Something Old

Today, Jack & I celebrated our 10-year anniversary. I thought it would be only proper to mark the occasion with the romantic story of how I fell in love with my wedding dress.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When my two older sisters were married, I observed my parents’ philosophy that while a wedding should have a reasonable budget, the gown was exempt. My big-hearted Dad could not put a price tag on granting his daughters a dress befitting their childhood dreams. I took note, and began making extravagant sketches in my mind.

I was single after my junior year in college, and decided to spend the summer in Arizona with my parents. On a boiling hot day in July, my Mom & I spent the afternoon running errands. On our way home, passing through a questionable neighborhood on the south side, we drove by a rundown Salvation Army. On a whim, we decided to stop and take a look inside. My mom has the most beautiful, Anthropologie-like collection of dishes and a talent for finding them in the most unlikely places, so we set out to sift through the rubble in search of a treasure.

As we approached the entrance, I noticed a hand-written sign that said, “TODAY ONLY. HALF OFF WEDDING DRESSES,” and very sarcastically announced that it must be my lucky day. If there’s any extra room in the cart when we’re done, I told my mom, let’s toss in a wedding gown. Hopefully I’ll need one someday.

The joke continued as we walked inside, so while my mom went to browse the china, I decided to prepare for an impromptu Salvation Army bridal gown fashion show. I grabbed the first dress I saw, went into the curtained off area that was the dressing room, and slipped it on. I zipped it up, looked in the mirror, and to my own surprise found myself thinking, “This is my wedding dress.”

I called my mom to come take a look. Before she walked in, I remember her saying, “This ought to be good.” She pulled back the curtain, stood looking confused for a moment, then finally said, “I think this is your wedding dress.”

We bought the dress, including headpiece and veil, for $30, and carried it out in a giant garbage bag. It was old and very delicate, but didn't need a single alteration.

Jack was also in Arizona at the time, working and playing baseball. In the little spare time he had, we had been on a few dates. I called him at his parents house that night, and the following conversation ensued -

Me: Hey

Jack: Hey

Me: What did you do today?

Jack: Worked. Baseball.

Me: Oh yeah….?

(waiting)

Jack (finally): What did you do today?

Me: I BOUGHT MY WEDDING DRESS!!!!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

We had dinner recently with another couple, and the story of my dress came up. When Jack impersonated that fateful telephone conversation, his friend asked, “Didn’t that scare you off?” Jack answered, “Actually, I remember thinking to myself - Any girl who can buy a wedding dress for 30 bucks, is the girl for me.”

Ten years later, after 6 moves, 3 children, 7 years of graduate school, and a sobering amassment of student debt, I understand well the logic behind his criteria.

I’m so glad I chose that $30 dress.

And him.

Weekend Plans

Today begins one of my two favorite weekends of the year. Every 6 months, members of the LDS faith get to sleep in, stay in their pajamas, make cinnamon rolls, and watch General Conference with their families.

Without fail, every time I watch General Conference I hear something that makes me feel grateful and uplifted. Something that gives me perspective. Something that makes me feel a little peace in a world where there is less and less of it. Something that motivates me to be a little bit of a better mother, a little more patient, a little more willing to forget myself.

If you would like to catch a bit of conference today or tomorrow, you can watch it here.

If you're planning to watch already, these are my favorite cinnamon rolls. We also love printing out these conference squares for the kids to fill with stickers & M&M's (I'm not going to lie, I play too. Competitively.). I also recommend doodling your way through the messages, the way my friend Mary Karlee does.

Have a great weekend!

Plastic Eggs & Deadly Plagues

The kids and I went grocery shopping at Safeway this morning and when we were finished, decided to browse through the Easter display.

I was sifting through the shelves - and half ignoring their desperate requests for jelly beans, stuffed chicks and chocolate bunnies - when Cal hands me this.

I beg your pardon?

I read the label again, confirming that yes, that there was a bag of PLAGUES. Who knew? The calamities suffered by the Egyptians? The disease, the darkness, the locusts…Turns out those weren’t just the wrath of God unleashed on Pharaoh. Those are toys you can put in your child’s Easter basket.

And I for one could not resist. I had just told the kids we didn’t have enough money for popsicles, then I turned around and tossed a bag of plagues into the cart.

The fun started at the register. Perhaps I’m easily amused, but I loved seeing “bag of plagues” on my grocery receipt, right between “Tostitos” and “parmesan cheese.”

Now let’s take a look inside -

First, we find the usual items one would expect in a child’s bag of plagues. Blood, lice, locusts, wild beasts…

Then of course there are boils. How creepy are the boils?

Creepy, but thank goodness for them. Most kids today have never even heard of boils, and I think it's high time they learned. Boil Handz could be the next Silly Bandz.

The cow is cute, but don’t be fooled.

He is diseased.

The frog? Not diseased. Leah loved the frog.

Until I told her to imagine millions of him, overflowing the neighbor’s pool, filling up the streets, spilling through our windows and into her bedroom….

Fun's over.

Here is Cal, plagued by darkness...

The bag also contains a puzzle,

Which will go in Jolie’s basket, obviously.

