Something About Your Chin

Um, that is me and my sister-in-law Lisa and MINDY GLEDHILL and Hailey.

(and occasionally my brother Topher)

They will all be performing next Monday.

Except, I will not.

Good news.

Put on a happy face . . .



p.s. seven points to you if you watch it more than once.

p.p.s thanks to Brett Merritt for the film work.

Hi8Us

photo by Stephanie Nielson 2007

My beloveds,

I am going on a week-long blogging hiatus. Chup says I am not allowed to do any computer-related task until I can successfully answer questions like "What day of the week is it today?" or "Who is the president of the United States?" or even, "When was the last time you showered?"

Although, look for something marvelous to be posted here on Thursday.

I don't use "marvelous" lightly.

Mucho Amour,
c jane

In exactly one week I will be in my seat for the Mindy Gledhill/Thrillionares benefit concert. In fact, my whole family will be there because, after all, it is Monday night and therefore Family Home Evening. And also, because our sister-in-law Lisa is a player with the Thrillionares. Oh, and a couple of us donated to the silent auction--we'd like to see if our stuff goes for much. Then there is a part that the proceeds will go to help our sister recover. But mostly because we could use a night of enjoyment. All of us.

And that is what this night is going to be.

Will I see you there?

Love for Nie Nie Benefit Concert and Silent Auction

Mindy Gledhill with The Thrillionaires

Monday, Feb., 2nd, 7:00 p.m.

The Covey Center for the Arts, Provo, UT

Buy tickets at www.coveycenter.org or call 852-7007

Discounts available for students, seniors and groups of 6 or more

Silent Auction Info:

Auction has started at www.formerlyphread.blogspot.com

Online bidding ends Feb. 2nd at 3:00 p.m.

The ending bids will be the starting bids for all of these items at the live auction which begins at 6:15 p.m. in the Covey Center lobby and ends after the concert.

Confusing? It is explained well at www.formerlyphread.blogspot.com. Some highlights from the auction include two packages to see the Jazz on the second row, including dinner and parking, valued at $950 each. There's also, a basket full of makeup by MAC valued at $600.00, and a private, acoustic concert with Mindy (I want that I want that I want that--nothing better--don't outbid me).

Thanks to our sponsors:

Ryan Tanner: (poster design)

cherrylanekeepsakes.com

elementseo.com

Neal Dastrup Insurance

Cougar Copy

The Italian Place

Soel Boutique at the Riverwoods

There Are Four Things

There are four things that I really need to get off my chest.

Did I just choose to phrase my first sentence with "get off my chest"? Get off my chest? Really?

One, this book, written by blogging friends around the world for Nie's Recovery was awfully nice. Thank you for supporting our family in your funny way:

Two, my brother is an absolute genius. After I saw his play Nosferatu last October I sat in awe of his brilliance. This show is like nothing I have ever encountered in theater. Heavens, I don't even like theater. If you want to see this masterpiece it will be playing again for one day only. February 4th, one show at 7pm and one show at 9pm. Tickets are now on sale at UVU Campus Connection at 801-863-8797. Learn more about the show here and here.


I am so proud of you Topher! You really are a real Mormon Artist.

Three, Give Away Today is Giving Today a couple of my books. If you win I will sign it and address you by your full nomenclature. I will even forge my own signature. Go here to win yourself. ***To enter you must comment at Give Away Today. Comments on my blog don't (unfortunately) count. Though they do count in my heart.

Four, my bishop is the newest Provo councilperson. When we found out we toilet papered his house with biodegradable, fully-earth-replenishing, environmentally-sound rolls. He doesn't know it was us, though I am sure I will have to confess sometime. We were just so excited and what do you do with all that excitement? You toilet paper. You do.

See here for an article and a mug shot. Not a real mug shot, after all, he is my bishop.

Neglector

"I can't do things the way I used to do them." I lamented to Page the other day.

"Yes you can." She countered.

"No I can't. I used to have zero children and I had all the time in the world to do things. Like make sugar cookies and tan myself and give my face a facial every Saturday. Now, I could do these things but I would have to neglect more than I am willing to bargain."

"But you can do anything you want to do. You can choose to neglect. Don't get stuck in that rut." Page looked at me, eyes glaring seriously. Page hates excuses like I hate advice.

Though I did my best to garner more empathy, in the end I gave up. I could make my fruit tarts on a lazy Sunday afternoon if I were willing to let my living spaces become collateral damage. So I've chosen a life relegated to the painfully easy. Though, I have stopped short of buying the slice-and-dice sugar cookies that come pinched in a tube.

But this morning I proclaimed ENOUGH. There was an announcement that today we'd spend the entire day making sugar cookies. Given nursing breaks, accidental egg shell chips and decorating tragedies I knew we'd be at it all day long. But we weren't going anywhere, and it had been too long since my pinkie pie Kitchenaid made me feel like the investment was worth the cold cash (or, credit card), so cookies we ventured.

