Scratch that...

Turns out I was wrong about the cookie dough thing yesterday.

I feel it is now safe to assume that the third member of our disaster trio would be my OLDEST SON HAVING THE SWINE FLU.

If you need me, I'll be balled up in the fetal position, sucking my thumb, and rocking back and forth. Back and forth. Back and for.....ttt....hhh.

Too mad and tired to come up with a clever title

They say bad things come in threes.

I'd say my father-in-law suffering a massive heart attack earlier this week would be the first one. (He's going to be okay, but it gave us all a huge scare).

I think that me backing out of a parking space and crashing into some poor woman's car this morning would be number two.

And now I'm hoping that the massive tummy ache I feel from drowning my sorrows in a bowl of cookie dough is the third.

I honestly don't think I can take much more this week.

Stupid life. Sometimes you really tick me off.

The joy of parenting

Today I got stuck had the privilege of accompanying little miss Hannah on her non-learning party away from school class field trip to the Arch. It was, as all field trips are, sheer torture delightful.

If I were to choose how I would ideally spend my free time, I would never almost always choose spending time with other people's annoying children Hannah and her school friends.

First, I get to sit around doing nothing practice the art of patience while I wait for the children to board the buses. Then I spend a painful thought-provoking hour in traffic, thanks to our annoying state a freeway construction project, and wait again at the Arch for the buses to arrive.

Once all the loud and hyper happy and energetic children emerge from the bus, we maniacally shepherd sweetly lead them to the Arch museum for a tour. It is always a bore treat to listen while park rangers explain the intricacies of the buffalo digestion system. Most gag-inducing humorous moment was when an actual buffalo chip was passed around for the germ magnets children to fondle with their bare hands.

Some of the sickos darlings even raised the large chunk of poo specimen to their noses for a sniff.

And the talking statues are creepy not at all creepy. In fact, I would call them zombie-like life-like and interesting. An added fright bonus was the homeless man that had wandered in and was trying to possibly kidnap bring Jesus to the children.

I mean, what makes a chaperone happier than having to fear for the safety of her charges getting to see interesting urban characters?

Best part of the day was definitely listening to the kids whine for lunch watching the children leap with excitement when it was time to eat. And annoying thrilling to see that they were too busy playing human dominos to actually sit down and eat.

Seriously though.

It was a very long day really fun. I honestly hope I don't have to go to another one of these this year can't wait for the next one.

Remind her of this when she's 15 and hates me, will you?

Sisterhood of the Traveling Shoes: Branson Edition

Me and the pink lovelies are packed and ready to go away (yes, again) for the weekend. This time, with just some friends. Headed down to born-again Las Vegas (aka: Branson). Don't have too much fun without me, peeps.

Dan: hope you like the latest shot of my feet. I did it just for you.

A decade

Dear Chase,

Well, big boy, you are a decade. I would say I can hardly stand how fast the time has gone, but I say that every year, and I am sure you are sick to death of hearing it. (Even though it's TRUE!)

It has been a good year for you. You are now in fourth grade and have settled into your own kind of routine. Homework is not a challenge for you (most days) and you still have to be forced to read just about anything that is a work of fiction. You would cheerfully spend your quiet reading time pouring over college-level textbooks on topics like reptiles or World War II.

Funny, now that I think about it, you also did that at age two. You couldn't read then (obviously) but would sit on my lap in the library for hours as I read to you the names of obscure dinosaurs. You never got bored as I described in thorough detail the inner workings of dinosaur digestive systems or hunting tactics. You soaked information up like a sponge, and still do so today. Daddy and I joke that you are a walking encyclopedia of random, useless information.

But it's what you love, kid. And there's no changing the essence that is you. You are absolutely an original. A quirky, handsome, hilarious original. They broke the mold after they made you, that's for sure.

You have been busy the last few weeks, working on a frog comic book that you are hoping to sell in mass quantity. I am afraid to break it to you that your target audience is probably solely your grandparents, and even they might be hard-pressed to pay thirty dollars for, as you put it, "an original, signed by the author!"

