A Love Story: Part 3 (A Stalled Project)

Brandon's two cents from my last post: He is quite certain I was late EVERY SINGLE DAY for the three months we served together with the exception of one day near the end of our missions when (after tiring of his incessant nagging about my lack of punctuality) I showed up on time with the announcement that I had only done so by cutting out the sacrosant scripture study time from my morning routine. (But you better believe I had my make up on . . .) 


Also, the dreadful "bag dresses" were called JUMPERS. (How and why did he remember that?) 


Typing up the stories of how Brandallyson came to be just happened to coincide with our cleaning out of "the office" this past weekend--a room in our rental house that is meant to be an office, which we have only ever used as a repository for our boxes of office "stuff" while waiting to move into our final resting place. (We find out tomorrow if our insulting offer on the most beautiful house ever was accepted or not. It's a down economy, folks, and we lost major money on our house in California, so they can take our offer or leave it, but we have reason to believe they will take it, and the anticipation is just about killing us!!)

Quite coincidentally, in the process of cleaning out the office I came across some long-forgotten-about gems: No less than FOUR audio tapes titled "B&A History". Once I saw them, I totally remembered telling our meeting/falling in love/getting married story into an audio recorder while driving back to BYU from Lake Powell after my first Reynolds' family vacation just a few months after getting married. (Isn't that cute? Kind of like Justin Beiber already writing his autobiography.)

Needless to say, I have both put out a request to my babysitting co-op group to see if anyone has a tape player I can borrow for a few days as well an order to Amazon.com for a tape to mp3 converter that should arrive in a few days.

I just feel like I shouldn't move forward without access to all the juicy details.

(And I also feel like I should say that I really like Brandon's old girlfriend who ended up marrying a guy from his church in California and then becoming good friends with my sister-in-law. She's super nice and totally funny and really pretty, and I probably only thought bad things about her when I saw her picture because my deeply buried subconscious was crushing on my future husband. I would probably be good friends with her as well if it weren't for the fact that she used to kiss to husband. That's just kind of kimochi warui. Icky.)

Kid Dates

That's what I call them, anyway. I try to squeeze them in whenever it works--the most common date being a breakfast on a Saturday morning with whichever parent is available/preferred to go to Kneader's or IHOP.

But last week I happened upon an advertisement for BYU's "Winterfest"--a series of productions being put on up at the Conference Center in Salt Lake every weekend of February into March by the different performing arts groups at BYU, so Elizabeth and I saw the BYU Theater Ballet perform "The Snow Queen" on Friday night together, followed by dinner at Blue Lemon. (And it was so fun to read in the program about Sandra B. Allen--chair/director/everything of the BYU ballet department for the last 113 years. Sounds like she's retiring this year, but her name brought back memories from when I accompanied for the BYU ballet classes. Sandra actually taught the first class I played for, and I'll never forget the feeling of total and complete panic when I showed up to work at 8:00 at Monday morning for the first time, and after being given no training whatsoever--just a massive book full of about 20 hours of music I had never seen before--I suddenly heard her say, "Plies . . . 5, 6, 7, 8 . . ." After a moment of awkward silence and a sideways glance, I suddenly realized I was supposed to be providing the music for the dancers . . . NOW! Okay! Here we go! That was a serious crash course in sight reading and faking it. ((Luckily, sight reading is my strength. That's how I got hired, but still.)) That was also the beginning of my carpal tunnel syndrome. I played about 20 hours a week for over a year. Do you like my stories within stories? And my run on sentences?)

Here's Elizabeth with the wicked Snow Queen:

The reception with the dancers after the performance:

Mac and cheese at Blue Lemon:

I love these little private, one on one dates with my kids when I can pull it off. It's such a totally different dynamic than when all the kids and family are together. It's so much easier to really see and hear your child when you are alone with just them and no other distractions--like other children! (Same principle as the spouse date, really.) Not to mention Elizabeth still adores me and would like nothing better than to spend a night out alone with Mom. It's hard not to want to oblige since I know she won't always feel this way. In any case, I highly recommend kid dates. 

