Fall Break; the good news and the bad news

#2 explained our sudden appearance to his Nana,

"Our Great Grandma died and now she's with Jesus. That's the bad news. But we got to fly on an airplane to Nutah, so that's good news. "

That pretty much sums up our fall break. Tuesday night we were told the sad news that Spouse's Grandmother had passed away. We stayed up late into the night doing laundry and packing. We were on a plane at noon the next day.


My kids finally got to see what autumn is all about. My little desert rats have never experienced genuine fall, with crisp-cold mornings, and vividly colored leaves. Now they know it truly exists outside of books.

It's autumn at the cabin

During the week there were lots of healthy questions and discussions about death with my children. #2 was a little nervous to see Grandma's body, he wondered if it would be green. Then after we saw her he wondered about her casket and just exactly how it was going to get into the ground.

I'm happy that the children's first experience with death was surrounded in love and security. Grandma Y. was just weeks away from her 94th birthday. The focus of her funeral was really to celebrate her full, accomplished life and to express gratitude for knowing and being loved by such a gentle woman.

#1 with two of her favorite cousins.

#2 at the graveside service.

That is Spouse reaching to lay a flower on Grandma's casket.

More of the good news: we got to see our not-so-little-anymore nephew one last time before he leaves on his 2-year, LDS mission next week. Holy cow, I remember playing with him when he wasn't much bigger than a baby!

Signs of Life

Excuse me for leaving you all anxiously waiting for my desert garden update. Good news! There are plants growing! And most of them are not weeds. I was very worried about our little garden yesterday during the torrential rains. Our backyard filled up like a pool, covering the tops of some of our young plants. I was very afraid they would be washed away, but they survived. Hooray!

Just like a new puppy my children have quickly lost interest and responsibility of our garden. It's up to me to nurture the tender plants and I must admit to a maternal sort of affection I have for the sprouts. I truly was joyful this morning to see they had survived the storm.

Every spring I set aside a certain amount of physical and mental tolerance to see me through the grueling Phoenix summer heat. But by every September I find myself running on empty. The constant sweating irritates me more. I find the baking sun loathsome. A part of my soul shrivels up and refuses to bloom until the gosh-darned-blankety-blank-blank white-hot heat ends!

Monday and Tuesday it rained. A lot. At first the rain acted like a dipper of water poured onto hot sauna bricks. Nothing but miserable steam. But as the sky kept pouring, the hot earth eventually cooled and yesterday I found myself feeling glad to be outside. This morning on my run I heard birds singing with joy for a cool morning. I felt like singing with them. That poor part of my soul that had gone into hiding, was stretching it's limbs, wondering if it's safe yet to come out.

I've lived here long enough to know that we have a few more weeks before the real respite arrives. But today, I feel renewed and I think I've refilled my tolerance just enough to get me to Thanksgiving.

How about you? Does the weather/temperature affect you like this or am I just nutso?



ps. Happy Halloween!

Bean Sniffer

It's been a long time since #2 lost something up his nostrils. Long enough to forget that he shouldn't do it.

Sunday night I served chicken tacos and black beans for dinner. After we had eaten I began clearing the table and putting things away. #1 and #2 were still at their places, chatting and giggling. Suddenly it got quiet and then #1 blurted out #2's secret.

"Mom, #2 has a black bean in his nose."

I inspected the dark orifice, but found no evidence of bean.

"Well, #2. I hope you don't die. Beans on the brain are deadly."

All traces of silliness drained from his shocked face. (Does this make me the worst mom ever?)

"Let's give your body some time to try to get rid of it on its own. If it doesn't come out in 20 minutes I'll have to take you to the hospital."

I had no intention of taking him to the hospital. I figured if the bean didn't birth itself, it would disintegrate over time, never posing any real harm. Maybe I'm totally wrong. Please inform me if nasally ingested beans are in fact deadly.

I kept cleaning up the kitchen, my mind moving onto other things like, "Why didn't I make dessert tonight? Where is my chocolate?" Several minutes passed before I remembered #2.

He was still sitting at the table, head hanging low, looking despondent. He was doing his very best not to cry.

Oops. I guess you shouldn't joke about death with a five year old. I knelt down next to him and wrapped my arms around him. "I'm sure you will be just fine. You body is probably working really hard right now to get rid of that bean."

He laid his dirty face on my clean shoulder and broke into deep sobs. Gasping for breath, "I" gasp, gasp, "don't," sob, sob, "want," sucking air, "to," snort, snort, "die."

Then a thought struck me. All this crying was producing a lot of mucus. Just what his little nose needed to expel a big black bean. I grabbed a tissue and told him to blow. While he blew I explained the mucus theory. He blew harder. On the fourth or fifth forceful blow I heard a huge "thwack" sound. We checked the tissue and sure enough, there was that slimy legume!

I thought the boy would wipe his tears away and shout hooray. But no, the relief was so immense he collapsed his dirty face onto my other clean shoulder and shook with more sobs. Sobs of joy from the deliverance from death by bean.

When he finally calmed down he was still laying on my shoulder, shuddering with after-cry-shocks. "I'm so glad I'm not going to die. I'm so glad I sniffed out that bean."

In his prayers that night, "I'm thankful that I sniffed that bean out."

First thing the next morning, "Mom, member when I almost died yesterday, but I sniffed that bean out?"

Desert Garden Report

Manure was spread and seeds were planted. I think. The kids did the work, while I tried to direct the operation. In true form, #1 was the garden expert and didn't need to be told what to do. I figured since I don't know what the heck I'm doing I might as well let her do things her way.

We sowed (I think) some vegetables and some flowers.

Last night I left #1 reading on the couch while I put #2 and #3 to bed. When I came out 10 minutes later the couch was empty. "#1?" I called out. The glass door to the backyard slid open and #1 came inside, wiping her feet. "I was saying good night to the garden. I told it to try and grow some tonight."

This morning at first light, #1 bolted from her bed and out to the garden to see if anything had appeared. Nope. But hope is still high.

Immediately after school the children raced out back to water. They were disappointed not to find any green heads pushing through the brown manure mixed dirt. But they are still out there playing, staying near their precious garden.

Who needs a puppy? Apparently a bit of cow poop, some seeds and a watering can are just as exciting.

Mystical powers of manure

This afternoon I had 50 pounds of fertilizer in the back of my jeep. It was carried the long way around the house from the garage to the back corner of the yard where I am about to attempt to plant my very first Arizona garden. It is 105 outside and I wasn't about to get my hair sweaty.

What's that? Who did this dirty job for me? Oh, it was my hulky five year son. All it took was two magical words.

Cow poop. And he was begging to do the job.

A short lesson on death

#1 is always attempting to educate me. Just this morning while I was teaching her to tie her shoes she was persuaded that I was doing it wrong and that I should watch her. And that should answer your question as to why she is seven and can't tie her own shoes.... because she thinks she already knows how.

I recently received another illuminating nugget of intelligence from #1. In her best teacher to student voice she informed me:

When you die you have three choices. You can choose to be burned to ashes or be buried under the ground. The third choice is to be eaten by vultures.








Now you know why I'm so smart.

What Not to Say

...when your wife says, "I look like a whale in this dress!"



Answer: "A cute whale."