I looked at what a day of cookie making would require for necessary neglect. I decided to neglect spontaneously, if it wasn't happening, it wasn't happening.

First though, the kitchen had to be fully cleansed. I started with the dishes. I made Claire help while Ollie and Jane discussed their personal expectations of tomorrow's inauguration. It better be spectacular, they both agreed.

All Retro-plaid laminate countertops were sprayed and kitchen carpet was thoroughly vacuumed. Remember? I have carpet in my kitchen and I hate it. Worse than advice. When all sparkled it was time to head to the store for some ingredients. Only, at this point it was time for The Chief's morning nap, so we had to hurry ourselves. No time for my quick shower.

Neglected: Personal Appearance.

We live close to a corner store where we can buy little groceries for big prices. But I will avoid putting four children into seatbelts and car seats at ANY price, so we bundled up for a short jaunt. Before we left I looked out on our front lawn to check the immediate weather. Sun was out, but from the far reaches of my front yard I could barely make out the flag our scouts had drilled into the frozen ground for Civil Rights Day. Inversion soup, haze up to our hairlines. Gross, but we needed butter.

Neglected: Better judgment.

Half-way to the store I checked the vitals of my troop. Claire and Jane? Fine. Ollie? A red nose. The Chief? After I found him buried beneath seven quilts, two hats and a knitted winter suit stuffed in the stroller he responded with eyeball stimulus. We were braving the inversion just fine, but gravy in a boat it was impossibly cold. Kinda snuck up on me, the whole frozen air molecules in my lungs routine.

Flour, sugar, butter, milk, lime juice and two cans of coconut milk (for peanut sauce, dinner) were purchased. And, like always, I tried to make a joke to the cashier about something, and, like always, the cashier acted like she didn't hear me.

Neglected: Trying to make the cashiers at my local grocery laugh at my jokes.

On the way out I tried to use the ancient cash machine for a couple of twentys so I could pay my underage house keeper. The machine kept flashing: TRYING TO PROCESS YOUR TRANSACTION over and over until all four children were crying in peril.

Neglected: Getting cash at Methuselah's ATM .

Back out. It was so cold. Again, took me by total surprise. Even my toenails were tingly. We crossed the frozen tundra against the haze of an environmental hazard and made it home before The Chief lost a lung.

"My goodness that was cold." I said still in shock (wait, was this story about making sugar cookies?) "I am going to call time and temperature."

"Currently" it told me "it is seven degrees."

Neglected: to remember how unforgiving January can be.

Finally it was onto the cookies. We measured and stirred, cracked and whipped. When dough formed in the belly of pinkie pie we wrapped up the concoction and let it chill for three hours.

In which time I put The Chief down for a nap, rotated laundry and made lunch. Helped Claire produce a Bedouin costume (Daddy introduced The Black Stallion into their lives) and watched as she tamed the Ollie stallion. Listen to Jane read books to a swirmy baby who I continued to nurse throughout the day.

Neglected: a bra. Like they always say, simplify, simplify, simplify.

When the dough was chilled we started to roll and bake. We made hearts for friends, doggie bones for Gigs, butterflies for Mommy and flowers to remind us that spring can't be that far away. SEVEN DEGREES. Claire even went so bold as to bake her name. And with our sugar cookies came three primary-colored vats of glaze so that everything shined and sparkled with the raw sugar drizzled on top.

Neglected: my insistence that Ollie not eat that cookie drowning in green sprinkles.

It wasn't long before our sugar buzz was nothing but a drunken stupor of sweet crystals. Claire let her body roll down the stairs over and over again. Ollie slid on the ground because the use of his legs was too much. Jane was the only pioneer who glazed and glazed until her eyes matched. The afternoon sky was saying good bye from our kitchen window as we finished off the last batch.

One full day dedicated to making sugar cookies isn't a bad way to spend a cold-bordering-unhealthy day. Page was right, I can do anything I want to, as long as I am discreet about my negligance. Speaking of which, is that red and blue glaze crusted into my carpet?

Soon to neglect: carpet on my dang kitchen floors.

Gross.

In Search of Sunshine

When the school notified us that there would be a four-and-a-half day weekend on our hands I notified Chup that I wasn't sticking around.

"I can't be here for four-and-a-half days with six beings all severely suffering from cabin fever. I need sunshine."

So we took it to Southern Utah where my brother Steve lives with his wife Suze and four children.

And oh.

Oh.

We romped short-sleevedly, swam in the indoor pool and sucked our faces full of sun. One night, after stuffing our innards with Poncho and Lefty's Mexican revival we came home to a night full of stars.

