Beer works

Just thought I'd get your attention.


A few weeks ago, Michael and I purchased a couple of flats of flowers for our front beds--zinnias and petunias. A few days ago, I noticed that the petunias were getting eaten alive. Literally.

After intense research (read: Google), I determined that the heartless criminals were either earwigs and/or slugs. I went to Lowe's with the expectation of purchasing some sort of fancy pesticide or trap, but when I learned of the possibility for pet fatalities (our neighbors have a roaming dog and cats), I decided to opt for the more homeopathic and only slightly less sophisticated method: beer in a cup.

Considering the fact that I have never drunk alcohol, not to mention purchased it, I felt somewhat uncomfortable as a good ole' Mormon girl with the idea of going to Kroger and buying some.

So we did what any good teetotalers would do: we asked a nice neighbor. (Didn't you know all teetotalers have good relationships with their neighbors?) Fortunately, he happened to have a couple of cans of Guinness on hand, and he didn't mind sharing the love.

(Excuse the blurriness--I used the "night" feature outside.) The very aesthetic cottage cheese container contains canola oil and soy sauce, which one website said will lure and then drown ear wigs. We've since decided that we have mostly slugs, but I figured I might as well leave it out there.

Placed carefully throughout our lovely flowers are alternating cups of canola oil and beer. This one is beer (it's still foamy). Do you see the eaten leaf on the right plant? (Sniff.)

This morning, when I went out to--gulp--check the cups, I found about 10 slugs. I also killed three more that I found with salt. I thought about taking a shot of the dead slugs, but then I realized that there might be pregnant women reading this blog, and I'd hate to be the one to induce any unnecessary vomiting.

'Cuz it was really gross.

Fortunately, it did work, so hopefully those two cans of beer will keep us in the slug-killing business for awhile.

In the meanwhile, we can enjoy our back porch:

Bougainvillea (on the left) is one of my favorites. The other two are Calibrachoa--trailing petunias. They're pretty nice, too. Let's hope they aren't attacked by anything (although, even as I'm writing this, I think the white one has white flies or something . . . sigh).

And if all else fails, we can let our frustrations out by playing jaw tug-o-war with a popsicle stick.

Band-aids ain't for sissies

In the last thirty-six hours, Clara has managed to get a large goose egg on her head (courtesy of an accidental golf club swing by a five-year-old boy), a burned and blistered index finger (from a flaming hot pizza pan), and two scraped knees (requiring four band-aids in total). Ah, to be a four-year-old . . .

The toughest part for Clara is getting Band-aids put on. Like most kids, she loves Band-aids, but she does not like having them on her skin. I'm figuring it's another sensory thing (she prefers to put them on Mr. Bear). So while the actual accident--in this case, the trip and subsequent knee abrasions--is painful, the treatment is almost more so. After I manage to get the Band-aids on her, she can ignore them but asks periodically to have them taken off (sometimes with great distress). Poor kid!

All I can say is I hope that she doesn't grow up with her mother's fabulous depth perception . . . it seems I am constantly running into door jambs or stubbing my toes. Ah, to be a grown-up . . .

A curiosity

Perhaps those of you familiar with Provo will recognize this very singular feature on the landscape of University Avenue.

Yes, it is, I believe, a cell phone tower. Michael and I always laugh whenever we see these, and I just have to ask, WHY?

Why do they dress it up like a tree, when it is so obviously such an unsuccessful disguise? If they really wanted to make it blend in, they could have at least remembered that in nature, branches aren't usually perfectly symmetrical.

I see them everywhere--and I'm sure you have, too--and I just think to myself, C'mon, cell phone tower builder people! It's far uglier, in my humble opinion, as a wannabe tree than it is as an honest-to-goodness ugly tower of metal.


Anyway, just curious if any of you have noticed the same thing. Or perhaps you side with the cell phone tower builder people and can be the devil's advocate in this very serious, earth-shaking discussion.

