The early bird catches the worm.

I am not terribly fond of shopping. Sure, as a teenager I had my fair share of mall visits where I'd try on a dozen outfits, none of which I could afford and few of which actually looked good on me and walk away empty-handed most of the time. As a mother, my idea of shopping includes three kids in a Costco cart begging for free samples, only to throw the food in my face declaring "I don't like this one!" after a tiny bite. If I'm lucky I can browse the clothing section for, oh, about sixty seconds while the wee ones are distracted by tic-tacs, or animal crackers, or whatever crusty food item resides in the bottom of my purse. At that point, I will grab an item of clothing that looks semi-attractive and throw it in the cart because after all, at Costco, I can return it after wearing it, washing it, rolling in the mud in it as long as it's within ninety days of my purchase. Note: I don't really do any of those things, but it sure is nice to know that I could.
Back to my original point: I don't really like shopping. But I am also somewhat of a cheapskate. So braving the after-Thanksgiving Day sales is a bit of a temptation each year. Let me think, would I rather shell out $20 for a cheap Disney princess dress that will be rags a few weeks after Christmas or pay $9.99 and get a matching crown and pair of shoes? I realize that we're talking about very small numbers here, but let's face it, to a penny pincher, they matter. They matter a lot. Even so, I decided last night that at this point in my life, my sleep is worth more than those $10 so I went to bed without any intentions of waking up to an alarm at 3:30 a.m.
3:43 a.m. Anna wakes me up to tell me that Lily was in her spot. What this means is, Lily had positioned herself perpendicular to Anna on the side-by side futon mattresses that they have been sharing at grandma and grandpa's house. Her feet were in Anna's face and Anna did not like it. So I heard the drama, quickly fixed the situation, and crawled back into my cozy bed.
4:00 a.m. Still awake. I decide that if I'm going to be up, I should be up and at 'em.
4:03 a.m. I start my freezing car, complete with the ads that I had set aside last night with dog-eared pages indicating things that I would like to buy if for some reason I find myself awake and available to go shopping at 4 o'clock in the morning.
4:15 a.m. Arrive at Kohl's. They had the cutest kid-sized hooded towels that I knew the girls would totally dig so even though they had opened at 4, I hoped that I could snag a few. It was a vain hope. Failure #1.
4:45 a.m. Arrive at Target. I thought they opened at 5 so I was pretty pleased with my position in line, until I realized ten minutes later that they weren't opening the doors until 6. Failure #2.
5:00 a.m. Enter ShopKo parking lot. I ran in and dashed to the toy section and managed to grab the aforementioned princess dresses, 2 stocking holders, 2 board games, and a pair of gloves. Success! Bonus: I ran into an old friend from high school who kept me company in the queue that wound around the store before ending at the checkout counter.
5:45 a.m. I'm back at Target. The line in front of the store is about a mile long. I race out of my car to stake my claim on a place in the ridiculous thing. After spending 10 minutes searching frantically for the scooters, I grab the last one on the shelf. Success again! Another bonus: I bumped into a girl from my neighborhood in Boise who was also in town visiting grandparents.
So now I'm only out about $60 and my Christmas shopping is pretty near done. I still despise shopping - but the bargain-hunter in me is alive and well.

Memory Lane.

My parents moved from Alpine, Utah to Orem, Utah over three years ago. Tim and I were pretty stoked when they moved to Orem because of its convenient location. It seems that everything is just around the corner. And even though Alpine is a mere 30 minutes away, I haven't had many opportunities to venture back up to my old stomping grounds.

I took the girls up to visit my brothers' graves in the Alpine cemetery today. Alpine was almost unrecognizable. I couldn't help but curse the transplants for changing Alpine from a quaint town nestled into the edge of the mountains into a beacon of materialism. I mean, really, since when did a family(I don't care if they're polygamists with 20 children!) need a 8000+ sqaure foot home? Alpine has always had a reputation for being affluent; as a teenager when people would ask me where I was from, I would respond truthfully that I lived in Alpine and get some sort of "oh then you must be a rich snob" look or comment. Compared to the Alpine of today, I can't believe that anyone ever passed such judgment on it. Seeing it's current state, I'm now inclined to pass the same judgment.

I'd like to assume that the people who live in those elaborate mansions are extremely generous, that they're all the head of some philanthropic organization bent on saving the world. Okay, I can handle that. I also am very much a capitalist. I think that if people can live good lives and be filthy rich doing it, the more power to them. What I detest is the flaunting of that wealth and the focus on frivolous things: the cosmetic surgery, the home that screams "I have more money than you", and the spoiling of otherwise sweet, simple children.

