tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-645163332355898132024-03-13T15:42:37.205-07:00The 'G' Trainmartha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.comBlogger262125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-43439855557074898242012-07-13T06:31:00.000-07:002012-07-13T06:31:48.084-07:00Our Fourth (the abridged version):<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kCE7E7MOnP0/UAAh6LJ1bFI/AAAAAAAAGaA/V4MsJWjBkbc/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kCE7E7MOnP0/UAAh6LJ1bFI/AAAAAAAAGaA/V4MsJWjBkbc/s400/006.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OvcMDj7ixl4/UAAh_Y1ehJI/AAAAAAAAGaM/ZnwkKswWbrA/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OvcMDj7ixl4/UAAh_Y1ehJI/AAAAAAAAGaM/ZnwkKswWbrA/s400/007.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7997blfJLdQ/UAAiDzpoSNI/AAAAAAAAGaY/G-UR6GGRr28/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7997blfJLdQ/UAAiDzpoSNI/AAAAAAAAGaY/G-UR6GGRr28/s400/008.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EsEPZBSaiAE/UAAiKBEEtmI/AAAAAAAAGak/1heYOEtEVUw/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EsEPZBSaiAE/UAAiKBEEtmI/AAAAAAAAGak/1heYOEtEVUw/s400/010.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9rbmTBLGWtU/UAAiP5uLMoI/AAAAAAAAGaw/0cZmsAXwEa0/s1600/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9rbmTBLGWtU/UAAiP5uLMoI/AAAAAAAAGaw/0cZmsAXwEa0/s400/011.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HFl5vFg4bSo/UAAiWH8LdlI/AAAAAAAAGa8/6PagC7dryhU/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HFl5vFg4bSo/UAAiWH8LdlI/AAAAAAAAGa8/6PagC7dryhU/s400/015.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dYSPQq6VHKU/UAAiaiaZF6I/AAAAAAAAGbI/-p1BgG3dHxs/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dYSPQq6VHKU/UAAiaiaZF6I/AAAAAAAAGbI/-p1BgG3dHxs/s400/014.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rX5KsXIotyM/UAAifvaeZoI/AAAAAAAAGbU/WA39zCMqh94/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rX5KsXIotyM/UAAifvaeZoI/AAAAAAAAGbU/WA39zCMqh94/s400/016.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-015HEHLfDjY/UAAilGG-G9I/AAAAAAAAGbk/3AzT8jh28tk/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-015HEHLfDjY/UAAilGG-G9I/AAAAAAAAGbk/3AzT8jh28tk/s400/017.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zlu-uUYFMoY/UAAirP280XI/AAAAAAAAGbw/rLoMbFQUnX4/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zlu-uUYFMoY/UAAirP280XI/AAAAAAAAGbw/rLoMbFQUnX4/s400/020.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IHn7Y-1tRcU/UAAiwLTmX6I/AAAAAAAAGb8/tK7kiQdOQaw/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IHn7Y-1tRcU/UAAiwLTmX6I/AAAAAAAAGb8/tK7kiQdOQaw/s400/022.JPG" /></a>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E5CNBCSAeZA/UAAiziUnmXI/AAAAAAAAGcI/6CacrL76xso/s1600/024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E5CNBCSAeZA/UAAiziUnmXI/AAAAAAAAGcI/6CacrL76xso/s400/024.JPG" /></a>
The photos are all from the Provo parade. What I forgot to photograph was the fun with cousins, food, and fireworks.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-47799497904776629522012-06-22T15:20:00.000-07:002012-06-22T15:20:15.843-07:00What we've been doing so far this summer:<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TNoGi5vNaKo/T-Tuj0540wI/AAAAAAAAGY8/g1DHGURlz3g/s1600/picstitch%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TNoGi5vNaKo/T-Tuj0540wI/AAAAAAAAGY8/g1DHGURlz3g/s400/picstitch%2B1.jpg" /></a>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ukhx1mfuu18/T-Tupu-1MiI/AAAAAAAAGZI/iTKz55hbdxU/s1600/picstitch%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ukhx1mfuu18/T-Tupu-1MiI/AAAAAAAAGZI/iTKz55hbdxU/s400/picstitch%2B2.jpg" /></a>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VQAMpp5ySSs/T-TuwGzrmaI/AAAAAAAAGZU/0BKYeVkSlBM/s1600/picstitch%2B3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VQAMpp5ySSs/T-TuwGzrmaI/AAAAAAAAGZU/0BKYeVkSlBM/s400/picstitch%2B3.jpg" /></a>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MrBeQH0SG1o/T-Tu0qbd3NI/AAAAAAAAGZg/G_GjTjP-DQc/s1600/picstitch%2B4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MrBeQH0SG1o/T-Tu0qbd3NI/AAAAAAAAGZg/G_GjTjP-DQc/s400/picstitch%2B4.jpg" /></a>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RZ4aJOgVEUo/T-Tu6ilo4VI/AAAAAAAAGZs/dlB9l1k0ajc/s1600/picstitch%2B6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RZ4aJOgVEUo/T-Tu6ilo4VI/AAAAAAAAGZs/dlB9l1k0ajc/s400/picstitch%2B6.jpg" /></a>martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-15711407357960466432012-05-11T10:36:00.000-07:002012-05-11T10:36:59.865-07:00The Friday before Mother's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My father calls and wants to know when I will post on this blog. Often. And I've talked of vacillation before. Yesterday the sky was perfectly blue. This morning was grey, but wait! Now again, it is blue with swirly white strands of cottony clouds. Last night I had very little sleep which lends itself to a morning of need. Yesterday, I was a tinge frightened by the apathy I felt toward the (necessary) dependence I should feel on my creator. And so as I approach Mother's day I take an assessment. (Really, always, everyday.)
One of my children breaks me. Every single day. And it has always been. From the day she was born I was broken, and I am just not sufficient enough. Every morning we do the same dance, and I think: Really? Really? It is like some kind of SNL skit. At some point I think it must improve, but it doesn't. And I fall flat. And there it is, this hardness, a difficulty that is really more than me.
Sometimes I think back on former episodes of my life. And about change. About times when the Lord's grace seemed to bubble over from inside and change seemed to take place quickly. But I am on no fast track now. I am slow to learn, I find myself often confused. But when in the right place the question arises: have you felt to sing the song of redeeming love? And I have! I have! The Lord's love and grace is about change. And when I come to Him with my broken pieces (over and over) and childish questions (because I am such a child) I am never condemned, there is never a Really? Really? And this grace defines. It defines people as God's children. By love and not by their sins. And not by mine.
And so tomorrow I will try again (and the next day). And I know I will keep coming up short. I don't know what this will mean, for my daughter or for me or for anyone else. But every hardness I've encountered has been a gift, a treasure that has brought me steps closer to my Savior.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-18035477051696136382012-04-20T09:40:00.010-07:002012-04-20T10:27:03.199-07:00The blog continues:I don't know why I say I will...because I won't, but I try. Mostly, the last thing I want to do is blog, I want the stories and the photos, I just don't want to do it myself.<br /><br />I am a lucky girl. That is the truth. I tell myself this often, I have struggles-things that seem Mt. Everest in the moment but really are just the facts of life in the long run. But really, life is good to me.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mWXGaIWWcSE/T5GV9pskI_I/AAAAAAAAGWo/8ypdmjVvxnE/s1600/4321.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mWXGaIWWcSE/T5GV9pskI_I/AAAAAAAAGWo/8ypdmjVvxnE/s400/4321.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733528687016682482" /></a><br /><br />Our spring break was pretty peaceful. We had a zoo trip with friends and did some cleaning, and I had an alone trip to the dinosaur museum with Abram and Rosemary. My favorite part of the museum is the mammoth screen, I don't go to the theater often, but when I do, it is to the mammoth screen to learn about rocks! <br /><br /> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nq_fe4ahiXI/T5GWxZ1DyvI/AAAAAAAAGW0/rg88dN5No6U/s1600/aber%2Band%2Brosemary.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nq_fe4ahiXI/T5GWxZ1DyvI/AAAAAAAAGW0/rg88dN5No6U/s400/aber%2Band%2Brosemary.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733529576110541554" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mZNEe4kp5V0/T5GW5-ZUyMI/AAAAAAAAGXA/mAIxl2RpFnw/s1600/digging.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mZNEe4kp5V0/T5GW5-ZUyMI/AAAAAAAAGXA/mAIxl2RpFnw/s400/digging.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733529723365279938" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HIB1CP4lwAY/T5GXnzOAjSI/AAAAAAAAGXM/pH1xx0yhYEg/s1600/rose%2Band%2Bmom.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HIB1CP4lwAY/T5GXnzOAjSI/AAAAAAAAGXM/pH1xx0yhYEg/s400/rose%2Band%2Bmom.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733530510639009058" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOX5tKPAj9A/T5GXzm0fuDI/AAAAAAAAGXY/90jPe9DloyE/s1600/norah%2Band%2Brosemary.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOX5tKPAj9A/T5GXzm0fuDI/AAAAAAAAGXY/90jPe9DloyE/s400/norah%2Band%2Brosemary.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733530713469204530" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jnK2yQj_glw/T5GZc5pokFI/AAAAAAAAGXk/WNuZsNYTOOo/s1600/Scan0002.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 103px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jnK2yQj_glw/T5GZc5pokFI/AAAAAAAAGXk/WNuZsNYTOOo/s400/Scan0002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733532522410184786" /></a><br /><br />Norah has a fun teacher who has the children put on some sort of presentation quite often. I haven't done my best to document this but here are a few:<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9l_Rrj-4ABA/T5GaF6X94sI/AAAAAAAAGXw/LKxdGhqWkDQ/s1600/neptune.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9l_Rrj-4ABA/T5GaF6X94sI/AAAAAAAAGXw/LKxdGhqWkDQ/s400/neptune.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733533226979156674" /></a><br /><br />Norah and Neptune. At least I think it was Neptune, I can't remember.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4azE6pX_g2Y/T5GaZiF7syI/AAAAAAAAGX8/_QLyiIDw5iI/s1600/norah%2Bjosephina.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4azE6pX_g2Y/T5GaZiF7syI/AAAAAAAAGX8/_QLyiIDw5iI/s400/norah%2Bjosephina.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733533564058448674" /></a><br /><br /><br />Norah as Josephina, her favorite character from a book.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JV7wY5n_0HQ/T5Gam8Tl6kI/AAAAAAAAGYI/zo7Q_zJFBxo/s1600/norah%2Bpageant.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JV7wY5n_0HQ/T5Gam8Tl6kI/AAAAAAAAGYI/zo7Q_zJFBxo/s400/norah%2Bpageant.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733533794433362498" /></a><br /><br />Norah at her Christmas pageant. <br /><br />Speaking of Norah, she was one of 90 children who tried out for the school talent show, about 20 were chosen and Norah was one. I am not a delusional parent, I can admit when my child wasn't great, but Norah was awesome. Seriously, one of the best. Brad had practiced with her for quite a while and she sang beautifully, played the tambourine perfectly, and kicked A on the harmonica. And when I figure out how to get it off of her video camera, I will post it on here.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-80429084975724027382012-03-22T10:53:00.005-07:002012-03-22T11:06:18.316-07:00Starting Over<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JFRfjo-YDS4/T2tnPXNi9fI/AAAAAAAAGV0/h3wtwYSPM7E/s1600/003.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JFRfjo-YDS4/T2tnPXNi9fI/AAAAAAAAGV0/h3wtwYSPM7E/s400/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722781265130878450" /></a><br /><br />The air is still a bit chilly, but I can feel the promise of spring.<br /><br />We are ready. We planted primroses in little terracotta pots, the pansies are waiting on the porch, and the dahlias are going in the dirt today.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r985vN_ncGA/T2toA1INxMI/AAAAAAAAGWM/xknB0xU6pKA/s1600/007.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r985vN_ncGA/T2toA1INxMI/AAAAAAAAGWM/xknB0xU6pKA/s400/007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722782114975171778" /></a><br /><br />My children are getting all itchy for outside and I cut my hair off. My stomach is pretty darn flat (standing only, sitting all bets are off.) Marathon training is well underway, 19 miles alone last weekend, at an eight minute average. Yay for gluten free!<br /><br />I am anxious for arugula in my garden (spiders and all) and on my plate. And I am just ready to let the work begin, because I love the work of spring.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-33271329400736412502012-03-14T08:23:00.004-07:002012-03-14T08:37:06.793-07:00Because I will forget these things...<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XG5YkaRd-ks/T2C4BPlJwhI/AAAAAAAAGVA/XefCMzo3ObE/s1600/005.