I want my WetBrush. 

And then I was going through pictures for my Christmas Day post and I found this one:

And what do I spy on Alexander's desk (of all places)?

My hairbrush.

So I asked Alexander to go down to his desk and retrieve my hairbrush for me. He did.

"I have no idea what this was doing on my desk," he said. 

"Oh!" Phoebe exclaimed. "That was me!"

"Why would you take my hairbrush downstairs?" I asked.

"I was using it to do the cat's hair!" she chirped innocently.

Neat. Cool. Love that for me.

So my hairbrush has been found, but do I still want my hairbrush is the question.

Stitches for Zoë

We left for Tennessee to visit Rosie on Sunday immediately after church. We spent an enjoyable Sunday evening with her family and this morning I told Rosie we'd watch Oaklyn while she took Ireland to speech therapy and went to a chiropractor appointment. No problem—Oaklyn's a cakewalk. 

Unfortunately, I...planned poorly. 

It has been so warm outside and while I knew there was a cold front coming in—it is, after all, winter—I didn't quite register when it would be coming in. I looked at the weather. It said the high would be 55°F (12°C), so I decided that sweaters would do for us. We could still go to the park in sweaters and enjoy ourselves at those temperatures. 

I did not realize that today's high would be at 12:01 am, but that was indeed the warmest part of today. The storm blew in with a fury in the night and brought the cold front with it. The temperature plunged. It was below freezing when we woke up this morning.

We southerners do not do well with below freezing temperatures! (Especially without coats!)

I woke up early with the little girls and let everyone else sleep. After Zoë and Alexander woke up we went outside for a walk, anyway, at the children's and the dog's insistence. Ireland had an extra coat hanging on the coatrack, so I borrowed that for Phoebe, bundled Oaklyn up, and went headed outside for a very brief, very chilly stroll. 

We came back in and decided we'd wake up everyone else around 10:00. 

Benjamin was finally coaxed out of his sleeping bag around 9:45.

He was in a rambunctious mood. 

By 10:15 the little girls were ready for "second breakfast" (or simply "a snack") so I took them downstairs to share a banana and warned my bigger kids that they were getting carried away and that they needed to simmer down. 

I was still in the middle of slicing that banana when we heard (1) a crash, (2) some stifled sobbing, (3) and frantic whispers of...

"You tell Mom!" 

"No, you tell Mom!" 

"No, you tell Mom!"

"No, you tell Mom!"

"Mom is coming!" I warned. "Just let me finish giving Oaklyn her snack..."

Andrew was in the middle of a bowl of cereal. He left it to go check on things because (1) those whispers were concerning, and (2) we couldn't tell precisely who was whispering and who was crying. 

He bolted up the stairs and moaned, "That's gonna need stitches!"

(Pictures of the injury at the end of this post...so be warned).

I shoved Oaklyn her plate of bananas, grabbed the paper towels, and bolted up the stairs after him.

Miraculously, we didn't get any blood on the carpet! 

The kids had been "playing" (read: roughhousing) with the pillow-fort cushions and Zoë ended up falling and landed too close to the wall. She hit the wall with her knee and then...landed on the baseboard, which is a square-edge baseboard...and her knee just...split open. 

Her hands were covered in blood from holding her wound. I took over direct pressure for her with some paper towels and just managed to put my hand out and catch the blood dripping from her hand in my own hand before it got on the carpet—champion choreography! 

I held her wound tightly while Andrew researched care centers nearby that would take our insurance—luckily there was a place not too far from Rosie. 

Here's Benjamin (repentantly) putting some direct pressure on her leg while Andrew and I got ready to go. We left right as Rosie was arriving (Rachel and Miriam were also there, so it's not like the kids were unattended ever). 

Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve Andrew made tamales and fried green chili burritos, a tradition carried over from his growing up years. It's a time intensive project and a dish intensive project and somehow years ago I made the deal with Andrew that if he was going to whip up phenomenal feasts like this he would also be the one to clean the kitchen and he has not gone back on that deal! 

(I'm rather fond of one-pot meals, myself, and am very lucky that Andrew does so much of the cooking and kitchen stuff). 

Aw, damp! (and other Christmas stories)

It's December 27 and it's 70°F out (21°C). Phoebe put on her swimsuit and asked if we could go to the pool (which we couldn't do because they close the pools for the winter here—like, why tho?). She played outside in her swimsuit all day long. 

Bog-standard cookies

This is a cookie that Phoebe made for Rachel. Underneath it all is a bell-shaped gingerbread cookie. On top of it is a whole bunch of leftover birthday icing and some candies (and a goldfish cracker) arranged to look like a landscape of sorts—some earth (with a worm), a stream (with a bridge and fish). 

It. Is. A. Masterpiece.

Gingerbread houses

Our house has been a flurry of activity lately. Monday night was gingerbread houses. 

Benjamin actually had swimming practice, so we had planned to get started the minute he arrived home. He ended up coming home much earlier than anticipated because although I remembered to mark which days he still had practice I forgot to note the time change. Since the younger groups don't gave practice, his practice started earlier. So he caught the tail end of his practice and then arrived back at home to decorate houses.

Rachel and Miriam had a bunch of friends over to play games, so they sneaked off to the basement. 

And Phoebe dove right in when Andrew and I were in the middle of setting things out. She opened a container of icing (left over from her birthday), got a knife out, and started smearing icing onto her graham cracker house and plunking candies down. By the time we caught her she was well on her way to making her vision come to life.

Heiss Holiday Humbug 2025

This poor poem stayed on the back burner far longer than it should have (and we haven't even managed to take family pictures yet), but all of my kids are under one roof and we're living life—it's busy and messy and beautiful.

I started putting all the Christmas cards and letters we've been collecting up on the wall. It's nice when I'm ready to do that as they begin arriving, but I have to admit that it was a bit of a thrill to get to put them all up at once—we have so many wonderful family and friends flung far and wide. We're really quite lucky!

