For Fig

The Final Act of Vanquishment.

This is Not Really About Prop 8

I have never been so glad to not live in Southern California as I have been this past year. And I thought I was REALLY glad before. Prop 8 has turned a corner, and people are getting ugly. I am blessed to have friends and family who are much smarter than I about politics and issues that don't involve Top Models, and these friends keep me informed and in the loop. (So much so that I steal many of their words and pretend to be all knowledgey and votable.)Now, y'all know that I am lazy. (I mean, I just used a Texas contraction. THAT'S laziness, people.) And I don't have a lot of time for outrage. (Because it cuts into my ANTM obligations.) I let Queen and Ames be outraged for me and then I comment and say "Amen, Sister!" (Because then I don't have to formulate sentences.) But, recently, Queen was accosted on her facebook page by some friends calling her her a bigot. (Which I am sure they would say that they didn't mean, but that they meant that people like her were LIKE bigots, but they would never say that to their faces.) That made me sad. But you know what made me more sad? The following .sentence:

"I have never been so ashamed to be a Mormon."

Forget, for a moment, that I don't know with every fiber in my being that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is God's true church on this earth, and that Joseph Smith saw God the Father, and his Son, Jesus Christ, and restored His gospel, and that Thomas S. Monson is a true and living prophet of God--the only one on earth right now

What a wasted amount of energy this girl has. Seriously. If I am ashamed of something, I stop doing it. I quit and never look back. Case in point: I no longer watch "Wife Swap," because it makes me feel ashamed to have eyes. And when I started to feel shameful I stopped reading that second Flowers in the Attic book. (Felt no shame on the first one, though. MAN, was that a smutty book. I can't believe I read that when I was twelve. I would beat Jooj if I found her reading that at any age. I wonder if it is as smutty now as I recall? Maybe I will have to revisit that...)

My point is, being a Mormon is really, really, really, really, REALLY labor-intensive. First, we have three-hour meetings on Sunday. And we don't have stadium seats or gift shops or coffe bars like some of the other churches around the EP have. And we have to get dressed up and be all respectful. And sing. And then we don't even get to go home and knock back a cold Colt 45. Not even if Lando Calrizian stops by. NOT EVEN THEN. Add to that the fact that every church position is unpaid, and we end up working our little bunsies off the whole rest of the week running the show. Plus the quilting, bread-making, large-hair-styling, and dowdy-dress making. And don't forget the blogging. SO MUCH EFFORT goes into being a Mormon!

So, if I were ashamed of any bit of it, I would stop. Because (and I have said this before, but I know you may have not believed it) I AM LAZY. And don't have time to be ashamed of things. And I would start my own church. And there would be Polynesian Sauce from Chic-Fil-A instead of some type of Eucharist.

Share Wheat, Not Winchesters

I am sick. It may be lethal, only time will tell. So I can't blog too much.

But I have been thinking, as the markets plummet (I lost $20!) and everyone starts freaking out about loading up the Model T and driving to Califor-ni-A where you can just pick an orange off of a tree, about food storage.

I have a friend who firmly believes that weaponry is an essential part of food storage. Because the mobs may attack you for your wheat. The other day she was admiring another family's massive collection of water bottles and fruit snacks and Hellman's and said "Don't let the neighbors know about your food storage!!"

I do not agree with this.

If someone comes to my house, knocks on the door, and says "my babies are starving" I am going to crack open an MRE and share with them. Done deal. The oil in the lamps is a metaphor for testimony and a life-well-lived--literally unable to be shared among friends. Rice-a-roni and freeze-dried carrots CAN be shared, just like the ants did with the grasshopper in the Disney version.

I was trying to envision a situation when I would feel comfortable stockpiling arms and defending my home and family from marauding hordes, and the only thing I came up with was: zombie attacks.

But, as W pointed out, a) there are not likely to be zombies in the last days and, 2) to truly render a zombie ineffective you have to decapitate it and remove the brain. Guns are not really helpful against zombies.

"For the Temple is a House of God; a Place of Love and Beauty"

**All Pictures from www.lds.org.

Twelve Years and Five Days ago I was in Boca Raton Florida, on my way to the Orlando Temple with my future in-laws and my future husband. It was a long, long drive, and it was really, really early. I remember eating a bagel. And being kind of nervous to enter the temple--a place I had been preparing to go my entire life.

I was the only newcomer during that temple time, and the matrons were so excited and cute--they let me put on a fancy dress and gave me a hand-made holder for my temple recommend.

I think that I disappointed CayCay a little because I didn't cry. But I was just so Happy To Be that I didn't have room for tears. She didn't know me well enough then to know that I only cry out of sadness/anger/mushy movies/and, apparently, adopting a baby.


In Twelve Days it will be three years since we were in Provo, Utah on our way to the Provo Temple with our newly-adopted, officially OURS daughter. It had been a long, long, time coming, and we were surrounded by family, friends, and birth-families and friends. I remember being nervous about time constraints, and relieved that she would finally be sealed to me forever.

We were the only family during that temple time, and the matrons in the nursery were so excited and cute--they fussed over Jooj and put her in her fancy dress and gave me a little card with the date and their names (Kay Frisby and Arlene Smith) to keep.