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XG5YkaRd-ks/T2C4BPlJwhI/AAAAAAAAGVA/XefCMzo3ObE/s400/005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719773858262270482" /></a><br /><br />Rosemary truly can be a pill, and she often is, everyday. But she is at that age when everything (almost) she says is pretty darling. These are the few I remember from the past few days:<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R4IPU0qtwL8/T2C4Yy0Z-wI/AAAAAAAAGVM/3EniBmLNqXE/s1600/007.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R4IPU0qtwL8/T2C4Yy0Z-wI/AAAAAAAAGVM/3EniBmLNqXE/s400/007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719774262858480386" /></a><br /><br />Lulu is on the early track so from the time I get her up to the time I hustle her out the door, it is a race. Yesterday, as she was putting her socks and shoes on, I yelled: Hop to it Lulu! Rosemary who was sitting at the counter eating breakfast said: Lulu isn't a rabbit momma! <br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kXXIeEUqlGk/T2C5HysMr9I/AAAAAAAAGVY/k29rOlp1sxA/s1600/012.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kXXIeEUqlGk/T2C5HysMr9I/AAAAAAAAGVY/k29rOlp1sxA/s400/012.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719775070277906386" /></a><br /><br />Rosemary is also at the stage where she is laying down some serious manipulation. Bottom line is, she wants to be treated like a big girl while simultaneously being treated like a baby. She often wants me to carry her, which leads to the: my leg hurts, or my throw ups, or the token "cough". Last night, at bedtime, she refused to walk across the bridge that joins both halves of our upstairs. She pleaded with Brad to pick her up and carry her. When asked why she couldn't walk she said, pointing over the railing, speaking in her most dramatic whisper: it's dangerous dad, it's dangerous.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZOMW2HE74KI/T2C6sYBstkI/AAAAAAAAGVk/a2unl2EcXcw/s1600/013.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZOMW2HE74KI/T2C6sYBstkI/AAAAAAAAGVk/a2unl2EcXcw/s400/013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719776798287115842" /></a>martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-85702277383375421252012-02-29T05:52:00.008-08:002012-02-29T08:35:16.325-08:00Just wanted to get this in...I want this in my blog book so here is a little post:<br /><br />This year we wanted to not only save money on our Christmas cards/pictures, but I wanted them to feel a little more organic. In my old age I guess I am too underwhelmed with the contrived/manufactured look. I just wanted a somewhat decent snapshot that we could tape on some paper that Norah water-colored. Good idea no? Well, in my somewhat idealistic brain it seemed easy-peasy, but that is not quite the way it played out.<br /><br />On Thanksgiving we dressed in nic<span style="font-style:italic;">er</span> clothing (brushed our hair and that sort of stuff), asked my father to take a few pictures in his back yard, and then the festivities began!<br /><br />Apparently, being photographed is akin to torture.<br /><br />#1<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h5HPsEdTZCM/T05PfFysbtI/AAAAAAAAGUA/D7I25czcvRg/s1600/004.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h5HPsEdTZCM/T05PfFysbtI/AAAAAAAAGUA/D7I25czcvRg/s400/004.JPG" border="0"alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714592372729081554" /></a><br /><br />Not that bad, but not that good either. And Rosemary! <br /><br />#2<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-84eD05I-T3c/T05P9QdwRSI/AAAAAAAAGUM/aORWct-5aTA/s1600/005.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 390px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-84eD05I-T3c/T05P9QdwRSI/AAAAAAAAGUM/aORWct-5aTA/s400/005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714592890990118178" /></a><br /><br />Seriously? How hard is it to look at the camera?<br /><br />#3<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-omUa-u05w_U/T05QZ4fs-JI/AAAAAAAAGUY/LcJ-vNNcfJg/s1600/008.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-omUa-u05w_U/T05QZ4fs-JI/AAAAAAAAGUY/LcJ-vNNcfJg/s400/008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714593382772045970" /></a><br /><br />Whatever. And we all look a little sick.<br /><br />#4<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mh3035okPP4/T05QsRjjexI/AAAAAAAAGUk/WL5GenJtQrU/s1600/014.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mh3035okPP4/T05QsRjjexI/AAAAAAAAGUk/WL5GenJtQrU/s400/014.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714593698736732946" /></a><br /><br />This was as good as it was going to get, but Rosemary!<br /><br />So I caved, and had my running friend switch her head, which made it look manufactured and far from perfect. But I suppose that was the point.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mJcoDqxfGTI/T05RLu32DQI/AAAAAAAAGUw/LK9nkhobwio/s1600/014swap2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mJcoDqxfGTI/T05RLu32DQI/AAAAAAAAGUw/LK9nkhobwio/s400/014swap2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714594239182408962" /></a><br /><br />And so it is. My favorite photographs of my family (siblings, parents) are the silly, either trying way-too-hard studio portraits or snapshots where people are posed far from perfect, eyes are crazy, someone is doing something that I'm sure made my parents cringe, and personalities are conveyed. <br /><br />Maybe I don't want to forget how crazy it is to assemble a family of six before the camera.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-33129455656832676692012-02-17T12:14:00.001-08:002012-02-17T14:07:32.664-08:00My Career.I now serve on the "Relief Society committee" since being released as the YW president a year ago. It is just alright, I've served here before and I'm still not quite sure what the real purpose is, if you know what I mean. If you don't, just ignore me.<br /><br />Anyway, our last meeting (on Wednesday) was on using technology to keep memories and family history. I was asked to speak on blogging. Uh-huh. I guess I need to step it up and write a little more about these people I am raising and these relationships I have been entrusted with.<br /><br />Norah:<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QBmJcrRm11o/Tz63VnKCTdI/AAAAAAAAGRs/_Dy9cFA7o9w/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QBmJcrRm11o/Tz63VnKCTdI/AAAAAAAAGRs/_Dy9cFA7o9w/s400/010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710202959468580306" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nDDyqZIHnKE/Tz65XHcO2hI/AAAAAAAAGR4/B0aj9Zla4-I/s1600/005.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nDDyqZIHnKE/Tz65XHcO2hI/AAAAAAAAGR4/B0aj9Zla4-I/s400/005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710205184337959442" /></a><br /><br />The relationship that I have with Norah is my most difficult. I love Norah, she is sweet and talented, but she presents challenges. At 4 in the morning, I can be found lamenting the fact that I will be fasting every single fast Sunday, for the rest of the year for Norah and myself. I know that <span style="font-style:italic;">I</span> need to learn how to allow her to develop into <span style="font-style:italic;">her</span> best self and into the potential she has while also teaching her responsibility and efficiency. That is hard, I don't know how to yet, but I have faith that I can learn.<br /><br />She is taking ballet and enjoys it. She is insightful and thoughtful. She tends to question things, like women and their roles in the church. I wonder where she gets this? <br /><br />Lulu:<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f5DP8VCPhYg/Tz65lcCmwCI/AAAAAAAAGSE/3hlLI7EZs3s/s1600/006.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f5DP8VCPhYg/Tz65lcCmwCI/AAAAAAAAGSE/3hlLI7EZs3s/s400/006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710205430385786914" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v0ShEHzmmfg/Tz65zm5qITI/AAAAAAAAGSQ/VBZ9xXH4gtE/s1600/012.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v0ShEHzmmfg/Tz65zm5qITI/AAAAAAAAGSQ/VBZ9xXH4gtE/s400/012.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710205673819218226" /></a><br /><br />Lulu needs me and I need Lulu. For whatever reason, I seem to "feel" Lulu, I always have. She hugs me way too tight, and expects the ridiculous from me, but she is profoundly loveable. It isn't fair to all the other children in the world that Lulu exists.<br /><br />She loves school and other children. She even has a crush, which is a good sign. She also day dreams about little fantasies, which is another good sign. She told me one morning that she day dreamed about being the only student who showed up for A tack and her crush being the only student who showed up for B track, so that they would be totally alone. Another time, she told me of her fantasy of being out on a gymnasium floor with a crowd watching her, while an announcer said: You are about to witness Lulu! The amazing gymnast! I signed her up for gymnastics within the week by the way.<br /><br />Abram:<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xq9f_Gh7g3Y/Tz7Iil3BKQI/AAAAAAAAGSc/_qHPzvJcfqs/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xq9f_Gh7g3Y/Tz7Iil3BKQI/AAAAAAAAGSc/_qHPzvJcfqs/s400/010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710221874156349698" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c7D0OJ_lvNo/Tz7ItYWh2BI/AAAAAAAAGSo/pr7Tx6Tem3M/s1600/008.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c7D0OJ_lvNo/Tz7ItYWh2BI/AAAAAAAAGSo/pr7Tx6Tem3M/s400/008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710222059508979730" /></a><br /><br />I am having a sort of renaissance of affection with Abram. He went through a tough stage of torturing his sister and whining, but he is starting to pull through. I think he is brilliant of course. He makes things constantly. If he sees something he wants, he immediately sets out to make it. He has some serious ingenuity. He attached a cable from the handle of his locker to the handle of the shoe drawer below in order to open both drawers at once (because it is too much work to open one at a time.) <br /><br />The other day we were talking about school and I asked him who his best friend was. He replied: Mommy. Today, while I was helping him clean his bathroom, he asked me if Jesus would take care of our home when we are dead. I told him that someone else would live in our home when we died. He asked if Jesus would at least take care of his blankie.<br /><br />Rosemary:<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R5LLFOLvtdY/Tz7K_j-JoxI/AAAAAAAAGS0/f1Y9bBHXmJE/s1600/003.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R5LLFOLvtdY/Tz7K_j-JoxI/AAAAAAAAGS0/f1Y9bBHXmJE/s400/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710224570888856338" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rhlky5ujQhM/Tz7LTHWeZoI/AAAAAAAAGTM/4L-DWfUzEJk/s1600/002.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rhlky5ujQhM/Tz7LTHWeZoI/AAAAAAAAGTM/4L-DWfUzEJk/s400/002.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710224906803635842" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1SoMTEIoIJk/Tz7LkfGJMII/AAAAAAAAGTY/Wjsu9HSBwbk/s1600/003.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1SoMTEIoIJk/Tz7LkfGJMII/AAAAAAAAGTY/Wjsu9HSBwbk/s400/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710225205235363970" /></a><br /><br />I'm just going to be honest: Rosemary is driving me crazy. She is up, she is down, she is crying, she is yelling, she loves me, she doesn't love me, she only loves daddy, or Abram. Nothing is ever right or good enough for her and I don't know why I didn't choose abstinence. But she smiles and bats her eyelashes and I melt again. I pray this will pass too.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HG3l_4RetQ8/Tz7Mj9jiUoI/AAAAAAAAGTk/a0g_isDLy34/s1600/007.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HG3l_4RetQ8/Tz7Mj9jiUoI/AAAAAAAAGTk/a0g_isDLy34/s400/007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710226295743468162" /></a><br /><br />Brad is a good husband and really loves our children. He takes them almost every Saturday to do something fun, and most of the time I stay home and read while Rosemary sleeps. We are lucky.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9kI0vtNh-p0/Tz7NEu9M-KI/AAAAAAAAGTw/U-SymBLV79w/s1600/006.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9kI0vtNh-p0/Tz7NEu9M-KI/AAAAAAAAGTw/U-SymBLV79w/s400/006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710226858760272034" /></a><br /><br />Sometimes when things are actually pretty good, I wait for the other shoe to drop. But I am trying to find peace in actually enjoying the fruits of good labor or the fruits of plain old luck. I am actually starting to maybe unlock some of the secrets of life, seriously? I am enjoying the mundane, the teaching of math (yuck), the teaching of cleaning the toilets, the laundry piles, and the tiny increments of success every day. I guess this is it. Living in the moment is hard for someone like me but slowly, it is sinking in.