But that's the thing I love most about you, Mr. C. You dream big. You shoot for the moon and somehow seem to catch it every time. I am in awe of your fearlessness, your confidence. I don't think the word impossible is at all a part of your vocabulary.

Thanks for making the last ten years so darn entertaining. You are a special spirit, Chase, and I am humbled that someone trusted me enough to send me you.

I love you more than you'll ever know.

Love,

Mama

A picture perfect weekend

Over the weekend, the Husband and I flew to Utah to meet his siblings and surprise Oma for her 60th birthday. It has been very difficult to keep the secret, and there was a time or two when I almost let it slip accidentally over the phone.

I know. I am not good with secrets.

Luckily, I kept my big mouth shut, and she was beyond thrilled when she walked into the restaurant and saw all seven of her children and their spouses (minus one who inconveniently started to go into labor the day before).

Unfortunately, I left my camera in our hotel room during the big surprise dinner, and kicked myself all evening because of it. Being married into this family has its perks, for Marta has already documented the festivities here much better than I ever could.

What I did remember to bring my camera for was a little morning with this lovely lady. Yes, photogs everywhere, weep with envy. I was treated to pastries, fabulous conversation, and an impromptu photo lesson from none other than the best. I tried to remember how I first found Michelle in blogland, but I have decided since that she is my long lost soul sister. She is as beautiful in person as she is on her blog. Just as easy-going, intelligent, and funny as I pictured her to be. I cringe with horror at my inability to do her justice here, but fell in love with this picture of her and sweet little Mary anyway.

I imagine posting this is somewhat like handing Michelangelo a stick-figure drawing you have done and asking him what he thinks.

I would be remiss if I didn't also mention how much I fell in love with this gorgeous girl. Miss Mary is as cute as a button. She was mildly tolerable of the two cameras in her face, and very fun to sit and eat cookies with. I am fully convinced that she and Hannah need to be BFFs someday.

Later in the weekend, I was able to turn my camera onto my nieces and nephews. Looking at these shots collectively made me laugh - they are almost all blue-eyed and blond. Scandinavian ancestors much?

Absolutely adorable though. Need proof?

These pictures are for a top-secret little project I'm working on. It may or may not see the light of day, but rest easy, Mom, you'll get copies of these shots at some point.

It was a fantastic weekend and we owe so much to the good souls who were kind enough to watch our kids while we were away. (Thanks Meggan and Maren!)

Stay tuned - coming this week: Thanksgiving dinner in September and a big boy turns ten.

loving her is the easiest thing in the world

Dang, I love this girl something fierce.

We were driving in the car together yesterday, and her chatter floated up from the backseat - her words filling the air around me like a warm blanket. She's happy, this girl, and it's contagious to be around her. She is relatively unconcerned with the realities of life, floating through her girlhood on a cloud of innocence and laughter.

Just the way I want it.

She's social, yet loving. Spirited, yet tender. Sweet and spicy, all rolled into one. A contradiction that makes perfect sense wrapped up in her tiny 47-pound package.

Sometimes she leaves me breathless as I stare in wonder at the sage-like wisdom she articulates so well. Other times, I take a deep breath and count to ten, searching for that last ounce of patience while silently wondering why I have to explain myself to a seven-year-old child. But then I step back and realize that she wants and needs detailed information about everything in her life. She will not be dismissed, this one. She wants to understand reason, logic, and emotion.

I think maybe she wants to understand me. So that she can understand her own heart, too.

She brings a sparkle to our family that is all her own. She has the men in this family wrapped around her little pinkie finger, even though some of them don't know it. As a baby, she even knew how to charm the men. She'd leap out of my arms in the hallway at church, reaching for her favorites. She'd bury herself in their embrace and reward them with her crooked smile. They were like butter in her hands.

(Drove the wives of these men crazy who were trying to buy her baby love with goldfish crackers. Right, Cindy?)

She keeps me in line, and calls me on it when I don't do what I should. She is automatically my teammate and likes what I like because she wants to be like me (at least for now). I know she is watching every move I make, and that helps me walk a little taller and try a little harder. I want to be a better mom so she can be a better one herself someday.

