Not like mom's...

I did end up getting Andrew a present. Triominos! I have great memories of playing that as a child, so of course when I saw it I thought that Andrew would like playing it, too. It's kind of like dominoes, only triangles.

That got Andrew and I to talking: we really do want everything to be just like in the house we grew up in. We're just lucky that we grew up in homes with mis-matched furniture, otherwise we'd be one of those ridiculous couples who think that we need brand new furniture the minute we're married. We're really okay with hand-me-downs. It's more the small things. Like triominos.

I really like my can opener because it's just like the one we had for all those years while I was growing up (until it was replaced by one of the same brand because someone left the originals too close--on is too close--to the stove burner. But I won't name any names: *cough* David *cough*).

And Andrew likes to keep the sheets in storage bins under the bed, which is really a great idea because it frees up so much shelf room and, really, how often do you need to get sheets out? Once a month or so? Not really worth it to have in the closet for all that time when it could be under the bed not using up useful space.

We like to just do little things just like mommy and daddy. Which is kind of funny because so many people spend their whole teenage years rebelling against how mom and dad do things.

I'm sure that Andrew and I had rebellious years, but I think our rebellious years were fairly mild compared to some. It just makes me wonder if people who really "didn't like" their parents way of doing things grow up to crave that life style?

We always tell Sarah that she's going to be just like her parents and it just about makes her throw up. I'm pretty sure she will wake up one day and realize that she just punished her child in the same punishment she had gotten when she did the exact same thing in her childhood. But I guess I'll never know that.

***

Anyway, today was Karen's birthday, so Andrew gave me the assignment of buying her a gift while I was looking for his gift. This proved more difficult than I first thought. I discussed it at lunch (a Valentine's Day Potluck) with my mom and Cyndee, Andrew's boss: the "mother-in-law gift dilemma."

We all decided that a CD would be a good choice, but Andrew's family already has a large collection of music and I am not so familiar with it that I know for sure what they already have. We thought we would go with Enoch Train, a group that my mom's boss's husband (Daron) plays in. We went to their concert together last year (me, my mom, Josie, Andrew, and his mom).

I couldn't figure out how the CDs were arranged in the bookstore and they were playing really annoying and loud music in that section of the store so I couldn't handle it. I gave up on finding their CD.

I went to plan B: a book. I browsed through row upon row of books but I just couldn't think of a book that Karen wouldn't have.

I looked at art prints. I looked at games. I looked at clothes. I could settle on nothing and was beginning to begrudge the fact that Andrew had dared to give me this assignment. What was he thinking? I can't even shop for him, let alone myself. How did he expect me to come up with a good present for his mother?

I stumbled upon a sickly sentimental series of gifts called, "Eat your peas." I looked at a book that they had...it was disgusting. Curly handwriting scrawling across page after page in this book saying things like, "I love you!"; "You mean the world to me!"; "You're great!"; and "Don't forget to take time for yourself." This went on for 200 pages or so.

Not only was I getting dizzy from reading the poorly designed book, I was starting to gag from reading all the fluffy sentimental statements. I mean, had they been real quotes I think I might have been able to take it, but, "The first thing I thought of this morning was you!" and "I'm so lucky that you're my mother!"--give me a break!

I settled on a magnet made by the same company with one of their slightly less sentimental sayings (after all, no one likes peas that much anyway, so I thought a spoonful would be better than a plateful) and bought a card to put it in.

Still a little cutesy, but a mile less cuter than that book *shudder*.

*****

I'm sure in 15 years, Andrew will get me the same magnet because it reminds him of his mother's house. That's okay though because it has one of those quotes that makes you feel good about yourself.

Happy Valentine's Day

Andrew had to work late again last night which meant that I was home alone. I got a bit of work done, but being home alone is really pretty boring. Before I went to bed though, I drew Andrew a picture.


I'm not very good at these holiday things. I didn't know what to get Andrew for our anniversary. He got me the perfect gift. I didn't know what to get Andrew for Christmas. He got me the perfect gift. I didn't know what to get Andrew for Valentine's Day, so I just drew him a picture to welcome him home. Lame, I know, but nothing like a home-made picture, right? Truthfully, I was feeling bad because he told me that my present was "coming" and I didn't have the foggiest idea of what to get him.

