A Musing Mother 6

The object of the boat driver is to create waves enough to knock them off. The object of the riders is to hang on for dear life and have the best time. The object of the photographer is to laugh until it hurts.  Believe it or not, I am  tan. The point is that I can still ski. Celebrate with me. ("Yay" moment)  This year we started a new hobby - exploring old houses. We went inside this one and a shack behind it. We found the possibility of Hantavirus. This year we gave up a new hobby - exploring old houses. Paparazzi follow them everywhere. Paris It just isn't how I remember it. Bear Lake  I haven't the foggiest idea. Cows on the road Missing?  My Jacob who chose scout camp over following cows and seeking Hantavirus. Weird kid.

Advice for married couples and mothers....   I've posted this one before but bears repeating... Honestly, the second video has made me a better mother. My kids are too confused after I sing this song to remember what the conflict was over. Because I'm the mom. The mom. The mom. TADA!

A couple of Sundays ago the kids and I were visiting my parents. As I sat in their living room with them, one of my children came running into the house and asked what to do with baby birds that have fallen out of their nest onto the grass. Between the three older children, me, one ladder, a leap of faith on my part (I couldn't quite reach the nest unless I climbed the tree and stretched just a little bit farther...), and four pairs of gloves while Grandma supervised, we accomplished a heroic act. We saved two ugly, featherless, fresh out of their blue egg swallows without touching them. We were all fairly grossed out and disturbed by the experience but puffed out our chests like superheroes. Yay. Good deed. Did the mother bird return and care for them? Don't know. Don't care. Today I ended up with 9 children at my house, only three of them were mine. One sat down on the toilet and forgot to tuck things in so he peed on my floor and wall. His sister let me know. She's f

This year I could do without the fireworks. I bought them, of course, but between the mountain embers glowing from a brush fire, eclipse of the sun, teeny, tiny Venus making her way across the sun, I'm good. Except for sparklers. Since my chubby little hand could hold a sparkler, I have loved the echo of light as I tried to spell my name. It's a tradition I savor and grounds me to home. 21 years ago (I know, you're shocked that I was even ALIVE 21 years ago), I started another tradition on Independence Day. I'd been feeling restless and lonely without knowing the cause. I'd been surrounded by people for nearly 3 weeks - more people than usual. I'd met new friends, seen new sights, and was feeling weary. I was running around Europe with a friend. We carried close to our hearts (literally, we put a small purse in our shirts. I had plenty of room. She didn't have as much) our passports, Eurorail Pass, traveler's checks, and a return airplane ticket home fro

The scenery from my backyard half hour ago.  It's climbed higher on the mountain by now. Those with asthma in Utah County, please stay inside today. Or run far, far away.

I believe this is the answer to all war. If only we could refocus our presidential candidates...