And wouldn't you know it, right after seeing the Snow Queen, we finally had the first decent snow this winter--on February 19th. Crazy! 

Part 3 of "The Love Story" tomorrow . . .

A Love Story: Part 2 (Make-up and Spaghetti: The Enemy)

I feel the need to clarify a little about my stance on pop culture. Let it be known that both Sponge Bob and Diary of a Wimpy Kid are welcome in our home. (Not preferred, but welcome. Kind of like you reluctantly welcome the annoying neighbor kid into your home and then they grow on you a little bit and finally you realize they aren't having too terrible of an influence on your child--they're just annoying.) The Office and Dr. Oz have a place on my tivo list (even if I don't get around to watching them). We own the complete DVD sets of Star Wars, Lord of The Rings, Pirates, and Harry Potter. I do Just Dance on the Wii with Elizabeth, and my firstborn spends most of her waking hours with headphones on listening to Owl City, Coldplay, and the Beatles. (I'm listening to the Owl City station on Pandora as I type: Neon Trees' "Animal"--did you know they're Mormon?) We're just selective about our pop culture, that's all. And again, I stand by my snobbish statement that certain segments of pop culture are really, really lame, shallow, and unintelligent. (Not like Diary of a Wimpy Kid . . .) Stuff that makes me fear for the general mental, moral, and emotional state of the masses. I'm talking Kardashians, Monster High dolls, vampires, Jersey Shore--random things I arbitrarily judge and designate as TRASH. (It's just my opinion, and everyone's entitled.)


The reality is--at least according to my dreams--I actually have quite an obsession with celebrities and fame. While I probably saw less than 10 full episodes of Oprah in all the years she was on the air, I have dreamt of having lunch with her backstage. Then there was that dream about me cutting Bono's hair. (No surprise, though. I kind of love him.) Heck, just the other night I had a dream about making a grilled cheese sandwich for Mitt Romney! (I'm not making this up.) And tonight? Well, I watched a little American Idol for about the 3rd time in my life. So I may as well ask: What TV shows/music would you recommend as the better side of pop culture? What's worth your time? Give me some recommendations!


I established my position as a woman not needing direction early on. 

I did this by showing up to the daily morning meeting when I was good and ready. The morning schedule outlined for the missionaries was ridiculous, not taking into consideration the time needed for a sister missionary to look halfway decent--like someone you would actually want to talk to. "Frumpy" was something you could easily slip into as a sister missionary, and I was determined not to go there. I deliberately eschewed bringing any of the dreadful waistless bag dresses on my mission. (What were they called?) They were quite popular among sister missionaries at the time, but I was afraid of growing into them if you know what I mean. (ALWAYS have a waistband! One of my mottos in life.) I have never been someone to leave the house without makeup on, and that wasn't going to change as a missionary. But doing my hair and makeup every morning meant I was occasionally (or was it frequently? chronically?) late to the morning meeting.

Reynolds Choro was a man of order and liked everyone to be on time. I told him I thought looking my best was a higher priority than being on time, but he disagreed. (He hadn't seen me without makeup on.) As the senior sister missionary he thought I should be setting a better example, so to help motivate me to be on time he thought up a clever little plan for "the people" who came late: They would have to sing a solo for everyone else when they finally showed up. He obviously didn't know me very well, because I have no problem making a fool of myself in public (kind of like it, actually--stories for another day), so I would simply walk in the door (late) singing! That was the beginning of many years of him not knowing what to do with me.

But our biggest run-in came on the day of the infamous spahetti dinner that wasn't.

Eikaiwa (English conversation class) was a free service we provided as missionaries every week, but it wasn't always at the top of our lists to be prepared with a really fabulous lesson since it wasn't that hard to wing it with Japanese people who hardly knew any Engrish. Most of them really just wanted to practice simple conversation. (And rub shoulders with cool Americans. Seriously, they really liked us, which always confused me because of that whole incident in Hiroshima . . . and also because they avoided us like the plague when we showed up at their doors with name tags on that said JESU KIRISTO.)

