"If women don't find you handsome ...

" ... they should at least find you handy."

So ends the campy -- but funny --  "Red Green" TV show that Jeff and I sometimes catch on Saturday nights. I'm lucky to say I've been married for 16 years to a man I consider both!

Compared to the many projects Jeff has tackled in our home, this one's small stuff. But because it shows his unwillingness to bend to convention, and his follow-through when given a challenge, I love it all the more.

For my birthday Jeff surprised me by coming home with a 20-by-24 portrait of our family. Gorgeous! Huge! Turns out, though, that 20-by-24 is not a standard frame size. We learned this after shopping several stores. That left the option of custom framing, of course. After getting a couple of bids for that, Jeff decided he'd just make a frame himself.

And he did.

Thanks, Jeff! It means a lot to me, as do you.

Finding Jack Frost

"Mom!" "Mom, come look outside!" Elise and James said in turn. "We found Jack Frost."

"He was here ... "

"and here ... "

"This way, Mom!"

"Look! We even found his face!"

And so now I ask you: 

Do you see it? Do you see it?

Do you wish you had the imagination of a child again?

This just in ...

Another real-time post. Elise, who can sometimes (sometimes?) be a little overbearing just cornered James and asked, "What game do you want to play?"

His response: "Ignore James."

----

While I'm at it, here's a week of laughs that I intended to post earlier this month when they happened, but didn't.

1. Kyle turned on iTunes on the computer in the same room where I was visiting with family. "Kyle," I asked, "Could you please turn that down?"

"But Mo-om (all of you know that two-syllable delivery), it's already up as high as it will go."

Teenage logic at work!

2. Emma was slow to wake one morning. "Emma," I called from her doorway. "It's time to get up."

She lifted herself up on her elbows. "What's a snork?"

"A snork?"

"Yeah. I just had one in my dream."

"Well, I don't know what a snork is. You need to get up. Come on, Emma, it's time to get up!"

"I know," she said with airy indignity, "that's what I'm doing in my dream!" And she rolled over and pulled the blanket tighter.

3. I took the kids to the grocery store's offering of free pictures with Santa. Kyle was with Jeff, and Emma considered herself too old, so I did the outing while she was at ballet class so as not to embarrass her. Later I told her she should have come with us, that there were several older students there, too. One woman waited in line in front of us, and she didn't even have any kids with her.

"Really?" Emma mulled this over. "How old was she?"

"My age."

Afterward Elise confided in the other room, "Mom, that woman was NOT 38. She was only 30."

4. I helped James and his friend Jacob build a fort of blankets and chairs, then I delivered them lunch inside. When James announced, "Mom, you are the nicest mom I've ever met!" I was riding high.

While nibbling on my own lunch I heard: (James) "My mom is 70 percent nice." (Jacob) "Oh, yeah? My mom is a thousand percent nice."

Should I over-analyze a kindergartener's grasp of math?

AND FINALLY ...

5. I was tickled when Samuel recognized a favorite book character in artwork at the library. "Look, Mom! It's Day-bid." (from David Shannon's "No, David") Then Samuel added, "Sett-o down!"

I had to look it up when we got home. Sure enough, that's the text. "Settle down!"

Christmas message

I had to give a talk in church today, and I told my mom I would post my remarks here.

Under Christmas trees in homes all over our neighborhood sit packaged gifts -- wrapped presents awaiting just the right time to be opened. Some of the gifts are probably immaculately wrapped, with color-coordinated paper and sparkling ribbon and matching tags. Others are probably more like those in my household -- a little clumsily put together -- but they all reflect a certain amount of thought and love. We wouldn't want any of these gifts to go unopened.

We give presents this season partly because that's what the Wise Men did upon finding young Jesus. It also reminds us, of course, of Christ's wonderful gift to us: the atonement. That's why I celebrate.

I've always believed in Jesus Christ. I've always acknowledged the miracle of his resurrection. I've always believed he made it possible for man to live again with Heavenly Father.

And yet, for many years, even as I tried to do what was right, I did not personalize the atonement. It was something I read about in the scriptures and learned about at church, but it was for everyone else. Not me. My testimony then, I realize, was akin to telling Jesus, "Oh, thank you for the present!" but never actually opening it.