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-862656181581422092012-02-02T12:21:00.000-08:002012-02-02T12:44:49.595-08:00Checking In<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ugufZ9XhscU/TyrwqKLZObI/AAAAAAAAGRI/Hu3GHge09po/s1600/059.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ugufZ9XhscU/TyrwqKLZObI/AAAAAAAAGRI/Hu3GHge09po/s400/059.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704636485095471538" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MTs1w9FG_TE/Tyrwk_mdb-I/AAAAAAAAGQ8/tEYBY9sz2Kc/s1600/060.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MTs1w9FG_TE/Tyrwk_mdb-I/AAAAAAAAGQ8/tEYBY9sz2Kc/s400/060.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704636396356857826" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2iF0jnpEfVQ/TyrwzmvLTnI/AAAAAAAAGRU/SIeKnZvUukg/s1600/085.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2iF0jnpEfVQ/TyrwzmvLTnI/AAAAAAAAGRU/SIeKnZvUukg/s400/085.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704636647380569714" /></a><br /><br />For those of you that are curious, we are still alive. And really, I would like a blog to look back on, but when I think of posting I become too overwhelmed with actually taking the time to do it. I suppose I should simplify and just do what is easy and efficient, maybe post a picture a few times a week (which would perhaps generate more photos) and if there is time to write, I will write. No pressure though.<br /><br />We are doing well. My children are pretty fantastic (mostly), there have been a few highlights and maybe later I will put them up in cyber space. We took a trip to Moab a few weeks ago and the top two pictures pretty much speak as to the mood. Some time was spent moping and whining. Some was spent in happiness. Such is life. It was a sort of epiphany for me, my mother probably endured many road trips, gutting them out for our sakes. Thank you mom. It is all gold and bliss for us. As for my children, I hope they have fond memories of Moab. I will choose to only remember pieces:) <br /><br />I am so good. So much better than I have been in, well, a few years. I was really pretty sick for about a year and a half. The thing is I really didn't know or understand it. It progressively became worse over time, I was always complaining to my friends and family that I just didn't feel well, that I was exhausted, and that there was something wrong. My running was horrible, sometimes I would have to stop and put my head between my knees. My iron was low, I saw a doctor, did blood work, experimented with all kinds of stuff, but didn't get better. I know this is a tale, but because of the way I feel now, I feel like I need to shout it from the roof tops. Anyway, around Thanksgiving I saw a doctor again to no avail. On my car ride home I was lamenting my fate and sincerely, I heard a voice tell me what I needed to do. I needed to go gluten-free and sugar-free. And I did, and I have! Within a week all of my ailments subsided, I have tremendous energy, have lost 11 pounds and am so grateful! My running is the best it has ever been (with the exception of when I was 100 lbs and 16.) And really, I can't say enough about how wonderful I feel, it really is miraculous! So if I go on and on sometimes about my food or health, please forgive me. I am not selling anything, I am just giddy that my food truly was my medicine.<br /><br />Until next time.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-2590548628025262652011-10-13T13:31:00.000-07:002011-10-13T14:19:33.467-07:00Us<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wsKH05yUoEg/TpdMZgfWbnI/AAAAAAAAGMY/ktJeDYM3weA/s1600/017.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wsKH05yUoEg/TpdMZgfWbnI/AAAAAAAAGMY/ktJeDYM3weA/s400/017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663079057543556722" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gA6osQOczGI/TpdMjbRdAyI/AAAAAAAAGMo/nni_qQ5x90M/s1600/photo%2Bjj.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gA6osQOczGI/TpdMjbRdAyI/AAAAAAAAGMo/nni_qQ5x90M/s400/photo%2Bjj.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663079227941782306" /></a><br /><br />Norah, is doing well in school, it's a full-time job for me, but she enjoys learning and achieving and is leading her class in completing challenges which bring only a star as credit. She is still so creative and enjoys spending time in her own world which is lovely at the appropriate times, if you know what I mean.<br /><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8Mxi2mORXjE/TpdOAZoVn3I/AAAAAAAAGM0/bwF3K-o_mgo/s1600/016.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8Mxi2mORXjE/TpdOAZoVn3I/AAAAAAAAGM0/bwF3K-o_mgo/s400/016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663080825228730226" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5bLCiA0jFVE/TpdOI74938I/AAAAAAAAGNA/qQROXZoT9WM/s1600/lulu%2Bschool.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5bLCiA0jFVE/TpdOI74938I/AAAAAAAAGNA/qQROXZoT9WM/s400/lulu%2Bschool.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663080971864235970" /></a><br /><br />Lulu is a great student, she loves to learn, and spends hours reading. She is slightly obsessive, but oh well, I am learning new talents. I love how her school photos turned out. There is a fine line between Lulu looking beautiful and crazy, former school photos have been the evidence.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6cbOXFcC2Vk/TpdPP5kyMWI/AAAAAAAAGNQ/hDTL8T7p7Ug/s1600/ja%2Bschool.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 391px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6cbOXFcC2Vk/TpdPP5kyMWI/AAAAAAAAGNQ/hDTL8T7p7Ug/s400/ja%2Bschool.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663082191013425506" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9_eQaAP0BqE/TpdPakN0BTI/AAAAAAAAGNY/8l1W6BiDk94/s1600/ja.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9_eQaAP0BqE/TpdPakN0BTI/AAAAAAAAGNY/8l1W6BiDk94/s400/ja.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663082374258492722" /></a><br /><br />Abram, oh Abram. Abram took initiative and has taught himself to read. This is good because maybe the trillion questions that spill from his mouth every day can be directed toward books.<br /><br />Abram has a potty mouth problem. He spits out a poop head every few seconds, he tried out penis head last week, and then Sunday, at church, in the foyer, in front of a number of our neighbors, he yelled sh#$ head at Norah. Most definitely one of my finer parenting moments.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dxn640vHnhQ/TpdQ4H2oioI/AAAAAAAAGNk/RReRypzuDg4/s1600/008.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dxn640vHnhQ/TpdQ4H2oioI/AAAAAAAAGNk/RReRypzuDg4/s400/008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663083981552781954" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DaS3xboW7Gk/TpdRB4comuI/AAAAAAAAGNw/0eTkl2oo_g4/s1600/rmj.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DaS3xboW7Gk/TpdRB4comuI/AAAAAAAAGNw/0eTkl2oo_g4/s400/rmj.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663084149215894242" /></a><br /><br />Rosemary insists she is not a big girl but my baby. If there is something she doesn't want to do, she tells me she is going to throw up. She also has picked up the habit of telling me "I not happy" all day long with a few "I happy" thrown in when she gets her way. She really is quite sweet and tender, but she seems to be going through some post traumatic stress since I pushed her out of her infancy to toddlerhood by making her wear panties. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1N-Fm7oqPTI/TpdSc1jJ-cI/AAAAAAAAGN8/BDW8A39xrCo/s1600/007.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1N-Fm7oqPTI/TpdSc1jJ-cI/AAAAAAAAGN8/BDW8A39xrCo/s400/007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663085711806036418" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Jl98J6k_NE/TpdSptjiyWI/AAAAAAAAGOI/QylPHNR-5Fw/s1600/004.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Jl98J6k_NE/TpdSptjiyWI/AAAAAAAAGOI/QylPHNR-5Fw/s400/004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663085932998478178" /></a><br /><br />Brad continues to be the fun parent and works hard for our family. He is also the first assistant in the high priest group in our church and his job is to attend to all the single ladies-his dream job:)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rR3VcWSgcaI/TpdTNVKgKiI/AAAAAAAAGOU/nOOTMPZbi6k/s1600/red.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rR3VcWSgcaI/TpdTNVKgKiI/AAAAAAAAGOU/nOOTMPZbi6k/s400/red.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663086544926288418" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RtGAeZKaYP0/TpdToUadkiI/AAAAAAAAGOs/iqlZfKL8gCA/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 335px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RtGAeZKaYP0/TpdToUadkiI/AAAAAAAAGOs/iqlZfKL8gCA/s400/010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663087008581259810" /></a><br /><br />I am really skyrocketing toward being a domestic goddess with my vast array of serious cleaning, cooking, sewing and gardening skills. But seriously, intellectually I understand the need for families and the training ground they are for following the foot steps of the Savior. But there are times when I think: who said I want to be like God anyway? And then there are times that I recognize the distance that I have traveled. I am not the same person I was 10 years ago, good riddance! The Lord has blessed my work with talents and skills that I never knew I could learn (nor wanted to learn in some cases.) And for this I am grateful. <br /><br />Now for the important stuff: My husband hates my new red lipstick. I adore it.<br /><br />So you have before you two difficult alternatives: <br /><br />1. Get rid of the lipstick<br /><br />2. Get rid of the husband<br /><br />Choose carefully because I really do love the lipstick.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-55236722582235169562011-09-30T08:23:00.000-07:002011-09-30T08:35:24.450-07:00Bribes...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ni6psvApwZE/ToXfLR-o-kI/AAAAAAAAGLw/VZlYYykQayk/s1600/003.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ni6psvApwZE/ToXfLR-o-kI/AAAAAAAAGLw/VZlYYykQayk/s400/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658173891758586434" /></a><br /><br />every last one. You can call me whatever type of mother you want. But I call it survival friends.<br /><br />And it's not all bad.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u_NcOLFeZvc/ToXfaaDeJYI/AAAAAAAAGL4/v9CH-5_yNro/s1600/001.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u_NcOLFeZvc/ToXfaaDeJYI/AAAAAAAAGL4/v9CH-5_yNro/s400/001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658174151624369538" /></a><br /><br />I've decided (after my 8 years of mothering) that the exhaustion and the pure rawness of motherhood is the constant vacillation-back and forth, up and down. I sit here now, with the window open to the cool morning air, the clip, clip, clipping of tiny feet run down my hill toward the school and happy cheery voices ring in the morning sun. But upstairs is a vomiting child, and in the kitchen is a mess, and on the rug is a son with pinching fingers and a vocabulary which seems to be limited to poop and knuckle head. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tbcX5U1G4Sc/ToXgkcfYelI/AAAAAAAAGMA/T5OQ-tm1evE/s1600/005.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tbcX5U1G4Sc/ToXgkcfYelI/AAAAAAAAGMA/T5OQ-tm1evE/s400/005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658175423588629074" /></a><br /><br />But the light is pretty and the cat is soft.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qm8eXsSDV1Y/ToXgwSEYm4I/AAAAAAAAGMI/N0ZVpnwPRdo/s1600/007.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qm8eXsSDV1Y/ToXgwSEYm4I/AAAAAAAAGMI/N0ZVpnwPRdo/s400/007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658175626949467010" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WmJZ7NqnpzE/ToXg4G420mI/AAAAAAAAGMQ/P6OQdNk8FTM/s1600/008.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WmJZ7NqnpzE/ToXg4G420mI/AAAAAAAAGMQ/P6OQdNk8FTM/s400/008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658175761387278946" /></a><br /><br />And I <span style="font-style:italic;">am</span> making progress on Rosemary's <span style="font-style:italic;">queen</span> quilt, which <span style="font-style:italic;">does</span> teach me that by simple means great things are created.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-40112480681784567452011-08-03T07:45:00.000-07:002011-08-03T07:51:28.105-07:00Today is my Birthday:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4FTe0-32wZc/TjlfTB2EA_I/AAAAAAAAGJw/dJrQi0CSFE4/s1600/004.