"Look at those twinkly things." Ollie said pointing at the gem-filled night with his Alvin Chipmunk voice.

It had been so long since we'd seen the earth doused in evening that the stars had become wonders again.

Grateful to Ollie for pointing them out, I stared a while at them while everyone else headed inside. It was good to feel small, to look out and realize that while my life can seem so big and complex, there are far bigger and more complex systems that rule this universe.

Oh.

Thank heavens for that.

Chup and I were feeling adventurous so an afternoon was spent hiking around Zion National Park, attempting some of my favorite trails and bouncing The Chief through the patches of sunny spots. We worked our way into a buddy system: Claire and Maggie, Alex and Ollie, Emily and Jane holding hands wondering about in red rocks and emerald pools. We went through the modern miracle of the Zion tunnel and talked about red-ifying abilities of iron. Iron and the tunnel seemed to be everyone's favorite intrigue.

Around noon we headed to the lodge for lunch. About six grilled cheeses were ordered and a couple adult menu items as well. The food wasn't worth swooning about, but my glass of water tasted like eternal life. I would go again just for the cold cup of aqua from Zion's canyon well.

As we ate I noticed a threesome in the corner talking and staring at us. Had I no manners, I would have spent the afternoon talking and staring at them. They looked as though they had walked out of a Twisted Sister music video into the Zion Lodge Restaurant. One of the characters didn't spell out a gender. Oddest thing I have seen since my last trip to Vegas.

When all the sandwiches had been consumed, with crust left for the birds, we started to pack up our table of seven children. I circled the table wobbling The Chief side-to-side making sure that all coats, shoes and salty rocks had been gathered. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the characters approaching our table. I braced myself.

He first went to sixteen-year-old Alex.

"Are you the person responsible for this group?"

And Alex sat dumbfounded because Alex wasn't alive in the '80s.

It is rather appalling.

"It is rare that you go to a restaurant with a big table of children and not even notice them." His hands were on Alex's shoulders as Alex sat stone still, the rest of the children also frozen, wondering what planet. . . .

"We were all so impressed by your manners, we wanted to give you some money so you can go get a treat." Then he handed a bill of some variety to Alex.

Chup and I equally stuttered a thank you.

The Gender-less was heard saying, "Really, you two should get an award."

Who Chup and I?

I thought.

Oh!

For a split second I really thought about what it would've been like to actually birth all seven of these children. I would've started at fourteen with Alex, and continued on year-after-year until last May for The Chief. Though Chup's age could compute (he would've been twenty-three) I would've been a mighty young bride and Chup would be in jail. I couldn't let them think we were so honorific.

"Only one is ours, actually." I admitted.

The manners weren't ours either to take credit for, though I wish I we could. Who wouldn't love a table full of quiet, grilled cheese-eating children?

But the threesome was already clapping for the Mr. and I so we took a bow, and headed back out to the offerings of the canyon's warm air. Soon the girls were cartwheeling, the teens were playing with their phones and The Chief bounced up-and-down on my lap. Here was sunshine, in all of its varieties.

Mission accompli.

Oh. . .

The going rate for well-behaved children is five bucks.

Enough for seven ice cream cones.

What The World Needs

Less conspiracy theory more babies sharing hot gossip.

and Nie!

It's Official and an Official Letter to Autoblog

We won.

But even more than that, we won a friend in Autoblog.

See here for their sweet concession post.

(Thanks for the brokerage Md.)

And here is my response:

Dear Autoblog,

Chup and I have a most excellent marriage. I know, because I have had two and so I can actually contrast and compare (follow me, Autoblog, follow me).

The only catch in my marriage, thus far, is my husband's incessant need to swallow and digest details on parts, models and whothecrapcares information of cars. Let me put it this way, my husband is the Rain Man of the Autoworld. It's nuts.

I am jealous of his lust for the voluptuous '89 Lotus Esprit Turbos, quirky Austin Healey Bug Eye Sprites and the worst of all, the taunting-yet-attainable Honda S2000. Snick, snick.

Oh sure, occasionally I will catch an episode of Top Gear with my husband, but only because I liked to dream about the mysterious entity of The Stig. In my imagination he is James Bond. (Only to find out that he actually is a family man? Bo-ring!)

But then when the Universe put your macho blog in the same category as my little bitty blog it brought our marriage closer. In respecting my competitor I came to respect my husband's world of transmissions, engines and spoilers. I never thought this day was possible in this lifetime. (Mormons, as it turns out, believe in a life after this, so I there was a small chance in eternity . . .)

But suddenly Autoblog, I care. I really care. And if I could make you a little button that says "Autoblog, Revving Up Rusty Marriages One Post At A Time." I would. You could post it next to the sidebar by your ads (which currently are showing offers for Book of Mormon, so thanks for that too).