Then I had a period in my life where I was discouraged over many mistakes I had made. Through deep soul-searching and prayer, I opened the atonement. Tried it on. Wore it. Used it. It was the perfect size. It was just what I needed. And I can open it again and again.

I am so grateful for that time in my life because those experiences, and the depth of my feeling, gave me a more sure knowledge of Christ's love for us, and for me.

I pray we can use this time of year to more fully embrace the atonement. I hope we can follow the words from the hymn* and cast out our sins so Christ can enter in and Be born in us today.*


*reference to the choir singing "O Little Town of Bethlehem," verse 5

No Lladro here

Star Navigation System comes standard.
I don't know whether I should be worried about the placement of the manger, or glad the wise man arrived safely.

(Wow, I just had an epiphany. Is that why the OnStar car folks chose the name they did?)

December dusk

White

Araceli and Elise

White is the way I'll always remember Elise's baptism day. Two absolutely beautiful little girls in white dresses. Two fathers worthy to perform the sacred ordinance. The soft, but deep gift of snow. Family who showered us with support and nary a complaint of their white-knuckle drives to get home.

I've taken Elise to several of her Primary classmates' baptisms this year to prepare her for her own experience. I've marveled how the weather on many of those days was an exact match, a striking visual aid to this* Primary song:

I like to look for rainbows whenever there is rain

And ponder on the beauty of an earth made clean again.

I want my life to be as clean as earth right after rain.

I want to be the best I can and live with God again.

I know when I am baptized my wrongs are washed away

And I can be forgiven and improve myself each day.

I want my life to be as clean as earth right after rain.

I want to be the best I can and live with God again.

(Children's Songbook p. 103)

I learn so much when nature reflects my spiritual stretches. This time Heavenly Father taught me through the trials another family is weathering. A 16-year-old girl died this week in a car accident not far from our home. The news broke my heart.

I did not know how sharply this tragedy would penetrate me until I was notified Friday that our scheduled Saturday afternoon baptism would have to be moved to 8 a.m. to accommodate the girl's funeral in the same building. Amidst my genuine sorrow for her family I was also stressed and initially confused that no one saw the duplication of scheduling earlier, which only made me feel worse for feeling that way. I was happy to do what I could. Oh, how I ache for this family!

I was worried about the hardship this time change would create for our family to be able to attend, many of whom live nearly two hours away. Turns out this wasn't even an issue; they didn't hesitate to say they'd be there no matter what. They all expressed concern for the young girl's loved ones. Thank you, family. We love you!

My amazing friend Circe** was in the same boat as us in trying to scrabble new baptism plans. I'm so glad it was her that I got to do this with. We got to combine our planned programs into one. We laughed about having to change our dinner menus for the after gatherings to something more breakfast-friendly.

And then in all seriousness I said, "The only thing that doesn't have to change is the baptism prayer because the ordinance is always the same."

I realized early on that this perceived hassle was actually a gift. It boosted my testimony, helped me see what matters most. I've pondered on the importance of baptism today more than any other. I know that this young girl's family will have a chance to see her again someday. I pray they can be thus comforted. Just like Elise's Grandma Hatch reminded us in her talk, I know that I'll be able to see my brother Ben again. I know that my dear little Elise today took an important step this very day to be able to return to her home with Heavenly Father. Please don't make it be soon.

Jeff, in his confirmation blessing, encouraged Elise to write about this day in her journal so she can teach her own children about baptism. She did! I know Elise was happy today because her little giggle as she left the font told me so.

It didn't rain. There wasn't a rainbow. It was white, not the way some see as the absence of color, but as a type of light which contains all of the beautiful hues. The gospel light.

Today, white.

___________

*Perhaps showing my preoccupation with this Primary song, I, as pianist, played it for the closing hymn at the service, not realizing the baptism coordinators thought we were doing a different song and had made printed handouts of the its lyrics for the congregation. Oops. Didn't know that -- and could have been forever oblivious had not Jeff informed me of my mistake as we drove home.

**Circe is the most kind, thoughtful person I know -- and she acts on those thoughts. During our phone conversations Friday I had several of what I'll call "brainbursts," vocal realizations of things I'd forgotten. "Aaargh! I still need to get James' stitches taken out! Aaargh! I haven't even bought Elise's dress yet!" and so forth. Even though she was going through the same stress of rescheduling as I was, she showed up at my door with a white dress we could borrow. Thank you, Circe! Another way I'll remember white.

