Though definitely not the ocean, St. George has become our happy place!

Going to St. George has become a family tradition. "Why there?" you might ask. "Why not there?" is the best answer I have. A native of Western Oregon, I'm not used to living in a landlocked state. The ocean is my happy place, and ne'er do I go home to visit my family without spending at least one day on the lovely Oregon coast. But here in Utah, there is no ocean to go to, so a few years ago, we started going to St. George.

St. George has become our happy place...mine, Shulamith's, Seth's, Eli's, Amanda's. It's reached the point where we can't leave to come home until we've settled on a date for next time.

It's not because of any one thing in particular. We love the red rock, but that wouldn't be enough on its own to keep bringing us back.

Is it the crepes at The Crepery? Partly, sure. This past weekend, we ate crepes twice, once for breakfast Friday morning (savory crepe with ham, cheddar, and dill cream cheese sauce), and once Saturday afternoon (sweet crepe with cheesecake filling, bananas, and chocolate sauce). Also, please pronounce the word "crepe" correctly, with a short /e/ sound, not a long /a/. Thanks.

Is it the street tacos from El Coyote Charro? Partly, sure. We also went to Coyote twice.

Or the cupcakes at TwentyFive Main? No. It can't all be about food. I've decided the joy of our trips to St. George is pretty simple. Away from home and away from the stresses of regular life, we have time to be together, which is sometimes harder to orchestrate at home, with jobs, housework, family responsibilities. Time together is a precious commodity because not only are we family, more importantly, we are friends.

This recent trip drifted sideways for just a bit when this happened, but was quickly back on track. It was quite warm, but our Airbnb was literally 20 steps from a beautiful pool, so the heat was not a problem. We swam every day. One morning while it was still cool(ish), we went to Thunder Junction All Abilities Park, a very cool splash park. At night we played games, Phase 10 and What Do You Meme? I TIED Shulamith in Phase 10; don't let her tell you otherwise. The Meme game, though; that was all Eli.

Always an additional treat for me is getting to see my friend, Patty. Patty lives in LaVerkin, and she always makes time for me when we're in town. Sometime she brings Bryan. Sometimes she brings Lindsey. But mostly, she brings Claire, and this was one of those times. Thanks Patty and Clairy for a great visit!

Until next time, St. George. You have be come our happy place.

Because Seth claims nothing exciting ever happens in our family...

Each Monday (P-day), we get to communicate with Seth. Because of a recent policy adjustment, we oftentimes even get to video chat with him, and it's pretty perfect, not gonna lie! With my other two missionaries and for the first six months of Seth's mission, the only days we got to do that were Christmas and Mother's Day, four times in the entire two years! Now, though, unless something comes up in the mission (which it does some weeks), we get an hour or so to talk to Seth every Monday.

During that time, he tells us all about his week. He makes us laugh. He makes us cry. He makes us so grateful--grateful for this opportunity, grateful for the gospel, grateful for incredible mission presidents, grateful for Seth's daily decision to serve! It's a lovely chat, especially on those weeks that the Internet connection cooperates. About half the time, the screen freezes, or we can't hear Seth, or Seth can't hear us, or our voices cut out. It's Paraguay. Technology isn't the best. Still, this policy came in the nick of time because this missionary mama was about to lose her feeble mind.

Every week, at some point in our conversation, Seth remarks that, once again, we have nothing to tell him. That's because our lives are pretty lame, some might even say "boring," though quite honestly, I'm just fine with boring. Too much drama is bad for my health. But Seth always wants a story to tell, and I never have anything. Church members in Paraguay know he gets to talk to us on Mondays, so on Tuesday, they often ask, "How's your family, Elder Erichsen?" to which he replies, "Fine." "Anything new?" they ask. "Nope, not one thing."

Until this week. I had a story this week. For reals.

It all happened Friday night, when most of us were in St. George on a four-day getaway to sunshine, swimming, and copious amounts of fattening food. (Blog post on St. George trip coming up after this one.) We had been there just one night and were strolling around Albertson's, when my phone rang. Caller ID indicated Isaiah, which immediately sent fear pulsing through my body. Isaiah doesn't call me with good news, or even neutral news. He texts. Always. The last time he called me was five years ago when he got in a car wreck, so you can see why I panicked.

