Summer Time, Free Time, and Flying Potatoes

I find myself saying this a lot: "I don't know whether I should be proud or horrified!"

My wonderful 11-year-old created a potato cannon today. He tried to explain to me all about how he was going to do it, and I tried to follow and understand everything he said--I really did. I figured in theory it would work, but it wasn't until I heard a small explosion (similar to a very big pooof sound) and got a whiff of singed hair that I really realized it was more than just a theory--that cannon was fully functional!

He took apart a lighter, got a PVC pipe, some tape, a drill, and a bottle of hairspray, and voila! Next thing I see is a potato flying across the patio (I at least had the wherewithal to tell him to keep it outside, aim it toward the pool, not get too close to the fence where it might over-shoot and hit a car on the road below).

Is this a sign it's time to go back to school, when the summer-time inventions include flames and projectiles? Before he burns the neighborhood down (did I mention the death-ray he built earlier this summer)?

Start squelching that creative curiosity with text-books, schedules, and over-crowded classromms before it's too late--that's what I say. Oh, wait--this kid's home-schooled!

Enchanted Unicorns and Tiki Torches--Recipe for Sucess

You know when your five-year-old asks in her prayers that her magical enchanted unicorn birthday party will go exactly as she hopes, that she has something magnificent in mind. And that is serious pressure.

So, after trying, and failing, to get a picture of what she was envisioning for her gala event, I finally took her to Party City to see if they had what she wanted.

Hold everything! When we walked in the door the entire display of all things “Hawaiian luau” were swarming us.

“I know what I want!” she screamed—literally. “I’m going to have a Tiki party!”

Now, knowing the fickle mind of a young girl, I put off planning anything, figuring she would change her mind to the mystical pony or haunted castle or some other theme probably six times before the final party day. But she didn’t. Tiki party it was.

“What exactly is a Tiki party?” you might ask yourself. Well, so did I. I gathered real tikis we had collected from various vacations, had my sons design posters of tikis, got out the limbo stick and hula skirts, had straw hats and tiki torches—yeah, I was feeling rather proud of my efforts, even rivaling my sisters’ skills in party planning.

But, as it turned out, the real piece de resistance was simply a giant orange flower piñata.

So, when it came down to it, I think I could have thrown out a few dried snake skins and stinky gym socks, and she’d have been completely satisfied, as long as we had the fabulous piñata (of which, of course, I have no photos—picture the Mystery Machine’s floral decals, and you’ve pretty much got the piñata).

I should have known—friends, swinging a big stick, and loads and loads of candy make any party a success. Remind me of this next time I try to knock myself out trying to put together a birthday bash!

Weird or Crazy?

So, Mitt Romney may be "weird" (see my prediction for my new favorite word at momsformitt.blogspot.com), but at least he isn't crazy!

Like I have to actually say this out loud, but there are some CRAZY political candidates out there (and opportunistic photography only makes it worse).

Oh, wait, this is just Ted Nugent performing at Rick Perry's gubernatorial gala.

Michele Bachman

Rick Perry

Mad Eyes Moody

This should be a fun year! And maybe a little "weird."

(In case you don't read MomsForMitt.blogspot, I mean "weird" in a good way when referring to Mitt Romney)

Heart of a Hillbilly

I just noticed a show called “Hillbilly Hand Fishin’” actually exists! It’s on TV! Does a team of people just sit around and think, “What’s the weirdest reality show we can come up with today that includes the word fishin’? Or Hillbilly? Or both?” I want that job!

I may mock, but seriously, if it had not been the Sabbath with my children asking to watch a scripture video (which quickly turned into Phineas and Ferb), I am afraid I would have sneaked a peek. I do not like fish, I do not like fishing (everything smells like fish) or fishin’, but I have to admit I think if I had a DNA analysis done I may just find the HB gene—yep, HB for Hill Billy.

Maybe it stems from my childhood fascination with the Clampett family of Beverly Hills, or my love for red gingham, or maybe from my secret wish to one day live on a pumpkin farm in a house I’ve built by hand (so, wait, does that make me a country bumpkin instead of a hillbilly?). But I guess I long for the simple life. Sure, I may do it Eva Gabor style from Green Acres, but if it means wide open spaces, leisurely pace, and a good foot-stompin’ banjo band, then head me for the hills and call me Billy. Just keep me away from the fish.

Pompadores and Pocket Knives or Hair-cuts, DIY style

We've all had one, we've all seen when someone else gets one and we've tried to come up with the "no, really, it looks fine" compliment, "it will grow back." Yes, I'm talking about the dreaded bad haircut. And of course, it's only worse if YOU DO IT YOURSELF!

She did it, she finally did it. My daughter cut her own hair. Oh, and did I mention she used a POCKET KNIFE?!!! And she's a KINDERGARTENER?!!! Now before you start questioning, well, I'm sure there is a whole list of things to question at this point, let me explain...

We were visiting at my sister's house and left the oldest (who, yes, is over the age of 12) in charge for an hour or two so we could go buy flowers and fence-fixing supplies (that's a whole different story for another time). When we returned the boys came running out of the house to let me know my daughter had cut her hair. How kind of them to prepare me for impact.

This is the girl that has the wonderful, thick curls in the adorable haircut for her adorable face. And I'm not just saying that--hardly a day goes by when people, even strangers, don't tell us what fantastic hair she has. Not that I define her by her hair, because nearly as often we get comments on her spit-fire personality, but oh, I do love her hair. And suddenly I was picturing the worst--short chunks and scraggly strands--something akin to one of my own high-school hair-cuts, that I actually paid for (it was the 80's). I was prepared for the worst, thinking, once again, "here comes my come-upance, this time for putting my own parents through hair-cut hell."

