Common Sense Trumps Hubris

Wanna know a secret? I suffer from an overdeveloped sense of determination when it comes to home improvement projects. If there's a job to be done, I will go to great lengths to handle it myself rather than ask someone else to do it. Allow me to illustrate.

This is possible:

because I installed all of this:

 

True, it took two days, three trips to the plumbing supply store, and four pages of step-by-step illustrated instructions from the This Old House web site to make it happen. But the important thing to remember is that it did--finally, after much effort--happen. Why, you might ask, am I telling you all of this? So you'll understand the significance of the following image:

Tile. In my kitchen. Lovely, isn't it? Sadly, I didn't install it. I know what you're thinking: "Why didn't you lay your own tile? You said you were going to. It's not that difficult." Right? Ordinarily, I'd agree with you. But as those of you who have been to my home know, this wonderfully quaint, century-old farmhouse has, um,  . . . quirks that require creative problem-solving skills (and experience) to achieve results like those you see above. Skills (and experience) which I lack. And so, I swallowed my pride (who am I kidding: I was happy to let someone else take over!) and called in the professionals.

By the way, here's another reason I didn't do the tile:

Relax, it's Cameron's leg, not mine (long story, involving evil footwear and a lapse in parental judgment). For those of you keeping track, this brings the Carling broken limb tally to three this year (four, if you're counting individual bones). I didn't completely bail on the tile project, though; I'll be doing the grout. Watch for updates. When everything's finished, I'll post before and after pictures of the kitchen--and the leg.

Parker was ordained an Elder by his Grandpa Carling last Sunday. He'll be filling out his mission papers soon. He's applied for a passport; that way, if he gets called to a foreign mission, he won't have to wait as long. He served as a camp assistant at our stake Aaronic Priesthood Encampment; it was a great opportunity for him to sharpen his leadership skills.

Hayden attended the above mentioned camp, too. Between the whitewater rafting, fly tying, fishing, creek floating, and other activities, he really had a good time.

Cameron and Jacob got to hang out with Chloe (and Brandi and Tyler) while I was in Cedar City. The only thing they broke was a light fixture. Cameron was thoughtful enough to wait 'til I got home to break his leg.

July 25-29th marked the Third Annual Darla and DeLynn Shakespeare Pilgrimage, but this year we had company: Mom and Dad, Danette and Jim (our sister and brother-in-law), and Chelsey (Darla's daughter-in-law) came for the plays on Monday. They all went home on Tuesday (party poopers), but our sister-in-law Sherry and her mother stayed until Thursday and saw all the plays--all of which were wonderful, by the way--with us. 

Every year I look forward to this trip, for many reasons. Each time, I either see someone I know from home (Hi, Mindy!), or meet someone who knows someone I know (Debra, we met your neighbors, the Marlers, and their niece, who lives in Rexburg). I always come home feeling invigorated: mentally, emotionally, yes, even spiritually.  Probably the 6 1/2 hour therapy sessions on the drive to and from Cedar City have something to do with it. (Thanks, Darla!) But I also firmly believe I need art and beauty in my life to make me a whole, balanced being. And speaking of beauty, on our way home, we stopped at what can best be described as decorating and organizing Nirvana. I LOVE YOU, IKEA! If I promise to visit you often, will you please move to Rexburg? Or at least Idaho Falls?   :o)

FYI:

hu·bris  \ˈhyü-brəs\ n [Gk hybris] (1884) :  exaggerated pride or self-confidence

Um . . . hello? [crickets chirping] Is anybody out there?

Hi. Remember me? I used to be the girl who wrote a mildly entertaining blog you'd check every week or so for updates. I don't know where that girl has gone. Yes I do. I think she was accidentally hauled off with the contents of my kitchen. Because remodeling the living room and dining room wasn't disruptive enough, I've moved on to the kitchen. I know, you're asking yourself, "Has she completely lost her mind?!" Maybe, but when you hear the back story, I think you'll agree that it was the right thing to do.