Advent calendar

Here you see another installment of our family's tradition to use our many Christmas books as an advent calendar to the special day. I may decide to hang the books on the railing, as I have other years, but for now they're happily propped up between the balusters in our front entry. Visitors are always confused what on earth this is. Letting them in on the secret is part of the fun.

I almost didn't do it this year, hence the Dec. 2 start date, because of a few naysayers in these parts. "Oh, Mom, just put the books in a box," said one. (You mean the box they've been hiding in the last 11 months?!) Would it be worth all my efforts to round up fabric scraps (we're going green here) and wrap the books? I even went so far as to poll the children this morning. One child, one sweet, newly endearing child went against the grain and said yes, he wanted to do this. That was all I needed! He did a great job making the number labels.

I like how this tradition gives meter to one of my favorite holiday activities: reading with my children. Perhaps the greatest post-holiday letdown one year a while back was packing up the mute books we never shared that busy season. No more of that. My plan is to read these as a family each night. I've noticed that even though the older children may initially scoff, they too are excited to see what book got opened that day. I think it's because more than turning pages, we're returning to memories. Happy ones, I hope.

Alchemy

Alchemy

James intently watches pepper grains -- that he madly stirred in water moments before -- fall to the bottom of the cup without dissolving. 

Little did I know pantry ingredients would transform my day. As days go it wasn't a bad one necessarily, but I wasn't happy anyway. I was fed up with the constant state of mess in my house, hating feeling like a maid (and an unsuccessful one at that), and basically tired of spinning my wheels to get nothing done.

As further wounds to my psyche, my piano student didn't show up again and Samuel was screaming so much all I could do was deposit him in his crib and walk away.

I tackled the dishes with slumped shoulders. James, without his little brother sidekick, stayed closer to me than usual. He found a science experiment book, and I soon heard him reading instructions out loud.

He dissolved salt in one cup of water, then sugar and lime juice in another. "The book said it would be tasty, Mom, and it is!"

James was so intrigued by the ordinary. At least, what is ordinary to me. It made me think, as I threw aside the dish towel and joined him first for vinegar and baking soda bubbles, then a black pepper slurry, that I need to redefine my life and make more room to study its golden "wow" moments.

"Ow-oooh!" James howled.

James' shadow butterfly

Apple crumb pie

from our tree

By request, here is the recipe I use for apple crumb pie. I can't call it MY recipe for that would imply I created it, it's just the one I use. I will, however, own up to the apple in the picture! Or at least say the tree is mine, or rather that it's in my yard ... Hmm, I have no claim to anything.

OK, I took the picture. With Jeff's camera.

I got this recipe from my mom, the master pie maker. I didn't jot it down precisely, so there's no need for you to do so either. Think of this as a guideline.

Apple crumb pie

Ingredients:

9- or 10-inch pie shell

Filling: apples

1/2 cup sugar (or more, to taste)

3/4 teaspoon cinnamon

Lemon juice, if desired, to taste

Crumb topping:

1/3 cup sugar

3/4 cup flour

6 Tablespoons butter or margarine

Start with enough apples to fill a 2-quart bowl. Tart apples, like granny smith, are fantastic. Peel, core and slice the apples. Sometimes I do this by hand for thicker wedges; other times I run the apples through my peeler/corer/slizer gizmo (actual name).

One change from my mother's recipe is lemon juice. If my apples lean more to sweet or mellow than tart, I splash the slices with the juice, maybe a couple of tablespoons worth.

Toss apples with 1/2 cup sugar and 3/4 teaspoon cinnamon. Place apples inside shell. You want enough apples to form a mound.

Cut 6 Tablespoons butter or margarine into 1/3 cup sugar and 3/4 cup flour with pastry blender to form crumbs. Sprinkle evenly on top of pie shell. (Interestingly, I've made the pie with both butter and margarine and think the latter tastes better!)

Bake 35-40 minutes in 400 degree oven, or until juice bubbles and crust is lightly browned.

Notes: I use only one bowl with this recipe by first making my pie crust, then tossing the apples with cinnamon and sugar before putting into crust, and finally mixing the crumb topping. I place the pie plate on a cookie sheet to catch any crumbles or juice drips. If my crust is browning faster than the pie is cooking, I'll make a shield for the edge with thin strips of foil.

