Poll: who does Roger look more like?

Davis, 10 months

Eliza, 11 months

Roger, 11 months

mind your manners, please!

I have a bad habit of picking food out of the serving bowls "after" everyone has dished up. For some reason, it feels like if I don't put seconds on my plate, the calories won't count (I will keep dreaming). Don't believe me? Ask my family who keep trying to tell me to just dish up if I am still hungry. I usually laugh at them and say it is just one of those things you just love to hate about me.

Last Saturday at dinner I was conversing with the family when Eliza said, "Mom, stop that! You are being disrespectful." I looked down and realized I was picking up kernels of corn one at a time and stuffing them into my mouth.

What a wake up call-- being taught manners by a 4-year-old.

why boneless is best

As I was watching D very artfully cut up his ribs at dinner, he stopped for a moment and said, "You, know, I don't like eating meat off the bone. I operate enough as it is."

Thanks for the tip.

Duh!

We recently redid our kitchen and got some spankin' new appliances. The thing that I was most excited about was the new microwave/microhood. It has a "sixth sense." This means it can sense the steam coming off food and lengthen or shorten cooking times until your dish is perfectly thawed or cooked or softened (Whirlpool has some extremely cool engineers on its payroll). It was icing on the cake for me to be able to FINALLY get rid of the microwave sitting on the countertop and free up some more space for chopping, drying, or in my case, piles. The old microwave we were using was purchased by D prior to his freshman year of college, was like 50 watts, and had seen better days. Needless to say, I didn't mind selling it at the garage sale we had last spring for, oh, 10 dollars or so (I thought I came out on the better end of the bargain).

Last night as I put in some frozen corn in my glorious new microwave, I got an error code after I typed in the "sixth-sense" cooking function. Odd. So I tried again with the same outcome. What!?! My glorious microwave was letting me down. I reluctantly set the microwave to cook for 5 minutes and resigned myself to the fact the corn might not be perfectly done. To add insult to injury, when my 5 minutes were up the corn was still frozen. The microwave was letting me down. It seemed like a personal attack. How dare the microwave throw a temper-tantrum like this! As I grumbled around the kitchen, D reminisced that the old microwave, despite its 12 year age and 40 dollar pricetag had never let us down like this.

I nervously called the Whirlpool dudes this afternoon to get some help. After waiting on the phone for 20 minutes, I was finally connected to a representative. After I double-checked my name, address, and model number, I started my dissatisfied rant about the microwave not cooking. The representative patiently waited till I was done complaining and asked me if I had flipped the circuit breaker on or off. "No, I haven't tried that," I said and promptly went to the breaker box and flipped the kitchen switch. . . . .CRAP, my phone was connected to the same breaker and I hung up on the lady. Duh, could you be more dense? I called Whirlpool back up, and while I was on hold did the only smart thing of the day. I tried to heat up a cup of water. Wouldn't you know it? The rebooting seemed to work. My water was boiling in 1 minute 20 seconds.

The moral of the story is: think before you flip, and sometimes you are really lucky when you don't deserve to be.

my birthday. . . .

I just turned 29. My dad asked me if I felt old and I said, “no, not yet.” Many of my friends turned 30-something recently, so I’ll reserve the “feeling-old” bug for next year when my age begins with 3 rather than 2.

That being said, I’d like to reminisce about the years when my age began with a 1—my youth, so to speak. The first thing that comes to mind regarding teenager-hood is “I am glad that is over!”

On second-thought, there were some really good things I would take back, given the chance:
1) Driving the car with my own license for the first time. I’ve never felt quite so grown up as I did after hopping into the van on my way home from the DMV with mom in the passenger seat. That feeling quickly changed to embarrassment when I drove over a railroad track on my way home and popped the tire of the van (I am not kidding, this happened). I remember walking to the gas station with mom (this was before the age of cell phones) and calling dad to come rescue us (on a side note—why didn’t my mother know how to change a flat?). I remember dad asking me how in the world I managed to pop the tire on a train track. To this day I don’t know how that happened, but will always remember it as a huge ego-buster!
2) Having a female best friend. Maren, I love, love, love you! Not that being married isn’t great, but there is something special about having a female friend you can shop with, eat lunch with, study with, and hang out with. I admired her so much and still do—even though we don’t talk near as much as we should.
3) First crush, first kiss. Need I say more?
4) Getting my first job. I was a food demonstrator in a grocery store—I was so proud to tell my dad that I had landed a job myself. Looking back, this was probably one of the best jobs I had—I got to give out FREE samples to people. They liked me, and it’s not like I could do it wrong!! The downside was standing in the same spot for many hours.

