These are My Jewels

President Gordon B. Hinckley, former president of our church, tells a story that I love about a group of women in ancient Rome who "were, with vanity, showing their jewels one to another.  Among them was Cornelia, the mother of two boys.  One of the women said to her, 'And where are your jewels?' to which Cornelia responded, pointing to her sons, 'These are my jewels.'  Under her tutelage, and walking after the virtues of her life, they grew to become Gaius and Tiberius Gracchus--the Gracchi, as they were called--two of the most persuasive and effective reformers in Roman history.  For as long as they are remembered and spoken of, the mother who reared them after the manner of her own life will be remembered and spoken of with praise also."

These are my jewels:

And let's just throw in these two from this past week:

Isn't She Lovely? Isn't She Wonderful?

Last month when my mom was visiting Utah, we had some much-needed girl time at Dear Lizzie, our favorite Alpine boutique.  As we were wandering through girly-land, our conversation turned inevitably to family - and the little kiddos from which we were taking a break.

That's how it goes.  We are mothers.

While I admired a tiny wire birdcage placed atop a high shelf, I remembered an idea I'd had a few years back when our family's youngest sibling, Rikki, graduated and left for college.  It never came into fruition, and I thought of it again a couple of years later when she got married.

I wanted to buy my mom a birdcage, a little wire one like I saw in the store.  And I wanted to put a little nest in the bottom - empty, of course.  And I wanted to prop the door open and hang a little sign on it that said, "You taught us how to fly," or something tender about her empty nest.  (Of course, the sentiments would be for both of my parents, but more especially to my mother.)

I told my mom about my idea, and she started crying right there in the store!  I got teary, too, so we cruised around acting like we were shopping for a few minutes so we could collect ourselves.  

But from a mother to a mother, I think I can say with all my heart, "Thank you for what you've done for me.  Thank you for loving me and teaching me and praying for me.  Thank you for your sacrifice and your compassion.  Thank you for being the kind of woman I want to emulate.  I love you, Mom!"

That's how it goes.  We are mothers.

A Little Sunday Thought from Raleigh

Today after church we were driving home and passed a house that had this sign on its front door:

No soliciting!

No witnessing!

No kidding!

And we could hear Raleigh from the back seat saying, "Wow, those people are totally going to hell!"  

Then she asked why we were laughing.

Testification of Domestic(UH-FAY)tion

Now say that ten times fast.

When I was in college (or should I say, the year I partied before hitting the books), I didn't eat so well.  The Burger Supreme across the street from my apartment took its 23-lb. toll on my body, as well as my lack of, well, domesticity.  Not that my mom didn't teach me everything she knew - and she runs a tight ship, as Dallas says - but I had a hard time retaining it all.  So I'd like to thank my roommates (and long-lost friends) Courtney and Shena for giving me my first REAL lessons in cooking.  Don't be shocked, Mom.

I think I had learned-dependence (is that what it's called??) on Courtney for my meals for a little while.  We had a system: I would buy the blueberry muffin mix, and if she made it for me, I would let her have one.  Hee hee, that makes me laugh out loud!  And I think that runs in the family because David talked me into making him some no-bake cookies for him while I was in Georgia.  But I made him get out all of the ingredients and the recipe.  That just about put him over the top!  ha ha ha  Then a few roommates later, which actually happened to be a couple of YEARS later, Shena taught me how to brown ground beef!  Now I KNOW I did this at home plenty of times, but I just kind of forgot, you know?  Don't you forget things some times?  I forget things a LOT of times.  Just ask Dallas - I lose my keys multiple times a day.

I remember cooking for my dad one time when my mom was out of town.  I thought I was making the BEST meal.  I don't remember everything on my little 14-year-old menu, but I remember I DID make a few boxes of macaroni in one pot (the noodles were stuck together in a solid mass, so you had to cut through it to get a portion), and I made this kind of breaded onion casserole that was just drenched in butter.  My dad was really nice about it and cleaned his plate.  But he didn't have seconds.  So I asked my mom about it later, and she told me that he had a little bit of a hard time getting through it.  But I never would've known otherwise.  What a dad!!

So I'm getting to a point.  I don't know if you're seeing a theme evolving here, but I think that food for the body and nurturing to the soul are an absolute art that take time to master.  I could never cook like my mom or nurture like my mom because I absolutely did not have the practice or the experience in life.  And I'm not saying that I do now, but I hope I am getting there!