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4FTe0-32wZc/TjlfTB2EA_I/AAAAAAAAGJw/dJrQi0CSFE4/s400/004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636641189148230642" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'll be cleaning floors, doing laundry, fixing hair, running errands, and listening to some serious complaining.<br /><br />But <span style="font-style:italic;">tomorrow</span>, I will be boarding a plane to Minneapolis <span style="font-style:italic;">by myself</span>. I will be driving a rental car for 2 and a half hours <span style="font-style:italic;">by myself</span>. I will be spending four nights in a motel <span style="font-style:italic;">by myself</span>. And I will be partying with my childhood friends for two whole nights at my TWENTY YEAR REUNION, <span style="font-style:italic;">all by myself</span>! <br /><br />Talk about happy birthday to me!martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-57093757263127174332011-07-29T12:00:00.000-07:002011-07-30T19:29:25.610-07:00Grey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-exuQFaPcfSE/TjMDo-r6pEI/AAAAAAAAGI8/n_efQ8z2pxE/s1600/037.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-exuQFaPcfSE/TjMDo-r6pEI/AAAAAAAAGI8/n_efQ8z2pxE/s400/037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634851561327469634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Photo: May, 2011<br /><br />Around our three garden beds are planted Scottish and Irish moss. I imagined these to be perfect fillers inbetween the flagstone steps that create a pathway between the boxes. While they are pretty and spread easily, they capture numerous weeds which are hard to pull because of the denseness of the moss, which leads us to yesterday.<br />In the aftermath of our trip the weeds have taken up some serious high-density residence around my vegetable gardens. In an effort to bring some neatness to this corner of the yard, I bribed the kids with the promise of a snow-cone if they helped pull the weeds, collect them, and place them in the wheelbarrow.<br />We pulled and pulled, and there was murmuring indeed. It was hot, there were spiders and bees, the weeds were trapped under rocks and so forth. Then Lulu burst out with one of her insights: Mom, does Satan make weeds? Before I could answer, Norah answerd: Yes, God only makes pretty stuff.<br />At this time I giggled, but also thought for a moment, this could be one of my lazy-mother times (which I totally opt for occasionally) or I could use this to continue a conversation we had a few months ago.<br />During spring break, I took the children to visit the Hill Air-force base museum. In anticipation, I hadn't thought much about the museum, it was just something to do. But there were photos, and bombs, and guns, and planes with interesting "art" on them, which of course, lead to many questions. There have been plenty of times when I have been thoughtless, but I don't want to be glib about war.<br />Then, on memorial day, as we traveled down the main street, my children asked about all the flags placed on the businesses. Talk of war leads to the obvious questions for a child: who are the good guys and who are the bad guys and why do people kill each other?<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uPy4myUPJZA/TjMIrY0tHvI/AAAAAAAAGJE/EGarx_cSHR8/s1600/014.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uPy4myUPJZA/TjMIrY0tHvI/AAAAAAAAGJE/EGarx_cSHR8/s400/014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634857100261531378" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I remember as a child, and occasionally still now, despite my age, the feelings of being "right" as opposed to those who are "wrong", or "good" as opposed to those who are "bad". These feeling don't provide for much learning, they produce a feeling of pride and they put enmity between myself and others.<br />I know as a child it is so much more simple to compartmentalize people and issues. Unfortunately, I see too much of it continue into adulthood, whether on Facebook, blogs, or in daily conversation. Thoughts arise in my mind often that dismiss any allowance for insight or thoughtfulness and it is work to rise above it.<br />I often believe that some of the sweetness and beauty in life come from the struggle to push through this and arrive at empathy. Life would be simple if it was as cut and dry as black and white. But I don't believe life was meant to be simple, it is complex and multi-dimensional for our growth.<br />This isn't to say that evil doesn't exist. I know it does, I've seen it. We all have choices to make, some are better than others. Most people are mixed bags on their own journey. I believe that when we allow ourselves to talk and think more deliberately, we see ourselves more clearly along with our own weaknesses and deficiencies, and we allow for charity. And if I come away from teaching my children nothing else, I want them to be left with charity. There are many things I don't know or understand about life, but I do know that charity will not fail them.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Af80GJHeE3E/TjMOREg15wI/AAAAAAAAGJM/SMbymTD2G_I/s1600/011.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Af80GJHeE3E/TjMOREg15wI/AAAAAAAAGJM/SMbymTD2G_I/s400/011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634863245202679554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e4KOalsQhqo/TjMOZMHJs3I/AAAAAAAAGJU/KzVxYf-UkaA/s1600/012.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e4KOalsQhqo/TjMOZMHJs3I/AAAAAAAAGJU/KzVxYf-UkaA/s400/012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634863384681362290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vU4vz06BPgM/TjMOfyAp9KI/AAAAAAAAGJc/NcxtvIAoePM/s1600/013.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vU4vz06BPgM/TjMOfyAp9KI/AAAAAAAAGJc/NcxtvIAoePM/s400/013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634863497933878434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YdmuH5mV1SE/TjMOuZcB47I/AAAAAAAAGJk/dWVVTjGFkuU/s1600/008.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YdmuH5mV1SE/TjMOuZcB47I/AAAAAAAAGJk/dWVVTjGFkuU/s400/008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634863749035844530" border="0" /></a>martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-79498817727111213182011-07-22T13:09:00.000-07:002011-07-22T13:52:36.468-07:00Pure Michigan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LNjcsPxXdB8/TinhhRfT-SI/AAAAAAAAGIc/aopw0ILuedM/s1600/076.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LNjcsPxXdB8/TinhhRfT-SI/AAAAAAAAGIc/aopw0ILuedM/s400/076.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632280770750183714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4dS96Jy0ntM/Tinhb9WZKjI/AAAAAAAAGIU/51yGRysjDh4/s1600/075.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4dS96Jy0ntM/Tinhb9WZKjI/AAAAAAAAGIU/51yGRysjDh4/s400/075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632280679444720178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ykZJ-ybC3zA/TinhWHLrfmI/AAAAAAAAGIM/vBZFvXsRaWc/s1600/074.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ykZJ-ybC3zA/TinhWHLrfmI/AAAAAAAAGIM/vBZFvXsRaWc/s400/074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632280579004923490" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U71i5chijz0/TinZTkN7BaI/AAAAAAAAGFA/2T2s-3jUUKM/s1600/006.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U71i5chijz0/TinZTkN7BaI/AAAAAAAAGFA/2T2s-3jUUKM/s400/006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632271739166328226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uXXFO0bYA5o/TinZP42DS8I/AAAAAAAAGE4/W79826xxNzI/s1600/005.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uXXFO0bYA5o/TinZP42DS8I/AAAAAAAAGE4/W79826xxNzI/s400/005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632271675983875010" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Without any encouragement, Rosemary will strike a pose whenever a camera is pointed in her direction. I really love her, she is such a fun, free little girl. I laugh and giggle at her impromptu performances regularly. At the end of such a performance she will reply to clapping by saying: Thank you very much!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P0VcuEJ0qi0/TinaV1AXCdI/AAAAAAAAGFg/t-af_AwOJUY/s1600/029.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P0VcuEJ0qi0/TinaV1AXCdI/AAAAAAAAGFg/t-af_AwOJUY/s400/029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632272877544212946" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0QjkxW34KCU/Tinak12530I/AAAAAAAAGFo/8MZ_IivaVRU/s1600/122.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0QjkxW34KCU/Tinak12530I/AAAAAAAAGFo/8MZ_IivaVRU/s400/122.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632273135471025986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9cY6nwrG40/TinavcxA_zI/AAAAAAAAGFw/Tt0y7Loi23Y/s1600/113.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9cY6nwrG40/TinavcxA_zI/AAAAAAAAGFw/Tt0y7Loi23Y/s400/113.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632273317714001714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-supEdpdWRTY/Tina5geTqgI/AAAAAAAAGF4/UrKHY9pgrm0/s1600/112.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-supEdpdWRTY/Tina5geTqgI/AAAAAAAAGF4/UrKHY9pgrm0/s400/112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632273490507966978" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Abram learned how to ride a bike without training wheels while in Michigan. It was of course, the perfect place to do so with its rural roads and lack of steep hills.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gPc9ESPcWLo/TinbWXe02NI/AAAAAAAAGGA/CmKu_lEV18s/s1600/063.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gPc9ESPcWLo/TinbWXe02NI/AAAAAAAAGGA/CmKu_lEV18s/s400/063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632273986310428882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3x3ChHOC7MA/Tinbgc2t2nI/AAAAAAAAGGI/JEzc0P5sBzU/s1600/072.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3x3ChHOC7MA/Tinbgc2t2nI/AAAAAAAAGGI/JEzc0P5sBzU/s400/072.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632274159551502962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VYG_styLgVQ/Tinbq0RfEZI/AAAAAAAAGGU/T7tj9jCx0Rc/s1600/096.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VYG_styLgVQ/Tinbq0RfEZI/AAAAAAAAGGU/T7tj9jCx0Rc/s400/096.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632274337636487570" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fqU48Q94GE8/Tinb5zrcSLI/AAAAAAAAGGc/kdugPgU1-RU/s1600/115.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fqU48Q94GE8/Tinb5zrcSLI/AAAAAAAAGGc/kdugPgU1-RU/s400/115.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632274595174959282" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Lulu learned to love the water and loved spending time with her cousins. She has truly developed some serious friendship skills in the past 2 years.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GR9kQb1z_Ak/TincqAXb2dI/AAAAAAAAGG0/XQ-Je-xrJ5A/s1600/034.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GR9kQb1z_Ak/TincqAXb2dI/AAAAAAAAGG0/XQ-Je-xrJ5A/s400/034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632275423214426578" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o92lxf9ZaZ4/Tinc5uE84lI/AAAAAAAAGG8/iz3WWQhBUFo/s1600/068.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o92lxf9ZaZ4/Tinc5uE84lI/AAAAAAAAGG8/iz3WWQhBUFo/s400/068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632275693182968402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OBH0CW5u7_I/Tinh49z23XI/AAAAAAAAGIk/9-bkz8F82JQ/s1600/065.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OBH0CW5u7_I/Tinh49z23XI/AAAAAAAAGIk/9-bkz8F82JQ/s400/065.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632281177784507762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sgXkL_mUOjs/TiniIUcgwNI/AAAAAAAAGIs/c_SwWeBFMdo/s1600/030.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sgXkL_mUOjs/TiniIUcgwNI/AAAAAAAAGIs/c_SwWeBFMdo/s400/030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632281441558642898" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Norah, Norah, Norah. Norah lead the pack in the bike riding, the walking, the castle building and the fossil finding. Norah is growing up.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BzNAfaVtxHc/TindddpMbiI/AAAAAAAAGHE/y1OSqKsgDM8/s1600/002.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BzNAfaVtxHc/TindddpMbiI/AAAAAAAAGHE/y1OSqKsgDM8/s400/002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632276307246870050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W8YMej6AFCg/TindyO9yMhI/AAAAAAAAGHU/Cs_xVm_vV0g/s1600/021.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W8YMej6AFCg/TindyO9yMhI/AAAAAAAAGHU/Cs_xVm_vV0g/s400/021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632276664083952146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AqqEe21OKt8/Tind6kVEUwI/AAAAAAAAGHc/7-8Bv7I9AbQ/s1600/050.