5) Getting an acceptance letter to college. Even though I knew my stats were good enough to get in, there was a great relief opening that letter and realizing I had accomplished something really great

6) Gaining a testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I will be forever grateful to seminary teachers, Young Women leaders, my parents, and my friend’s parents for giving me experiences where I felt the Holy Ghost. Thank you for your service!

S.O.S. . . .I have a sock problem

I just found 7 (not kidding) children's socks in the bathroom and 4 in the living room-- a few matches, but mostly singletons. I haven't checked downstairs, but I am sure there is also a pile there. My kids take off their socks every time we walk in the house. Then, they put on a new pair when we are headed out later. Again, it is another pair at bedtime ("mom, I don't want cold feet in my sleep!-- "ew, those ones are dirty!"). I used to throw the socks in a laundry bin when I found them, but then I couldn't wash the clothes fast enough to have clean ones. Now they are left littering the house. It has gotten so bad, that the kids have now started wearing "rainbow socks" (dubbed by Davis). Rainbow socks are unmatched socks. The kids will just pick up a sock whereever they find it and put it on when I am shouting for them to get some shoes and socks on so we can walk out the door. The twins have also started hiding socks behind couches or corners when I ask them to please take their socks back to their room. To top things off, Eliza has started raiding ROGER'S sock drawer when she can't find any of her own (isn't it really unnatural that she can actually fit into them?). I literally can't keep up with this mess!! Any thoughts, suggestions, or otherwise? I am drowning in socks here!

Why we all wanted a Twin

During my freshman year at BYU, I lived in the dorms. There were two apartment of girls per apartment of boys in our ward, and it was probably just a month that each male apartment had its label: the geeks, the slackers, the pretty-boys, the athletes, the cool guys. You get it. I am sure that the ladies' apartments had their labels as well.

Anyway, there was one beautiful boy that I quickly had a crush on-- his name was Steve (thankfully for D I don't remember his last name). Of course, it was his roomate that asked me out (the subject of another post-- why was it that "the best friend" asked me out all the time instead of the one I had interest for?), but my eyes were only for Steve. Soon after I had "hung out" with their apartment I learned that Steve had a twin sister. She was always at their place; laughing and hanging out with they guys--she was practically one of them. I was infinitely jealous, of course, because she was also the long-haired, looks-good-in-pajamas blonde.

Anyway, when I saw this picture it reminded me of my freshman year crush. Doesn't Eliza have it made, surrounded by all of the boys? I am green with envy for all those great girls in the future that will have to contend with her!

the text pager-- a great invention

This week has been pretty busy, and D and I really haven't talked much. We were happy to visit the temple together last night (and by together, I mean we met in the chapel beforehand and talked to each other via cell phones on the way home). When we got home we still had a lot to say. Actually, D had A LOT of stories to share, and I told him that Roger pooped 3 times. We call these gossipy nights 'sleepover nights' because we feel like we are 13-year-old girls who are so excited to be together they don't want to go to sleep. Inevitably, we both pay for these late nights the day after. Unfortunately D is on call tonight and will be getting even less sleep tonight!

I soooo love the fact that my husband is chatty. I feel like I know the people he works with and the things that are going on at the hospital. I was reflecting about this today and text-paged D to tell him thank you for the chatties. While i zipped to the computer and drafted a quick message, I also realized text-pagers are cool! I love being able to send a message to my husband and know that he'll get it even if he is in the middle of something else. I am so glad to be living in the information age. It would have totally stunk to be a pioneer who had to walk a mile out in the fields to tell her husband that the baby just took his first steps.

That is all I have to say tonight. I am now going to watch the news. D told me he worked on some stabbing victims today-- I am sure that story will pop up.

my little tribute to President Hinckley

I got my patriarchal blessing just after I turned 14. In this blessing I was promised that over time, and if nurtured, my testimony would include the knowledge that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that his true church is led by a living prophet.