Me: "Hey!" (trying to sound calm).
Isaiah: "So your stupid dog escaped, and I can't find him."
Me: "Oh no! Are you looking for him on foot?"
Isaiah: "Yeah, I've been walking around the neighborhood, but now I'm gonna get in the car and try to find him."
Me: Thanks! And sorry.

Why sorry? Because it's not Isaiah's dog, nor was it ever Isaiah's decision to get a dog. The dog belongs to Seth, who is (as noted above) all the way in Paraguay. Since he left, the dog has attached himself to me (literally, if I'd let him), terrified that I'll leave him too. To say he isn't fond of Isaiah and Gerald is an understatement. He's a rescue dog from a shelter, and I'm pretty sure he was mistreated by a tall guy, leaving him terrified of males over 6 ft., though he always liked Seth, and he's also fine with Eli.

I felt so bad for Isaiah, having to deal with this all by himself in 100 degree heat, but no one else was available. Gerald was at work. Eli, Amanda, Shulamith, and I were all in St. George.

...and then a crappy situation got even worse.

First, Isaiah sent me a picture with Waffles in the backseat of his car, with the text. "I hate this dog."

Well, yes, I'm sure you do, but at least he's found! Hooray! Huge relief. All that stuff.

Then my phone rang again. Caller ID: Isaiah. Panic.

"Mom, I tried to get Waffles into the house, but he wouldn't let me near him, and he bolted into the street, and a car hit him!"

Oh my goodness, nooooo!

Now, before you get too worried, spoiler alert: Waffles is fine. Just fine. Relax.

But Isaiah didn't know that at the time, and the guy who hit Waffles was... (hmmm, how can I describe him, using language that won't offend my readers?). No idea.

Seems to me there are a couple reasonable ways you could react after hitting a dog:

#1 You might get out of your car, and say something like "Oh I'm so sorry this happened. Is he okay? How can I help?"

#2  If you're extremely busy or late for work or something, maybe you'd stop and say, "I'm so sorry, but I can't stay. I have to get to work, but I hope he's okay."

But this guy, nope, none of the above. Instead, he got out of his car and immediately launched a verbal attack on Isaiah:

Lacing the F-bomb through his diatribe, he lectured Isaiah about responsible pet ownership and how only an idiot would take a dog out for a walk without a leash in 100 degree heat.

Yeah, no shit.

He obviously knew nothing about the situation or that Isaiah was just trying to get his baby brother's dog back home because no one else was here to do it.

Finally, after standing in the street being yelled at for way too long, Isaiah said, "Dude, if you aren't gonna help me, just leave. I need to take this dog to the vet." And the guy left. And we texted Isaiah the address of a 24-hour emergency vet.

I texted Gerald, and he met Isaiah there. They waited together, not knowing if Waffles was alive or dead. We waited in St. George. Waiting is hard. Finally, a technician came out and told them Waffles was stable and doing well. Turns out he was very hot (temperature 3 degrees above normal!) and very dehydrated, you know, from running around the streets of Midvale for over an hour in the hottest afternoon we've had yet this summer. They gave him IV fluids, cleaned up his minor abrasions, and sent him home, with his two least favorite people in the world. But at least he was alive.

And we had a story to tell Seth yesterday. Now Seth and Waffles have something in common: Both have been hit by cars and come out of the experience nearly unscathed. Oh, you don't remember when Seth got hit by a car? Well, here it is, right here.

And here's a picture of him and his Waffles.

Happy Fourth of July Birthday, Kennedy!

It's hard to have your birthday the day after the Fourth of July. Everyone is already tired of celebrating, and tired in general from being up late the night before. But five years ago, in the heat of summer, when Shulamith's doctor happened to say, "Nope, nothing has changed. No way you're gonna go into labor on your own. If you want to, we can deliver by C-section July 5th," she was all in!

So now this poor girl is stuck with a post-Fourth of July birthday for life. It could be worse, I guess. It could be Christmas.

