I know the secret behind Twilight's success and it concerns me.

I am a creature of habit. Unfortunately, I am a creature of bad habit more often than good. One such bad habit is the compulsion to eat while I read. And since I like to read and do read often, this habit can be evidenced by my compounding waistline. :0) Another habit, for better or worse, is the need to crawl into bed, all ready for sleep, and read for a while before turning out the lights. This one gets me into trouble on the rare occasion that I am immersed in a five-star gripper.

The other night I had nothing to read before bed. I am still waiting (rather impatiently now) for my book club read, The Zookeepers Wife, to arrive from Half.com. This potential habit-breaking disaster (a bookless evening) set my heart to racing and my palms to sweating (never a good thing for someone with chronic eczema). So what did I pick up in order to satisfy this literary obsession? Twilight, of course. You see, along with our book club meeting this next month, we are having a little Twilight party to watch the movie with those in the book club who have not yet seen it. I thought I'd give myself a bit of a refresher course. Heaven knows I had plenty of time before the party. Well, this was two nights ago and I am now well into the third book of the series, Eclipse. You can imagine how that leap was accomplished. Let's just say my kids have had plenty of time for imaginative play while their mother has immersed herself (for the third time, I might abashedly add) in the story of Bella, Edward, and Jacob and their vampire and werewolf families.

So what is it about these books that appeals so strongly to female readers? I qualify that question with gender specification because I have yet to hear of a man who read the Twilight series more than once, went to book clubs, or planned parties or events or movie viewings with large groups of friends. This cult seems to be wholly owned by the estrogen camp. But what is it about Twilight that truly grips women? What is it that draws us in? And, in my case at least, what draws me in against my better judgment? I like the books, but I've never been able to say that I love them. However, as evidenced by the last two and a half days, I am just as easily captivated by them as anyone else. And part of me hates that.

What don't I like? Well, here's an example of a passage that really irritates me:

"Welcome home," I said while his cold lips pressed under my jaw. "I'm glad you came back."

"That's a very good thing."

"Mmm," I agreed, tightening my arms around his neck.

His hand curved around my elbow, moving slowly down my arm, across my ribs and over my waist, tracing along my hip and down my leg, around my knee. He paused there, his hand curling around my calf. He pulled my leg up suddenly, hitching it around his hip.

I stopped breathing. This wasn't the kind of thing he usually allowed. Despite his cold hands, I felt suddenly warm. His lips moved in the hollow at the base of my throat.

"Not to bring on the ire prematurely," he whispered, "but do you mind telling me what it is about this bed that you object to?"

Before I could answer, before I could even concentrate enough to make sense of his words, he rolled to the side, pulling me on top of him. He held my face in his hands, angling it up so that his mouth could reach my throat. My breathing was too loud - it was almost embarrassing, but I couldn't care quite enough to be ashamed.

"The bed?" he asked again. "I think it's nice."

"It's unnecessary," I managed to gasp.

He pulled my face back to his, and my lips shaped themselves around his. Slowly this time, he rolled till he hovered over me. He held himself carefully so that I felt none of his weight, but I could feel the cool marble of his body press against mine. My heart was hammering so loudly that it was hard to hear his quiet laughter.

"That's debatable," he disagreed. "This would be difficult on a couch."

Cold as ice, his tongue lightly traced the shape of my lips.

My head was spinning - the air was coming too fast and shallow.

"Did you change your mind?" I asked breathlessly. Maybe he'd rethought all his careful rules. Maybe there was more significance to this bed than I'd originally guessed. My heart pounded almost painfully as I waited for his answer.

Okay, call me a prude, but this passage just seems extremely inappropriate. Especially for the audience toward which these books have been marketed. Yes, I am well aware that there are worse things written and read out there, but if that is how we are going to establish standards, then I am ashamed of us. Just because it's more appropriate than something else doesn't mean that it is appropriate.