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AqqEe21OKt8/Tind6kVEUwI/AAAAAAAAGHc/7-8Bv7I9AbQ/s400/050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632276807257707266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H0UovrLn4BM/TineEJeT7PI/AAAAAAAAGHk/GbNZ5bUq3g8/s1600/054.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 336px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H0UovrLn4BM/TineEJeT7PI/AAAAAAAAGHk/GbNZ5bUq3g8/s400/054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632276971847412978" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Brad was the king of the road on the way out, the champion badminton player, an awesome rock-skipper-teacher, and a good husband and father.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QccLV8E_LoU/TinetHUiAGI/AAAAAAAAGHs/Meduv0PLPMg/s1600/070.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QccLV8E_LoU/TinetHUiAGI/AAAAAAAAGHs/Meduv0PLPMg/s400/070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632277675644158050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpwXUiW_Pd4/Tini2BV08vI/AAAAAAAAGI0/3z9AdrPSWhM/s1600/100.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpwXUiW_Pd4/Tini2BV08vI/AAAAAAAAGI0/3z9AdrPSWhM/s400/100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632282226704315122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ciD1cyFMZlA/TinfLd0PIQI/AAAAAAAAGH8/IPG9MoiS6wE/s1600/009.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ciD1cyFMZlA/TinfLd0PIQI/AAAAAAAAGH8/IPG9MoiS6wE/s400/009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632278197078794498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dhV3TeJO08w/TinfWyaQZaI/AAAAAAAAGIE/lPXlYLmLcU0/s1600/117.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dhV3TeJO08w/TinfWyaQZaI/AAAAAAAAGIE/lPXlYLmLcU0/s400/117.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632278391585531298" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was the queen of squinting into the sunlight, keeping my "Michigan hair" under control this year (it never came out of the braid), wearing cool skirts in the heat (so much better than shorts), and learning to enjoy just sitting there.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-29618203075633999682011-07-19T08:03:00.001-07:002011-07-19T08:13:40.155-07:00BackWe just returned from our trip to Michigan. 30 hour drive there <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> back. It's like I'm a pioneer or something, because my Denali is pretty much like a hand cart.<br /><br />The weather was perfect. The water was cool and crisp. The air was heavenly. <br /><br />I mostly sat on the beach, under my umbrella reading while watching my children swim or play in sand for 2 whole weeks. Sometimes I took breaks to swim out to the raft or our Norah sail boat. <br /><br />Eons from swimming pools, sod, and suburbia. It really doesn't get better.<br /><br />I have so many photos to come. Will you humor me?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-myqPG3TgLxI/TiWdkGtC_jI/AAAAAAAAGEg/jom8HRb8PLs/s1600/legs.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-myqPG3TgLxI/TiWdkGtC_jI/AAAAAAAAGEg/jom8HRb8PLs/s400/legs.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631080152697077298" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YmkUUPMbMP4/TiWdfci5K4I/AAAAAAAAGEY/8IoQwEaE5kw/s1600/beach%2B3.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YmkUUPMbMP4/TiWdfci5K4I/AAAAAAAAGEY/8IoQwEaE5kw/s400/beach%2B3.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631080072660724610" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-duyo1dNKoiU/TiWdb0ECfGI/AAAAAAAAGEQ/DIjQ6Nmfzkc/s1600/beach%2B2.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-duyo1dNKoiU/TiWdb0ECfGI/AAAAAAAAGEQ/DIjQ6Nmfzkc/s400/beach%2B2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631080010254285922" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uqKY40Hm0DE/TiWdV8YVmyI/AAAAAAAAGEI/yh-g60fOlW8/s1600/deck%2B1.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uqKY40Hm0DE/TiWdV8YVmyI/AAAAAAAAGEI/yh-g60fOlW8/s400/deck%2B1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631079909407693602" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3r13UvgkxCc/TiWdMfRldKI/AAAAAAAAGD4/HetvmlmLSDo/s1600/the%2Bstroll.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3r13UvgkxCc/TiWdMfRldKI/AAAAAAAAGD4/HetvmlmLSDo/s400/the%2Bstroll.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631079746975921314" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UL4XhwSHQAA/TiWdI7l36dI/AAAAAAAAGDw/wljBmfWjBEk/s1600/norah%2Bbeach.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UL4XhwSHQAA/TiWdI7l36dI/AAAAAAAAGDw/wljBmfWjBEk/s400/norah%2Bbeach.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631079685857733074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yepVfFnTqkA/TiWdCaUcLHI/AAAAAAAAGDo/HCJ_I8fwTcQ/s1600/deck%2B2.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yepVfFnTqkA/TiWdCaUcLHI/AAAAAAAAGDo/HCJ_I8fwTcQ/s400/deck%2B2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631079573847026802" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6d7bGx2vjHQ/TiWc-fklFmI/AAAAAAAAGDg/AY7u1ecp53s/s1600/beach%2B1.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6d7bGx2vjHQ/TiWc-fklFmI/AAAAAAAAGDg/AY7u1ecp53s/s400/beach%2B1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631079506537420386" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZY7Fx7umL9U/TiWc7MiizMI/AAAAAAAAGDY/Xxpz5JRupbQ/s1600/aber%2B1.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZY7Fx7umL9U/TiWc7MiizMI/AAAAAAAAGDY/Xxpz5JRupbQ/s400/aber%2B1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631079449889000642" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sMN2CHLTEpY/TiWc3wm-L0I/AAAAAAAAGDQ/rhs8oTF2u0A/s1600/old%2Bmiss.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sMN2CHLTEpY/TiWc3wm-L0I/AAAAAAAAGDQ/rhs8oTF2u0A/s400/old%2Bmiss.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631079390851772226" /></a>martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-40845584493063825502011-06-24T14:07:00.000-07:002011-06-24T14:32:56.036-07:00The Week the Heat Hit.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YtKcM7uMIlI/TgT81210c2I/AAAAAAAAGCI/UEgbeXfpT8g/s1600/004.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YtKcM7uMIlI/TgT81210c2I/AAAAAAAAGCI/UEgbeXfpT8g/s400/004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621896237049738082" /></a><br /><br />It's hot, which means my children don't really want to be outside. And it's been busy which means I am doubly irritable from the heat and expectations. <br /><br />It's Friday and I feel a little guilty about being snappy at my children.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RQIkqVFV4qU/TgT9dP_PogI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/WTrdWUPJS4c/s1600/003.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RQIkqVFV4qU/TgT9dP_PogI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/WTrdWUPJS4c/s400/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621896913815052802" /></a><br /><br />My garden has exploded. Good for the flowers. Bad for trying to eat all of my lettuce and greens, do you like salad? Please come get some.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5xpTYRy8Seo/TgT9757beCI/AAAAAAAAGCY/eDBh1CGl1wg/s1600/family.jpeg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5xpTYRy8Seo/TgT9757beCI/AAAAAAAAGCY/eDBh1CGl1wg/s400/family.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621897440469415970" /></a><br /><br />On Tuesday we went to the Joseph Smith memorial building to have dinner for my mother's 60th birthday. Of course I love my family and enjoy the laughter and easiness of it all.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rT3xxW4Y-3Q/TgT-SE7XOlI/AAAAAAAAGCg/olD6qlFqzxw/s1600/dinner%2B1.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rT3xxW4Y-3Q/TgT-SE7XOlI/AAAAAAAAGCg/olD6qlFqzxw/s400/dinner%2B1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621897821379050066" /></a><br /><br />What I don't like are seated photos which make me look like a chunk. You cannot tell me otherwise. My sister Sarah is having her baby as I write this. Yay.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5-ZTfRhV0Rg/TgT-12VAKdI/AAAAAAAAGCo/iUkhcA-FKFg/s1600/dinner%2B3.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5-ZTfRhV0Rg/TgT-12VAKdI/AAAAAAAAGCo/iUkhcA-FKFg/s400/dinner%2B3.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621898435935349202" /></a><br /><br />My husband and his sunglasses.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_r7OCUvsn-I/TgT_IqPHz0I/AAAAAAAAGCw/8pR2mpKfiLM/s1600/001.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_r7OCUvsn-I/TgT_IqPHz0I/AAAAAAAAGCw/8pR2mpKfiLM/s400/001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621898759106973506" /></a><br /><br />Wednesday we had our annual "Lehi" dinner with our friends the Smiths and the Hills. I don't know why it is only annual, the Hills pretty much live in our back yard and the Smiths live just across the highway.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rx_DrQaUDmk/TgT_hrX_z8I/AAAAAAAAGC4/gPgvcItxpTQ/s1600/006.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rx_DrQaUDmk/TgT_hrX_z8I/AAAAAAAAGC4/gPgvcItxpTQ/s400/006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621899188909363138" /></a><br /><br />Thursday night I met up with a few companions and sisters from my mission. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-15XaFU96F6M/TgT_w0dewnI/AAAAAAAAGDA/5fPYLO7jm9A/s1600/008.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-15XaFU96F6M/TgT_w0dewnI/AAAAAAAAGDA/5fPYLO7jm9A/s400/008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621899449046319730" /></a><br /><br />It's interesting after all these years the evolution of my memory and what others remember. As we laughed and compared stories, I realized I really only remember the good of a mission. It is golden and polished in my mind's eye and for this I am grateful. We seemed to remember all of the things we (ourselves) did wrong, but for some reason we have forgiven and forgotten most other wrongs.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U74O1fJx6O4/TgUAfTjtJPI/AAAAAAAAGDI/iSWZG6bZTJw/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U74O1fJx6O4/TgUAfTjtJPI/AAAAAAAAGDI/iSWZG6bZTJw/s400/010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621900247667909874" /></a><br /><br />Of all the choices and stories I have made thus far, the mission I served is the dearest and greatest. My marriage and children are still being written day by day. But my mission was finite and encapsulated in a tidy piece that inhabits my heart, and is mine forever to be grateful for. And oh boy, am I grateful for it. <br /><br />I am also grateful for salad. Do you want some? Swiss card?martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-64403783314221435762011-06-20T13:25:00.001-07:002011-06-20T13:57:19.855-07:00Self-ImprovementYou know those pictures of pantries that have beautiful glass containers lined perfectly on the shelves and everything seems to be color coordinated and they are almost too pretty to hide behind a door? Do those people have children? Or pets? <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cntVL5B-VZ0/Tf-tUQh190I/AAAAAAAAGBY/gSKTmSQdoBI/s1600/pantry%2B1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cntVL5B-VZ0/Tf-tUQh190I/AAAAAAAAGBY/gSKTmSQdoBI/s400/pantry%2B1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620401423527573314" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DfJ3Ov_0bMs/Tf-tb526wwI/AAAAAAAAGBg/jFNzFCdagkw/s1600/pantry%2B2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 393px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DfJ3Ov_0bMs/Tf-tb526wwI/AAAAAAAAGBg/jFNzFCdagkw/s400/pantry%2B2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620401554880905986" /></a><br /><br />Well my pantry doesn't look like those pantries.<br /><br />Norah needs to earn money for Activity Days camp and I need to deep clean my "zones". Today's zone was the kitchen, so Norah and I cleaned the pantry. <br /><br />I usually know it's time to clean and organize the pantry when dog food sticks to the bottom of my feet as I am leaving the untidy food closet. The reason that dog food is usually carpeting my pantry floor is because the cat sneaks into the pantry and rips a hole in the bottom of the bag and soon dog food is dispersed to all four corners. I know you think perhaps there is a solution to the dog food and cat problem, but the cat <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> helpful in a few ways if not at keeping a clean pantry. And the dog, well, the vet told me that I could extend her life by 3-4 years by brushing her teeth so I sure as heck won't be brushing her teeth.