A Hanley Halloween

Halloween began in a very spooky way, indeed. It was pouring rain, we were late to school for a Halloween party, and everyone got soaked. When we arrived, just as the bell was ringing, we found out that the party had started 45 minutes before, not when the bell rang as I remembered. At least we were able to rush through the rain, wet from the knees down, with freshly baked pumpkin bread and three kids just for the heck of it.

The fun continued. Miles did not nap. I burnt the chili for the Ward Halloween party. The house imploded. I cried. The kids got dressed. Amelia got her hair in curlers. Miles wore chaps. Max's costume involved accessories like fierce arm bands and a shield. "Do Knights protect princesses?"

"Yes, Max. And they fight firey dragons as well." Enough said, Max knew exactly what he would be for Halloween.


We trick or treated. Miles had a knack for it. He walked up to anyone and everyone who would or would not hand out candy and cried until we let him eat it. It is unfathomable how much candy Miles ate. Detox will begin tomorrow.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMELIA

I cannot believe that Amelia turned 6-years-old. We had a magical party, literally. After reading Harry Potter all summer long we decided that a magical party would be the most fun party ever. After searching for amateur magicians who do kid parties (very entertaining) we decided to brush up on fatherly magic. Making coins disappear, changing nickels into dimes, and of course fabulous card tricks. the children were dazzled and impressed and Amelia turned 6 with out a hitch.

A Family Affair

We rented a front loader and went to town on our back yard. In just two days Dave transformed our sloped yard into two levels: one for patio and the other for yard. I was quite impressed and as you can see the kids had quite a good time.

There is nothing quite as much fun as a mountain of dirt in your very own backyard. The kids climbed and climbed. Even Miles joined in the fun. In fact he was so enamored with his construction, machine wielding, dirt moving Dad, he wanted Dave to hold him all weekend. He could not help but look at him with adoration. It was the first " my dad is cool," moment.

Max went through a new pair of pants about every 45 minutes and I just gave up on Miles, but learned diapers can hold a lot of dirt too. Our beige carpet took a beating anytime Max decided to walk in dirt caked pants, shirt, and body into our house. I finally made a rule that no one could enter the house with out my express permission. With my poor kids camped by the back door, I'd here the first quiet and to increasingly loud request, "Can we come in the house yet?" They'd strip down by the door, take the clothes to the laundry room, and change. With in five minutes all would be back outside dirtying another outfit. It's alright, I've decided that laundry is a hobby. As with most of my hobbies, they are neglected!

First Day of School (a little late)

Although the first day of school was a about a month ago, I have not yet shared the details of the very important day. This is our most important first day of school yet--Amelia went to Kindergarten. I feel like she has been ready for two years, so now she is super ready. Dave, being the cute and fabulous Dad he is, went to Target (where he never goes) and picked out all of Amelia's special school supplies. Even a pink back pack, Hello Kitty lunch box, and a pink water bottle.


I felt like I missed out a little on the whole first day experience. Amelia drove with her Daddy and I followed. However I could not find parking on the very busy first day. So I came late with Max and Miles in tow. School had already started and the parents were already being ushered out of the classroom. I gave my sweet daughter a quick hug and kiss and was off. I was reassured because we feel great about her school and know that she is anxious to learn.

In fact just 3 weeks into school and Amelia's teacher is giving her difficult addition and subtraction and has taught her the principle of multiplication. We were listening to classical music on the way home and Amelia said, "I love this. It makes me think of people on their tip toes. I can picture it like a movie in my head." I love that my kids are curious and love to learn. (parental bias may be included in any and all comments)

Max had his first day of school too. He is in Pre-K. Where he plays with the big kids. Max's new favorite thing he got upon entering school is a watch. He loves to tell us what time it is and especially what we do and do not have time for. It was a busy morning and he asked if we could go ride his bike at the park and I, in true mom fashion replied, "Max, I don't think we have time." To this his immediate response was, as he looked at his watch, "Yes, we do have time." And he was right. We did have time to ride his bike.

A Weekend Away at Conference

In the darkest part of my first trimester Dave had an interview with the relief society president of our ward and somehow after talking about the needs of the sisters, she agreed to watch our kids while we went to Utah for Conference. I don't know if came about due to Dave's plea for some time alone or rested under the mantel of her calling to succor the needs of the sisters in the ward. Either way, I did not complain or ask too many questions. I just took all parties at their word and enjoyed.

Finally the day arrived and we were off. Well, after arranging rides from school for all kids, packing clothes, medicine, pillows, special blankets, familiar snacks, sleeping bags and signing our first will (a little morbid) we drove to the airport. I was exhausted.