In my Church we place huge emphasis on the need to be chaste and clean when we arrive at the marriage altar. Sex should be saved for marriage, as making love is the ultimate and extremely private expression of procreation. "But Liz," you say, "they weren't having sex. Their clothes were on. They didn't do anything but kiss, for Pete's sake!" Yes, okay, I concede. They weren't having sex, that much is clear, but what grates on me is that Stephenie Meyer (who happens to be LDS) has written her characters right onto the line. I can't see how that deserves commendation. Not only should we save ourselves for marriage, but we should also stay far clear of any behavior that would encourage pre-marital sexual deviance (like, oh, lying in a bed together in the dark, making out). I have a friend who read the fourth book in this series side-by-side with her 12-year-old step sister the day after it was released. At one point she turned to her little sister and asked her, "what part are you at?" Her little sister responded and then asked hesitantly, "But I don't understand why the bed was destroyed and the sheets all ripped apart with feathers everywhere?" My friend was a bit mortified. She looked to her mom for help. How was she to explain an extremely personal, bedroom marital scene to a 12-year-old who had just been exposed to it through this literary phenomenon marketed toward adolescents? I feel so badly for the youth of this world; those who overcome will have stronger testimonies than any generations before on account of all the ambiguity this world persistently throws at them. They deserve better from an author who knows better.

But, personal religious beliefs aside, this also irritates me for all that it is unrealistic! (Yes, I just said that about a work of fiction). Apparently, Bella is all too eager to engage in sexual activity and Edward is wholly responsible for putting on the brakes. Edward made the rules. Edward decides what is and is not allowed. Edward, Edward, Edward. Bella enthusiastically lets herself feel those feelings that ought to be reserved for after marriage; she absolutely surrenders to those feelings. And Edward is in charge of saying, "no." Pshaw! The book is fiction, yes, but Meyer is a master at weaving the real world and the fictional world into an explosive blend that every teenage girl the world over is now pining for. Are teenagers just as good at separating fact from ridiculous fiction? Fact: humans exist. Fiction: vampires stalk the earth. Okay, that one was easy. Fact: we all want to have sex. Fiction: your boyfriend is in charge of screeching to a full stop when feelings best left for a marital relationship start to surface and heat up the couch (car, picnic blanket, etc.). Why are we feeding teenagers, and their mixed-up, confused emotions, to the wolves (no pun intended)?

Okay, so what brings a critic like me back for the third time around?

I graduated from BYU with a major in MFHD (Marriage, Family, and Human Development). I remember in one such marriage-oriented class, my professor said something extremely profound that I have never forgotten. At the very root of all our female desires is the need to feel cherished. The word cherish, in my opinion, aptly encompasses all those other desirable feelings such as love, appreciation, and admiration. It is THE word to describe how women would love to be treated by men. It is also the very word I would apply to Edward's treatment of Bella. He absolutely cherishes her. Men, on the other hand, have an innate need to be admired. That is their huge emotional pull. They have to know that their contributions to work, family, and society are admired by their significant others. Bella definitely admires Edward. In fact, she worships him, constantly fretting over their excessive inequality of talent, looks, physical abilities, etc.

But here, too, I am conflicted. Because again, while the work is fictional, it revolves around, is directed by, and incorporates human emotions. I think - and this is purely my own, personal speculation - but I think that assigning human emotions to a fictional (and practically god-like) character makes the rest of wish that our human counterparts could perform in a god-like manner while forgetting their imperfect, human state. The Chief is not Edward. Would I like for The Chief to cherish me the way Edward cherishes Bella? Sure, but he does not have the luxury of indisputable financial security, minimal responsibilities and distractions, and 24 hr. wakefulness to dote on me the way Edward dotes on Bella. And here, too, the danger of unreal expectations for teenagers is glaringly evident. Edward gives, gives, gives and never requires any return from Bella. He doesn't eat, so she can't cook for him. He's indestructible and stone-like, so I can't imagine a foot rub would be desired or effective. He doesn't sleep, so she can't tiptoe out of the room and give him the gift of sleeping in. She laments this inequality all the time, and he constantly berates her for her lamentations. Truthfully, though, which of us women wouldn't love to be constantly doted on with no expectation for the service to be returned and with no lessening of love from the constant giver toward the constant receiver? But, again, that's not real life. Humans need evidence of love. Edward doesn't. All he wants from Bella is her constant presence. That would drive the rest of us crazy. :0) We need more than just to be told we are loved; we need to be shown we are loved. I guess vampires don't share that need, but what is the message that teenagers are receiving from reading, and pining over, this great inequality? In another of those classes I mentioned taking at BYU, my professor taught us that one of the greatest murderers of marriage, one of the greatest predictors of impending divorce, is for one or both parties to enter the union with unreal expectations; expectations usually learned from fiction (movies, books, etc.).

