Loose threads? And Ogden Temple

I haven't written very much lately because I find it hard to pull thoughts out of my head. I used to enjoy pouring out the tiny crystals of my ideas, then peering over them as I stirred them into something more connectedly spacious. The results sometimes surprised me, like the jolt of dry, wispy cotton candy turning into liquid on your tongue. I liked that.

Now, I'm beset with the irritation of flyaways and stickiness -- sugar everywhere but where I want it. I'm not good at making confection connections anymore. To me it's a messy process.

Or maybe I'm just out of practice?

This cotton candy metaphor is intriguing to me because I set out to write this post about our trip to the Ogden Temple open house on Aug. 4.  There was no cotton candy there. I haven't seen cotton candy in months. Why did I think of that?

I wanted to write about how much it meant to me to go to the temple, how much it meant to share it with my children. I learn so much in the temple and feel of Heavenly Father's love there. (Once the temple is dedicated, only patrons with a recommend may enter. This was a special chance for James and Samuel to go inside.) Samuel loves temples. He had been so excited, but the morning of our reservation he and his brother were so ornery we almost didn't go. That is why Samuel and James are not in Sunday clothes in these pictures. I felt it better to concede the battle of clothing rather than not go at all. In the end, it was a good experience.

Yet, one which I can't communicate very well. Hence, my opening sentence here. That, unexpectedly, made me think of the Pensieve in Harry Potter, and of Snape using his magic wand to pull sticky, thread-like memories from his head to the bowl. Harry plunged his face within the swirling fibers to see the memory as Snape's mind shaped it.

I don't have a magic wand -- or a cardboard stick in a cotton candy machine. So I'll skip the creation of the memory and go straight to what melted me once complete. As we walked back to our car after the tour, Samuel took my hand said, "Mom, you know what I like about the temple?"

I turned my face to his. "What, sweetie?"

"It touches my heart."

The mess of getting there was suddenly worth it.

Afterwards we went to the Farr's ice cream factory, like most of the crowd. (Mom! Don't take pictures of my ice cream!) The peanut butter chocolate flavor was divine.

Then we stopped at the Daughters of Utah Pioneers Museum. Our favorites were the hair lace and feather flowers. Elise couldn't believe a bride was small enough to wear this dress.

 This cabinet was made by the prophet Brigham Young.

Different times!

Aerospace museum

I took James, Samuel and our good neighbor friend, Josh, to the Aerospace Museum on July 29. This far afterwards I can't remember whether Samuel's wardrobe choice was planned, but I love it!

"Please Do Not Climb on Aircraft." We did, however, see people climb on this sign on the ground.

I love this shot, particularly the way Josh is leaning his head to walk underneath the plane.

Col Gail Halvorsen, known as "The Chocolate Pilot" following WWII, visited my children's elementary school in 2012. (I wrote about that here.) His story is incredible, and the more I learn about him, the more I admire his humility and generosity of spirit. I hope my children understand how amazing it is to have met him, and I hope they appreciate the sacrifices soldiers the world over made. Sadly, there aren't too many WWII veterans left.

Samuel loves learning about geography and flags of the world. He studied this display of pins in the gift shop most intently.

School days malaise

It's official. Seven days is as long as we can hold it together. Yesterday, day 8, marked my first visit to the school office to drop off some education prop that someone left on the counter. (Eh, it was easy to do on my way to the dentist.) I'm not going to count day 3 when Samuel threw a tantrum about going to class, I carried him kicking and screaming across his classroom threshold, I left the building ... and so did Samuel. I'm not going to count it, because well, no one left anything on the counter. Besides, Samuel's in a category unto himself.

If yesterday's office visit was a crack in the good standings record, my barefoot jaunt to the school holding a lunch sack this morning split our facade wide open. I spied James' lunch (on the counter, of course) a MINUTE after the kids left. I opened the door, leaned over the porch and called to Samuel's retreating backside. He ran ahead calling to James. Huh, Samuel's not coming back. Guess I'll just trot down the stairs and catch up to him at the corner. No need to close the front door.

I caught up to Samuel but never once saw James. What, did he apparate to school? And why did he leave his 7-year-old brother to walk alone?

By now I was committed to walking with Samuel the rest of the way, and if I wanted to get him there on time there was no turning back for shoes. Or to close the front door. Just the thought of being singled out for a tardy is enough to fuel his reluctance to go to class, and I didn't want that battle, too. Samuel also picked a fine time to honor rules, saying he wasn't allowed to deliver the lunch to James' class.

Yep, that was me walking through the school, barefoot. That was me interacting with other adults. Were it anything but food for my child, on this morning I would have let the silly counter keep its hostage.

At least I was dressed.

Sadly, I'm in good company on the holding it together front. Witness these emails from the schools:

• The junior high P.E. teacher let me know the details of the swimming field trip. Elise doesn't have a P.E. class.

• The junior high principal last night sent a long message apologizing for putting my child in a math level without having her take the district's required placement exam. She has to take the test today; we were notified last night. She is stressed because she doesn't know if this will mean she has to rearrange all her other classes if she doesn't pass. Poor girl.

• Two schools sent me an electronic flyer the evening of Sept. 4 for an event that took place Sept. 3. Woo-hoo!

I tell ya, seven days is our max. What, only 173 to go!