Technically, all missionaries were supposed to come a half hour early to prepare for Eikaiwa, but in reality, that didn't happen very often. Again, Reynolds Choro was a man of order and a man of the handbook, so he tried to solve this problem by having a special meeting in which he reiterated how important it was for all of us to come a half hour early to prepare, and then he committed each of us to do it.

Well, that next week when it came time for Eikaiwa, wouldn't you know it, but quite literally it was THE busiest day of my mission. I'm sure this isn't surprising, but the Japanese people aren't exactly knocking down the doors of Christian missionaries begging to be taught the path to salvation, but on this day I truly had teaching appointments all day long. After a very full day of teaching many sweet people and biking all over tarnation to get to them (on our extremely unattractive, gearless, Wicked Witch of the West bikes), Brimley Shimai and I were doing our best to get to that darn Eikaiwa preparation meeting, but we were famished and in serious need of some food. We grabbed some ingredients from our apartment to make a quick and simple spaghetti dinner at the church before Eikaiwa, which is exactly what we did. Honestly, what good was I going to be if I didn't have food in my belly? I would be a big, crabby mess, that's what. I may have even burst into tears in the face of some unsuspecting Japanese person simply because my blood sugar was low. I am a slave to sleep and food.

So there I was about to put the first bite of spaghetti into my mouth when Reynolds Choro came storming into the kitchen asking why his senior sister missionary wasn't downstairs for Eikaiwa preparation! (We were like 2 minutes late.) Well, I tried to explain the situation to him (thinking he might be impressed that we had teaching appointments all day long) and do you know what his response was? He reminded me of my commitment to be at Eikaiwa preparation, and then he physically took my spaghetti laden fork out of my hand and sent me downstairs like a scolded child! Like I said, I was a pretty serious rule keeper so I went with it (plus, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being able to say I was someone who didn't keep my commitments), but not before pointing out to him that I had FAR more contacts and appointments than he did so maybe he should think twice about trying to tell me how to do things. Oh, I was mad!

And how WOULD these two people ever fall madly in love and get married?

Another day, another story.

Happy Friday!

A Love Story: Part I (Reynolds Choro)

It turns out that Snoopy Poop Dog isn't dead after all. But Whitney Houston is. And she was right up there with Prince and Michael Jackson in my book. (Prince is still alive, right?) I really fell for her with that "Greatest Love"song. Tracy Schneider and I used to sing our guts out to that one in her bedroom back when I was still a fan of pop culture. This from a text exchange with my sister-in-law who is 13 years younger than me and clearly way more in the know than I ever hope to be again. Laura: Maybe Brandon was thinking of biggie smalls or tupac or nate dog, or the guy from the dougie group. Me: Are those real people???? Laura: Yes. Real people. All dead rappers. Me: Sweet. That's going in my next blog post.

I wrote up another type of love story for Deseret News today (sitting in the #1 spot for most popular in blogs, thank you very much!), but as I sit here next to Brandon on Valentine's Day (reading an article on "The Journey of the Apostles" in National Geographic . . .) and reflect on his pure awesomeness (he was on the news tonight for his part in saving the life of a teenage girl after a major car accident--I'm not making this up) I thought it high time to record the love story that got me into this mess. (Heaven help me if Rachael didn't talk so much today--demanding a constant stream of responses--that it actually killed off some of my brain cells. And another FIFTEEN YEARS of teenagers in the house just may be the death of me.)

Yes, in the spirit of the Pioneer Woman, I think I'd like to record our love story. (It's a totally different flavor of course, but every love story is worth telling, right?) And I think Valentine's Day is the perfect day to start. (Could I have a few more parenthetical statements?)

My first impression of Brandon was not a good one.

