Polishing the Silver

Some people just have to do things the hard way.

Bob, my son with the lip ring, has swallowed his sharpest jewelry.

Three times.

X-rays showed nothing.

Then just the other night, when we were eating veggie pizza for dinner, yet ANOTHER lip ornament disappeared.

This time, it wasn't Bob who swallowed his own jewelry. See, he doesn't care for vegetables much, and so he generously gave all his pizza toppings to his older brother, who gladly scraped Bob's plate clean.

Jack didn't notice any difficulty swallowing or any pain or anything. Don't forget the cheese!

Prophets and Kumquats

So I was driving my oldest son to seminary the other day (that's Bible study class for high-school students, who meet at the church at 6 a.m. weekdays) when he announced that he wished he were just an inch or two taller. He said that would be the perfect height for him.

Now I am not a tall person. OK, I'm not even average. But this has never bothered me, probably because I'm a woman who loves to dance. (OK, that's "a whole 'nother post for a whole 'nother day. . .)

Me: How tall are you?
Jack: 5'4"
Me: Are you as tall as my mom?
Jack: How tall is she?
Me: I don't know how tall she is, but I do know she has shrunk.
Jack: Great! I'm gonna be a freakin' kumquat by the time I'm old. They'll have to put a primary children's step-stool in front of the pulpit in the Conference Center! People will be like, "Look at the cute little prophet!" I'll drive a little black Geo Metro and be like, "Wow! This car is huge!"

I laughed throughout the day over the thought of a little wrinkled orange kumquat in a big black Metro. Surely he must know that the Prophet rides in the back of a limo?

Beans, beans, the magical fuel . . .

Last night we were reading scriptures as a family. Afterward, we got to talking about what we had read. This doesn't happen every night, but we were enjoying the conversation and togetherness. I knelt down in the middle of the room to give the cue that I was ready for family prayer. I was hoping that the rest of the family would quickly get quiet and kneel down with me.

But things don't go as smoothly as I imagine.

So everyone is talking at once, and I'm tempted to say, "Take a number". I'm trying to listen to my Mozelle(6) who has been repeating some unintelligible question for just about long enough to signal an impending tantrum. I ask the others to let me listen to her, in the hope that they can help me figure out what she's asking me. She says it 2 or 3 more times before I come up with the answer.

She had very plainly asked if we were going to Burrito, Utah. Now, we used to live in Utah, and we have gone there since our move, for a family reunion. But never to a town named Burrito. I repeated what I had heard, and she seemed very pleased that I had finally gotten her message. Then Jolie (11) said, "The gas will be cheap there!"

You Know it's Time to Wean When . . .

I've heard other moms say that they knew it was time to wean when their child lifted up their shirt at church and said something embarassing like "Booboo juice, Mom!"

I probably shouldn't wait 'til something quite that memorable happens, but as you know if you've read my previous posts, I'm just not a weaner . . .

My little Louella is over 2 years old now, and she's still nursing plenty. She'll ask to nurse by saying "I wanna nuhs" or "I wanna nuhs you."

The funny thing is what she says when she wants to switch sides, mid-feeding. She'll let go and say, "Udder side".