ch-ch-ch-changes

We are moving.

Really soon.

And somehow my mom has conveniently booked at trip to the District "to see my sisters" next week.

That is code for "heaven help me, I can't handle helping you move..."

Just kidding.

But not really.

It's ok. I know where I rate, and it is understandably below the cute little grandbabies.

Anyway.

We are moving.

Tonight I spent some time pulling out nails and washing walls, trying to erase the evidence that we have lived here for almost 17 years.

And it makes me melancholy.

Oh well.

as sands in the hourglass ...

holy cow. I just scrolled down a little on my blog and I encountered a post from the last day of school, 2010. And here we are on the last day of school, 2011. how in the world did that happen?!!!? I am afraid. Very afraid.

In just three short months, the Middle Carrotstick will be entering Junior High. And the Oldest Carrotstick will be a Junior in High School. The thought just makes me want to weep. At least my baby (dramatically pronounced: bayh-bee) will still be safely ensconced in Elementary School.

I remember when I was first put into Young Womens. I looked at my girls who were Juniors in High School and thought they were so old and so mature. Now I look at my daughter and I think "She's just a baby. She's not old. She's not mature. She's just a child."

Earlier this year, in this never-ending spring, the Oldest Carrotstick went to a Stake meeting to start planning Stake Girls Camp. Before they got down to business they did some team building and get-to-know-you activities. One question the girls were all asked was: "If you could be guaranteed success at one thing, what would you do?" The girls went around the room and shared their responses. One girl said "I would convert the whole world." Another girl said "I would cure cancer." and so forth. Then it got to the Oldest Carrotstick. And what was her dream?

"I would fly."

See what I mean. Mature? Junior in High School? Not so much. Junior High? Possibly.

I just wish I could make all three Carrotsticks stay my little babies.

Unfortunately, they are all too eager to grow up.

Curses.

what's in a name?

Hey look! It's May and I'm actually posting! It's only been 4 months since my last post. Ah-maz-ing. Enough of your sarcasm, people. Read on for the story!

In our morning scripture study today, the boys and I were reading Alma 54 -- the correspondence between Ammoron and Moroni, negotiating the exchange of prisoners. We try to read every morning, and we take turns reading so that no one falls asleep.

It was the Middle Carrotsticks turn to read. He read along, in not quite monotone. The Youngest Carrotstick and I followed along (the Oldest Carrotstick was at school already -- enduring 4 weeks of 5:30 am drivers education -- and PB&J was off in southern lands). Eventually, the Middle got to verse 23. And he read:

" I am a Moron, and a descendant of Zoram, whom your fathers pressed and brought out of Jerusalem."

instead of "I am Ammoron, and a descendant of Zoram...."

And boy, how those boys laughed. Some things will never change -- little boys and their sense of humor being one of them.

a fairy tale

once upon a time, many many months ago, a little princess named Oldest Carrotstick (called Carrot for short) went on a journey with her sometimes wicked mother to a far off land called the District.

the journey to the District was a long and tiring one. it involved an early morning ride in a horseless carriage, flying through the clouds for many many hours, and then, before the journey was done there was a frantic sprint through a unfriendly and confusing train station, through which the poor princess had to drag her own bag -- heavily burdened with a weeks worth of outfits, accessories, and shoes.

finally, Carrot and her mother, the lowly Lunch Lady, were met by a beautiful Farm Girl. she smiled happily at them and embraced them and they were overjoyed (especially because the Farm Girl was with child and it was very exciting to see her little baby bump). without delay, Farm Girl whisked the two weary travelers out of the oppressive labyrinth, onto a speeding subway train, and finally to her awaiting carriage. shortly thereafter, the gentle and congenial Farm Girl delivered them to a calm, clean, and quiet room on the 7th floor of the Marriott castle. it was a wonderful thing.

After a delightful dinner with the Farm Girl and he who is of Beaver Mountain fame, and a strange and disappointing cupcake by the name of "Peanut Butter Bacon", Carrot and the Lunch Lady retired to their rooms, to rest their weary heads.

Alas, all was not well for our dear young heroine. The Oldest Carrotstick declined her mothers generous offer to share her lovely king-sized bed with its down comforter and generous selection of pillows-- for which the Lunch Lady was deeply grateful -- choosing rather to sleep on the hide-a-bed. But how could our fair princess sleep when the bed had but one thin blanket and a mere two pillows!

Never fear, dear reader. For the OCS is a maiden of great courage and fortitude. She reached for the awaiting phone, and without further ado, she called the Housekeeping Staff and importuned,

"Um, hi. This is room 727. Can I get 5 more blankets and 7 more pillows?"

I kid you not.

And she slept happily ever after for the rest of her spring break trip.