Okay, my dad always tells me I'm too verbose and The Chief just asked me, after listening to the last two paragraphs, how long this post was going to be. So, I'll just leave it at that. I'm sure there is more that I could say (there is always more I could say). Sometimes I wish my brain wouldn't analyze so much, but I am of the opinion that everything we put into our brain and bodies - from books to movies to magazines to conversations to jokes to food to substances - everything effects us for better or worse. Everything absorbed will either draw us closer to our Heavenly Father or closer to Lucifer.

So what is the grand secret behind Twilight's success? Well, it should be evident in the fact that women are more jazzed about this series than men; we are single-handedly driving this phenomenon. Women and girls the world over are captivated by and envious of the female lead's masterfully cherishing boyfriend. I can read these books and see the unrealistic nature of Edward and Bella's relationship. Can the same be said for the impressionable teenager? What do you think?

Note: When commenting, please remember to refer to my family members by their pseudonyms to help protect their privacy. Thank you!

I am also in love . . .

. . . with this tiny, angelic pixie from heaven.



See more here.

Note: When commenting, please remember to refer to my family members by their pseudonyms to help protect their privacy. Thank you!

I am in love . . .

. . . with this sweet family:



See more here.

Note: When commenting, please remember to refer to my family members by their pseudonyms to help protect their privacy. Thank you!

??!!

It's Friday . . . .

I haven't posted about politics, religion, or my brilliant boys since Monday . . . .

I must be sick.

On the upside . . . activists win. Sweet. :P


Note: When commenting, please remember to refer to my family members by their pseudonyms to help protect their privacy. Thank you!

Eternal Family Dinner

Maybe it's not fair to slap up a poll like that without explanation. My polls are exhausting me. I need to go back to the diaper polls. They require no explanation. A friend of mine shared something to this effect, "I voted NO WAY, that I would not stand up for my beliefs if I would be knowingly jeopardizing my family's safety and security." But then she said, "Of course, it depends on what belief is in question." I thought about that for a moment and slapped my forehead, "Of course!" said I. "That makes perfect sense. I believe in modesty, but I wouldn't go about defending that belief until my family was in danger." Then my friend said that if I had specified religion rather than belief, she would have heartily clicked "ABSOLUTELY!"

But now that I think about it even more, and my brain is getting tied up in scrambled knots, I wonder . . . . I believe in modesty as is taught by the Prophets of the Lord. Basically, modesty is a principle entrenched in my religious beliefs. Right now, I have no need to defend modesty because there is not currently a movement to burn a government stamp of approval on immodesty (not that I know of, anyway). Of course, I will always promote and encourage modesty against an industrial tidal wave of so-called "fashion," but defense is not necessary . . . yet. Then I think of people like Joseph Smith, who died defending Truth, not religion, but TRUTH, and "safety" acquires a new definition. He had a family, a wife, children. What gave him the strength to submit himself to the angry mob as a testament of Truth? What gave any of the Savior's disciples the ability to do the same as they died gruesome deaths, one-by-one giving up mortality as a testimony of their lives lived in the preaching and defense of Truth? The best answer I can come up with is that they knew this life was short. That the existence of this earth is but a blip in the Master's eternal time line. What matters most here on Earth is what we are doing to ensure our safe return to Heaven and our Father. That eternal perspective is what lends weight to the weightier matters of life. While the natural man in me begs to be let loose on my belief system, to make me "cool" in the eyes of society - boasting persuasive arguments revolving around so-called love and compassion - the spirit in me understands that love and compassion cannot abide where Truth is discarded for sympathy and in the name of understanding. My family is safest when they are not only allowed, but encouraged, by all around them (including our esteemed government), to walk the path of Truth. How can I live with myself if I stand idly by as that straight and narrow path is hacked to pieces by a governing body that believes itself to be wiser than my Father in Heaven? How can I live with myself if I sit back and watch as my children stand at the start of that path, rattled by the steady thrum of machinery, tearfully watching as Truth gets mauled by man and their Father stands on the other side of the growing trench with arms outstretched and waiting? Could I face my Father if I didn't defend Truth with every fiber of my being? No. Absolutely not. I would be ashamed. As astounding as it may seem to some, my duty to feed my children, bath them, clothe them, make sure they are not hit by a car, stolen, or assaulted by an angry mob, this duty is but a secondary duty. My primary duty, my most exalted mission on earth, is to nurture their spirits, to make sure they know Truth and have the best possible opportunity to walk that path.* If I do not stand up for what I know to be True - as has been personally confirmed to me by a loving Heavenly Father - then how can I possibly hope that my children will choose to walk its path? For them to turn away from Truth would be the most heartrending experience I could ever have in my life. I know, because I have experienced it to a lesser degree with close family members. It hurts like the dickens.

