Fantastic Mr. Fox

If any of you have read Roald Dahl, you might have read or heard of his book, Fantastic Mr. Fox. My parents somehow have (had?) a cassette recording of Dahl himself reading the book, and I have very fond memories of listening to it on car trips, among other classics like The Muppet Album and the Smothers Brothers.


For those unfamiliar with the story, Mr. Fox saves his wife and children as well as the other forest creatures from the dastardly attempts of three farmers--Boggis, Bunce, and Bean--to catch him (although he unfortunately does lose his beautiful tail in the process). At the end, Mrs. Fox tells her children, "Your father is a fantastic Mr. Fox." This has become an endearing saying between my parents (my dad always rejoindering that my mother is a fantastic Mrs. Fox).

Several years ago, in honor of her fantastic Mr. Fox, my mom presented my dad with a fox puppet. Although becoming a bit bedraggled as time has passed, Mr. Fox continues to hold a cherished place in our family. The grandkids ask for him on nearly visit, and Clara is no exception.

Clara wasn't too sure of Mr. Fox when she was younger, but now she adores him.

Mr. Fox doesn't talk. Somehow he decided my dad was cool enough to be his interpreter, so he whispers things in my dad's ear and then my dad passes the message or question on to the captive audience.

I'm not sure if Clara thinks he's real, but the magic certainly is.

Easter!

Easter has taken on new and deeper meaning for me as the years have passed. The more I see of the world--the heartache, sorrow, injustice, and tragedy that so many experience--the more I recognize the enormous and eternal significance of the death and especially the resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

As one of the living apostles, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, said so eloquently:

Brothers and sisters, one of the great consolations of this Easter season is that because Jesus walked such a long, lonely path utterly alone, we do not have to do so. His solitary journey brought great company for our little version of that path—the merciful care of our Father in Heaven, the unfailing companionship of this Beloved Son, the consummate gift of the Holy Ghost, angels in heaven, family members on both sides of the veil, prophets and apostles, teachers, leaders, friends. All of these and more have been given as companions for our mortal journey because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the Restoration of His gospel. Trumpeted from the summit of Calvary is the truth that we will never be left alone nor unaided, even if sometimes we may feel that we are. Truly the Redeemer of us all said, “I will not leave you comfortless. [My Father and] I will come to you [and abide with you]."

I add my testimony that indeed, Jesus Christ died for our sins and lives as our Savior today. I know that personally. And like Paul, I rejoice and exclaim, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" (1 Corinthians 15:55). Easter brings great hope to a world of so much darkness and sadness. Hooray for hope!


On an almost entirely unrelated note, we had a fun Easter weekend with family. While I had a great time with my mother- and sisters-in-law celebrating the birth of my newest niece, Jane, at a shower on Saturday, Michael and his brothers and dad took the grandkids to the park and had an egg hunt.

What cracks me up about this video is that there is absolutely no rush amongst the kids to get the eggs--they're just calmly eating the contents of the eggs as they go along.



Preparing to leave for the hunt--Clara, Adam, and Abigail--I'm assuming they didn't ride over on the back of the truck . . . right, Sweetheart?

Clara feeding Mr. Bear some candy.

My brothers-in-law--Caleb, Joseph, and Hyrum--and Michael's dad enjoying the fruits of their labors as Easter bunnies. I'm not sure who enjoyed the hunt more . . . the "grown-ups" or the grandkids?

Happy Easter!

Girl time

Upon learning that Michael was going to be out of town, my fabulous sister-in-law took pity on me and came to stay with me for a few days with her little adorable little boy, Adam.

Enjoying yummy strawberry smoothies in the sunshine.

A picnic at the library.

A visit to the mall playplace on a rainy day.

Lots of yummy food (think Moosetracks ice cream with whipped cream), delightful midnight conversations, cousin time, and lots of laughter made for a wonderful time. I had an absolute blast. I can't speak for Adam . . . he put up with quite a bit from his older territorial cousin.