Enjoy!

This might be my last post for a while. I still have lots of ideas, but I need to focus my time and energy elsewhere. Thanks for the ride!

Moondoggie Photography

I interrupt my self-imposed blogging exile (no essays of photos and words until housework is caught up -- as if!) to bring you this commercial break:

We just got our photos back from Moondoggie Photography, taken by my inspiring friend Marisa, and I am thrilled. Thrilled! I highly recommend her if you also want photos that capture your family's interactions and personalities, more so than frozen cardboard smiles. We had a great time that day.

She posted just a few of our shots on her business' blog. We're the H family.

See, she's doing the posting, not me. Back to laundry!

Halloween story activity

This is a fun, simple Halloween story that I have mentioned to some of you. I first heard it years ago from a library storyteller, and so charmed was I, I went through stacks of paper sharing it with all the littles in my life. (And bigs, too, who are young at heart.)

Tell the story as you do the cutting, and be prepared for all your listeners to want to recreate the tale themselves.

Here is my own version of The Witch's House:

A little witch was traveling home after visiting her friend. It suddenly became so windy that she couldn't continue flying on her broom. She decided to make herself and her cat a house for the night.

The first thing she found when she landed was a piece of paper. Now, to you and me that might not seem special. But witches are magic!

1. She folded the paper in half so she could go inside. (Fold widthwise.)

2. She cut off the top corners to make a roof (non-folded edge).

3. Got to have a door! The witch started to make one. When she got to the top she decided the door should be pointy so her pointy hat would fit.

4. "Meow," said the cat. He wanted his own door, the silly thing! The witch cut a very small door next to hers, just the cat's size.

They both went inside. The house was warm, but oh, so dark!

5. The little witch went back outside and cut out a window in the shape of a half moon -- just right for letting the moonlight shine in. (Fold paper between witch's door and left edge up about halfway. Cut window farther left than cat's door -- near where thumb is in photo.)

The witch loved her new house. Can you see why?

Seeing your audience wide-eyed in wonder will make your day. I promise.

Calling all sugar guardians

Things that make you go "hmmm" ...

While Mom looks on warily, Emma, Elise and Kyle engage in a tradition even better than trick-or-treating:

sort-and-trading.

Halloween 2006

MEMO

To: Oh wise sugar guardians

Re: Proven candy control methods

Please help! Tell me what works for you. My effectiveness is melting faster than an M&M, and they do so melt in your hand.

It was the ward Halloween party and trunk-or-treat last night. Fabulous gig. Lots of creativity on display, lots of camraderie. LOTS OF CANDY.

7:30 p.m. Saturday: "I got more candy than I ever imagined!" said an elated James as we left.

12:30 p.m. Sunday: "I can't believe I ate all that candy in two days!"

Correction, James. Make that one day. Or, to be more precise, when factoring in sleep time and church, only about three hours.

I know there are dental-conscious, behavior-coaching mothers out there who are appalled at this revelation. Truth be told, I would be too in my early days.

Here's the anthropological progression. First child: take him trick-or-treating to two houses, let him eat a piece of candy at home that night, and send him to bed an extremely happy child. Leave any extra pieces out carelessly on the counter. He'll hardly notice. Enjoy them yourself at will -- naptime's a good choice.

Two kids: Stand a far enough distance from door that crawler in your arms doesn't see her costumed brother is getting candy. That plan foiled, buy her silence with a Dum Dum. Put baby to bed before sorting 3-year-old's goodie bag. Give him one piece with a promise for another tomorrow. Pretend to leave bag at Grandma's. Alternately, hide the bag once home. It will be but a distant memory in about a week.

Three kids: Try to keep youngest from stealing from the others' candy bags as you romp through the neighborhood. Still gamely try to portion out loot over the next several days. Yet, oldest is remarkably brand-savvy and becoming a good negotiator. Repeatedly give in to "Mom, can I have another piece? I'll give you a Reese's."

Four kids: Just give up. No kitchen shelf is high enough for their collective ingenuity.

But wait!

Five kids: Now you have to be a referee because oldest, who considers himself too old to do the work, still wants the candy and will taunt the others.