Luckily he's not a girl so he doesn't care.

When I walked into the kitchen this morning, there were flowers waiting for me, but not those silly kind that are all cut up--real flowers in dirt.


They're daffodils--the same flowers that I got last year for Easter that are currently in my fridge pretending that it is winter so that perhaps they will grow. I think they're really pretty. Andrew picked them up on his way home from work. Considering he got off work at midnight, I'd say he was pretty thoughtful.

For dinner we went to Papa Murphy's and got a heart-shaped pizza. It's a tradition that Andrew would like to continue--not necessarily the Papa Murphy's, but the heart-shaped pizza. He tried it last year but failed miserably and ended up just going for a regular square pizza, which was fine, but not festive.


This year the pizza worked out a lot better, but that's because we realized that they just made a round blob of dough and then cut out the heart instead of trying to shape the heart out of a blob of dough. No matter what you think as a child, pizza dough is just not as easy to work with as play dough. I used to make very creative foods out of play dough. Real dough is just a bit tougher. Those play dough spaghetti makers, a cinch to operate. A real spaghetti maker, not so simple.

Now that we know Papa Murphy's secret, perhaps we'll be able to make a pizza from scratch next year...

After dinner, I decorated cupcakes while Andrew did homework. The cupcakes really did turn out alright in the end.


I had to phone mom to get the recipe for the icing. See, I know the general idea of making icing, but I'm just not very good at making it off the top of my head. I tend to end up frosting only half a cake, or I won't get the ratio of liquids to solids right and end up using 2 bags of powdered sugar and a 1/2 jug of milk and have a year's supply of icing.

There is a particular recipe of icing that I like to follow--it's the Betty Crocker one. I have a CD, but that recipe wasn't on it, so I phoned home to get it.

Josie answered. I was very specific with what I wanted, "Can you get me the recipe for icing from the Betty Crocker Cook Book--that's the big red binder up with the other cook books that says, "Betty Crocker" on it."

"Sure," she says, "Mo-om!"

An unheard conversation about what I want takes place.

"Mom has that recipe memorized. She'll just tell it to you."

That would be fine, except that I know that mom has the recipe memorized how I memorize recipes (and scriptures). I know exactly what ingredients went in to the recipe and I know how the recipe turns out (so I can quote scriptures), but I have no clue what amount of what went in (and I have trouble remembering references).

Mom comes on the phone, "When I make icing, I just use some butter and mix in some powdered sugar and a little bit of milk, and some vanilla flavoring."

"I know, mom," I reply, "But I make icing like grandpa makes grits. What I want is just the recipe from the Betty Crocker Cook Book."

"Oh," mom says and immediately asks Josie to get the cook book (so she probably should have just done that in the first place).

In the end I got my recipe. Andrew was curious though, "You make icing like your grandpa makes grits? How does your grandpa make grits?"

Let's just say that grandpa's not a southern boy.

My grandma is from Florida and therefore she makes delicious southern food. Grandpa is from Utah, which I used to think was pretty far south, but my perception has changed a bit now that I've moved here myself--it's really not the south, believe me there is a lot more south to go from here.

Well, when they were a young married couple, grandma was either sick or grandpa was making her breakfast in bed or she'd just had a baby. I don't remember how the story goes. Anyway, grandpa decided that he'd make her grits, so he put some water on the stove, brought it to a boil and then added grits like he had seen grandma do so many times before.

The problem was that he didn't measure, so it was still a little runny. He added more grits. It got to be too thick, so he heated up some more water and added that to the grits. It was now too runny, so he added more grits. That made it a little too thick so he added some more water to it which then made it too thin so he added more grits.

This he continued until he used every pot and all the grits in the house, or so the story goes.

And that is why I absolutely need recipes for some things--it would be completely disastrous otherwise. I do like to experiment in the kitchen but some things have already been worked out perfectly so no more experimentation needs to be done.

Plus, this icing actually tastes like the stuff that you buy in the stores in the plastic containers, which I happen to find delicious.

