Kashann and Clan

When school is out it usually means the schedule is out too. But I have tried hard this first week out of school to still start the day with family scripture study. We were reading about Zarahemna this week. For those of you who aren't Book of Mormon buffs- He's the Lamanite captian who is scalped by the soldier of Moroni.

Camille wanted to know what scalped meant and while explaining that I reminded them about the time I was pretty much scalped as a baby under the tire of our car. I hadn't told this story for a while and they were all pretty interested to hear about their mother being scalped. (For those that don't believe me I will show you the 6 inch scar as proof). As soon as I got done with the story Savannah scowled and said,

"Mom, you have way more stories! Nothing ever happens to us."

She was complaining. ???

Many times as I drag them off the computer I remind them that someday their children are going to ask them to tell them stories about themselves and it is gonna be sad if the best thing they can come up with is, "Well, I found some awesome sites online." I really do worry about this.

Kids these days!

No wonder nothing exciting ever happens to them. They have constant supervision. . unlike when I was a kid. And they have a computer and TV. . .unlike when I was a kid.


While on the topic of exciting adventures. . . The Sailboat will not be providing this family with anymore. As the new owner drove off trailing it, my neighbor asked me if I was sad to see it go. I was completely honest and said, "No way!" Right now I am trying to break all ties with this place and get ready for the move. Getting rid of a 25 foot sailboat was one big step.

Plus, for the last month while it's been on the market, I have to run over there every time it rains to bail it out. Just in case someone comes to look at it and changes their mind when they find it full of murky water.

But I couldn't keep Caroline quiet as the buyer sat at our kitchen table signing the papers. He was from out of town, had yet to even see the boat parked in the next block at our neighbors, and here Caroline was already tainting it.

She made friends with him right away, telling him this and that -all random stuff when suddenly she comes out with,

"Well . . I think Stacey peed in the boat." (Stacey is the nice neighbor who stores our boat in her yard, free of charge.)

So I hurried and told Caroline that Stacey wasn't peeing in our boat. There was just a little water that leaks in from the windows. But she wouldn't drop it at that. "But Mom, why is it yellow? There's always yellow water in the boat!"

Rainwater or Stacey's Pee, either way Caroline was very sad to see it go. After I finished cleaning it the final time, we were walking off and she suddenly said, "Wait! I just have to do something!" She ran back and wrapped her arms around the bow of the boat and gave it a great big kiss. . . or two. Then said "Goodbye, Sailboat!" with a sniffle.

Even, Daddy didn't get such a big sendoff.

And while on the subject of pee, I have to tell one more story about Caroline and hopefully it's the last one forever about her and and the P word. Several months ago I decided that she was going to be pull up free at night. I knew that the only way to get her to stop wetting was to take away the pull ups. We had a rough patch for a while but finally she made it to the two week mark of no wet beds and she got to pick out a prize at the store.

But during that rough patch, the following happened.

One night, I woke up with the growing awareness that something wet was in my hand. Then I felt something wet on my arm. I opened my eyes and made Caroline out in the dark shadows of my room, just standing there like a ghost not saying a thing but stark naked. "What are you doing? And what is in my hand . . . and on my arm?

She didn't say anything then.

After I came out of the room I found her wet nightgown had been draped over my arm and her balled up pair of wet panties were in my hand.

And why did she do this ?

She shrugged and explained, "I just thought it would be a good way of telling you."

Someday I am going to be in big trouble when Caroline learns how to read, aren't I?

Although she knows barely over half her abc's, I would argue she is a very intelligent 5 year old. Last Sunday Kennon told the story about Heber J. Grant during her primary class presentation. The children listened to how he had once given away a brand new coat that his mother worked many hours to buy for him. His mother saw him come in without the new coat the day after she had given it to him. When his mother found out that he had given it away to a child in the street who had none she was at first dismayed and asked why he couldn't have given away his old ragged coat instead. But then, remembering what kind of boy she had said to him, "Of course, you couldn't Heber."

At this point the teacher asked the children to tell them if Heber had made a choice to follow Jesus. All the kids resounded with a unanimous "Yes!"

Then Caroline, talking out of turn once again in primary, hollered out,

"But his mother made the devil's choice!"

She loves to talk about Jesus choices and devil choices and it was pretty clear to her without any extra explanation that his mother was doing the latter by suggesting he shouldn't have been kind.

Marcus is a little confused about what happened to his daddio. For a few days he went around the house calling for him. I wanted him to understand why he hasn't seen him for so long so I told him a story with hand motions that he could imitate about where he had gone. First, Dad got on a plane (airplane hand zooming across the sky) and then went to work on the Indians (Indian dance while slapping mouth) teeth (point to teeth).

He caught on right away laughing and doing the actions with us, but eventually just shortened it to the "ZOOOM" and waving his little hand across the sky. If anyone said, "Daddy" he was ready to go with his airplane. Well, out of nowhere, Sunday night he changes the zooming airplane to a spinning plane that swivels all over the sky and then usually crashes in his lap. We all looked at each other in disbelief and asked him, "Where's Daddy?" again. Now the plane always crashes. And as the girls laugh harder and harder the crashes have gotten worse and worse.

I didn't like this turn of events at all. Especially since Daddy was getting on another plane Monday morning to head off to a remote fishing village for the week. And as usual he didn't call and let me know he made it. But he did tell me before he left Sunday night that I probably wouldn't hear from him much because he won't have Internet reception while there.
I finally got confirmation on his status by way of an email this afternoon. Apparently they do have Internet in the far reaches of Alaska, but I guess he is confined to 10 words or less. After 2 days with no word, it read, "Made it. Clinic number is __________. Love ya, ttyl" Maybe it's morse code and that's all he could afford.

I am assuming the clinic number is an emergency number, not a "Hi, i just called to shoot the breeze" line.

Oh, well we are doing fine anyway. The only snag has been the lawn mower. First I, then Bill next door, tried to start it. Neither of us had any luck. Bill gave up and let me borrow his. I told Brent about it and he said he was the last one to use it and it was working fine then.

"There can only be one thing wrong with that perfectly good lawn mower," he said.

"OPERATOR ERROR"

The girls called all their neighborhood friends over for a "POOL PARTY" to start off the summer. We have a little pool but the real hit was, of course . . . the dip in the trash can.

There was a big line all afternoon.

Sunday night is garbage night on our street. That's the night to take a walk and see what you can find that your neighbors have sat out on the curb. Just as it began raining late that night Savannah and Kennon noticed a couple boxes across the street. They ran over and rescued some stuff just in time. Sunglasses, stickers, books and craft supplies were hauled home. I was on the phone with Brent and they kept rushing back and forth until they finally decided it was pouring too hard to go out again. They organized all the loot and had a suprise for their younger sisters when they woke up in the morning. A sticker chart that reads,

"You will win a prize when you fill it up! Do not put a sticker on without asking! Follow the rules. . . and BE GOOD! "

They've had two little slaves ever since. The stickers are filling up but Kennon reminded Camille when she got frusterated that she still has yet to pick a prize after two full days working for Kennon, that "You only get to pick a prize about once a week. You have to work really hard first."

So maybe in a few days Camille might get rewarded with some neighbor's garbage for a whole week of hard work. And if she only knew that she only had to be up a little later Sunday night and they would've been her's for free.