So that's where I stand. My early efforts to instill self-discipline and make their Halloween candy last at least until November have completely disintegrated. I don't understand it. I could make my own childhood Halloween conquests last until practically Christmas -- MID-DECEMBER, PEOPLE! -- by pulling my bag out from under my bed every day after school to sample one glorious piece. Actually, by Thanksgiving it was hardly worthwhile, with only hard candies and Bit-o-honey left, but still I soldiered on.

Perhaps to console myself, I've decided that maybe getting rid of it all at once isn't so bad for the teeth, as long as the belly can tolerate it. Plus it means that Mom doesn't have to keep dressing up like a witch beyond Oct. 31.

I've done my own trading. I've changed my one-piece-a-meal policy for new rules:

• "Daddy tax" is non-negotiable.

• Don't let Samuel have anything he can choke on.

• If you steal from someone else's bag, that person gets to choose TWO of your pieces.

• "Daddy tax" can be levied hourly. Sorry, Mom has no control on this one.

• Each candy wrapper Mom picks up off the floor entitles her to a piece of her choice.

• You're out, you're out.

• Brush your teeth thoroughly.

In the air

Elise makes a new pile every day after school.

In the air:

Leaping children

Dancing rakes

Flying leaves

In the air: Fall

Why am I not surprised Samuel is raking leaves away from the pile?

A fierce wind came out of nowhere, and we turned to watch leaves whirl down the street. See those specks in the clouds? Those are leaves way up there!  I love how one leaf is reflected off the camera's flash.

Leaf angel

Samuel winces.

First, Elise asked if we could plant a big tree right in the middle of our lawn. Next, James told me it would be all right to bring rakes to school. That's when I got it: these two can't get enough of leaves.

When I saw our neighbors outside making a big leaf pile in their yard Monday, I spread the wonderful news. Elise was there, rake in hand, in a jiffy. It was like a dream come true.

The resulting pile jumps and leaf wars were exhilarating. Dinner was delayed, but so what? Funny how no one complains about that (much) when you've all had fun together. 

Fever pitch

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Three Samuel-centric posts in a row. But this one is happening in real time -- I've just got to do it!

The scene: Samuel bouncing through the living room, turkey baster in hand. (Because it makes a fabulous microphone, didn't you know?)

"Dee dah dee dah dee dah dee, do ya wan dah dah dah do do, yah, yaw, yaw, yo!"

*bounce, bounce, bounce*

"Yay, doo dah, drike, whoa"

"Dat's a true song!"

(Never-ending) bowl full of jelly

Dear Santa,

I know it's a bit early, but I have a tall order to fill.

Could I please have my own refrigerator? Not a play one. A real one -- stocked with cottage cheese and milk and pudding and yogurt and treats. I really, really like Capri Suns. I don't understand why Mom makes a special effort to gift wrap them for the other kids when they go to school.

I'm pretty good at getting myself stuff out of the fridge in the kitchen, but Mom always seems to get mad when I do. If she's in the room, she makes me ask her for stuff. Nicely.

She says, "Samuel, say this: 'Mommy, may I have more milk, please?'"

I say, "YEAH!" So glad she understands what I want.

Yet she's always busy. A man can only take so many "just a minute"s, you know. And then when she does turn around from whatever it is she's doing, she sometimes goes for the camera first. Hey! I want more cottage cheese -- not a cheesy shot!

I think I would be much better with my own stash. Mom can be soo territorial.

While you're at it, could you bring Kyle a vending machine? I heard Mom tell him he treats the food storage room like one. But I think they have better treats. Plus, a vending machine in his room would make going in there while he's at school even more enticing.

Thank you,

Samuel, age 2

Icing on the cake

1. The promise of one of these babies is how we got Samuel to sit through the big group shots at my brother's wedding Sept. 30. He devoured ... a lot.

2. Yoo-hoo, kids! This way. The camera is over here (snaps fingers).

3. Hmm. Not sure if this is an improvement. Note Samuel ready to bop Elise's head with a bouquet, and the handprint on the glass door in the background.

4. Ah, yes, the magic of weddings and kids. Where bouquets become helicopters or feather dusters, depending on your need, where chocolate sticks become swords, where little boys mutute into little men.

5. Hoo-boy.

6. It was a long night, and Lisee was pooped.

7. Uncle Matt gave James a skateboard for being his ring bearer. (James was nervous, but he did great!)

8. Skateboarding tips from the guy in a sling? Yeah, I have a bridge to sell, too. Grandpa Jim had surgery to reattach a tendon the week before the wedding. A night of well wishes took its toll. Hugs hurt.