A catch-up post

This is very tardy--that's a fancy word for late (name that book), but I realized that I didn't finish posting pics from my trip to Utah (the one where I went to the Women's Retreat). So this is mostly for my family's (and Liesl's) benefit, in case any of them read the blog.

Some of my six siblings--Adam, me, Heather, and Bryan. I have to admit that I think all my brothers and my sister are pretty darn good-looking.

My niece, Grace. I am so excited for their trip out here to GA in June . . . I can't wait to get to know her and my other nieces and nephews better!

My marvelous sister-in-law, Wendi, and two of her kids, Alison and Eliot (Elliott? Elliot? Sorry I can't remember!).

My nephew, Duncan, and my niece, Caroline, enjoying homemade Oreos courtesy of their older sister, Catherine (I love those cookies!).

My brother-in-law, John, de-feathering, er, skinning, er, cleaning pheasants from his morning hunt. Can you tell I don't hunt? He treated us to some sort of delicious meat later--perhaps elk, I can't recall--that was divine.

My sister's three sweet daughters: Elizabeth, Caroline, and Catherine.

My brother Bryan with his kids, Grace and Clay.

I also was thrilled to be able to catch up with one of my dearest high school friends, Liesl, while I was out there. Isn't she lovely? I only wish that we had had more time together . . . please fly out for our tenth high school reunion, Liesl!

Liesl has twin girls--Ava and Lola--who are, need I say?, adorable.

Hanging out with Ava and Lola.

a Joyful reunion

During my trip up to Williamsburg with my parents, I got to stay a couple of days with one of my old BYU roommates, Joy. It was SO good to see her and her sweet baby and husband. They were such gracious hosts--Amelia tolerated Clara stealing her toys--and we had a great time. We visited a fun children's art exhibit, a yummy organic pizza place, and the park. We also enjoyed a mean game of Rummikub at Family Home Evening.

Amelia's first playground swing experience.

I haven't seen one of these for a while!

Amelia has to be one of the smiliest babies on the planet.

Thanks again for the visit, Joy. Hope to see you again soon!

Williamsburg, Virginia

When Michael was gone for nearly two weeks to Arizona for a wire-bending course, I took my parents up on their invitation to let me tag along with them on their trip up to Virginia for Spring Break. They did some family history work--discovering that we are direct descendants of Pocahontas and John Rolfe (can't you see the family resemblance?)--in Richmond and outlying areas, and we also did a little sight-seeing.

Williamsburg proper, where the College of William and Mary is located, is a very charming college town with lots of beautiful old architecture and fun shops. Did you know that the College of William and Mary was founded in 1693? Pretty cool.

Some of the shops sold beautiful historic colonial clothing, as well as lots of other period items. Isn't the little girl's dress sweet?

A delightful candy store there where they make some candy from scratch--the caramel apples looked amazing--and sell other old-fashioned candies.

Michael saw the pic above and he said, "Is that all the chocolate you ate?" In my dreams . . .

(SIDE NOTE: I could kick myself for not getting a Cadbury egg while I was there. I went to the store in the hopes of getting one after the holidays and they were all gone. Curses! Now my Easter celebrations feel hopelessly incomplete.)

On the grounds of the Governor's Mansion of historic Williamsburg. We went there to hear George Washington speak.

This woman is a weaver. All the yarn is hand-dyed. I also visited the milliner (dress-maker, hat-maker), a cooper (bucket-maker), a silversmith, a wig-maker (did you know the women who had wigs shaved their heads as well?!), the apothecary, the basketmaker, and the wheelwright. These are real people doing real trades--they even do work for other museums, like the one at Mount Vernon. Okay, I take that back--I don't think the apothecary was for real. At least I hope it wasn't.

The "greenhouses" in the colonial garden.

Gorgeous weather!

The entire town is preserved or restored in a wonderful way, and the pastures interspersed throughout provide a charming effect.

It's a lovely place.

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?