<br /><br />Anyway, I ordered some large buckets to keep the dog food and cat food out of paws way. I also am waiting on a few of those pretty french hermetic terrines to make me feel a little bit better about how I store my lentils, couscous, vital wheat, and flax seed. But this was the best I could do:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QSQv1Lx6yvc/Tf-wHd-pIUI/AAAAAAAAGBo/O3hSCnItv1E/s1600/003.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QSQv1Lx6yvc/Tf-wHd-pIUI/AAAAAAAAGBo/O3hSCnItv1E/s400/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620404502334611778" /></a><br /><br />That little door is for gnomes. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uTq0-VbBJ1E/Tf-xFCUDQJI/AAAAAAAAGBw/ULiwoEvNnsI/s1600/001.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uTq0-VbBJ1E/Tf-xFCUDQJI/AAAAAAAAGBw/ULiwoEvNnsI/s400/001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620405560060100754" /></a><br /><br />And to the father of my children: Thank you for loving them as much as I do and teaching them the fun stuff.<br /><br />Don't talk to me about Rosemary's pacifier. I pick my battles. That's not one. Did I mention that she screams when she comes near a toilet?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KU2zoSNp8Gc/Tf-xlNhnyMI/AAAAAAAAGB4/E-Y0f7wWNGU/s1600/135.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KU2zoSNp8Gc/Tf-xlNhnyMI/AAAAAAAAGB4/E-Y0f7wWNGU/s400/135.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620406112825624770" /></a><br /><br />And to my own father: Thank you for the big eyes (<span style="font-style:italic;">I</span> think they are my best feature) and an idyllic childhood. Go Michigan!martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-66776594028058355552011-06-15T12:55:00.000-07:002011-06-15T13:42:40.757-07:00On Paradox...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2X2rSj6gU1M/TfkPctBQXzI/AAAAAAAAGAc/izCA8RLCvoY/s1600/library.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2X2rSj6gU1M/TfkPctBQXzI/AAAAAAAAGAc/izCA8RLCvoY/s400/library.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618538995917020978" /></a><br /><br />A few weeks ago, I was complaining to my husband that I didn't feel that the culture I lived in allowed for much honesty when it came to being a mother and raising children. In fact, I think I said something about wishing we could just be more honest about what goes on behind closed doors, or even what happens in public for that matter. <br /><br />I think it is common in an LDS culture to believe that if things are difficult, or if you aren't happy all of the time, you must be doing something wrong. And I know that there are moms who are "having the most fun they have ever had" and I know that there are seasons, but I <span style="font-style:italic;">also</span> know that there are women who suffer behind those doors because they feel a tremendous burden raising their children. I happen to be one, but I don't know that it is behind any door.<br /><br />I <span style="font-style:italic;">am</span> grateful, in fact I feel very lucky in life, but happiness? It is very fleeting, my days are extremely stressful, and it's no exaggeration to say I often feel as if I've made the wrong career choice. So when I read this <a href="http://www.deseretnews.com/article/700119798/Studies-say-children-subtract-from-happiness-so-what-do-we-really-feel.html?pg=1">article</a>, and then read many blog responses to it, including that Satan must be behind the article, it causes me to wonder about "happiness" and what it really means.<br /><br />Back to my culture or perhaps better described as my community: not long after my complaining, we had a tragedy in my neighborhood, in fact the last year has been a tough one for the women of my ward. In response to this tragedy, we had a special Relief Society meeting about trials and hardships and I felt an outpouring of the Lord's love. <br /><br />The Lord has never promised that the things he asks us to do will bring us immediate happiness. And happiness isn't the same thing as joy. I believe in joy, I believe that if I do the best I can and keep picking myself up, I will have joy in the work I do. Maybe not right now. It is a mountain, there <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> joy in the journey but there is also sadness, and exasperation, and exhaustion. And that is OK. It is all a part of the plan. I am grateful that the Lord has given me a woman to visit teach who struggles with a difficult child. She struggles daily, but she is faithful. She teaches me to have more faith in the Lord's plan. <br /><br />I often think of the mission I served as a microcosm of life, really all that was left after those 18 months are the relationships. And they bring me joy. I feel so much overwhelming joy when I think of the beautiful experience that was my mission. I learned so much and evolved into a mature woman, I learned to love and trust Jesus Christ. I laughed and <span style="font-style:italic;">did</span> have fun. But when I look at journals and am reminded by fleeting memories, I remember it was hard, so hard, painfully hard. I don't know that I would go back to those same situations. That difficulty and those hardships and pain is a great part of the joy. <br /><br />So if you ever feel forlorn, think of me, sitting on my front porch at 7 pm with my head in my hands. And know that I pick pieces of happiness where I can find them.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0ILb_sbHAg4/TfkVn1fkHgI/AAAAAAAAGAk/GHmvaVeQaeo/s1600/temper%2Btantrum.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0ILb_sbHAg4/TfkVn1fkHgI/AAAAAAAAGAk/GHmvaVeQaeo/s400/temper%2Btantrum.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618545784239955458" /></a><br /><br />They usually aren't found in the car. Too many tantrums.<br /><br />But something simple like Rosemary's treasure lunch box that she carries everywhere will make me smile.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iXhtuzsRIXM/TfkWTen8ZTI/AAAAAAAAGA0/l7ABpMDvf-o/s1600/rose.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iXhtuzsRIXM/TfkWTen8ZTI/AAAAAAAAGA0/l7ABpMDvf-o/s400/rose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618546534015329586" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pkv88cye2_k/TfkW0oK5wAI/AAAAAAAAGA8/FdAo8KolDoE/s1600/006.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pkv88cye2_k/TfkW0oK5wAI/AAAAAAAAGA8/FdAo8KolDoE/s400/006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618547103513559042" /></a><br /><br />Or the fact that sometimes, they are actually friends. <br /><br />More than happiness, I think I need to have faith. And I <span style="font-style:italic;">do</span> know that faith brings joy. And joy isn't fleeting, it lasts forever.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-72462108193876851262011-06-13T13:06:00.001-07:002011-06-13T13:39:51.730-07:00Recently...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--7HSIqTc7jY/TfZt6QbLPKI/AAAAAAAAF9s/9zo18fV73h4/s1600/022.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--7HSIqTc7jY/TfZt6QbLPKI/AAAAAAAAF9s/9zo18fV73h4/s400/022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617798432800062626" /></a><br /><br />Norah had her last day of school. I warned her that I hated the last day of school, I don't like endings and saying goodbye to friends and teachers was always tough. I don't think she took my experience very seriously.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8MsqgN_5AXw/TfZuXYpedFI/AAAAAAAAF90/ChfeNdOA8Uo/s1600/024.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8MsqgN_5AXw/TfZuXYpedFI/AAAAAAAAF90/ChfeNdOA8Uo/s400/024.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617798933223732306" /></a><br /><br />She was upset that I attempted to take a photo of her crying. You will appreciate this one day Norah.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Cn3iGESYhFg/TfZum5gg00I/AAAAAAAAF98/DxBBklAJrMI/s1600/004.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Cn3iGESYhFg/TfZum5gg00I/AAAAAAAAF98/DxBBklAJrMI/s400/004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617799199742546754" /></a><br /><br />A week later Lulu had her last day. I brought her potted flowers to give her teachers on the last day. As I watched Lulu give one of her teachers the flowers I saw her whisper to Lulu: I love you. I cried and cried. I'm not entirely sure why. It is difficult for me to have time move on and to be unable to return to relationships or moments. Things come to an end and that is it, there is no returning.<br /><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_ACBTRVEuZs/TfZvXbnGZ4I/AAAAAAAAF-E/xGUmviewPr8/s1600/008.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_ACBTRVEuZs/TfZvXbnGZ4I/AAAAAAAAF-E/xGUmviewPr8/s400/008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617800033530701698" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tMmFosCoRew/TfZvoe-D4hI/AAAAAAAAF-M/_c6N2s7K32Y/s1600/002.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tMmFosCoRew/TfZvoe-D4hI/AAAAAAAAF-M/_c6N2s7K32Y/s400/002.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617800326490087954" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vhp0LBW2Luk/TfZvxUBL9bI/AAAAAAAAF-U/frVqTnEaE-c/s1600/029.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vhp0LBW2Luk/TfZvxUBL9bI/AAAAAAAAF-U/frVqTnEaE-c/s400/029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617800478169232818" /></a><br /><br />Rosemary has been something else, don't let this cute face fool you. You never know what you will get with her. She <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> the little girl who had a little curl.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z4hQm4ssDGM/TfZwiI33zdI/AAAAAAAAF-c/XPulJ-fv5KI/s1600/011.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z4hQm4ssDGM/TfZwiI33zdI/AAAAAAAAF-c/XPulJ-fv5KI/s400/011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617801316990963154" /></a><br /><br />Much of my time is spent dealing with Abram. Abram is smart but that wrinkle between my brows is going to need some botox soon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aafqLGZIB8U/TfZxf0Dqr3I/AAAAAAAAF-k/fw7SoanWf7o/s1600/009.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aafqLGZIB8U/TfZxf0Dqr3I/AAAAAAAAF-k/fw7SoanWf7o/s400/009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617802376555179890" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lPR0wZPsC3M/TfZxln_nmVI/AAAAAAAAF-s/8fDD9M6EeC4/s1600/013.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lPR0wZPsC3M/TfZxln_nmVI/AAAAAAAAF-s/8fDD9M6EeC4/s400/013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617802476396190034" /></a><br /><br />I usually make very few desserts but the girls and I have to make use of all the strawberries we seem to have so we've been making tarts. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_o8RejhKgiE/TfZx9QsQgFI/AAAAAAAAF-0/GeIjWSfgIj0/s1600/030.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_o8RejhKgiE/TfZx9QsQgFI/AAAAAAAAF-0/GeIjWSfgIj0/s400/030.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617802882457829458" /></a><br /><br />My garden is in bloom! These are its first offerings.<br /><br />There <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> a fair amount of work involved in the spring, but I really enjoy it and it's so exciting to wake up in the early morning and join the birds and see what has sprung overnight-better than Christmas morning.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oZYt48TSRrQ/TfZyZwlRuPI/AAAAAAAAF-8/A1o8ySbkyUE/s1600/031.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oZYt48TSRrQ/TfZyZwlRuPI/AAAAAAAAF-8/A1o8ySbkyUE/s400/031.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617803372054821106" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FiTRTkWfpqA/TfZyie0rXzI/AAAAAAAAF_E/YC8XXVhrshk/s1600/033.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FiTRTkWfpqA/TfZyie0rXzI/AAAAAAAAF_E/YC8XXVhrshk/s400/033.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617803521906401074" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J4wo95IrwVU/TfZyrWozokI/AAAAAAAAF_M/rcgjZFtFNcI/s1600/035.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J4wo95IrwVU/TfZyrWozokI/AAAAAAAAF_M/rcgjZFtFNcI/s400/035.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617803674327949890" /></a><br /><br />This is my favorite spot, it smells so good and is usually covered with big,fat, furry bumble bees.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y1_PN5u6tDc/TfZy7S1nrFI/AAAAAAAAF_U/5bpxFLBjnKg/s1600/036.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y1_PN5u6tDc/TfZy7S1nrFI/AAAAAAAAF_U/5bpxFLBjnKg/s400/036.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617803948185857106" /></a><br /><br />I planted quite a bit of greens and lettuces this year and it has been delicious.