As per family tradition, today we headed to Springville to pick out our Christmas tree and then visited our old haunt, the China Town restaurant in Provo. We rescued a sad little tree with one perfectly flat side, ideal for pushing up against the wall as to avoid taking up too much space in our tiny living room. The meal was polished off in record time -- no left-overs for us anymore! -- and then we opened our fortune cookies. Morgan went first and got this puzzler:
"Now go to it! It's ready to be pick."
We laughed. Ha! Ha! Huh?! And then I opened mine, which read:
"Now go to it! It's ready to be pick."
What does it mean???
Maybe it was a forecast of my brain blunder which would come to pass moments later while taking a picture of the kids. Tired of trying to tell them to get ready, I decided simply to count down. Not so simple, it would seem. I said:
"2 - 3 - 1 - [click]!"
Maybe everybody'll forget about it and stop picking on me tomorrow . . . but I doubt it.
We took our family to tithing settlement on Sunday and were engaged in some small talk with the bishop. He asked each of the kids what is his or her favorite thing to do. Then he asked Marissa what is my favorite thing to do. She thought briefly and said, "Smooch my dad." Well, after passing through various stages of embarrassment -- a) turn several shades of red; b) giggle uncontrollably; c) karate chop the progression of any further conversation; d) flee at the soonest possible moment -- I came to a conclusion.
I am in possession of a rare treasure.
While the setting was vastly inappropriate for such a declaration, I feel so, so, SO grateful that our children see and recognize love in our home. I'm glad they know that Jeremy and I love each other. I count my blessings to have married a funny and charming and respectful and forgiving and loving man who shows our kids how a woman should be treated. The fact that I like to smooch him is just an added bonus.
Last Sunday, I was struck with a migraine right about time to fix dinner. I crashed, leaving Jeremy to fend for himself and the rest of the gang. He resorted to the emergency stash of frozen cardboard pizza. It was Aiden's turn to say the blessing on the food. How's this for sincerity?
"We're thankful for this food that Dad . . .
. . . put into the oven."
On the subject of food, I submit we should also be grateful for a free enterprise system of feeding our faces. During our garden's heyday this summer, we had an abundance of zucchini which I tried to use in diverse and sneaky ways. Jeremy will readily admit that he likes zucchini a grand total of once every summer, but I was undeterred. One day I chopped it up and hid it inside a calzone. The kids scarfed it down, so I reveled in my success until Jeremy made a comment about our Communist dinner. Ha! I guess that makes me the czar.
I was mid-shower today when Morgan began pounding frantically on the door and yelling, "Mom! Mom! Mom!" This sounded different than the standard daily interruptions, so I asked what was the matter. "The handle is broken and the water is pouring out!! I can't turn it off!!!"
Okay, now what do you envision here? Then add to that vision the fact that just earlier this year we had a toilet overflow which resulted in a bathroom floor redo and downstairs closet ceiling restoration. Water flooding, seeking the lowest point, saturating surfaces only to manifest itself in horrible, fuzzy, slimy, foul ways when you least expect it. What would you do?
Disregarding my mid-shower status, I turned off the water, haphazardly flung my towel around me, tore open the door, issued an abrupt command: "Move!" and ran, the ends of my towel flailing unheeded behind me. I could hear the water running in the sink, adding desperation to my flight. Around the corner, and
nothing. Yes, the water was running full blast, but it was happily draining with not a sign of disaster in sight. I sagged in relief, issued another command: "No more water for you!" and followed my trail of soggy footprints back to the abandoned shower.
So can you guess how many lucky stars I thanked today? In honor of our holiday around the corner, here's one at least. I am grateful for solid walls and closed doors.
We were watching TV the other day, and Aiden asked Jeremy, "Why are those people so skinny?"
Jeremy responded, "It's just their genes."
Aiden tried to figure that one out. "So are they really tight [pulling his own jeans tighter around his waist] so they can't grow?"
I wish it worked a little something like that!