Don't trifle with dessert

Due to my fantastically brilliant sister, I have saved dessert. Who would ever have thought up something to do with 4 1/2 dozen (ruined) cupcakes? Not me, that's for sure. But my sister could.


See how happy it made Andrew?

Here's my latest recipe:

Take 4 (and a half) dozen mini cupcakes that have completely fallen apart.
Add 1 package of pre-prepared instant vanilla pudding
Dig around your cupboards to find fruit that isn't peaches or pears because that just didn't sound like a good combo (we found some cherries, yum...and festive)

Layer the cupcake remains, pudding, and fruit until you have a beautiful trifle of sorts.

Present it to your husband for a FHE treat and then decide not to have any for yourself because you're pregnant and really can't stand many desserts.

Half an hour later, decide that you really want some even if baby doesn't and then regret it until it has moved through your system.

Overall, not a bad dessert. (And, no, I did not allow Andrew to eat it all in one sitting...there is definitely more left over for tomorrow.)

Cupcake, anyone?

I am planning on writing a book about all the mishaps we've had in our kitchen since being married (and perhaps including a few stories pre-marriage). Today we created another one.

After going home teaching together (yes, we go home teaching together. I am Andrew's companion), we decided that we should make some Valentine's Day treats for the ladies we teach. Two are widowed and one is divorced and goodness knows they get lonely because they need to talk. Let's just say we try not to schedule one particular lady with any less time than one hour. She just needs someone to talk to.

In addition to making them Valentines, there were a few other people in our ward that we wanted to hit up, so we would need a few more treats than just three.

I made some mini-cupcakes (cherry-chip, mmmm), but that really didn't look like enough for all the people we were going to deliver treats to, so we decided to make another batch.


In an effort to make it super-Valentinesque, we used a white cake mix with cherry Jello mixed in. Aside from being neon red, they really aren't too shabby, except that what you see in the picture is all that survived. There should be about equal parts white and red cupcakes, but...I failed miserably at trying to take them out and broke cupcake after cupcake in half.


Andrew took over for me (he's the one who got all the whole ones out), but even he didn't do too great.


We completely destroyed well over 4/5 of them. They just didn't pop out as well as the cherry-chip ones. I'm not sure if it was the Jello, or the fact that we used a white cake mix, which is a little more delicate than other cakes (it doesn't call for oil or egg yokes).


Andrew says that the crumbled cupcakes mixed in with a little milk turns into a pudding-like substance that is actually pretty good. I'm not too sure about that, but I've been sneaking into the kitchen to eat the cupcake tops...

Brazilian Fiesta

On Thursday night, Andrew and I were actually socialites. We went to a party with a bunch of people we didn't know, and we had a good time, too!

See, I have this friend Angela, who is from Brazil. She is also friends with David, although we met at different times and she didn't even know that we were related when she met me. David met her in a dance class and I met her in Italian class. She's a great girl and we became good friends.

So, on Thursday night, she invited Andrew and I over for a nice Brazilian dinner. Also invited were a bunch of people who served in Brazil (like my brother), as well as some of her Brazilian friends, and their friends.

For dinner we had beans and rice. What else? There was also lasagna for the people unwilling to try beans and rice, like it's that exotic (jeepers, Andrew...beans and rice...that's all). But it was a traditional Brazilian meal, so what else would there be but beans and rice, or rice and beans.

Interestingly enough, Andrew and I were among the youngest there but were the longest-married couple. It was kind of strange to not be considered newly weds. That's probably the first time that's ever happened in our whole married lives. I'm sure it will continue to happen as we are married longer.

The highlight of the evening for me, though, was rediscovering one of my favorite groups. When David came home from his mission he brought home this CD that I absolutely fell in love with and listened to virtually every day for a very long time. Well, when that group came blasting over the stereo, I couldn't help but force Andrew to get up and dance with me (what's the point of marrying your dance partner if you have to force them to dance? I mean, come on!).

The lowlight was probably that I don't speak Portuguese so felt a little bit out of it. Because we were so linguistically challenged at this party Andrew and I had to speak Italian together just to feel a little less left out. Andrew and David also discovered that they carry on a rather lengthy, albeit pointless, conversation with Andrew speaking Italian and David speaking Portuguese.