The visual theme of this year's newsletter is brought to you by a collection of about 200 pictures Phoebe took of our living room carpet with my phone the other day. It adds to the general theme of chaos of the newsletter (and our life), I think.

You can download it here, or read it after the break!

Fall birthdays (in which we "can't believe!" everyone is getting older)

 

I still feel like I'm just catching up on life! 

We fell behind on our fall birthdays and I finally made everyone who hadn't written birthday messages write birthday messages after I got home from Las Vegas/Provo. So now we can take down our birthday balloons and put up the Christmas cards that have been piling up.

A visit from Diana's brother!

Back in October, Diana's little brother texted me to see if he and his family could stop by for a visit on their way to see April's family for Christmas. We spent the next two months looking forward to their visit (though by the state of our house that might not have been obvious). 

I opened the door and was greeted with a little "Pika! Pika!" from W (who was waving about his Pikachu doll) and almost immediately after got a hug from "Reddy" the red panda (and travel companion of L). April happened to be wearing a Bluey shirt (technically, I suppose it was a Muffin shirt) so Phoebe immediately felt she was pretty safe. And then there's Diana's brother—who had Zoë wondering why he'd write "I can't wait until you are dead" on someone's wedding day.

The very unsatisfactory answer is that he was 13 years old and...that's it. 

We had pizza for dinner on Friday. Andrew had had to take Benjamin to swim practice and then meet up at the church to get a new calling (Elder's Quorum 2nd counselor) and then came home briefly before heading out to pick up pizza. Grandpa and Darla planned to pick Benjamin up from swimming and come over for dinner. I was trying to get the kids to clean up the basement...for the third time this week...and scrounge up enough pillows and blankets...because we had company coming.

Did we have 2 months' to prepare? Sure. 

But there's always time to procrastinate (and always more to do)! 

I think Grandpa, Darla, and Ben arrived first. And then the Gillespies. And finally Andrew arrived with what everyone had been waiting for—the pizza.

We ate dinner, Grandpa and Darla had to run, and then we let the little kids run amok while we played Nerts. I dominated the table. We put the kids to bed and then chatted until late in the evening. 

Matching jammies!

Last year I was looking for some article of clothing for someone after Christmas when I came across these Christmas pyjamas that were super on clearance. I bought a set for each of the kids...except Rachel...because I know she doesn't love matching with everyone. But when I told Rachel about it she all but started crying and was like, "I'm still your kid even though I'm moving out!" 

As luck would have it, I was able to get one more matching set! 

We pulled them out last night to celebrate having all our kids home for the holidays. Phoebe was thrilled to be matching with all her sisters (and to coordinate with her brothers)!

Here's Alexander and Phoebe hugging on the floor after she tackled him with much enthusiasm:

Christmas at the nursing home

This afternoon we went to a local nursing home (The Addison of Sandy Springs) with some homeschool friends to give a lunchtime performance. The little(r) kids and I sang "Little Baby in a Manger," which I taught the kids in primary...but we really only focused on the first verse so I needed my phone to keep the other verses straight.

The kids sang this song for stake conference (like, all the youth and primary kids in the stake, thus the reason I scrambled a bit to teach our primary at least the first verse and chorus—because it hadn't been on my list of songs to teach originally). It was fun to get to sing it with them since I missed out on hearing them at stake conference.

Rachel's home!

Rachel's plane touched down around 11:00 last night. She's been home for less than 12 hours and already I've sent her to the dentist. 

On the Cover of the Rolling Stone

My dad, as I recall, enjoyed the song "On the Cover of the Rolling Stone," as performed by Dr. Hook & the Medicine Show. Today I learned that the lyricist was actually Shel Silverstein. Who knew? Not me. 

But this song has lived in my head for about as long as I can remember.

And today guess who made it into Rolling Stone?! 

Andrew! 

He's not on the cover...but they quote him, so...close enough!

They interviewed him about AI-generated papers that are being cited as real sources, how search engines are picking up on the fake citations, and the ways his students are using AI in his classes.

He's in a magazine!!

Lemmings

Benjamin learned about lemmings at church on Sunday. 

They were talking about being agents, choice and accountability, things of that nature, and the bishop talked about lemmings. When Benjamin told us he learned about lemmings he described them in kind of a strange way so I asked him what, precisely, lemmings were.

"Well, it's a really old video game where these little dudes just walk around..."

"Whoa, there..." I objected.

"Hang on, now!" Andrew said. 

"Lemmings are actual living creatures," I said, while Andrew said: "It's not that old of a video game!"

We were concerned about vastly different things.

This led to a conversation about both the video game and the creature, which extended to an FHE lesson the next day, because did you know...

Lemmings don't behave the way you imagine they do. 

They don't mindlessly follow each other to their ultimate demise, they are not wont to fling their tiny bodies off high cliffs into the icy waters below. They do experience population drops and booms and undergo "mass dispersal" behaviour (that sometimes does force a number of lemmings into cold water), but they don't run mindlessly off cliffs together for no reason. 

In the Disney documentary where this behaviour is shown they actually, ummm, bought lemmings in Manitoba, transported them to a filming location in Alberta, rigged a "lazy Susan" up to a motor, placed the lemmings on it, and repeatedly hurled the poor creatures off the cliff to get the dramatic footage they desired...because such footage was impossible to film in the wild...because lemmings don't do that.

It's a myth.

IOOF's Organ Advent

The International Online Organ Forum asked members to record and submit themselves playing a Christmas piece, which they'd then review and select from the pool to publish during advent. Miriam recorded Angels We Have Heard On High (arranged by  R. Elliott) and submitted it just before the deadline. I'm sure she would have done it sooner but November was a messy month with travel and sickness and (for me) finals so finally I helped her film it on, like, November 30 or something! 

Miriam was thrilled to be selected for December 11 (the 12th day of advent)!