I had just been transferred to the city of Sendai, Japan (yes, where the tsunami was) for the last three months of my mission. Brandon was the "Zone Leader"--the missionary in charge of the "zone" we lived in that included about 26 missionaries--and I remember walking around the corner of the foyer of the church and running into him. My initial thoughts weren't very nice: Arrogant rich kid from California. 

Not exactly love at first sight.

I don't know why I even thought those things. I didn't know a thing in the world about him--not even his name at that point. I like to attribute it to my deeply intuitive powers of discernment. He was from California, his family did have more money than I was used to, and he was, well, confident. (Confidence and arrogance can be easily confused.)

We served together as missionaries in that area for just three short months, but anyone who has done anything like missionary work in a foreign country knows that three months is an eternity.

Before I go any further, there is something you should know about Mormon missions. (This probably isn't news to anyone.) The rules are strict. Very strict. And the Sendai, Japan Mission was SUPER DEE DUPER strict. So much so that we had a rule to never talk about life back home with other missionaries because it was considered KANKENAI or unrelated to missionary work. So having a romantic relationship with another missionary wasn't even on the radar. It was next to impossible, really, unless you were a serious rule breaker. And I was not a rule breaker. Not only did I avoid even THINKING about the possibility of having a romantic relationship with another missionary, but I ABHORRED the stereotype and joke about certain sister missionaries only going on a mission because they had nothing else to do and just wanted to find a husband. That was SO not me. I had wanted to serve a mission from the time I was about 14 (another story entirely) and solidified that decision my senior year in high school when I spent my spring break with sister missionaries in Des Moines, Iowa and had several faith building experiences. I was the girl who sent a "Dear John" letter to a guy back home who was kinda sorta waiting for me because I didn't like the distraction of thinking about someone in a romantic way whilst in the business of proselyting. (I'm not kidding when I say I was serious business.)

This is the stage I feel compelled to set before I explain how I met my husband in the mission field.

The exception to the "NO KANKENAI" rule was the monthly meeting on transfer day when the missionaries would get together to welcome the newcomers and get to know each other a little better. That's what we were doing that day at the church. Everyone got out their "jikoshokais" (little books full of personal pictures we used to introduce ourselves to Japanese people so they could see we really were totally normal 20-somethings in our lives back home even though we rode around Japan on bikes wearing name tags, dress clothes, and HELMETS ((no one wore bike helmets in Japan but the Mormon missionaries))) and we passed them around, asking each other questions and making connections.

I still clearly remember the picture of Reynolds Choro's girlfriend. Big hair, big earrings, big lips. Just the kind of girl he would go for. Yep, I've got this guy pegged. (I have no idea where any of this was coming from, and you should have seen my hair in the 80's. Talk about big.)

It went downhill from there.

Brandon likes to say that I thought of myself as the AP. (Assistant to the President--the only other position above a zone leader.) I guess you could say that I didn't feel it necessary to be led by a 20-year-old guy (what with me being the ripe old age of 22), let alone a snot nose kid from California who thought he was the stuff.

When we have told people the stories about how we didn't get along in Japan, they frequently suggest there may have been some romantic tension going on from the start. Maybe. But if it was, it was on a very--and I mean VERY-- subconscious level. (See paragraph 4.)

Doggone it, it's just too late. To be continued . . . .

Pop Culture and Role Models

I know a lot of kids (who am I kidding? kids and adults) idolize athletes, pop singers, and movie stars, but we are kind of clueless at our house about the sports world (I know the Super Bowl was last week, but I couldn't even tell you who played . . . Giants and ??? what cities were the teams even from? I have no clue . . .) and I am REALLY selective about which parts of pop culture I let into our home.  I may even go so far as to call myself a pop culture SNOB. I don't know where this came from since I was the girl who had posters of Sylvester Stallone and Tom Howell all over my bedroom (does that date me or what? who speaks my language? Outsiders anyone?), and one of my favorite birthday presents in 8th grade was Prince's "Purple Rain" LP given to me by Christina Nielsen, but I find I have this general disregard for most things in pop culture that I arbitrarily designate as shallow, lame, or generally unintelligent. I felt very full of myself the other day when I made a joke about the Kardashian sisters and Kate didn't even know who I was talking about. BAM! Score one for Mom. 