I believe their conversation went something like this:

David (in Portuguese): "Hey, I can understand what you're saying."
Andrew (in Italian): "I can understand you, too."
David (in Portuguese): "Cool."
Andrew (in Italian): "Yeah, will you get me some juice?"
David (in Portuguese): "Sure, which kind?"
Andrew (in Italian): "Grape."
David (in Portuguese): "This one?"
Andrew (in Italian): "No, that one."
David (in Portuguese): "This one?"
Andrew (in Italian): "No, that one."
David (in Portuguese): "This one?"
Andrew (in English): "Grape!"
David (in a lot of languages): "Oh."

And thus we see that there were some communication problems at the party.

My favorite was when Angela went up to her husband and asked, "We need plates and what else is it you eat with?" "Silverware?" he offered. "Yes," she said, "the plastic kind."

Ahhh...I love being surrounded by language barriers. Somehow it makes me feel secure.

Mother Bear

I think that I am turning into somewhat of a "mother bear." You know, the protective mother who mauls anyone who comes in the way of her baby? That kind of mother bear.

Everything I look at in the house, I think, "Is that baby-safe?" Like, how I made Andrew fix the blinds, or how I constantly worry about where we're going to put the crib (that we don't have), or how I am trying to baby proof our house (even though our baby isn't yet born, let alone mobile).

I have also been reminiscing a lot more, which is something I thought happened when people got older, much older. Apparently I'm in the much older category because I keep thinking of all the stories I have to tell. Well, either that or I'm just supposed to tell stories. Perhaps it's a little bit of both.

This story is also kind of inspired by Bridget's blog post, but also by the comment made by Shaille, who said that women are just naturally more cautious. It is part of the "mother bear" (aka. nurturing instinct) inherent within us.

This story happens one Friday night when I was 15, a sophomore (grade 10) in high school. David and I had had a party and because the magic hour of midnight was approaching, our guests were on their way out the door in order to beat curfew.

Joy and Matt were the last two to be leaving. The four of us were at the door joking around a bit which meant that Joy was laughing wildly and Matt was talking in his bass voice. My parents were already in bed, but if anyone knows my mom well, they know that she is a light sleeper (as am I). She heard the wild laughter of Joy, which, if you are just coming out of a stupor of sleep, could sound like a young girl screaming and gasping. She heard the bass voice of Matt, which, if you already thought you heard a young girl screaming, could sound like a vicious attacker.

My mom of course, instantly began to panic for my safety. She poked my dad. He grunted. She poked him harder. He rolled over. She shook him awake. He said, "What?"

"Nancy is being kidnapped!" she yelled in a whisper.

"No, she's not." dad replied calmly.

"Yes, she is! I can hear screaming!" my mom said.

"It's just their friends leaving." said my dad and rolled over to go back to sleep.

With that last bit of apathy from my dad, my mom jumped out of bed and ran down the hallway...

Only to run into me and David and Joy and Matt at the entry way.

She smiled at us, said goodnight, and went back to bed.

After Joy and Matt finally left, mom came out of her room again and told me the now-funny story of her thinking I was being abducted. We had a good laugh and went to bed.

*****

The next night (Saturday), our friends got together again, this time at someone else's house (I think it was Becky's). That night, Matt asked me, "What was up with your mom last night?"

"Oh," I said, "She just thought someone was kidnapping me..." and I told him the story. He laughed. After all, it's a funny story.

Isn't it nice, though, to have a mother who cares about me so much that she would risk her life in the middle of the night to save mine? I think so.

Inspired by Bridget's Blog

After reading Bridget's most recent post, I was reminded of a something that happened to us before we left for Jordan.

*****

It was a dark and stormy night. Andrew and I had stayed up late playing games or watching a movie. I can't actually remember why we were up so late. It could just be that it really was a dark and stormy night and the power kept going off, making our printer turn off and on again...making me freak out. Every time the printer reset itself, you know, how the cartridge moves around, I would think it was someone jiggling the handle to our front door.

I would then make Andrew get up and check the house.

After doing this two times, he finally unplugged the printer and told me to go to sleep.

I didn't.

Instead I listened to the wind howling and the branches hitting our window. Suddenly I heard all these banging noises. I was scared stiff.

