Ya gotta have friends

... continued

After visiting mom's grave we got "out of the rain" and spent the evening at the Green Canyon Hot Springs, an ancient (circa 1950’s) indoor swimming pool fed by a natural hot spring.  

Let me take you there: It's cool and drizzly out, and rather perplexing for August.  You step into a doorway and are met with a blast of warm, wet air and the echoed voices of children.  A musty, woody odor hits, smelling like a run through the sprinklers.  A teenager behind the snack counter points down the narrow hallway to his right.  There, a cutout window in the hall opens to a tiny room hung with mesh bags on old wooden hangers.  The woman behind the counter moves and speaks like she works in a subway booth; she takes your money and hands you one of the bags.  You follow the cement corridor around to the ladies (or men’s, for my two male readers) changing room.  The wooden dressing stalls have just a skimpy curtain to change behind.  The wooden stalls are worn from decades of use, and random cement patches make a grey patchwork quilt of the uneven floor.  A dozen layers of peeling paint reveal as many colors as the decades in which they were painted.  You step into the indoor pool area that feels like one of those old Turkish bath houses you see in National Geographic, and lower yourself into water that is a cozy 90 degrees.  An outside pool fed directly by the hot spring is a scorching 110 at least.  Next to it is a freezing cold dipping pool fed by mountain runoff. 

Ultra-modest Ellie would have none of the changing stalls.  She fussed and hid and complained, certain that someone was lurking to sneak a peak at her, and finally found a hiding place to change into her suit.  We eased into the bath like pool spent the afternoon bobbing about and watching the babies play on the long steps.  Heidi’s baby, Lincoln, is just one day younger than Natalie, but far more agile and balanced.  The menfolk headed out to the hot pool and the cold dip. 

I did not. 

Guy did.  He is crazy that way.  It reminds him of his mission in Finland where they sat in a 200 degree sauna (SOW-na, if you care to say it properly.  It is a Finnish word, after all) and then rolled in the snow.  Preferably naked (you heard me). He likes that flesh-searing-heat followed by toe-curling-cold experience.  I have given birth, so I don’t need any more excitement for this lifetime. 

As I hung out with Heidi, the days that have accumulated between us melted away until I forgot that I don’t get to see her whenever I want.  I realized that we were just sitting there in silence, side by side, watching the babies play. 

“Oh, my goodness! Look at me just acting like we get to see each other all the time!” I blurted, “Quick!  Tell me everything!”  She laughed.  

But then I made her tell me everything. 

 It dawned on me how much I have missed, and how much I miss her. They say that the friendships you make are for a season, a reason, or a lifetime.  Heidi is definitely a lifer in my book.  I met her just after the terrible loss of her first baby boy, Andrew, whose little body just couldn't support life.  We have walked together, painted together, cleaned and cried and worked together.  We served in church as the leadership in the young women's organization, and have studied Parenting with Love and Logic together as well.  I was at her second baby's birth, and because our younger kiddos are paired in age, we have booked a lot of hours nursing together.  There is very little that we have not shared.

Now we also share distance.

It is so hard when friends leave us.  I have lost contact with many friends over the years, but there are a precious few that I have held on to.  Even though my friendship with Heidi started with a "reason", it has definitely grown into one that I believe will last beyond this lifetime. 

 I was reading in the New Testament today about Jonathan and David, and the friendship they had that was so close, "the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul" (1 Samuel 18:1).  One of my greatest blessings in this life has been to have such a friend, a few, actually.  I think that God, in his wisdom, gave us friendship, "bosom friends", as my dear friend Jackie says, or, - as Ellen calls them- "soul buddies", because He loves us.  He loves us and He knew this earth-walk would be hard, so He gave us kindred spirits to lighten the journey.  I am so grateful to live in an age where the voice or even the face of a dear friend can cross hundreds of miles, and be right there.

What an amazing time in the history of the world to be alive.

Ethan, hiding behind his mesh bag.

Jonah won't let me wash his hair at home 

and is freaked out by laying down in the bath. 

 Go figure.

Eli and Jonah-boy, all swum out. 

Tessa models the latest in travel wear and wet hair.

Next Rest Stop 76 Miles

Jonah in the van, 

somewhere in the middle of Idaho:

“Mama, gotta’ go potty.  

Peepee and poop.”

(Long pause)

“Mama, I just needed to fahwt,

 and now I need just pee.”


*****

Wanna hear something cool?  My blog has had 100,086 views.
 Wowzers.  I mean, its seriously cool, but you may wanna get a hobby or something.