The funny part is, I think on some level Kennedy believes that people celebrate the Fourth of July in honor of her birthday. Every time she sees red, white, and blue stuff, she says they are "July colors" and that it's because of her birthday. That said, she still prefers Halloween over all other holidays, so she was determined to have a Halloween birthday party in July, complete with face painting courtesy of Amanda:

...but back to the Fourth.  Our celebration was full from start to finish. After stopping by our stake's annual Freedom Breakfast to say hi to Eli (who was there to make pancakes, though ultimately they didn't need him), I headed to meet Shulamith at a big parade on State Street. Parades are so fun, and this one really was. Floats came by one after the other. Kids scrambled to gather candy thrown by float riders. Marching bands played. It was just perfect.

In the afternoon, we went to a fair in Riverton, where Shulamith and I shared some chicken and rice (sorta healthy), followed by a funnel cake (not as healthy, but delicious). As it got closer to dark, I found myself missing Seth so much. He loves the Fourth of July. He and Isaiah always go together to get fireworks. This year, Swen had to take his place and go with Isaiah.

This nostalgic mom kept thinking back to Fourths of the past, especially the one I wrote about here exactly 10 years ago. I know the blessings Seth is receiving from serving his mission reach far beyond what even he can understand, but still I miss him. Next year on the Fourth of July, he will be almost home. Hold that thought.

We waited not so patiently for it to be dark enough, and finally, Isaiah began the annual fireworks display.

It was excellent, and just like that, it was over, but not before I grabbed this next picture. Here are three of the most amazing people I know. I am so proud of each of them and so grateful to call them my friends:

The following day, though tired from all this partying, it was time to celebrate Kennedy's birthday. She picked Waffle Love for breakfast, but she was mostly interested in opening her presents. Before I go any further, let me tell you that both her mother and I consider ourselves fairly fashion savvy. We love clothes and know what looks good and what doesn't. However, there's this girl named Jo Jo, who is a fashion nightmare. She is now 16 but started performing as a much younger child, singing, dancing, and making YouTube videos that encourage children to make good choices. Her only problem: her choice of clothing, which includes giant hair bows and hideous dresses, like this one:

Eeeeek! But Kennedy loves her, and has wanted one of these dresses for months now, so believing that people should get exactly what they want for their birthdays, not what anyone else thinks they should have, her mom and I got her this Jo Jo dress. And this Jo Jo jacket:

She was delighted.

Which is all that matters.

From Waffle Love, we headed to Classic Fun Center to play for a couple hours. By this point everyone was exhausted, including the birthday girl, so we took a break for some R & R. That night Shulamith's sons stayed home with their dad, and we took Kennedy for girls' night out: pedicures and dinner at Cheesecake Factory.

We all had pretty toes for Kennedy's friend party the following day, which brings us back to the top of this post, with Halloween cupcakes and face painting.

Happy Fourth of July birthday, Kennedy! This was your "golden" birthday, as you turned 5 on the 5th!

Third Annual Halfway Christmas: Best Fake Holiday Ever!

Merry Halfway Christmas, everyone!!!!! Oh wait, you don't celebrate Halfway Christmas? I'm so sorry. Really, I am because it's seriously the best fake holiday in the history of ever. It has much of the same vibe as the real Christmas, without a fraction of the stress. This was our third time; we celebrated here in 2017 and here in 2018.

This time might have been our best yet, were it not for the fact that Seth wasn't here. So as I sit here with Google Hangouts open, anxiously waiting/hoping he'll be able to call today (P-day), let me briefly report the details of this year's celebration.

After church, we all put on our Christmas jammies from this past year, and oooh, they were warm, especially for June! I think Shulamith's daughter Kennedy is the only one who kept her woolly fleece top on the whole time; the rest of us just wore our bottoms with t-shirts.

Food was the first order of business. We feasted on our favorite egg casserole with cinnamon toast, grilled lemon pepper chicken and baked potatoes, followed by a rousing game of "What Do You Meme?" By then, we were ready for dessert: banana cream pie, and brownie ice cream sundaes. Mmmm!

Then Eli used his 2018 Christmas Spotify station and played us some lovely Christmas music, while we opened presents. We had drawn names, so everyone got one gift with a $15 limit. The goal is the joy of giving to each other, as we remember the reason we celebrate Christmas, and not to break anyone's budget in the middle of summer.

Here are some pics of the festivities:

Shulamith, opening her Bath and Body Works candle 

Amanda opening her expansion pack to "What Do You Meme?"