9. The extremely happy couple. We love you guys!

I love wedding receptions. I love the sparkle, the best-dress best behavior, the love in the air, the excitement there to rub off on you like so many loose sequins.

I worked at a wedding reception center for five years. As a hostess, I loved being a part of the bride and groom's big day. Sometimes, I admit, there were couples whose moods and interactions, at an occasion that should bring out their best, made me nervous for their future. Most of the time, though, I ended my shifts inspired by couples' happiness. Along with the styrofoam boxes of occasional extra goodies (my family's favorite perk), I took home a renewed desire to make my own marriage shine. Yep, I love wedding receptions.

My husband hates them.

His disdain is legendary, so much so that when a rare business trip landed on the same day as my brother's wedding, I questioned the coincidence. At first. Just to joke. "You'll do anything to get out of a wedding," I teased.

Really, it was out of Jeff's control. He felt badly (I think!) about missing such an important event. Because, it must be said, his support of family supplants his own likes and dislikes. Perhaps a very model of marriage behavior.

I wish Jeff had been able to come. He certainly was on my mind. While waiting for the ceremony to start, my Aunt Susan said something that made me reflect on all Jeff does.

My children looked fantastic, if I do so say myself. Commenting on this, Aunt Susan said hey, all you need to do is get a family portrait tonight, and your Christmas card is practically done. Yes, I replied, except that Jeff is out of town.

"Oh!" Aunt Susan laughed. "I thought he was just behind the scenes doing his thing!" So Jeff gets credit.

The wedding was beautiful. Matt and Brooklynn are a fun-loving, affectionate pair, and I am so thrilled for them. My brother's countenance is different for knowing Brooklynn. I have never seen him so happy. She brings out his best.

It was weird to look at the video montage playing during their reception, to see pictures of Matt with looks I had not seen, to sadly suppose these shots marked periods where I didn't see him often. I talked to many of my friends in the weeks leading up to this wedding, telling them how excited I was. I realized I said the same words over and over: that because of Brooklynn, and the importance she places on family, I have a treasured relationship with my brother again. Such a wonderful new sister is a bonus.

I met many of Brooklynn's family for the first time at their wedding dinner the night before (something else Jeff missed, sigh). We had an assembly line of introductions. When her especially attractive friend (we're talking movie star quality here) said, "I'm Amber, and this is my husband, Doug," Brooklynn's uncle brought down the house with his disappointed "Shoot!"

Many of Brooklynn's family were surprised when I introduced myself as Matt's older sister. "I thought you were younger. He always calls you his little sister," one told me. Sure, because I'm short!

In a world where height doesn't equate with age or experience, Matt and Brooklynn, I'm still looking up to you, inspired by the happiness so clearly written on your faces. I just love weddings.

Keeping the Peace

I do not envy President Obama's job on any day, especially on this one. News that he was just awarded the global Nobel Peace Prize is sure to create a bit of unrest on home soil. I can't even imagine the sort of vitriol that people will start slinging. Obama haters will have a heyday. Even some supporters will say it's too soon.

I guess it is like awarding a chef for a fabulous meal based, not on the finished courses, but on the papery-thin written menu alone. An ambitious menu, nonetheless. Now Obama is in a veritable pressure cooker to pull it off, and I for one hope he does.

I rather like the idea of applauding someone for his vision, for his promise. It's a way of saying, look, others support what you're doing. We're rooting for you. Is he worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize? I hope so. Again, hope. To me that is what Obama has been all about.

Of all the remarks I've read so far, I think Lech Walesa's carries the most weight. The following appears in an AP report:

Lech Walesa, who won the prize in 1983, questioned whether Obama deserved it now.

"So soon? Too early. He has no contribution so far. He is still at an early stage. He is only beginning to act," said former Polish President Lech Walesa, a 1983 Nobel Peace laureate.

"This is probably an encouragement for him to act. Let's see if he perseveres. Let's give him time to act," Walesa said.

Doormat

"I love you, have a good day at school," I said to my moody daughter as she hurried past me in the front hall.

"I love you," I said again, hoping she just hadn't heard me the first time. 

