At least we know he isn't littering...

I created a temporary art installation on my living room floor yesterday afternoon when I so bravely folded the load of laundry Alexander so proudly threw into the wash all by himself. I called it: "Why Do Little Boys Even Have Pockets?"

I think every pocket on every pair of pants he wore was crinkly—stuffed full of wrappers. I had a whole pile of trash by the time I finished: fruit snacks wrappers, granola bar wrappers, fig bar wrappers, fruit-by-the-foot, beef jerky wrappers, cheese stick wrappers...

And one non-crinkly tissue.

Miri-who?

Rachel, Miriam, and I took Phoebe on a walk this afternoon and she fell asleep in the stroller, which she hasn't done in a long time, and then she stayed snoozing in the garage for quite some time after we got home. 

The neighbourhood kids were all playing and Phoebe slept right on through their happy sounds. 

Then the neighbourhood kids decided they needed a wagon and moved a bunch of bikes to access the wagon and a shovel fell off the wall and bonked Benjamin on the head before clattering to the floor and a yelling match erupted between Benjamin, who felt a little sore about things (in about ten different ways), and Zoë, who Benjamin blamed for having been the last person to hang up a shovel on the rack.

We heard the clattering and the hollering from inside the house (I went out to check on heads and to inform the kids that Phoebe was napping in the garage where they were currently having a full blown fight and knocking bikes over and stuff). 

Phoebe magically slept right on through that noise, too.

So...we're not sure what's up with her. Probably best that she stayed home from church. 

Rachel's talk and Phoebe's...day

Here's a picture of Rachel writing her talk late last night, while sitting at my feet. I was switching back and forth between an article I was reading and her talk whenever she wanted feedback. The bedroom window was wide open and we were listening to the thunder rage and the wind howl (until the rain started).

How "kids these days" can type an entire paper on their little phones is beyond me. I like my keyboard too much to attempt that. But here she is...typing up a 5-minute speech on her phone.

Blood worm moon

Miriam decided to stay up until the lunar eclipse. She was in good company—Andrew and I are usually up until around 2:00 working, anyway. She cleaned the kitchen, did her math lessons, and who knows what else (worked on driver's ed, perhaps). 

Benjamin woke up around 1:30 coughing and sneezing. 

Allergy season is upon us...but I also think the kids may have picked up a cold. 

When Phoebe woke up at 2:00 and wandered down to Andrew's office to say hello (she doesn't usually get to see him on Thursdays, but was already awake when he left for campus around 6:00 this morning), we decided we may as well wake everyone else up as well.

It's not every day we get to interrupt the conversation between the sun and the moon, after all!

Naturally all the pictures I took of the moon with my phone were terrible quality. So we will leave that sort of documentation to the professionals. 

Tired Phoebe

Phoebe loves her little chalkboards. She loves drawing on them. She loves erasing her drawings. She loves wiping them down with a wet cloth to get all the old chalk dust away. She (recently) loves sneaking into Daddy's office to retrieve his little air-blower keyboard-cleaning thing to dry her chalkboards off faster (she's only recently overcome her fear of that noise). 

Here she is drawing our family (are her pants on inside out? Yes. Is she still wearing her pyjama top because she gave up trying to change out of it? Maybe so. But she's still adorable):

Hurtanoes: There's a storm comin'

We're gearing up for a big storm to roll in this weekend. 

I'm not seeing any official weather alerts about it, but the meteorologists all seem pretty excited about it and the university sent out a weather alert. 

Yesterday I asked the kids to clean up the basement so that we could hunker down if we needed to (and also, and perhaps mostly, because I also wanted the basement to get cleaned up) and they've been in storm-prep mode ever since. 

*****

This morning Phoebe got up earlier than I wanted to be awake (in my defense I was up late working on a conference proposal), so I helped her with a few things and then told her I was going to go back to bed for a little while.

"That's okay!" she said. "I've got Alexei! Hey, Alexei—wanna talk about hurtanoes some more?"

They've been talking about "hurtanoes" all day—some wild mashup (portmanteau) of "hurricane" and "volcano" and "tornado," I think. Alexander knows the difference between those things. Phoebe has no idea what she's talking about.