Maybe next year I will even try out to be one of the Detroit Car Show models. I mean, if I can win a Major Blog Award against such a reputable blog such as yours, certainly I am allowed to keep dreaming big.

Much love and devotion,
c jane

New Look, Behind the Scenes

Behold! I give you the Overpaid Banner Designer Jed

Every six months or so I like to wipe my blog slate clean and do something different. I've been through almost all of Blogger templates and I know my html as well as I know the ingredients in my toothpaste. Only, every time I do a sweeping change it takes me seventy hours of completely ignoring every human, need and responsibility in my life. However, I usually lose weight from the stress so it's worth it. It's the only time stress induces weight loss and not the gain. Pfffffff.

Sorta like a blogger's cleanse.

Anyway, a couple years back I started doing my own banners. My first one was a masterpiece:

(Go ahead, I dare you to click to enlarge.)

Chup said he was going to boycott my blog it was so bad.

But I kept it up for awhile just because it reminded me of the time I lost seven pounds in three days. It was a "banner" experience. Oh boy.

At that point my cousin's husband Jed offered to step up and design banners for me. I think he felt sorry. Some say he has "talent" and others say he is "brilliant" and I thought he was "okay" so I hired him. When I say "hired" I mean, I told him that I wasn't going to pay him, after all I practically raised his wife. Thus, Jed became my Overpaid Blog Designer.

He did good work. Turned out.



At the end of this year I decided it was time to change things again. I knew that the possibility of hiding out in the basement with a crust of bread for three days had no chance. I asked Jed for a new banner, one that would remind me of my first attempt at banners. Except instead of Marie Antoinette I asked to be an angel. I mean, why not? After all, I am no more Marie Antoinette than I am a halo-ed human.

You like it, but you don't know why.
Or, you don't like it, but you can't stop looking at it.
You look at it and suddenly you feel transcendent.
Am I right?

Anyway,


As for the layout, Lucy tipped me off to Megan of Knuckleheaders. I had been a fan of Megan's blog for sometime, but was unaware that she had started her own blog design business. We started working on some ideas, and we're still working on some more, but I stand as a witness that she is incredible. Can make dreams come true with no paperwork. Easy to work with and one of the most adept people I have ever e-mailed back and forth. And that isn't meant to hurt anyone's feelings.

I know that not everyone is pleased with my choices, but I can't worry about that. I mean, I come to my blog more than anyone else right? It has to make my day. Besides, Christian's good father told me that my new look was "vintage c jane" and my own mother told me to not "lose the wings on your blog" and I always listen to my elders. And that was definitely not supposed to hurt anyone's feelings.

Besides, wouldn't you miss the wings?

Don't answer that.

Jed only takes on clients who can pay his mortgage and send his children to boarding school in Europe. ***UPDATE*** Jed is now taking clients! See here!

Megan takes on clients who are willing to have custom-made blogs.

You can contact her here.

Jed, Megan, I give you sabbatical for the next six months.

Consider it my thank you.

P.S. Want my button?


<a href="http://blog.cjanerun.com/"><img src="http://i177.photobucket.com/albums/w239/wildmf/cjane09-button-small.jpg" /></a>

Webster

I am still awaiting official word, but it looks like we won the the Weblog Award for Major Blog.

We, meaning you and I.

Mercy, you and I are a good team.

Bumper to Bumper

Did I already use this photo? Nevermind, time is ticking down . . .

We here at c jane headquarters are buzzing about how close our race in the Weblog Awards have become . . . I type through sweaty fingers.

Sweaty fingers, two blocks away.

Only one hour left!

Thanks for your votes already. It seems Autoblog is making one final push.

You can vote here to keep them at bay!

At least you've got to vote for my car metaphors alone . . .

Dos Items

1.) A gargantuan thank you to Canyon Sports, Jane Taylor, Chad Lewis and all participators for the wonderful event that was Ski for Nie. Christian tells me that Steph was so inspired that she made a goal to be back on the slopes next January. Maybe we could make Ski for Nie a tradition?



2.) For all those who have volunteered to help at the Love for Nie benefit concert I want you to know that we are so grateful. Oh my goodness does this world contain hearts of gold. Not to mention those who already purchased tickets . . .


If you are interested in donating to the silent auction for that evening you can contact my dear friend Ms. J. Eckton at jennyeckton@gmail.com. She says "no garage sale items please." But I might bid on your old lamp shade. Just kidding, I have enough old lamp shades.

But seriously, thank you.

Welcome Newbies Allow Me To . . .

For those visiting from the Weblog Awards (did I say yesterday was the last day to vote? Well, you've still got a half day left) and wonder what is going on here I have some answers.

First of all my name is Courtney but some people call me Jane even though that's not my name (it's my middle name). c jane wasa login my sister Stephanie gave me when we signed up for hotmail accounts. Hotmail, that was the same time as Stonehenge wasn't it?