Thanks again for coming, Tabitha!

Winsome?

When I finished sewing these, this word came to mind: winsome. I wasn't even sure what it meant, but upon looking it up, I felt it characterized these baby booties pretty well.

winsome: (adj) generally pleasing and engaging often because of a childlike charm and innocence

Okay, I don't know if these are innocent, but I do find them charming. And since my sister-in-law already had her baby, I decided I could cheat and post about them since I doubt she is following my blog while she's managing a two-year-old, a c-section, and a new baby.

They were challenging to make, but not too terrible (I rate my frustrations on the number of times I had to take out seams with my seam ripper--only once for this project). My favorite type of project is the one that I can do in a short period of time--a couple of hours or less.

I used this pattern, and there's also a fun collection of other people's baby shoe creations here.

I made these bibs combining two patterns--one from a book a borrowed from a very crafty friend and then combined it with this one. I could pretend and say that I combined the two because I just wasn't satisfied with either and had to make them better . . . but what actually happened is I messed up and was lazy to fix it so I switched patterns partway through.

The problem with crafty blogs is they make me see things that are so cute that I think I could make, but then I ask myself, "Do I really want to make that? Do I need that? Is it worth the time, effort, and expense to make it?"

I'm good at talking myself out of doing anything that requires work.

Call me crazy . . .

. . . but there's something endearing about a child padding out in the morning in flannel pajamas with crazy hair, bad breath, and vestiges of last night's Crystal Light fruit punch mustache.

I think having the same genes might be a requirement for this to be considered endearing, however.

Waking up

I'm talking about my sweet child.

Little by little, we notice small changes. Less rigidity when it comes to transitions. Less disobedience and defiance. More running. And jumping. And GALLOPING, for goodness' sake. A little more pretending. A little more interaction and better responses to questions.

More joy. For all of us.

It's like we can almost see the synapses connecting . . . Michael and I were talking about it and we realized that she seems just more awake. There are still lots of challenges and issues and will be for a long time, but we revel in the little things.


On another note, Clara has been very into the sounds of letters recently. Two choice examples:

CLARA: "Wuh-wuh-wolf. That starts with duh-duh-double-u ("W")."


CLARA: "Cuh-cuh-Clara starts with Suh-suh-see ("C").


I may have a degree in Linguistics, but I can't seem to think of a good way to explain the delightful rules of our mysterious language.

But it's fun in the meantime.

Kiss me, I really am Irish

Okay, I'm only one-sixteenth Irish. And Clara's one-thirtysecond. But it still counts!

Last year I complained to my mom about how silly it was that we celebrate St. Patrick's Day, particularly because we're not Catholic. Since she reminded me that I do have Irish ancestry (who probably were Catholic), I have felt much more willing to use the day as an opportunity to remember my heritage. And it was pretty cool that St. Patrick was a Christian missionary to the people of Ireland, even though he'd been enslaved by them when he was younger.

Enjoying green pancakes. What, the Irish don't eat those? Okay, we also had Irish soda bread and potato soup for dinner. Sorry, no corned beef or cabbage, Mom.

My great-great-great grandfather and grandmother were both born in Derry, Ireland and then emigrated during the great potato famine. It fills me with a rather peculiar sense of pride knowing that my ancestors survived and made a new and (hopefully) better life for themselves in the States.

There's something entirely satisfying about getting back to one's roots. I'm glad some of mine are anchored in the Emerald Isle.

A women's retreat: Windows of the Heart

This past weekend, I dropped Clara off at my super-fabulous in-laws and took a plane to Utah with my mom for a Dunford (my dad's family) women's retreat. They have one every year, and I haven't been able to attend in five years.

A different aunt and her family (my dad has eight siblings) is in charge each year, and they pick a theme and organize the entire weekend. Different families provide meals and everyone helps out. This year, the theme was Windows of the Heart.

They made us each these cute aprons--complete with recipes in the pocket--and left them on our beds as night-time surprises.