Well to all of my friends whose families still live in Alpine, I think it's safe to say that I do not include you (or them) in my analysis. And if you happen to know personally some people that exhibit some of the above behaviors and can still conclude that they are honorable decent individuals, okay. All I have left to say is that I left a bit discouraged that the humble town of my teenage years, where I wasn't embarrassed to drive a multi-colored Chevy Sprint (whose third gear didn't work) had been transformed so dramatically.

On a more positive note, thank heavens they finally did something about the dilapidation that was Alpine Market for so many years. It looks fantastic.

First Birthday.

Rachel turned 1 on Saturday. With several friends whose kids also turned one this year and made the cutest cakes on record, the bar was raised. And I gave into the pressure (not that any was given) to prepare an elaborate cake only to let Rachel destroy it within minutes of blowing out her candle.

Remarkably, the cake really didn't take that much more time than the cake mix variety I usually go for. And, I got to involve Anna and Lily in the decorating so I can write the whole project off as "family together time".

Here's the cake before:

And after:

Here's what everyone else got to eat. It tasted much better than it looks, I assure you.

And here's the birthday girl, wasting away. Perhaps we should schedule a few un-birthday parties for her really soon in the hopes that the cake could help her pack on a few more pounds.

Speaking of unbirthday parties, you've really got to see this one.

The proper care and feeding of husbands.

I try hard to make my husband feel like he is my top priority. I have dinner on the table every day (okay, almost every day), I call him at work for reasons other than to find out what time he's coming home, I try not to change into my sweats until after he's been home for at least an hour, I try to keep a tidy home so that the chaos that usually prevails is carefully hidden the moment he walks in the door, and if I'm really feeling ambitious, I might even apply a fresh coat of lipstick before he comes home so it looks like I dressed up for him. And frankly, though at first it sounded to me like an antiquated practice to be the goodly homemaker who makes her husband feel like her "knight in shining armor", it really works. Well, it works when I actually do it. It's called selflessness, folks.
But there is one component of this practice that I simply cannot do with a straight face. Have you ever tried to ask an electrical engineer about his day? I can only take about 2 minutes of engineer jargon before I start singing Sinatra in my head. I mean, really, who wants to hear about DDR3, or RLDRAM, or transformers (oops, I mean transistors... I think...) Seriously!
Fortunately, I think Tim must have noticed the glazed look on my face every time he breaks out the geek lingo so he chooses to answer my "how was your day" question with the top stories that he heard on Glenn Beck or Bill Handel (radio talk shows that I no longer have the time to indulge in). Much more down my alley. Thanks a bunch honey.

The Womanly Art.

Warning: If you are a man, boy, and/or if the word breastfeeding makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip this post.

Rachel and I are coming to the end of an era, so to speak. I haven't nursed her at all today. We are down to the "unless I'm feeling full, I won't feed her" stage. It's strange to think that we've made it this far. Was it really a year ago that I spent an entire night pumping and spoon-feeding her so that she wouldn't starve before we got into lactation the next morning? My mom said that she didn't even recognize me that first day that I realized that Rachel just wasn't getting it. Not a surprise, considering my eyes were small slits beneath the puffiness that four nights of sleep deprivation and crying had created. The trouble that Rachel caused me in those first few weeks kind of made me resent breastfeeding for a while. So much so, that I've been counting the days until I could hand over the reins to our good friends the cows to provide milk for my daughter.

Until now. With weaning comes a freedom that I haven't had much of in the last 4 1/2 years, between pregnancy and breastfeeding. But it's tainted with a bit of regret that Rachel will no longer need me. Sure, she'll still require diaper changes, floor play, bedtime stories, hugs and kisses, etc. Anyone can provide those. She will no longer need me.

No need to worry, though. I'll be over it in a week or so when I look down at her and think, "you are so grown up, I can't believe I was still nursing you just a week ago." Or when I'm snorkeling in Maui and rather than having her attached to me, she's thousands of miles away at Grandma and Grandpa's house. In fact, I'm feeling much better already...

What Rachel is thinking.