Tending Stardust

The door knob on the shed of the cabin property
built by Guy's grandfather Darwin Rider Holman

August 4th-7th

On Monday we made tracks north for Mack’s Inn, Idaho, to the cabin Guy’s grandfather built back in 1965.  We arrived well after dark, but squeezed in a Nerf-gun war and listening to Guy read from his grandpa’s life history before bed.  The kids had a ball running around in the cabin, and though that usually makes me nuts, I didn’t mind because for the first time in recorded history, ALL OF MY CHILDREN WERE PLAYING TOGETHER.  Well, Natalie was happy to watch, but seriously, I wanted to call CNN or Guinness or somebody.  I think the magic here was that Ellie didn’t like being hit by the darts, so she played a very good Sweden, collecting and returning darts to whomever needed them.  Jonah’s laughter was like bubbles, and Ethan and Adam played very nicely for the big brutes that they are.

Window art - Artist Unknown

Next day we woke to rain, and the cabin felt cozy and warm.  We got settled and then drove back to Rexburg to have lunch with dear friends Heidi and Mike.  We drove then, to the tiny rural cemetery where my mother is buried beside her grandfather in his family plot.  I have only been there three times, including the day she was buried, and all three (though two have been in summer) were blustery and cold. 

Mom's grave

Now, here I must tangent a bit.  Last week I was watching a documentary about the formation of the universe, and it poetically spoke of how every atom in each of us was once a part of a star.  That we are all made of stardust.  I thought about those words as I left flowers from my dad on mom’s grave.  About how strange it is that we tend and fuss over tiny parcels of land with headstones and grass and flowers, when the person, the actual soul that we loved and lost, is no longer anywhere near.  Just the specks of stardust that they once occupied remain tucked away in the earth; dust to dust, literally.  Their spirit, their soul, the part of them we most miss, is then perhaps mingled with the stars, or wherever it is that spirits go.  Still, even knowing she wasn’t there, it felt strange to leave, to get into the car and drive away from that little hill under the heavy clouded sky, leaving her stardust behind.

Sure do miss her.

Storm clouds hide the Grand Tetons

Our scoreboard keeping track of animal sightings

We shared our apples with the horses in the next field.

Cookies and Chlorine

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Green fields that are straddled by giant metal irrigation systems looking like giant insects to me, blast by on either side, and rolling brush extends to the grey horizon.  We have been gone a whole week and the van has become our little rolling world.  It feels like we have been gone months.  

We loved our visit with Melissa and Kevin and their family.  Kevin said that seeing Guy and I sitting in their living room was natural, "just as it should be".  Our visit was painfully short, but in one day we packed in a stop at the Provo Farmers Market, a barbeque and a trip to a giant rec center that the kids loved. 

We stopped by to see Guy’s nephew, Jack, and his spouse Brian, to sample their amazing Macaron cookies (no, not Macarooooon, silly, Macaron, like in ‘gone’, which they were in only a few minutes). They were crisp on the outside, with a thin shell that collapsed into a chewy soft but delicate center when you bit in, then swept you away with delicious cream filling.  Brian is the baker extraordinaire, and Jack does the awesome photography and artwork to promote the business.  Please, if you live in Provo, Utah, go see them on Saturdays and buy some.  These guys deserve to have their business soar!

Oh, my, I started talking about food there and got completely distracted.  Food does that to me.

Oh, yes, the rec center.  It is a really big swimming/waterslide place with a lazy river and nice warm water.  The boys even talked me into going down the scary slide and jumping off of the rock cliff, which I hated, but when Ethan asked if I was going, I couldn't say no.  I want him to remember his mama as fearless.  No, not fearless, because there are a lot of things I am afraid of.  I guess Brave is the word, because you can be afraid and brave at the same time.  I stepped out on the ledge and just kept going because I hate the feeling of pending doom.  I stepped off the edge and felt like I was dying for about 3 seconds, and then hit the water.  Did I mention I hated it?  Ethan will never know.

Clockwise from top left: Ethan, Ellie, Adam, Adam and me, The Pink Blur of Fear.

As we made our way about town, we found ourselves in the old neighborhood where Guy and I started out our two decades of marital bliss.  Though the house has changed, the memories are clear as ever.  We lived in the unheated basement apartment, and kept each other warm through our first winter together (now we have a whole bunch of sweaty kids to heat up our place!).