Our family was in charge of dinner that night. Here are some of my cousins and aunts--about 40 attended overall.

They provided each of us with a water bottle with our name on it (!) and a glass canister which we put the quotes in that we had all brought to share.

Excuse the poor lighting--here's the group all eating together.

Me and my sister and two of my sisters-in-law: Wendi, Emily, and Heather. Dang, I love these girls.

The morning view from the back of the house.

The retreat was a wonderful, uplifting experience--we felt the Spirit, participated in a humanitarian aid project, listened to workshops, and socialized ourselves silly. And of course we, well, at least I, ate obscene amounts of heavenly food.

What could be better than that?

Good mom bad mom

Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you cut the crusts off your child's sandwich?


Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you let your child brush his or her own teeth?

Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you let your child walk outside of the shopping cart when you go to the grocery store or elsewhere?

Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you don't force your four-year-old make her own bed?

Are you a good mom or a bad mom if you let your child wash her own hands even though she's rubbed the soap together approximately .015 seconds?


Just deep, eternally significant questions I've been pondering.

Simple pleasures: a Clara perspective

Hi, it's me, Clara. Just thought I'd introduce you to a few of my favorite things.

Umbrellas are my friend. I will even make them out of sticks and play-doh. When Nana gave me a real one, I decided I'm pretty much set for life.

Grandparents rock. Especially if they let you play with their cell phone occasionally.

Uh, Mom? I'm not sure if taking my first carousel ride counts as a "simple pleasure." Of course, I was really brave. And I liked it when I was done.

'Sup, Mom. Dude, this swing thing is so easy. Why did I freak out on them a few months ago?

Nice try, Mom, but riding a tricycle is no joy ride for me. More like torture. But I'll humor you and smile for the photo op . . . just because I love you.

Yeah, I think koalas are pretty spiffy. I sometimes ask my dad to show me koala videos on Youtube. My dad's one of my favorite things, too.

Sharing the love

I am a big fan of other people doing all the legwork so I can save money.

Wow. Reading that makes me feel really lame, but it's true.

So for all you Southerners (capital S or lowercase? Where's a Chicago Manual of Style Guide?!), I'd like to make sure you know about Southern Savers. It is a FABULOUS resource for saving money, particularly here in the South. She has tabs for grocery store chains that are in this region and compiles the ad as well as what coupons (available in your Sunday newspaper) can make the deals even better. Kroger is my friend.

I could spend a lot of time talking about CVS and how you can save money on household items by shopping there (I didn't believe it either, but it's true), but that's a post for another day. Or not at all. Southern Savers does include deals for CVS, though, as well.

And if you don't live in the South, check out Money Saving Mom. She also has great stuff (freebies, coupons, etc.) for everyone.

Just thought I'd share the love.

Can creativity be taught?

Creativity. Its synonyms are ingenuity, genius, imagination, and originality. Those lofty words seem befitting to Michelangelo or Monet, not to the daily mediocrity that we frequently experience. I'm not that creative, you might be saying to yourself.

And yet, I believe there is creativity within each of us, an integral part of what defines us as human beings instead of mere animals. It is obviously a godly trait since God Himself created this beautiful world for us. You can't help but see the wide varieties in flora and fauna, not to mention in each other's faces, to see that the concept of creation is in God perfected.

Most children are creative intuitively--they use objects symbolically, pretending a hairbrush is an airplane. Play-doh, paper, and crayons are merely tools to an end: the creation of something new and unique, that they eagerly display and tell you they made "all by myself!" And it is such a joyful act for them--they relish the experience and eagerly anticipate the next creative adventure. It is an end unto itself. What will I think up next? they might be wondering. Long before she can even write her name, the mind of a little girl is expanding in the act of creation--rearranging her dolls in a careful motherly way or capturing an elaborate fairytale scene on paper.


