Emeril at Age Nine

I have a child who in interested in EVERYTHING. He loves science; wants to be an inventor. He is also an art lover. He could spend the entire day outdoors with his friends, if given the opportunity. Ditto in front of the television.

And he enjoys cooking.

In first grade he took cooking as an after school activity. He loved it. He is usually interested in helping with whatever meal is being cooked. As long, of course, as he is around to help and not absorbed with one of his other interests.

Today he decided to bake some muffins.

I opened and drained the can of blueberries before he had the chance. I simply didn't want to deal with the mess that he would inevitably make. He insisted, however, on doing the rest ALL BY HIMSELF. So I left him to it.

Luckily, I stayed in the room.

Mind you, these muffins came from a mix in a box. Complete with directions. He dumped the mix into a bowl, and then got out the milk, eggs, and oil. I looked over in time to see him pour milk into the bowl. Directly from the carton. Failing to notice the ingredients list at the top of the directions, he simply saw the part that said to pour the milk into the bowl. And so he did. I'm sure he would have just as happily added "some oil" as well. I wonder how many eggs he would have deemed appropriate. We'll never know.

The milk was easy to spoon out, and luckily he hadn't put too much in. I showed him the ingredients list, and he continued on his merry way.

And the muffins were pretty good, too.

Revenge of the Jack o' Lantern

I'm increasingly lazy in my old age. I like prepackaged foods, precut meat, and precut veggies. So it can be a bit frustrating living here where there is very little in the way of laziness enabling products. If I was living at home in the US, I'd be buying canned pumpkin this year. Alas, even our commissary has no pumpkin. Pumpkin pie filling only. So this year I once again chopped up our Halloween pumpkins and am now in the process of boiling them, in preparation for the peeling and pureeing process. Pumpkin bread, here we come!

However, the Jacks apparently aren't too happy with being cut up. Since completing the aforesaid cutting process, I have rinsed, soaped, rubbed, washed, washed, washed, and lotioned my hands. There is STILL a residue on my hand. Picture the driest skin you've ever had, barring cracked skin. That is my left hand right now.

That's ok, Jack. I'll heal, and you're still gonna be bread. Yummy, yummy bread.

Perpetual October

I love October. I love autumn. I love that the weather cools off, and the humidity drops. And I LOVE the colorful leaves. I've always wanted to go to New England in the fall, but have never made it. But Utah and Virginia also have beautiful fall leaves.

Now, its October, but I currently live south of the equator. So, technically, its spring right now. And, I have to say, I still love October. There are some amazing trees here. My favorite, this purple one, blooms spectacularly all over Nairobi this time of year.






Others, however, bloom all year round. We have beautiful color on trees here all the time. Its like perpetual October!










Enjoy your autumn. October is wonderful. Later, however, when the cold winds blow and the trees are bare, next summer when all is green, think of me enjoying the perpetual color of Kenya. And the weather is pretty much perfect, too!

Wisdom Beyond His Years

I found out today that, shortly after the Embassy spent $20,000 refurbishing the tennis court at the nearby housing compound, a group of children--ages unknown--spent an evening slamming large rocks onto the surface, causing $7000 in damage.

Will anything be done to apprehend and punish the perpetrators? I don't know.

However, I decided to make this a teaching moment for Joseph, age 9. We walked over to the tennis court, but couldn't see into it through the screened fence. (Now they lock it.) I told him what had happened, and asked him what he would or should have done had he been in this group of children. He gave all the right answers: NOT participate, leave, tell an adult.

I told him that if I had heard that he was in the group and then talked to him about it and he'd told me that he didn't participate, I'd want to believe him. But his very presence would make him as guilty as the others. He seemed to understand that idea, and knows that, while he should do his best to keep his friends from doing dumb things, if they did them anyway, he needs to leave. Immediately.

Anyway, the conversation moved on to other things; we talked about how everybody does dumb things, everyone finds themselves in a group of people doing dumb things, and we need to be careful not to stay. I told him that not everyone has the wisest of parents. Some parents even buy alcohol for their children to drink at home, arguing that, since teenagers drink, they'd rather have them drinking at home where they can control it.

Joseph's response: "That'll just encourage them to drink somewhere else, too."

Surprise, Surprise

I have a compatible marriage.

In this world, there are two kinds of people: those who can be surprised, and those who surprise. My husband is a surprisee. I threw a surprise party for him more than twenty years ago. He saw the guest list. The day of the party, he saw the refreshments and completely bought the story that they were for a Relief Society activity. HE WAS TOTALLY SURPRISED. Since that time, he has been successfully surprised on more than one occasion.

I, on the other hand, am a surpriser. I can surprise others, but not the other way around. As I tell you this, I am picturing you thinking about how you are plotting to prove me wrong. In short, I am ALWAYS expecting the surprise. And it never comes. I can figure out what gifts are--whatever the occasion--without even trying. In fact, it is when I try NOT thinking about it that I have the most success in figuring it out. I'm not saying I enjoy this quality about myself, I am just saying that that is the way it is. I cannot be surprised.