I love you, Chica.

Just thought I'd tell you that today.

Photoshopping up a big batch of trouble

Question: What happens when there is a Saturday football game on television, and a certain someone's husband is ignoring them busy watching it, leaving that certain someone with a lot of free time on her hands?

Trouble, that's what.

Well, remember this gorgeous girl?

And this gorgeous boy?

Well, what if I happen to know that a secret not-so-secret wish of both their mother's hearts is that this someday were to happen?

Names were changed to protect the victims innocent, but let's just say that if this blessed event were to take place in, oh, a little over two year's time, two women I know would be overjoyed.

I'd simply be overjoyed at the sheer perfection of their combined genes and the gorgeous babies they'd have together, leaving me to beg and plead to photograph them daily.

But for now, the ball is in your court, Justin & Rachel. Just know that we've got the invites all ready to go, and neither one of you had to even be in the same place at the same time.

A cheery thought on a Monday, I'd say.

What must it be like?

I had an extremely fun photo shoot last month, and am now just getting a few of the pictures posted for you all to see. Didn't mean to take so long in getting them up - life just somehow got away from me.

The real question is, what do you think it would have been like to be this gorgeous in high school?

I will never know, you see, for when beauty and kindness were being handed out in heaven, I accidentally got in the chubby and selfish line. Thought there would be donuts and was mighty disappointed when I got to the end and there wasn't.

But I do get the opportunity to live vicariously through the beautiful people who are nice enough to give this amateur photog a chance.

Ladies of Provo, listen up: This handsome boy is now in your city and breaking hearts where'ere he goes, I am sure.

His sister is still at home, and absolutely breaking hearts where'ere she goes. How could she not with those cheekbones that make models everywhere weep with envy, and that flawless, pristine skin? It's almost not fair that she's so nice, too.

I'm betting she didn't get in the chubby and selfish line hoping for donuts.

Where do they get such fine genetics? From their drop-dead-gorgeous mother, of course, who had the audacity to tell me they don't get it from her.

I know, right? The proof is in the puddin', sister.

She's gorgeous and I'd sell my soul to be thin like her. Course that would mean I'd have to stop eating the donuts.

Danggit.

Thanks, Jennifer, for giving me the opportunity to take pictures of your babies. Your family is so beautiful and it was so fun to spend time with you guys.

Counting my blessings again

I have nothing for you here, my friends, but can send you elsewhere today for some of my words.

Mormon Women is featuring a post I wrote over a year ago that was definitely life-altering. Go check it out if you haven't read it yet or read it again if you need a reminder for yourself, like me, that somebody is watching out for you.

I still get chills when I think about what could have been. And I still tear up when I wonder why it wasn't.

God is good. And He blessed my little family in a very simple, yet profound, way.

Happy pretend Monday.

A weekend so full of estrogen it will be scary

The boys are leaving this weekend to go and watch themselves a little college football game. Live and in-person, in the great state of Texas. (Which hopefully won't leave them too disappointed when if the Cougs lose.)

Ha. I say that as if I know what I'm talking about. Implying that I honestly care about college football.

I slay myself.

Anyhoo, the little Princess and I are on our own for the next few days, and, boy, has she ever got plans. She brought up a large stack of DVDs last night, informing me that THIS is what we'd be watching. I smiled as I noticed that my all-time favorite was at the top of the pile. Though she's tried many times to make it the whole five hours, she has never yet managed to stay awake long enough to meet the entertaining Mr. Collins, let alone see the love story through to the end. Something tells me this could be the time. FINALLY she will see Pemberly and understand why I swoon at the thought of Mr. Darcy jumping all sweaty and such into the water.

Her wanting to watch it also tells me that I am absolutely raising that girl right.

She also made a lengthy list of things she and I are to do while the boys are gone. Top of her list is shopping for clothes at the mall, shopping at the scrapbook store, actual scrapbooking, manicures & pedicures, and watching a lot of "girl movies."

I am pretty sure this will be the best weekend. EVER. Hope yours is, too.