We arrived in Salt Lake just in time for a lovely walk on a warm fall night and enjoy a quiet dinner. The next morning we woke early from habit and took tracks for the first session of conference. Due to the warm weather from the night before neither of us brought a coat. Less than 12 hours later, the lovely warm fall day metamorphosed to cold, dark, and raining. We arrived wet to the conference center--no coat and no umbrella.

Saturday was dedicated to conference. From morning to afternoon to priesthood, Dave and I quietly shared and listened. Watching at the conference center helped me to have more focus and clarity. I was able to take notes and have the spirit teach me about what I must do. Simply more. More prayer. More listening to the spirit. More teaching with my wonderful children. More consecration to the gospel.

Sharing this with my husband, feeling the spirit together, talking, having full detailed conversations over wonderful food was just what we needed. In our busy lives it is easy to forget, but conference is the perfect time to remember. Sharing it quietly with Dave I loved remembering together. Talking together. Eating together.

Camping 101

Camping is a gift given from parents to their children. I say it is a gift, because a gift can be given out of love, can come with great sacrifice, effort, and at times, pain. A gift is also received and enjoyed by the other party with little to no expectation of reciprocation. It is their rite. While I wash every item of clothing, plan and pack for an elaborate and well fed rustic weekend the children frolic about dirtying the only clean clothes they have. While the parents unpack, set up the tent, the children explore, build forts and locate the stash of marshmallows.

To camp we got up early, packed all of the sleepy kids in the car who drank (from ages 5 and 3/4 to 4 and 1) bottles of chocolate milk. It was my makeshift breakfast on the run when all other sippy-cups were evidently well packed in our Mini-van stocked with everything and anything you could need, want, or imagine. Aside from a well balanced breakfast of
bottles for large children, when camping we are of course late running late. I find we always underestimate the time it takes for last minute packing and actually dragging yourself out of bed. Unfortunately, ferries are never late. From the city to Anacortes we rushed and rushed.

The real road crisis, that although running late, we still had a possibility of catching the 7 am ferry to San Jaun, the last for another 2 1/2 hours. We made it with minutes to spare and we, of course, picked the very slowest line available. It was painful. While other lines moved car after car our line was still. Not one car moved. Meanwhile the clock is ticking. The clock is tocking. Time is passing as we watched our ferry leave meanwhile we still waited in our stagnant line. (I am holding back the many rude and disparaging comments I have at my fingertips about the very slow ferry attendant.)

Lesson: When you camp you may miss the 7:00 am ferry but remember there is always one in another 2 1/2 hours

Lesson: To avoid the above mentioned lesson set alarm early and avoid snooze. Above all never pick the slowest line. Whether late or not a stagnant line is never a good time.


It is a wonderful feeling, exhaustion, to begin a long camping weekend. After a stressful car-ride full of ferry anticipation and incumbent disappointment, a 2 1/2 hour wait and subsequent hour ferry I was worn out. At this point in my first trimester I am worn out after pouring cereal for my kids at breakfast and am ready for my morning nap. (although this does not happen!) With our tired frame of minds, worn from waiting we set up our tents. It must have been fatigue that clouded our judgement, because we set our tent up on such a slope. One side of our tent was situated at the top and the other side of the tent was located at the bottom of the deep slope. In the light of day with fatigue on the brain it did not seem like a bad idea. I thought it would be just fine to have my head up and my feet down.

However, when I could keep my eyes open no longer I crawled into the dark tent and climbed into my sleeping bag. The slope that seemed manageable in the day was my foe. Although my head was up and my feet down, I could not keep the top half of my body above the mid l ine of the slope. I slid. I slid some more. I slid and finally I fell asleep. In the middle of the night I woke up, adrenaline pumping, and totally and utterly disoriented. I had fallen to the very bottom of the tent and could not see anyone in my very sleepy state. Thinking everyone in the tent gone, panic set in, "Dave, where are you," I called. "Dave." From there the camp site cacophony set in. Amelia and Max joined me at the bottom of the tent, but were not happy about it. They kicked and bumped and clambered over and under each other. Our friend's new born baby cried and cried with out any consolation. In the dark sleepiness of night all of noise, discomfort, and sleeplessness seemed as an eternity. The night of eight hours felt like a lifetime of un-sleep. When the sun finally shown its first rays across the deep blue sky I happily pulled myself from the pile at the bottom of our tent to join the day.

Lesson: Do not set up tent on a hill. What may look benign by day is insidious at night.