Don't you love sitting down to a well-prepared meal made by someone you love and eating it with the ones you love?  (Am I the only one here?)  That's why food always tastes better when you haven't prepared it yourself, maybe?  Because your mommy made it, and she loves you best?  Nourishment to the body and soul; there's nothing like home cooking!  (And a few select restaurants, too.  But see, that's in small print.) 

So here we are in Virginia Beach, and the grocery stores are OVERPRICED and have LAME BREAD.  Like the 60-calorie a slice variety that taste less filling than a marshmallow.  

I decided to make some homemade wheat bread.  MMMmmmmmm.  But I needed some yeast.  Can't make bread without yeast.  Do you know how much yeast COSTS here???  I spent $6.99 on 12 ounces of yeast!!  Compare that to the 3 to 4 dollars I used to spend at Costco in Utah on like 3 LBS!  It's ridiculous.  But not too ridiculous for the HOMEMADE LOVE I was going to make.  

And I made it.  Four loaves of delicious yumminess and homemade strawberry jam to go with it.  I have to do what I can to make this apartment feel (and smell, and taste) like home.

Now enough of the yapping.  Here are some pictures of food and love:

Baby Dade enjoying my special strawberry dessert I concocted.  Maybe I'll include the recipe.  (Plain old strawberry shortcake will not cut it now, I'm afraid.  This stuff is GOOD.)

Layers of angel food cake from scratch, filled with fruit tart filling - does it get any better?

Yes, it does!  Add these strawberries on top!

My mom gets the best piece!  (I made it in her honor - strawberry desserts are her favorite.)

Raleigh partakes of the goodness.  This picture fascinates me.  If any of you can guess why, I will give you ten dollars.  I am not joking.  But I don't think you'll ever guess it right.  Maybe Rikki will; she knows my soul.

AND she nurtures me with her cooking!!  Can anyone say Homemade Manicotti???

Look!  My mom loves my cooking!!  This makes me oh-so-happy!  When she gets old and withered, I will cook for her.  And wipe her bum.  But only if she says it's okay.

Now here's a woman who knows how to nurture with her cooking.  Grandma La Rue sure made the girls feel special when we stayed with her and Grandpa Van for a few days last month.  She woke up and made us some "pancake animals."  The girls were immediately in love with her and her cooking!  Especially when she pulled out some candy to use for eyes and stuff.

Here's a fancy cat.  Pretty good, huh?

Now last (but DEFINITELY not least), here's a picture of my dad in Marie Callendar's doing his best Marie Callendar impression.  

Dear Baby Dade,

We are already having withdrawals from you!  We miss our little cousin/brother, the cutest boy you've ever seen this side of the Mississippi.  We hope you are feeling better soon.

We love your little run.

So glad you enjoyed my dessert!

Thanks for letting Madeline take the wheel.  Did you ever get a turn??  I hope so!

Priceless picture of you and Grandpa BoBo.

Madeline LOVED spending time with you at the "farm."  And Choobs wonders now, "Where's Baby Dade??"

Maybe your Mommy (that's for you, Kenda) and your Grammy will bring you up here to visit!  Who needs boys anyway? (that's for you, Mom)

We remember playing outside on the basketball court with you when we took this picture.  You were so nice to share the "cool bike" with Kensington.  You two sure formed a sweet little bond!  I think you knew each other before you knew each other.

Have your Daddy take you on a dirt bike ride for me.  Tell him to take you down the stairs when you can hang on tight enough!  I think you will love it!

Thanks for being my newest little friend.  We don't have too many boys around anymore, especially since we left all of our favorites in Utah.  (That would be Jensen, Noah, Briant, James, Will, Calvin, Nate, and Kevin.  And Grandpa Van.  And every other boy we love but cannot think of right now.)  

Choobers sure loves you.  You are a good three weeks older than her, so be a good example to her, okay?  You already are!

Bye, Dade!  We love you!  (And your Mama and Daddy.)

Death to Dionne

The scariest thing that has ever happened to me in my life happened two weekends ago.  In Georgia.  While I was supposed to be on vacation.

See that picture up there?  Me in a dunce hat?  Now that's scary!  But that is NOT what happened.

What about my mom here, WRASTLING a big snake down the street?  Scary you may say?  Not so, compared to what I'm about to tell you.

David driving Mama P down the stairs on his dirt bike?  She may think that's scary, but not compared to this.  Now look closely at the next picture.  Study those front windows on the house.  Notice how open they are to the blackness of a Southern night.  And remember that.