A few weeks ago, the boys and I went to Utah to help my parents get ready to move from their home (they sold it). On Saturday morning I ran the few miles from my parents' house to Lynn's (Paul's brother), where I woke them up to beg a drink of water--sorry guys. While I was there, Lynn told me his neighbor--a cabinet maker--was selling his showroom display cabinets for cheap. Having seen my lovely (not!) 50s-era metal cabinets, Lynn wondered if I'd be interested in new ones. I said if I had time later, I'd take a look at them.

That afternoon, Lynn came to my parents' house with an update: his neighbor had a house full of brand new cabinets that he was repossessing from a spec home; and I could have them, installed, for half the regular price. Long story short, I now have beautiful knotty alder cabinets. Wait, it gets better. I didn't have a sample of the wood when I choose the counter top and tile for the floor, only a few photos that Jeff, the cabinet guy, had e-mailed me. When he brought the cabinets into the house, I grabbed a piece of the granite I'd chosen for the counter, and a floor tile to see how they'd look together. Guess what? They matched perfectly! Same thing with the knobs and handles I bought. What's more, Jeff said he's never, ever had cabinets that were specifically built for one house fit so perfectly into another. Everything fit like they were made for our home. He called it a crazy coincidence, but I don't believe in coincidence. I have no doubt Heavenly Father knew I needed a new, affordable kitchen, and he orchestrated events to allow it to happen. It might seem insignificant in the eternal scheme of things, but to me, it's a testimony of God's love for his children. He truly is aware of our needs, whether large or small, temporal or spiritual.

I promise, I will post pictures. Soon. Before September. But now, I've gotta get to bed. Tomorrow is my first day of class: Tile Laying 101. Wish me luck!

It Has Begun

Serial nonproductivity, laced with bouts of chronic laziness. Summer vacation. Pray for us (me). Actually, I'm (kind of) kidding. After the flurry of projects and activities that inevitably accompany the end of a typical school year, it's nice to have a break. The secret is figuring out how to spend the remaining weeks that follow the initial "honeymoon" period of relative peace and contentment. I'm open to suggestions. This year, we got a bonus week of summer: in an effort to save money, the local school district ended the year a week earlier than usual, leaving the boys to entertain themselves while I finished my final week of classes--until September--on campus. Tomorrow is my last day of Math. Ever. [Cue Handel's Hallelujah Chorus or Beethoven's Ode to Joy. Either would be an appropriate representation of how I feel about that.]

Parker's seminary graduation was a week ago Sunday. I didn't realize until I looked at this picture that Hayden is probably taller than me! When did that happen?!?


















Last Thursday, Parker graduated with honors from Madison High School. Didn't I just go to his Kindergarten graduation? (Don't ask him: he'll say I never went to anything when he was in elementary school. But I've got pictures that prove otherwise.)



















The remodeling project is, um . . . not finished yet. We've (meaning I've) been kind of busy lately, but now that school's out, we (again, I) should be able to wrap things up. Soon. Before fall semester begins. For sure. (I hope.) I'm waiting for my computer desk--which I've ordered four separate times now--to arrive. (It's a long story; call me if you're dying to hear it. :o) The ottoman should be here next week sometime. I've contacted an interior designer to help with hanging pictures (thanks, Darla). If it'll ever warm up and quit raining, I'll get the living room cupboard doors painted and rehung. When that's finished, all that's left is hanging the dining room curtains (they've been shipped), and one last, tiny project: cutting, routing, painting, and hanging new cupboard doors in the dining room. No problem. I've got power tools, and I'm not afraid to use them.

Toss a Pebble in a Pond . . .

What happens? Ripples. Lots and lots of ripples. I had intended to paint the living room and dining room during the two week break between semesters. It didn't happen. Why? Who knows. Maybe I was just enjoying the sensation of laziness which comes with the absence of a schedule. Instead, I waited until I was back in school to tackle the project. Crazy, I know. After choosing paint colors, I realized it would be morally wrong to apply a fresh coat of paint to walls that border shamefully ugly carpet.

If you'll humor a slight tangent off the main topic, I'd like to take this opportunity to share my opinion on the appropriateness of carpet in a dining room: NEVER. Not ever. Unless, of course, you never, ever allow anyone to actually eat in the dining room. It's a bad--no, make that terrible--idea, ranking second only behind carpet in a bathroom, on the list of interior decorating disasters waiting to happen (particularly if you've got boys). You get the idea, right? Good, let's move on.

