"Hey Mom, remember that one time we had a pet, for a second?"

"No matter how much cats fight, there always seems to be plenty of kittens." 

-Abraham Lincoln

I am not a pet person. I did not grow up with pets. Dogs scare the crap out of me. I have warmed up to cats in recent years, but not enough to have one prowling through my home. 

Sabrina reminds me regularly of how deprived she is, because I have never allowed her to have a cat. I remind her, "Remember, we had a cat once. Remember how that turned out?" 

It was the spring of 2007. A mysterious cat showed up in our neighborhood. Jessica became immediately attached to the critter. I don't know who was feeding the cat. I most certainly was not, and yet the cat took a liking to my house and children. It would wait for Jessica to get off the bus after school then walk home with her, after Jessica had shown her love and attention. The kids lovingly named the cat Kirby.

Neil did grow up with pet cats, so he didn't mind Kirby so much. Neil walked through the door one day and announced that Kirby was not only a female but also very pregnant. And Kirby was nesting. She started hanging out more and more in our yard. She spent many days in our window well and at our back door begging for attention. The kids were happy to give it. Jessica spent many an afternoon on our back porch loving that cat. She was obviously not a total stray, because her temperament was quite friendly.

As the days progressed, I would notice her footprints on the windshields of our cars in the garage. She was sneaking in and spending the night in our garage. I continued to refuse to feed this impostor.

Then, one cold night in April, I came home late to see Kirby pacing in front of our garage. She was meowing and panting. I don't know much about kitty labor, but I know a thing or two about human labor, and I was pretty sure this cat was in labor. I let her into the garage. Women don't let women give birth out in the elements, even if we are of differing species. 

The next morning was conference Saturday, and we had a soccer game to get to. Sure enough, we opened the garage door to grab some cleats and found Kirby licking the tiny baby she had just brought into the world. She had given birth right on the garage landing. Oh, the shrieks of delight that rang through the house. Our delight turned to sorrow as we realized that the kitten was not responding despite her mother's best efforts. It was a still born. Well, that was that. It was probably for the best. What would we do with a kitten anyway? We went to the soccer game.

We came home to find two wiggling little kittens next to Kirby. There were more babies in there! Over the next twelve hours, she gave birth to two more kittens, one of which lived. There were now three kittens in all. All boys. 

Well this was a fine predicament. Now what was I supposed to do? I couldn't throw this poor cat into the street with her little white puff balls that hadn't even opened their eyes yet. Fine, you win Kirby. We went to Target and purchased a litter box and kitty litter and some cat food. We got her a little box and lined it with blankets so that she and her kittens would be comfortable. 

I'll admit, they were the cutest little things, and the kids were smitten. We had lots of neighbors and family members come see the spectacle in our garage. We sought any and all advice from those who knew a thing or two about cats. We certainly didn't know what we were doing. 

The kittens grew and eventually opened their eyes. And our garage became a playground for these playful little critters. It was a veritable circus in our garage. I caught one of the kittens running circles in an old tire one day. The kittens would come up missing, and we would have to search for them. We would find them  under the stairs, in the lawnmower, under piles of junk, you name it, they would wedge themselves into the most obscure places. Fortunately, I had small children with tiny hands who could climb into crevices and retrieve the wiggling little puff balls. 

Kirby let the children pick up her babies. She didn't seem to mind. And now she was constantly making her way into the house, exploring each room, sniffing her way around. It seemed she wanted to become a permanent member of the family, and for the first time, I was actually considering the idea.

Alicia and Ryan had already placed dibs on one of the kittens. We knew it wouldn't be a problem to find homes for the other two, but what about Kirby? 

One fateful afternoon, as she was wandering our house again, I decided to go ahead and bring the box of kittens into the house. It seemed like that's where she wanted to hang out, so maybe we should try it. Remember, I know nothing about animals. I was oblivious to the fact that you don't move an animal's babies, even if it's into your nice warm house. Kirby had been hanging out in one of the bedrooms, when she rounded the corner to see Jonah standing in front of her kittens in the living room. In two seconds flat, she was on top of Jonah, like a lion on its prey. She was clawing up his little body. This happened to be the first warm day of the year, and I had put shorts on Jonah. I ran and grabbed my son and tried to get the cat to release her grip. She would not. It was a scene of two mama bears trying to protect their babies. 