P.S. Did you know a while back my brother Dan created a blog whose sole purpose is mocking me? Please pay him a visit and tell him how much you love me. That would tick him off something awful. While you're there, you can have a good laugh at what I looked like in sixth grade.

Yes, I know. Some things are just that frightening.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Shoes

Over the weekend, I was the lucky recipient of a most happy package. Not one, but TWO fabulous pairs of shoes (and some chocolate and a magazine, too). This little ditty came courtesy of the chic and hip Diane (whose shoe collection I am sure would give Imelda Marcos a serious run for her money). Diane has had her fair share of bad luck and broken bones over the past few years, and is not able to wear all of the oh-so-pretty shoes she has stashed in her closet.

Can you imagine the horror?

So rather than have those lovelies gathering dust on a shelf, she has generously decided to spread the wealth.

Thus was born her idea for the Sisterhood of the Traveling Shoes. And, lucky me, I am the first sister. I will keep these gorgeous shoes for 30 days, document the places I take them (seen here lounging at the pool) and then will choose someone who will then get them for the next 30 days. And so on and so on, until these pink puppies have traveled the globe. What would thrill me to no end would be seeing these happy shoes on display internationally somewhere.

Aren't they cute?

So leave a comment letting me know whether or not you'd like in on the fun. The shoes are a size 9, but I'd wager you smaller-footed peeps could make them work, too. On October 1st, a new sister will be born.

Let's show these shoes a good time, shall we girls?

My very own titan of industry

The Husband has been asked to speak at a conference next year in New Orleans. He keeps conveniently forgetting when it is exactly, and I keep nagging reminding him that if said conference takes place anytime on or near mardi gras, he will most certainly find himself sharing a bed.

WITH ME.

Ain't no way I'm sending the man I love into that den of iniquity all on his own. All those hoochie mamas and their beads.

Nasty.

ANYhoo, he has needed an executive portrait for the speaking engagement, which is something he is absolutely loathe to do. It is a torturous event each year just getting him to pose for ten minutes in the obligatory family Christmas card photo. Getting him to voluntarily submit himself to a portrait session in a suit and tie?

Probably as awful as having to go to mardi gras with your hag of a wife, I'm sure.

But he finally acquiesced and I am happy to show you the results of his my hard work. I give you the Husband, a titan of the health care industry:

(Note the absence of a wedding ring on that left hand. It was lost years ago while he was coaching gymnastics and I've never replaced it. I think it's time I did, don't you?):

(Want to see the same picture straight out of the camera? Taken in my ghetto basement studio, you know, with the un-ironed white muslin backdrop and the un-photoshopped face? Amazing what a few clicks in Photoshop will do for even the best looking face.)

While dashing and handsome even still, he lacks that certain luster that pretty lights and a good photoshop edit can give you. (And he also now realizes that every picture in the magazines is not remotely the straight-out-of-camera shot. Yes, we all CAN'T be expected to look like Elle McPherson. Even Elle doesn't look like Elle, if you know what I mean.)

Here is another of the finished ones. I tell him this is his "Happy-going-to-lunch-executive-look."

Much less stoic and boardroom-like. It's kind of what he looks like if you're sitting across the table with him having a casual conversation.

See, honey? The photo shoot wasn't really that painful.

And I'd say that one of the perks to having your own in-house photographer is getting to wear your plaid shorts instead of slacks, all the cookies you can eat while shooting, and not having to pay your photographer in dollars.

Brilliant, I tell you. The man is brilliant.

And also pretty dang cute, if you ask me. Look out, Na'Orlins. Here he we come!

Some beautiful people for you to oogle

A few weeks ago, I was extremely honored when I was asked to photograph this handsome devil:



I mean, hello? Who wouldn't jump at the chance to shoot this?



This strapping young man has just joined the military and was home after basic training to visit his mama. Yes, ladies, he loves his mama AND he is single. But not for long, I'll wager.

What is it about a man in a uniform? Of course, I'm old enough to be his mother, so I say that in the most maternal, non-creepy, non-cougar-like manner.