In the daylight hours the slope where are tent was so precariously staked, beckoned us to the water. Our beautiful campsite butted against the lake and and private rock hideaway. From the earliest hours the kids ran, dug, imagined and explored. Camping unlocks a child's manifest destiny to imagine and create. The rocks transformed to Rock World where boys and girls fought for dominance over ancient ruins, old distressed bark riddled with insect marks. When out of Rock world the kids jumped from the over-sized fallen log into our private entrance into the freezing lake and rowed and fished and fished and rowed in our very own (rented for the weekend) boats.


Lesson: To kids it does not matter where a tent is pitched, but just to sleep outside.

I won't even try to elaborate on how long our tent, sleeping bags, cooler, bags of smokey clothes remained in our car. Over the course of weeks I took a little here and a little there to our living room floor. It was wonderful to remember camping anytime I drove or spent time in my living room. It was as though the outdoors was permanently in our home! San Jaun almost literally on my Persian rug.

Surprise Pregnancy

(This is the last picture of me with my life in control with small pants)

In a life with three kids, a member of the church, a husband Bishop/entrepreneur, a wonderful old house with a very long to do list I had just barely thought, "I can do this." I began to see an end to the dynamic insanity of my life. There were moments of order. Moments in between chaos, screaming, pillow fights, toy avalanches, and dinner explosions. But those moments were hope. A sign that Prosaic and an extended stay in a rehabilitation center with the Olsen twins and Lindsay could be avoided all together.

My period was late. My face was filled with the lovely compliment to wrinkles, pimples. No face should have both. I felt absolutely incredulous. There was no way I could be pregnant, really felt, "no, no, no way." But evidently I was wrong. I took the First Response test, knowing that it would reassure all of my irrational thoughts of pregnancy. The control test would rest my fears and reassure my faltering sense of control. No, again. Boldly the First Response was two strong blues lines, mine, laughter. I thought perfect. Just when I see the light, feel like my family is done, and feel for the first time in years I am not a wreck--food, boogers, and fecal matter are only on my clothes occasionally, my pant size is (was) listed with a single number, and I rediscovered hobbies and interests. Wam! Bam! I am pregnant of the immaculate kind.

I understand biology. The kids and I have had many conversations about eggs and sperm but I still have no idea how I got pregnant. Amelia asked if Daddy could give me a sperm while I was in Utah. I explained that we had to be a little closer. She asked, "in the same house?" "Yes, dear." "Sitting on the couch together?" "Closer is good." And I am pretty sure she knows something I do not.

The funny thing about pregnancy, at least my pregnancies, is no matter the number I fall into the same pattern. I really tried to go on as normal in my singly numbered pants, but all I want is food wrapped in bread, butter, and cheese. I want it all day long. Any sort of self moderation vanishes. Where the extra blue line sat on my First Response, there I left any sort of will power or craving for any vegetable. After now five first trimesters, I still go to the grocery store and my impulse is to buy everything, just in case I may want to eat it and likely if it is wrapped in bread, butter, and cheese I will. While I was pregnant with Amelia any time I went to Costco I would buy a meat that I had never before or since bought. Cornish Game hens! Fish! All of it was jammed into our itty-bitty, student-housing freezer. Which consequently opened while we were on vacation over spring break. Cornish Game hens and fish don't smell great after sitting for a week at room temperature. You'd think I would have learned my lesson. No. I spent $200 at Trader Joe's, mostly on frozen food. There is something in the surge of hormones that makes freezer items absolutely irresistible.

BUT YOU GOTTA LOVE A SURPRISE! Really sanity is overrated and so are clean designer jeans when you have great genes!

Family Goes to Girls Camp

When Daddy goes, we all go--one of our many family mottos. As Bishop, my sweet hubby, should attend girls camp and really how can a father camp with out his family. The answer to this tricky question is he cannot, ever, never, ever camp without his kids (wife may sometimes be excluded. This has not yet happened but a woman can dream.)

What I was most excited about after spotting, washing, folding three loads of laundry (just in case clothes were needed on our trip), battling with the kids to not wake up their brother from his one and only nap, was the trip to the grocery store for junk food. No camping trip or any road trip for that matter can be experienced without Doritos. No camping trip can begin with out marshmallows (note camping trips from summers past when my second child ate only marshmallows for three days. You could not remove the the roasting stick from his grasp. The concept of cooking sugar on an open fire with the utensil of a stick was way too much to resist.)

Thankfully most memories of packing misery were erased with high fructose corn syrup and MSG. We arrived at girls camp, set up camp, and ate, of course, sloppy joes and iceburg lettuce with ranch. Despite finishing the entire bag of Doritos, a donut from the next morning's breakfast I ate the "manwhich," ground beef mixed with some sort of seasoning packet with likely ingredient-- Mono Sodium Glutamate also found in our previously eaten Doritos.