The next day we went to church with Melissa’s family and then after lunch we cried out our goodbyes.  I hate leaving Melissa.  It rips out a chunk of my heart and rolls over it with the car.  Go out in the driveway, Melissa, and scrape up my heart, please.

Next we headed North to visit Guy’s cousin Katie and Aunt Penny.  I have to stop here for a moment and say how much I like them.  Penny claims to be somewhere in her seventies, but is so cheerful and active and spunky, I call her 65 just to giver her a senior discount.  Katie is kind and sweet, and we spent an evening telling stories and laughing.  We spent that night with Aunt Penny, and in the morning after a tour of her impossibly beautiful gardens and Uncle Wayne's art and woodworking studios (yes, two studios) and a breakfast of fresh fruit (from their trees) and homemade jam on toast (from, you guessed it, their berries) we hit the road for Rexburg, Idaho.

 There my sweet Aunt June waited with a meal all ready, courtesy of Uncle David.  My Aunt gave me a quick look at all of the genealogy I will be inheriting.  I hope that woman lives a long, long time and gets most of it all done!  It was an entire room-full. She showed me pictures of ancestors and rattled off their names like they were old friends.  She is a gold mine of connection to the past; my past.  Now that my mom is gone, she is the only connection left. 

This was my view for most of the 2000 plus miles.  The glorious sky, from dash-board to rear-view mirror, and my silly elevated foot.  Not to worry, we stopped every two hours to walk around and keep my blood pumping.

*****

More mad-capped mayhem (or maybe just a little bit of car sickness) to come.

To be continued...

Tripping Out

We rolled into the driveway a few hours ago, after traveling 2,505 miles on what we hoped would be a grand, family-memory-making road trip.  I have tried to distill our trip here on the written page in a way that will hold onto those hard earned memories for me, and be slightly less boring than a 1970's slide show for you.  I will post in chunks, one chunk a day for a few days, so just know that the suffering will end some time next week and you can stop reading until then if you like (unless you are one of the people we visited, in which case you may want to stay tuned to see if I painted you in a flattering enough light, and to make sure any photos of you do not expose your secret double chin).  Away we go!

Day one...

August 1, 2014

“Mama, when you move to a new state do you have to get a new license plate?” Tessa asks.

“I got Washington!”  Ellie blurts out, checking the license plate off her US map. 

“I got Wassington!” Jonah echos.

We are on the road.  The kids are chattery after a good breakfast (by the way, the Quality Inn in Winnemucca had a really nice room and free breakfast of bacon and eggs or giant stacks of mondo-pancakes. And twern't no puny egg platter neither: five,-count 'em- 5 strips of bacon; it was awesome.  Also, the big room was enough for all 8 of us.  Nice, huh?) (oh my gosh, there's 8 of us.  Still flips my gourd to see it in writting).  We are now leaving Winnemucca, making tracks for Idaho.  

(Well, technically Utah.  But shhhhhhhh.  Don't tell.)

I begged Guy to add the extra 150 miles to our trip so that I could see Melissa, who I haven’t seen in many, -too many-, years.  Okay, three.  But they were very loooooong, trying years of great difficulty, so it felt more like seven.  Or twenty.

The last time we had a big family road trip we spent the entire time visiting loved ones in Oregon, Washington, Idaho and Utah, and felt frazzled at having to cram in so many short visits, always longing to stay a little longer, always late to the next visit.  So Guy swore next time we would take the states separately as different trips.  This year the coin landed on Idaho.  Utah, and all of our dear ones there, will get the next turn.

(We will seriously only be there about 5 minutes.  Well, maybe 10, but some of that will be spent sleeping.  Please don't be mad.  I already have guilt.  Lots of guilt.)

And now that we are close to Utah, I’m sad we won’t be seeing everyone there. 

“We in Wassington!”  Jonah calls from the back seat.

“No we’re not. We’re in Utah.”  Tessa corrects.

“No, we in Wassington.”

Well, at least if anyone asks Jonah, he won’t be able to rat us out for having been in Utah.  As far as he knows, we went to Washington.

Adam's travel buddy.  He has made this trip with her so much easier.

Packin' up at the motel!

(Shhhh.  We were never here)

No,  Not snow in the distance.  

That is a massive expanse of SALT. 

 Yes, people.  Salt Lake was not just a cute name.  I'm thinking the Mormon pioneers got there and said, Well, we will either do really well here, or we will die.  And if we die, they can pickle us with salt.

To be continued...

Trekies

My big boys went away on Trek this weekend.

