Problem Solved

We are riddled with bed issues.  Each night is a problem of musical beds.  With so many little people all needing the same size bed, needing to change beds to make room for the next little person, rooms too small to accomodate big beds or too many beds, we were having problems.  We needed to streamline.  So we officially moved Audrey out of the nursery and in with Clara to create a girls' room.

(I just had to add this one because little Audrey is so peaceful.)

Then I got online to find some toddler-size bunkbeds for the little boys.  No such thing, don't know why.  It seems like such a great idea.  So I put together a pattern and made some.  Michael jumped in on his day off and helped with the precision work (you know, having things level and flush, and making joints strong and garbage like that that nobody even cares about!).  We are happy with the outcome.

Below are the little ones, loving their new bed (security rail removed at the moment for playing purposes).  Any good ideas for a finish? 

Isaac likes that it made the whole room smell like a pine forest versus... "you know, what it smelled like before."  And I like that people have a place to lay their sweet little heads with no more griping at night.  What do you think, Madre?  Problem solved!

Hall Bath

Now that our camera is back in action, here are some befores and afters from one of our many summer projects:  The Bathroom.  It is our only full bath.  Sunday mornings get a little crazy in here, but some day we'll have a master bath completed [insert wistful sigh].  Until then, I have been supremely enjoying using this one since it's been done.

 Isaac enjoyed teasing everybody when we took out the little original commode to work on the floor.  He ran up the stairs holding his pants, spotted the toilet in the hallway and exclaimed, "Oh, I need that!"  Then acted like he was going to use it as we all screamed NOOO!

First thing to go:  Carpet (capitalized because it was a living thing).  Second thing to go: weird little towel holder with swiveling prongs that I nearly poked my eye out with several times.  Third thing to go: wallpaper.  Then towel bars, knobs, fixtures and faucets, and on and on.  How satisfying it was to dismantle this bathroom after years of cringing whenever I walked in to it.  I'm especially fond of the floor: industrial cream and charcoal variegated tiles, which are totally indestructable.

Only thing left is to touch up the existing doors and woodwork, but that's nothing.  I found this vintage Colgate & Co. advertisment in an old magazine at an antique store.  It reminds us that "Beauty, of course, begins with cleanliness; and by its gentle, thorough cleansing, Cashmere Bouquet Soap will do as much for beauty as any soap can do.  But along with cleanliness, dainty women appreciate the luxury and delight of fragrance... a fragrance that seems to be the natural perfume of a clean and radiant skin.  This is what Cashmere Bouquet Soap brings to you... a purity and mildness that are unsurpassed... a perfume that is rare and infinitely alluring."

... And besides, he'll want to kiss your hand because of it.

Gift

You know when you find that dynamite gift that has real universal appeal, so you pick up a half dozen of them to give to the next six lucky friends who have a special occasion?  So, whose birthday is coming up next?  I have something YOU will love!

(Dad and Mom, you could be headed to a real fortune if you put those nags of your's to good use!)

Another Hill

Since Anna broke from her typically comical and fun blog posting to share a more thought invoking poem called Gethsemane, I thought I'd do the same.  This poem was shared over the pulpit, and it really resonated with me, partly because I really enjoy hiking whatever mountains are around, but mostly for its content. 

Another Hill

Another story to be told,
another verse to rhyme,
another truth to ponder,
another hill to climb.
Sometimes when I feel restless,
I grab my hiking pack.
I stuff inside my tent and gear
and strap it on my back.
I search my map for some new path
that leads to higher ground,
to somewhere I’ve not been before
where I can hear the sound
of water as it falls past rocks
to pools in canyon streams,
and fill my mind with images
for future poems and dreams:
a field of summer blossoms,
a sun-drenched mountain peak,
a stand of noble conifers,
fish swimming in a creek.
A feast awaits my senses
high in the alpine air,
but it requires effort;
it’s work to get them there.
Sometimes my route is level
and shaded by the trees,
but most the time the way is steep
and hurts my back and knees.
Sometimes the trail is yielding,
made soft by leaves or peat,
but often it is strewn with rocks
that pound and bruise my feet.
The toil and strain of hiking
is not the only way
to view an alpine sunrise
or canyons on display.
Roads lead to other landscapes
as wondrous, fine, and fair;
but half my source of pleasure
is the toil that gets me there.
For if my destinations
I reach without some pain,
the end without the journey
would hardly be the same.
I prize the satisfaction
from each challenge faced and met.
The feeling on each summit
is worth the price, and yet
no matter how fulfilling,
no matter how sublime,
there always looms before me
another hill to climb:
another lesson to be learned,
another one to teach;
a youngster to inspire,
another one to reach;
another error to make right,
a fault to overcome;
another chance to recommence
a labor left undone;
a weakness yet to conquer;
a talent to improve;
another sin to cast away;
a sorrow yet to sooth;
another gift to offer;
another cause for prayer;
another hour on my knees;
another cross to bear;
another glimpse of beauty;
another friend to make;
a chance to prove obedient;
a sacred vow to take.
Ascending makes me stronger.
I cherish every time
my God imparts His blessing of
another hill to climb.
Another story to be told,
another verse to rhyme,
another truth to ponder,
another hill to climb.