From the other players listed, it's becoming clear why she'd like to go to Europe to study organ (there are a lot more organ(ist)s in Europe). 

What's the difference?

My great-grandmother's name was Mary Gladys, but she went by Gladys. 

My grandmother's name was Gladys Evon, but she went by Evon.

I grew up hearing a lot about the name Gladys. My dad liked to tell the joke that ends with the punchline, "Gladys...happy bum...what's the difference?"

*****

My mom sent me a capybara advent calendar for Christmas. Behind every little door is a little capybara dressed up as something or other—a detective, a pilot, a superhero, you name it.

Beginning to look a lot like Christmas

I wanted to go outside to take a walk today—it was right around 60°F (15°C) this afternoon—but Phoebe just wasn't feeling up to it. She lazed about all morning (while Alexander and Zoë were at Lydia's baptism (an interesting place for them to be; she is the daughter of my friend and the daughter of Darla's new son-in-law, who is now married to one of Darla's daughters—it's a complex relationship)). 

Instead I threw myself into decorating the house for Christmas.

I've wanted to make a little tree tent for a while now and have slowly collected the supplies from the Buy Nothing Group—a little teepee tent and lots of garland. This year I finally had everything I needed to put it together. Zoë helped me figure out how to do it. We got faux pine needles everywhere.

Zoë made the inside nice and cozy, putting some foam puzzle pieces down on the floor and filling it with all our Christmas blankets and pillows. It's very cozy. 

Spittin' facts, you know that's how it's...

I wasn't home for family prayer because I went to the Relief Society Christmas dinner. 

Poor Phoebe went to bed feeling so sore. She got four shots today—two in each thigh—and was just miserable. Miriam also got four shots today and is also miserable, but she is a little less...melodramatic...about it. Or perhaps Phoebe isn't being melodramatic. Perhaps Phoebe is being honest about how she feels, while Miriam is stoically persevering. 

Whatever the case, Phoebe is having big feels, requesting to be carried around, and so forth, while Miriam is simply sitting in the big comfy chair in my bedroom, moaning about her life. 

To be fair, Miriam's shots were in her arms, not her legs. 

But, to be fair, Miriam had to record her final for her "practical musicianship" course this evening—she had to conduct a rehearsal for a quartet (comprised of her brother and a few friends), which meant she had to wave her arms all about (which wasn't much fun for her). 

Anyway, I wasn't home for family prayer this evening because I was at the Relief Society Christmas dinner...but I have a story about family prayer that I haven't written about yet because...I haven't.

This was a few weeks to months ago. I can't remember quite when. I know it wouldn't be before October because we watched KPop Demon Hunters in October. This was after that.

Miriam was praying.

"We're grateful that we could get everything that needed to be done..." she paused while she tried to come up with another word. Fruitless, she repeated, "done."

Then she paused to stifled a giggle over her "speaker's block." 

Phoebe took this opportunity to shout out "DONE!" for a third time.

And...that did us in.

Miriam's stifled giggle quickly spread through the whole family until we were all laughing.

(There's a song from KPop Demon Hunters called "How It's Done" and they repeat "done, done, done!" several times during the song...that's why it was so funny.)

Well-child checks for Phoebe and Miriam

Rachel went to the doctor today. She has the flu, poor thing.

I also took Miriam and Phoebe to the doctor at the same time...just here in Georgia! 

I need to remember to ask to not see Dr. Z. She was okay at Zoë's appointment in May (though I need to remember to take Zoë back in for a COVID shot) but was rather pessimistic about homeschooling today. 

First, I should mention that Miriam was hoping to have gained at least an inch since her last visit. Instead she learned that they mis-measured her at her last visit, so she not only didn't grow. She's shorter than she thought. 

So it was already a ho-hum visit.

At Phoebe's visit, the doctor insisted she couldn't understand Phoebe very well and that Phoebe thus needs speech therapy. I told the doctor that was ridiculous. 

Actually I said, "Respectfully, I'm going to disagree with your assessment. I'm a trained linguist. I'm currently getting a PhD in children's literacies. I'm around children a lot. And I don't think Phoebe is behind her peers at all. She's made significant improvements from last year—if you recall, she was fronting all of her sounds, couldn't say /k/ or /g/, but now she can say words with /k/ and /g/ and she has mastered several consonant blends and..."

"I'm pretty fluent in toddler myself. I should be able to understand 90 to 100% of what she's saying and I simply can't. Early intervention is key!"

"Yes, but she's making fine progress by any metric," I countered.

Guys, listen—the doctor is working from old standards. 

Newer studies indicate that the "General rules of thumb for intelligibility of multiword utterances, based on data for the lowest performing typical children, are as follows: (a) By 4 years, children should be at least 50% intelligible to an unfamiliar listener; (b) by the 5 years, children should be at least 75% intelligible to an unfamiliar listener; and (c) by just over 7 years, children should be 90% intelligible to an unfamiliar listener" (see further, less erudite discussion here).

Now, I wouldn't say that Phoebe is among the lowest performing typical children range. In fact, I think she speaks rather clearly and that her vocabulary is rather impressive.

For example, consider Benjamin and his "ucky, mucky augie." 

Leaf jumping

We jumped right back into the swing of things this morning. The kids did their independent work and then we studied some Arabic together. Phoebe was even excited about her reading lesson because Daddy had told her that knowing how to read will help her to be an independent computer user (and she really wants to get better at Minecraft). 

This morning while I was texting my friend a song our family would like to sing at nursing home visit (our homeschool group(s) go every year), Phoebe said, "Why did you type 'Little Baby in a...in a mmmaaaannnngerrrr?'"

And, indeed, I had typed "Little Baby in a Manger."

She also read the word "slow" on our walk, so she's turning into a regular little reader! That's exciting to see!

After our afternoon walk, we spent some time tidying up some of the leaves in the yard (there are plenty). We like to keep them around because there are so many beneficial insects that overwinter in the leaves—fireflies and butterflies and all sorts of things. Plus, it's good for the soil! 