(Why oh why do I write scary stories when I am all alone in a strange new city?  Am I crazy??)

Luckily this happened the first night that Dallas made it to Georgia.  Or was it the second?  The girls and I had been there for a few days before he got there.  Let's just say it was a "rude awakening."  Oh my gosh, I am scaring myself already.

It was Saturday or Sunday night, and Dallas and I had gotten the girls to fall asleep finally.  They were sleeping in our bedroom on the floor of the upstairs bedroom next to the kitchen.  We were under a Tornado Watch, and the tin roof outside our room overhanging the patio indicated the severity of the storm.  The rain was coming in torrents; we could hear every shift of the wind, and the howling outside was so noisy that I could not sleep.  

A Tornado Watch just means that tornadoes are possible.  A Tornado Warning means that one has been spotted or has touched down in the area.  In that case sirens go off, and you run to the basement and take cover.  After living in Georgia long enough, I've become a little numb to the storms.  But now with little kidlets, it's a little harder to sleep well when you know you've got to listen for a siren - just in case.  So I was a little sleepless.  

Dallas was across the room on another twin-size bed, and I wanted to crawl in and use him for a security blanket.  But Kensington was crying downstairs, and I didn't want her to wake up everyone in the house.  I felt like she was having some sixth sense about the storm pelting outside.  Poor kid.  So I crept down to her "room."

We put her in the storage room in her Pack 'n Play to sleep at night.  She's such a good little sleeper; she was fine with it.  I, personally, would never sleep there.  It's such a huge, creepy room.  And it's at the end of the cavernous hall.  By my dad's office.  And the shop.  You just don't sleep in there.  And did I mention that it gets really really dark at night where I grew up?  And my parents live on three acres.  So it feels slightly secluded.  

Well, I went down there to help the little Choobs, and I got her to lay back down quietly.  But I couldn't sleep in the bedroom.  Not with all that noisy wind and rain on the tin roof.  So I grabbed a blanket and went to the living room to sleep.  I was getting a little creeped out (which doesn't often happen to me), and it started to thunder outside, to make things worse.  I was the only one awake in this large house, worried that I would be the only one to hear the sirens, and the huge black windows in the living room made me feel like the storm was watching me.  

As I lay there, I was almost asleep on the couch when I heard a crash from outside.  It sounded like maybe the garbage cans tipped over.  The wind must've been really bad, I thought.  Then Choobs started crying again.  It was like the part on Secret Garden when Mary finds the crying boy in the endless halls of the mansion.  That's how I felt every time I had to go downstairs to help Kensington.  

I went down and helped her get back to sleep.  Then I headed back down the hall to go upstairs, adjusting my eyes to be able to see through the darkness.  I was passing through the landing at the front entry and actually standing on the front rug when BANG BANG BANG someone was frantically knocking on the door.  Two feet away from me, some unknown stranger/monster was pounding on our secluded country door.  And they could probably SEE ME.  See me crap a brick.

I ran hysterically up the half-flight of stairs into my parents bedroom, threw on the light, and practically hyperventilated, "There is SOMEONE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR!" as the pounding came again and again.  I was literally shaking and cowering in the corner.  (I never knew this about myself.  That this is how I would act in a time of significant stress.)

My parents jumped up and began dancing around in their underoos, too!  My dad was trying to throw on some clothes, find glasses, etc., and why he did not bring a gun with him to the door, I have yet to find out.  3:33 am.  Luckily, Big Man Dave was right behind him when he opened the door. 

"I'm sorry to bother you, Sir.  I'm not a killer.  I've been in an accident . . . ."

WOULD YOU JUST DIE???  

Now I know I could never live on three acres in the country just because of the anxiety it would cause.  Anxiety, indeed.  Believe me, I crawled into that twin bed with Dallas afterwards and my raw nerves shook me to sleep two hours later.  And he was my buddy every time we had any middle-of-the-night issues thereafter.  I'm still not the same.

I had a similar experience last year at our home in Utah.  Dallas was out of town, and I lay in bed and saw the silhouette of a man's full body coming straight to my window.  (Which was in the basement.)  I pulled the same hysterical reaction and pounded on my upstair neighbor's door.  Luckily, it was only about 10:30 pm, and Rebecca's husband Peter heroicly went outside to ensure my safety.  He figured out that the shadow of the neighbor next-door (who was on his own property) was casting itself onto my window.  Fa-REAKY.  But the scariness of that one doesn't even come close the the TERROR I felt in Georgia, by George.

