Mrs. Claus is a chicken

Earlier this month, I got a letter from Santa asking me if he could use a little garage space to store toys because kids these days are just getting greedier and he didn't have room at the North Pole to store the gifts. My reply was, "Of course.  There is an empty spot in the back corner of the garage that will do nicely."

Tonight I heard the garage door open and thought I'd take a peek.  Just then, I heard a blood curdling scream coming from the garage-- and it was a woman's voice!  I rushed outside to find Mrs. Claus, who let me know she had just gotten the scare of her life!

You see, she informed me, Santa has been at the hospital all day, so Mrs. Claus offered to help with deliveries. All the stress had finally caught up to her, though, as she was picking up the toys from the garage to carry them in.  She heard a creepy voice right behind her and screamed so loudly the neighbors even opened the door and asked if she was all right.  Luckily, the creepy voice she heard was merely an Elmo toy which had decided it was just the moment to start singing and dancing.

I calmed down Mrs. Claus, invited her in, and helped her with the delivery. She said Elmo has always bothered her and now she knew why. 

My advice to you if you see Mrs. Claus is don't sneak up on her unless you want to hear what pitch glass breaks at!

Greetings from the Millars!!

Hello and Merry Christmas to any droppers-by who got our blog address from the Christmas card!! Sorry about the lame postcard, and the late send date. You can thank Eliza who prompted the whole process by this comment, "I just feel so bad that everyone is sending us Christmas cards and YOU didn't make one, Mom."  Also, I just found a page of addresses on the floor of the van, so some of you friends never got a card!!

Since there was no current family picture on the card, I will post a few from Thanksgiving in St. George with D's family. One of the best parts of St. George is definitely the nice weather so you can go hike off some of the pie following the feast.  Thanks, Jodi, for taking photos.



Davis, Eliza and cousin Macy

 Roger overlooking a crest (this is my favorite photo because Roger looks like his head has been photoshopped over a mountain and he is a giant)

 Davis and Roger showing off their guns

 Roger and our dog, Izzy

 Roger, cousins Dezzie and Macy,and Eliza

 Cousin Power!!  (little Reed looks like he is going for the M in the YMCA song).

 More Cousin Power!!

 Reed-O

  LOVE YOU ALL!!!

Fresh off a line from your favorite sitcom:

Davis (8), "Mom!  Will and I stopped reading at recess.  Now we get our heads stuck in benches."

This statement is so wrong on so many levels.

Deal with the Devil (by that I mean deal with Mom)

As Davis came up the stairs this morning, he got a scolding from me, "Davis!!  You've worn those shorts the last two days in a row, and you wore that shirt on Monday.  I haven't done the wash yet.  Those clothes are dirty.  Go back down stairs and change!!"

"But Mom, I love these clothes.  I don't want to change."

"I don't care if you love the clothes,"  I replied.  "What will people think if you keep wearing the same clothes over and over?  They will think I am not taking care of you.  Go change."

"But Mom, I don't want to."

"Fine.  You have two choices:  Go downstairs and change, or pay me a dollar for each item of clothing you want to retread in."

He then pouted his way down the stairs, and I thought for sure I had that fight won.

Then he came back upstairs.

"Davis!!  Why are you still wearing those clothes?"

His reply was to hand me two dollars.  He smiled.

Why do I feel like I lost this argument even though I am two dollar richer?

Just in case you were wondering. . .

D just read this from a surgical text, "A normal parathyroid gland weighs 40 milligrams and looks like the tongue of a jaundiced hummingbird."

Thank you, authors.  Now D knows exactly what to look for next time he operates on a parathyroid gland.

My favorite scripture story, by Davis

Tonight I was reading the story of Alma and Amulek teaching the people in the city of Ammonihah.  I read about how these men were bound in prison for teaching the people about the gospel of Jesus Christ and calling them to repentance.  After being withheld food, water, clothing, and dignity, Alma and Amulek were able to break free from their cords and the walls of the prison fell down, destroying the people who had persecuted them.

My comment after the chapter was, "Davis, wasn't that a cool story?"

"Yeah.  But it isn't my favorite scripture story."

"Oh really?  What is your favorite scripture story?"

"David and Goliath,"  Davis replied.

"Why?"  I asked.

"Because. . . . . It has more violent killing.  And a battle."

A First, by D

D, "I had a first last night.  I treated a man with achrondroplasia."

D's attending, "Huh?"

D, "He is a midget."

"Oh."


And a bonus quote:

D's patient, "What is this?  1% lidocaine and 99% fire?  AHHHHHHHH!!!!  That stings!"

A tribute

I've eaten many plates of cookies from neighbors who brought them over to say, "Thanks, D, for helping us out."  He put in stitches for their kids.  He looked in their ears.  He sent them to the ER because he knew they just needed someone to tell them it was time.

I've laughed so hard my belly hurt after one of his jokes.

I've been blessed with a Honey Baked Ham bestowed to us by a neighbor who was overcome with thanks for an angel who shovelled his driveway after a major winter storm.

I have slept in many Saturday mornings and was awakened by the smell of breakfast and happy, twittering children's voices in the kitchen.  The only words I understood were, "Dad. . . . . .Dad. . . . .Dad. . . .Dad."

I've eaten out at several restaurants with a gift card from someone who my husband's life touched.

I've gone into the laundry room to start a load and found the washing machine had already been started.

I've read cards from patients who were blessed by D's time and expertise. 

I've had nurses stop me and tell me how much they loved and respected my husband.


It is easy to complain he is gone.  Gone all day.  Gone at night.  Sleeping whenever he sits down.  But, really, what right do I have to complain when I've been so blessed?  May I always look for the good in life. . . . it is so apparent if I only open my eyes.

Business First

I grabbed Reed out of his crib this morning with our dog, Izzy, following behind.  As soon as Reed's feet hit the floor, he started yelling, "Her bid-ness, her bid-ness, her bid-ness, (her business)" as he toddled over to the back door.  He opened the door, and said, "Hereyago, Izzy."  Izzy obediently walked out the door and turned around to look back at him.  Then he coaxed her, "Go poo, Izzy.  Go poo."  He shut the door, turned around,  looked at me and said, "Izzy. Her bid-ness."  I told him good job and didn't mention that I had already let her out first thing.

Next stop.  Teaching Reed how to do his bid-ness in the toilet.

A SHOCKING revelation

Don't let that sweet, innocent face fool you:  the Tooth Fairy isn't all she is cracked up to be.  I just caught her raiding Roger's money bin to pay for Davis and Eliza's teeth (they both lost one within a day of each other).

She gave me this sob story about how she didn't have time to go to the bank today and release funds. The Tooth Fairy thought Roger would not notice any money missing as he had stolen most of it from his mother's purse anyway! I told her this was no way to represent magical creatures, and she should have been more prepared. I gave her a swift spanking and made her promise to never let it happen again.

Can you believe that!!  The TOOTH FAIRY-- stealing money from one child to pay another!!  What has this world come to??