Jolie might be disturbed at first, but of course I can reassure her with the story of people slaying innocent lambs, slathering their blood above the door, and then listening to the deafening wail of Egyptians whose firstborns had been killed. Sweet dreams, darling.

And that, as we know, is the final plague. The label promises that all 10 are “Fun & Educational,” and I would have to agree. I think another selling point are the kinds of arguments these toys are likely to prompt among siblings (“Quit touching my boils!” “Take my lice out of your mouth!!” “Where’d you hide the blood??” etc.). With a little luck, these kinds of exchanges will occur in public.

But I'll let you be the judge, because I've decided to make this post a giveaway. We've had our fun and besides, plagues are meant to be spread around. Leave a comment at your own risk, because like it or not I'll be randomly selecting one of you to receive all 10 plagues in your mailbox next week. I'll even throw in a bag of my favorite Easter candy, just to make them easier to endure.

Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss!

From a fan so devoted, she went to school today dressed like this,

and giddy over her plan to enter the classroom with,

"Knock knock!"

(who's there?)

"Cindy Lou..."

Art they lovely?

I read an article last week in The Washington Times about an Italian art historian who claims to have finally discovered who the real Mona Lisa is.

He announced at a press conference in Rome that she is actually a he, inspired by a young male assistant of da Vinci. In response, the Louvre essentially threw back its head and laughed.

This got me thinking.

It has been 500 years since the Mona Lisa was painted, and we still have no idea who is behind her smile. I wonder if this was Leonardo’s intention, or if it drives him nuts that we’re still arguing about it, and that his inspiration has never been given proper credit.

In an attempt to avoid similar confusion among historians 500 years in the future, I would like to take this opportunity to provide a verified interpretation of my own personal collection. If anyone is reading this post in the year 2511, this is Leah’s art.

She drew it at church, when she was four.

It is her mother, with orange teeth and legs that protrude from the jawbone, and her father, with yellow horns and blue chest hair.

While Leah's art is more eclectic, Jolie has always tended toward a particular subject matter.

It first emerged in this sketch, which I posted a couple of years ago.

The art...

The inspiration...

Her little brother has been her most prominent subject ever since. This piece was a school assignment, entitled: “What I like to do on a snowy day.”

Art historians will find this work of particular interest, because it is the first sketch of Jolie’s in which we notice the emergence of a secondary inspiration. There is of course, the ever-present baby brother. But if you look beyond the brother, closely, your eye will begin to discern an appearance by the nasty green couch we got free off Craigslist.

I’m no curator, but I find it touching, the way she was able to capture a child’s tender affection for a piece of furniture, in spite of its ragged appearance, musty odor, bacteria, mites, etc.

Unfortunately, every great artist has their tragedy, and Jolie is no exception.

Hers occurred in early January at Macy’s, when her mother fell in love with a cozy, gray tufted sectional. She stood helplessly as her father purchased the couch, arranged for delivery, then explained that the nasty green one would no longer be part of the family. In fact, in would no longer be part of any family, but would be destroyed at the dump in order to protect the DC area from the risk of contamination.

The new couch arrived a month later, and is everything the old is not. Lovely. Cozy. Sanitary. Perfect for the gorgeous white felted pillows my mom bought us.

It is hard to explain then, why it's been three weeks, and we still have not gotten rid of the nasty green one. Every Saturday for three weeks Jack has offered to take it to the dump, and every Saturday I've come up with an excuse to hang on to it for just a little bit longer.

And so it remains in the family room, unapologetically in front of the new couch, while I try to muster up the courage to let it go. I appreciate the value of style and aesthetics, but it seems I also appreciate the value of having something around that my kids can snugl, eat, drink, jump, and pee on without having to worry about consequences.

Maybe Jolie is a more influential artist than I have given her credit.

Maybe beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.

Pure Energy

This week Leah was given her first Church Primary assignment since sustaining a black eye while serving as the reverence child. We held our breath a little in anticipation of what Jack called, “Leah vs. Primary, Round II.”

The children are learning about the plan of happiness, so she was assigned to give a 1-minute talk entitled, “Jesus Christ created the earth for me.”

I am happy to report that, in spite of a few unintelligible phrases (please refer to subtitles), she pulled it off beautifully. It’s amazing what the spirit can do, especially when combined with the promise of an entire stick of gum.

After enjoying the moment (sigh), I started to think...I'm no physicist, but I understand enough about the laws of energy to know that Leah’s can't be destroyed. Just because she pulls off a peaceful primary talk, does not mean that the wild motion inside her has disappeared. It just means that it’s been stored away as potential motion, waiting for a suitable opportunity to manifest itself.

So I kept an eye on her during the rest of Sharing Time, but she was the perfect picture of reverence. During class she remained in her chair for the entire duration, munching goldfish crakers and listening intently to stories about Jesus. She was quiet on the ride home. She was calm during lunch.

But when it was time for Sunday naps, she was too restless to fall asleep. I could tell that potential energy was desperate to strike. But I fell asleep anyway.

And then she found a Sharpie. And she found her Valentines. And she addressed them.

and then she slept like a baby.