Speaking of Dancing

If you LOVED the last post with our amazing dance moves, you probably would like to know WHERE I was trained, right??  (Wrong?)

When I was in Georgia last week, one of the best times I had there was visiting my old stomping grounds at Georgia Academy of Dance.  I even took a class.  After substituting a class in Utah previous to my Georgia trip and doing perfect grande jetes (split leaps) across the floor, I thought I'd have a pretty good class.

Three kids and thirty pounds later, I did okay!  Raleigh and Madeline got to take class with me, too.  Sherri, my teacher, remarked, "I would only do this for you, Dionne!"  She's so great.  I can always feel the love at GAD.  Here we are getting ready for class.  (Notice how I am completely covered head-to-toe in black and am not wearing any horizontal lines.  I had to do what I could!  And the girls wore their swimsuits and warm-ups because we didn't happen to bring leotards on our vacation.)

Raleigh is stretching in the exact same position as I am.  

We had a little "chat" after this picture was taken.

At least my back is still ripped.  I didn't know that about myself.  Hadn't had a reason to see my back muscles.

I love how the girls are keeping up!

After we finished, Raleigh and Madeline both decided that they "for sure want to do ballet."  And Raleigh wants to "wear those shoes with the box on the end of the toes."  I am just excited that they got some real exposure.  (Of course, they haven't seen all the blood and gore underneath those pointe shoes, but I'll just break them in easy.)

Here I am with Sherri, my old teacher, and one of my favorite people in the world!  She pushed me beyond what I ever thought possible, and I love her for it!  (And let's not forget my parents who put down the ca$$$sh.)

And how do you like the self-tanners I've been using?  Not too orangey, eh??  EH??

Ugly Dance Party Part One

Be prepared to be mystified. And watch for the synchronized toe touch towards the end. You won't be sorry. This is how we bond with our family. (That's Jess with us here in VA. He's on a little trip.)

Our First Update Since the Resurrection of the Blog

I think our updates will come in spurts.  There's too much to say, so much we've experienced, and so much to do now to get settled.  Here's a peek at our new place.  This was breakfast this morning overlooking our little downtown Virginia Beach view.  We prefer to sit on a blanket in front of this window than at the kitchen table staring at a wall.  We can see the ocean (sort of) from our window, too.  At least we can see where the land turns into ocean.

Raleigh and Madeline

Here's Raleigh in her new cowgirl getup.  I think her profile is so cute!  She starts school tomorrow . . . it would've been today had registration not taken two hours.  All the better - her ultimate dream is coming true; she gets to ride the bus!  Even though part of me hopes that it is stinky and dirty to dispel all fantasies about buses, I hope it is the ride of her life!!!  (I never wanted my kid to ride the bus.  Doesn't schoolbus=troublemakers?  I hope she survives.)

We Are Alive

And we think we are well.  

Details to come.

Look Who's in Town!

Blogging becomes difficult when we are in the middle of packing for a move AND my mom is in town!  But here are some pictures to prove both.  (Notice the lack of decor and stacked boxes in the background.)  Did I mention we are moving?

Yup.  Virginia Beach, here we come!  But first a vacation in Georgia.

We'll keep you posted.

Madeline and Grammy get the giggles.

Grammy and her adoring granddaughters.

The newest and sweetest grandbaby - The Calvinator with Grammy

Could life for a grandmother be any more special??

Madeline

These girls are getting bigger and smarter all of the time.  It's so sad.  I wish I could keep them cute and little forever.  Here's Madeline being the Pied Piper at the Lewises house.  Don't you like how "Lewises" looks so much better than "Lewis'"??  Grammar, grammar.  Punctuation.  Oh well.  I am a visual person.

I love how Juliette is looking up at Madeline here.  And Briant is just as happy as a lark behind her.

She led the kids in sliding down the stairs.  Choobs is that little blue bundle of love at the bottom.

There's that look again from Juliette.  Isn't she cute?  And this is a classic look from Madeline.

Raleigh's Latest

Here's Raleigh "counting" during a game of Hide 'n Seek at the Lewises.  She enjoyed being the BIG KID.  

Apparently, at school it is kind of cool to be allergic to things.  Currently, Raleigh is "allergic" to broccoli and apples.  Broccoli makes her "hip start itching," and when she eats apples, Raleigh "stops breathing for a few seconds."  It is pretty tragic.