Brer Momma and the Tar Baby (excerpt)

     Brer Momma said to Brer Audrey, "You must finish your peas."
     "Well, well, what have we here?" Brer Audrey thought, grinning an evil grin.
     Brer Momma gulped. She knew Brer Audrey didn't want to finish. She did some fast thinking while Brer Audrey rolled about on the bench, fussin' herself sick over them peas.
     "I've got you this time, Brer Momma," said Brer Audrey, jumping up and shaking off the food. "You've sassed me for the very last time. Now I wonder what I should do with you?"
     Brer Momma's eyes got very large. "Oh please Brer Audrey, whatever you do, please don't lie down and don't be quiet!"
     "Maybe I should kick and scream," mused Brer Audrey. "No, that's too much trouble. Maybe I'll throw something instead."
     "Kick!  Scream yo'self silly!  Do whatever you please," said Brer Momma. "Only please, Brer Audrey, please don't lie down and be silent like you's dead."
     "If I'm going to throw something, I'll get a swat," said Brer Audrey. "And I don't want a swat. But cryin' is handy, so maybe I'll do that instead."
     "Throw somethin'! Cry! Do whatever you please," said Brer Momma. "Only please, Brer Audrey, please don't act like you is dead."
     "Silent like I's dead, eh?" said Brer Audrey. "What a wonderful idea! Your heart'll be torn into little pieces!"
     So Brer Audrey swung herself around and around and then flung herself (gently) down onto the floor. Brer Momma let out such a scream as she fell that all of Brer Audrey's fur stood straight up.  Brer Audrey fell onto that floor with a crash and a little thump. Then there was silence.
 

Brer Momma cocked one ear toward the floor, listening. But she heard nothing. Brer Audrey cocked her ear toward the table, listening for Brer Momma's whimpers of pain. She heard nothing.  Then Brer Audrey heard someone calling her name. She turned around slowly and looked up with one little eye. Brer Momma was sitting on a bench enjoying her dinner and looking smug.

She laid there for a good 15 minutes as if dead, utterly unresponsive to anything.  Once she didn't want to get up for the morning, but we had to be somewhere.  I picked her up, changed her clothes and diaper, propped her up and fixed her hair, shoes on, snacks in a bag hooked onto her chubby little arm, and buckled in her car seat before she would open her eyes.  At that point I whispered the word yogurt into her ear and she suddenly came to life, "Oh yes!  That sounds nice, Mommy!"  This girl has some grit!  Frankly, I'm enjoying this tantrum phase.  My only question:  How can I make it last?... 

Obituaries

Henredon Sofa dies at age 45-ish

Today an era in the Mikkelsen family ended:  The old sofa, which was the obvious focal point of every decorating scheme, was taken to its final resting place at the local dump having lived a long and fulfilling life.

It began its life stylishly in a prominent law office in Portland, Oregon where it dwelled happily for several years.  By '83, though still in its prime, it was thought to be outdated and out-lived.  A humble junior attorney recognized its value and rescued it from certain death, bringing it home to his own family room.  And it lived there as the veritable heart--or maybe a ventricle--of their home (and it matched nicely with the cinnamon carpet!).  It was on this sofa that many of their children learned to read, where gripping Little House on the Prairie episodes were absorbed, where guinea pigs romped with their tenders.

From house to house this sofa moved until the first of their 10 children was married.  The daughter and her new husband were bequeathed the sofa as a gift to furnish their first little home.  It became an integral fixture once again.  It served as a couch a time or two for the husband when the bed just wasn't big enough for the both of them, and there the young mother often nestled with her nursing babes in the twilight hours. Grandchildren learned to read there, and the little sofa, having gone full circle was showing signs of wear.  But what is a little wear when it is the wear of dear friends bouncing up and down when they've guessed the right answer in a rousing game of charades, or a faint stain from "Grandma, put your feet up and I'll bring you something warm to drink"?

But as with all living things, time catches up and nature inevitably takes its course.  Exposed upholstery nails began scratching innocent arms, and stray springs started poking.  Ever widening tears swallowed errant treasures causing angst and tears as little blind hands explored the gastric workings of the sofa in attempted reclamation.  Finally, the decision was made that practicality must at some point override sentiment.  It was time to bury our dead.  The sofa has left no genetic legacy that we know of, only that legacy of service and comfort which lives in our grateful hearts.

Knock Before Entering

An effective and necessary notice was posted on the bathroom door this morning, lest we forget the dangers of neglecting our manners.

Glory Bee

Jacob has hatched a plan to earn a little college and mission dough.  Local honey, wax and pollen are a valuable commodity around here.  And the lady nominated to head the project is called is Victoria...

