Recital Balls

It was a wonderful evening watching the culmination of all of the girls' lessons and practicing, (and my nagging).

When we walked in to the building, awonderful smell was coming from the kitchen. We hadn't had dinner yet (the recital started at 6:30, and I think my stomach growled through the whole thing!). The amazing smell came from the sausage balls that Mrs. West had warming in the oven.

These are wonderful--all the kids loved them. They are really easy to make. They are great for breakfast, appetizers, with soups, or as a quick snack. Better yet, they are virtually 'free' in diabetes-ese--or, made of mostly meat and cheese, which Sophie doesn't have to 'count' when figuring out her insulin (so she can have as many as she wants without my interferance!) I store a bunch in a ziplock bag in the fridge for quick snacks.

The recipe for Sausage Balls:

1 lb sausage

3 c Bisquick

3 1/2 c cheese

1/2 c milk

optional:

1/2 tsp ground rosemary

1/2 c parmesan cheese

Throw all the ingredients in a big bowl, take off your rings, and knead it all together with your hands. form into balls, place on greased baking sheet, bake at 350 for about 20 minutes.

Enjoy!

Legoland

For the past few years, a certain red plastic bucket has been conspicuously perched in the center or off to the side during most of our family gatherings. I've moved it about a thousand times. It's there during Saturday morning cartoons, scripture reading, home-teacher and grandparent visits, and it invariably comes out during 'quiet time' on Sunday afternoons. Did I mention that I've moved it a thousand times?

But I don't complain. You see, I have a deep respect for the humble Lego--those stackable, snapable, bricks of plastic that have captured my children's imagination and povided hours of (mostly quiet) creativity for all of them. I would say that Legos have been the best value of all the toys we've ever bought. I know families that have passed down their Legos through generations without letting them go.

So, I'm glad that I remembered someone telling me about a Lego store in Orlando. I had heard that you could buy just the pieces you wanted, and be free from the confines of the ubiquitous "set", which is just about the only way you can buy Legos these days.

With Christmas just around the corner, I suggested that we might make a "quick stop" before beginning our treck home from Florida, and possibly score a bag of wheels (very valuable parts). Silly me.

The store was set in a lovely shopping area in Downtown Disney, filled with plenty of venues designed to relieve vacationers of their money. But it quickly became clear that the Lego store was everyone's favorite. Kids and their families would hang out there for hours - just as we did, maybe even bring a lunch over (we didn't).

I trooped my girls over to the Disney souvenier emporium next door to find an 'official' souvenier but they didn't last ten minutes. No one over there seemed to be having any fun. I smiled secretly to myself as we made our way back. Big business marketing tactics have always bugged me. Aparently they bug my kids too.

I sat and watched my happy kids and made a few observations about the Lego place:

It was set up for kids to play, get creative, and have fun!
There were amazing things to look at.

There were tons of pieces to tinker with.

It wasn't geared toward one gender or the other.

I didn't notice any blaring or otherwise annoying music.

There were no annoying sales 'gimmicks' or pressure.

The sales people really seemed to enjoy being there.

My kids would have been happy to stay there all day.

We didn't spend much money, but left feeling really satisfied.

I think Santa would approve.

Be Still

So, it's been a little while since I've felt like writing anything. I've been feeling like things around me are moving so fast, while I'm somehow standing still, either observing, or just not being able to keep up with it all. Not being able to process it all fast enough, I am like a deer in the headlights, and I freeze.

When I realized how much 'stuff' I needed to do today, not to make any great strides foreward, but just to acheive "not falling behind", I felt overwhelmed. Kind of like someone being dragged out in the tide, struggling and treading water fiercely in order to be able to remain in the same spot she was before.

And I got ready to write about being on a merry go round. And then I heard the words:

Be still, and know that I am God.

I found this tree outside of the Hinckley Visitor's Center on BYU campus last spring. It spoke to me, for some reason. I didn't know why. And I took photos from several angles before I found the right one. Look how old and gnarly it looks. Even though winter was ending and other trees and vegetation were greening up, this tree remained unchanged--standing there, looking so lonely and out of place. Sort of how I've been feeling lately.

Yet I saw the little buds on the branches. Still closed tight. Waiting...

So, I'm asking myself, in 'being still', do I just stop what I'm doing? Stop rushing around, taking care of this mess, that problem, this meal,, etc... As much as I might like to, I'm pretty sure that's not what it means.

No, I looked it up. The command to "be still" comes from the Hiphil stem of the verb "rapha", meaning "to be weak, to let go, to surrender". I'm thinking about this in terms of that old tree, and wondering if the tree is feeling frustrated at being the last to morph into full summer loveliness.

To be still is to give up trusting in our own power and turning over our concerns and worries to Him. Not in fear, but in full confidence of His love and power and goodness.

I wish I had a picture of that tree in its full splendor. Hopefully, one day Ill get one. But I see it in my mind as the "Sweetheart Tree" on Temple Square that was the gorgeous backdrop for my favorite wedding day picture. (Unfortunately taken before digital cameras!). And I hope that somehow I can have the patience and faith to let go and truly be still, and one day become something as beautiful.

He Did it!