Look at all these friends we've found:

One more sleep (and Rachel's concert)

The fact that Nevada is on Pacific Time really threw me off because for some reason that extra hour really makes a difference. By the time I was finished with conference stuff for the day it would be past bedtime for Phoebe, so I didn't get to talk to her until this weekend. The very first thing she wanted to know was how many sleeps she had left until I was coming home.

"You are coming home, right?" she asked.

"Yes!" I said. "Of course!"

"Thank you!" she sighed heavily. "How many sleeps?"

"Three."

She spent the duration of the (video) call hopping into the frame to verify "Three more sleeps?" every chance she got.

"Yes, yes. Three more sleeps."

On the first day I was gone she asked how many sleeps it would be—seven—and then proceeded to diligently count down until 7:00, which she felt was ample time for Mommy to be gone. She misses me, but to be fair, she's had a great time with Daddy! She's stayed in her jammies a lot (she does that with Mommy, too), she's eaten lots of carrots, she got to help make applesauce, she's had way more screen time than usual, and she hasn't had to do any reading lessons! Life is good!

*****

Rachel was in University Chorale this semester (and she plans on taking it again next semester). She didn't tell me about her concert (although it's good to know that it's broadcast—Andrew ended up being able to watch as well) but Naanii knew about it, so when she realized my trip would align with Rachel's concert she went and bought an extra ticket for me! 

Rachel also didn't tell us that she'd be singing in devotional today, at least not until, like, yesterday or something. But my mom and I were able to make it, along with Rachel's supervisor, as I perhaps already mentioned. When I met up with Rachel afterward she admitted to not feeling well. She had a light cough and an upset tummy, but eating lunch made her feel a little better. 

If you care at all...

Yesterday evening Andrew sent me a picture of Phoebe gnawing on a huge carrot she found in the fridge. It took her all day long but she felt rather triumphant when she finally finished. Andrew called it her 10-hour carrot.

Wus that this year?

I have been remiss in writing down all the funny things Alexander has been saying lately. He's been trying to showcase his rich vocabulary...but has been coming up with slightly wrong words. 

For example, if Phoebe tattled on him for something, he might says she was "extravagant" when what he meant to say was "exaggerating." 

I had a running list of these darling mix-ups in my head...but, of course, my brain is like a sieve and this list has tumbled right out of it. I will be more diligent about keeping track in the future (not to mock—but because it's very, very cute). 

I texted Alexander a picture of himself as a baby, standing by the Christmas tree, pantsless, and using a fly swatter to reach of and tap the ornaments that I had told him not to touch. It's not touching if you don't use your fingers, see?

T-I-M-P-A-N-O-G-O-S! L-E-T-S-G-O! Let's go!

I'm not sure when Timpanogos became my mountain because I distinctly remember a time when it didn't feel familiar at all. It was foreign and mysterious, but soon became a comfortable presence, the backdrop of my life. My friends taught me to look to the mountain for signs of the seasons—the blush of red early in the fall and the first dust of snow warning of winter's approach—things I didn't know to look for before. 

Years later, I always look for "my" mountain as my plane comes in to land. How lovely to be greeted by a timeless friend no matter how long I've been away.

The plane ride from Las Vegas to Salt Lake was bumpy and the landing was so rough that the flight attendant popped on the intercom after we touched down (slammed down?) to sing into the intercom, "And that's why you wear your seatbelt, folks!"

Ward Christmas Party (in absentia)

Today while I was attending session after session of conference presentations, I started getting pictures of the ward Christmas party. Miriam passed her driving test this morning (hurrah!) so she drove to the church early and started hanging garlands. Andrew and the other kids joined her later to put up some finishing touches...and then the party started. 

And I think it was worth all the headaches and tears putting it together. People seemed to have fun and it was pretty well attended—around 100 people by our estimate. People seemed to understand the roving rooms set up and many seemed to appreciate having various activities to do. 

I...admittedly...wasn't there (off doing actual job stuff), so I have to rely on what I was told and saw. But what I saw was pretty good. 

Here's the nursery room before Miriam got the popcorn strands up:

O Christmas Tree

On Tuesday morning before I left for the airport we...did a lot of things, honestly, because I was trying to get in another "good" school day before I crossed my fingers and left my kids with a list of things to do...but, before I left for the airport on Tuesday we...decorated the Christmas tree!

It used to be the case that my tree would be overburdened with ornaments on the bottom half, but now that so many of my children are trying to prove how tall they are...it actually gets decorated fairly evenly all over without my having to do too much reshuffling (even with Phoebe cramming as much as she can on the lower branches):

What happens in Vegas?

I've been living it large at the Literacy Research Association conference in Las Vegas the last few days. Today was my "big" day, I suppose, with a study group session and my individual presentation. Yesterday our study group session was attended only by...us, the session organizers. Today we had about nine people attend and had some productive conversations (hopefully). And then I had my presentation, which went well (I hope). At any rate, I made it through. 

View out my window at night

Lino prints

I really need to finish packing for my trip. But I also had to help Miriam finish some preparations for the ward Christmas party on Friday. I went through...many emotions...when they moved the date to the one weekend I would not be here, but Andrew assures me that he can help Miriam pull it off. 

I will have to rely on pictures to tell me how the evening went.

One of the stations at the party will be a card making/letter writing station. The Young Women (after much insistence on Miriam's part) had a stamp carving activity, so those will be available with blank cards and ink pads for people to stamp their own cards. People are encouraged to write a nice thank you to someone in the ward, and then the Young Women will deliver the cards on a Sunday down the road (after making sure people who need cards got one...). Or people can write to one of the missionaries from our ward. Or to a neighbour. Or grandparent. Or whoever. 

Deep down inside, Miriam wanted the Young Women to make linocut prints...but that activity didn't ever pan out. And it's easier to carve rubber than linoleum, anyway (or wood). So she'll have to live with the stamps. 

