No Pictures and other stuff

So I ever so carefully packed away my camera cords. For storage. Don't quite know why. Nevertheless I'm trying to capture our life on cell phone. And not that I'm great at posting pictures anyway, but that's what's going on.

Today Claire had her first ever part in a Primary program. She got up and chose her royal blue dress that she wore when she sang in church last year. "It's my program dress." I made the mistake of wearing tights, so she thought she needed to too. She kind of ruined the ensemble with light blue Christmas snowflake tights. However we all agreed to making her have a great morning no matter what, so we allowed it to happen. I attempted to curl her non-curling hair, and topped it off with a bow.

She was so cute up on the stand popping her little head up and down, and making cute faces at her cheering section (4 grandparents, 2 aunts, 1 uncle, 2 parents, and a brother). She raised her arm to sustain at the correct times, and was otherwise darling. She even tells us she helped a girl remember to cover her panties.

When it was her turn she got up, stepped up on the stool, leaned into the mic, composed herself, and said, "My family helps me to remember Jesus Christ, and Jesus Christ helps me to choose the right. I help my family be getting Kyle his bink and hanging up my clothes." She decided on the last two parts. It was so cute. My mother heart has not thrilled more than at that moment. She was so happy and confident.

In sadder new my Paternal grandfather suffered a major heart attack yesterday morning. He's 83. My grandma died 4 years ago, and he has missed her desperately ever since. His body continues to fail him, much to his delight :) I wonder how it would be to stare death in the face---and welcome it. He's a great man, and I'm sure that having lived a good, faithful life gives him much belief and much promise in the world to come. We visited with him tonight. The next few days will reveal the damage done. A pacemaker is possible. Claire and I had a good talk about death while we painted our finger- and toenails. Regardless of what happens, he is prepared, and so are we. We know that there is life after death. We know that because of the Savior we will live again, that we will see him again. Of this I am sure.

Lost: One set of keys

Taylor woke me up this morning to say he couldn't find his keys. He had about three minutes before he HAD to leave. We looked everywhere. I remembered seeing them on the table and thinking "Move them. That's a terrible place for keys." I didn't. I regret it. He had to take our SUV, and that leaves us housebound without car seats. We literally looked all day (okay, I took 25 minutes off for Days of Our Lives, and did 4 or 5 loads of laundry). Still no keys. I've checked the toy boxes, the laundry baskets, the shoes, the couch, the chair, the trash. Everywhere. No keys.

Last time this happened a lady literally took Taylor's keys off of the counter of his work. He called her on it; she denied it. He followed her out to see that she also drove a Jetta. We think she took it for the remote. They are super expensive. We had to have it towed, and then have a key made. Just the valet key, not even with a remote, and it was so expensive. That's why we (still) only have one key.

Pray for us.

**Edited to say Taylor texted around 9pm to say that he found the keys in the car he took. Maddening. Love that I spent the better part of 11 hours looking. At least the house is clean.

Inspiration

It's a hard time of year for everyone because of the events of eight years ago. I can't watch the coverage. It's not that I don't want to ignore it and pretend it never happened; it's that I can't bear the physical pain I feel for the people who lost their loved ones. You'll remember that I was at Miss America when this happened. (We wrote a book about it.)Being isolated from my loved ones made it a difficult thing for me. I take my kids to the Healing Fields every year. I talk to them about patriotism. This year's conversation began like this:

Me: Claire, this is a special day for our country...
Claire: Oh! Becky [her babysitter] likes country music and primary songs.

It got better after that.

9/11 is also my big brother Jake's birthday. We had fun at his school's carnival (way to celebrate the principal's birthday!) and teasing him about being 30.

Then today I saw this man's story of how being a 9/11 survivor has changed his life for the better. It still feels heavy to watch, but it's truly inspirational:


And to make things great I found Paul Cardall's blog. He's a well-known LDS musician who has been waiting for a heart transplant for over a year. You know that I'm a huge proponent of organ donation, so his blog was extremely touching. He got a new heart, and all signs are positive. His blog is so great. Check it out when you have an hour or so to browse through it.

Go Cougars!

We made a return-trip to Logan today to watch the BYU opener with the Ogden family as we had planned to for months. Of course we were able to return a library book that accidentally was packed, the garage remote control that left Logan before we realized it, and to pick up our deposit check from our old home (only lost $25 and a couple walls were in need of serious repair, so we're thrilled).

We had a great time, and we were obviously thrilled that the Cougs had such a great win. We left pretty late, and (naturally) the kids didn't fall asleep until we were practically home. Kyle was so out that he didn't even wake as I removed him from the car. His head was on my shoulder, and as we entered the house he shot up, rolled his arms, said, "Rah! Rah! Cougars!" in a sleepy voice, finished by throwing his arms up in touchdown fashion, and slammed his head right back down to sleep on my shoulder again. It was the cutest thing EVER.

Got Milk?

(Make sure to read the next two posts to see the rest of the family pictures.)

I have been absent from blogging while we packed and moved. We are successfully moved into Taylor's sister's house. I have four boxes left, and I'm leaving them for Taylor who has been absent for almost 48 hours, working for 24 of them. We fit well here. The kids are sharing a room, and surprisingly they like it. There are new hide and seek positions here, as well as a friend next door for Claire. This hasn't really happened before, and Kyle was very concerned today that I would just leave Claire with the neighbors.

We (obviously) cleaned out the fridge and freezer to make our move. I had hoped to take on that chore myself, but forgot about that hope. I was a little mortified to notice that my last bottle of breastmilk had made it from my own freezer and was now unfrozen and sitting in Whitney's fridge (sorry Rob, I know that must traumatize you to read that, if you read that). I had planned to sneakily stow it away. But there it sat in a baggy, separated and gross-looking. Kyle quit breastfeeding almost a year ago. I know for sure that milk of any sort doesn't last for a year (and really, I have no idea how old the bottle really was). I wasn't planning to use it. At this point I had no choice but to pour it down the drain, but it was a hard thing to do. As I stood there with it in my hand, contemplating it's future, I couldn't help but wonder why I had kept it in the first place.

That little bottle contained proof that I had an infant in my home. Letting go of it means that Kyle really isn't a baby anymore. He's practically two by all means!
I decided that it was my trophy---tactile evidence of nights and days spent suckling. I've read of the merits of breastfeeding dozens of times. I praise the act for the how it eats away at my fat cells while I eat away at cookies for a year. All of that nurturing brain cells and fat burning is well and good, but really, I choose to breastfeed because it makes me feel innately woman (and not because it increases my bra size substantially). I just like thinking that it's the way it's always been for women and their babies. It feels like a link to my past and a gift to my future. I like being pregnant for the same reason---it makes me feel there is an unbroken chain to the women who came before me.

Before we moved I had to tell Claire that our "home" is not walls and closets and counters; home is where our family is. I guess the same applies to me. The evidence of my "working breasts" (to quote Everybody Love Raymond) is not necessarily a half-full bottle in the freezer, it's in the thighs and chubby cheeks of my children.

And there will be more babies in good time. And more milk. I wonder how long I'll hold on to the last last one.