It was about a year after my blessing that President Hinckley was called to serve as the prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I remember so vividly going to seminary a day after his call and watching a movie which highlighted President Hinckley's life. It was during this video that a warm and gentle feeling from the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that Gordon B. Hinckley was indeed a prophet called by God. At this moment I knew that I had received one of the assurances that my patriarchal blessing had promised.

I have had other experiences that have witnessed to me of President Hinckley's divine call. This church is the same one that Jesus Christ organized so many years ago. I am so grateful for this knowledge, and I thank my Heavenly Father for sending such a great, but humble man to earth to help teach and inspire me. I hope someday I live a worthy enough life to get to know him as a man, as well as a prophet. I will miss President Hinckley, but I am thrilled to know that the next prophet of this church will also be chosen by our Heavenly Father.

If you have any questions about the LDS church or any of President Hinckley's teachings, please visit: www.lds.org OR send me an email-I'd be happy to converse one on one!

Hairstylist Extraordinaire

From the time we got married, I have been the “official” haircutter for my man. As the family has grown—so too, have my snipping responsibilities. I have not been professionally trained, though by now, I am sure I am about 40 hours into the 600 required for state licensing purposes (isn’t it funny that hairdressing requires a license? And why, then, is it that 4 out of 5 of my haircuts from a 'professional' are still subpar?).

While growing up, my brothers’ hair was woefully managed. The boys grew their hair out way too long (and let me remind you, this was the 90’s, and that long shaggy ‘do all of the deacons now flaunt was NOT the status quo). Finally, my mom would talk the boys into a cut. She would glue them to a chair, pull out the clippers and get to work. The results were generally, ummm, interesting. (you’ll note that my father did NOT let mom wield the shears on himself—he had seen the fruits of her labors too many times on the boys).

It was following my first year at BYU that I watched the family for a week while my parents went to England. My youngest brother, Chris, was 2 years old and badly in need of a haircut. I bravely pulled out the buzzer and had at him. The results were not bad—definitely not perfect, but better than a mom cut. I talked my older brothers into a haircut later and found I was more talented at cutting hair than my mom. Shortly following our marriage, I told D about my untapped hairdressing potential and he thought he’d let me have a go at him. He figured we could save 100 or so dollars a year by having me cut his hair—and the convenience! So, it was decided, I would be stylist of our family.

To this day, I regret my consent to this plan. Some of our greatest arguments have taken place over a haircut. D, “What are you doing right now?”

Camilla, “Cutting your hair.”

D, “But didn’t you already cut that side?”

Camilla, “Just be quiet and let me work.”

D, “But I think you did the other side differently”

Camilla, “Oh, now you have eyes on the back of your head?”

Picture this argument ballooning out of control and ending with Camilla crying on the bed and D apologizing (with alterior motives, of course—his hair was only half done).

Many of my other regrets about our choice to have me act as the stylist include (but are not limited to): hairs to clean up on my kitchen floor and my clothes following unpleasant event, an hour (yes, it takes me an hour folks!) out of my evening, and haircutting around a gigantic pregnant belly—I still think this act shows my deep love and commitment to my husband.

As much as I hate cutting D’s hair, I have found there are worse things—cutting my childrens' hair! Last week during Davis’s haircut, I accidentally snipped his ear. He cursed and screamed at me and told me I was the worst mom ever. I also find myself snipping Roger’s hair on the fly—I can’t get him to sit still long enough for a proper cut—so his hair is constantly undergoing transformation. This means I am ever yelling at Eliza to, “hurry and go get the scissors right now so I can cut Roger’s hair while he is sitting still.” Usually as soon as she brings them down to me, Roger’s interest in Elmo has waned and he is now crawling on the floor.

Yesterday I took Eliza to Supercuts. Her hair had grown more than halfway down her back and I’d been battling her daily over the snarls ("You have to brush your hair or you can't go to preschool!"). I begged her to cut it, but could only convince her to have it done if a “real” haircutter would do it. We walked in. There was no wait. She hopped up on the chair and sat as quietly as a statue (fear, I guess). Jennie sprayed her hair down, she cut it in 15 minutes and was done. No yelling involved, no bribes required. Eliza was glowing and whipping her hair around like a supermodel in the wind.

I learned yesterday that some things are just worth paying for.