A real winner

So the celery crop finally "came in".

It was a whopper.

I saw the celery seeds in Home Depot in the springtime when I get that planting feeling. I thought to myself, "Huh. I guess somebody has to grow celery. Why not me?" So I bought it and put it in the blackberry bed. It took FOREVER to grow. Last week I finally went out and pulled one of the plants out (I had a hankerin for ants-on-a-log.)

Did you know that when you grow this:



You will get this:

In the end, it's nice to know that if the end of the world were to draw near, I could grow a bit of celery for the potato salad. Until then, celery is 67 cents at Walmart.

For all these things...

For my husband. For my babies that are here and those that are to come. For not being in the grocery store check out lane at this very moment. For the happiness that comes from knowing and loving my neighbors. For the opportunity (the obligation, even!) to make 3 kinds of pie. For a great sister willing to drive 8 hours with a chaweenie in the backseat. For mulled cider scented candles, the anticipation of unpacking the Christmas decorations, the careful planning of the advent calendar. For google. For Weezer's Green Album. For the artwork of James C. Christensen. For having my husband home in the mornings ALL WEEK. For the example of an extraordinary mother. For a tough year and the changes it has brought about. For an open heart. For a new sister. For new understanding. For President Monson and President Obama. For indexing. For digital cameras and iPhoto. For a summer of raspberries. For spinach growing in the windowsill. For forgiveness and mercy. For washing machines, vacuums, space heaters and a kitchenaid. For a paycheck. For my siblings and the history and future we share. For music, old and new. For Kit Kats. For Magic Erasers. For Aldi. For second chances. For hidden love notes. For Chicago. For Pork Barbacoa. For A-Ha in the morning. For blogging. For scroll saws and sanders. For Advil Liquigels. For 'Lost'. For true companionship. For hot showers, apricot scrub and clean sheets. For four days of cooking and eating with my little sister. For the opportunity to correct my mistakes. For Timpanogas and Emerald Lake. For Pine Sol. For aprons. For Bakugans, princesses and teepees. For jeans.
For the love of my Father. For the gift of my Brother. For sacrifices.

I am truly grateful.

I'm pooped.

So it happened.

I was going about my day and I heard the washing machine finish the swishy swish part and I fully expected to hear the "click" and then the draining and spinning. I assumed it would happen. I guess you might say I took it for granted that it would happen.

Not so.

I went in to wiggle the Zoo Pals knives and hoped for a miracle.

Nope.

I pulled the knives out and took a good look at that little trigger. I noticed two screws and me being me went to get a screwdriver. I thought I'd "take a look". I removed the screws and the trigger fell apart and I heard its pieces descend into to the bottom of the blasted machine. I inspected the rest of the machine and could see no conceivable way of opening the thing up.

Before I get ahead of myself, I should mention that my half-done load was a ripe batch of cloth diapers. OF COURSE. I pulled the washer away from the wall to get a better look and was reminded that I have never ever cleaned under there. Yum. The machine would only come out about a foot and I realized I need to pull the drainage hose out of it's spot. Oh yes. That's right. I dropped the hose and released half a gallon of pooh water onto the half an inch of caked on grime and 10 years worth of spilled powder detergent. I found little comfort in the fact that perhaps the soap factor would cancel out the pooh factor.

Once that was cleaned up, I got on with the business of hand-wringing each and every diaper, insert and wipe and draining the pooh water from the machine.

That done, I hunkered down to attempt to open up this beast and retrieve my agitator switch. It was beyond me. And anyway, it was time to take Meg to preschool. I felt so clean and fresh.

I decided that due to the fact that we bought this washing machine from Deseret Industries 10 years ago for 140 bucks, I feel that it has done it's duty and we should part ways.

And after the sheer volume of pooh water I've waded through today, I'm opting for delivery, installation and take-away. I deserve it. I dare you to say otherwise.

Oh, and if you choose to never come to dinner at my house or take a scoop of my potluck dish again, I understand. No hard feelings.

The end of an era.

Remember this?

I do.

Only it was a walkman and I was probably listening to my Bon Jovi tape. Yes, I was livin on a prayer and I did give love a bad name.

Worried

When I do the kids laundry I watch the piles of clothes as I fold their pants and shirts and jammies. If one child's stack seems noticeably taller than another child's I worry that perhaps I subconsciously love that child more and buy them more clothes. I am so relieved to see the stacks even out as I finish folding. The next time I sit down to fold, I start watching the stacks again.

I worry about Megan because she falls to pieces when she makes a mistake on one of her crayon drawings. The shape of the head isn't quite round enough or she accidentally picked up the wrong color. She refuses to go on and crumples up the paper and starts over again. Is she going to be OCD? Why does she need to be perfect? How do I show her how to give herself a break? Will she be the world's most stressed out preschooler?

Will I ever be able to shed 6 pounds off of this wiener dog?

If we have another baby and it's a little boy, will he feel left out because his brothers are so much older than him? And if it's a little girl, will two of the three be really good friends and leave the other one out?

Where did that huge spider go? If it's not on its web, then it's got to be somewhere else. Maybe it's trying to find a way into the house right this very minute.

Is it a bad sign that my little baby daughter can clearly and effectively "tell me off" even though she only knows "momma" "dadda" and "uh-huh"?

How much longer is the washing machine going to last with my jimmy rigged 'Zoo Pals' plastic knives stuck in the agitator button? Reason tells me: not long.

This is the just the tip of the iceberg. Just the tippy tippy top. Anybody know a therapist that has office hours after the kids go to sleep? Over the phone? While I eat some ice cream?

Geting the loot

And because there's no better day than November 20th to wrap up your Halloween posts, lets wrap this up.

We trick or treated till the kids were beginning to view their costumes as an addition to regular wardrobe. Ward Trunk or Treat, 3 class parties, mom's pre-Halloween photo needs, Halloween day costume parade and the actual Trick or Treating. Wowzers.

A few highlights.

HIGHLY recommend the Bentonville Square on Halloween. Beautiful, fun, and not too crowded.





There. Done. Catch you next Halloween. Oh, and enjoy your turkey, everyone.

Relax. Go to it.

Never let it be said that we haven't properly taught how our children how to lounge.



So grab a tupperware of cold cereal and find a spot on the carpet. We welcome all who wish to chill.

**by the looks of that laundry, I've been teaching by example. I'm nothing if not thorough.