Until today.

I am far from home, visiting my daughter and her family. My husband had asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I had no answer. I told him that he could take me out to dinner next week when I get home.

Today there was a knock on my daughter's door, and she answered it and then came into the room holding a vase of flowers. I thought how sweet that someone would send her flowers, and asked her who they were from. She said that they were for me. I was stunned. Mind you, every year for Mother's Day and for the birthdays of my mother and mother-in-law, I send them flowers. And tomorrow is MY birthday. Still, I never expected it. I must be losing my touch in my old age.

Its great to be the surprisee for a change. Thanks, my love.

Happiness vs. Joy

Last night after I went to bed I was feeling pretty great. And I realized why that was. There is a profound difference between happiness and joy.

Happiness is getting a new camera. Or a new evening gown for the Marine Ball.

Happiness is going to Egypt. Or Sri Lanka.

Happiness is getting that super job you applied for.

Happiness is seeing that rerun of the only episode you missed from your favorite tv show.

Happiness is great. It is not, however joy.

I try to call all my children every week, since, when I'm living overseas, its not so easy for them to call me. I am not, at the moment, overseas, however, and I am not quite as filled with free time.

Saturday night my second daughter, Alyssa, texted me right as I was going to bed. I have a freaking awesome text alert on my new phone (put that alert, along with the freaking awesome new ring tones into the Happiness is... category). But it is really loud, and rather annoying when you're trying to sleep. So I put the phone on vibrate for the night, just in case. And then, on Sunday morning, I forgot to put it back on ring. And I left it in the bedroom.

I spent the day with my oldest daughter, Cassie, and her husband and daughter, Ben and Evie. Also with my youngest son, Joseph. I even went to choir practice with them. I've been having a wonderful vacation here. Later on Sunday afternoon, I looked at my phone, and realized that all three of my other children had called. I called Alyssa back and we had a great talk. Then I called Andrew, just in time for him to go to a meeting. He promised to call me when it was over. I called Daniel next, and right in the middle of our conversation dinner was ready. So we agreed that I'd call him again afterward. Which I did. Wonderful. Later, Andrew called again, and in the middle of THAT conversation, my husband, Sam, called. I detest caller id; I think its one of the rudest things in the world, but when Sam calls from Africa I can't really call him back, so I take the call. Yet another super talk. I then called Andrew back, and we had a nice long talk.

After I went to bed I realized that what I was feeling was joy. Not the happiness that comes from buying something cool or seeing something new in the world, but the deep-down joy that comes from being surrounded with people you adore and who love you.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland said something I was blessed to hear twice lately. I can't at all remember the exact words, but it was essentially that Heaven can't really be heaven if I'm not there with all my loved ones. These aren't just people I've grown used to being around. Its not just a nice idea for us all to be together forever. Make no mistake, I've got some really great friends that I'd really like to have around me in the eternities, but these people--my husband, children, grandchildren, parents, and siblings--are the ones that will make it heaven. These people are a part of me; they are infused into my soul.

And that's joy.

PS Lewis, I'm waiting for your call.

Super Samaritan Man

Yesterday I went out with my daughter for some child-free time. We had lots of stuff planned. Well, a little stuff planned, as we didn't have all day. But we were going to check out a place with lots of crafters and artisans, and then try to find the Russell Stover outlet that we saw advertised on the way to Branson. And maybe get a manicure.

We couldn't find the craft place, so we just got onto the highway and went looking for the Russell Stover place. We found it, and got some yummy chocolate. (Naturally, we went there first, and got to haul the chocolate everywhere we went afterwards, as opposed to leaving it in the car, where it would melt in the 100 degree heat. Remember this fact, as it will have bearing later in the story.)

Afterwards, we went to Walmart across the parking lot to buy a blanket for my frozen granddaughter, and then went back across the parking lot to a nail place for manicures.

Fresh from the newly drying manicures, we set off for the condo we are staying in. Just at our exit, we heard a noise like we'd driven over a stick or something, and then an ominous sound that meant only one thing: flat tire. In a tire that was less than a week old.

I've never changed a tire in my life, though I've seen it done. Cassandra either. And there we were. The one person in our party that could have done it was back at the condo with two children and no transportation. Good times. With her freshly manicured nails, Cassie managed to get the tire out of the trunk while I got the instruction manual out of the glove box. I then got the jack out. That was the extent of our knowledge. Mind you, the entire time we were striving to look as pretty and helpless as possible so that someone would stop. So far nobody had. Luckily, just as we were despairing how to use the jack, and wonderful good samaritan stopped. I think he had previously been by and circled back to save us. He was wonderful. He changed the tire and refused any reward.

And he did it so quickly that the chocolates were still nice and firm when we got them home. And also the manicures survived quite nicely, thank you.