For some reason--the cost of feeding, clothing, and housing five growing boys may have factored into the equation--new carpet was never very high on the list of budgetary priorities (motorcycles and kayaks are much more fun). But, as I mentioned earlier, fresh paint practically demanded the change. So I made the trek to a local flooring store to find a suitable replacement. I fell in love with a beautiful distressed solid hickory, but sadly, I would've had to sell the house to pay for it. So I asked to see something that looked just like it, but was more reasonably priced. The salesman showed me a sample of engineered hardwood hickory. (Made in America by prisoners. Really. And the core of the flooring is made by compressing the waste wood. I'm being environmentally responsible and rehabilitating criminals, too.) It was love at first sight, no kidding! I didn't even look at anything else, this was my floor. Choosing the carpet for the living room was just as easy. Sigh . . . if only all of life were that simple.

OK. Back to the ripples. While we were moving the furniture out of the living room, I came to the realization that the couches were older than Hayden, and it would be morally wrong to put them back on brand new carpet. I could move the newer ones from the TV room to the living room, except there's a problem with that scenario: don't tell anyone, but I actually hate those couches! Fortunately, Tyler and Brandi don't. So I'm looking for a new set for the living room, moving the old, comfy, nap-friendly set into the TV room, and putting the hated set up for adoption. I call it intrafamilial recycling. Mom Carling, do you want your rust-colored couches back? Tyler and Brandi won't be needing them much longer.

The floor guys are nearly finished with the entry and dining room. They're coming back on Monday to wrap things up (and to reinstall the baseboards for me: I asked nicely. :o) I think the carpet guys will come later in the week, which is good, because I've still got some painting to finish. I'm doing the same faux finish (above the wainscoting and in the back of the bookshelves) as I did in my bedroom.

In professional news, I just completed my first paid freelance editing/proofreading job. A friend of a friend put together a history of her grandparents and hired me to help her polish it before having it printed. She plans to write two others, and said she'll call me to help with those as well.

Jacob turned 10 on Tuesday. His presents (some Transformers and a truck with interchangeable parts) were no surprise: he was with me the day I bought them. (I know, I'm a lazy gift shopper.) Because he knew in advance what he was getting, I felt no compulsion to hide them before his birthday. This proved to be too great a temptation. One day I noticed an empty Transformer package in my bedroom. Jacob confessed to pilfering his present, but I let him keep it. Perhaps it was an instinctive reaction to a latent memory of a similar incident--though with much different results--involving a couple of young girls several decades ago. Empty boxes make poor Christmas gifts, but excellent teachers, especially when accompanied by a disapproving note from Santa Claus: Snooping doesn't pay. Before pronouncing harsh judgment, you should know that the little girls did eventually get their dolls.

Vindication, Validation and Other Valuable Lessons

Sometimes, in spite of my parental failings, the Lord sees fit to bless my children anyway. Let me explain. As you may recall from a previous post, I put off (read: procrastinated) this year's Pinewood Derby project until there was no time to make a new car. Fortunately, Jacob agreed to use a pre-owned model. Here's where the vindication comes into play: Jacob won 1st place! Not only that, he won all but one of the heats he raced in. I think maybe the car got a little push from Paul. What makes it even sweeter is the fact that he chose to use a car that I (all by myself) made a few years ago. Jacob's victory is a beautiful illustration of this truth: Heavenly Father is intimately aware of the needs of each of his children, and finds ways to bless us and strengthen us when we need it most. He gave Jacob the joy of success, and his mother, a gentle reminder that things work out--even when disaster seems imminent.

As soon as I write a two-page exit report for my Career Exploration class (which is really what I should be doing now, not updating my blog!) I will officially be finished with Winter semester. *UPDATE: I'm a free woman (until April 20, when Spring semester begins).

[Deep, from the tips of my toes kind of sigh of relief]

My mathematics-based fears proved to be unfounded: I passed--and even kind of liked--the class! I only hope I have an equally successful experience next semester when I take my final required math class.

