just call me "elder"

A self-portrait Nate painted.

Nate was set apart tonight as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I'm so excited for him. He will be an awesome missionary.

But right after the Stake President said "amen," Nate stood up and made robot noises and moves. We were all like, "What the..." The Prez looked like he may have wanted to retract the blessing, but it was too late. Ah, Nate. He will be a unique missionary for sure. But an amazing one. And I am proud of him for dedicating the next two years of his life to serving the Lord and sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ. Someone out there needs my quirky and hilarious brother.

For more on missionary work, see here.

remember this?

I was looking at old pictures of the kids from when we first moved here to Mexico and found this:



Remember this? M was 18 months old in this video (see the original post here). She's adopted a few more moves (and grown a little more hair) since then. The slow booty shake and hip flick, for instance, had yet to make an appearance. And someday when I can figure out how to upload videos from my video camera, I will premiere her latest and greatest. She can dance for hours. Literally.

On another note, I'm headed back to the States this weekend for a farewell. My brother Nate goes into the MTC next Wednesday. Boom-shacka-lacka. We're excited. More on that later.

her happiness

It is strongly associated with her ability to dance, prance and revel half-naked in the sunshine. Key word(s): half-naked. (seriously, is that one or two words?) When a cold front swept its way through Mexico recently, I thought I had lost M to the dark side forever. The wrath of an unhappy M is lethal and it frightens us all. (This may be the strongest argument for never moving to Canada, Alaska or The Netherlands.)

But hallelujiah. The sun came back.























Thank goodness, because I couldn't take another second of her stormy, dark side.

But then L came home from school this day and tried to steal her dancing/prancing/attention-seeking thunder. Screaming and fighting ensued. They made up a little later, but only because I told them nice kids get to watch movies and eat ice cream. Bribery schmibery. I don't care what they say.









I do what I have to do to stay sane, yo.

28 is great

So I once ironed your leg with a hot iron and you let me*. I even remember the room with the brown, scruffy carpet that we sat in while adults sat unawares in the next room. I remember pulling down the iron from the board and saying, "Okay, lie down, Audrey!" And you didn't even cry or scream. That came later. And I know you were only one at the time, but I sometimes feel that may have been indicative. Because no matter what other ridiculous or embarrassing or horrible things I would do later, you would still love me. (And you would still do whatever I asked.)

*Disclaimer: I was three.

Happy birthday, Aud. I have known you 28 years now. It happens to be longer than I have known anyone else aside de los padres. And have I told you how much I love being your sister? It's a lot of fun. It's the best, really. Because what would I do without you? I especially missed all of your regular bouts of emailing while you've been in Argentina the past two weeks. I used to think it bordered on spam mail, but now I feel like, What if I really never did get those emails anymore? The sadness.

Hope your day was filled with love, hermanita. xoxo.

cinco años

Please excuse the horrible photos and excessive flash usage.

L turned five a few weeks ago, and we celebrated while we were in Guanajuato. We might have been in a restaurant with no actual birthday cake and no actual party, but the waiter did conjure up a slice of strawberry something and one candle. I finally remembered to buy him birthday presents beforehand, because he is now old enough to remind me all month long (see here and here for additional sad birthdays past). But I loved whenever he re-remembered that his birthday was coming up. "Oh mom, I'm so ess-ited! Happy Birthday, Mom!"

L is my independent soul with the imagination to keep him content and completely out of touch with the real world. Of all my children, he has the greatest passion for life. Current faves: whales, Hot Wheels, oatmeal for breakfast, drawing super heroes, Star Wars ships and walruses, writing his name in cursive over everything, and telling long-winded stories about dogs killing cats (sound effects in full force).





My very favorite is when he hugs me and says, "Mom, I love you. You're my girl." Swoon.

pets

We used to have a dog. His name was Dog. And he was invisible. See here for pictures.

Did I mention he was invisible? Right. Well, we have a new one these days. Apparently L found him "under the bed."





Mom: "Whatcha got there, L?"

L: "A dog. He's so cute, but he's trying to sleep. Can you be quieter?"

Mom: "Right, sorry. [in a whisper] So what's his name?"

L: "Uh... [stupor of thought... then eureka!] Ebe! [pronounced EH-beh]"

Mom: "Ebe, huh? Nice name."

L: "Yeah, um... he's Spanish."

Of course. Fitting.

when i get depressed

I watch old SYTYCD clips on youtube.











Mmm-hmmm. The song, the choreography, the chemistry between dancers. Electric, epic and endorphin-inducing. Feeling better already.

And since we're on youtube, have I told you how my gay man crush is Neil Patrick Harris?

"Waddup!"

He is my fave. I don't even remember the rest of the characters' names on How I Met Your Mother. And they all sort of look too... moist (hee-bee-geebies) and lip glossy. But Barney. Love him. And it seems to me that 2009 was a banner year for NPH. Hosting the Tony Awards and the Emmys.



