Standing for Something

This summer Casey's sister Sarah got married.
The ceremony and reception were held in a beautiful park. There were flowers everywhere. The tables were decorated in red and gold and lavender. My family was dressed in the same. We all looked great.
There was a DJ who played pop songs and acted as the Master of Ceremonies. There was also an open bar. My younger children were fascinated by the tall plastic flutes being handed out filled with pale yellow bubbly. I made sure they got only the non-alcoholic version, which I also got for myself.
At one point the DJ called for the friends and family of Sarah and Sean to give toasts. We all raised our glasses after each person expressed their best wishes.
When the toasts were over I noticed my oldest daughter, Anika, looking a little down. I offered her a drink from my cup, noticing she didn't have one. She said no with a slow shake of her head and a look of such sadness--and I suddenly saw what she was thinking.
"Anika, this is non-alcoholic!"
"Really?! Oh!"

In the face of what she saw as her parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even grandparents abandoning their cherished beliefs, Anika refused to partake. She stood for what she knew was right.

And there is no way that I can say all I feel about this, and about her. (I've embarrassed her enough as it is.) But as her mom, and as an admirer here's how I sum it up: This girl will do just fine.

Captured by Russians

The newest obsession is Russian nesting dolls. Rosalie doesn't have one of her own, so she borrows Anderson's, Meri's, and Grandma's. All at the same time.
The endless loop of taking them all apart and then putting them all back together is mesmerizing. But just try carrying several pieced wooden dolls everywhere you go. They are prone to coming apart without warning, hitting the tile floor with a truly shattering sound. This has gone on for days and days.

Yesterday, they trapped her on the trampoline.
Meredith came to tell me that Rosalie was crying for me. When I got close enough I could see that she wasn't hurt. She just couldn't climb down while holding a doll in each arm.

We've made numerous trips through the field to put "Gurma's doll" back in its place. Rosalie goes and gets it again when I'm not looking. But by evening yesterday she was beginning to feel the weight. With two armfuls of wood she quavered, "I wanna go home."
"We are home, sweetheart."
"Unna go Gurma's house."
The sob building in her voice prompted me to take another look. She looked like I feel when it's past time to put the kids to bed. Luckily, Aunt "Bictoria" was just heading to Grandma's. Rosie let go of her burden with obvious relief.

Today, she has all three dolls again. And there's one in the mail with her name on it.

Perseids Passing

So, are we the only ones who learn about special days only because the Google homepage has some new art up?

A week back we learned it was time for the Perseid meteor shower again! We loved it that year that we were driving to the Ranch after dark. One meteor actually came down so close I saw the last glowing ember burn out just a dozen feet above our car. And when we got to the Ranch we just plunked down on our backs on the grass with our cousins and goggled for an hour instead of unpacking.
This year we went out to the trampoline that is in the field between my parents' house and ours. The two youngest were in their beds but the rest of us snuggled up under a blanket and stared toward the northeastern sky. And talked. And wondered if we would ever see any--OOOH!
And argued about whether the shooting--Look at that one!--stars were mostly moving perpendicular or parallel to the milky way. And--Wow!--speculated that the little sharp prickles on our bums were not static, as Dad thought, but actually mosquitoes biting us through the mesh of the trampoline. And got sat on by the cat, who--I see one!--didn't want to be left out. And got cold. And--You keep seeing them when nobody else does. I think you're imagining it--colder. (And what's up with the super cold August nights this year?)
And didn't wan't to go--look!--back inside because it felt so good, all of us scrunched up under one blanket (and one cat), looking for lights in the sky.

Toddler prediction

On the way to church today our two-year-old Rosalie said, "Mommy? Daddy? Mommy? --- You're goin' down!!"
(Meredith clarified for us that Rosalie just meant the direction we were driving at the time. Still, we were on guard a little more than usual for the rest of the day.)

How to act suspiciously

We like to call 911 at our house. Just for fun.
Last year it was Rosalie, age one, who dialed for emergency help. Have you ever noticed that the 9 and the 1 are conveniently located near the edges of the phone where fat little thumbs can squeeze them repeatedly?
That's when we learned that they have to dispatch an officer whenever there is a call. Just in case someone is trying to get help and someone else, like a kidnapper, is stopping them.