No, not the outer space one.

Trek is a wilderness adventure for youth sponsored by our church, where the kids are divided up into "families", given a handcart to pull, and then sent out on a 20 mile journey to be covered in three days, with only the clothes on their backs and the supplies that they can fit into a five gallon bucket.  

Why would a kid even want to do it?  Well, Ethan asked himself that question the first day, as blisters formed and dust flew, but by day two he was singing a new tune.  Well, he wants me to make it clear he wasn't actually singing, but everyone else was.  The kids on the trail sang to pass the time as they traveled, hymns and pioneer songs, and eventually some Disney  (apparently the blisters weren't painful enough, they had to listen to Frozen sung off key for hours).  Still, despite the song selections, my boys still report having had a great time.

Along the way there were occasional challenges placed in the kids' way; a pioneer approached them with an orphaned baby (a weighted doll) that their family was asked to adopt.  They took turns carrying the bundle when they weren't at the yoke pulling or pushing the handcart.  On another occasion, they were approached by pioneers that asked for any food they could spare.  This was the food they had been hauling themselves for the day, and of course, they shared.  Though they never went hungry and the baby never ate or cried, the scenarios presented to them caused them to reflect on the plight of the pioneers who struggled just to feed the mouths in their own companies, let alone share.  At one point along the way, an old prospector, who they learned was not even part of the Trek, but a local fellow who enjoys participating in his own way, offered a taffy to anyone who could hit a log with a thrown hatchet.  Adam tried.  No taffy, but he didn't care.  Apparently I'm the mean mom that doesn't allow hatchet throwing in the house.  Go figure.

As was the case for the Mormon pioneers of olden times, the second day the young men answered the call of the President of the United States to join a battalion and march off to fight for their country, leaving the young women to fend for themselves with the heavy handcarts.  The boys marched in tight rows carrying their buckets, every step the buckets seeming to grow heavier.  Meanwhile, the girls struggled in long skirts and blowing dirt as they made their way up the hill.  It was not uncommon on pioneer trails of old for women to struggle alone with their loads.  Soon the boys were asked to stand by the side of the trail and watch as the girls battled a steep hill with their carts alone.  It was so hard for the boys to keep themselves from offering their help, and when the carts finally reached the top of that particular hill, the boys could not be restrained from running to take over the loads.

It became the boys' turn, then, as they reached a massively steep incline.  The handcarts were rigged with multiple yokes and the boys battled the incredible powdery dust, hauling the ridiculously heavy carts up the hill.  It took 7-9 boys to haul--some pulling in front with a few pushing from the back--each cart to the top, and when they got there, many ran back down the hill to help with the next cart.  Adam helped with five carts.  One boy there, who was well admired for it, helped with eight out of the ten handcarts.

In the evenings they set up camp, then listened to music and dramatic actors recounting true pioneer tales in character.  They loved it, but Adam was so tired that he fell asleep sitting upright on his five gallon bucket.  They later laid out their sleeping bags on tarps right on the ground and slept out under the amazing stars.  When morning came, after they cooked their meal and ate, they would set out again.

They traveled 8 miles each of the first two days, and then 4 on the last, a distance that their pioneer forefathers would have traveled in a single day.  Just before reaching the end of the trail, they stopped in a clearing and gathered for a testimony meeting to share the spiritual experiences they had had individually.  This meeting could be considered the pinnacle of the Trek.  It is not often that young people today are asked to give up comforts or think of anyone other than themselves.  Here, they were compelled to think about each other and the lives of people that came before them that sacrificed much in the name of religious freedom and the pursuit of their dreams.

Ethan and best bud, Tyler.

Heads up!!!

Better than the movies

The roof over their heads 

Marching off in the Battalion

The dust made it impossible to breathe and made them so dirty they were unrecognizable. 

Adam was behind a bar in every picture I saw of him.  

I am so proud to see my boys working so hard.

Live music in the evenings sure beats the britches off MP3s and TVs.

Gathering for the evening devotional.

Adam and his "family".

Ethan and his "family".

*****
I can't say what went on in the hearts of my big boys as they trudged along in the hot sun.  I can only tell you the spirit they had when they came home.  They were excited and open, happy to tell us all about their trip.  Talkative.  Yes, talkative boys.  They showed off their terrible blisters with utter pride.  Ethan had 8 on his feet and ankles, several an inch in diameter, but what he didn't have was a single complaint.  Neither of them did.  They loved their adopted parents, were grateful for the experience and said it was, in a word, "awesome".