Okay, I just googled "pop culture" and found this on Wikipedia. I'm officially a snob: 

Popular culture is often viewed as being trivial and dumbed-down in order to find consensual acceptance throughout the mainstream. As a result, it comes under heavy criticism from various non-mainstreamsources (most notably religious groups and countercultural groups) which deem it superficial, consumerist, sensationalist, and corrupted.^{[2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10]}

The term "popular culture" was coined in the 19th century or earlier^[11] to refer to the education and general "culturedness" of the lower classes, as was delivered in an address at the Birmingham Town Hall, England.^[12] The term began to assume the meaning of a culture of the lower classes separate from (and sometimes opposed to) "true education" towards the end of the century,^[13] a usage that became established by the interbellum period.^[14]

Lovely. (I still stand by my snobbishness . . .)

No, I don't make my kids sit around and read "The Secret Garden" in between etiquette class and chess club. Luckily, you don't have to indulge in what I would deem "stupid" pop culture to have fun and be entertained. There is SO MUCH out there that is both smart as well as entertaining. (Would someone please put a stop to the production of the Monster High dolls? Please?)

Our current favorite is thepianoguys.com 

Will came running out of orchestra a couple of weeks ago utterly beside himself because his current idol, Steven Sharp Nelson, was in the house taping his latest youtube video with The Lyceum Philharmonic.  He wanted his autograph, so I took him back in and encouraged him to go up and talk to him, have him sign some of his music, and then (after quoting the end lines from THIS youtube video back and forth to each other ) I took these horrible yet awesome iphone pictures:

I love having cool, smart role models for my kids. (One last pianoguys youtube video you really need to watch right now. In fact, why don't you just go subscribe and help make these guys famous instead of snoopy poop dog or whoever the heck is out there making the big bucks these days . . .) (Brandon just told me that guy died, so I'm sorry if that was disrespectful. How he knows that I have no idea, because he is currently reading about the rice planting and harvest festivals in Japan. So pop culture.)

L.A. Power of Moms Retreat (OR The Best Weekend of My Life)

Okay, so maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but it was pretty awesome. To leave the "dun colored heath" behind and go to this in January? Come on:

But the beauty and weather of southern California were just the icing on the cake. The best part was being with so many wonderful women in the same place at the same time. Saren and I flew down together and we seriously didn't stop talking for a second. Both of us had sore necks from having our heads turned the entire time. Then my brother-in-law, Todd, picked us up at the airport and it was so fun to see him and catch up a little. After settling in at my in-laws, I took Saren to super cute and quaint downtown Montrose for lunch at the Black Cow. I was sad that all our other meals were planned because I had about 5 more places I wanted to take her and April! Here we are after lunch:

We headed over to the Palmer's house up Angeles Crest early afternoon to help get things set up. I was happy to do a grocery run for the retreat organizers for some last minute things and thoroughly enjoyed driving around the streets I used to call home with the windows down and the sun on my face. That afternoon's session was April's "Mind Organization for Moms" program that she's adapted from David Allen's best-selling "GTD" book. (She's now a regular blogger for his website.) I can't say enough about it! I have yet to implement the whole program myself, but even the few steps that I do use have changed my organizational life, big time. (And that's saying something, because I'm not one of those people that just loves to organize every aspect of my life, even if I do like the benefits.)

That evening, the three Chapman sisters-in-law (all married to brothers from the same family) put on a DELICIOUS chicken cacciatore dinner with the best dressed up french bread I have ever tasted (equal parts parmesan, mayo, and diced onion on top, baked in the oven) as well as the most ADORABLE dessert plates with four different bite sized treats and a shot glass of milk. Brilliant!

Those would be hand made "Power of Moms" daisies on the top of those delectable cupcakes . . .