It must be spring. It's Saturday afternoon and the only sound I hear is that of the refrigerator running. I've no idea where anyone is, but somehow, I'm okay with that. I still have a pile of research papers to read, and grades to enter into the computer. I don't mind the solitude.

Whoever said that I'd miss Paul a little less as time passes lied. They ought to have said I'd learn to better cope with missing him as time passes. And even that would be debatable some days.

Paul would have been forty-seven yesterday.

Wanted: Massage Therapist Who Makes House Calls

My shoulders and back could use a good work over. With less than a week left in the semester, I am beginning to feel the pressure of deadlines. I have:

• a MAJOR project for my English class to finish by Tuesday (when I get to make a 15 minute presentation of my portfolio)


• three--scratch that, four--art projects due Wednesday


• two math tests (the last chapter exam and the final exam) to take by Monday and Wednesday, respectively


• and a 2-4 page essay to write by Wednesday

But I'm not complaining. Really. I'll have a two week break--I'd like to paint my living room, so if anyone has a burning desire to feed their creative beast, give me a call--then it's back to the books. I'm taking what I hope and pray (please, please) will be my last math class, and an online religion class (D & C.) I'll also continue with the textbook development I've been assisting with for the past two semesters.

I saw the orthopedic surgeon on Monday. The x-ray showed a tiny bit of settling in my wrist, but he said I'm ahead of schedule with the healing process. I wish it felt that way; it still hurts!

Jacob has the Pinewood Derby next Thursday. I am either a very terrible, or very savvy mother: I offered to pay him cold, hard cash if he would use one of the zillion cars we still have from previous years' races. To my great joy and relief, he has accepted my offer! (Thank you, Jacob!) Before you judge, know this: I'm letting him build a car from the kit he got this year, just not during finals week. The way I see it, it's a win-win situation for everyone involved.

I'm looking forward to watching/listening to General Conference this weekend, and celebrating Easter with my family. I'm so grateful for these truths: Jesus Christ atoned for our sins and shortcomings. He suffered and died for each of us. He overcame death. We will, too. Knowing this takes the edge off the sorrow that might otherwise be overwhelming.


Homemaking Tip of the Week:

Um, Mom? I need immediate help.

At around 9:30 tonight, Cameron remembered he had a science report about an imaginary sea creature due in the morning. Naturally. Lucky for him, I was finished with my homework and available to act as scribe/typist for him. Can I just say how much fun it is to collaborate on a written project with a child who is not only intelligent, but shares his mother's quirky sense of humor? By the time we finished writing the report, we were both laughing. I think if I ever decide to write a book, I'll find a coauthor--I seem to be a better writer when I have a second brain to pick. Plus, it's more fun that way. :o)

Gotta love springtime in Rexburg: jacket weather in the morning, coat weather by noon. I had to scrape snow off the car after class today. Parker is giddy: Targhee is expecting 9 inches.

Call Me Curly

You know the opening scene in Oklahoma where Gordon MacRae rides out into the cornfield, singing, "Oh What a Beautiful Morning?" That was me yesterday. Except for the singing part. And the cowboy hat-and-boots-wearing part. And the horse-riding part. And the cornfield part. And the Oklahoma Territory part. But aside from those few minor exceptions, it was exactly the same experience. Well, at least it was a beautiful morning: blue skies and sunshine. I went running for the first time in, I don't know, about two months? Hard to believe, I know. My school schedule has really cut into my workout schedule. This hasn't been too big a problem because I figured out that I walk nearly two miles on campus every day--in addition to carrying a 15-20 pound backpack--and was skiing nearly every Saturday (prior to my unfortunate accident). Now that my cast is off, I hope to get back up to Targhee at least a few times before the season ends (don't worry: skiing only). But it felt so good to run! I'd almost forgotten just how good it makes me feel. The professor I work for will be at a conference at Oxford University for the next two weeks, which means I don't have to be on campus on Thursdays until my 11:30 class. I think I'll take advantage of the break in my schedule and hit the pavement on those mornings.