Ahem.



A bonus in this photo shoot was turning my camera on his gorgeous sister and her (pretty-much-already-is-but-soon-to-be-official) fiancee. I've waited to post these until I was sure I could say that without blowing the whistle on them, but I think the date is now set. They are going to be a darling family.

Someday to have the most darling babies.







It was one of the funnest shoots I've had in a long time. Beautiful, grown-up people who love their mama and love each other?

Photography heaven, I tell you.

P.S. I crop all my pictures to a square for blog posting, so some of the edges of the photos get cut off in the process. I assure you that all heads and backgrounds are intact when pictures are handed over to the clients. In case you were wondering.

Some good advice for any age

A few days before school, we sat the kids down - as we do every year - and talked about the upcoming challenges and exciting prospects of a new year. Especially with Mack starting middle school this year, we felt it was important for them to be aware of those around them. We want our children to be friendly and inclusive - to notice that lonely soul off to the side and find a way to broaden their circle. They've been the new kids more times than not, and I don't want them to ever forget what that's like.

At these talks every year, we also stress the importance of doing their best. Sure, second grade isn't exactly the pinnacle of academic achievement, but we feel they need to learn to try their hardest, no matter WHAT level they're on. We constantly remind them that their only job right now is to do well in school.

Which really cuts into Chase's hopes and dreams of playing his ukulele on the street for cash, right next to the crack dealers and homeless shanty towns.

I know, we're just cruel like that.

But when I found this list in Hannah's backpack the other day, it really made me smile.

What can I say? Girlfriend likes herself a good list.

I find them often on her nightstand - lists of what she needs to do the next day, lists of books she wants to read, and even lists of outfits she plans to wear.

Clearly, that nut didn't fall too far from the tree.

But this list particular list takes the cake:


In case her little handwriting is hard to read, here is the translation:

• Try my best on every test
• Introduce myself to a lot of people
• Never say anything roude (rude)
• Never swear
• Don't do anything that is mean just to be funny for your friends
  

Excellent words to live by. Can you imagine what the world would be like if everyone followed that advice? MTV might actually play music again. You could walk the halls of any high school in America without an assault on the auditory senses. And reality television, as we know it, would cease to exist.

I'm pretty sure she just might be on to something.

Trading in those three minutes

Do you hear that?

It's the sound of silence in the Casa de Stie. The little people who have been such good company all summer long have loaded their backpacks, donned their new clothes, and took happy steps onto the big yellow bus which steals them from me each year.

The younger two are still in elementary, but the biggest boy is making the leap to middle school this year.

Honestly? I am more terrified than he ever will be. Not because I think he will be bullied or will struggle with the course work. But because these little lives of theirs seem to keep marching by at an ever-increasing pace. I mean, wasn't he just born? Wasn't that like, um, 47 minutes ago?

How is he in middle school now?

It makes me angry a little bit, how fast it all goes. I feel gypped. I want some time back, to make sure I memorized her baby smell or the sound of his toddling voice cheering with glee as he knocked over YET ANOTHER tower of blocks. I want to pinch those chubby cheeks in the highchair and run my fingers through her hair after the first big-girl haircut. I want to play with that excited three- and one-year-old in the park again, only this time, I'll not sit exhausted on the bench. I'll get up and chase them. I'll hug them tight through their laughter, and tickle those round bellies with kisses when I catch them.

I'll forgo the Disney babysitter just this once and cuddle them to my chest, breathing in their sweaty sweetness, and make up story after story about princesses, dinosaurs, and firetrucks. I'll not make such a fuss when their little muddy hand prints appear on the wall. I'll bend down and look at more ladybugs in the dewey grass.

I'll hold them tight. And never let go.

Because you know what? They really don't stay like that for more than a minute. I never would have believed you if you had told me that when I was counting the minutes until they were out of diapers or putting them to bed early so I could have JUST THREE MINUTES TO MYSELF ALREADY.

Well, I've got those three minutes now. And then some.

And I think I'd happily trade them if I could.

Take care of my babies today, please.