My heaven is beautiful beyond imagining, with lush, green vegetation everywhere and no mosquitoes; beautiful, crystal aquamarine oceans with no sharks; dazzling blue skies with puffy, milky white clouds. My heaven has weeping willows hanging limp and vibrant over ornate, stone benches. It has hushed, babbling brooks and distant, thundering waterfalls. It has familiar faces, friends, acquaintances - all dressed in white and glowing with peace. But most important of all, situated right at the end of the path of Truth and Good Choices sits a large, sturdy table built of intricate woodwork, boasting a breathtaking spread of the finest foods you could imagine, delicate china, and steaming cups of hot cocoa. In beautiful, high-backed chairs surrounding the feast is every. single. one. of my family members from generations back to generations forward, laughing, talking, hugging, and basking in the glory of Those who sit at the head of the table - our Merciful Father and our Selfless Brother. My heaven is eternal family dinner and I have sworn to my Father that I will do everything in my power to get as many people to that meal as possible. I can't do that if I sit down and shut up when my inherent, heavenly knowledge (a knowledge that has been born in each and every one of us, by the way) is challenged by mere mortals. A wise man once said, "So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me" (Paul to the Hebrews; Hebrews 13:6). A sentiment which was later echoed by another wise man of the Book of Mormon, ". . . Behold, I speak with boldness, having authority from God; and I fear not what man can do; for perfect love casteth out all fear" (Moroni 8:13). So, I stand by my answer. Though I do not, necessarily, have "authority from God," I nevertheless sustain and support those who do. Yes, I will absolutely stand up for what I believe in, even if that means I put my family's safety and security in jeopardy through such activism. Because perfect love is to care more about the welfare of the soul than the welfare of the mortal body. In my opinion, anyway . . . .

What were your thoughts as you submitted your answer to this latest poll?

*Please don't take this to mean that I neglect the temporal needs of my children, propping them up at a table half-starved and exhausted, forcing them to listen to hours of scripture reading in order to earn their food and sleep. Seriously. If you think this of me, you do not know me.


Note: When commenting, please remember to refer to my family members by their pseudonyms to help protect their privacy. Thank you!

Safety, Security, Peace of Mind

If you have linked to our blog, please make sure your link to us does not include our last name. In fact, I would LOVE it if you'd change the link name to our pseudonyms (The Chief and The Boss) or our blog title (The Bagel Factory). Please?

I would also really, really appreciate it if you'd only refer to us by our pseudonyms in any comments you may make. I understand that can get confusing, but you'll catch on and there is a "pseudonym key" to help you out. :0)

Why all the fuss? Well, I like being "public" (we're not listed in Google searches so we don't get that kind of random traffic) to facilitate ease-of-use for Bagel Factory readers (and to be able to have more readers, for goodness sake), BUT I would also like to maintain some semblance of anonymity. I've been interviewed and quoted by a couple of news stations regarding the marriage debate, the most recent interview having occurred on Monday of this week in response to Equality CA's announcement that they would defer their challenge to Prop 8 until 2012. I skipped over to Google and searched my name and discovered that while my name pops up on various news sites from their interview write-ups, it also appears in conjunction with my husband's name on a lot of your blog lists. He supports me and believes as I do about the need for our government to defend and preserve natural marriage rather than undermine it through redefinition, but this is not his battle. Not right now. I chose it. I own it. And, of course, there are the kids. I'm always worrying over the safety of my kids - in relation to Prop 8 and otherwise. Do I sound a bit paranoid and suspicious? Probably. But if you had experienced and discovered and learned what I have since Prop 8 last year, you would undoubtedly feel just a tad bit worried, too. Here's to standing up for what you believe in . . . and keeping your family safe while you're at it! :P

Thanks for understanding, my friends.