This time it was our 10-year-old calling 911 just to shock her older sister.
"I thought the phone was off!" she protested, when her dad informed her the police had returned her call.
When the officer arrived, (Finally! Good thing it wasn't a real emergency.) she refused to face him and hid behind her hands and her dad until he left. Just like someone who'd been threatened by evil kidnappers who didn't want her to be identified. Kidnappers who hoped to reassure the police by letting them see a regular family with a daughter too embarrassed to show her face. A face which was probably as red as her hair. The only red hair in the whole "family". . .

Detton-ation!

My college roommate (bff) Shelley Detton came to visit with her husband and kids the day after the 4th of July. Since they'd already seen the best Southern Utah had to offer in tractor parades and demolition derbies, we offered some different small western town activities--horse back riding (on borrowed horses) and inviting yourself over to your neighbor's pool.


Thanks to our cousins the Mckays, we can always offer a good time to our guests when they come.



At our own house we offered them activities such as pushing through a hundred yards of 4 ft. tall alfalfa to the trampoline, hiking through the back 40 to the riverbed to look for wildlife (mostly slimy water-life), and being checked for ticks on coming back home. Just kidding, we forgot to check for ticks. Shelley, if any of you start to feel feverish. . .
It was fun for my kids to get to know Shelley and Steve's kids. Their oldest, who is 7, is nearly as tall as our 10-year-old. And their 4-year-old is as tall as our 7-year-old. I'm not sure how much taller their 1-year-old is than our 2-year-old; she never held still long enough to compare them. All the kids played hard and slept little for two and a half days. It's somewhat difficult to fall or stay asleep when five kids try to share the space under the stairs.

Shelley is so talented. Not only did she bring me a present, (the blue and red bag) she also speaks couch! She walked into my living room, took one look at my two sulking sofas, plopped down one of her handmade decorator fabric bags and said, "This fabric goes with both sofas."
And lo and behold, it did. Just like that she bridged the thirty year generation gap between our old new couch and our new old couch (which we found out, from an upholstery tag inside it, was made in 1976.)

Take a look at the photo essay she did on her visit here. She makes everything look good. I wish she could stick around and be my personal decorator.

Mystery Couch

Last week Casey and I went out on a date. We had dinner (with a coupon) and then we went to the D. I. to shop for cheap stuff that other people did not want anymore. I get a thrill when I find perfectly good stuff for very little money. I get the opposite of a thrill when I pay retail for anything.
And that is where I found the couch.
I was drawn to it instantly. It's whimsical stripes. It's petite size. I hoped it would replace the tortuous love seat in Casey's office. And even if it didn't, I wanted it. It was $30! And it looked like it had never been used.
Getting it home involved swearing that I would be back for it at opening time the next day, with a bigger car. I borrowed my Father-in-law's shell covered truck, assuming that the couch would stick out the back and need to be tarped to protect it from the three-week rainstorm we'd been having. To my satisfaction, it fit all the way in. I knew I loved this couch.

And here it is, in our living room. I told my kids to act natural for some candids. So they did.




I love this couch. It is so comfy. And fun! So, wherein lies the mystery?

1.--When I showed this couch to my Songer family, they thought it was great. Sis-in-law Emily openly coveted it. (She is furnishing her first house.) When I showed it to my Hale family, they basically said, "Meh." So, mystery no. 1 is--How could anyone not like this couch?

2.--Where did it come from? It seriously looks as if it has never been used. That is not the case with any thrift store furniture I have ever seen before. And it seems to be good quality; the stripes match up across all the cushions from top to bottom. And the feet are set back under the skirt so you can't stub your toes. I know the provenance of every other sofa/love seat we've ever owned so this makes the first time we've entered the world of "Who sat here before me?"

3.--Where will I put it? It doesn't fit in Casey's office. It is not on speaking terms with the other couch in the living room. I hate to relegate it to the basement because I will never see it. Sigh. Once again I am confronted with my non-flair for decorating. But at least I have a soft place to sit while I contemplate my options.