<br /><br />We have been reading truck-loads of books.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4nrUqpvhpSM/TfZzKpSJpgI/AAAAAAAAF_c/QN1s9ynzks4/s1600/038.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4nrUqpvhpSM/TfZzKpSJpgI/AAAAAAAAF_c/QN1s9ynzks4/s400/038.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617804211909142018" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iQn_pJs5teM/TfZzrgbPttI/AAAAAAAAF_k/PWtxd4Z5zjI/s1600/039.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iQn_pJs5teM/TfZzrgbPttI/AAAAAAAAF_k/PWtxd4Z5zjI/s400/039.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617804776467052242" /></a><br /><br />I've made many quilts. Someday I will post them all.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8DFOWR-moPg/TfZz7anIxAI/AAAAAAAAF_s/85siOk1xvO0/s1600/041.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8DFOWR-moPg/TfZz7anIxAI/AAAAAAAAF_s/85siOk1xvO0/s400/041.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617805049784222722" /></a><br /><br />I've made quite a few curtains as well. While purchasing the linen for these curtains from IKEA, Rosemary knocked over an enormous display and for about 2 seconds I thought my baby was dead. Rosemary doesn't get to go to IKEA with me anymore.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LC0a2biZScU/TfZ0hB54-3I/AAAAAAAAF_0/npz9kgTWCjk/s1600/044.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LC0a2biZScU/TfZ0hB54-3I/AAAAAAAAF_0/npz9kgTWCjk/s400/044.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617805695987022706" /></a><br /><br />I've been trying to come up with good ways of displaying the children's artwork. I have 3 boxes to go through now that school is out. Any good ideas?martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-66394965413475994312011-06-09T11:53:00.000-07:002011-06-09T12:15:57.797-07:00BaptismLate 1980, wearing a significantly see-through white dress, I was baptized in a wooden make-shift font which simultaneously housed floating daddy-long-leg spiders. The font was located in the basement of a rented building in which my small lds branch met. I don't remember much besides the embarrassment felt from the wet see-through dress <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> that my world didn't suddenly shift into spiritual stardom. I find that I am still galaxies away from attaining such a status. But there have been quiet, sometimes earth-shaking moments-mostly unexpected, when there was a shift, and I would never be the same.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-82QkOstihSQ/TfEY1XNYqZI/AAAAAAAAF9A/XPF6UIbs6Vc/s1600/002.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-82QkOstihSQ/TfEY1XNYqZI/AAAAAAAAF9A/XPF6UIbs6Vc/s400/002.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616297515350010258" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xczh_P_UWLw/TfEZACfzlbI/AAAAAAAAF9I/NU_Q_gm-xMU/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xczh_P_UWLw/TfEZACfzlbI/AAAAAAAAF9I/NU_Q_gm-xMU/s400/010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616297698768688562" /></a><br /><br />In early April, Norah was baptized. In the month preceding her baptism, we did our best to prepare her, going over and over the interview questions and helping her understand the basics of a testimony. That morning we went to the stake center which was busy with activity as 17 wards prepared for their youth baptisms. We chose a jumper from about 50 jumpers neatly pressed and hung for all the 8 year-olds. We shuffled into a small room to hold the service which was tender and sweet. I met Norah on the other side of the font standing in a pool of water which held the drippings of perhaps 20 girls that morning. As I helped her dress, her young voice came from behind a stall door: Mom, I don't feel different. I smiled to myself as I reassured her that that was exactly how I felt after my baptism. It's not usually fireworks or lightening bolts. It is gradual, it is work, and it is mostly still. But it is the greatest love you will ever feel and it is real. <br /><br />I love you Norah.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3Is9Q4XorGo/TfEbF3TrxQI/AAAAAAAAF9Q/unYlcxpbwh0/s1600/011.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3Is9Q4XorGo/TfEbF3TrxQI/AAAAAAAAF9Q/unYlcxpbwh0/s400/011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616299997867525378" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sK8_2jlqrx0/TfEbOHOAzlI/AAAAAAAAF9Y/SGa1hSnz2i4/s1600/016.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sK8_2jlqrx0/TfEbOHOAzlI/AAAAAAAAF9Y/SGa1hSnz2i4/s400/016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616300139577658962" /></a>martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-75444221004078829142011-05-15T10:10:00.001-07:002011-05-15T10:30:39.763-07:00Oh Boy...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--0Epd7M1k-Q/TdAJu0khziI/AAAAAAAAF78/YFHJp1omaaU/s1600/hat%2Bboy.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 391px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--0Epd7M1k-Q/TdAJu0khziI/AAAAAAAAF78/YFHJp1omaaU/s400/hat%2Bboy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606992236066754082" /></a><br /><br />Abram is at my shoulder threatening to throw his shoes at my head.<br /><br />Abram was sent to the head master's office at preschool twice as a result of throwing punches.<br /><br />Abram terrorizes Rosemary incessantly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CmfhQ-qVvtw/TdAKwCo3tPI/AAAAAAAAF8E/ZDnXkm5gliU/s1600/016.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CmfhQ-qVvtw/TdAKwCo3tPI/AAAAAAAAF8E/ZDnXkm5gliU/s400/016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606993356534559986" /></a><br /><br />On Easter, my father was sustained as a bishop at BYU, as a result, Abram became very familiar with the HFAC hallways while in time-out.<br /><br />Abram cries. A lot.<br /><br />Abram yells. A lot.<br /><br />But...<br /><br />Abram tells me I'm pretty. A lot.<br /><br />Abram says he loves me. All the time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6fTpCIaGAxo/TdAMMEtrC0I/AAAAAAAAF8M/HlVKQKkrsro/s1600/006.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6fTpCIaGAxo/TdAMMEtrC0I/AAAAAAAAF8M/HlVKQKkrsro/s400/006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606994937639537474" /></a><br /><br />Abram loves his little sister, occasionally. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SCdxKnL62VE/TdAMiyDZ7vI/AAAAAAAAF8U/N0HTv4fFcDs/s1600/hands.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SCdxKnL62VE/TdAMiyDZ7vI/AAAAAAAAF8U/N0HTv4fFcDs/s400/hands.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606995327767408370" /></a><br /><br />And while watching a movie, I caught them holding hands.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yGbYDI12048/TdANV6RfqzI/AAAAAAAAF8c/UPOwUwsa0u0/s1600/1107.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yGbYDI12048/TdANV6RfqzI/AAAAAAAAF8c/UPOwUwsa0u0/s400/1107.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606996206147316530" /></a><br /><br />And as my friend said: It's hard to be mad at him when he's so good looking.<br /><br />True.<br /><br />It's a good thing you came with those big brown eyes Abram.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-31904058947373621142011-04-05T15:01:00.000-07:002011-04-05T15:34:59.279-07:00Taxidermy and Such...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YtS3RUiGiCU/TZuRmYpTaNI/AAAAAAAAF6g/ITknyNUIhWk/s1600/024.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YtS3RUiGiCU/TZuRmYpTaNI/AAAAAAAAF6g/ITknyNUIhWk/s400/024.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592223450947348690" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4hx8razAQ3Y/TZuRgmFJ-KI/AAAAAAAAF6Y/fiqq7TihuVM/s1600/022.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4hx8razAQ3Y/TZuRgmFJ-KI/AAAAAAAAF6Y/fiqq7TihuVM/s400/022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592223351474616482" /></a><br /><br />This week is spring break for Lulu and not Norah. You would think that Challenger would try to take the public school's spring break schedule into consideration when they plan theirs, but they don't. So next week Norah will be on break which leads us to one of those Staycation things I've been hearing about. Not that we <span style="font-style:italic;">vacation</span> all that frequently, but I do my best.<br /><br />And as fun as it has been to teach Lulu how to clean toilets and as fun as it has been to turn on The Cars and watch the children jump couch to couch, we decided to head south. <br /><br />As we approached BYU and Lulu noticed the "Y" hanging from the stadium, I heard her say:Jimmer. To which I replied mentally: What the...? Who teaches you this popular culture stuff? Not me. Lulu is also the one who taught me the words to "Womanizer" when I was unfamiliar with the song not too long ago.<br /><br />I informed the children we were meeting grandpa (grandpa is the big man on campus) and visiting an extra exciting museum. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CxETNs8LrbI/TZuUkCCRupI/AAAAAAAAF6o/Kji05iEaxrQ/s1600/025.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CxETNs8LrbI/TZuUkCCRupI/AAAAAAAAF6o/Kji05iEaxrQ/s400/025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592226709053225618" /></a><br /><br />Upon entering the Bean museum, we barely escaped a stampede of field trippers trying to identify a wolverine. We made our way through the myriad of herbivores whose bodies are missing. The grizzly bear isn't bodiless if you know what I mean.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BakJ44waH1k/TZuW_yfIttI/AAAAAAAAF6w/8t8ZOTI4QWM/s1600/030.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BakJ44waH1k/TZuW_yfIttI/AAAAAAAAF6w/8t8ZOTI4QWM/s400/030.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592229384938895058" /></a><br /><br />The uniqueness of Shasta the liger, was lost on Abram and Lulu, too bad she was the best part. They seemed to be more interested in the tiny two-headed snake displayed at the gift shop cash register.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--oq7WMsGPqY/TZuXP5teJPI/AAAAAAAAF64/iTrGoEvVHks/s1600/026.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--oq7WMsGPqY/TZuXP5teJPI/AAAAAAAAF64/iTrGoEvVHks/s400/026.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592229661755974898" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ocpBVMo0VbM/TZuXxowWqfI/AAAAAAAAF7Q/M3Nf_NB-oLI/s1600/033.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ocpBVMo0VbM/TZuXxowWqfI/AAAAAAAAF7Q/M3Nf_NB-oLI/s400/033.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592230241320217074" /></a><br /><br />Someone, who previously has been the light of my life, threw a temper tantrum in the museum, in the library!, and in the Marriott center parking lot.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5XtWYR6Dg0/TZuXhyJ3ZxI/AAAAAAAAF7I/IP2rt5fLGNs/s1600/036.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5XtWYR6Dg0/TZuXhyJ3ZxI/AAAAAAAAF7I/IP2rt5fLGNs/s400/036.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592229968965232402" /></a><br /><br />This is her guilty look in grandpa's office.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CwTWOVTmR34/TZuYQA8HU-I/AAAAAAAAF7Y/XCZTVP-Ge-U/s1600/027.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CwTWOVTmR34/TZuYQA8HU-I/AAAAAAAAF7Y/XCZTVP-Ge-U/s400/027.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592230763208070114" /></a><br /><br />And if it looks as though I am choking her here, I am.<br /><br />Stay tuned for more of our 2 week staycation and see who survives.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-89538537491705883602011-03-22T12:11:00.000-07:002011-03-22T13:11:12.853-07:00In Defence of Insanity<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-59kXcMWR1PA/TYj0hEyYKYI/AAAAAAAAF5Y/yjWwZV2IRTU/s1600/selma.gif"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 105px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-59kXcMWR1PA/TYj0hEyYKYI/AAAAAAAAF5Y/yjWwZV2IRTU/s400/selma.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586984186811001218" /></a><br /><br /> I spent last weekend in St. George. Every March, in order for Brad to maintain his Utah law/bar license he has to attend some classes, go golfing or something of the sort, which conveniently for the golf, takes place in St. George. Once in a blue moon we all take the trip with him and 2011 seemed to be a blue moon so there I was on a Friday afternoon cruising the red rocks of southern Utah with Rosemary while Brad took the three older children to a community aquatic center. I wasn't feeling in the mood to put on a swimsuit in public. I haven't quite come to terms with my aging body, it's on my to-do list but it's behind washing baseboards and dusting crown molding. Plus, I have serious issues with pools. I think it's because I grew up swimming in large bodies of water, you know, like the great lakes. Pools are just a touch too creepy for me, it feels as if I've embraced a "let's all get naked and cram together in a giant bathtub" attitude. I know you are thinking that I may be neurotic, but that is my only "thing". Pools and chicken. Have you ever prepared raw chicken while pregnant? Seriously.