If things go south in any way, I may just have to begrudgingly make my blog private again.

Not Yet!

Yesterday at Church I had Bugga and Buddha sitting right next to me for the closing song. Bugga was in charge of finding the hymn in our hymnal. He didn't want any help even though he doesn't know his numbers. So we were still flipping pages when the introduction began. About two seconds into the intro, Bugga stopped searching, looked up at the organist and chorister and yelled, "NOT YET!" How does one keep themselves from giggling at their kids during Church?! It was a struggle, I tell ya.

As if that little incident wasn't enough to brighten my cheeks, we then finished the hymn and proceeded to the closing prayer. I asked the boys to fold their arms. After the prayer had begun, I peeked over at Bugga and noticed his eyes wide open and actively checking out every corner of the chapel. I whispered to him, "practice keeping your eyes closed," after which Buddha leaned over and whispered to him, "pretend that you are sleeping." A split second later we heard this short, sawing noise coming from the direction of Bugga. Snoring. Loud snoring. "Oh good gracious," I thought, "thanks a million, Buddha!" I couldn't stop the laughter this time. And neither could Buddha. And that set Bugga to redoubling his snoring efforts which were framed with giggling of his own. There we sat, the Three Irreverent Amigos, shamelessly chortling over my log-sawing wild child during a prayer. I slouched on my bench, plugged my nose, and tried to control the uncontrollable. Thank heaven the closing prayer was short and sweet, with noise roaring to life at its close, quickly drowning out my silly, snoring sassy pants.

This should give you some idea as to where Bugga learned so much about snoring. Just picture a little buzzed boy sleeping soundly inbetween the agitated mommy and blissfully ignorant daddy.


Note: When commenting, please remember to refer to my family members by their pseudonyms to help protect their privacy. Thank you!

Soccer Mom Failure

I fail with a big fat F.

On Sunday, a couple of friends in our ward were talking about their boys starting soccer. Soccer is something The Chief really wanted Buddha to get into soon since it's something he played and loved as a Junior Bagel. So I asked the ladies if they had a number or e-mail address of someone I could contact to see if I could get Buddha into the league last minute. They did. And I released a scatter-shot e-mail to all the administration, coaches, and organizers that I could. I got a few e-mails back that were hopeful and helpful, and I was eventually connected with the lady in charge of kids under six. She said they had one opening left on one team. Bless my lucky stars and hooray for paying tithing! ;0) Buddha's new coach-to-be contacted me and told me about the special "drills and skills" practice that was going to be held for all the under-sixers this evening. I asked him about uniforms, cleats, etc., but never got a response.

We headed down to the fields late this afternoon and were confronted with organized chaos. Soccer-ball-dribbling tots, unruly cowlicks bouncing along in the wind, scattered everywhere, moving everywhere, bumping into each other and caterwauling all the while. It was glorious. And intimidating for Buddha. He looked thoroughly perplexed and more than a little dubious.

And now begins the story of my greatest shame.

First, we got there late. Typical me. I can survive this one.

Second, all the little bleaters were dressed in the finest of soccer apparel and equipment: jerseys, cleats, shin guards and knee-high socks. Typical California. Not a huge blunder in my book. Buddha can survive this one. Besides, he was wearing his speedy tennis shoes and orange shorts. Orange is his favorite color. So . . . yeah!

