I confess. My favorite tv show is Biggest Loser. For a lot of reasons.
Today, Princess J told me that I should go on Biggest Loser so I could lose all my weight.
I realize that children live in a different paradigm, and I realize that I'm not the trim, fit person I want to be right now, but ... does she really think that I look similar to the people on that show? Mind you, I wasn't watching the season finale, where the contestants have been transformed into amazing body-building machines -- we're still on week 6 or 7.
Thanks Princess J. I'll remember that the next time I crave m&m's.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Ward Temple Day
Tomorrow is Ward Temple Day. And I'm going. I'm committing now.
2011 is a great year for firsts!!
2011 is a great year for firsts!!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Happiness Is ...
Happiness is ...
Eating lunch in the school lunchroom with my kidlets...bringing their favorite treat (in bite size portions) and watching them share the treat with their friends.
And Happiness is ...
Seeing the smile on their faces... and knowing the dishes are all worth it...
Eating lunch in the school lunchroom with my kidlets...bringing their favorite treat (in bite size portions) and watching them share the treat with their friends.
And Happiness is ...
Seeing the smile on their faces... and knowing the dishes are all worth it...
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Tiaras and Rat Poison
There is a man I wish you all could know. Someday, I want to post a picture of him ... If I ever figure out how
Tuesday night, he stopped at my house and dropped off a ziploc baggie with red rat poison, and my daughter's carefully glued tiara.
A strange combination, but it was about the sweetest thing anyone could have done at that moment.
His name is Hal. He's served in at least two different bishoprics, and has been young men's president numerous times. He's been on the high council and probably just about every other calling in the church. But his favorite calling ... is Sunbeam Teacher or Nursery Leader. He and his wife were fabulous. Their primary kids called them Brother Howell and Sister Howell. Their official last names start with A, but it's just too hard for a 4 year old to pronounce "Hal," you know.
I am blessed to have Brother Howell as my home teacher.
He and his companion come every month. They ask every month, "Is there anything we can do to help?" And, while I know that the question is sincere, I rarely can think of anything.
But he doesn't let that stop him.
I was gone one weekend, and came home to find all of my yard work done. He spent most of Saturday working in my yard. He mowed my lawn, cleared off the garden, trimmed everything and then hauled it away. It looked beautiful. It was a monumental task, but he never admitted it was him. I had to bribe my neighbors to tell me who was responsible for the kindness.
I didn't ask for help. I didn't mention how overwhelmed I was at trying to keep up the yard. He just noticed.
Several weeks later, when the garden produce was all harvested, I finished piling up all the vines, cornstalks, and weeds from the garden on a Friday afternoon. I piled them in the backyard, and that night, I wondered how I was going to fit all that green waste into my van to haul it away.
Saturday afternoon, I returned from running some errands, and that garden waste was all gone. completely gone. Brother Howell had been driving by that afternoon, noticed the piles, and hauled them off for me.
I was amazed that someone would be so aware. The garden mess hadn't been sitting there for 24 hours, yet, he noticed it was ready to be hauled to the dump.
A month later, he showed up with a sling on his arm. He'd been having problems with his shoulder. When the pain finally got bad enough, he finally went to the doctor, and was told that the shoulder needed surgery.
His shoulder needed surgery, and yet, he cleared off my garden, mowed my lawn. Pulled my weeds. And then disappeared. He had his own yard work to do, livestock to care for, family to love.
A month or two later, I heard a sound in my ceiling. It was a fluttering sound. I thought it was birds that might have flown in through a vent. So I talked to Brother Howell. (He raises birds.) I was hoping we could rescue the bird that I thought was stuck in the rafters. Brother Howell came over that afternoon, looked at my house, and pronounced his verdict: the sounds were not caused by birds. It was mice. He left, only to return with a bucket of rat poison.
So Sunday, he came for his monthly visit. He talked to the children-told them to prepare to go on a mission. And during the conversation, it came up that Princess J's tiara (her Christmas present) had a piece that had broken off. He took the tiara, and the piece, determined to try to solder it together.
Soldering didn't work, but a combination of two different glues did. It took him 2 days to fix it.