Before they left for Trek, Guy read each of the boys stories from the journals of their 3rd Great Grandmother, Sarah Loader, and others who crossed the plains to escape religious persecution.  As a girl of just 11 years, Sarah pulled a handcart with her three sisters while their father and brother-in-law pulled a second cart containing possessions, their sick mother, and pregnant married daughter who was due any time.  After the baby was born, the married daughter and her husband parted from the company.  Soon, Sarah's father became sick and died.  They buried him on the lone prairie in a shallow grave and moved on.  The girls and their sick mother managed to pull their cart through a now frozen countryside.  Waves of rescuers trickled in from Salt Lake and picked up only the sickest of the travelers, one being Sarah's mother.  Now the girls struggled on alone. They ran out of food and drank a broth of boiled rawhide to stay alive.  Too weak to continue another step, they had laid down in the snow to die, when the final rescue party from Salt Lake City came and saved them.  Sarah and her sisters abandoned the cart they had pulled over a thousand miles there on the frozen prairie and climbed into the rescue wagon.

I don't know if my boys thought of Sarah as they journeyed in comparative comfort on their Trek.  But whether they thought of her or not, they have her to thank for their very existences, and I have her as an inspiration.  I doubt I'll ever be called upon to do the things Sarah did, but I hope I will do everything I do with the dedication she had.

*****
I want to give my great thanks to Ron Aguilar for permission to use his amazing photographs.  I wasn't there to see my boys toil on this journey, but through Ron's gorgeous photos, I can almost taste the dust in my mouth, and hear the hymns on the air.

If you'd like to see more of his awesome work, go to:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/ronaguilar/sets/

or contact him at
ron.aguilar@gmail.com

Passing the Torch

I used to think it was my job to teach my kids everything they would need to know to get by in this life.  Wear deodorant.  Vote.  Clean your vent filters.  Floss.  Be good to your neighbors.  Stir the spaghetti noodles.  Wash darks on cold.  Wipe front-to-back (hey, it's important).

But I have come to believe that there are some lessons I shouldn't be too anxious to teach.  Some lessons a kid needs to really want.  They need to ask, and be told no, and no and no, until it becomes forbidden fruit, and hence something they desire with all their heart.  And maybe I shouldn't even be the one to teach them.

Enter: The Lawn Mower.  I grew up in the era of boys-do-the-yard-work, girls-do-the-housework.  I remember wanting to mow the lawn desperately.  There seemed something akin to driving a car when you stood behind a big rumbling motor with unseen slashing blades.  It held danger and a sense of power.  Then there was the amazing magic-wand-like moment as the mower passed over uneven clumps of grass, some with stocks of seeds, making order out of chaos, the perfect lines of evenly trimmed grass falling in order behind you as you plowed down wild tufts of green.

The girls have been asking to mow for a while.  I said no for a while, and then, realizing I had started the boys out at their ages, I decided it was time.  The first week, I took the girls out, gave them goggles and safety instructions, and had them take turns with passes.  The next week, I called Adam in on his lawn mowing day.

 "Adam, for your job today you are going to teach Tessa to mow the lawn."

(-insert 2 minutes of teenage complaining, here-)

"Dude, you are training your replacement.  The sooner she learns well, the sooner you can pass the torch."
A look of confusion, followed by a stammering, "but I...", followed by that glorious look of "Wait, I'm about to get away with something here, and my mom is in cahoots with me.  Yes!", all traveled across his face in about 4 seconds.

*****

A short while later I heard the mower roar it's approval to it's new co-pilot.  I hid in the kitchen watching as Adam gave instructions and correction, seeing not one, but two lessons taking place.

They were the easiest lessons I never taught.

Second Helping

Later on

in The Beginning, God created food.  And it was good.

I am so behind on posting, I have had a couple of foody events slip past which have gone unblogorated, so, hot on the heals of my last palate-pleasing post, here is a second helping!

Usually, I spin tales of Guy's culinary capacity, but he ain't the only cook in the clan.  I have been known to crack an egg or two without getting shells into the batter.  So for Father's Day last month I made a Thai dinner, sort of.  I hate instructions.  If you play a board game with me, be prepared for me to poke you in the eye if you try to read the instructions.  Let's just play once through, I'll catch on, and then, because it's only polite, I'll wait to beat you till the next hand.

So I perused a few recipes, collected the compulsory culinaria, and began blending.  I let my gullet be my guide, tasting and mixing until there is the perfect blend of sweet, savory, spice and tang.