<br /><br />So Rosemary and I pull into the parking lot of Target and I spy a Great Clips. I've never had a hair cut at Great Clips. I barely get hair cuts. But here's the thing: I live in an incredibly homogeneous microcosm. I'm not knocking my neighborhood, I really do love the women I live around. The problem is, and maybe someone else shares this problem, if something is trendy or popular I don't do it, or wear it, or say it. For instance, when "awesome" became a trendy word, I refused to use it. Now it's the foundation of my vocabulary but whatever. Remember overalls and how people would wear one strap down?! But that's not a good example because that truly was ridiculous. I know you are thinking: Martha had a pair of overalls? I did and I wish I still had them. I just refuse to wear the strap down. <br /><br />Pegging your pants. I didn't do that. The neck cut out of a sweatshirt and hanging off of one shoulder? I totally did that but that <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span> cool. <br /><br />Lots of chunky jewelry, or lots of jewelry at all, I can't do it. Leggings with a skirt over them, no way.<br /><br />So back to my point. My neighborhood. We all have long hair. Not only is it long, it has those soft contrived waves that are wrapped around the curling iron but not clipped in. Well mine, not so much, it's wavy all right, but minus the curling iron and add some serious frizz. Sacrament meeting is like a Stepford wives gathering. We could totally give the women of Colorado City a run for their money if you know what I mean.<br /><br />So I see the Great Clips and I just can't take it anymore. I walk in and ask the lady to cut 4 inches off. She stares at me and asks: What will your husband say? I let out a Pfftt, which is french for: he won't even notice. She starts cutting. She calls the woman next to her over saying: look at her hair, she wants to cut 4 inches off, would you cut 4 inches off if you had her hair? I mutter something about them not understanding the pressure I am under. Rosemary sits in the next chair pushing button after button on my iphone.<br /><br />Finally, it is done. I pay and walk out waiting until I find a mirror in Target to asses the damage. I find one and am confronted by what would be an almost perfectly cut frizzy triangle if it weren't for the two straggly strands which hang longer than the rest. I am reminded of Suzanna Hoffs in "Walk like an Egyptian" or better yet, Selma Bouvier, Marge Simpson's sister (I only know the name because of my brother in-law who is a Simpson die hard). She has some awesomely beautiful hair.<br /><br />But it doesn't matter. At least I am free from the pack.<br /><br />You added another neurosis to the list didn't you?<br /><br />I'll probably grow it out.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KDuBNuwm7k0/TYkBPGnoG_I/AAAAAAAAF5o/P5pbUWpENQE/s1600/short%2Bhair.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 391px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KDuBNuwm7k0/TYkBPGnoG_I/AAAAAAAAF5o/P5pbUWpENQE/s400/short%2Bhair.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586998171716295666" /></a><br /><br />(Totally self-conscience head tilt)martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-9820244751675441412010-10-13T13:09:00.001-07:002010-10-13T13:44:21.828-07:00"Of" The Week<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYSFa67PmI/AAAAAAAAF3M/qdRj65xxQXs/s1600/red+white+and+blue.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 388px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYSFa67PmI/AAAAAAAAF3M/qdRj65xxQXs/s400/red+white+and+blue.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527625476978982498" /></a><br /><br />I would rather be picking flowers but I suppose these stories won't wait. <br /><br />Speaking of flowers, the weather has reached perfection in my book. When it hits 60-70 degrees I sing hallelujah. Beautiful.<br /><br />Have I mentioned that my two oldest daughters are a handful? Things are actually not too shabby at school, the question is will I go insane or contract permanent brain damage during the process of trying to hold it all together.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYTEoq-9GI/AAAAAAAAF3U/6wUXdLuORkI/s1600/001.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYTEoq-9GI/AAAAAAAAF3U/6wUXdLuORkI/s400/001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527626563001971810" /></a> <br /><br />Norah's parent teacher conference revealed that she is an outstanding creative writer. I knew she reminded me of my brother Nate who coincidentally, graduated with a masters from Columbia in theatrical writing. Norah is always off in another place, another time, and another land. As her mother I appreciate this, but the big vein in my forehead is starting to throb and will soon explode unless she learns how to channel her creativity more productively and appropriately. Food needs to be eaten and shoes must be put on.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYUwCKlXNI/AAAAAAAAF3c/0kXLblr7mYs/s1600/with+lulu.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 388px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYUwCKlXNI/AAAAAAAAF3c/0kXLblr7mYs/s400/with+lulu.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527628408091401426" /></a><br /><br />Lulu is a super-reader. Challenger usually sends students home with 1-2 readers but Lulu receives 5 and devours them. Last week she read me The Friend. One of Lulu's challenges is volume control. Serenity Now!<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYWDpJ5eLI/AAAAAAAAF3k/_Rb38LEuW-E/s1600/spiderman+and+his+web.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 388px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYWDpJ5eLI/AAAAAAAAF3k/_Rb38LEuW-E/s400/spiderman+and+his+web.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527629844486650034" /></a><br /><br />Abram is a sensitive boy. He is sensitive to food, noise, texture, touch, you name it. I am the type of person who likes to think, Abram is the person that likes to talk, and talk. That boy does not have a thought enter his head that does not exit his mouth. I am working on becoming the mom that enjoys this insight into a 3, almost 4 years old's mind. But thank heaven he still takes a nap.<br /><br />He attends school twice a week and loves it. He has all the letters memorized along with their sounds, including the long and short vowel sounds. He calls himself awesome. Awesome Abram.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYXLmyx_XI/AAAAAAAAF3s/gFJJC0Zgs-U/s1600/us.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYXLmyx_XI/AAAAAAAAF3s/gFJJC0Zgs-U/s400/us.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527631080803401074" /></a><br /><br />All of this leads me to appreciate my soft, cuddly child. Sure, she throws tantrums and is often stubborn, but she actually gets her shoes when I ask her to. And she loves to be held. Every mother should have a baby that throws her arms around her mother's neck and won't let go. Rosemary is that baby.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYX7AKS2iI/AAAAAAAAF30/qoVivHSwxJM/s1600/police.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYX7AKS2iI/AAAAAAAAF30/qoVivHSwxJM/s400/police.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527631895066761762" /></a><br /><br />Remember when I hit that bus? This is my surreptitious photo during traffic school where I learned so much about seat belts and disobedient citizens who obviously love to spend time at the police station on a Saturday morning because they won't stop talking about themselves. Sorry, that was uncharitable, but so true. I will never speed or hit a bus again.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYY4plbA1I/AAAAAAAAF38/kr-qiNCJHkM/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYY4plbA1I/AAAAAAAAF38/kr-qiNCJHkM/s400/010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527632954158416722" /></a><br /><br />I made these for a baby shower, all from my own garden. I like to talk about myself too.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYZN8WE-YI/AAAAAAAAF4E/HXW4Q-qY-3E/s1600/blue+and+yellow.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 388px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TLYZN8WE-YI/AAAAAAAAF4E/HXW4Q-qY-3E/s400/blue+and+yellow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527633319971584386" /></a><br /><br />This was my dress-up of the week. Although, I took it off as soon as I got home from church and put on jeans and a t-shirt.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64516333235589813.post-30739771369576637712010-10-04T19:17:00.000-07:002010-10-05T13:01:25.732-07:00What Conference taught me:<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TKqLpigfViI/AAAAAAAAF20/AYTDQdDoMyc/s1600/abram%27s+sweater.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TKqLpigfViI/AAAAAAAAF20/AYTDQdDoMyc/s400/abram%27s+sweater.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524381438677308962" /></a><br /><br />I've been a bit cranky this past month. I think I just let myself get run down by all that is expected of me as a mother and homemaker, all that is expected of me as a YW president, and all that is expected of me as a sister in the Relief Society. As meetings and doctor's appointments and responsibilities that seemed to be solely mine <br />piled on I realized that I needed to be more and I was slightly resentful because sometimes I don't feel like being more, sometimes I feel like being less. You know? <br /><br />And I wasn't keeping it to myself, I was starting to complain. Instead of helping others feel better about themselves, I was a rain cloud. In fact, I think I said something along the lines of: If this is the way the Celestial Kingdom is going to be (serving all the time), I don't want to go. One of my better moments for sure.<br /><br />And then I heard President Monson speak last Saturday, and then this Saturday, and again and again. And I realized I needed to repent. President Monson is the perfect example of how well service can be woven into the daily tasks of life. It's not separate "service" time stealing from "my task" time, the two are complimentary. <br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TKt-Wm0vWdI/AAAAAAAAF28/k_ljIzq_nik/s1600/sidewalk.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TKt-Wm0vWdI/AAAAAAAAF28/k_ljIzq_nik/s400/sidewalk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524648294744021458" /></a><br /><br />These somewhat, we will call them extra-special children, are mine because I need them and they need me so that all of us together can become like Jesus Christ. When faced with some of my children's problems I think "darn genetics", but really, are these burdens not gifts? I know, most of the time it is difficult to see it this way, but I am forced to dig deep and work hard in order to be what they need and so I am forced to involve God because they are His children as well and he wants us to succeed. <br /><br />And my calling, it's not mine alone either. He loves the YW and called me to serve them by serving Him. <br /><br />I think in our culture, 1st Nephi 3:7 sometimes almost becomes trite because it is quoted so often and is always applicable. But last night, as we had scripture study together as a family I noted the few verses before when Lehi spoke of Leman and Lemual murmuring because their father required them to return to Jerusalem for the plates of brass,and that was hard. And I thought of myself.<br /><br />And it is hard. I live in a nice house, have a nice car, have plenty of food and clothing, but I struggle to do all that my Father has required of me. Sometimes what He has asked seems so overwhelming and I do feel heavy under it's weight, but then I hear conference and am reminded that He will provide a way as long as I am doing what He has asked and the weight becomes light and a way is provided.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TKuCjxrZwMI/AAAAAAAAF3E/l9J6LvaTKOc/s1600/mom+and+kids.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 388px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H_BQ8yn1x20/TKuCjxrZwMI/AAAAAAAAF3E/l9J6LvaTKOc/s400/mom+and+kids.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524652919042457794" /></a><br /><br />So thank you President Monson for again, teaching me who I am and how to be her.martha corinnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08659150950874774027noreply@blogger.com6