She finally released her grip, and I flung Jonah onto the couch. Now Kirby deemed me the threat. She lunged, gripped onto my bare legs, because I was in shorts as well, and began to scratch and bite up and down my legs with ferocity. Meanwhile, all of my children were watching in horror. Neil told me later that I should have grabbed her by the scruff of the neck. That's difficult to do when she has a chunk of your thigh in her mouth. At one point, I opened the front door and tried to kick the beast onto the front porch. I'm sure that must have been some scene to any passer-by. To see the front door open and watch a hysterical woman trying to fling a tasmanian devil-like creature off her leg, would have been amusing I'm sure.

This attack seemed to go on forever, and things were not looking good. I screamed, "Get the kittens out of here!" Most of my children were huddled in the fetal position in some corner of the house, but Spencer has always been my level-headed child who can think critically in any situation. My little seven year old grabbed the box of kittens and threw them onto the front porch, at which point Kirby removed herself from my leg, returned to her old self, trotted onto the porch and began to lick her kittens. It was very much a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde experience.

I grabbed my sweet Jonah and took him into the bathroom to tend to his scratches. And then I looked down at my legs. I called Neil at work from the bathtub. I stared down at my legs in disbelief. It looked like I had lost a battle with a weed wacker, or that I had just come from a filming of Nightmare on Elmstreet or Edward Scissorhands. I kick myself for not taking a picture of my wounds. Neil got home, gave Kirby a stern thump on the head, walked into the bathroom and just sat there for awhile. We didn't know where to start to dress these wounds. We are always lacking in the first-aid arena, so I think I just ended up with a half bottle of Neosporin and about 80 band-aids slathered across my legs.

I laid awake most of that night. I think I was experiencing a little post-traumatic stress. The helplessness of the situation and my inability to protect my son left me disturbed.

We took Jonah to the doctor and got him on an antibiotic, and I got a tetanus shot. The doctor is required by law to call animal control over such incidents. The officer told me that she could take Kirby. "What about her kittens?" I said. She gave me that look that I knew meant that they would probably have to put down Kirby and her babies. I started to cry. Here this cat had just tried to shred me and my son to pieces, and I was weeping for her. She was just a mom trying to protect her babies. It was my fault for being stupid enough to move her kittens. I could have been rid of the whole problem right then and there, and instead I asked, through whimpers, whether we had any other options. 

The other option was for me to hold Kirby under quarantine for two weeks. What a menagerie! I agreed to this option, which was quite a pain because we couldn't let Kirby out of the garage, and she so liked to go for walks through the neighborhood. Every mom needs a break from the constant lactation of three needy babies. We parked the cars outside and dealt with the daily visits from animal control. She was finally deemed safe to allow out.

The kittens were finally weaned. A neighbor took two kittens, and Alicia and Ryan came and got the other one. They named him Toby.

He has turned out to be a kind of eccentric cat, which is understandable considering his traumatic beginnings. He likes to eat Alicia's underwear and other repulsive items. But he is a beautiful cat, and he is loved. 

We couldn't keep Kirby. I knew that. She had just enough wild in her. I knew that I would never be able to comfortably leave the children home alone with Kirby in the house. I knew her potential. And there was a mysterious Tom Cat roaming the neighborhood that looked an awful lot like Toby. That Scoundrel! I didn't need Kirby getting herself pregnant again, because believe it or not, we are not a birthing center. Kirby did eventually take a ride to the animal shelter.

Every once in awhile, I look down at the scars on my legs, and we visit Toby, and I remember that one time we had a pet...once...for a second.

Winter Adventure

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike." -John Muir

I am not the adventurous type. By non-adventurous, I mean that I try to stay away from any and all recreational vehicles. I prefer activities that are a little more docile in nature. You know, like reading a good book by a beautiful lake. I certainly like to keep both of my feet firmly planted on the ground at all times.

So when my brother in-law mentioned last August that he was taking his family on a snowmobiling trip through Yellowstone, my first thought was, "You'll freeze! Then you'll break your neck. Good luck with that." He and his kids began to encourage us to join them. I had just returned from a very relaxing vacation on the Oregon Coast. A snowmobiling venture was not even remotely appealing to me. But I began to remember those gorgeous pictures of Yellowstone Park in the winter that I had seen in my travel books. Was there some more practical way to get into the park, that didn't involve riding a crazy vehicle on skates? 

When Neil's 85 year old dad said, "Sign us up!", I caved and agreed to go along as well. If Neil's 80 year old mother could ride on the back of a snowmobile, then perhaps I could muster up the courage. But don't ask me to drive one of those suckers! That was my only stipulation.