I shook Andrew awake.

"Listen," I hissed, "Do you hear that?"

"No. Go to sleep." Andrew said.

"No, really!" I insisted, "There are crashing noises, and I think I hear screaming."

"It's just the wind." Andrew said.

"No, really!" I continued, "I think someone is screaming for help."

"You're beginning to creep me out." Andrew said.

"I'm beginning to creep you out?" I asked, shocked, "I'm scared solid!"

"Just go to sleep." Andrew said. Like that was even an option.

I lay awake for most of the night, listening to the wind...

*****

Within that week, our neighbours downstairs and across the hallway put their condo up for sale. At church that Sunday we heard people talking about why they were moving. We stopped and joined the conversation.

As it turns out, their next door neighbours (who were really pretty scary people, really) had had their brother (who was even more scary than they were) over. One night he decided he was going to kill them all, and then commit suicide, so he attempted to do so.

He was trying to scare them first so he was running around the apartment like a maniac stabbing holes in the wall (thus, our neighbours put their condo up for sale) and then coming after them.

The female resident went around banging on people's doors, trying to wake them up so she could call the police. It was like 2 am, so no one was awake. She tried all the doors downstairs, and then ran upstairs.

Our next door neighbours were up watching a show, so they heard her at their door and let her in.

She used the phone, called the cops. They came, arrested the knife-wielding man, and left.

The neighbours who put their condo up for sale moved within 2 weeks. The scary couple moved shortly after we left for Jordan.

*****

And thus we see that crimes can happen anywhere. Even in Happy Valley, USA.

Oh, and, Andrew has been a lot more careful before dismissing my thoughts regarding checking the front door, looking in closets, etc...even at 2 am. Mostly because he knows that I wasn't just hearing things--I actually was hearing things.

Working out at work

Just to let you know, I am currently pushing 11 hours of work today. Not that it's really anything to brag about. I had a four hour "retreat" at work today, which means that I got to listen to interesting people speak and eat good food instead of being trapped in the "dungeon." (The "dungeon" is the nickname for Special Collections in the library--it's 50 feet below ground and there are no windows. It's one big cement block).

After walking back to the library from the Conference Center (no, that wasn't my workout), I noticed that the AC/Vent guy was there working on the Cold Vault. The CV, as we affectionately call it, has been acting up lately. It's supposed to be a micro-environment for photographs to help preserve them, but recently the humidity has been sky-rocketing.

Sometimes I feel that not a lot of people take me seriously. The last few days I have phoned or emailed the AC/Vent guy at least 2 times a day telling him how the humidity is going up and up. Finally this morning he told me that he'd come and look at it.

*****

Apparently he's now fixed the problem. Before he left he warned me: The alarm will go off as it normalizes. Just switch it off and then it will sound again to let you know it's been reset. Switch it back on.

I thought I could handle that. I did, but his statement was the understatement of the year.

Soon after he left, the alarm went off, just about scaring me out of my wits! I got up from my desk and went to the alarm. I switched it off. I waited for it to sound again and then switched it back on. There, I thought, that's that. And I walked back to my desk.

No sooner had I sat down then the alarm went off again. I walked back over to the alarm, and repeated the same procedure as before, except when I turn it back on, the alarm immediately sounded again. I turned it off, it beeped. I turned it on, it beeped. I turned it off and on and off and on. Finally, I thought it had settled down a little.

I started walking back to my desk. It went off again. Annoyed, I stood by the alarm for more than 5 minutes turning it on and off, on and off, on and off. Finally, a student walked in and I asked her to stand there and flip the switch whenever it sounded while I phoned the AC/Vent guy to be sure this was normal.

She did, but do you know what? That crafty little alarm didn't go off at all the whole time she was there. The AC/Vent guy said that that was normal and to just continue flipping the switch.

I sat down in my desk, thanked the girl and got back to work. No sooner had she left than the alarm went off.

I got up from my desk and walked over to the alarm, turned it off, waited for it to beep and then turned it back on. I waited for a few minutes, but it was silent so I went back to my desk and sat down. And then it beeped.