Who knew Doogie Howser had it in him.

families are forever and so are friends

Bruce and I attended the funeral for Tyson Sherwood in Utah this past weekend. It was beautiful and peaceful, the sun peeked through the clouds and shone over us all as we huddled around the grave site, and we celebrated the life of a dear little one.

These pics were taken at the luncheon afterward.



















For more on how families can be together forever, see here.

While we were in Utah, we stayed with our good friends, Matt and Tiffany. We all met back when we lived in New Jersey and it had been five years since we'd last seen them. We hadn't even met their little boy, Tyler, yet. But some friends make it easy to pick right back up where we'd left off. Somehow, though, I forgot to snap pics of us together. Let me go steal one off their blog...


Sorry, Tiff!

Bruce and I are grateful for the amazing friends we've made along the way. Families are eternal, to be sure, but so are friends. When our time comes to pass beyond the veil, that is going to be some kind of reunion, no?

love, faith and prayer

I snapped these photos a few months ago. And now I can't stop looking at them. They are dearer to me than ever now.

I hope Amanda and Josh will forgive me for what I am about to share.

Tyson is not the first baby they have lost. They also lost their second child, Andrew, when he was three months old from SIDS. He passed away two-and-a-half years ago in July 2007. Losing one child is hard enough. To lose a second child is nearly unbearable. And because I love them and care for them, their overwhelming grief becomes my own. It pierces my own heart and I bleed with them.

Yesterday late afternoon, I went to their home. When the door opened, I noted the faint smell of clean laundry and the hum of a dryer going. The mood was quiet and subdued. But the moment I stepped over their rough, brown doormat, I was overcome by the presence of the Spirit. It was more than a feeling. It was as if it blanketed the air and thickly snuggled you in when you entered and breathed, spreading warmth. Palpable warmth and the love of God straight to your center. I didn't want to leave.

When I mentioned this to Amanda later, she said it was the outpouring of love, faith and prayers on their behalf. That this is exactly how it was when Andrew died. And I haven't been able to shake the wonder of the experience. It stayed with me all through the night and has not left me today. I always knew Heavenly Father loved His children. I always knew He comforted them when they looked to Him for comfort. But I didn't really understand how He bears us up mentally, emotionally and physically until that moment. Or how He answers faith and prayer in behalf of those we love.

Amanda and Josh have incredible strength. I feel so privileged to call them my friends.

tyson

The world lost a little piece of sunshine yesterday. I have never felt more heartbroken and helpless as I have the past two days, watching our dear friends, Amanda and Josh, suffer the loss of their 15-month-old son. I wish with all my heart I could carry their grief and relieve their pain.

Little Ty-ty, we love you and are so grateful to have known you.

'sup

I just wait-listed myself for two different online photography classes:

Sheye Rosemeyer

and

Jessica Sprague

Did you click on the links? Don't they sound fun? Is there anyone out there who has taken online photography classes from these people? And do you know about others I can check out? Avísanme, por favor. I'm excited to challenge my brain a little, because at the moment words like aperture and shutter speed make me nervous and confused. And I don't need that in my life.

Also, Church starts at 9 a.m. now. Praises be. Now if I can just get myself released...

christmas 2009: it came and went

And now I've lost my blogging mojo in the fervor of merry-making. But here is me mustering up just a little more juice for the road.

We partied Christmas Eve at my friend Fashion's place. And somehow both she and her baby bump eluded my camera lens all night. On purpose, I am sure. I also brought over my electric piano for a little caroling. In all my years of playing the accompanist in such settings, I've discovered three types.

Set numero uno will not go near the piano and seek to slink into a dark corner of obscurity for fear of being called out for a solo. Set numero dos will eventually slip into a choral duet when cajoled. And set numero tres has no fear of ridicule and incredible stamina. These are the marathon carolers. They can sing for hours (maybe days) and occasionally this is the set that must literally be pulled from the piano as they white-knuckle grip the bench. For this reason, I used to hate my mother for making me the designated accompanist during family/friend gatherings. What teenage girl wants to go through life with a sore bum, achy fingers and three rounds of "Jingle Bell Rock". But now I welcome the role with fondness and a smile. One more round of "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree"? Why not. Sing away, friends. Sing away.







Christmas Day was so relaxing and chill, I'm thinking now I may have slept-walked through it. The boys were in a battery-powered tizzy and M was channeling Medusa after day-before pigtails. We were especially thrilled that Pete was here (excluding the chia pet attached to his face when he arrived.) But we have all learned a very important lesson this Christmas when it comes to L and durability.

















My favorite Christmas present was getting Pete to shave off his America's Most Wanted facial smack. It only took one quesadilla. Total bargain and I could finally look at him again without retching.







Up next: Guanajuato trip.