One of These Things is Not Like the Other

Right about the same time the kids came home with their school pictures, Forrest's mom brought us some (rare) photos from Forrest's youth. Needless to say, we won't be booked on any of Maury Povitch's "Who's The Daddy?" episodes.



Forrest at 7 years old


Jonas at 7 years old. (His siblings keep teasing him about his "spooky eyes" in this shot.) Even their teeth look similar, don't you think?


Forrest at 12 years old (check out the Breck hair! Go swim team!)


Ethan at 12 years old. (Not quite as obvious as the Jonas one, but the resemblance is still there for sure. And isn't this a good picture? Especially for 7th grade?)

This one is a little older, but I included it because you can totally see the similarity in face shape between those two. The jawline, especially.

So sometimes people feel sorry for me--that I'm merely a human incubator and (apparently) not genetically necessary--and tell me my daughter looks like me.


Elise at 10


Me at 10 (I remember liking how my hair was all spread out in this picture. Very glamour-shoty.)

Do you see the resemblance??? Neither do I. But Elise can probably be grateful she didn't get my squinty eyes and "sloping esophagus." She did, however, inherit my love of refined carbs and grumpy attitude toward housework, so there's that :-).

A beautiful newspaper story

I've mentioned Stephanie and Christian Nielsen and their plane crash. (We were raising funds for them at the Segullah book party.) A beautiful piece was just published in the Arizona Republic that tells their story. You can read it here, but be prepared to cry.

Reflections

As in the contest.

Those of you who live (or have lived) in Utah probably know what I'm talking about. Every year in schools across the state, kids submit their literature/art/photography etc. for a schoolwide, then districtwide, then statewide competition.

I loved the Reflections Contest when I was a kid. It allowed me my singular opportunity to win a trophy, since there was no way I'd EVER be winning an athletic award of any kind. Ooh, and you should have seen my brothers' rooms with all those trophies, taunting me (and this was back in the day, when the school-of-hard-knocks philosophy reigned and they didn't hand out those lame-o "participation" trophies. These were trophies that actually indicated triumph of some kind.) My poor pathetic shelves were crammed with paperback books and ceramic figurines which, while aesthetically pleasing and/or handy on a rainy afternoon, said very little about my worth as a human.

The reflections contest was my only hope. That and the talent contest. Yes, in my early elementary career it was a CONTEST, not a "show"--I think they changed it to the kinder, gentler version by the time I was in 4th grade or so--but I still remember winning a teeny tiny trophy, perched atop a cake, for my rendition of "Daddy's Nose" (from Saturday's Warrior, remember??). I did that one with my brothers, though, so the trophy tally wasn't affected. We also did a number one year called "I'm a Pink Toothbrush, You're a Blue Toothbrush" (I was the pink, Drew was the blue, and Tony provided the introductory monologue). My mom created toothbrush costumes for us out of refrigerator boxes and pipe cleaners. It was FABULOUS. Mom, that was a lot of work. Thank you. I don't recall any trophies for that one, though. But I digress . . .

I remember one year winning the literature award for my grade, sitting in the auditorium waiting to claim my trophy. The art kids and the music kids had received their trophies, then it was my turn. They call my name, I march up to the front, and horror of of horrors, they decide NOT to give the literature winners a trophy, but instead present us with a hardback version of Sheherezade's Arabian Nights. I can still see that horrible book, its blue cover featuring a smirking Middle Eastern woman--the worst, WORST award to give a literature winner in the history of time. Didn't these people understand that we already HAD shelves full of books?? This was why we won these awards, people! What we needed were trophies! Shiny, preferably tall, important-looking trophies with our names engraved on golden face plates. Proof of our success! I mean, any old Joe or Josephine could go to the store and BUY that stupid Sheherezade book . . . correct? So what does it prove that I own it? Nothing beyond indicating that my taste is a little off--I mean, who reads Middle Eastern fairy tales anyway? Especially twisted ones, featuring a desperate woman telling stories all night to keep from getting decapitated by her lustful royal husband. (Keep him distracted, girls!).

It was a hard day.

Sixth grade was good though. I got a couple of trophies that year--music AND literature. The music one was for a song called "Down By The River" that my mom helped me transcribe into actual musical notes (thanks Mom, that must have been a lot of work), and the literature one was about a girl who tries out for a play and doesn't make it (full of pathos, and eerily prescient, since that very thing would happen to me in the 7th grade). I also scored an extra surprise trophy that year for my "Be Kind to Animals Week" poster. Despite the fact that I had zero artistic talent, I somehow won the thing (maybe it was witty?) and that crazy poster contest trophy was my biggest one of all. It was after winning that trophy, as a matter of fact, that I started to become suspicious that the size and relative glamor of a trophy isn't necessarily indicative of the fabulousness of the activity done to earn it.