The banner is an inside joke, that you could come to understand if you were to delve deep into my archives. I'd link to make it easier for you, but think of all the pageloads I'd be missing out on! Trilllllllions!

I've been a blogger for years now, only that in the recent month or two I've allowed the upgrade to Mommy Blogger as I am now a certifiable mother.

Before I became a Mommy Blogger I was just a silly, self-fulfilled blogger with a wild sense of narcissism. At the time I was married to an actor and employed myself as an aimless writer and had a severe obsession with burritos on the west side. If all of that sounds boring to you, then I give up. Wait, here is more. I don't have much political persuasion and currently I drive a Lincoln Navigator. Does that do anything for you?

My blog became big news when a family tragedy occurred and major publications picked up our story. The Today Show, New York Times, Arizona Republic. But I would take it all back just to have a completely healthy sister. You know, fame is fleeting and I am counting down my seconds.

But while I am counting down . . . why not win an award?

Also, I am a Mormon which makes me required to love everyone. And I am trying.

That is about it.

Oh other than, I am still married to my actor husband who likes to read Autoblog when I fall asleep at nights. He'd like to own a S2000 someday.

Which explains my ads.

For the love I've got spicy friends. And loyal soulmates.

And a few enemies it seems.

But remember? I love them too.

Thanks for stopping by!

Announcing Anxiety

I am posting at Segullah today about how I've found keeping a small infant alive is making me a perfect wreck . . . and stuff.

You can read it here.

And speaking of blogging about motherhood you can defend my honor (for the last day only!) here. Or you can vote for Autoblog. Either way . . .

Last Night Diablog

Me: (Checking my e-mail)

Chup: (Checking his e-mail)

Me: I have the best blog friends. They keep e-mailing me the latest about the Weblog Awards. Seems some people are starting to gang up on me because I'm a Mormon. And cheerful, I suppose. Cheerful is so not intellectual.

Chup: Who is in the lead?

Me: Um, let me check.

Me: Autoblog. Autoblog? There is a blog called Autoblog?

Chup: (Silent).

Me: Is that supposed to be a play on Autobahn? Cause that is pretty clever.

Chup: (Silencio).

Me: Autoblog totally sounds like a site you'd look at without telling me because you know I'd make fun of you. Auto. Autos. Autoblog.

Chup: I do look at it. Everyday. They are huge. Everyone looks at Autoblog.

Chup: (Recoils after raising his voice).

Me: Well honey, if I lose to Autoblog at least one of us won't be sad.

Chup: And one of us can go back to being cheerful.

Provo, Your Wish Is Granted

Want to help volunteer for the big night?
E-mail me at cjanemail@gmail.com

Befour

A week ago Oliver decided to turn four.

Because I am still "just surviving" and all, I didn't plan any sort hyper party. I did invite his grandparents, parents and little brother (via Lucy and Ric) to come over for dinner and cake.

Who needs a theme party when you can have dinner and a cake?

I grew up on dinner and cake and look at me, I am just fine.

Our homemaker Jane hosted the enchiladas in her Crockpot and made Ollie a dense chocolate cake that we ate for days after. That Jane is her mother's daughter and don't let anyone tell you differently.

Around five o'clock Umi showed up with balloons and a present. Shortly thereafter came Lucy and Gigs, also present in hand. Then to add to Ollie's mounting excitement, his Dad pulled up in the car and helped his mother come gingerly into our Retro Birthday House. With a present.

Have you ever watched a fly try to get out of a closed window?

That was Ollie.

His repeated mantra, "This is my birthday and I am so happy."

Bouncing off couches, rolling on floors, skipping on tippy toes.

Hot dog!

Which at that point I started to worry because I didn't want to disappoint him. The kid's birthday is January second, I am fresh out of tape, wrapping paper and, well, presents. I mean you get dumped on at Christmas only to have more presents to discover a week later. I am sorry, but post-holiday birthdays are just redundant.

Not only that, but we are still returning Ollie's Christmas presents that we purchased because all he needed (apparently) was Spiderman riding on a four wheeler(?) and a roll of shiny fake gold dollars. All things to fit in his squirty little backpack, which to him holds the wonders of the world. The fast action, speed racing, life changing sport car track? Neh.

"Chup baby go downstairs and wrap up a pack of gum from your stash." I charged knowing full-well that the present count for a four year-old was far more important than the quality.

Also knowing that a long with Spiderman riding a four wheeler (?) a pair of vampire teeth, and shiny things, it is gum that moves Ollie's sensitive soul through this disparaging world.

After dinner the little guy brought all of his presents into where his mom was reclining on the couch. He opened each present right next to her so that she could give him the validation of deserving each one. If only Steph came equipped with batteries, because almost as much as Ollie needs his mother's love, he needs batteries.