Supposedly, Victoria is in here somewhere, but we hadn't painted the yellow dot on her thorax yet, and beats me to point her out!

You are looking at a transplanted wild hive rescued from a residential neighborhood.  This is shortly before we moved the hive out to the homestead.

"And even today, against overpowering odds and prohibitive costs, one does not have to go far in any part of the country to hear voiced the old hopes that stirred millions of immigrants, freed slaves, westward movers, young couples starting out: a little farm, a little shop, a little store--some kind of place and enterprise of one's own, within and by which one's family could achieve a proper measure of  independence, not only of economy, but of satisfaction, thought, and character."
-- Wendell Berry (one of my favorite authors)

"Our model citizen is a sophisticate who, before puberty, understands how to produce a baby, but who at the age of thirty will not know how to produce a potato."
-- Wendell Berry

Hopefully our children will know both by and by.  This picture was after several hours of pulling tansy from the south hill.  It is the second of many truckloads we'll be taking to the dump over the next couple of weeks.  The last project was pulling a dead cow out of the creek, and the week before that was chopping up two 50-ft oaks we had to knock down for the new driveway.  How glorious to work hard!  Makes a person feel alive.  I think we'll tackle potatoes next spring...

A Close Shave

Evening brushing as usual... or was it?

 Clara: "WILLIAM!  STOP!  That is not going to get your teeth very clean!"

Of course, this little mistake was an underhanded pitch for the siblings and spawned a slew of unsavory comments that earned more than one person a dishonorable dismissal to bed.

As I said, it was a close shave.

Littlest Sweatshop

Time for my boys to earn their keep around here.  Here they are mending sleeping bags just before a fun Memorial Day weekend campout.

And speaking of sewing, just to give an idea of the quality of sewing that happens around here, have a peek at Jake's and Isaac's Mother's Day gifts last year.

Cross-stitched to perfection!











And, speaking of Mother's Day, here I am, a real bona fide madre!  Kind of surprising to have six little people calling me mother when I stop to think of it, but oh so wonderful in every way.

...Or, if you prefer us in our natural state:

And speaking of natural state, a neighbor friend thought it would be nice to give my daughter some eyeshadow she didn't use.  Well, it gets used around here.  Now every time I turn around somebody is on the cusp of a "black eye."  My sense of humor failed me one Sunday morning when we were all rushing to get to church on time.  We piled into the car and as we zoomed off I happened to look in my mirror to see Megs primly sitting in the back looking lovely in her pretty dress and sweetly braided hair and black eye.  It's a good thing I've long since abandoned worrying about what people think of our family!

And speaking of Clara, she was suffering from a small stubbed toe not long ago.  I asked her to please put something on it so that blood wouldn't get on the carpet.

No blood got on the carpet.

What any of this has to do with my littlest sweatshop, I don't know.  I rarely know what my point is, so I will treat you all to a poem:

There was an old man of Blackheath,

Who sat on his set of false teeth;

     Said he, with a start,

     "O Lord, bless my heart!

I've bitten myself underneath!"

Dynamic Duo

Being rascals.

Reading before church (just prior to my vetoing his choice of footwear).

Alien encounters.

 Jimmy receiving healing kisses after an injury.

 Time-outs for co-nautiness.

Breakfasting together.

Napping together.

And brushing.

 (Alright, this is Isaac helping little Zippy.  But I thought it was funny.)

 And speaking of brushing.  James asked if I could help him brush his teeth.  "My son, you need help with more than just the brushing..."

 

How did I get so lucky to spend my days with these two little nuts?  And what will we do when James decides to ditch us girls for kindergarten.  I shudder at the thought!

Christmas 2011

Merry Christmas from the Allens!

Hope you all had a happy cozy Christmas.  We have had a wonderful year here amongst the mountains and rivers and flowering things.  We have reached several landmarks and have seen the fruition of a few dreams, and look forward to 2012--or the rest of it, anyway!  Thank you to those who remembered us this Christmas.  We absolutely love getting updates from our cherished friends and family!

With love,

the Allen Family

Kidnapped

One fine Thursday in August (this is shamefully late!) a babysitter arrived at our house, and Michael informed me we were going on a date.  Little did I know that that date would be to the airport, and thence to Las Vegas...

The lovely Bellagio where we were captivated by the water dances...

The lovely statues near the Bellagio (the originals are even lovelier!)...

Michael surprised me with dinner that evening at Andre's in the Monte Carlo.  One of the most delicious meals I've ever had start to finish, and why does their cucumber lime water taste so much better than when I do it?  You know it's going to be good when they offer mint and sorbet pallet cleansers between courses.  (I sort of wanted to have a few more pallet cleansers for dessert.)