When they brought Jooj into the sealing room she was just happy as a clam. I started to cry--relief and happiness and joy. But there was some sadness, too. In the room with us were her dear, dear birth-grandparents who I know were thrilled for us, but with a breaking heart. I felt such love and gratitude for them and for her sweet birthmother who was waiting in the garden outside for us to meet her after the ceremony.

When they told us that we were officially sealed, Jooj blew a huge raspberry. It couldn't have been more Official after that.


Yesterday I went to the Ciudad Juarez, Mexico temple. It was a pretty quick ride, no traffic, and not too many crazy drivers. Only two guys juggling fire on the side of the road. I was not special, I was not alone, and I was not fawned over.

And yet, the Spirit testified to me, just as has happened three years ago, that I would be soon starting this cycle again. And that I would be ready, and that it would be good. That the road would be hard but, by the time I could celebrate anniversaries, I would remember the good and the joy and the tears. And I would be in the temple.



If you want to know more about the temples of the LDS church, or how we are, as a family, able to be together after we die, I encourage you to visit Mormon.org. It is all true. Serio. And if you want to listen to a living Prophet of God, check out our General Conference Broadcast this weekend. It will be the heat! (And if you are in the EP area, we will be eating brownie pancakes while we watch. Stop by!)

Mesilla Valley Maze

So, attached to the U-Pick Farm is the Mesilla Valley Maze. Possibly the coolest pumpkin patch I have ever been to. (To which I have ever been, grammar Nazis.)

It wasn't open when we first farmed, so you know we had to return the following week.

I have a fabulous friend out here, Cindy, one I can always count on to go on adventures. Her son, Austin, and Jooj are best pals, and get into a lot of trouble together. We took her husband's little car, because it used two gallons of his gas to get there, as opposed to the half a tank it would have taken our cars. (Note to self, Austin and Gigi should not sit that close to each other in a car again. Half a tank is worth the not touching.)

Shadows add, like, 70 pounds, right? RIGHT?
Included in the admission was a hayride out to the pumpkin patch. We didn't pick any because that is what we do for A Day. I have to save SOMETHING for later. For tradition. For the desperate Saturdays when I can't take another showing of Dora...
Our favorite thing in the entire world is roasted corn. We ate three hundred corns. Corn? Corns? I vote corns.
Once she got the hang of it (muscle memory from last year?) she wouldn't put the corn down.
Notice there is no diaper in this picture? Hooray! Notice I didn't show you the "after pics" of the corn later that night? You are welcome. PS--we sanitized the monkey out of Jooj before and after.

For the younger kids they set up a hay-bale trike maze, complete with custom John Deere trikes. They dug it.
How much do you think a Tire Mountain would cost? Less than that wooden play set at Costco?
"Have some fyowees, me Highness."
Screw those kids. I need a photo op.
Getting taller every year! Maybe she is not cursed to be a bean after all...
The kids' favorite part, by far, was the hill-slides. They ran up and down and up and down and up and down until they could barely stand. Then they crawled up and down. So incredibly dirty. I was really glad when Jooj was brave enough to go by herself so I could sit in the shade and eat corn.

(image kifed from MesillaValleyMaze.com)
After all of that, we didn't do the corn maze. Why? Because I don't need a spot in which to make out. Which is the primary function of corn mazes. Maybe next year.

Don't You Wish You Were Having a Girl?

My friend, Cindy, is anxiously awaiting the arrival of Christy Lee. And I am anxiously trying all sort of fabrics for the patterns I found.

Boys just aren't as fun to sew for.

What?

So, I pay this awesome lady from my ward to be my friend.

I actually pay her to come and clean, and help me organize. But I clean with her and we talk and things, and it feels like I am paying her to be my friend. Which I am fine with. If that is what it takes, for this ward, then I can dig it.

And as we were cleaning today, I commented on how EVERY DAY I clean up Jooj's room, and EVERY DAY she trashes it again. And how I was sick of it.

And she said "Why don't you just shut the door?"

And I said "What?"

And she said "You can do that, you know. Just shut the door. She is old enough to clean with your direction, but too little to do it on her own, and she obviously LIKES it that way. So just pick one day a week to clean, vacuum, etc. and then, for the rest of the week, SHUT THE DOOR."

And that, I think, is money well spent.

Isabelle has a kindred spirit in Albany

Check out the sign here.

(And this is one of the many reasons we love DaStew and DaWife.)

Still recovering from vacation. But I leave you with these, taken by the amazing Alissa.

Taylor Day

It is on our calendar every year--like some sort of a holiday, but one which kind of sucks. I didn't ever meet him on this earth, and I wasn't around for the first few occasions, but it is still a day that has a big place in my heart. Before I knew about this day, this family, this kid, I didn't understand the way that someone could be a part of your life without ever being a part of your living. Now I do, and it has changed me a lot. Taylor Day has helped me develop empathy and sympathy and all sorts of love that I didn't have before. Before Jooj was too big I spent a year making funeral gowns in honor of Taylor Day. Last year I just called and said I love you. This year I haven't done anything momentous, either. But I think I will get back into the habit of honoring other babies and kids on mothers on Taylor Day.

I wrote this a few years ago--in case you never saw it.

Anyway, I love you, my Nayvor.