Yesterday was Chloe's first birthday, so Tyler and Brandi invited us over for dinner and cake and ice cream.



Chloe followed in the footsteps of the majority of one-year-olds who have gone before: she was more interested in the wrappings than the presents.



But when it came to the cake, she knew exactly what to do:




On a sidenote, I apologize for misquoting President Faust in Testimony meeting today. Here is the actual quote: "There are three things we must do when we lose a loved one: (1) mourn for a season (2) don't ask why and (3) pick up your handcart and move on."

Free At Last . . .

Last night, because I knew I'd be rid of my cast in the morning, I had the boys help me "beautify" it with Sharpie markers. The only problem is, I forgot to take a picture while it was still attached to my arm. So you get the next best thing: pictures of my obsolete exoskeleton, post-extraction.






Here's a shot of what appears to be the limb of an abused leper.



Yup, it's mine alright. Even the doctor was surprise by the amount of bruising that remained. Cameron said my arm looks like a skeleton, and I'm inclined to agree with him. It still hurts like crazy, and it will take some time before I regain the lost strength and flexibility in my wrist, but oh man, does it feel good to be out of that cage! No more plastic newspaper sleeves in the shower (thanks for the great idea, Mom Carling: they worked like a charm!).

Use the Force, Luke.

It looks a bit like a lightsaber, don't you think? Though I would never condone the practice of engaging in high-risk behavior on the outside chance of incurring serious bodily harm, you have to admit: glow-in-the-dark casts are cool! Every night, as I settle in under the covers, I can't help but giggle when I see the eerie green glow emanating from my arm.

I went to the doctor a week ago Monday. Dr. #1 x-rayed my arm to see if the bone had stayed put. It had, so he put a new cast on. By bedtime, my fingers were slightly numb and discolored: the cast was too tight. I put up with it until the following morning, when I went back in to have the problem fixed. The medical assistant split the cast down the back, hoping that he could spread it enough to relieve the tightness, but he couldn't. So I got yet another cast (which is still a little on the tight side, but bearable). While Dr. #2 (#1's partner) was putting the new cast on, he took a look at the x-ray from the previous day and decided the bone wasn't as straight as he'd like. He said, and I quote: "You aren't going to like this." That, my friends, was the understatement of the century. He then proceeded to squeeze the still-soft cast--and my wrist--very hard, straightening it ever so slightly. (His finger and thumb prints are preserved forever in my cast. Really.) I responded by gritting my teeth and trying hard not to scream, or kick the doctor in the shin. You'll be happy to hear I was successful on both counts.

I went back yesterday to have another follow-up x-ray. The doctor said he was "tickled" with how well my bone is healing. I'll be released from my fiberglass Iron Maiden--it really is torture to wear this thing!--in two weeks.

In spite of the discomfort and inconvenience of having a broken wrist, I've managed to keep up my school work. I've learned to write with my left hand, though it's not very legible. I take notes on my laptop, but do math by hand. My numbers have gotten better with practice, but are still pretty scary. I feel sorry for the grader! Art class has been the biggest challenge. Cameron was a huge help on my cut paper project.

I'm taking a break from studying for my midterm exam in Literary Interpretation--the only class for which I have to take a midterm. :o) Part of it is an essay, and some short written answers, but my professor was kind enough to make arrangements with the testing center for me to use a computer for those portions of the exam.

The editing project I've been working on for the last several months (see Nov. 15, 2009 post) has undergone some exciting changes. I finished my original assignment: verifying the sources used and formatting the end notes for the paper. The professor I work for decided to give me a more hands-on role. In exchange for doing some summarizing and rewording, I am now officially co-author of the paper! I even signed a contract that gives publication rights to the Wooden O, the education arm affiliated with the Utah Shakespeare festival. The English department chair is thrilled. The university loves professor/student collaboration projects. This is an amazing opportunity for an undergrad. I can't begin to describe the gratitude I feel. I'm now working on extracting text from this same professor's doctoral thesis for a lecture he's delivering in three weeks at a conference at Oxford University in England.