But, to my relief, it wasn't too terribly bad. "What happened?" I asked. Then the explaination. It all started the night before when my sister put curlers in her daughter's hair for big beautiful curls the next day. Of course, my daughter wanted curlers, too. So when she found one the next day she promptly twisted it into her hair. And it got tangled tight, stuck, never to come out again. When her brothers asked if she needed help getting it out she said no. Now, why they decided to listen and just leave her alone this time, I don't know, but they left her to her own devices.

"I couldn't get it out, so I cut it out." Simple as that. Matter of fact. Oh, and "And I couldn't find scissors anywhere, so I just used a pocket knife"(which of course she could find--I guess I should be glad it wasn't a bayonet--this was her Uncle Josh's house, after all, with the army tank and the Gattlin gun and scores of other crazy fascinating WWII "memorabilia").

What do you say to that? Where to begin? Who to ground first? Well, I just did what any good mother would--I whisked her into the bathroom to try a new hair-style, attempting to lessen the effects of her new "bangs."

All in all, it could have been much, much worse. I guess I should be grateful she just had one curler in. I should be proud of her independence and ingenuity. I should be thanking my lucky stars she still has all her fingers. So, I'll just say, "No, really, it looks fine. It will grow back." And, hey, she looks really cute in hats.

Battle for the Homefront

Every day we have military helicopters and jets flying above our house--they're practicing. We live near a base, and we take their presence for granted, just like we take our freedom for granted. I remember spending time in Israel, where at the holy sights and even the ice-cream shops the young men were carrying their rifles, and not just for practice--they were active soldiers who at any moment might rush the crowd off the street into the nearest open door because someone left a bomb in a backpack on the curb, or fighting broke out at the corner.

I've been in several countries where armed soldiers were as common to see there as Starbucks, McDonalds, and starving veterans and artists are here. We live in a blessed nation, no question about it. We don't have to worry about rebel armies coming in and taking over our towns then taking our children to join their forces. We don't have to wonder where the next attack is going to happen or who is going to steal our next meal.

But there are other, more subtle wars going on. As I was reading scriptures this morning I was again astonished at the violence and evil going on with some of these ancient people. They were willing to destroy their entire civilizations in the name of revenge and power, arming their men and boys, and sacrificing their women and children. It struck me though, that although our communities aren't in the streets fighting for liberty, our sons often "delight in bloodshed" in the video games they play or movies they watch, and our women and children are sacrificed to pornography and filth available at the touch of a button.

Satan does get smarter and smarter--he's much more subtle where he needs to be, but still as destructive and dangerous. A community can be destroyed just as much by moral disintegration as by bombs and bullets. We have to be ever more vigilant in our defenses. We have to keep our homes safe havens, read scriptures, pray, serve, go to church and the temple, be seekers of the good and righteous to be filled with those things so there isn't enough room for the evil.

The battle is still raging, stronger than ever. It's just that the manner of warfare has changed. We know who the victor will be, and that's the side I want my family to be on.

4th of July Provo

Patriotism Paradise

I guess there is nothing I love in the summer like a good old-fashioned 4th of July parade. These pictures were at the Freedom Festival parade in Provo, Utah, and I think the photos speak for themselves. But if they don't, you can check out my latest attempt at patriotism at the "Moms for Mitt" blog where I give a little more description (momsformitt.blogspot.com).

Here it is:

Nothing says “America” like a good old-fashioned 4^th of July parade. Is there anything more patriotic, not to mention amazing, than being on a street with crowds of thousands of people who rise to their feet and actually stand in silence, hand over hearts, as our military representatives march by carrying our nation’s beautiful flag?

There are few things in summer I love like the Freedom Festival parade in Provo, Utah. We try to visit there every year to enjoy the festivities. From the first sound of the motorcycle police brigade doing their drill formations at the head of the parade, to the firing of the George Q. Cannon from the BYU ROTC at the end of the parade, I feel like I am in patriotic paradise.

Every high school marching band that shuffles by playing military marches and “My Country ‘Tis of Thee,” every Star Wars costume-clad storm trooper each holding one of our 50 states’ flags, every convertible carrying Congressmen and Council members, and every glittery float with “scholarship contest” beauties from surrounding towns, all remind me of the many freedoms and joys we celebrate as a nation, especially this time of year.

But maybe the most surprisingly moving part of the whole parade is the crowd of what seems like hundreds of Mormon missionaries walking together down the parade route dressed in their white shirts and ties and their little black name tags. The hundreds of thousands of people gathered on the sidewalks give the greatest cheers to these young men and women out representing their church and serving their Lord. Children rush into the road to give high-five’s to every passing missionary they can possibly reach. Whistles, shouts, cheers, and wild clapping echo all the way up the street as they approach and follow them like waves as they pass.

Perhaps they’re the favorites of the crowd not only because of their Mormon heritage in a Mormon town, but because these young men and women represent everything this great nation was founded upon—hard work, sacrifice, freedom of religion, and faith in God. It’s no wonder children are screaming for them like they’re rock stars and mothers are watching them with tears in their eyes while fathers are swallowing the lumps in their throats. This is patriotism at its finest, and what blessings of liberty we have to celebrate in this great nation! May we all do our part to preserve them.

Only in America

Riding Uncle Josh's WWII tank with Veterans and cousins--who gets to do that?