This trip seemed so far off when we booked it. Now that it was upon us, I packed with some trepidation. There was no looking back at this point. It was Yellowstone or Bust!

We told Grandma that she would probably be most comfortable in some sweats on this adventure. She looked at us in horror. This is a woman who for a vast majority of her life put on a dress, pearls, and high heels to go grocery shopping. She did not own a pair of sweats. She must have hit JC Penny's and found this darling little matching sweat outfit. Our little snow-bunny all dressed up for her winter adventure. Kelcey and Tessa couldn't get enough of her. Now to convince her to put on a ski mask and helmet. Something tells me that an emergency trip to the beauty shop was in order once we got home.

One thing I have determined is that ski masks only accentuate round faces. Yes, those are my pudgy wind-blown cheeks you see there.

Neil and I were surprisingly warm throughout our whole experience. The eight layers we're wearing under the snow suit may have contributed to such comfort. And lovely hand and bum warmers on the snowmobiles were truly a God-send. 

Here is the whole crowd, dressed in our space suits snow suits, ready to take on Yellowstone. We had a very nice guide who lead us on our expedition. Brian, smoke-jumper by summer, and snowmobile guide by winter, had all sorts of wonderful facts to tell us along the way. And he seemed to know just where the cool animals were hanging out.

Elk!

Trumpeter Swans!

And even a gray wolf, a rare find. He was nibbling on a delicious carcass.

I enjoy the animals, but I really love the scenery. All of the water in the park is so warm that none of it freezes. The rivers and waterfalls juxtaposed against the white snow and green pines brought a beauty you don't see everywhere.

If it weren't for this bunch, we never would have experienced this amazing place in the winter.

If there's any question who Neil looks like, this photo may give you a clue. Grandma preferred not to get on and off the snowmobile.

I have always been fascinated by this park. The earth is alive and bubbling beneath you, and the area can seem almost eerie at times, even more so in the winter.

The steam would come off the hot pools and condense and freeze onto the pine trees. Quite ethereal.

And of course, we had to stop at Old Faithful. For once, I would like to catch Old Faithful going off when there is some vibrant blue sky in the background. The overcast sky offers virtually no contrast. In the winter, you see more steam than water.

I didn't mind the ride at all. It was quite exhilarating. Of course, our guide may have been taking it slow due to the elderly couple in our group. He checked on Al and Ruth consistently. 

On our way back, we came across this intimidating bunch. Originally, they were blocking the whole road and refused to move. I could almost hear that big guy in the front, "What, you gotta problem? Hey, there ain't room on this road for the both of us, so I suggest that you turn around and move on outta here!"

Eventually, we won the battle of the wills, and they moseyed on passed without incident. I got a wee-bit nervous for a minute there.

I need nature therapy in my life on a rather regular basis. I need to get out in the mountains or next to the ocean or in a forest. I need to breathe clean air and just be still for awhile. This is why February is such a tough month for me. By this time, I have been cooped up for far too long and the dreary outdoors with its suffocating smog does not call to me. By this time, I am on the brink of insanity as I move from one artificially lit and heated building to another. 

This little venture proved therapeutic. It felt good to be rushing passed the rivers and the pine trees and the bison searching for food in the snow. The wind felt good on my pudgy cheeks. Even the sulfur smell was welcome, because it came from nature and not from the city. I came back tired, a little chilled at the end, but mostly refreshed.

We finished the day with some dinner featuring the most delicious garlic breadsticks and homemade marinara. If there is any decent food to be found in a silly little town like West Yellowstone, I'm bound to find it.

Our hotel seemed to harbor an overabundance of folks falling in the redneck variety. We sat in the hot tub with some gentlemen enjoying their alcoholic mix in a disposable red Dixie cup. Somebody took a stereo into the pool area. The incessant beat of their very loud music echoing throughout the entire hotel made sleeping problematic. And we were awakened bright and early to the sounds of racing snowmobiles. The whole town was abuzz. I felt as though we had awoken inside a massive beehive. 

I didn't let these little inconveniences ruin my trip. The time away with Neil in this beautiful place was just what I needed. We enjoyed our drive home. We spent most of the time discussing where we want to travel to next. 

In my heart of hearts, I was hoping that spring had sprung in Utah while we were gone, and that we would pull into our neighborhood to see green grass and blossoms on the trees. But alas, all good things must come to an end. 