But she decided to make a sunstone linocut and it turned out beautifully. 

This card she decided she's keeping for herself (but people will be open to use one of these premade cards if they want to)—started as a mistake because she simply didn't put enough black on the card, so she redid it in blue and it made a stereoscopic/grunge/overprint effect:

Putting up the "Cur-smiss-mas" tree

I might be a little sad that I'm leaving for a conference tomorrow when there are so many Christmas things to be done! But at least I'm not leaving for Ethiopia to help manage a pandemic like my friend (who did negotiate to be home in time for Christmas, but who could do little but wish her husband good luck with all the Christmas prep). I'll be home on the 10th. 

Still! There's much to be done and...I feel like I'm missing a big chunk of it. 

And there simply aren't hours enough in the day! Sunday was a bustling day, with church, followed by a few church friends coming over, followed by a baptism (conducted in Chinese), followed by choir practice...it went on and on and on.

Today I had a meeting in the morning and then we did some school work in the afternoon (the kids also did school work in the morning, but I didn't oversee that bit). Then Benjamin had swimming (and Miriam came to practice the organ at the church) and by the time we came home for FHE it had been dark for several hours and solar-powered Phoebe was beginning to feel sleepy...

But she still wanted to make a start on the advent calendars and we had promised to decorate the tree for FHE. Andrew even hauled up the tree all by himself—we got smart about it a few years ago so he was able to bring the whole thing up by himself. The first few years we had this thing he and I would lug the entire thing out of the basement all at once, box and all. It was unwieldy and heavy and horrible. 

Then in 2021, Phoebe was born just a few weeks before we were set to put up the tree. I was not cleared for carrying heavy items—nothing heavier than my teensy little "gaunt" baby (that's what we called her, Rachel! Gaunt Baby! We were talking about this a few weeks ago—how Rachel had such glorious chubby baby cheeks and Phoebe simply did not. She was such a skinny little thing, not even 6 lbs when we brought her home from the hospital, but we couldn't remember what we called her because no adjectives were right—not skinny, not emaciated...gaunt...but don't worry! She got fatter as time wore on!). Anyway, I wasn't supposed to lift anything heavy, so hauling a ginormous Christmas tree up the stairs was out of the question.

It was then that we put our incredible heads together and realized we didn't have to haul the whole thing up at once. We could just leave the box in the basement and bring up the parts of the tree separately. 

In fact, I believe Andrew brought the tree up by himself that particular year. And he brought the tree up by himself—piece by piece—again today while I was out with Miriam and Benjamin.

So we did the advent calendars. And then we let the kids put one tin of ornaments up on the tree before we did our first Christmas devotional and put Phoebe to bed. 

We will do more decorating tomorrow before my flight...I guess...

Here are the kids looking at the ornaments:

Am I...better than everyone?

Last night Phoebe was having trouble going to sleep. 

I had gone to the church with Miriam so she could practice the organ and record a piece for an organ advent calendar she's participating in. We didn't get home until after Andrew had started putting Phoebe to bed. He thought for sure he had succeeded in getting her to sleep, but the minute he went downstairs, Phoebe sneaked out of bed and ran across the hallway to our bedroom to say goodnight to me. 

I tucked her back into bed. 

She got up again later for something else. And then something else. And then something else. 

She even got up, climbed the bookshelf, grabbed the (child-proof) bottle of melatonin from the top shelf and helped herself to (what she claimed was) a responsible dose (and, yes, got reprimanded for it, even though evidently she needed a dose to fall asleep that night). 

When Alexander went in to bed she was still awake. 

He came in to complain about her because she had climbed into his bed and wouldn't get out. 

I put her back into her bed.

She climbed into his bed again.

He came in to complain again. 

So I pulled her out of the top bunk and carried her downstairs. 

If she wasn't going to sleep, she could work.

This one got lost in the archives...

(A post from September!!)

On Auntie K's last day here, she took Alexander out to dinner at Medieval Times and it turned out to be the best outing anyone chose (and they all wished they had chosen it as well). It was, in fact, Kelli's suggestion, because Alexander didn't know what he wanted to do.

To be fair, we don't do things with our kids like take them to restaurants or stores or play places or anything like that very often. The pool? Absolutely. The playground? It's free, so yes. Hiking? Again, it's free. Museums? Yes, of course, especially if we can get a cheap membership. But, like, "fun" stuff? Not so much. 

(I've actually come to realize that I'm not a huge fan of fun...or at least not the things that a lot of people seem to consider fun.) 

But Medieval Times did look pretty fun! 

Alexander came back with paper crowns, a light-up sword, flashing cups, and so many stories! There were horses, there were knights, there were falcons, there was jousting, there was sword fighting. They had an incredible evening (and I'm still trying to get Alexander to write about it).

Here he is showing Phoebe some stuff that they saw:

Joke books, part II

Phoebe is still claiming to have a "joke book" to share when what she actually has is a "joke." Of course, I'm using the term "joke" very loosely. If you've ever heard a four-year-old author their own joke, you know what I mean. What I mean—and I say this with love—is: they're often not very funny.* 

The other night at dinner Phoebe announced she had a joke book for us and launched into the most mundane little story.

"Once upon a time, Mom had to go to campus. But then she came back."

No laughter. 

"And she put down her bag and she said, 'I'm home.'"

No laughter.

"Why is nobody laughing?" she wanted to know.

"Well..." I said regretfully. "I'm not sure we understand how this is funny..."

"Oh, that's because that was only the first chapter," she said. 

So this really is a joke book. 

"Chapter two. Let's see..."

Let's just say her punchline never landed, poor thing. 

* This is not to say that they're never funny! Children this age are routinely hilarious, though most often unintentionally so. But there was that one joke about the dead goose that Alexander came up with when he was younger that we still tell to this day! 

Q: What does a dead goose say?
A: Haunt! Haunt!

