Butterflies

New news: Ruby changed from saying "Fuff-a-eye" to saying "Butt-er-fly". Jake and I had a couple of tears together over that one.

Grace: "Mom, can I eat my scrambled eggs in the living room, I PROMISE I won't make a mess!?!?" (big wide eyes and eyebrows up to the sky and mouth wide open)
"Ok." (looking down at, seriously, a little teenager)
"Oh my gosh Mommy you are the best Mom ever, you are SUCH a good Mom!" (fade with her running into the living room with her bowl of eggs bouncing everywhere)

Last night when I put her to bed Ruby asked me, "Mammy, tell da dorwee da one da Pincess ah found ah hat da spawrkuhly pink hat and put da hat on da baby Pincess! And ah ah ah ah da ah go ah sweep in da red bed ah and hewr mammy said yes and den..."

Bit Jealous

This is what I freakin' did (you can sense the anger in my voice, right?). It's a young adult fiction novel and it's written by my friend and old roomate AnnDee Ellis. She's kind of a jerk for writing it because it's actually really good. I'm almost done with it (I only bought it last night, ok??). Almost the whole book is an 8th grader's inner dialogue and it's published in the most unique format I've ever seen (you will see if [when] you buy it).
AnnDee is amazing and I went to her release party last night.
"AnnDee, you look so beau--"
"Wholesome?", crinkling her nose.
I laughed but seriously, she looked cute, and radiant, and many other things from Charlotte's Web.
So I've got a friend with a published novel. And a friend with a #1 selling album. Why doesn't one of my friends just become a famous photographer and just get this agony overwith? I guess it's not really THAT bad... (fake nervous laugh).
I really do have the best life. And it's not even half over (hopefully). Watch for Sarah the cruise ship singer making her debut at age 58!!

Pee...

My sister in law Rebecca informed me yesterday that I need to blog more (I think she's just really bored at work sometimes) and I thought I'd pull a little story out of my back pocket.
So Ruby deserves her own blog, her own novel, her own life story, photo montage, biography. She's amazing and she's not even 3. She's been potty trained for quite some time, except for the magical moments when she's sleeping (at night because she stopped taking naps ages ago). Jake likes to sleep. Sometimes I will hear strange things... like Grace will be SCREAMING his name all of the sudden and I'll run downstairs to see what's the matter and Grace is standing over Jake trying to wake him up and the screaming of his name does NOTHING whatsoever, he doesn't even stir.

So the other day Ruby and Jake fell asleep together on the couch (the above picture is actually last night, but the incident was last week. He falls asleep a lot). I lovingly said, "ah" for the fifth time that week and thought "how cute, a husband and a baby sleeping together". So Ruby wakes up eventually and I pay little attention to her physical state, I am roaming from room to room since it was a Saturday and a mom's gotta clean. Always. Well you know that when you were little and you curled up in a ball to go to sleep, you put your hands between your knees... it was comfortable. I passed by Jake and glanced at his hands stuffed between his knees comfortably. So a little time passes and Jake woke up, stood up, and I think he even answered the door. I'm standing in the kitchen and he walks toward me slowly saying, "Sarah, she PEED on me!!!" There was urine all over his shorts. She had peed on him hours ago and he had been sleeping with it, cuddling with it, putting his hands on it, and generally having a lot of involvement with the big urine spot on his clothing. We laughed and laughed. I think the funniest thing about it is that you give so much to your children, every day, every hour, every second you are giving your time to them. And usually, they pay you back by peeing on you. And "peeing" is proverbial, including a wide range of spitting up, talking back, making messes, wrenching your heart strings and eventually appreciating you for everything you do (I think it took me a couple decades to truly appreciate my parents). So Jake got peed on. He kinda deserved it for taking so many naps.

MUSIQUE

Her album is finally out!!
Her site is here:
www.sarabmusic.com

No pictures, just a morning full of rain. It was a weak rain, like a flick. I felt like Utah needed a punch.
It's strange, I think about my Grandparents a lot. Since I've been a mom, especially. My previous life was a trough, or a wave, and now I see it in more of a circle. I just chisel my days out one by one and my ancestors are like the choir. I can feel them around me all the time. My great grandma Wilkenloh had a house right on the cliff above the ocean. She had an old organ and my sisters and I would sit on the bench and play the organ and look straight out the huge window, through the trees, and gaze at the Pacific. When my mom was a teenager she went to live with Grandma Wilkenloh. A loving Grandmother and her beautiful, black-haired Granddaughter Mary would take walks together, take care of the horses, and watch the sunset over the ocean. My mother loved her. The first thing I would do when I got to Grandma Wilkenloh's house was run to her feet, sit down and beg her to braid my hair. The skin on her fingers was soft and wrinkly, and the rhythm of her voice was so gentle. Her hands would braid my hair so slowly I would want to go to sleep, but I stayed awake hoping she would keep braiding over and over.
I find I cannot make a sandwich or wash a salad bowl without thinking of my mother or my Grandma Jeannie, picturing them doing the same things.

I am lucky to be lead and preceded by a legacy of amazing women. Sometimes I wonder who I'm going to be or how I'm going to turn out and I realize it's already happening...

July 4th Activities

Hiked up Silver Lake for July 4th.
Loved it.

Iraq

I sat down today needing to write. I let my mind wander, my head relax, and the first thing that came to mind - my sister.
Rachel is in Iraq. IRAQ. Where the desert and Iraqis are. I cried when she left. Moms and Dads, sisters and brothers, we all run around the world carrying chunks of eachother. They come, and they leave, and a part of you rushes through the closing door and leaves with them.
We used to share underwear when we were little. We had to in a family of nine kids and not much money. Sharing is not the right word... I would steal hers and she would steal mine and on the foggy playground she would walk up to me and demand I show her what pair I had on. I looked behind me for friends- any friend- that would help me stand up to my scrawny big sister. I looked turned back around and true to her nature, she was gone by then, having accepted my silence for guilt and had pursued another pressing issue (winning a tetherball tournament).

She backpacked through Europe by herself.
I hiked the Y by myself.
She raced motocross.
I used to crash on my Grandpa's old dirt bike.
She restored old furniture.
I bought a nightstand from D.I. and spray painted it black.
She knows everything about everything.
I struggle to remember the names of Shakespeare plays.
She tans.
I freckle.

I love her and have watched her struggles and absolute towering successes and now that she's an Army paramedic things are scary... Because I love her. Her blonde hair, skinny legs, sharp tongue, the way she's turning into a 30 yr old woman.

I met a young guy today that just came back from Iraq. He looked like he was 17, but in his eyes you could tell he had seen things- He was grown up, tougher. I wanted to sit down with him and just talk. To see how shooting and being shot at for 18 months had changed him. America likes to be the world's street sweeper... and it's effect on me? I'm only beginning to understand.