Between those two, though, it seems we'll be in pretty good shape down in the basement. They've set out flashlights and pillows and blankets and little pop-up tents for sleepover fun. The storage room already has food and water. And there's plenty of entertainment down there as well (books and games and LEGO and things). 

They've made it look like so much fun that they want to sleep down there tonight, even though the storm won't blow in until Saturday!

The Rachels

I caught Phoebe with a green candy cane she's been coveting since December. It belong[ed] to Miriam, who hadn't eaten it on account of her braces—she's a rule-follower for sure!

"How'd you get that?" I asked Phoebe. 

"Uhhh...I can reach stuff," she informed me (as if I didn't know). 

"Okay," I said. "But, like, who gave you permission to have it?"

"Rachel did," she said confidently. 

Rachel, who was sitting at the table eating lunch, gawked at Phoebe.

"I did not!" Rachel said.

"Not you," Phoebe said calmly. "The other Rachel—Miriam."

And that about sums up how Phoebe has categorized her older sisters: Rachel is synonymous with "grown-up sister." 

Grown-up sisters can do things like use the oven and drive cars and babysit and go to parties and dances past bedtime. They're as tall as all the other grown-ups around. And mom never asks them if they've brushed their teeth. 

There are two grown-up sisters Rachels in this house: Rachel-proper and Rachel-Miriam. 

(And, yes, Miriam did give Phoebe permission to consume her verboten candy cane. I checked.)

His Eye is On the Sparrow

One of the new (to us) hymns recently added to the hymnbook is His Eye Is On The Sparrow. We sang it today and evidently Phoebe rather enjoyed it. 

While she was sitting on the potty before getting ready for bed she started singing the chorus. 

"I sing because I'm happy! I sing because I..." she paused thinking about what the next word might be.

"DO!" she decided (the real words are "I sing because I'm happy! I sing because I'm free!"). 

She sang it that way for the next few minutes: "I sing because I'm happy! I sing because I do!"

Spring Formal

Today was the spring formal (aka or at least formally known as "Mormon Prom"). Last year the spring formal was in April, so we're a bit early this year. 

Last year only Rachel was able to go and she wore her flower girl dress from Grandpa and Darla's wedding. Rachel also got to go to homecoming this year (and I took several pictures of her in the new dress she picked out). But this was Miriam's first "formal" dance and she decided to wear a dress my mom bought her freshman year at BYU when she went to preference and she got dressed before Rachel did, which meant we were able to take some pictures outside in decent lighting. So I took several pictures of Miriam in her dress:

Dinner on Thursday

Last night we made Hawaiian Haystacks for dinner, something we haven't eaten (I think) since very soon after Karen's death in 2018, when someone in our ward brought it over for dinner. 

I wasn't really sure what to make for dinner...except that we had a fresh pineapple to use...and time was ticking so I decided to just start a pot of rice cooking and then brainstorm about what to have with the rice while it was cooking.

My three ideas were:

1. Something Mexican (we have leftover taco meat in the fridge)
2. Stir fry of sorts
3. Hawaiian Haystacks

I settled on Hawaiian Haystacks because (a) we hadn't had that in so many years that the kids couldn't even recall what it was and (b) we'd had "Ultimate Salad Bar" earlier in the week and had a lot of leftover toppings that also qualify as Hawaiian Haystacks toppings. 

All I had to do was make some chicken gravy and cut up a pineapple...and a bunch of vegetables. 

Often the gravy is made from a can of cream of chicken soup, but we don't usually have that stocked in our pantry, so I had made it from scratch, which really is not so difficult except that Phoebe wanted to help. She pulled out every single stool in our house and set them all up in the kitchen, forming an obstacle course of sorts (but allowing her to reach any given counter surface...as well as leaving a few in the middle of the kitchen floor to trip over). Then she demanded that she help and help and help.

"Phoebe," I sighed, wish that Andrew was home to be cooking with her instead of...me...having to do it. "I am not as confident about cooking as Daddy is, so I'm not as confident about allowing you to help. This is a step that Mommy has to do on her own, okay? You can have a turn stirring soon..."

So I browned the onions and I blended the water and flour and I made the base of the gravy and then I added the milk, whisked things together briefly, and handed Phoebe the whisk. 

"Finally!" she growl exasperatedly. "I tan tuut!"