For Clara, however, and others with similar challenges, the act of creation is not so innate. Any sort of purposeful creation--a tower of blocks, a drawing, even playing "kitchen"--does not come easily for her. She is able to symbolically play, which is a wonderful thing for me to watch (the other day she was using her sunglasses as a telephone and has used her magic wand as a flashlight). However, ideas are like grains of sand that seem to slip through her fingers just as she tries to grasp them. This is part of what it means to be dyspraxic: ideation (coming up with ideas) is difficult. Other times, though, it is like synapses have connected in the night and she is able to do something she couldn't a short time previously (like the other day when she built a tower out of four or five plastic doughnuts).

Do you think that a parent can teach a child to be creative? My gut instinct would be to say no. I can plant ideas in her mind, but that's not really creation, is it? That's imitation. (And I know that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but that's not my point.) I find myself buying a mountain of craft supplies--a ream of construction paper, markers, crayons, play-doh, paints, etc.--thinking that I will find a particular medium that she will enjoy and connect with.


When I am discouraged, I have to remind myself that my efforts are not in vain. I might not be able to give her the gift of creativity, but I can give her the gift of opportunity. I can expose her to different things, and I believe that she will find something, someday, that sparks that creativity within her. I don't care about the end result: I need to just tell her schoolteachers outright when they send home the little craft that the kids make that I couldn't care less about the end product. All I want is for her to be (1) learning fine motor skills, and (2) finding joy in the process. Unfortunately, I think crafts are often a chore for her at this point.


Last night, a little three-year-old girl I sometimes babysit said to me, "Look, I drew a potato." (And it really looked like a potato, but again, that's beside the point.) Wow, I thought to myself. What a wonderful day it will be when Clara will draw, build, write--you fill in the blank--something purposefully and have it mean something to her. And most especially, to have her feel a sense of accomplishment after her act of creation.

That will be a day of celebration indeed.

My beef with princesses

Does anyone else have mixed feelings about the whole "princess thing" going on? You see them everywhere. Part of me likes it. As a "grown-up," I confess there is still a part of me that loves the princess marrying her Prince Charming and going to live in the castle happily ever after. Maybe that's why I like books like The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale, or other "princess" stories.

However, I have some issues with the princess thing, most especially, the Disney Princess thing. I have seen most of the Disney animated movies (many several times), and still enjoy some of them.


Cinderella was my favorite as a child--she served her cruel (and ugly) stepsisters and stepmother but still found time to care for others. She deserved a happy ending. But have any of you read Cinder Edna by Ellen Jackson? Now, that's my kind of role model. If you haven't read it, check it out from your library. Cinder Edna is Cinder Ella's practical, ingenious neighbor who doesn't wait for a fairy godmother but learns all sorts of wonderful skills and ends up falling in love with the stuffy prince's younger brother and lives a life much happier and more fulfilled than Cinderella's.


Anyway, getting back to ripping the princesses.

Sleeping Beauty was an idiot because she touched the dumb spindle (and Maleficent was too scary for me--she even says the "h" word in the movie, which I found horrific as a child). Aurora seemed way too spacey for me.

And don't get me started on Ariel--while she had a lovely voice, she was irresponsible and inconsiderate. She defied her father (who, I admit, was overbearing) and nearly ended up killing all of the mermaids because of her selfish wish to be human with Eric. Thank goodness her dad and Eric bailed her out. And I find her attire too revealing.

Belle was pretty awesome and showed true heroism by giving her life to replace her father's. She cared for the Beast and grew to love him despite her fear. She also showed great courage in the face of adversity and stuck to her guns when the social pressure mounted for her to marry Gaston.

Mulan? Pocahontas? They were courageous. That's cool.

Jasmine? Don't get me wrong--if I were the sultan's daughter, I wouldn't have wanted to marry some pompous prince just because of a law. But her wardrobe? Gee, what a great message for young girls. The dress-up clothes they have for the "princesses" are almost as immodest.

Snow White was very sweet to the animals and the dwarfs. But how could she have fallen for the old "poison apple" routine? She was a bit too naive and dainty for me.


So what's the ideal princess for a cynical mom (tongue in cheek) like me?

