The Husbandless in Her Affliction

I have often heard people say that moms should leave town every now and again so their husbands and children learn to appreciate them more and value everything they do. I think there may be some truth to that, but I am also convinced--at least in my own case--that this is a street that runs two ways.

Last week, Jeremy went to Washington, D.C. for a few days to present a paper at a conference. The kids and I had a pleasant time at home, but I learned at least two very important things:

1. I do not have a dish fairy. For a long time I was sure a magical dish fairy lived in my house. On many days, the fairy actually did the dishes. On the days I did the dishes and left all of the dripping wet handwashing dishes on the counter, I was sure the fairy was the one who dried the dishes and put them away. I was wrong. As it turns out, it was Jeremy. Who knew?

2. Jeremy is very handy to have around in the mornings. I had my suspicions about this already, since I can count on basically one hand the number of times I've had to get up when my kids get up in the morning (this seems only fair, since Jeremy is already awake, right? And I'm still up by 7:00. That's still early. And yes, our kids get up insanely early, which I define as any time before 7:00). But this was very clear to me on the Friday morning he was gone. I teach a once-a-week class at the college on Friday mornings. I am in my office at 8:00 for my office hour then teach from 9:00 to 11:30. This semester, a series of friends have watched Jonathan and Clara for me, and evidently, the fact that the kids are clothed, fed, and ready to go to friends' homes by 7:45 is not the miracle I thought it was. As it turns out, again, it was Jeremy.

So we missed Jeremy while he was gone, and we're glad to have him back. I just really love that guy. Really, how could I not love a man who took a series of touristy self-portraits in Washington just because he knew I would love them? That's off the hook, Jer. Thanks.

Happy Easter

On Easter Sunday, we spent a quiet day together as a family. We had sunshine for the first time in more than a week, which I felt was a true blessing on such a special, sacred day. We watched the rest of General Conference, took a beautiful spring walk, read stories, sang songs, then ate an Easter dinner that was much too ambitious and robust for a family of four. We did our best.



One my favorite parts of the day was doing a little lesson about Jesus' final week, his crucifixion, and his resurrection, with Clara and Jonathan. I used the ideas found on this site to make "real" Easter eggs, where each plastic egg contained a token of Christ's final week--a piece of unleavened bread to represent the Last Supper, a picture of Christ praying in the Garden, a few pieces of silver to represent Judas' betrayal, etc. The final egg is empty, representing the empty tomb and the resurrection of the Savior. Clara loved the activity--she had us do it twice!--and Jeremy and I cherished having a quiet opportunity to teach our children about their Savior.

I hope you all had a wonderful Easter.

Easter Saturday

We, along with our Australian brothers and sisters, really enjoy the secondary holiday of Easter Saturday. (I must admit here, though, that I don't know anything about the "official" Easter Saturday, other than that my calendar says it's a holiday observed in Australia.) For us, Easter Saturday is the day the Easter Bunny visits and we eat too much candy.

To prepare for our Easter Saturday celebration, we dyed eggs as a family on Friday night. This was a first for us, since Clara has in the past been allergic to eggs. No longer, my friends. They both had a great time with the egg dying process, and once again had tinted hands for a couple of days.


The only thing Jonathan objected to was that we at one point had the audacity to take his egg from him and put it in a jar of dye. He was most displeased, as you can see (and do you also see how tightly he clings to his magic crayon?).


The only thing Jeremy objected to was that we were dying eggs. He kept saying, "You know the box says 5 and up, right? Did you see the box?" Oh, so little holiday zest in that one. Really, though, he was his typically great and patient sport about the whole thing, and we ended up with six colored eggs, only two of which were cracked--one from Clara accidentally dropping one and one from Jonathan banging his repeatedly on the kitchen table. Classic.


Both Jonathan and Clara were thrilled the next morning to retrieve their Easter baskets and to find the eggs which the silly Easter Bunny (or, as Clara calls her, the Easter Rabbit) had hidden all over the front room. Jonathan proved especially adept at hunting for eggs with a mouth full of jelly beans and only the slightest stream of colored drool. And thanks to our good friends, the Easter Rabbit also visited later that day and left more treat filled eggs in our front yawn. An Easter Saturday miracle, Mate!




As an Easter Saturday bonus, we watched General Conference. Look how sweetly my little angels sat and listened! They sat at that very table playing Conference Bingo all the way through the opening hymn.


Then they thought of sundry other ways to entertain themselves:



They are truly exceptional children.

Camp In-n-Out

Several weeks ago some brave friends of ours decided to defy the whims of Mother Nature by going camping. Their gamble paid off: for a Friday night in March in the North Country, the weather was extremely pleasant and mild.

We are not brave, so we decided just to drive down for Friday afternoon and evening to spend time with them before returning home to our own beds (and lengthy hot showers all around!). In some ways I wish we would've stayed, since they "camped" in one of the state park cabins--fully heated and quite cozy. But I didn't regret anything once my head hit my own pillow that night.

Now that we're back into "second winter," as I've dubbed it (Jeremy kept telling me we'd beaten Old Man Winter, but I think he might have been wrong), I can look back at these pictures and get excited for the real camping season. Maybe we'll even stay overnight next time. Wait for it.

(A few disclaimers on the following pictures: 1)Don't judge Bug by his pink coat. Clara didn't want to wear it, and Jonathan's was in the car; 2)You'll notice but one picture of Clara. This is probably because she didn't really stop moving the whole time we were there. Trust us: she looked cute, was a mess, and had a fantastic time.)

Respite on a Sunday Afternoon

A few Sundays ago, Jonathan woke up from his nap in a most unhappy state. Jeremy went in to console him, and when about 20 minutes had passed in silence I went in to check things out. This is what I found:


Sweet, no? Although in studying the picture I'm forced to pose a question: is Jeremy the only man on earth who gets "comfortable" after church by changing his pants but keeping his tie? He's a uniqe fellow. I like him.

Cloudy Day

Every once in a while, in a fit of insanity disguised as active mothering, I decide to bust out the fingerpaints. Clara loves to do any kind of painting, and Jonathan seems to have a vested interest in testing the validity of "non-toxic" claims on all art supplies.

For our most recent project, I cut up some sponges and told them they were painting clouds. Both of them started out with very delicate dabs, but by the end their papers were basically just saturated blue blobs. And for Jonathan's final stroke of artistic experimentation, he dipped a stubby finger into a big pile of paint and licked it clean. I overreacted ("Oh! That's disgusting! Stop!"), then he promptly stuck his tongue out for me to wipe off. I cleaned him up (which is surprisingly difficult with even allegedly "washable" paints; my kids' hands are regularly tinted), then walked into where Jeremy was working, fretting, "So when they say 'non-toxic' they mean that, right? Don't you think? He's okay, right?" If you know Jeremy, it may not surprise you to learn that he thought I was crazy. He may have even rolled his eyes--just a little, of course. Whatevs.

The things we suffer for our art.