Meow, meow, meow, meow, then we shall have some pie

Thanksgiving has come and gone. We had a wonderful dinner with Grandpa and Darla and Darla's brother Georgia and his wife Laurie. All the food was delicious. Laurie brought buns and sweet potatoes, Darla made turkey and ham and beans and stuffing and berry salad. We did pies.

And cranberry sauce.

In fact, Miriam made 10 cups of cranberry sauce. She hand-grated the nutmeg. She zested oranges. It smelled divine. 

We left it in our fridge at home.

Luckily, Darla had a jar of cranberry sauce on hand.

After we'd had our dinner, Darla ran to her kids' house for Thanksgiving. We were explicitly not invited...but, like...meh. So Darla went to Thanksgiving Dinner, Part II. We had dessert and visited with George and Laurie. 

Andrew and the kids made so much pie. I...worked on my presentation for next week, tasted the cranberry curd, and showed Miriam that putting all the cranberries into a bowl and shaking them in the sugar would coat them much faster and less...sticky-ly...than rolling them around individually with her fingers. 

Benjamin made the Yucky Pumpkin Pie and helped layer the banana cream pies (with Zoë's help). 

There were...so many pies.

I think we ended up with 4 pumpkin pies, 3 YPP, 2 banana cream pie, 1 pecan pie, 1 cranberry curd tart, and 1 Atlantic beach pie. Oh, and an apple pie in a sheet pan, which was divine. 

It was a lot of pie!

Zoë shaped these pumpkin crusts.

Another rough night for Phoebe and Naanii

Rachel is spending Thanksgiving with her roommate's family up in Idaho. One of Hailey's aunts hails from Glenwood and thus thought the Myrna Layton of Glenwood was Rachel's grandma. But that is not the case. We have plenty of connections to that other Myrna Layton, but have never met her. 

So I was texting my family about Layton-everything this morning, while sleepy Phoebe was snuggling next to me in bed and the morning stretched longer and longer.

"Mmmmm..." she moaned, finally stirring. "Are we going today?"

She has been counting down the days until Thanksgiving, so I very cheerfully answered, "Yes! Today's the day!"

To my surprise, Phoebe broke down in tears. 

"Oh! What's wrong?" I asked her. 

"I don't wanna get a shot today!" she wailed. 

"Get a shot?!" I exclaimed. "It's Thanksgiving! We're going over to Grandpa's house today!"

"Oh, yeah," she sniffed, giggling a little bit. "Not the doctor today."

"No doctor today," I assured her. "But it a couple of weeks, yes."

Apparently she's been counting down the days until her doctor appointment as well. She knows it's coming because (a) all of her siblings have had their well-child checks (except Miriam, who is going in at the same time as Phoebe), and (b) she was worried about having to get a shot when I took her in for pneumonia earlier this month (and I told her that she didn't need to be worried because they don't do vaccines at sick-child visits, only at well-child visits). 

While I was texting my family this story, because it's kind of funny, my mom texted everyone to wish us a happy Thanksgiving and to tell us that Josie is being the cook today because/so my mom got both her COVID and flu shots and my dad is recovering from wrist surger(ies). 

It was kind of funny that my mom would be talking about shots this fine Thanksgiving morning as well!

Made me think of Phoebe's birth four years ago when my mom also got both the COVID and flu vaccine...

Beanbag toss

We found a jack-o-lantern beanbag toss board in the church closet. 

It's been in the church closet for years. No one knows who made it. No one knows which ward it belongs to. It's simply perpetually there.

This is boring bzzz...

 

Today Phoebe wore Miriam's beautiful Mary Poppins dress to church. Naanii found it at a thrift store (probably DI (Deseret Industries)) and mailed it to us out in Durham when she heard Miriam wanted to be Mary Poppins for Halloween. It's been a beloved dress ever since.

Six-Seven

We can't escape from "six seven" recently! 

For the record, it's a "thing" kids these days are saying. It means...nothing...like, possibly it means "mid," but mostly it just means nothing. But if the numbers 6 and 7 come up consecutively (which given their spot in the number line happens a lot) the kids all chant, "Six seeeeeeeeven!"

That's the bit.

So, Andrew went to Indianapolis and parked in the long-term parking at the airport. Guess what his spot number was? Lot 8 number...67!

A day of leisure (kind of)

Tonight I made it to a get together with some ladies in our ward. In order to do that guilt-free I had to finish my essay for my qualitative methodology course...which I did yesterday afternoon. 

Without going into too many details, I conducted a critical content analysis on a serial publication produced by the church, looking specifically at how gender was portrayed. I noted one scene in particular where a young boy claimed that he would grow up to go on a mission while his sister would grow up to get married (as well as several other scenes indicating that this male child was a future missionary and finding no scenes indicating that the female child might some day serve a mission). 

I wrote about the mission ages at the time of publication (19 for males, 21 for females) and discussed the change in 2012 lowering the mission age to 18 for males and 19 for females. What, I wondered, would be so wrong with females leaving at age 18? If males could leave at 19...and then females could leave at 19...what made it possible for males to leave at 18 but not females?

I submitted that paper and dusted my hands.

Then Rachel texted this morning: "Mission age for women was just lowered to 18."

And, I mean, I don't want to take credit for that or anything...but...uh...the timing is suspicious. 

Anyway, because I had finished my paper and because the weather was so nice and because we're all healthy again (though I forgot to give Phoebe her last dose of antibiotics with dinner—darn! I'll have to remember that last dose with breakfast), I decided I could fill Phoebe's request to go to the town green.

She has been begging to go to the town green for quite some time, but it's just been so...busy.

But today we ran to the town green between a couple of my meetings (after one meeting, and in time to take my other meeting on a bench at the park—the town green has wifi...which probably means we should go there more because I don't have the excuse of needing the internet to work). 

Here is a portion of the park (probably about a quarter of what's available to play on):

Buda-Pesth? Budapest? 1935? 1989? What's the difference?