When I was younger, my dad and I would read stories together. One of my favorites is Frances Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess. I hope you've read it (and the movie is fabulous, too).

In it, Sara Crewe is sent to a boarding school while her father goes away to war (World War I). She is wealthy, but she still is kind to the other girls, most especially those who are not befriended by the others. She shares her wealth with Becky, the black servant girl. When her father is killed (which really does happen in the book--the movie has a different ending), she loses her wealth and is forced to become a servant herself. Miss Minchin, the headmistress, is very unkind to Sara (no doubt she had a poor childhood herself, though) and in the movie tells Sara, "You'll do well to remember, Sara Crewe, that you are not a princess any longer" when she sends her up to her small, drafty attic bedroom.

Still, even as a servant, Sara shares a bun with an even poorer little girl than herself. She saves food for the little mouse who lives in the attic with her. She is still kind to the other girls. While at first disenchanted with her new reality, she revives her imagination and remembers her father's words, "I believe that you are, and always will be, my little princess." In the movie, Sara stares down Miss Minchin, telling her, "All girls are princesses. Even ones who live in tiny old attics."

And as her wise Maya told her at the beginning of the movie, "All women are princesses. It is our right."

True indeed. We are daughters of a King, our Heavenly Father. If I can help Clara understand that she is truly a princess because she is a spirit daughter of God, then I will feel that the whole "princess" thing is not for naught. However, I would rather have her look to Sara Crewe or Queen Esther than to Snow White for what it really means to be a princess.

So I say, bring on the tiaras and jewels and fancy dress-up clothes, but hopefully as a tool to teach the importance of acting like a princess, of acting like a daughter of God, on the inside. I love the magic of make-believe and think it is an important part of childhood (or adulthood, for that matter), but fairy tales come true only in so far as we choose to act like the princess we verily are in real life.

I'll get off my soap box now.

Spring pics

Today I asked Clara if she would mind getting into a dress to take some pictures by some pretty flowers. She said, "Okay." Pleasantly surprised, I got her dressed and we drove less than a half mile up the road to a beautiful stretch of wildflowers that blooms every year. Last year, we took pics as well. Clara was much more cooperative this year.

It's days like today that make me salivate for a real SLR digital camera. But anything is better than nothing. Anyway, I thought I'd share a few of the better shots.

This isn't a good shot, but I think it's hilarious that the first thing Clara goes for are her favorites: "blowing flowers" and dandelions.

She has a sixth sense for dandelions and can find them practically anywhere--amidst a whole garden of dainty white flowers, she has eyes only for the common dandelion. Of course, in her eyes, the dandelion is the real find.

But she thought the wildflowers were pretty nice, too, and picked me a bouquet, the little sweetpea.

I have mentioned it before, but Clara loves it when we speak in different voices. For this photo shoot, I was Cookie Monster or Zoey, depending on her whim.

One of the few genuine smiles of the shoot. Don't get me wrong--she smiled a lot. But they were like these kinds of smiles.

Clara is wearing last summer's sandals and her toes are hanging off the front of her sandals quite shamelessly. Luckily, the grass was long.




A little piece of Eden.

A rather blustery day

Actually, this day wasn't too blustery, but we still managed to use a light breeze to our advantage and go fly a kite. I have to say that flying a kite is a funny thing: You fight to get the thing up in the air and when you succeed, you feel such a sense of accomplishment. I'll have to remember that when I need a quick confidence booster.

Michael has apparently had professional kite-flying lessons.


The first time I took Clara to fly the kite, she seriously freaked out and started crying. She was afraid of it (I think the erratic movements are what threw her, but who knows).

Needless to say, I was apprehensive about the second go, but as is frequently the case with Clara (and most kids, I imagine), the second exposure is more tolerable.

She still wasn't too sure about it, though.


Now, on a totally different note, when exactly does the "fake smile grimace" become a less frequent appearance in family photos? There seems to be an age when the fake smile (e.g. grimace) appears, so I'm hoping it phases out some time. Right?