All of this reminiscing comes because today Jonas and Elise are entering their Reflections pieces. I have them do literature every year. The art category is glutted--every Tom, Dick and Cayden thinks he can draw--so you have a better chance of winning something if you enter in literature. Maybe even a trophy. :-)

And speaking of winning (and writing) here are a couple of pictures of Elise (one far away and grainy, another close up and cute) on her D.A.R.E. graduation day. D.A.R.E. is the drug education program in the schools, and every 5th grader had to write an essay about staying "Drug Free" in order to graduate. The nice D.A.R.E. cop chose a winning girl essay and a winning boy essay from every class, and Elise got picked! She didn't get a trophy . . . but she did get a nice gift bag full of coupons, a waterbottle, and a certificate. That's saying something. And she got to read her essay in front of the whole 5th grade and their parents and did a great job.




So I'll keep my fingers crossed for Elise's "The Amazing Tale of Buttercup Kitty Kitty Hallstrom" and Jonas's "Battle Brothers!!", their entries in this year's Reflection's contest (theme: Wow!!). I think they should win based on titles alone.

All My Famous Friends

Top Row: Kylie, Justine, Sharlee, Johnna, Melissa, Courtney, Michelle and Kathy; Bottom Row: Me, Melonie, Brooke, Emily and Darlene

So today I got to spend some time at the Deseret Book store at University Mall and celebrate the release of the fantabulous Mother in Me, a book of essays and poetry about motherhood written by the Segullah gang. (See sidebar, then click on it and buy one if you haven't already. Trust me. It's wonderful.)

And I know you've all heard my lament . . . how I joined the gang too late to write an essay for the book . . . but it really was so much fun to be able to be there and support them. It was like I got all the benefits of being proud without having to be nervous. I helped out by introducing each illustrious reader (the contributing authors read poems or excerpts of their essays) and handing out raffle prizes, but mostly I got to walk around and bask in their goodness and feel swellings of gratitude in my bosom. Hopefully the swellings were relatively inconspicuous.

The turnout was great--really, really great--and I think DB was surprised. But I wasn't, primarily because the royalties that day were going to the NieNie fund (see sidebar again) and Stephanie's sister, Courtney of CJane fame, was there signing books. I think she has at least 1,000 people who've never met her who consider her their best friend, so coming to the reading was a more socially acceptable way than stalking for some of those best friends to meet her in the flesh. And she was lovely and gracious and smelled really good when I hugged her.

But many books were sold, and we even got a mention on the news. You can see the video here.

And here are some more pics, taken with the camera I'm disliking more and more each dayt:


Captain K, also known as Kathryn Lynard Soper, also known as Kathy--head honcho and dear friend


My lovelies, all in a row


And more loveliness . . .


Courtney's baby, the Chief, whose picture is included not because he's a contributing author, but because he's so cute. That head is so dang kissable.


Courtney at the NieNie table. (The Segullah ladies made these beautiful origami birds that people could affix notes to. To which people could affix notes? Anyway. It was a great idea and they'll be used to decorate Stephanie's hospital room.)

See? Doesn't that look like it was fun?

Then when I came home I got to go to the adult session of Stake Conference and listen to Elder Marcos A. Aidukaitis. (He spoke in the Saturday session of General Conference). Elder Robert D. Hales was supposed to speak, but he got sick, and I have to admit I was a little disappointed at first. But Elder Aidukaitis was GREAT. Spoke completely off the cuff, and he was passionate, moving, and hilarious. I'm going to have to go back and read his conference talk now that I've seen him "live," as it were.

So that's been my day. (That and soccer and a Scout pow wow and Wyatt drawing in marker on the desk in the kitchen and my parents coming over to babysit--thanks parents!--and now, silence and the comforting click of my fingers on the keyboard.)

And so it begins . . .

Yes, here is the Mister, watching "a show." I wonder if, in 40 years, his wife will find him in the same pose.

"Show" is among one of his favorite new words. Some others:

"Circles"--This is what he says when he's found a pencil and is drawing all over the wall/floor/cabinetry. Yes, he's drawing circles. I keep trying to get him to draw his circles in notebooks, but so far he finds them artistically uninspiring. The spiral binding, perhaps?

"Eli"--He loves his cousin Eli. The other day he found a picture of Eli and Eli's family and carried it around for a couple hours, and whenever we pull up to Grandma and Grandpa Sweat's he asks for his favorite cousin.



"Books"--He reaaallly loves his animals books. Almost obsessively so. There's one of those collage-of-real-life-photos board books (you know those kinds that are jumbly and kind of give you a headache to look at but kids love them??) and it has all kinds of animals and he MUST have it in order to go down for his nap. He looks and looks and looks at it. He's really into the giraffe right now (he calls it a "babo" and for the life of me I can't figure out why.)