I got up and turned it off, waited for it to beep and turned it back on. I waited for a few minutes, went back to my desk and sat down.

One of my students came into work. Amazingly enough, the alarm didn't go off the whole time he was in the room. I kept glancing at the alarm to make sure the gauges were reading correctly and waiting for the alarm to go off. It didn't.

My student left the room...I was sure the alarm was going to go off as soon as he left. I looked up at the alarm. It didn't go off. I looked back at my screen...and the alarm went off.

I walked over, turned it off. Waited, turned it on. Waited, walked back to my desk. Waited, walked back to the alarm...and repeated that about twenty times before my student came back into the room.

By this time the alarm was going through one of its crazy fits of constantly turning off and on so when my student walked back in he got to witness the little relationship the alarm and I were having. I was glad because I was starting to think I was crazy.

At this point it became more of a game. Who could get up to turn the alarm off faster?

The alarm would go off. He'd be up by the cabinet and reach over and turn it off.

The alarm would go off again. I would already be up out of my desk at the sink and could turn it off.

The alarm would go off again. We were both at our desks. Who would get to the alarm first?

I started losing it, and by "it" I mean everything: concentration, sense of humor, reason, etc.

I don't think I have ever been happier for 5:00 to roll around. As I closed up for the day, I turned the alarm off one last time, waited for it to reset and then turned it back on, turned off the lights and closed the door.

I'm sure that a nice high-pitched screeching noise will be the first thing to greet me in the morning, but I should look on the bright side: at least I got my exercise quota for the day!

Matthew's Baptism

My Men in White

Yesterday was Matthew's baptism. He turned 8 on December 29th and yesterday was his lucky day. Uncle Andrew got to baptize Matthew, which was really exciting for him since this was Uncle Andrew's first time to do this. Uncle Andrew had to memorize the words in English. He had already completed this task in Italian (just in case).

Uncle David thought that Matthew and Uncle Andrew were lucky because we have water heaters in America and therefore the water would be warm instead of freezing cold. Uncle David was wrong. The water, according to Andrew, was freezing cold and, unfortunately, only just above his knees, so it took a bit of acrobats to get Matthew all the way under. The cold water shocked Matthew and he came up sputtering.

That reminds me of my baptism when the water was also freezing cold. I wrote in my journal later that day: The water was so could! [sic].

Since there were two little boys who turned eight right around the same time, Matthew got to share his baptism day with a boy in his ward named Lilo. Lilo's grandfather gave a talk on baptism and then I led everyone in singing a song that my Grandma Conrad wrote about baptism. It's become somewhat of a favorite among my family, especially since her passing.

After the baptisms, Uncle David gave a talk on receiving the Gift of the Holy Ghost. He did a great job at putting it in words that an eight year old could understand. He compared the Holy Ghost to a bicycle that you don't own. Your goal is to get home as fast as possible so a friend loans you the bike for a while so that you can go a little faster...but eventually you have to give the bike back. This continues on for a while, with your friend lending you his bike whenever you're too tired, or need an extra pick up.

Then one day, the friend said, "Why don't you keep the bike? I think you're ready for it."

That's like when we get the Gift of the Holy Ghost. We can use it forever, as long as we take care of it. Just like a bike won't work if you pop its tire on glass, or get its wheels tangled in weeds, the Holy Ghost won't work if you don't heed its promptings and go down paths you shouldn't.

After David finished his talk, Uncle Andrew got to confirm Matthew a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and give him the gift of the Holy Ghost. Andrew was unaware that he was going to do this, so the Bishopric had to do a quick re-cap of the proper words in English.

All in all, it went over well. The spirit was strong, and it was fun to see the family members that came.

After the baptism, we left to go home so that Andrew could do homework (he wrote a nine page paper yesterday) while everyone else left to have lunch at a restaurant. Apparently there were mishaps in that department involving the wrong restaurant name and people getting lost, but I wasn't there so I can't be sure.

While we were on the freeway however, we had a mishap of our own. Andrew was telling my why he and Matthew had taken so long to get out of the dressing room after the baptism (I think it involves Matthew not wanting to get dressed and face the crowd). All of a sudden he groans, "I left my wet clothes in the dressing room..." So, although it wasn't a terrible mishap, it did cost us quite a few minutes of our time.