The Rigors of Valentine's Day

"If you have only one smile in you, give it to the people you love." -Maya Angelou

If I search back into the far reaches of my memory, I can make out a faint recollection of Neil and I celebrating Valentines Day, just the two of us, at some romantic restaurant. It is so foggy, that I can give you no details of such a celebration.

For well over a decade now, Valentine's Day has been all about making sure the kids feel loved. This year was no different. The day before the holiday, found me in the kitchen all day chopping potatoes and onions and mincing garlic for a soup I was to prepare for that night's youth etiquette night.

Everyone came home inhaling the wonderful aromas of that soup simmering in its pot. I spent three hours that evening laboring in the kitchen, filling salad plates, ladling soup, serving and cleaning up after young people trying out their etiquette skills.

With a youth program as large as ours is, this was nothing short of a ward dinner. I believe we used every dish in the kitchen. We had just enough soup for everyone but the young women leaders. We spent all day smelling it simmer in our kitchens, and in the end,  got little more than a taste. You may have found me at Crown Burger at 10:00 that night downing a cheeseburger and fries, a meal that lingers comfortably on my thighs to this day.

No matter, this night was for my cute kids. It was a delight to watch them mingle with one another in a safe loving atmosphere. Everyone danced. There were no wall-flowers, just a group of carefree teenagers having a night of good clean fun.

I can remember when I was issued the call as YW President eight years ago, when they were first creating this ward. The bishop informed me that we only had three young women in the whole ward. One Beehive, one Mia Maid, and one Laurel. I believe there were five or six young men total. I can remember the challenges of trying to get these girls excited about coming to an activity where there was no one their age. I can remember planning a youth conference for one girl. I can remember the awkward silences during our Sunday lessons, where we leaders had to speak up constantly because the three young women in the room were sick of answering all of the questions.

Fast forward eight years, and here we sit with 25 young women and 35 young men. The challenges are different now. We worry, with ten Beehives, whether they all feel loved and included. We used to plan whole activities for the one. Now we have to search out the one in a large flock. But I'll take these challenges. I love this band of valiant souls that I get to help lead. I have great confidence in our future with such spirits eager to take the reigns the minute we're ready to hand them off.

The next morning found me at the computer searching Pinterest for clever Valentine's game ideas for Jonah's 4th grade party. I usually keep my distance when it comes to Pinterest, but on occasions such as these, it is an invaluable tool.

I hurried into the elementary school, with a slew of other mothers, sporting our pink sweaters and target bags full of pink M & M's and card stock games and crafts. I was having a good ol' time shooting pictures of Jonah playing Don't Eat Pete and Heart Lava Walk, when I realized to my horror, that my camera was missing its memory card. How ever will he remember that I was a good mom who volunteered for his school parties, if I offer no photos as proof? So here is the shot, taken two hours after the party, to show that I was there, and that I cared.

But I still had to run home and get my memory card, because at that very moment, Spencer was enjoying his 6th grade Valentine's Dance, and there would be no re-creating those memories. So I squealed out of the parking lot, breathlessly retrieved the memory card, then sped (I mean carefully obeyed the speed limit) back to the school. I got there in time to catch this kid, who told me two weeks ago that he was nervous about dancing, bustin' some moves. I had no idea he knew how to Boogie like that! He was red-cheeked and out of breath, as he rotated between robot, disco, and gangnam style dance moves.

Yep, that's him on the right, line dancing like his life depends on it. I'm so glad I was there to catch this moment. His childhood is passing before my eyes. But now I was late picking up Sabrina from school.

Upon picking her up, I noticed that she was modeling a cute ribbon that proclaimed her the most creative female in the 8th grade. She wore this all day. She told me this was quite a feat, considering these awards are usually only reserved for the popular crowd. All those hours of doodling detailed dragons on her math worksheets finally paid off. I wonder if there's a scholarship available for the most creative female in the 8th grade. There should be. 

I rushed home and hurried to get some red jello chilling in the fridge, then rushed Sabrina to a violin lesson that she was already late for.

Then I rushed back home and began mixing the dough for our Valentine's pizzas. Neil and I decided years ago that coming up with a babysitter on Valentine's night was impossible, and so we would have a special family dinner by candlelight with the kids, and go out to a nice restaurant another time. Several years later, it would not be that difficult for us to sneak off to a romantic dinner for two on Valentine's Day, but I'm afraid the tradition is now embedded in our kid's hearts. I'm pretty much expecting the call from my kids when they're in their 30's. "Hey Mom, what time is Valentine's dinner this year? Don't forget, extra sauce on my pizza!"