She didn't even look at me. Technically speaking, her parting "humph!" as she walked through the front door elevated this above the silent treatment. Still, I wanted to cry. I'd gone through the wringer with that child this morning, the source of all that was wrong in her world. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier? Mo-om! I can't find any clothes! You NEVER do laundry! I don't want to wear that! I don't have time for breakfast now!  I don't want a home lunch! Mo-om!" All this after my delivering another surly child in his carpool and dealing with the toddler's screams that I wouldn't let him have any more lunchbox snacks.

I felt like a doormat.

I got Jeff's voicemail when I called his office to vent, or at least to circumvent. I was going to say "I can't do this anymore!" -- about 12 hours earlier than other such utterances to him, usually at the end of a bad day when fatigue clouds my vision. I saw the absurdity of proclaiming such a thing to an answering machine, however, hung up and took stock of the situation. Oh, I am ridiculous.

I've ruminated on this before, a mother's role as her children learn and grow. Like the doormat expression in the English language, I often do feel like my children walk right over me with disrespect, that their lack of appreciation flattens me. 

But who else will teach them courtesy? Who will be there to help them wipe off the dirt of the world and enter a safe place? Who will be the launching pad for new adventures, the familiar thing they touch upon coming home? 

I've decided that if I can help my children be better in all their comings and goings, that if I can help them get a little bit closer to their wonderful potential every time they brush past me, then that is a very good role indeed. 

No matter the wear and tear. 

Murphy's law

If you live in my neck of the woods and expected it to freeze last night, you have me to thank that it didn't.

I leisurely harvested my red tomatoes yesterday, oblivious to the weather. Only when we sat down to dinner did I read the newspaper's frosty forecast. I jumped into action, spurring my kids to join our garden rescue mission. We raced the last minutes of daylight. 

It surely would have frozen if we'd left everything on the vine. Sigh.

You're welcome!

Fighting tooth and fail

Now, really. Could YOU keep track of all the holes in this smile?

Earlier this month my morning newspaper reading inspired me. I read about a woman, blind for the last nine years, whose sight was restored by implanting a tooth into her eye. Her eyetooth, no less. Her surgery was the first of its kind in the United States.

I chewed on this while I ate my Rice Chex. Wow. Totally amazing. Even more intriguing to me than the surgery itself is how someone even came up with the idea! What -- did the ah-ha moment come when someone picked himself off the floor after a bar fight and realized he could see better? I'm joking, of course. The tooth is used as a platform for a plastic lens, but still, how do people come up with this?

The human body is an incredible machine, and the human mind's ability to become mechanic is pretty impressive, too. This story rekindled my long-lost interest in pursuing medical research. (I ultimately went a different direction because I knew I wanted to be at home while raising my children.) I thought about it all day, even remembering a friend's dad who started medical school when she was a teenager. I could do this someday.

And then my brain got a reality check.

Next morning a crestfallen Elise came into my room to announce that the tooth fairy had forgotten to come.

Aargh! Elise lost the tooth the day before, I mean really lost it, when she washed it down the drain. Upon my suggestion she wrote the tooth fairy a note, which of course was still there beneath her pillow.

"Oh," I fumbled, "the tooth fairy doesn't take the notes with her when she comes."

Elise's smile lit up her face. "Oh, yeah! It's so we can save them."

Phew. I slipped into her room, gave a code nod to Emma and strategically placed a dollar bill hanging over the back edge of the bed. Crisis averted. 

The very next week Elise lost another tooth. I even took a picture of her holding it that afternoon, perhaps willing myself to remember.

We all know where this story is going, don't we? Always the first one up, Elise again greeted me at my bedside. Her sad, dejected face seemed to put me in the pronoun: "She forgot."

There was really no way of salvaging this one. My down-the-hall plan was to slip money inside the pillowcase and hope that our dramatic discovery of it -- See! There it is! -- would overshadow the big fact the tooth never got picked up. The elements were all there: Elise distracted, my "Hi, again" to Emma, her knowing sigh. But there was no pillowcase!

I left the coins anyway, trudged back to the kitchen and hugged Elise. The incident got lost in the furor of breakfast and backpacks. "I think the tooth fairy only remembers when I tell you she forgot," Elise laughed after school. Maybe so, I thought, but when the tooth fairy loves you, I do too.

So if there are any medical researchers out there reading this, could you please come up with an implant to restore my memory? I'd work on it myself, but I'm afraid I'd lose my notes.