Kelli, if you are missing a pair of Matthew's underwear, they are most likely still in the men's dressing room soaking wet. Andrew didn't see them in there, so maybe you were more on top of things that we were!

Oh, the irony!

Last night we went to TGI Friday's with my mom and dad and Andrew's mom and dad. My dad won a free dinner there...and the dinner was really good. But as with most free things, there was a little bit of a cost. This time we had to listen to a "fire safety presentation." The presentation really wasn't so bad to sit through. I learned a lot of things that I didn't know before. Living on your own is kind of strange. Neither Andrew nor I knew how often you needed to change your furnace filter or that you should vacuum out your lint hose... You learn something new everyday.

I have to admit that, as bad as this sounds, my favorite part of the presentation was the article about the fire station burning down in Draper, UT. The fire alarms in the station never went off and all the firemen were sound asleep inside...I just thought it was too ironic that a brand new fire station that is completely up to code would burn down as the firemen were sleeping.

After dinner, Andrew's parents came over so that his mom could help us fix our blinds. We are slowly getting our spare room ready for baby and noticed that the blinds had so many extra slats in them that it could have reached all the way down to the floor and the pull cord was so long and knoted in multiple places creating quite the strangling hazard for a baby. The other blinds in our house are fine, but the one in the child's room--a complete mess. That's the same room that the previous owners had their 2 year old son in. It doesn't make any sense to me.

Anyway, Andrew's mom, being the good mom that she is, tried to teach Andrew how to fix them instead of fixing them for us. Now, I think Andrew is pretty amazing, but sometimes he struggles with things: like fixing blinds. Basically he had to do the same steps 6 times, but each time he did it, he had to ask his mom how to do it again...

They then moved onto the furnace room to replace our filter and check on our lint hose (which had come completely off our dryer and was spewing lint all over the place. If that's not a fire hazard, I don't know what is).

While Andrew is struggling with the furnace filter, Piper phoned. She and Abra had been online looking at their elf names (aka: what their names would be if they were one of Santa's little helpers). My name was not too bad, Twinkle Stocking Stuffer. But Andrew's name was just too funny (and dare I say, suiting), Ditsy Helper. The kids voted on it and decided that his name was the funniest so he won a phone call from Piper, absolutely free, except for the teasing that he'll get for his name, of course.

*****

Now I should finish up our fire safety catch: we "had" to write a time to meet with our representative so he could give us an estimate on what it would cost to install smoke detectors in our home. We scheduled our time for 9 am this morning...not that we really wanted a salesman in our home, but because we figured if we didn't schedule a time we'd be getting a phone call.

He came. Stayed for 10 minutes and left. See, the average package for these systems is $2000-3000, because they "actually work." After trying to scare us into purchasing their system last night by using a lot of statistics for their benefit, I did a little research on the internet and am no longer completely convinced of their superiority. I know that the internet isn't always a reliable source for information, but since when is a salesman?

We simply told him that we didn't have $2000 to put into a smoke detector. He told us we could purchase one unit for $400--that it would be an investment. We told him we didn't have that kind of money to invest in a smoke detector. He told us we could purchase a similar model at Lowe's for $25, but that their instruction manual states that it "is not a lifesaving device."

Although this company claims that their smoke detector is a life saving device, I'm not sure I would put my life in its hands. After all, if it goes off in the middle of the night, and I get out of bed, but my foot gets all tangled in the sheets and I sprain my ankle in the process, is it going to jump off the ceiling and carry me out of the house. I don't think it will.

As a lifeguard/swim instructor I would teach my students the saying, "Swim with a buddy in a supervised area." We would then discuss what a "buddy" is. A "buddy" is a mommy or daddy or other grown up that will swim with you to help you if you get in trouble. A "buddy" is not a rubber ducky or even a life jacket because they can't save your life.

I think that a smoke detector is a great thing to have, but under no conditions will it search the house for me if I am already unconscious. It won't carry me out if I break my leg. It won't run back in and get my baby. No, I think my family, friends, and neighborhood fire department would qualify as a "buddy" in this case.

And, by the way, we do have a smoke detector.