The rat poison was to make sure the mice didn't return.
That's service!! A simple statement, but there's no other way to describe what he has done for my family.
In basketball, they teach you to keep your weight on your toes, hands up, reflexes poised, ready to intercept the pass or drive the lane. How do you teach someone to be prepared to serve with such quick response time?
He would humbly deflect any attention. But he truly is a remarkable man.
Just like an athlete, who's muscles are trained to know the feel of the ball, calculate the precise amount of force (and aim) to make the basket, Brother Howell has trained his eyes to notice what is around him, and he's prepared his heart to serve.
I want to be like Brother Howell someday.
Tuesday night, he stopped at my house and dropped off a ziploc baggie with red rat poison, and my daughter's carefully glued tiara.
A strange combination, but it was about the sweetest thing anyone could have done at that moment.
His name is Hal. He's served in at least two different bishoprics, and has been young men's president numerous times. He's been on the high council and probably just about every other calling in the church. But his favorite calling ... is Sunbeam Teacher or Nursery Leader. He and his wife were fabulous. Their primary kids called them Brother Howell and Sister Howell. Their official last names start with A, but it's just too hard for a 4 year old to pronounce "Hal," you know.
I am blessed to have Brother Howell as my home teacher.
He and his companion come every month. They ask every month, "Is there anything we can do to help?" And, while I know that the question is sincere, I rarely can think of anything.
But he doesn't let that stop him.
I was gone one weekend, and came home to find all of my yard work done. He spent most of Saturday working in my yard. He mowed my lawn, cleared off the garden, trimmed everything and then hauled it away. It looked beautiful. It was a monumental task, but he never admitted it was him. I had to bribe my neighbors to tell me who was responsible for the kindness.
I didn't ask for help. I didn't mention how overwhelmed I was at trying to keep up the yard. He just noticed.
Several weeks later, when the garden produce was all harvested, I finished piling up all the vines, cornstalks, and weeds from the garden on a Friday afternoon. I piled them in the backyard, and that night, I wondered how I was going to fit all that green waste into my van to haul it away.
Saturday afternoon, I returned from running some errands, and that garden waste was all gone. completely gone. Brother Howell had been driving by that afternoon, noticed the piles, and hauled them off for me.
I was amazed that someone would be so aware. The garden mess hadn't been sitting there for 24 hours, yet, he noticed it was ready to be hauled to the dump.
A month later, he showed up with a sling on his arm. He'd been having problems with his shoulder. When the pain finally got bad enough, he finally went to the doctor, and was told that the shoulder needed surgery.
His shoulder needed surgery, and yet, he cleared off my garden, mowed my lawn. Pulled my weeds. And then disappeared. He had his own yard work to do, livestock to care for, family to love.
A month or two later, I heard a sound in my ceiling. It was a fluttering sound. I thought it was birds that might have flown in through a vent. So I talked to Brother Howell. (He raises birds.) I was hoping we could rescue the bird that I thought was stuck in the rafters. Brother Howell came over that afternoon, looked at my house, and pronounced his verdict: the sounds were not caused by birds. It was mice. He left, only to return with a bucket of rat poison.
So Sunday, he came for his monthly visit. He talked to the children-told them to prepare to go on a mission. And during the conversation, it came up that Princess J's tiara (her Christmas present) had a piece that had broken off. He took the tiara, and the piece, determined to try to solder it together.
Soldering didn't work, but a combination of two different glues did. It took him 2 days to fix it.
The rat poison was to make sure the mice didn't return.
That's service!! A simple statement, but there's no other way to describe what he has done for my family.
In basketball, they teach you to keep your weight on your toes, hands up, reflexes poised, ready to intercept the pass or drive the lane. How do you teach someone to be prepared to serve with such quick response time?
He would humbly deflect any attention. But he truly is a remarkable man.
Just like an athlete, who's muscles are trained to know the feel of the ball, calculate the precise amount of force (and aim) to make the basket, Brother Howell has trained his eyes to notice what is around him, and he's prepared his heart to serve.
I want to be like Brother Howell someday.
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