These women who ran the camp, feeding hundred + were amazing. They ran their primitive kitchen like a well run cafeteria. It was spotless. I cant make microwavable macaroni at home with out massive kitchen fall out. Dishes are strew, utensils fly, and elbow noodles are dropped under the table by the bowlful. Yet a dinner salad, pasta salad, sloppy joes, and pineapple upsidedown cake cooked in dutch ovens was done flawlessly. I somehow missed out on the pioneer women organization and do everything and make it look easy gene. I can make pretty much everything looked flawfully difficult. From all sides of my family, it is pioneer stock. Every single one is a crossing the plains kind of ancestor. Yet with out canning, harvesting my own garden, sewing, mending, hand washing and at the end of the day making bread from the wheat grown from my neighbors mill I still cannot keep my kitchen clean.

I'm not sure what this has to do with girls camp other than we went and camped and ate Doritos and sloppy joes! I determined once again that most pioneer talents were bred out of my line one generation ago. The canning stopped here! The women running the girls camp had not lost their pioneer gene. I watched in awe at the abundance.

Fabulous 4th of July

I love last minute travel. The preparation and expectations are minimal and all that remains is fun. Although a well planned trip filled with aspirations and anticipation is wonderful too. I'm pretty sure I just like travel and vacation.

Just two days before the 4th we made some last minute plans. We rented a cabin/beach house. In the northwest, a waterfront property is always part cabin part beach house. We packed our bags, gathered (junk) food, charged the camera and were off.

After unloading from a ferry we drove to our beautiful destination, but not without stopping at Discount Fireworks, "Prices will not be beat." The kids and hubby were so excited. We had not bought fireworks in years, due to minor things such as laws. The kids had never even held a sparkler and my husband, sadly, had never shot a bottle rocket. His childhood stifled by this non-event. On our trip at the very prodigious roadside location, "Discount Firework," a lifelong dream was met. Thirty bottle rockets in hand and ready to blow-up. Already such a good vacation.

The fireworks did not disappoint. On July 3rd, shortly after our arrival, we dipped into our "Discount" fireworks. The kids had a blast. Lights, sparkles, pops, and explosions are sure family fun. We could not stop at just a few. We lit almost our entire supply of fireworks. After exhausting a large portion of our Discount Fireworks we ventured to the thriving neighboring metropolis (not really) to buy more. After all, we could not be with out fireworks on the 4th.

After buying fireworks from other vendors I cannot mock our Discount Fireworks. We bought half the fireworks for double the price, but the 4th of July is not really about the "bang for your buck." It is really about are your explosions bigger than your neighbors? Are your fireworks better than theirs? That is the true spirit of the 4th, at least this seemed the attitude on the beach. There appeared to be a serious competition among beach houses. Who could put on the best 4th show? With our meager $50 in fireworks, we were not even in the competition. Our neighbor took $50 to a casino on the Indian Reservation and won $800, which he spent all on fireworks and sadly they were not the beach side victors. It was quite a show!

Compulsions of a mother

One of the wonderful aspects of aging is a certain realization and acceptance of ourselves. My nose has a bump, I don’t move the furniture when I sweep, pretty sure I will never floss except the day before I go to the dentist (like that really makes a difference, I know), and I really enjoy compulsive behavior.

I have tried to understand my neurosis. I don’t know if it’s the nature of motherhood managing, playing, and working with kids all day or just me. After donating my body as jungle gym, napkin, and pillow when the evening comes my impulse is to stay up way too late, eat junk food and dive into a project. I think I must crave a little irresponsibility and it begins at 8 pm within the walls of my, most likely, messy home. My compulsion is an outward effort to exert identity separate from people under 5. I am not sure if television broadcast over the internet, an obsession for family photo books and bowls of ice cream are an identity, but I certainly enjoy the indulgence, the later the better. I have amazing powers of imagination. While splurging on irresponsibility I imagine that I won’t be awake by 6:15 the next morning.

My latest obsessive-compulsive fixation: blurb books. I fear my compulsion to make books may negate some of the positive aspects of recording my families’ life. Since I made my first book a month ago, I have chronicled my 3rd child’s entire first year, completed in dazzling color all of 2007, and have captured 95 amazing pages for summer 2008 (to help with the math, 4 books in 1 month). I am not writing this that you may be impressed by my organization or awed by my commitment to detail my family life; I really think it moves away from commitment and never touches on organization. Since discovering blurb, I take my camera everywhere and stay up into the wee hours of night arranging photos and recording both the significant and insignificant happenings of my family. In every spare minute I manically check blurb, as if anything has changed since the last time I saved the book.

I embrace myself--quirks compulsions and all. I can't wait to add blogging to the list.