That night we had a little slumber party at my in-laws. I could seriously talk to these girls ad nauseum. We pretty much do when we're together, to the point of exhilarating exhaustion. Why is it SO FUN to talk and talk and talk with like minded women?

Saturday morning, ready for the full day retreat at the Palmer's GA-ORGEOUS home:

April's cute mom, Zoe, was there, along with four of her sisters and a sister-in-law:

The morning session focused on "Taking Care of the Person Inside the Mom". I did a presentation on being your own kind of "perfect"mom, Saren talked a little about the idea of "margin" (I'm reading the book right now), April and Saren talked about negative self-talk and "Thought Replacement Therapy", and the author of "Real Moms Love to Eat," Beth Aldrich, talked about moms nourishing themselves with food.

This may look intimidating to have a room full of 65 "supermoms," but I'm telling you, the women that come to these things are a self-selected group that are always surprisingly down to earth, grounded, and focused on things that really matter (family!) so it's hard not to feel an almost immediate connection:

I stole this next picture from April's blog. I wish I had videotaped the whole thing because I honestly can't remember half of what I said. I was refining my notes forever and ever, and had just barely printed them off right before the morning session began, and then I didn't even look at them more than once or twice for a quote. I get so energized by these audiences, and have so much fun when I'm up there that it makes me wonder why in the world I spend several weeks beforehand practically sick to my stomach from anxiety and self-doubt. It was so nice to get positive feedback from the moms there since my preparations for these presentations as well as writing articles for Deseret News/the site is normally done alone in my head in my pajamas late at night. It feels really, really nice to get specific validation from real live people every once in awhile!

More great food provided by Panera for lunch:

Discussion groups during lunch about finding more joy in motherhood and parenting partnerships. GREAT discussions:

Afternoon session on the three family systems: family economy (work and money matters), family legal system (discipline), and family culture (traditions). This is the Eyre's specialty, but both April and Saren presented. Susan Chapman, one of the retreat organizers, also did a presentation on learning your children's love languages. Here's Saren:

Midway through, my sister-in-law's adorable little baby Claire was fed and happy, so I offered to drive her back home to the babysitter who was taking care of her other kids. On the way back to the retreat I couldn't help but take a little drive up the crest where you can see a view of both downtown and the ocean (on the right). I shed a little tear driving up there. I miss L.A.!

After the retreat we got a picture with all the current and former residents of La Canada for a write up in the local paper. Lara (Brandon's good friend in high school), Shauna, me, Erin, and Amy. I had no idea before, but Amy and Lara are cousins, both hysterical, and the two of them together had me laughing 'til I cried! Especially playing "Reverse Charades" the night before. Hy. Ster. I. Cal.

Okay. Crazy, crazy! This is Andrea who now lives in the L.A. area, who I last saw when my family lived in Florida my sophomore year of high school TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO! So fun to see her and catch up. Neither of us knew the other would be there:

And this is a new Reynolds sister I never knew I had--Taunie. She's actually Saren's cousin, and just one more amazing woman I got to know through The Power of Moms. These retreats never last long enough, but the friendships frequently last far beyond the short weekend:

Pain and agony:

Tears and sorrow:

The retreat organizers/presenters Susan and Sarah, myself, April, Lisa Palmer (hostess), organizer/super chef Amy, and Saren. Please note that I'm wearing skinny jeans for the first time since I last saw Andrea in Florida, like TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO:

The retreat pictures stop there, but after a Saturday night training session for a handful of moms who want get more involved, April insisted Saren and I perk up and do a podcast with her at like 11:30 back at my in-laws' house! That girl never stops! We were so tired it was just funny. Sunday morning April drove back home to Corona at about 5am while Saren and I slept in and enjoyed a wonderful breakfast with my mother and father-in-law. (I'm so glad we had that time to visit with them.) Then Saren went to my old church with me where I tried hard not to cry multiple times seeing all those wonderful people and the teenage girls I used to teach. (All seniors now.) The classes and lessons were all fantastic, followed by another nice lunch and visit with my mother-in-law after church (wish I had thought to take a picture!) followed by a beautiful walk with Shauna up in my old neighborhood. (Shauna and Todd still live there, just a block over from where we used to live--sniff, sniff!) I couldn't help but take a few pics in front of our old house:

