The New Face of Thirty

So I turned thirty last week. 30. Three-zero. I had a great day, other than having to spend four hours teaching my summer writing class. Jeremy made me my favorite breakfast: homemade waffles with cherry pie filling and whipped cream (nothing says "It's my birthday!" like a healthy helping of high-fructose corn syrup, I've always said). After my classes, Jeremy and the kids picked me up from school, then we relaxed at home. I played the part of "birthday diva" very well and spent a pleasant afternoon reading and lounging.

Much to my surprise, Jeremy arranged babysitting so we could go out to dinner. We ate at Azteca, and he even told the server it was my birthday, which actually was a bit humiliating since evidently Azteca is one of those restaurants where like eight people sing to you and then make you wear a ridiculous straw hat. It was a good time, though, and the portobello mushroom and spinach quesadilla was pretty darn tasty.


Even more to my surprise, when we went to pick up the kids at our friends' house, there was a petite surprise party waiting for me. I had no idea! And while you may think it's amazingly thoughtful of Jeremy to organize all of this for me, what's even more amazing is that he did all of this over the phone. That's how I know Jeremy loves me: he's willing to actually pick up a phone, call people, and talk to them--all in my behalf. He's quite a fella.


And there you have it. I've long considered 30 to be the age of true legitimacy as an adult, although now that I'm here I don't feel extra legitimate by any means. But it's good to be 30 with Jeremy, at least until July 4th, when he'll bravely pave the way to 31 for me. Thanks to everyone who bade me a happy day! I very much enjoyed myself.

Jeremy B., PhD

I am quite overdue in posting this, but I thought I should report that Jeremy finished his PhD. He took a quick trip to Syracuse last month to defend his dissertation, and he passed with distinction. In fact, his committee basically sent him home with nothing to do but submit his final draft to the university, which he did the next week. And now he's done! Five years at BYU, two years at Montana State, and four years at Syracuse University, and Jeremy will never again enter a classroom as a student.

You'll not be surprised to hear that I am really quite proud of him. After two successful years in Syracuse, we came to Idaho for Jeremy to do his dissertation, which (in a very little nutshell) examines the interconnections between small city urban development and environmental amenities. He finished his dissertation in two years, which includes the inevitable time spent adjusting to a new baby in the family. What's more amazing, I think, is that he wrote his entire dissertation--all 330 pages of it--in our bedroom, with just a wall separating him from the craziness of home life with two small, energetic children. Not only was he able to produce quality academic work, but he was also able to be around for every single milestone either of the kids had in the last year. In fact, I'm not sure how they'll cope with not having Jeremy around for three meals a day, knowing he is "making words" in the next room.

And now we're on to the next chapter, starting with a postdoctoral fellowship at the University of Minnesota this fall. I just love Jeremy and am constantly amazed by his drive and work ethic. And even though he won't respond to me anymore unless I address him as Dr. B----- (I kid!), I think I'll keep him around. He's a good seed.

Congrats, Grad!

Sunshine Day

We have had a protracted cold, wet spring, so imagine the great pleasure we took in a Saturday pleasant enough for short sleeves and hours of backyard fun! Jeremy and I ventured outside during the kids' rest time, and when Clara emerged from her room she was thrilled to join us in the yard. She settled into her chair--quite comfortably, as you can see--and said,

"Oh, isn't it nice to sit in the shade on a hot, sunny day?"

Indeed it is, Clara. Indeed it is.






Other than the sunshine, which, frankly, would've been exciting enough on its own, Jeremy and I also scored free tickets to see a live broadcast of "A Prairie Home Companion" in Spokane yesterday. Some friends of ours had won the tickets but couldn't use them, and then they'd evidently tried seven other friends before calling us, but no one wanted them! I'm not sure whether I should be offended that we were their eighth choice, but regardless, we were thrilled. Before the broadcast Garrison Keillor walked through the audience with one of his guests, singing love songs and cracking jokes. At one point, he was close enough to spit on. It was great to see in the flesh someone whose voice we've heard on the radio for a great many years. Plus, they had some really classic jokes about Idaho, and a great sequence that parodied both business people and English majors. I was particularly amazed to learn that when Garrison Keillor is giving the News from Lake Wobegon, he is speaking completely extemporaneously--no notes in sight! It was fascinating to see the workings of a live radio show--especially one with such a storied history. Loved it.

Writing a note to Garrison before the show.




And that's the news from Lake Wobegon, my home town...

When Shoes Fly

Clara participated in her first-ever foot race today. She ran 1/4 mile with about 20 other three and four year olds at our downtown park. We've been busily "training" by running a quarter-mile loop in our neighborhood, where she has learned several "important things" (as she calls them) about running:

1)it's important to "put your head down so the vines don't hit you" (duck under the weeping willow around the corner);
2)it's important to pump your arms while you run;
3)it's important to "put your eyebrows down so you can beat the other runners" (she is very sensitively attuned to the various emotions eyebrows can communicate; when they're "down," people are either angry, frustrated, or--evidently--determined).

So yes, she was clearly very well prepared for the race and had a stellar time. She chose her own race garb and wore her "fast shoes." I was worried when we first got to the park, since she wouldn't let the volunteer write a number 3 on her leg, even though she had been so excited about body marking that I brought my own sharpie just in case leg numbers weren't on the menu. She also flatly refused to wear her race number or make eye contact with anyone or let me put her down. But she soon rallied, remembered her "important things," and had her game face on before the race began.

She had the option of me running with her, which she declined, and as we headed for the starting line she overheard a little boy saying, "Mom, I'm going to win!" She got really concerned and said to me, "No, I'm going to win, right? Aren't I going to win, Mom?" I told her she should just have fun and not worry about winning, and I think she took my advice, since winning never came up again.

By the time she crossed the finish line (it didn't take long), her face was lit up with the joy of sport. I will admit to getting a little teary at watching my girl sprint to the finish (see--I do have a heart!). She's all set for next year. Here's hoping we can find a race for her wherever we happen to live!

In honor of Mother's Day....

...being over, I thought I'd give you a snapshot of my mothering by letting you hear a few actual phrases I have uttered to my children this week:

• "I don't understand why you keep asking me questions you already know the answer to."
• "Stop hitting him! What is wrong with you?"
• "If you use that sassy voice once more time, you may never come out of time out!"
• In response to Clara's new phrase she uses if she doesn't want to do something ("I'm scared of clothes! I'm scared of getting my hair done! I'm scared of taking my rest!"): "Well, what you should be scared of is ME!"

And my personal favorite:

• "WHY DO YOU GUYS HAVE TO RUIN EVERYTHING OF MINE THAT IS NICE??"

So yes, "Mother of the Year" award is probably passing me by this year. And now that I've confessed, I think I will go back to being Patient Mommy. She is lots more fun to have around.

Happy Mother's Day!

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.