She loves me

As I helped Rosalie out of the booster seat in the car, she turned her little round face up to me and said, "Thanks for bucklin' me, Mom."
She tells me she loves me twenty times a day. It's what she says when she wants my attention but doesn't have anything to say.
As we started to walk away from the car I felt her arms wrap around my leg. I slowed, so neither of us would fall over, and looked down at her. She nuzzled me, then looked up again. In the same sweet voice she said, "I was just wipin' my nose on your leg."

Stupid dogs!

Two days ago, my sister-in-law wrecked her car on the way to my house by swerving to avoid hitting two dogs who were hogging the road. The same thing has nearly happened to me a number of times. One icy day, after a near accident with my babies in the car, I decided that, if it came to a choice between someone's dog and MY CHILD, that dog would be flat and I would have no regrets.
That didn't stop me from reflexively slamming on the brakes just a couple of months ago to avoid ramming a dog who veered into the road just as I was passing him. He had done the same thing to the two cars ahead of me--I was watching. If I'd known he was trying vehicle-assisted-suicide, I would have been more helpful.
Ever since that day my three-year-old yells, "Stupid dog!" every time I have to slow the car down suddenly.

This morning, after doing a few household tasks, I followed my two youngest girls to my Mom's house next door. I immediately noticed that there were only three muddy boots on the front porch. After checking around the house, I headed to my sister's construction site. There I had the joy of beholding two dogs playing tug-of-war with a pink and red rain boot while other dogs watched, drooling.

I yelled as I ran toward them. They stood and stared. The tug-of-war winner cocked his head at me with the boot crushed between his teeth. I yelled the dog owner's name and one of the workers said something that made the dog drop it. And I yelled some more as I waved the boot in the dog's face and said things amounting to "No! Bad dog!"

I don't know what those construction workers thought about me as I stomped off, but I don't care. I wasn't about to lose another boot to those. . .unspeakable. . . . . .

Stroller Ride

I love this drawing by Meredith. I love that she and Rosalie are holding hands. And we all look so happy.
Also I love how she shows my flyaway hair. And my super-skinny arms. (I only wish.)

Coming soon to a selected theatre

Casey and Lissa had the ultimate daddy-daughter date last Friday. They left the house at 4:45 am, drove to Provo, and spent the next twelve hours being extras in a film depiction of the Haun's Mill Massacre.


Lissa had the time of her life.


She had kids to run around with and snacks to eat.


All sorts of people to fuss over her clothes and hair.


Even live, egg-laying chickens to play with. (Note anachronistic elastic hair band on wrist. Hopefully, that doesn't cause any of her scenes to be cut.)


Casey's prodigious beard growing talents were featured. People at church and work had begun to comment.


Even people at the shoot said things like, "I keep wanting to ask you to build me some furniture."


His favorite part was playing a dead guy. (Note gunshot wound to the head.)

They learned some interesting things about the process of making historical re-enactments.
For instance--150 years ago everyone was really dirty. After they put everyone in their costumes, they shook dirt colored chalk all over them to make them look authentic.
Also, if you stick flaming torches into a barrel with dry ice at the bottom, the fire will suffocate instantly.
Also, if they ask you to be the guy who gets tackled by a mob through the fence of a horse corral, be prepared to have your face rubbed into the muck through 6 or 8 takes. Luckily, Casey wasn't that guy.


Lissa's prodigious emoting talents were featured. With the help of red eyeliner and peppermint oil. She may even have a close-up.

So, will we get to see it? And when? If only we knew!
All we know is they plan to add this footage to the Joseph Smith movie currently playing in the Legacy Theater in Salt Lake City.

Even if it never makes it to the screen, it was fun. And they even got paid! (Not much, but it just made it even more awesome from Lissa's point of view.)

10:10 pm, 10/10/'10

Last night we had a party to celebrate the confluence of a whole bunch of ones and zeros.
"Why are we doing this?" asked Anderson.
We tried to point out how rarely the dates line up like this, which makes it cool, right?
"Can we have ice cream?"
"You just had two desserts at Grandma's, so no."
"What are we going to do for the party?" asked Meredith.
"We'll run around making noise for 10 seconds."

(silence)

"That sounds like the stupidest party ever," declared Meredith.

But at least it was short.

iRock

I took Lissa on a mommy-daughter date last Thursday.
We went indoor rock climbing. It was a first for both of us.

Lissa's goal was to climb up high enough to touch that green thing that looks like a turtle shell. She got so close!

(Here she takes a little rest.)
Unfortunately, the more she tried, the weaker and shakier and more blistery became her hands. We learned that you can climb the highest on your first go before you use up your strength.

And Lissa found a new use for the fountains just outside the Salomon Center. (Ahhhhh...)

My favorite part? Trying something new and exciting (and a little scary) with my daughter along.

Second best? Outside confirmation that. . .

All that she wants

We had one of those days where all our best laid plans resulted in a promise to go to the zoo being broken. And this after we drove to Salt Lake--an hour long trip.

Instead, we went to the movies with a dozen of our cousins. On the way out of the theater I handed Rosalie the box of Raisinets. There were four or five left. She tried to get them out of the box and ended up spilling them on the floor where they were trampled.

It was just too much for her. She collapsed next to an arcade game and began to moan. I let her have a few minutes to herself while we were gathering everyone up. She began to pull off the rubber edging on the game case. Aunt Victoria reattached it while I tried to cheer up my three-year-old by rubbing her back. And I asked her what she wanted, hoping it would be "I wanna go home." (That's what she wanted on the trip there.)

At first I didn't understand what she said. I asked her to repeat it. And again. At last I understood--the thing she wanted was. . . a Unicorn.

I had to ask.