We recently finished reading Dracula, published in 1897, the opening scene spilling us into Buda-Pesth (still hyphenated in Dracula because the city had only recently been created, remember, "on 17 November 1873 from a merger of the three neighboring cities of Pest, Buda and Óbuda").

Today the children gave their reports on Romania (Benjamin and Alexander) and Hungary (Zoë) and we had a Zoom call with my friend Amanda, who currently lives in Bahrain. 

Bahrain has little to do with Romania or Hungary, but we're looking into Middle Eastern countries right now and thought it would be fun to chat with her about her experience. I had the kids write some interview questions and then we woke up this morning to workshop them a bit before the interview. Many of their questions were yes/no questions, so we worked together to create "open-ended" questions and wrote our revised questions on the whiteboard.

Five minutes prior to the meeting I went to open the Zoom room. 

"No internet connection," my computer told me. 

After a few frantic moments, I messaged Amanda from my phone to tell her that...we had no internet...and to give me 15 minutes or so to drive to the church (the library wasn't open yet). 

So we called her from the church. And by the time we made it home whatever hiccup our internet was having was over. 

The cooken was chicked

This is just to say that on November 3rd I turned in an assignment that was 13,904 words long. Then on November 10th I turned in another assignment that was 3000 word long. And then today I turned in an assignment that was 13,707 words long.

All. For. The. Same. Class.

That's 30,000 words written...in a single month...for a single class.

Add in the 4'33" contest, a bout of pneumonia for Phoebe with everyone else including myself getting mildly ill, the primary program (I'm the chorister!), my job(s—because I have two of them...like a crazy person), homeschooling the kids, one baptism, two Pinewood Derbies (with four separate cars), keeping up with the blog, Andrew being out of town (twice)...

My brain is exhausted. 

We went for a walk this afternoon and I was telling Miriam that Benjamin—who is certainly growing ever more responsible each day but who simply isn't as responsible as other children of mine at age 13—offered to make Rachel's taco soup recipe for dinner yesterday while I was busy taking Zoë and Miriam to their music lessons. 

I asked him if he would simply boil some pasta noodles for us so we could use the leftover sauce in the fridge because taco soup was just...too much. He would still need more supervision for that than I would be able to give him from...not at home. 

Case in point: When I texted him to tell him that we were leaving piano lessons and were on our way home, he texted back "Oh." But he did not start boiling water. So we had to rush to boil noodles for dinner so we could leave for the Kub Kar Rally in time and I was like, "Wow. Good thing you did not attempt taco soup."

*****

"I sometimes just need to verify what he does before I trust it's done. I would have had to make sure the cooken was chicked," I said to Miriam, who was walking beside me. 

The. Cooken. Was. Chicked.

Those are words that came right out of my mouth!

Like I said, my brain...exhausted. 

So, anyway...all I have to do now is prepare a couple of presentations for LRA.

But first I might take a nap.

Pinewood Derby/Kub Kar Rally

DO THINGS

It's like our new family motto...except that it's not quite new. 

It's something we've been talking about for years. 

We've focused on "cheerfully do all things that lie in our power" (D&C 123:17) and on President Hinckley's admonition to "be up and doing" and on Nephi's call to "go and do" (1 Nephi 3:7), being doers (and not hearers only—James 1:22), and so on and so forth. There are a lot of scriptures about doing things. 

Admittedly, I'm sometimes a little like April Ludgate from Parks and Rec, who says, "I don't want to do things. I want to not do things." Certainly today I feel like I perhaps would have liked to do fewer things. 

Between an hour of gymnastics, two hours of music lessons, and two hours of church activities (plus all the time driving between those events) I hardly felt like I was home today! We did a lot of doing. 

Thank goodness Benjamin didn't have swim practice today!

With all my final projects due this week (and Andrew now out of town at a conference) I am anxiously anticipating doing a little less homework and a little less driving and far fewer extracurriculars...next week.

Anyway, our family motto has for years and years taken on a variation of the theme of doing things. 

Most recently, after a particularly unfortunate day of idleness and shenanigans, Andrew printed out the words DO THINGS and posted them around the house to remind the kids that...they've got work to do!

Uh-oh!

Paper Stars

This morning I taught the kids how to fold star segments and then set them to work folding and folding forever while I read to them from Dracula (which we finally finished reading today). We are using the pages from old Come Follow Me manuals because (a) we get new manuals every year anyway, (b) recycled craft supplies feels rustic and we're going for a rustic look at the Christmas party, and (c) we thought it would be nice to have parts of the pictures from what we've learned about this year up around us at the party—pictures from church history, pictures of the Savior, and so forth. 

So far nothing much looks very star-like in these pictures, but we've folded enough segments to make 40 stars today! 

Here's Zoë hard at work:

4'33" contest

Today Miriam drove into campus with me. She is quite happy to be chauffeur, now that she knows exactly what coming to campus with Mom entails (peace! quiet! spacious office! desk snacks!).

"No wonder Rachel liked coming to campus with you!" she remarked.

And it's true. We do get a lot of uninterrupted work accomplished when we go into campus. 

We just have to offset it with the commute time. Is [[x hours of uninterrupted work] - [y hours of commute time]] > [z hours of Phoebe-infested work time at home]? 

I'm really not sure. That's why we also like to stay home sometimes, too. 

But today I needed to go in because I was one of ten presenters at the 4'33" contest!

I spoke about religious literacy (which is what I usually speak about) and awkwardly used the word "Mormon" in place of "member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints" because...when you only have 4 minutes and 33 seconds to describe your entire research project (and your research project necessarily involved you talking about your subjectivity as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, saying The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints a billion times really eats into your talking time). So I made a little disclaimer and just went with a good ol' nickname.