After dinner we meandered over to the MGM to watch David Copperfield turn paper into monarch butterflies, and make people disappear from the stage and reappear at the back of the theater.  I actually got to go onstage to "help" with one of the tricks--making a vintage car appear on stage from nothingness--and I even got my very own smile from the maestro himself.  It was my favorite part of the trip!

The next morning we awoke early, saw the sights of the Bellagio, including gelato for breakfast, picked up our car rental and headed out of town.  At first I thought Michael's car choice was a little whimsical and wanton, but he, as with everything he does, had a good reason...

Where were we going?  Who knows, I was just along for the ride!

The three-hour long ride, that is.  We ended up at the Grand Canyon.  Apollo, Aether and the breeze nymphs were in good form and it was the most beautiful day they could conjure!  The convertible was a genius idea because the drive was spectacular and to have no roof made it all the more so.  Very much recommended.  We hiked around and acquainted ourselves with the views, watched a native American dance and music presentation and ate fry bread made right before our eyes.

 Ammmmm.  Ammmmm.  Ammmmm.  (This is me getting six kids worth of chaos out of my system.)

It was magical.  We hatched myriad plans for family hiking trips in the future.  If I had four lives I'd do them all!  This was definitely my favorite part of the trip.

The next morning we woke up early again and strapped on our water-hiking duds to make the trek that we both had long been interested in, needing only the chance:

The Narrows of Southern Utah!  We covered as much ground (or water) as we could in the time we had, wanting to see as much of this stunning place as possible.  Michael chatted with a forest ranger when we got back about some of the landmarks we had seen.  When she learned we had just done a day trip she said she had rarely heard of people going that fast.  Michael didn't tell her about the 30 minute lunch we took, or our exploration of a few side canyons.  Getting older, yes; getting chubbier, yes; getting slower, no.  This had to have been my favorite part of the trip!

The next morning we went to a local ward and spent a lazy day touring some of the natural wonders of Southern Utah: stone tunnels at Kolob Canyon and the wildflowers at Cedar Breaks.

That night we lodged in St. George and watched a cheesy and entertaining Hallmark show.  The next morning we attended the St. George temple (another first for us), and explored some of the rooms in that sacred historical place.  I loved it.  Probably my favorite part of the trip.

Then we enjoyed a perusal of the Green Valley Spa, trying not to giggle at the promises of rejuvenation and health if you walk the labyrinth (which we of course had to do!), got long delicious massages, and purchased some peppermint lip chap.  That was my anniversary present.  I got some for Clara too. 

Then we drove back to Las Vegas in time to dine at the famous M buffet for lunch, headed to the airport where we hopped on a plane back home.  Here we were met by six little chickies excited to see their parents, and they found two parents grateful to have been away and happy to be back.

What a delightful way to celebrate 13 years of marriage.  What a thoughtful husband to plan it for me.  This marriage of our's has taken us to unexpected places, presented lots of opportunities and challenges, and six little sweetpeas.  And I have to say, so far it has been a wonderful trip!

Miss Manners

Clara was asked during activity day to write down manners most pertinent to life in the outside world.

"Easy!" she said.

From the journal of Joseph Millett, who tells of his name being read out as a missionary in the Salt Lake Tabernacle in 1852, of making his way as a nineteen-year-old, alone and mainly on foot, across the continent to Nova Scotia, learning the gospel and making converts essentially on his own, choosing one of them as a wife and making his way with a group of Saints back to Utah and then on to a colonizing mission in Spring Valley, Nevada. Near the end of the journal, he records a crucial, self-defining experience from the first days in Spring Valley when his daughter had died and many suffered great sickness and hunger:

"One of my children came in, said that Brother Newton Hall’s folks were out of bread. Had none that day. I put . .. our flour in a sack to send up to Brother Hall’s. Just then Brother Hall came in. Says I,“Brother Hall, how are you out for flour.” “Brother Millett, we have none.” “Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you were out.” Brother Hall began to cry. Said he had tried others. Could not get any. Went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett “Well, Brother Hall, you needn’t bring this back if the Lord sent you for it. You don’t owe me for it.” You can’t tell how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew that there was such a person as Joseph Millett."

This sense of being special, of God knowing us by name, favoring us with his voice and special direction and responsibility, is crucial to the Mormon identity and central to our best literature from the beginning. But in my view, the quality of this passage is more than doubled by the way it opens out to the other meaning of chosen—called out of the world to bless the world. God knew Joseph Millett’s name not because he was partial to him, but so God could, with perfect confidence, tell his neighbor Brother Hall to go specifically to Joseph Millett for help.
--Eugene England 

(Borrowed from my Pop's blog.  This has always been one of my favorite stories.  I hope with some practice I can be more like J. Millett some day.)