I've just finished sweeping the floor after dinner and I couldn't help but wonder what Rachel is thinking when she makes a beeline for the pile of food that I have just swept out from under her highchair. A few thoughts:

1. Perhaps this crusty biscuit tastes better than it did when it was on my tray.
2. This sure beats pulling out all the dishes that dad just put in the dishwasher.
3. Goo. Goo. Gah. Gah.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Tonight I went upstairs to retrieve the girls from the play room so that they could join us for dinner. I couldn't help but notice that one of Rachel's favorite toys (a cylindrical bucket with a lid that has 3 different shaped holes into which she can insert blocks that correspond to the shapes of the holes) filled with a liquid. Not so surprising. I looked a little closer. The liquid was yellow. I asked, "What is this?" I knew what it was. I asked, "Who did this?" I knew who did it. The only one precise enough to eliminate in a container of that size is, of course, Anna. Precision aside, she's the only one curious enough to find out what it would be like to urinate in places other than the toilet. I won't elaborate about the time I discovered that the stench emanating from her room was simply a result of her using the air vent as a makeshift toilet. Not just #1 but yes, #2 as well.
I don't get it. If only brains and common sense went hand in hand. One thing I'm starting to get, however, is that I'm pretty sure that what she is truly curious about is what I'm going to do about it. If my responses are always controlled and predictable, though, will she ever stop being curious?
For now, I'll just be glad that I discovered Anna's little present before Rachel got a hold of it. Unless, of course, she did get her hands on it. Ew.

You know you have too many young children when...

your four-year-old is the designated babysitter.

Yesterday I took all three girls to the doctor. It was at 1:30, a sacred time at our house because it's quiet time, otherwise known as mom needs to recharge time. But, it was an emergency(one that I don't care to be made public) so I packed a few packages of fruit snacks and left to brave the doctor's office with three tired children in tow.

Actually, it worked out rather well. I found it kind of funny, however, that Anna was asked, not once, but twice to be "in charge" of a younger sister while I spent some time in the restroom. The first time was reasonable enough. She and Lily were left in the examination room while I took a clingy Rachel into the bathroom. The second time, Lily (her usual timely self) had to use the bathroom, so I quickly whisked her away with a hasty request to Anna to "look after Rachel for a minute". When your four-year-old is asked to look after your not-even-one-year old, you know that you've got your hands full.

This is the same four-year-old that spent quiet time a few days ago breaking a few cardinal rules:
1. Do not leave your bedroom.
2. Do not mess around in Jill's room.
3. Do not use Jill's scissors to cut your own hair.
4. Do not use Jill's scissors to cut Rachel's hair.
5. Do not spray perfume on Rachel's cheeks, thus causing her to break out in hives due to an allergic reaction.

And she's the responsible one. Like, I said, I've got my hands full. Here's a picture of the damage:

Daylight Savings Time.

I have been meaning to post something about the chaos that has ensued in my house since Sunday morning when my kids started waking up at 5:15 a.m. instead of "sleeping in" until 6:15. But, no one is getting any sleep around here so I haven't found the time! I just read a friend's blog and he pretty much summed up how I feel about turning our clocks back (and forward) year after year. Might I add, he says it much more cleverly than I ever could.
For those of you who don't regularly check their blog, here it is.

Halloween.

Can't say I love the holiday, but it sure makes for cute pictures.

Good. Better. Best.

My senior year English teacher once revealed to me a secret wish of hers: for the human body to require no sleep. At the time the following thoughts ran through my mind:
1. I LOVE sleep.
2. What would I do with those eight hours that I could possibly enjoy more than a voluntary state of unconsciousness?

I am no longer a senior in high school. I still LOVE sleep. But, assuming that my body did not require it, oh, what great things I could fill my time with!

Which leads me to my next point. Elder Dallin H. Oaks spoke in the most recent (LDS)General conference on priorities. He categorized actitivites that might fill our time as good, better, and best. Where in the priority spectrum does blogging fall?

I started blogging primarily to keep some semblance of a journal, since writing in one has evaded me for all the years since my mission with very few exceptions. I have since discovered that it is a remarkable way to keep in touch with people in a strangely intimate (and at the same time, distant)way. In addition, my command of the English language has been somewhat resurrected. By reading other's blogs I find inspiration, humor, and instruction. The list goes on.

But is it good, better, or best? I don't have an answer yet. I guess it's just another one of those things that lies in the gray area and depends upon timing. Am I spending hours a day blogging? No. Am I plugging my kids in front of a movie so that I can blog? No. Do I prefer it over other more important tasks? Sometimes.

Ugh. Just another pasttime that I have to throw into the balance of life like everything else. If only I had an extra eight hours to make me feel less guilty about the obligations I can't possibly fit into only sixteen.