Eli opening a fan for his new classroom

The next day, me wearing my new dress, complete with pockets so I can teach Gospel Doctrine

Now hard as this may be to believe, not everyone loves Halfway Christmas as much as we do. I know, right? But Isaiah and Matt are definitely not into it, so they didn't draw names or buy presents. Instead, Isaiah spent some bonding time with Shulamith's baby, Theodore, teaching him the correct way to play video games:

And we never celebrated Matt's birthday in May, so we took the opportunity to give him his very belated birthday present:

Merry Halfway Christmas, everyone! Oh wait, you don't celebrate Halfway Christmas?  Well, you have a whole year to remedy that. Talk to your family. Plan now for Halfway Christmas 2020. You won't regret it.

Would you like to walk about?

For the past 10 months, in addition to adjusting to Seth being on a mission in Paraguay, I've also been adjusting to being in a brand new ward. I really think it would have been easier not to face both these adjustments at almost exactly the same time, but no one asked my opinion. Now this new ward seems to have lots of traditions that date back all the way to the restoration, so we Sixth Ward transplants need to catch up. One such tradition is called the "Hostess Dinner," which happened a couple months ago. That was a good evening although I kept wanting to go sample the food from the other tables. I refrained.

Another tradition happens in the summer and is called the "Walk About." They put signs up all around the neighborhood, encouraging everyone to come out and, well, walk about. Then they ask three families to host. These families put up a "Stop" sign in their yards, set out some chairs, and have treats ready for people walking about. That sounds easy enough (WAY easier than hosting a table for the Hostess Dinner, coming up with a theme, decorating (eeek!), and planning food (double eeek!). So when the bishopric counselor emailed and asked me if we would be one of the hosts for the Walk About, I quickly agreed.

Then I thought, "Wait, what did I just agree to???"

You see, I love hosting people in our home. My annual Christmas cookie exchange is one of the highlights of my year, and I welcome other opportunities as well to share our home with friends. Our home, NOT our yard. In fact, whenever we're expecting guests, I pray they will just pull up to the house, look neither left nor right, and quickly make their way to the front door and inside. Why? Because my yard looks like crap. Always. It pretty much looks like the house is abandoned, and I'm not even kidding. I try so hard, but I'm not good at yard work, and I basically hate it, so yeah. It's terrible.

So just after I agreed to host this Walk About deal, it occurred to me that I just said yes, not to people coming to visit my house, no. I just said yes to people coming to visit my YARD! Ahhhhhhhhh. What was I thinking? Enter my favorites Eli and Amanda, who came to my rescue and tried to help. Amanda edged and weed-whacked like a mad woman, while Eli pulled weeds and clipped branches. I mowed the lawn and raked up foliage into the dumpster.

Truth, it still looks like crap, but slightly better crap.

The night of the Walk About it was a tad stormy. Wind blew, and at one point rain threatened to dampen (literally) my chairs, tables, and plates of brownies. But that didn't last long, and ultimately the event was lovely. Several families came by, some from the ward, others from the neighborhood and not members of our church. There were lots of hungry kids who liked brownies; good thing I made three pans. It was really such a nice time. No one mentioned my crappy yard, but then of course no one would. I didn't think about it too much either because there were so many nice folks to talk to.

I hear they do these Walk Abouts a couple more times during the summer, so if you live in the neighborhood and see the signs, I highly recommend you come.

Would you like to walk about?

Prepping food, wearing orange, and finding common ground

This past weekend was busy, way busier than I like. I have two friends who live all their days like this, crazy busy from start to finish. One is the head pastor of a protestant church, and the other works two, nearly full-time jobs. But me? Nope. I like my "down time" way too much. I very much enjoy doing absolutely nothing.

Occasionally, though, a weekend comes along that is jam-packed full of activity, and I think to myself, "This is what every day is like for Rebecca and Patty." They are truly awesome, by the way, both of them.

So Friday night I set up two crock pots full of food: El Pato chicken meat in one and teriyaki chicken in the other. Those cooked overnight, and were ready to bag up Saturday morning. Then I went to the store and bought stuff for spaghetti sauce and ground turkey taco meat. Back home, I cooked all that up, and the final result of all this was 10 family freezer meals and 11 individual frozen dinners. I really hate to cook, so this is huge, people.