When all of the big gifts were exhausted we started in on the presents brought by our birthday guests and Chup. I will relay to you each gift as though you cared:

Umi and Grandpa: gum.

Lucy, Ric and Gigs: gum.

Mommy and Daddy: gum.

Which at that point Chup slyly signed to me that he was going to go ahead and take back his pack of gum I asked him to sacrifice earlier. Slipped his offering back in his shirt pocket and Ollie never even knew that he was one pack short.

The cake was lit by the fire of four candles. Blowing shortened their flame. Cream and ice cream were served by the side of a chunk of chocolate. Ollie ate his in episodes and finally licked it clean as the guests were leaving.

That night as I was dressing our dude for bed I asked him if he had a nice birthday.

"Yep." He replied in his sugar voice.

"Do you like being four?"

"Yep."

"Wasn't nice to have mommy here to celebrate with us?"

"Yep."

"Did you like your presents?"

"Ohhh yes." He sighed as though the thought of all that gum happily exhausted him.

"Did all of your dreams come true?"

"Yep." He answered again. Then added,

"But, nope. Not the one where the dinosaur is chasing me and I have to jump over a tractor because he has sharp teeth and he will eat me."

Well, there is always next year.

The Ever Evolving

Nie and Me, July 2007

In the beginning there was my blog.

It was a blog about Not Much at All. Then one day I got tired of writing about Not Much at All and decided to write about Infertility.

But in how many ways can you express how much you don't like being Infertile?

So I decided to write about the good of Infertility.

The late night dance clubs.

The spontaneous trips to Europe.

The ample quiet introspective moments.

Then there was the day when my husband got out his camera and shot a glamorous picture of a French tart we had just purchased at our local bakery.

And that delicious little picture changed me again, so that I wanted to write more . . . deliciously.

Which I did, until at last I was no longer Infertile.

But with child.

So I wrote about Gestation.

The pukes.

The butterfly movements.

The adoration of an internal alien I'd never met.

And behold! A long the way I gained a readership who I loved (though I was always turning on and off my comments, it wasn't them, it was me). I felt at ease to be myself.

Quirky.

Cheeky.

Just a titch irreverent.

And my blog was my happy place all the while.

It had been a lovely way to spend the years.

So satisfied, I was, that I made my intention to retire into motherhood without a blog in the diaper bag.

(So to speak.)

But because of a pressing heartache,

and a public that I came to love

(on so many levels)

I could not.

So I continued on, supposing to write about a new founded adventure.

My calling as tribeswoman to The Chief?

But then my sister (and fellow blogger) was in a terrible accident.

And because she is our own, we picked up the pieces of her life and carried on.

Each to their task.

Page posted at the hospital.

Lucy with the baby.

And me, I inherited her children.

And blog.

Which came with her beloved readers, with whom I vowed to do my best to continue her story.

A job I took almost as seriously

as taking her children

although

not as seriously as taking her children.

But we noticed with our tasks came a sense of hope. Of optimism and joy.

(despite it all).

Because after all, the gospel is true!

And the love for our sister will be eternal and we felt it.

All of us.

Every one.

And we desired to share our feelings with whomever might listen.

So my blog evolved (again) with different purposes.

To update.

To encourage.

To raise money and awareness.

But mostly, to give my little sister an account of her life while she slept.

When the day came that we heard her doctor say,

"She is out of the woods!"

we cried.

And started to prepare her world

for her return.

And slowly

slowly

slowly

she awoke.

So slowly in fact, that I hardly noticed how heavy it had been.

The whole process of seeing someone die and live again.

In due time I couldn't help but notice

that the more I heard her voice

the less of her voice I needed to be.

Which is a tribute to the natural process

and the fact that sisters are connected in ways that cannot be described

on a blog

or elsewhere.

But it wasn't until this very evening,

I saw my sister completely herself

with light in her eyes.

So I asked her,

if she were ready to take back her blog.

Her loved hobby.

Her public.

(Which had grown immensely since sleeping.)

She agreed

to continue her own story

(in some form or another)

by January 16th

(of this year).

Then as sisters we had an incredible laugh

at all the funny parts

and not-so-funny parts

of the last episodic months of our lives.

And shook hands

(though she said, do it really softly please.)

Then asked me to scratch her back

because it itches.

And with two of her children, I loaded up the car and came home.

Home to see that my blog

looked like me again

(with my tongue stuck permanently in my cheek . . . and wings).

Which can only mean that I am about to enter into yet another phase of writing.

Of what substance I cannot say,

only that

as I kissed my baby good night

I felt like he had his mother back

and with that

I had my sister back.

And in the near future

her children

will have their mother back.

Which,

in the end

is all that matters.

So let this be written.

(Because it has already been done.)

Amen.