So, finally, we just couldn't wait any longer for 'Alexis' to be fixed (Grouper named her by accident). We decided to bite-the-bullet and charge the repairs on a credit card - yuck!, right? But there was no other option. I called AAA on this rainy day (the same one I declared "Pajama Day") to come and take her to the shop. (Yay for Triple A - the tow was free).
It was entertaining to watch the guy hoist this 3 tonner up on the flatbed when he couldn't even back it into our driveway (the pine tree roots have raised our driveway about 2 feet up from the street - making it hard for some cars to get in or out without bottoming out...
We were lucky to get a great car repair reference from our last Home Teacher - (he's the best car-guy!)--the same one who advised my husband NOT to try to fix our car himself.

I expected to be waiting a few days to get an estimate and another couple for the car to actually be fixed (not to mention the several months of paying for it!). But about mid-afternoon, I got a call saying the car was done. And the total?
About $36!
Well, it turns out that my husband can now add 'mechanic' to his long list of accomplishments. He had it fixed right, there was just one broken electrical wire to be replaced. Ta Daa!

We're so proud of him!!!

Pajama Day

I hear the rain as soon as I wake up. It is Tuesday, election day, and my kids are out of school, curled up on the couch and happy for the chance to watch early morning cartoons. Big T gets himself out the door without my help--"I'll just go out for lunch today, hon". Sounds good to me.

I realize that I have nowhere that I have to be, no bus to get my kids to, no one to get breakfast for (I splurged on boxed cereal), no lunches to make, notes to write, homework to find, etc. And one *** of a week behind me to recover from.

There are a baziliion things I should be doing (seriously), but today, I just can't. One look at my bedside table and its stack of patiently waiting, delicious books clinches it.

I let the kids watch as much TV and play as many video games as they want. No one has to get dressed. Meals? self serve-- whatever, and whenever they want (within reason, of course).

At the end of the day, there is, actually one thing I need to do. And I wait until almost the very last minute to do it--and at 6:45 I go in my pajamas, and turn in my ballot. I refuse to watch the results-just can't do it, just don't want to. And on the way home I wonder if I will not need a lot more of these days over the next four years...

Backyard Cookout

The tent was still up from Friday night's slumber party. It needed time to dry out after the rain that night.

Big T got a dutch oven for his birthday. I didn't feel like cooking dinner on this Sunday afternoon but I had planned tacos, and had everything ready for them. But I didn't get going fast enough apparently. Seems like the conditions were just right for a Backyard Cookout.

I had stumbled into the kitchen after my pseudo-nap (the one where you really wish you could sleep, but just lay there with your mind racing instead) to find my husband and kids busily preparing ...something. "I am not getting involved..." thought I.

A little later as I drove home after a meeting, I noticed that my house and front yard were shrouded in a thick white and grey smoke--no worries, this was just the result of my kids adding pine straw to the camp-fire.

I think the marshmallows actually got roasted and eaten before anything that was NOT made of approximately 100% sugar - but, of course what fun would waiting be? Especially when you could light the things up like a torch and watch the blazing sugar turn to a charcoal-ly ash and sometimes float away in the air. Maybe even try a little flame-throwing. When the marshmallows ran out, my kids had no qualms about roasting pine-cones. They were, after all, being allowed to play around FIRE on a Sunday afternoon.

The dutch-oven dinner took longer than expected, of course. Isn't that the rule?

They called it Washington Stew. (Grouper's idea, since George Washington was a pioneer, right? it was also her idea to don swimming goggles during this event) And they ate all of it. I called it unseasoned potatoes and carrots cooked in hamburger grease. If I had made something like that in my kitchen, no one would have touched it...willingly.

And then, what to do with my plate-ful? Risk squashing their enthusiasm, and any chances of another night "off" from dinner duty? Nope, I sneak in some salt, pepper, and Worchester sauce, ignore my rising cholesterol level, and join the clean plate club.

Still the Same Star

Here she is - those beautiful sparking blue eyes and silly grin. She's wearing her favorite beach hat from the kite shop at Jockey's Ridge and her favorite t-shirt that says "Sophie's Beauty Hut" on the back.
And I LOVE this girl soo much.

She is still the same sweet girl she was before being diagnosed with Type I Diabetes yesterday.

But I am different. And the choices we'll make as a family are different; from what to eat, to where to live. I am amazed how quickly all of the things I used to concern myself with have dissappeared in an instant. And how issues that didn't concern me yesterday have parked themselves right smack in the middle of my world. I find my ignorance of this disease and ambivalence toward stem cell research embarrassing now. Amazed at what I took for granted just yesterday. More grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ than ever.

I finally fell asleep last night after forcing myself not to think of all the ways our lives have been changed, literally overnight. Or asking the inevitable questions, "Why?", 'why her?", 'why our family?', "why now with all of the changes she is already dealing with by virtue of her tender age?" 'was it because she inherited my screwy overactive immune system that turned on her own beta cells?" "Could we have done anything differently?" These questions don't help.
I have to remember that Heavenly Father has a plan for us, and for her, and, whether we like it or not, this is part of it.

My stomach is still churning and my hands tremble as I write this, but I do it in hopes that it will be like therapy for me - as writing my thoughts often has been a comfort for me. Potential titles to this post floated in my brain as I sat inthe ER yesterday with my girl: 'This changes Everything', 'What a difference a day makes,' etc.

But ultimately this is the right one. She is still the same smart, shy, silly, fun loving, Nancy Drew obsessed girl. She is still a star on the stage of our family's lives.