Andy's Mission Farewell

So eight months later...here are some pix of the birthday party/mission farewell  we had for Andy.  This is a terrible pic, but as usual, my camera was no where to be found so I had to use my phone.  I drew out the colors of the Uruguayan flag, white, yellow, and royal blue.  It was the end of August so there were sunflowers everywhere, a perfect addition to the table.

I did a picture display on our entryway bench with some mini flags in a garland.  We used pix from birth up to graduation and opening the mission call.

I set out some cards and pens for people to write some wishes/goodbyes for Andy.  We put them in his scrapbook after he read them.

This was a super easy detail but added a lot of drama- I took strips of crepe paper and cut them in varying lengths and then stitched them together on my sewing machine to create a garland.  They mimic the stripes on the Uruguay flag.

The AWESOME cake that my friend Karen made.  




One more shot, close up.  The detail was amazing and it was delicious!  She is super talented!



A little thank-you- mixed kisses and hugs in little paper sour cream containers with a sticker on it that had the address of the blog to keep up with Andy.

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5 ways estrogen could be killing you...

I know, kind of dramatic, huh?  But this is my journal, so I am journaling about my life today.  Do I think estrogen is really killing you? No idea. Perhaps if you are in the same circumstances I am, then it could be.   Do I think it is killing me?   Yes.  Why?  Here we go:

Number 1

Yes, here we have exhibit A:  the nearly graduated high school senior.  She is deceptively lovely and delightful. Talented, brilliant, loving, and mostly happy. BUT! Underneath that charming exterior lies a seething cauldron of teenage angst, independence, and ESTROGEN.  She is ready to fly the coop, and I am ready to let her.  Don't get me wrong-I will miss my daughter, but the DRAMA she comes with, not so much: what drama you ask?  what to wear, what to major in, what to have for dinner, and my all time favorite, what to order in the drive through, which usually occurs immediately AFTER we order at the drive through.  Then there is the classic burst into tears if you ask me about my day, for no particular reason. It will probably be boring around here when she goes off to BYU in the fall. Then again, maybe not:  

                       Number 2

              

That's because we have exhibit B-the middle schooler!

She is also lovely and delightful.  Also, very responsible, self-motivated and organized.  Clearly brilliant and talented as well.  But she got her mother's tendencies toward control-freakiness.  Is that a word?  It is now.  Mix that with the hormonal changes beginning to take place, and we have an ESTROGEN BOMB and no way to disarm it.  Luckily, she won't be leaving home for several more years, so she has some time to even out.  Because, once again:  DRAMA.  Usually about being late, or not doing things the right way, or most often about Number 3 doing something to drive her absolutely bonkers, like breathing.  You know, something annoying like that.  We LOVE puberty!

                        Number 3

Exhibit C-the 3rd grader.  DO NOT be fooled by that smile.  Or those dimples.  Or those big, gray/blue eyes.  This girl can throw some world class tantrums.  I don't know if it is a function of the estrogen, or of being the baby of the family.  She is also beautiful, brilliant, talented, and kind.  But she can push every one of my buttons. I think we are finally starting to outgrow some of that; probably just in time to arrive at puberty!  Yay.


                                               Numbers 4 and 5

Exhibit D and E:  the dogs.  Who are both girls.  I know.  Why we have so many girls in this house, I don't know.  But there it is.  They are spayed, but they still have estrogen.  How do I know?  Because they are also dramatic little princesses.  They spend their days ordering me around to let them in.  Or out.  Or feed them.  Or water them.  Or put them on the bed.  Well, that is just Sara, our 13 year old dog.  Sugar just hops right on top of me, and nestles in between my legs like that is her bed.  They are also cute and brilliant.  

Actually, maybe I should be Number 5, because I have entered the wondrous world of perimenopause. What is that you ask?  Well, it is all the ups and downs of the 11 year old, with the tantrums of the baby, and the insecurities that the high-schooler has!  Plus, night sweats.  Fun stuff. I really think it might kill me.  But don't feel sorry for me.  You should feel sorry for my husband.  Who,since Andy left for college and then a mission, is the ONLY man in this house of 6 girls.  Bless his heart.   

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Why you shouldn't keep your jammies in the same drawer with yourworkout clothes

This isn't a rhetorical question, like "where do socks go when you put them in the dryer?" or "am I the only person in here who can see that huge pile of unfolded laundry?" or " what is it exactly that meatloaf won't do for love? He'll do anything else, but not this?"
I guess that's not really a question in the title, more like a thesis statement. Anyway, I digress. The reason you shouldn't keep your workout clothes in the same drawer as your jammies is that you may be running late one day. And then, you will remember you have a hot streak of two days at the gym running, so you will run to your room and throw some clothes in your bag. Fast forward to after work, into the gym bathroom, where you have on yoga pants, socks, shoes, and sports bra. You reach in to your bag and grab your gray t-shirt...I mean, your gray pajama bottoms! I will admit right now that if it had been the gray pj top I would have totally worn that sucker. But I couldn't quite figure out what to do with the pants. Wrap them like a sarong-type thing? Wear them on my head? And keep in mind that just wearing a sports bra as a top is only acceptable if you are under the age of 30 and/or you look like Jillian Michaels. I am neither of those things. However, wanting to keep my aforementioned fitness streak going, I dug in my bag and found a black hoodie sweatshirt. That zipped. So I could wear it over the sports bra but zipped down to have a little ventilation and even look not as frumpy as I usually do when working out. I am not going to lie. It was hot. But I persevered and did my 40 minutes of HIIT! Now I am going to celebrate with a Reese's peanut butter cup. But with a diet coke, so the calories are canceled out. True story. And I am packing for the gym the night BEFORE from now on.

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How to Give a Missionary a Heart Attack

Not a real one of course.  That would be crazy!  But I am always trying to think of ways to brighten our missionary's day, and since Valentine's Day is coming up, we sent him a heart attack!  Even though I am pretty sure they don't celebrate Valentine's Day in Uruguay.  It's a great excuse for chocolate.  Right?

 Step one is to cut out a bunch of paper hearts.  Any size, any shape.  I advise having your three daughters do this.  If you don't have three daughters, look around.  Someone does.  You can borrow mine.  Then, write some sweet nothings on your hearts.  Or sweet somethings.  I think we wrote things we love about Andy, and also Valentine's wishes.  I use the term "we" loosely, because I was so busy getting everything together, that I didn't write on one. single. heart.  *sigh*  What kind of missionary mom am I?  Anyway, he still got lots of love from the girls and dad, and schlepping the package to the post office and filling out the customs form should get me some props, right?

Step two.  Throw in a whole bunch of candy.  We did hugs, kisses, and peanut butter hearts.  I would do whatever your missionary/recipient likes.  Sprinkle liberally over the hearts. 

Step three.  Since we are sending this to a boy, I always try to include some kind of toy that can be thrown, flipped, or bounced.  For some reasons, missionaries never get tired of those kinds of things.  Jumping frogs are perfect.  Plus, I figure he can always give them away to little Uruguayan kids.  

That's it!  Super simple and guaranteed to make someone's day!  And way more fun than a real heart attack.  Also, a lot less serious.  

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