Already on a serious path of productivity, I drove to DI and dropped off all the bags of clothes from the back of my car, then took my car through a car wash, vacuumed out the interior, wiped down every surface, and even spot cleaned the upholstery here and there. How impressed are you? Right?

By then it was time get ready for the adult session of stake conference, so I showered and got dressed and headed to Mac Grill for a quick dinner and chat with Amanda, who had only a couple tables at the time. Eli was working the expo line, so he couldn't really talk to me, but at least I could see him, and that's better than nothing.

The adult session was good; I got to hug so many people from our former ward. All of them asked about Seth! In the new ward, people don't know Seth, so of course they don't ask about him. Why would they? It was lovely to see so many friends.

I came back home and did school work until falling into a state of blissful sleep, which lasted the entire night, a definite victory, when all too often my stupid anxiety doesn't allow me a full night's sleep. Woke up Sunday morning feeling great; donned my only orange dress, in honor of National Gun Violence Awareness Weekend; and drove to the stake center an hour early for the general session because no, I can't handle the hard, folding chairs way back in the gym. Instead, I found a nice padded pew near the front, where I sat with Eli, who had been at an earlier leadership meeting, and worked on my gospel doctrine lesson for next week.

Both sessions of stake conference were enjoyable. Several young adults spoke Sunday morning, including Seth's good friend, Daniela! She is working to complete her mission papers, and Seth is super excited to find out where she goes. Another young man spoke, who had recently completed a service mission. His pure testimony was inspiring, and I was so grateful he was asked to speak.

Throughout the weekend, I was pulled into a discussion on social media about finding common ground with those whose opinions are different from ours, political perspectives in particular. (Wow, I didn't even plan that alliteration, but dang it works, huh?) As I participated in this discussion and thought about my many relationships with folks whose opinions differ from mine, in some cases, intensely, I was reminded how thankful I am for the ability to find common ground. There is always common ground. For example, there's the person whose comment on my post initiated this discussion. He and I agree on nothing related to politics, absolutely nothing. And yet! We both want the Toronto Raptors to crush those Warriors and send them right home. Common ground.

We are, every one of us, children of Heavenly Parents. And ultimately, what else really matters? Whose we are is far more significant than we can even imagine! That's what I thought about throughout this busy weekend as I spent Saturday prepping food. That's what I thought about Sunday as I wore my orange dress and remembered those who died so tragically, victims of preventable gun violence. And that's what I was taught in so many ways in stake conference. When we remember whose we are, we can always find common ground.

In Search of Dresses with Pockets

Have you ever noticed that most dresses don't have pockets? Me either. It never mattered. But suddenly, it has become urgent that I have dresses with pockets to wear the 1st and 3rd Sundays of each month.

I have a total of 37 dresses. Exactly two of them have pockets. (Aside: no judgment on the 37 dresses. I like clothes.)

As you may remember, last September we were transferred into a new ward. For quite a while, I didn't have a calling, and I happily wore my pocket-less dresses each week. A while back, though, I was called to teach Gospel Doctrine (hooray!), and now I need pockets.

Why? This new ward has several people with hearing difficulties, so they like teachers to use a microphone. The former teacher carried a hand-held mic and passed it back and forth, sort of "talk show host" style, but my teaching mode just doesn't vibe with worrying about a microphone. So, one very kind Sunday School President and one equally kind Bishopric Counselor worked it out for the ward to purchase a clip-on, cordless mic setup. It wasn't easy for them, and I am so, so grateful. The microphone part clips onto my collar and attaches to a little box deal that needs to go in my pocket.

Except only two of my dresses have pockets.

A few other dresses look decent with my long, beige, pocketed cardigan over the top, so that's worked a couple times. But this past week, I was in full-on clothes crisis mode, trying to figure out what to wear! Church starts at 9:00, and by 8:50 I was still in my underwear shouting, "There MUST be more dresses here with pockets!"

But no.

With the weather warming, I probably won't even want to wear the cardigan, and no, I don't want to wear the same two dresses every 1st and 3rd Sunday. Is a shopping trip in order? In search of dresses with pockets? Granted, I don't necessarily need any new dresses, but desperate times and all that.

So if you're ever browsing online or wandering through a clothing store and happen upon a cute dress with pockets, ping me. I'll be forever grateful.