                 Kevin Krogh

Misunderstanding

We were cleaning up the house yesterday and our neighbor was over visiting so she could hold Audrey.  Isaac came out with Michael's Mexican bull whip and said, "Don't worry, Mom.  I've got everything under control," then he pretended he was going to whip anyone not doing their jobs.
"Isaac.  That's not necessary, nice try though.  Go put that away." 

"I don't know where it goes.  Jake got it out."

"It goes in my closet."

My neighbor's eyebrows flew up and she said, "Oh! Well!  That's one I'll just have to keep to myself."

We had a good laugh about it.

Gethsemane

In golden youth when seems the earth

A Summer-land of singing mirth,

When souls are glad and hearts are light,

And not a shadow lurks in sight,

We do not know it, but there lies

Somewhere veiled under evening skies

A garden which we all must see--

The garden of Gethsemane.

With joyous steps we go our ways,

Love lends a halo to our days;

Light sorrows sail like clouds afar,

We laugh, and say how strong we are.

We hurry on; and hurrying, go

Close to the border-land of woe,

That waits for you, and waits for me--

The garden of Gethsemane.

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams,

Bridged over by our broken dreams;

Behind the misty caps of years,

Beyond the great salt fount of tears,

The garden lies.  Strive as you may,

You cannot miss it on your way.

All paths that have been, or shall be,

Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey, soon or late,

Must pass within the garden's gate;

Must kneel alone in darkness there,

And battle with some fierce despair.

God pity those who can not say,

"Not mine but thine," who only pray,

"Let this cup pass," and cannot see

The purpose in Gethsemane.

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Gifts of Love

Michael took Jacob, Isaac, Will and James on a father/son campout a couple of weeks ago.  William came bursting through the door the next morning and presented me with a lovingly taped up wad.

He beamed as I carefully opened the wad, and as soon as I got the the dingy little treasure at its core he hugged me and exclaimed, "Mom!  It's for you!  I knew you'd love it!"

Then he watched.  He wanted me to eat the unidentifiable thing, which had a suspicious resemblance to the diaper I'd just changed.  So I closed my eyes and ate it, counting on the fact that Michael, who was watching the whole thing with obvious enjoyment, would stop me if it was poisonous.

Michael told me later that William had gotten some dark chocolate from somebody at the campout.  He had eaten most of it, but saved the last morsel for me because he just knew how much I'd want it.  So he kept it in his hand for much of the evening throughout games and campfire, until someone brought him a kleenex to wrap it in.  He taped it up with electrical tape and put it in his pocket for the next 12 hours until he came home.  If that's not love, I don't know what is (except for maybe the eating of it!).

Harper's Bazaar August Cover

Here's a sneak peak for all you avid Bazaar readers.

(Photo courtesy of Kathryn Mikkelsen, entitled Fun With Parker. 

This one's for you, Kik.)

Dare

A bunch of boys were jumping on the trampoline at Gma's and Gpa's house.  Clara and some of her little girl cousins wanted to jump, and it was very much their turn.  In an effort to trick them out of it, the boys concocted a plan, "Clara, you girls can have your turn as soon as... as soon as you catch Grandma's rooster."  This bird is big, and this bird is strong and mean.  Nobody messes with this rooster.  Imagine their surprise when about three minutes later they were presented with:

They relinquished the trampoline for the rest of the afternoon, admitting that they were no match for Clara. 

Few people are.

Adam

7/10:  We had an amazing experience yesterday. We had the address of a man that seemed pretty cool but hadn't been picking up so we decided to go out and find his house. Turned out to be pretty far and we spent a lot of time going there. We asked this really nice guy for directions, just as he was coming out of his business and we realized that it was a fake address that didn't exist. But we started talking to the man we had asked directions from and he invited us into his office. We shared the first lesson with him and gave him a Book of Mormon. He kept saying as we finished the lesson that it is God's will we were led to him. He never works overtime on Sundays and is never there that late. He lives out of our area but I got him info and the missionaries there are getting a hold of him. We were led to someone that we weren't expecting and had an oppertunity share the gospel with him.

I hope everyone is doing well and that you are enjoying the summer. It was extremely dry the other day with a light wind and as I rode I thought to myself "wow, it feels a lot like summer back in oregon." Then we passed a man burning brush in his yard and I got a smell of the smoke and I was reminded all the more. Ha ha . Hope you are doing a lot of burning in my honor.