But then, as I watched these little sheep roaming all over the field with their soccer balls. A horrid realization dawned on me. Their soccer balls! I had no soccer ball for Buddha. Fail. Big fail. I brought my son to his first soccer practice - SOCCER practice - with no soccer ball. Ack! I marched up to a red-shirted sideliner and asked, "Are you in charge?" "Uh. Yeah. Sure." "Okay, well, I don't have a ball for my son. Can he join in without one?" "Well, he kinda needs one for warm-up since it revolves around the ball." Beaten and ashamed, my heart swelling with sympathy for my kid, the mommy-induced odd man out, I retreated to the sideline and did some quick thinking followed by some quick acting. I put on my happy face and turned to Buddha. "Let's stretch while they are warming up with their balls." Ah blessed oblivion. One year older and I don't think I could have pulled this off. We twisted and turned, reached, stretched, and ran around each other to warm up our muscles sans soccer ball. (So there, exclusive balls-only soccer coach!). Once they split into smaller groups, I was hoping a solution would present itself. Buddha was starting to realize that he was the only kid without a ball. The coaches in his little group had the kids start by dribbling around an imaginary track outlined by a few neon cones. With my happy face pasted determinedly into place, I encouraged Buddha to run around the track with his cohorts, ball or no ball. (I was ready to dance a jig if it would convince him that all was well and he was still cool despite his mommy's ignorance). His face soured. I saw a meltdown coming on. But he surprised me, his soccer mom failure. He bucked up and begrudgingly joined in, whimpering a bit over his lack, and when a different coach spotted his need, he was supplied with a soccer ball of his own. Which he loved, and kicked all over the field, even when the coaches were desperately trying to herd the kids into one, confined area. That's my free-spirited (translate: stubborn) son for ya. After he got his ball, Buddha did brilliantly, proving that four-year-olds really do live in their own special world, kicking his ball out when he was supposed to keep it in, diving onto it with hands outstretched after the coaches said "No hands!", and pouting at me when he "got out" during King of the Mountain. Today we had a conversation about winning during which I assured him that winning doesn't matter and he only needed to try his best to make his mommy and daddy proud. He replied matter-of-factly, "But I like to win." Right. Don't think we got anywhere with that conversation. :P

I failed, but the league saved the day, keeping me in the running for the Coolest Soccer Mom of the Year Award.

Maybe it's the Honda Element. I hear you have to drive a van to be a legitimate soccer mom. Chief, I need a minivan so I can pass my class and redeem my coolness factor for our firstborn!


Note: When commenting, please remember to refer to my family members by their pseudonyms to help protect their privacy. Thank you!

In case you were wondering, the ER is still there.

Remember this? And this? And this? (Yes, it was a well-documented trauma).

And how about this?

Well, it happened again last night, only this time, no ectopic pregnancy, no internal bleeding (we hope), and no surgery. When The Chief came home from a late night of work last night at 10:00pm, I was just starting to feel pain in my lower abdomen. It was a familiar feeling that brought with it much anxiety. As we were getting ready for bed, I conveyed my concern to The Chief, but he did not share it. You see, ever since my trauma last year, with a wholly unexpected yet much-appreciated emergency, life-saving laparoscopic surgery, I have been feeling discomfort around the same time each month (my guess is that it occurs during ovulation). I always just assumed that in addition to a ruptured ectopic pregnancy resulting in a cauterized fallopian tube, I was dealt a fist-full of ovarian cysts that would be with me the rest of my life and make my monthly cycle that much more "exciting" (translate: painful).

Anyway, I woke up at about 2am in severe pain. I tried to walk it off, curl up, stretch out. Nothing helped. Worrying that I was bleeding internally again, I woke up The Chief and we made preparations to head to the hospital. We called a young woman in our ward who was kind enough to come in the middle of the night and take care of our boys. Her dad drove her over and took a moment with The Chief to give me a blessing. I am so grateful for the Priesthood. Then, as the promises of my blessing were fulfilled and my intense pain subsided to a dull and persistent throb, we made our way down to the ONE Kaiser hospital in all of San Diego. Thankfully, the emergency room was slow and we got right in. The hospital surprised me out of my preconceived notions. When it comes to health care, first impressions are everything for me. I judge a hospital by its visible cleanliness. I judge a doctor by his personal appearance. I know this is irrational, but its me. Anyway, I was humbled and penitent as I looked around at a clean and welcoming (albeit FREEZING) hospital.

Urine sample was demanded, blood was drawn, IV hooked up, heart rate and blood pressure monitors attached to my finger, beloved arm, and chest. And there I lay, in the dim light of the emergency room, waiting, listening to the nurses gossip and the other patients hack and gag. The most depressing sound was that of a pathetically bleating child begging his momma not to make him obey the doctor. My heart went out to that mother and my mind flew back to our little house nestled in the golden San Diego hills where my own little guys were sleeping in blissful ignorance. The Chief shifted often and mentioned a need for food. His face was pale and I sent him to find a vending machine so he wouldn't pass out and wind up in an ER bed next to mine. When he returned we amused ourselves by trying to figure out what all the lines and blips and abbreviations on my heart monitor meant. Apparently I have shallow breathing because my lung monitor went off a few times. And apparently I have really low blood pressure because before we left, the doctor commanded that I take four potassium pills to help stimulate my heart. And apparently I have the extremely low heart rate of an athlete (Yeah baby! Darn tootin'!). When looked at as a whole, I am apparently on the verge of collapsing from heart failure and lack of oxygen. :0)