Hayden got his cast off on Thursday. He waited four days before going skiing. I'm pleased to report that he and Parker both came home in one piece. Parker went to the Sweetheart Dance at the high school on Saturday and had a good time. Tyler survived three weeks without his girls. Brandi and Chloe are back home after spending a week in sunny Arizona, followed by two weeks snowbound in the Washington D.C. area. They were there for the humongous snow storms, so they didn't get to see much. They had to come back to Rexburg for decent weather. :o) If Saturday is anything like today, I will be sorely tempted to duct tape a ski pole to my cast and hit the slopes!

Uh, Parker? This is your mother. I pulled a Hayden. I'm at the First Aid station." ~ message I left on Parker's phone

I had every intention of posting an inspiring, uplifting entry this week, but hubris and/or stupidity changed my plans. Let me explain. In what can best be described as a lapse of judgment on my part--and peer pressure on my sons'--I decided to give snowboarding a try. Parker got me outfitted with the proper equipment, and we headed for Targhee (with my skis, too, in case I hated snowboarding). All was well: I was really enjoying myself, and doing better than I had anticipated. Cameron, Jacob and I stopped for lunch; they decided they were done for the day. I wanted to make at least one more run, so I left them in the lodge. That run went well--I was feeling pretty confident by now--there was still time, I figured, for one more run. I should have quit after the first. I was within 100 yards of the lodge, when I leaned back just a little too far, and instinctively tried to catch myself as I fell. (Ironically, it was exactly one month, to the day, since Hayden had done the same thing, in nearly the exact location on the hill! I think we'll petition Grand Targhee to rename the spot "Wrist Snapper.")

Rule Number One of Snowboarding: Do not ever, ever, try to catch yourself. YOU WILL BREAK YOUR ARM!

Have you ever heard the sound of your own bone snapping? It isn't pleasant. I immediately knew something was broken. I pulled off my glove, yup: my wrist definitely was not supposed to look like that.


(This picture doesn't truly capture just how deformed my wrist was.)

I sat in the snow, yelling to get the attention of passing skiers. A guy came and helped me get the board off my feet, and said someone had called the ski patrol. I decided I could walk down to the First Aid station before they'd get to me, so I asked him to carry my board for me, then calmly walked down the hill, holding my broken right wrist in my left hand. When I got to the lodge, a woman from the ski patrol asked if she could help me to the First Aid station. I said sure, but first I needed to let the boys know what had happened. She offered to find them for me, but I said it would be easier if I did it, since I knew exactly where they were. I found Jacob (Cameron had gone back out with Tyler and Parker) and went to the clinic.

Without going into all the boring details, a guy splinted my arm then helped us find the other boys so we could drive to the hospital. I opted to skip the hospital in Driggs and head straight for Rexburg--about an hour and a half away. Though I was in pain, it wasn't unbearable.

Tyler dropped me and Parker off at Madison Memorial, took the little boys home, grabbed my purse, and was back in time for the exciting stuff: me babbling (under the influence of Fentanyl) while the doctor reduced (set) my fractured wrist. Parker said the doctor grabbed my hand and twisted until the bone popped back into place. I was awake throughout, but I'm glad I don't remember much. I do recall saying "ouch!"

Dr. Larson--the third orthopedic surgeon to have the pleasure of treating a Carling in recent years--put a cast on my arm, which he promptly cut down the back, to allow for swelling. (There are two metal nuts lodged in the gap, even as I type this, but the swelling is starting to subside.) If the bones stay aligned, I'll wear a cast for about four weeks. Thankfully, it doesn't go above my elbow, so I can bend my arm.

I had some pretty significant pain yesterday, but am feeling much better today. I had our Home Teacher give me a blessing yesterday; clearly it's helping. I'm taking today and tomorrow off from school. I should be okay to go on back Wednesday. Writing is a challenge, but will get better as the swelling goes away. I can type one-handed if I have to.

And so, if there's a moral to this sad tale, it would be this: don't get cocky; and go with your first impression, it's usually right. (You all thought I was going to say "Don't go snowboarding," didn't you? Honestly, I would try it again, but with wrist protection.)

