Perserverance

Anya must not have gotten much sleep last night, because she was a grouch after her nap until her bedtime, which tonight was about a half hour earlier than Bree's. After she went down, Mia and Bree started playing a made-up game, where they would stand at the opposite end of the kitchen that Mom was on, say "Ready, set, go!" (Or in Bree's case, "Ehh, Sehhh, GAAOOOOO!") and then race to touch my leg before they ran back and started over. They were playing so well together, and as I observed them from aross the room, instead of the usual "group-o-kids," I saw two distinct heights and ages, two clearly different levels of maturity and intelletual capacity. I could make sense of it. For a split second I could clearly imagine what it must feel like to have two kids. And you know what? I know why I got twins. Because I would have felt pretty darn proud of myself raising two kids. I think Heavenly Father knew that to keep an over-confident someone like me humble, he needed to throw in an extra.






Good job, Heavenly Father.

Art Museum

How do you convey the wonder of things ancient to a three-year-old? You don't.



There's an exhibit called "To Live Forever" at the Columbus Museum of Art. A couple of weeks ago we got to see sarcophagi, mummies, ancient writings and drawings.

Mia has a cool book on Egyptian Tombs and had already learned the names of the Egyptian gods Osiris, Isis, Anubis, Horus and Thoth, each with their distinctive headdress, animal head, or color. (I accidentally learned them too, it seems- haha. They're cool! McDonald's should come up with an Egyptian God doll collection... Okay, enough with the sacrilege. Out of all religions, mine probably most closely resembles theirs in dedication to preparation for the next life. ;) So I thought it would be fun to go see authentic drawings from people who really worshipped them.

Zach and I went on the tour the night before, and thought maybe Mia wouldn't be completely bored out of her mind if I brought her. When we saw the dress-up place at the end, that clinched it. I shouldn't have told her about it though, because when I took her the next day, after almost every display we looked at, she asked "Can we go to the dress-up place now?" She did think the mummy dogs were interesting, and- of course- the jewelry.

Showcase

I'm not done yet, but there are a ton of new/old photos on my new blog. And to all of you who are in the photos, if you really hate being on there, just let me know. ;)

Feel free to uh- share my site address... ;D

Also- if there's something not user-friendly or if there's a photo that is just plain dumb- input is appreciated. I'd like to get this thing pretty slicked-up.

Don't leave me with the Ghiradelli

"Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink" applied at our house this winter. I was constantly surrounded by people, yet always alone. Separated not by salt, but by IQ points. (Yes- Zach is way too smart for me.) During this depressing and solitary winter I've had a chance to learn a lot about myself. Of course I have to post these things online, because one of those things about me is I'm convinced you all care what I think about myself-self-self-self... is there an echo in here?

In no particular order:

I must not be left alone in a house where there is a pan of Ghiradelli brownies, especially at the end of the month.

I'm not just pretending not to care about the neverending mess. I really don't care. As long as we're safe, and we can find things in a reasonable amount of time, I'm truly fine with the fact that the mess just morphs from one set of toys to another, one day's worth of spilled-on clothes to the next. We either live downstairs in the messy room and play, or upstairs doing laundry and not messing up the downstairs. Or we're at the park. Messy room and park most always win.

I take too much stock in the world's idea of romance.

Food storage and recycling are higher on my list of priorities than I realized.

Taking pictures defines me in a way motherhood doesn't. And taking pictures of my kids isn't enough. I will never agree that ideally, the best person to raise a kid is someone other than a loving mother, but I've finally learned first-hand how occasionally doing things other than raising kids can help a mother to be more loving.

I've decided while guilt is stupid, perfectionism is stupider.
And pride is stupidest.
We won't go into where I think I fall on the stupid scale...

The world of women used to be divided by those who loved Neil Diamond and those who couldn't stand him. The new line has been drawn by "the Twilight phenomenon." After careful deliberation I've decided I am on the not-a-fan side. I do find myself wishing I could go back in time and tell Ms. Meyer to leave out the dumb parts and hold out for a film director with some professional talent, and then be 14 myself when the series came out. Because then- I would definitely have been a fan.

I can cut girl hair.