More wonderful visiting time with my father-in-law who drove us to the airport, more neck breaking conversation with Saren on the plane . . . . sometimes I forget just how much I love socializing with adults!! But not just any socializing. I've never been good at endless small talk. Drives me crazy. And that's why I think I love these retreats so much, because we talk about such substantial stuff which leads to other meaningful topics and the result is getting to know people on a deeper level that is just so satisfying. (I already linked to April's post about the weekend. Here is Saren's.)

I think what I love about these experiences, conversations, and associations the most is that they help me to both remember as well as learn more about who I really am and what I can do. That's all there is to it. I wish every mom could make it to one of these retreats!

Re-entering the Blogosphere

Exchanging Will's cello bow for a smaller one, delivering good-bye gifts to friends who are moving to London for two years, hosting the babysitting co-op, wrapping up the Engineer Badge with the Webelos, meeting with our realtor to put together an offer for a house, doing the February bills, taking my old college roomate and dear friend to lunch for her 40th birthday, attending pre-school parent/teacher conferences (apparently, Rachael is VERY social and popular--especially with Chase, her boyfriend), finishing Will's science fair project (Does cranberry extract affect urine pH?) and going to the fair itself, dropping off a present to a friend who is having a baby, taking Kate in to Brandon's office so he could lance, drain, and pack a funky looking abscess that had developed on her knee (she was NOT happy, but it had to be done), contacting her teachers for her assignments after missing school, doing both the junior high and pre-school carpool, going to the car wash, bank, drycleaners, and Target (twice), transporting children back and forth to cello, futsal, and theater class, picking up the repaired vacuum, dropping off next year's pre-school registration papers at the district office with a note saying the birth certificate and immunizations are "in the mail" after spending the morning on the phone/computer requesting both from our old pediatrician in LA and the California vital records department (that's right- I never ordered Rachael's official birth certificate, because I'm organized like that). 


That was my Monday-Wednesday, and I left out cooking, cleaning, laundry and other usuals. (Though dinner has been things like breakfast burritos and canned soup . . .) I also started to work out with weights again since Will went into Netflix and messed up my "Larkrise to Candleford" queue and I haven't had anything worthwhile to watch on the treadmill. (But I'm expecting the right DVD in the mail tomorrow--yippee!) I didn't realize how soft I had become in such a short amount of time If a 20 minute workout by Denise Austin can make you sore, you know you need to beef up a bit more . . . 


If I wanted to go all the way back to Sunday night, I would also tell you about borrowing my neighbor's vacuum (since mine was in the shop--two actually, but it turned out that one completely died) to spiff up the house before Saren's family came by for dinner on their way home from St. George, and how I decided to clean between the leather couch cushions for the first time in years, and in the process heard/saw a round shiny thing go up the coil/tube thingy and was just SURE it was my wedding ring that I lost over 3 years ago in California, and so I spent quite a bit of time with gloves on pulling apart the contents of a very full vacuum bag like you would pull apart cotton candy (though it was hair, not sugar strands keeping everything together) only to find a shiny metal BALL, like you might use in the game "Mousetrap." Utterly gross and disappointing. Especially since the contents of the bag weren't my own. (Sorry, Jen. You know I love you, but sorting through other people's vacuum bags is just too much. Don't take it personally.) 

This is my re-entry into the blogging world. I really do need write on a regular basis. (Not just Deseret News stuff, but personal stuff.) It's my way to stay connected with the real world and not just the world in my head!







P.S. Brandon's here beside me reading about "The Diety of Luxurious Foods" and "The Monkey Rice Field Prince" in one of his Japanese culture books. And he made me tea.