My nurse was cool. She was chipper for pulling an all-nighter in the ER. She liked to joke around with us, a personality trait I have come to appreciate in those surrounding me during stressful situations. As my fluid IV drained itself rapidly into my blood stream, my bladder filled up like a water balloon. I swear that water made no detours into dehydrated body cells. It made a bee-line for my bladder. After complaining that I didn't think I'd be able to provide a urine sample, within an hour of hooking up the fluid IV, I'd visited the restroom twice. After each trip I beat a hasty retreat back to the warmth of my hospital bed and the four heated blankets I'd requested to lay atop my body. It was so cold that eventually The Chief (aka "Understudy for the Sun") stole a blanket from me.

Blood test came back 100% negative for pregnancy. The doctor ordered an ultrasound and a visit to an OB/GYN. And we were discharged. Another good friend from our ward family took the boys all morning while The Chief and I tried to sleep off the night's events. My abdomen is still tender and I can't zip up my pants all the way, but aside from that I'm doing fine. I wonder if this wasn't a wake up call from Heavenly Father to go see a doctor. We have been wanting to have another babe since last year's episode, but pregnancy eludes us. In my head, I've known I needed to schedule an appointment and have everything checked out, but knowing and doing are two very different things for The Boss. Seems pathetic that I'd need a visit to the emergency room to get me back on track. But hey, as with all the quirkiness in this goofy tale, that's just me.

Once again we have many friends and family members to thank for concerned phone calls and generous offers to help out with kids and cooking. We consider ourselves the luckiest people in the world to be so blessed with such an amazing support network. Imagine me giving you one of those neck-wringing hugs while saying a heartfelt "Thanks!" We love you people.

Whew!

Hip hip hooray! I finally, Finally, FINALLY caught up with recording all our summer activities. I've been thinking we were a pretty boring family, but looking back at the activities of the last three months, my mind has been changed. Who knew I just needed to whip out the pictures to feel better about myself? See! Photography is therapeutic!

What a relief. I cannot even tell you how that was weighing me down. I hate being behind. Hate it. Now I'd better back up my blog before something awful happens and wipes out all the latest and greatest. (Knock on wood). I've had so many topics running through my mind that I'd like to blog about, but I couldn't justify sitting down to write out my musings when I was so far behind on our family journal. Now I'll probably just forget everything and have nothing to write about. (Yes, you may call me Puddleglum).

Anywho, here's to me! Here's to being current. Here's to a clean slate. And please pray for my memory so that it won't be three more months before the next post. :P

July '09

- Independence Day with the AZ in-laws. -

This was so much fun! We swam and swam, celebrated Grandpa Bagel's birthday, went to see Wicked, BBQ'd, and talked and laughed and snorted (a Bagel family trait).


Sissy fell asleep wrapped around her baby brother.



Buddha and Bunt showing off their smarts to each other.



Sooz really tapped into her inner kid.



As did The Chief.





Miss Daisy cruised the pool with Buddha.



Isn't Sissy GORGEOUS?!



I love this Sissy dive shot.



The Chief soaks the swimmers.



Sooz takes a happy Bugga for a ride around the pool.







Bunt with his favorite person ever, Rich-E.



Grandpa Bagel on the prowl.







Wicked prep.



I must confess. I got busted for this because instead of stopping the kids from breaking Grandma Bagel's bed, I whipped out my camera. Couldn't help myself! It was too precious to pass up. Sorry Grandma!


- Sculpted with clay. -












- Played in the sprinklers. -


















- Colored on the windows. -




















- Celebrated Mommy's birthday. -




- Pretended to be Mary and Joseph. -






- Made yummy Pesto Pizza. -




- Made Chicken and Rice Stuffed Peppers. -




- Broke in the bean bag with co-op friends. -




- Colored in the bathtub with bath crayons. -






- Painted picture frames for Daddy's office. -