"Elmo!"--Whomever the Sesame Street staffer was that decided to name the fuzzy red muppet with the squeaky voice "Elmo" was on to something. "Elmo" is the perfect toddler word, isn't it? Although Wyatt usually calls him "Melmo." He has a singing/dancing Elmo--it sings "E L M O" to the YMCA theme song and does all the actions, but when he tips over on one side to make the "M," if he's on carpet he falls over and says "Uh oh!" all dramatically. Wyatt thinks it's hilarious. He also likes to make the Elmo run through one rendition of his song before naptime. (This is the same Elmo that a big-kid-who-shall-remain-nameless made me remove from his/her bedroom because it was "freaking him/her out." Strangely, I could empathize.)

"Cookie! Juice! Nana! Chips!" Basically (junky) food of any kind. And "nana" is the least likely of all the aforementioned snacks to be suggested. :-)

and last but not least . . .

"Dada." Boy does Wyatt love his Dad. Just tonight Forrest came home from a business trip and went upstairs to change his clothes without Wyatt knowing he'd arrived. So Wyatt comes calumphing up from the basement and I say, "Hey Bud, did you know Daddy's home? He's upstairs." Faster than you can say "Melmo" Wyatt spins around and starts zipping up the stairs as quick as his little thighs will take him. Nobody beats Dada. Even Mama.

So now I'm thinking we should teach him how to say "Obama." Do you think it would cause trouble for him in the nursery?? :-)

(And an unrelated p.s. I'm sitting here next to Elise while she tries to finish her homework. And what is the homework you ask? A word search. Can I say how much I dislike word searches, even for "fun"? But for homework?? It's such a blatantly obvious busywork assignment. And I just spent 5 full minutes trying to find the word "moment" and I COULDN'T FIND IT. Arrghh! What is this teaching her, except that most of what you'll be asked to do in your work life is pointlessly time consuming??)

For a laugh*

*if you have a little devil on one shoulder. People with dual shoulder angels may not find these humorous. So now you're forewarned.



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All these are taken from a site called "Fail Blog." They have some that are a little naughty, though, so if you go there click on "G Rated Fails Only"--and if you don't, and are ruined, I'm not responsible.

And yes, the only time I watch Jay Leno is Monday night. Headlines! (Amy, the only reason I wanted you to marry that "other" guy is so you could have a wedding announcement for the Virgin/Sweat wedding and I could send it in. I'm over it now . . . but dang, that would have been funny.)

Rainy Days and Saturdays

Conference weekend is one of the things I like best about being a Utahn once again (and yes, for those of you who wondered last time I mentioned that my spell-checker underlined it, Utahn IS the right way to spell it :-)). So nice not to have to rush around, to be able to sit on the couch in my sweats in the middle of a regular Saturday, to sleep in a little more on Sunday and STAY in my sweats one more day. Such an easy, slow weekend. Love it.

Today is rainy, which makes me feel even cozier. Poor Joe (and poor Joe's dad) had to go to a soccer game--so I guess there was a little running around--and they came home wet-headed and chilly. But Jonas's team TIED, and given their track record so far, that's reason to celebrate. Joe played goalie the whole time. He has this strange compulsion to play goalie and I think it's so he can jangle my nerves. Or maybe because he doesn't like running :-). But he's getting to be a pretty good little goalie. Forrest said he made some really good stops today.

Hmmm, what else. Wyatt has been on a rampage. He's at that age where he likes to stomp and yell, grab you by the arm and drag you around the house, demand CHIPS PLEASEE!!!! JUICE PLEASSEE!!! It's hard to be charmed by the "please" when he's screaming it, though. But gotta love him just the same. He's talking a lot. He loves his books. He goes down for his nap and to sleep at night with at least two books to "read" by himself in the semi-darkness (just like the rest of the family.) We have to go through his whole stack of books some nights with Wyatt emphatically shaking his head "no" to book after book until we find the one he wants. He's a smart, self-possessed, opinionated little dude who gives enthusiastic hugs and kisses. (Sometimes his kisses are a little TOO enthusiastic. Closed mouth, buddy!)

Last thing. Elise has been trying to find a Halloween costume with her friend Tayler. Last year they were "twin" pirates, and they want to be twins again, so they've been looking online. The following is an example of the Halloween costumes marketed to little girls:



I keep having to tell her, "too immodest," "nope, too skimpy." Luckily, she's not fighting me on it. (I even heard her on the phone say, "I don't want to wear one that might show my stomach. That makes me uncomfortable." Go Lou!). But seriously, my daughter is 10 and these are the costumes she's supposed to be wearing? This world!!

Now I'd better go be productive. Forrest is walking around with a bottle of Windex in his hand--pleasantly, I might add, without any judgmental stomping or self-righteous sighing--but that can make a wife feel, we'll, shirky. Better unshirk.