I Miss My Friend

The one my heart and soul confided in
The one I felt the safest with
The one who knew just what to say to make me laugh again
And let the light back in, I miss my friend

See, this is why I don’t listen to country music: emotional overload is not compatible with the schedule of a full time student and mom. But Paul really liked Darryl Worley, and that song in particular. So you’re all invited to click on the link on the sidebar, listen to the song, and join me in a good cry.

How is it possible that it’s been a year already? And how is it possible that I’ve survived that year with only half a heart? Clearly, I’ve not done it alone. I am not only coping, but progressing for one reason: I have an incredible support system. First on the list: Jesus Christ. Were it not for my faith in him and his Atonement, I would not be functioning. Period. Next: my amazing family. I love you all. Now toss in an assortment of friends who fill various roles, ranging from impromptu caterer (thanks, Pizza Fairy) to confidante to intellectual sparring partner to therapist—at no charge, of course—and you can plainly see how I’ve managed to keep it together.

Paul would hate it if we spent this sad anniversary moping around, so we went skiing and snowboarding at Grand Targhee.



Hayden kept Tyler and Chloe company while Brandi was at work. When we got home Tyler, Brandi, and Chloe came for dinner, and we all sat around and talked and laughed while Chloe provided the entertainment. She's getting quite good at walking. Someone needs to tell her grandma to childproof her house and buy a baby gate. I hope you all spent the day thinking of Paul and the great memories you have of him.

"Keep Moving Forward"

Plan for the new year: clean slate, or not? Determine what worked and what didn't. Preserve the best, erase the rest. Huh . . . it suddenly struck me where I got the quote for my title. It's in the closing credits of Meet the Robinsons, one of Paul's favorite movies.

Christmas. At the risk of grossly understating the obvious, Paul was missed. But the many positive things that have happened this past year have helped to temper our grief. We borrowed a tradition from our friends, placing luminarias at Paul's grave on Christmas Eve.



[Sorry about the poor picture quality: we forgot to bring a camera, so I took these with my cell phone.]

After celebrating quietly at home, we all drove to Utah the day after Christmas to visit the grandparents. We also went to Temple Square, and toured the Conference Center. I'd forgotten about all the incredible original artwork it houses. I'll have to go back another time--preferably alone--so I can spend as much time as I'd like taking it all in. I managed to impress our tour guide with my rather limited knowledge of art and artists. He said I was the first person he'd talked with who'd heard of Carl Bloch, and his paintings of the life of Christ, which are hanging in a castle in Denmark. I thought everyone knew about them. :o)

I know I promised Christmas pictures, but apparently we have become rather lax in our efforts to preserve memories. Translation: we didn't take many pictures, and those we did take aren't that interesting. So, imagine Parker smiling broadly as he opens a package containing an HD digital video camera, a gift for which he is the designated guardian (it's really a family gift), and Hayden opening his helmet cam. Picture Cameron's excitement when he unwraps a mini projector that will allow him to show his homemade films on any surface: the ceiling, a wall, a sheet, etc.; and clay and a computer program for creating Claymation animation (like Wallace and Gromit or Chicken Run). Now, think of Jacob grinning as he realizes he is the guardian of not one, but two sets of night vision binoculars. Let the (night) games begin.

We went to Targhee on the 29th, but if you read my last post, you know how badly that ended. Hayden and I spent about three hours in the E.R.s in Driggs and Rexburg having his broken wrist treated. He's feeling much better now. He went to see a movie tonight with friends.

Last night, Tyler, Brandi, and Chloe came for dinner and games. We had Arancini (Italian Stuffed Rice Balls, go here to get the recipe), which I had promised Jacob I'd make for his birthday dinner. Eight months late is better than never. They take a really long time to prepare, but are so worth the effort! Even Parker, who was sure he remembered hating them, loved them. Then we played Uno and Phase 10, and had way too much chocolate fondue and eggnog. I lapsed into a sugar coma around 11:30, waking only when Brandi said, "Happy New Year. We're going home now." Boring, I know.

The boys go back to school on Monday, and not a moment too soon, in my estimation. Wearing pajamas for days on end is not the type of habit one likes to see developing in one's offspring. Happy New Year!