Elder Boose

Memorial Day Family Reunion

I don't think a girl could ask for a better family than the one I happened into.  There's not a one of them, biological or in-laws, that I don't think is the cat's pajamas (except for maybe the weirdy in the blue shirt)!

Over Memorial Day weekend all the Mikkelsens headed out to Wamic (on the southeastern side of Mt. Hood) to enjoy the lively desert life.  We raced horses--and fell off of them a few times.  (My apologies again for making Phoenix be a bad influence on everybody else's horses!)  People fished the White River, caught more than their share of lizards, snakes and bugs, ate cases of oranges, and got really dirty--with the added bonus of a water malfunction. 

The annual Memorial Day Wamic Breakfast was a treat, especially for James, who plopped onto the floor when he was full.

After Wamic the caravan headed back to Portland, where we enjoyed and celebrated the blessings of three grandbabies: Kate, Matilda and Samuel.  One of my favorite parts was when Jake and Isaac pulled off their shirts and organized wrestling matches out on the back lawn.  Another was giggling with my siblings,

(my beautiful sisters)

...and torturing our dad...

...and Mom.

We played at the park, had mean games of kickball and spud, and took turns getting pulled by Grandma in the wagon.  (Will, Audrey and James loved it!)

We celebrated Isaac's 9th birthday

by eating ice cream cones.

We enjoyed cousins (William and Grace),

and we enjoyed Grandpa (with Maxwell).

And we enjoyed ourselves!

I say we do it again next year...!

Award-winning Nasties

My long postponed postpartum (by a year, ugh) weight loss program has just been aided by these two incidents. 

First of all, I'm working up in my room when I hear a commotion outside.  I hurry downstairs and out the door just in time to hear Jake yelling, "No James, you can't have it!" and then see him yanking a large, half-full Dunkin Donuts cup out of his hands.  James screams, "But it's mine coffee!  It's mine coffee!"  I look into the cup to see what it really is James has been snacking on and find that it is indeed cold coffee, with little bugs floating in it.  I ask James where he got it and he matter-of-factly trots down the sidewalk and points to a spot on the curb.  Coffee aside, it was the sticky straw he'd been sucking on that really got me.

To Whom It May Concern:  Please don't leave your nasty old coffee where little kids might find it and think they've won the lottery.  And if you do, please brush your teeth before you start drinking it.

Secondly, I take the kids to the river to play.  It is a lovely little spot where the North and South Umpqua join.  It's a beautiful day and we're feeling well (minus my hurt feelings from having to see myself in a swimming suit).  I'm playing in the sand with Audrey when Clara runs up with a crawdad she's caught.  She's wondering why it's not trying to pinch her (lots of experience with that), determines that it's dead, and drops it next to me to dry in the sun so she can take it home and put it on her dresser to stink up the upper level of our house.  It was very stinky.  I'm distracted

with James for a moment, then turn to find Audrey munching on the tail of the crawdad.  She has pulled off the claws (one down her suit) and has little swimmerets dribbling down her chin.  I'm horrified.  I scream.  She is totally unfazed, pulls out the crawdad to examine it.  I relax.  Then she pops it back in, this time crunching enough exoskeleton to suck out some pallid, ultra-stinky flesh.  I begin to laugh hysterically and scream again, this time having the presence of mind to pull it out of her mouth and toss it back into the river.  She cries.  Then she finds a claw and is occupied with burying it in the sand.

Moral of the story:  Don't waste time laughing, just pull out the crawdad.

Wish List

Our beloved neighbor Susie asked Michael if he could make out a small list of the things I like, for my birthday.  She brought it over later to show me because she thought it was funny.  That boy's got me pegged.

Penmanship: The Delicious Grace of Moving One's Hand

William came to me during dinner preparations to ask if he had gotten it right.  "Um, yes, Will.  You did.  All 600 times."

Failing

Do you ever wonder if you're failing as a parent?  It's things like these church time doodlings that make me ask that very question.

Our Fundamental Premises

"I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails.  I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp.  I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbor's children.  I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden.  I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder.  I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived."

— Marjorie Pay Hinckley

And for anyone interested, there was a wonderful speech given by Dallin H. Oaks, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints to the Harvard Law School a couple of months ago, entitled Fundamental Premises of Our Faith.  I always enjoy Elder Oaks and how he organizes his thoughts.  So for those of you who may feel this way,
"Oh Mormons, Mormons, Mormons,
We haven’t got a clue
Of what you folks believe in,
Or think or drink or do.” (compliments of Conan O'Brien)
...wonder no more.  He explains the fundamental beliefs of our church, where we came from, where we stand.  Excellent read, highly recommended.