Patrick and Hadis watched from Austria (super last minute, too—I was like, "Hey! This is starting in 7 minutes. I'm the second presenter!" and they hopped on) and sent me this picture:

Simply Ravenous

After Phoebe had perked up enough that she was actually able to join us for a meal, she was rather... enthusiastic...about the idea of eating, having gone for so many days with hardly any appetite at all.

"Somebody put food on my plate!" she demanded, before the prayer had even been said.

To be fair, we often do put food on her plate so that it can cool off while we're waiting to say the prayer and she can be...satisfied...while everyone else is getting their food. It's probably a bit of a holdover from her toddler years, which are now over. Apparently.

Are we babying her? Probably.

Anyway, we told her that we hadn't even had the prayer yet and were still getting things on the table—so hold her horses!

"Somebody put food on my plate so I can be ready to eat after the prayer," she clarified. "I won't eat before the prayer. I promise."

We eventually did start filling a plate for her and when the prayer was said she tucked in with gusto. 

"Wow, Phoebe," Andrew remarked. "You're ravenous today."

She stopped, looked at him, batted her beautiful eyelashes.

"Fank you!" she said through a mouthful of food. Then, realizing this might have been a self-centered response, quickly added. "You, too!"

"Do you...know what ravenous means?" Andrew asked. 

"I do not," she said. "May I have s'more pears, please?"

"It means that you're really hungry."

"Oh, I am!" she said.

And she was.

Benjamin's swim meet

Today I got to take Benjamin to his swim meet (because it was at our own YMCA and I...can drive there). I parked myself in a seat in the viewing deck (which was the hallway), pulled out my laptop and worked on a presentation and did some research in between his events. These meets are way more chill than the summer events, which always feel like pure chaos to me.

Probably helps that I've only ever signed up for ribbon duty. 

Benjamin's coach was quite ambitious this meet—he signed Benjamin up for a 50 free, a 200 IM, and a 100 fly in addition to two relays! Benjamin took it all in stride, though! He dropped time on his free and IM events. This was his first time racing a 100 fly.

Here he is doing the fly portion of his IM:

Phoebe is 4!

Where do I begin with this girl?

She woke up around 1:00 in the morning (she's been waking up a lot lately—we'll blame it on the pneumonia). 

"Happy birthday," I whispered when I picked her up.

"It's not morning," is what she told me.

"True, but it is your birthday," I told her. "And listen! Your primary songs are even playing birthday songs for you! Isn't that lucky?"

"It's not," she said. "I need a drink."

"Let's get a drink for you," I said. 

Meanwhile Andrew had come upstairs to take over. Phoebe has always been a little bit...permanently annoyed...with me at night time so Andrew has stepped up to be the one to put her back to bed over and over and over again. Because she responds better to him in the middle of the night.

Though I was secretly happy to hear her also tell him "It's not morning!" in response to his "Happy Birthday!" to her. 

Andrew had to work all day on Thursday, so he wasn't there when Phoebe rolled over, put her face in my face and said, "Mom—presents!" to wake me up. 

Joke was on her! I hadn't even wrapped her presents yet because we'd talked about just doing that on Friday instead. She's a baby, we reasoned, she doesn't understand time. Alas, she's not a baby anymore and has been meticulously counting down the days until her birth, pneumonia notwithstanding. 

I put her off gifts by suggesting she help me make her cake.

Phoebe wanted a pink heart-shaped cake with "bad puppies" and pears, pineapple, and cherries (the latter of which she found in our storage room while we were fetching a pink cake mix). I managed to talk her out of the pears and pineapple. The cherries we turned into a filling.

Here she is stirring the cake batter:

Playing!

I took the boys to the doctor (for well-child checks) first thing in the morning, leaving Andrew and all the girls sleeping away. The boys are growing great. Benjamin is 5'3" tall, only two inches shorter than Miriam (who seems to have plateaued) and precisely one foot taller than Alexander. 

When we came home, Zoë was practicing the piano and Phoebe was setting up an elaborate game of "Bethlehem," with the ball at the very center representing baby Jesus. 

Unlimited snuggle time

We went for another walk in the cold today. Here is Phoebe at the beginning of our walk, looking much more alert and alive than yesterday: 

Phoebe with pneumonia

Yesterday Zoë had her well-child check. Tomorrow Benjamin and Alexander have their well-child checks. So we figured we may as well squeeze in a little sick-visit for Phoebe today (before her and Miriam's well-child checks in a few weeks) so the office really gets to know us.

She's on day five of a cough and fever, and is quite miserable. She's been diagnosed with pneumonia due to her little lungs crackling and is on antibiotics, so will hopefully be feeling better by her birthday!

Poor little thing!

More haiku moments

1) That time (yesterday) I very nearly stepped on this tiny frog that was sitting on our driveway.

Small piece of gravel
hopped away from my foot fall—
camouflaged frog

Three haikus for today

The first is actually from last night when I heard quite the kerfuffle in the front yard. I looked outside and a big ol' buck was head-butting my bananas. I am not sure this is what George Bluth meant when he said "There's always money in the banana stand," but...for us, in that singular moment, we had at least one buck in our little stand of bananas...

Antlered bucks battle,
thrashing my banana trees—

a well-rehearsed rut

We are having a cold snap. Miriam suggested we go for a walk this afternoon to just see how cold it truly was. The answer? Cold. We originally planned on leaving poor, sick Phoebe at home, but she really wanted to come, so we bundled her up in the wagon (in a sleeping bag and another couple of blankets) and let her get some fresh air into her lungs. We were surprised—and delighted—when a gust of wind shook some snowflakes down on us...

Flit! Sudden snowflakes,
erratic crystal butterflies—
a fleeting flurry

And just now I am looking out my window into the chill and windy darkness, and the streetlights look so romantic, flashing out secret codes into the night as they are covered and uncovered by branches and leaves...

Through tree branch shadows
bandied about in the wind

street lamps flicker

They're not perfect...but were a wonderful distraction from what I should be writing (what I desperately need to be writing).