Under Constructionia

stiamo ritoccando. scusi prego.

Italian translation? here.

In Conclusion: Use Sacrifice to Show Gratitude

At the beginning of the year I join other Mormons who resolve to read the Book of Mormon in a year's time. Not all Mormons do this, nor is it required of us, I've just noticed that some of my fellow saints like to start the year with a BOM. As do I.

In the beginning of the book there is a story about a prophet named Lehi who is told by the Lord that the great city of Jerusalem is about to be destroyed (which it was). He takes his family and departs into the unknown wilderness leaving behind him a world of luxury. As I read this morning, I noticed that when Lehi and his family were tucked away in the throes of untamed wildlife he built an altar, and with an offering, he thanked the Lord for safe travels.

Reading of Lehi's gratitude made me scribble "daily" in the margins of my book. I need to build an altar and make an offering on a daily basis. I've noticed that when I get behind in recognizing the astonishing amount of blessings in my life I become ungrateful. Isn't that weird?

So all day long today I've thought about the foundation of my altar, and what I could possibly offer as a means to thank the Lord for my daily bread. I understood that the only acceptable offering is personal sacrifice (those things that give us simple broken hearts and contrite spirits). Like for Lehi it was probably a fatted cow. I have so many fatted cows around here . . . in fact here is one right here . . .

But really. What would be my sacrifice?

My answer came this afternoon as we sat in the den lamenting our snowed-in state. The boys and I were on the floor creating towers of various layouts with brand new wood blocks (thanks Lindsay!) When the architect of each tower was satisfied, the others were allowed to knock the whole structure over in a dramatic fashion. And repeat until it bores.

Here was my altar, built out of wood blocks, stacked up as high as balance would allow. And my offering? An afternoon downstairs with Ollie, Gigs and The Chief. Even letting my brilliant towers be whacked to wrecked blockages. It is a meager something, but it is something. My way of expressing gratitude for the ability to expend time as wanted. And (much) more.

I am so relieved to know that it doesn't take more than sincerity to please the Lord. I lack a lot of controlled genuine moments in my life, but when I play blocks with the boys I mean it. Heaven Oh Mighty I mean it! I stack with sweat and concentration that would permanently furrow. If towers make my altar, and time is my offering, I can certainly resolve to do it daily.

But remember this: in twenty-or so years when my house quiets down a bit I think I might go to architecture school. You should see the way I can structure! Talk about hidden talents.

Starting With The Spice

Way back last year Jane asked me when I was going to be spicy again. It became a personal theme: 2009, Spicy One More Time. And I wanted to record that The Spice has begun via paint chips in my living room.

But before we start that we've got to make the wallpaper disappear and resolve to paint over the birch paneling.

Choices, choices.

Vote Like Your Mama Told You To

Tis the season to vote for all of your favorite things in 2008, I guess. Thanks to some readers I got word tonight that I am a finalist for the Weblog Awards. My category is Best Major Blog. I didn't even know I had a Major blog. What does this mean?

Okay I feel sheepish about me asking you to vote for me. But it's only because tonight when I was with the girls waiting in line to get sandwiches at our local (very crowded) sandwich shop my skirt fell down to my ankles and I didn't even know it until Claire was laughing uproariously (cue all costumers: look this way) and I had never felt more like a loser. I was wearing a large and spacious coat which made the movements of bending over and retrieving my skirt that much more awkward. And to add, I was wearing pink rubber boots. It was disturbing start to finish.


Anyway, right now I am losing big time to Post Secret. So, if you wanna cast a vote for me you can do so here.

Auction 4 Ski The Canyons

This auction is for a group of 5 Canyon's ski passes. Ski with friends and/or family at the Canyons.

Auction closes midnight on January 8th.

Auction 3 Ski Snowbasin

This auction is for a group of 5 Snowbasin ski passes. Ski with friends and/or family at Snowbasin.

This auction closes midnight January 8th.

Auction 2 Ski Alta

This auction is for a group of 5 Alta ski passes. Ski with friends and family at Alta.

This auction close midnight on January 8th.

Auction 1 Ski with Chad Lewis

This auction is for an opportunity to ski with Chad Lewis, BYU great and NFL Pro-bowler. Ski for an hour with Chad, who is not only a great football player, but a great skier and an extra-ordinary person.

Auction closes midnight on January 8th.

Nie Ski Day Auctions

In conjunction with the Nie Ski Day coming up on Thursday I've been asked by the very generous people at Canyon Sports to hold some very cool ski-ish auctions on my blog. These auctions will start tonight (Jan.4) as soon as I press publish and run until the evening of the Nie Ski Day on January 7th (midnight.)

If you would like to bid, simply put the dollar amount in the comment section of each corresponding auction. When the auctions are final we will get you in contact with Canyon Sports so that you can receive your prize. And what prizes they are!