Personality Profiling

Just for fun, I conducted a little study during breakfast the other day.  The object was to categorize my kids' personalities (after all, they're too young to answer the questions on the real test properly) by asking them which was their favorite Winnie the Pooh character and why.  Here's how it went:

Clara:  "Oh, Kanga is easily my favorite.  She's so nice and she has a beautiful voice.  She's the best one."

Me:  "What about you, Will?"

William:  "Well, I think...hmmm..."

Isaac:  "I know who mine is: Tigger! 

Me:  "Why is that, Isaac?"

Isaac, in his perfect Tigger voice:  "'It was just a joke!'  Remember that, Mom, when he bounces on Rabbit and knocks him over and then when Rabbit gets mad Tigger says, 'It was just a joke!'?  That was so funny!"  [Knocks Will on the head and says in his Tigger voice that it was just a joke.  Will screeches and glares at Isaac...]

Will, visibly irritated:  "Rabbit is my favorite because he doesn't like Tigger.  He likes to do things right!"

Me:  "What about you, Jake?  Which one is your favorite?"

Jacob, thoughtfully:  "I like Owl.  He's really smart and wise and he's kind of like the leader of the 100 Acre Wood.  He sort of peers at everybody and notices things."
Me:  "Hmmm, that's pretty interesting, Jake."

Jacob:  "Why?  You're not putting this on your blog, are you?  Oh Mom, please don't make it sound like I love watching Winnie the Pooh.  I mean, it's funny and all, but let's face it, [whispering] it's kind of a little kid show."

Later during a call in to the office:

Me:  "Who's your favorite Winnie the Pooh character, Mikey?"

Michael:  "Eeyore."

Me:  "Why?"

Michael:  "Why are you asking me these questions?"

Me:  "I'm just taking a poll.  Is Eeyore really your favorite, and why?"

Michael:  "Yes, he really is because he has the deepest voice."

Me:  "Deepest voice?  Really?"

Michael:  "I don't know why I like him, and I don't have time to talk about it anymore.  See you at lunch."

Save Some Mony For the Old and Pore

What do you do when you discover that your daughter has been out on the corner with a giant homemade sign that says "Save some mony for the old and pore" (pictures of sad people included) and an upturned hat, wearing the dingiest clothes she can find?  Thank goodness we don't get too much traffic in this little neighborhood, mostly people walking their dogs who know Clara by name.  She did manage to grub up a few coins.  To my relief she later confided conspiratorially that they were her own, that she had employed the trick-or-treating tactic of leaving a few candies at the bottom of the pillowcase "so people can see that you've been trying and just haven't had much luck.  You know, then they feel sorry for you and stuff."  What do you do?

I'll be posting pictures of the demolition derby going on at our place soon.  Since buying this house we've been scrupulously saving up to add a master bathroom (one tub for 8 people gets a little tight on Sunday mornings).  We finally began....

Living Room

Though our goal with this 1940s sweetheart is to "restore" rather than "remodel," we are dramatically departing from the monochromatic theme that has prevailed. Here are before's and after's of the living room thus far.

Before, in her original vanilla glory.  And yes, old friends, that is the same couch we had in Utah, Iowa, Texas, and back to Oregon.  She came back to be buried with her loved ones.  But until that day...long live the couch!!

The process, included a good washing of everything, (several tries of) blue paint, crown and shoe moulding, installing and painting new built-ins to house books and to make TV disappear, hanging and painting french doors, pulling up carpet, laying down the new stuff, etc.  Mikey Baby and I enjoyed lots of date nights painting and fitting mouldings.  And I relished several late nights painting in solitude, listening to general conference reruns.  That sort of quiet is balm for the soul.  This whole project took a while given the time we have to devote to these types of projects, but it was worth it. 

And afterward...

Things aren't quite done, a few more battles yet, but the war is mostly won.

Persistence

As any casual reader of this blog has noted by now that we have a boy in our family who is thoroughly obsessed with lizards, especially chameleons.  During church last Sunday I drew a simple picture of a Jackson chameleon for William to color.  He was really impressed and praised my drawing skills (what a rewarding boy he is sometimes!).  When we came home he promptly taped it to his door.  Then he tried to draw one.  Weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth is the best way to describe Will's frustration, and he claimed he was an idiot (refer to the quote above).  I explained that the way people get good at things is by practicing a lot and not giving up even when they feel like screaming.  With a hopeful giggle through tears he said he would give it a try.  He took a pad of paper and a pen to a quiet corner and began drawing. 

Most of them he wadded up and dramatically threw in the garbage.  He made it through about 40 post-its.

Monday he finished the pad and started on another.  He taped some of his favorites to the cupboard so he could "compare them."

By Tuesday he had gone through most of the second pad and was starting to be pleased with his improvement.  It is now Wednesday, and he has drawn about 150 chameleons.  More comparisons taped to his bedroom door.

If it is true that persistence increases our capacities ("not that the nature of the thing has changed"), then William is on his way to greatness...