For this meal I made:

Chicken Satay with spicy peanut sauce

Deep fried noodles (so fun, you must try these below)

Peanut and basil noodles

Tempura Broccoli (Not Thai, but the kids loved it)

and 

a salad with almonds and homemade orange dressing

(Not pictured:  Dessert of Chocolate Brownie Waffles 

with Banana Coconut Cream Cheese filling and Chocolate sauce - a guarded ancient Thai delicacy eaten in the Early Waffle Dynasty)

Next up, Guy's Yummo Mother's Day Pork

It was sweet and spicy, and an excellent meal paired with Coconut lime cilantro soup, an awesome chow-mien noodle dish and fresh butternut squash and yam curry.

Cuz he loves me.  Cuz I made him 6 babies.

Oh, look, there's one now!  Cute, huh?  

What can I say?  I do good work.

*****

Deep Fried Noodles

 Deep fry Thin Rice Noodles in oil.  Make sure the oil is hot enough by testing one small noodle piece in the oil.  It should sizzle and puff up like long, skinny popcorn!  It will look very white (see pictures).  Make sure you turn the bundle over in the oil so that every last piece of noodle hits the oil and expands, or it will be really hard and not crispy and fun.  My kids LOVE these things.  Eat them with your fingers, on top of salad (or under it!), or as part of a meat and veggie dish.

Delish.

The 4th - Revisited

So, it's been a while since I got all foody up in here.  My kids have taken to saying "Mom, should you take a picture of your food?" before we start eating if they think it is a particularly nice looking plate.  Lest ye think we eat well all the time, I confess that last night the kids ate frozen waffles at about 9PM for dinner.  Wasn't the first time, won't be the last.

But on the 4th we laid a particularly patriotic palate-pleaser that deserves some technicolor attention.  Guy made a great thin sliced pork with Asian Sweet Chili sauce and served it on artisan bread with white cheddar and his own creation of ginger mayo.  The combination was amazing.  He paired all of that heaven-in-your-mouth with bacon potato salad and corn on the cob- Mexican style (with spicy mayo and grated Romano cheese on top).  

Kathy brought an American flag made of fruit skewers and a gorgeous mango and strawberry green salad in a strawberry vinaigrette.  We even made little blue star ice cubes.  It was so patriotic, we had to eat the whole dinner standing up, just out of respect.

 For dessert I got all tricky.  

I made a cake I saw on Pinterest.

Well, I tried anyway.

The outside was pretty simple... partly because I am lame and started late so there was no time to be fancy, and partly because it was the Leaning Tower of Pisa right out of the gate.  If the Italians are interested, they may be able to make their tipsy tower appear to be balanced correctly by piling a mountain of frosting on the low side.  

Yes, simple outside, but the inside was a tushy-load of work.  And I didn't notice until just now that I somehow got my layers wrong at the top with two reds and no white in between.  Also, it was a huge pain in the keister to make, and nothing went as easily as the tutorial let on it would.

Curse you, Pinterest Scum!

First off, when making red velvet cake, please plan for your kitchen to look like a crime scene.  It's not red, it's somebody-call-an-ambulance red.  Also, don't think the toothpick is going to come out "clean" when the cake is all done.  It will come out looking like you stabbed the cake in a fit of jealous rage.  I don't want to even think about how much food coloring was in this thing.  It's vanity I tell you, plain and simple.

(Peeps and eats)

We fed the good people of the town, including Jensens, Dave, Dan and the Missionaries, some of whom were so gorgeous and/or handsome that they made my camera go all blurry and could not be photographed.  We sat after dinner and listened to Dan tell some great stories (I love Dan), and before long it was time to head off to the fireworks.

There is always a band playing at the park before the show, and after we get glow-bands on the kids, I always take them up to the front of the stage.  We slam dance like we are in a mosh pit.  Well, we don't really, but Tessa and Kaylee danced with me a little while Ellie shyly looked on.  Owen cracked a smile once, and Jonah just yelled "toooooo loooooud!"

Natalie wasn't bothered by the fireworks show at all, even sitting right below it in the park, and though I started with my hands on her ears, she soon pulled them off.  Jonah pulled his third repeat performance of sleeping through the show.  I know whenever I hear "the bombs bursting in air", I think "nap time", don't you?  There is nothing that says nighty-night like a crowd of a thousand people cheering to the sonic boom of a grand finale.  I say it every year, but I think this was the best one yet.

Sweet dreams.