1. Ski with Chad Lewis, BYU great and NFL Pro-bowler. Ski for an hour with Chad, who is not only a great football player, but a great skier and an extra-ordinary person.

2. Group of 5 Alta ski passes. Ski with friends and family at Alta

3. Group of 5 Snowbasin ski passes. Ski with friends and/or family at Snowbasin

4. Group of 5 Canyon's ski passes. Ski with friends and/or family at the Canyons

Ready? Begin!

What The World Needs

Less talk of widespread lethal obesity and
more licking of the spoon.

Me in the Center

This morning I was about my business moderating comments, the most loveliest of blogging tasks. As is standard procedure I fished out the grumpy comments about how I am this and how that I am because the world wasn't properly tilted when I was conceived apparently. I guess I should warn the authors of such comments and/or e-mails that their statements are copied and sent out to a committee which determines the skill at which they were meant to offend. The committee consists of wonderfully sarcastic human beings those who could write the tastiest retorts should I say the word. They then let me know if I should go ahead and be offended or not give it a moment's more notice. As of yet, all replies are to forget.

As I read through the kind thoughts and New Year's well wishing, I found a note to me never meant for publishing. Something like this:
c jane

I find you horribly self-centered.

It is really offensive.

I know you won't publish this, I just wanted you to know.

Perhaps, I thought to myself, that this commenter knows very little about blogging. Blogging is the exercise of the self-centered habit. Bloggers must have a degree of self-centeredness or else how could they expect the world to care about their politics or positions on world views much less precious pictures of their posterity?

But to offend someone with self-centeredness?

Now that takes talent.

But as I already posted, 2009 was about seeing the beauty. So I went about my day asking for guidance into my soul. Though I've been told my blog was painted in narcissism before, maybe today was the day of introspection.

I started with breakfast. Mr. Nielson made a grape-colored concoctions from his Vita-Mix (the ninth wonder of the world?) which was gifted to him by Mrs. Nielson for the recent holiday. He made a mug for all the children and one for him. When I saw there was a little bit of fruity gravy at the bottom of the mixer I poured myself a mug. As I did so Mr. Nielson turned his head in my direction and kindly offered me the left-overs.

Look at me! I thought. Taking the Vita-Mix potion before asking! Who do I think I am?

I am self-centered!

I took my first swallow and washed it down with my pride. It tasted grape-y and apple-y and what was the smoothy banana taste? Oh, banana. I was about to retaste again when I was stopped by a small hand on my forearm. The maneuver is one I know well, it reads: The Chief will now have whatever you are having. So I let him in on the goodness with a scoop in his baby spoon. But then he wanted repeated tastes until finally he had tasted my whole self-deserved mug.

Ha! I thought.

I am not self-centered.

Then I noticed my pinky toaster that Honey and Ringo gave me for Christmas sitting next to my pink Kitchenaid. I thought about how much I love having four slots and how pink kitchen appliances are the secret to world peace. Also, my pink appliances and I are raising money to fight breast cancer, which is not a token of self-centeredness. I mean, what does the silver toaster do for cancer? Nothing but cause it, probably.

Later in the evening I went to visit my sister Nie at my parent's house. She will be moving around for awhile as we all pitch in on her care. She is doing so well, but still requires ample medical attention. For now she is living with a sibling who can give her immediate care, but made it to my parent's today for a little of Dad's mashed taters.

We talked about Ollie's birthday tomorrow. About how she is wearing pants instead of hospital gowns. Her white knit cap looked adorable with her short hair. We discussed important matters like how she reconquered her laptop and is starting to read her version of While You Were Sleeping.

And I thought about how much I loved her. I would trade in all my pink appliances (and the Vita-Mix) for her to be comfortable. How at the end of the day I feel less and less heroic and more and more helpless. Lately I've been a tornado stimulated by a negative wind I've allowed into my soul.

So I did like I always do, made a joke at my expense. Which seems to be my way of processing my life, and in so doing gained the perspective I asked for today. Simply put, I handle life with a heavy dosing of humor in the form of narcissism. If I can be the joke which eases a painful moment, then that is my gift. And I totally understand if it is misread. Like the time a reader pointed out that when I called myself an angel in a recent post about Christmas shopping for all the children an angel I really wasn't. "And angel doesn't call herself an angel, instead she gives the glory to God." But really, I was just trying to be funny. You know, to offset the pressing emotions.

And if my blogging about how all of this personal revelation came to pass this evening is further proof that I am self-centered than I, quite frankly, have nothing to say.

Except, guilty as charged.





Awhile back a Nie reader asked if I could occasionally link to Lds general conference talks like Nie used to do on Fridays. Here is a personal favorite of mine which I continually need to be reminded of:

And Nothing Shall Offend Them
by David A. Bednar