It's nothing too fancy. Personal heart-shaped pizzas made to each child's request, red jello parfaits, and some sparkling Cherry 7-Up to drink. I think it's the candlelight that makes everything extra special.

Pepperoni, sausage, and green peppers, with extra sauce for Jess.

Extra pepperoni, sausage, extra cheese, no sauce for Sabrina.

Extra everything for Spencer.

Moderate amounts of everything for Jonah, and no sausage.

And this is where it all started. Just two people falling in love.

The night ended with the kids enjoying a small Valentine's gift. A Hobbit Lego for Jonah, another collection of Bach's Cello Suites (this one edited by Janos Starker) for Jessica, lotions and shower gels for Sabrina, and a Perplexus game for Spencer, we'll see if this one actually perplexes him. You can see the feet of two very tired parents in the foreground.

And yes, Neil and I were leaving for Yellowstone the next morning, and no, we had not even begun to pack.

Every year, I tell Neil not to buy me flowers on Valentine's Day because they are way over-priced, and every year, he blatantly disregards my request, and every year, I forgive him.

Happy Birthday, to the Love of My Life

"I love you, not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you." 

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Today is Neil's birthday. He doesn't love having a birthday on Valentine's Day. He could never understand why his sister always got a present on his birthday, but he never got one on hers, and why the restaurants were always packed for his birthday dinner. These days, he spends much of his birthday helping me make the day special for our kids.

There is a sweet little story that I just love about Neil's birthday. Neil's parents tried for about five years to bring him into this world. They finally began to think that they just weren't going to be able to have anymore children and that perhaps they should start considering adoption. At this point, they also decided to be sealed in the temple. Exactly nine months to the day after their temple sealing, and on Valentine's Day, Neil was born. His parents joke that he was holding out for a better offer.

So though he doesn't like having his birthday on this special holiday, I love it! I love it, because it reminds me of what a blessing his life has been to so many, especially to myself. 

Happy Birthday, to the love of my life!

And don't worry, we'll make sure to enjoy your birthday dinner. We'll just wait until the crowds die down.

Parenting 101

"It takes a heap o' living to make a house a home!" 

-Edgar A. Guest

Last night there was a Relief Society meeting on parenting that I was supposed to go to. I decided that the best parenting advice that I could take this night was to stay home and be a parent. 

I made a healthy and nutritious dinner of Swedish pancakes slathered in jam and whipped cream. Jonah reached for a cookie as I was flipping pancakes, to which I replied,"No cookies until you've finished your pancake!" You know, because I'm a mom who believes in getting your nutrients before indulging in sweets.

Jessica offered to whip the cream, a skill she wants to hone before going to college. She plans on eating Swedish pancakes nearly every night while away at school. All you need is eggs, flour, whipped cream, and a gym membership.

As she began to whip the cream, a prong broke on one of the beaters, sending cream flying all over the kitchen. I did what every carefree, fun loving mother who isn't trying to get to a Relief Society meeting does, I yelled,"Wait, don't clean it up until I get a picture!"

So there you have it. I should have had Jessica get a picture of me not losing my cool. That would be worth documenting.

The rest of the night was rather uneventful. We ate delicious pastries for dinner and entertained each other with stories from the day. Jessica talked about how her 60 year old English teacher jumped the principal as he unlocked the door after a lockdown drill this afternoon. He then assured the class that they were safe with him. 

Sabrina began to compare each member of the family to some sort of water fowl. I believe I was a Mallard duck, and Jessica was a Canadian Goose, a comparison that she did not appreciate. Sabrina began to honk like a goose. Jessica griped that her deep voice was nothing to balk at, to which Sabrina replied, "You mean HONK at?" Oh these children of mine.

Now it was time to help Jonah dress his mountain man. He, or should I say I, was handed an illustration of a mountain man dressed in nothing but his long johns. It was our job to dress him in official mountain man garb. We were told to "BE CREATIVE"! Am I the only mother who cringes at such a statement? I was proud of myself for picking up the supplies in advance. I put on my crafting pants as Jonah and I wrestled with felt, and glue, and hemp, and beads.

I was sure to document this one. Not only did I not lose my cool this evening, but I was also "creative". I win!

Voila! An authentic mountain man. The schnazzy indian necklace was Jonah's contribution. 

I'm not sure what was discussed in Relief Society last night. I'm sure they talked all about family scripture study, and prayer, neither of which happened at our house last night. I seem to have  learned what I needed to... that an under-hurried, under-scheduled mom makes the best kind.