god's snacks

I thought it might help our chances of finding a birth mother if we had a profile on the internet. It can't hurt right? Well, actually, if I were to truly divulge all my little weird idiosyncrasies I'm pretty sure my chances would be shot.

But these are things I can keep under wraps. Maybe not from you, my readers. They are slowly seeping out into my blog over time, but to a girl who stumbles onto our profile site, unaware, I should look pretty normal.

Here, check it out. Tell me what you think.

Do you think a person could ascertain from our photos that sometimes we stay in our pajamas all day, watch Spongebob and eat junk food? Can you tell that I'm the type of girl that sometimes vacuums naked before I jump in the shower? Do you see the crazy dancer that Ben really is?

If it isn't too much trouble, let's just keep these things between us.

If you know someone considering adoption for their child, send them directly to the profile page. We don't want to scare anybody off right away. They can get in touch with us here:

Okay, on to lighter subjects. Well, not really.

We were sitting in church today and they were preparing to serve the sacrament. Thom excitedly and not quietly said, "Yeah! Snacks!"

So being the reverent mom that I am, I said, "Shush. Not snacks Thom, the sacrament. You are supposed to think of Jesus when you take the sacrament. Now sit up and quit picking your nose."

And he replied, "I know Mom. It's God's snacks. God's snacks Mom."

That put me to thinking. The sacrament kind of is like God's snacks. It is meant to be a respite from our daily life. It is to nourish us spiritually and buoy us up for the week to come. A little something to hold us over. Just a little snack.

From the mouth of babes.

the rite of way

(ku)nihito

I was born into a very religious family. Sunday was a day of worship. A day to rest from our labors and reflect on our blessings. Sundays were tradition and family and laughter.

My mother would march us into church Sunday morning scrubbed and plaited and rosy cheeked. We were expected to sit quietly, hands to ourselves, unslouching on the pew. We were expected to take the sacrament without giggling and sing the hymns aloud. She was strict that way.

And yet, without fail, halfway through the hour, she would lean close to me and whisper in my ear, "Roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, green salad, rolls and carrots. And for dessert, your favorite, German chocolate cake. Two layers." Then she would give a quick mischievous grin and poof! she would snap back into a dutiful parishioner.

To say that Sunday dinner is a big deal in my parent's house would be a gross understatement. Resting from our labors doesn't apply to this particular event. Every week two table leafs are brandished and the nice dishes are set. Grandparents arrive in time to kiss every child before the meal is served. Potatoes are mashed and roasted beasts are carved, usually by Grandpa who divys out the samples from the end of the knife.

I don't live near my family now that I'm (supposedly) all grown up. I've tried to recreate the type of Sunday dinner that my mother puts on, but the atmosphere is lacking and my mashed potatoes aren't the same.

I love my little corner of the world here by the sea, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I could be little again and have my mother whisper in my ear and listen to my family laugh together around the dinner table.

Don't forget that you still have today to enter to win the Turtle Papers calendar. Just leave a comment. The winner will be announced on Monday morning.

in this little house

This modest little home has a great legacy. In 1957, a woman named Naomi Randall was raising her family here. My grandmother and Naomi were both serving on the General Board of the Primary Association in the LDS church. The board asked Naomi to compose a song for the Primary General Conference, and after praying for help to accomplish this task, Naomi awoke in the middle of the night and wrote the words to "I am a Child of God".

This little house sits just up the street and around the corner from my parent's home. Thom and I leave to go home tomorrow and although I am really itching to get back to my work bench and garden, and I am really missing Sugar Daddy, I am always a little sad to leave my home town. I have so much history here. My ancestors were some of the founding families. I am quite sure that "I am a Child of God" was one of the first songs I ever learned.

I Am a Child of God
I am a child of God,
And he has sent me here,
Has given me an earthly home
With parents kind and dear.

Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday.

I am a child of God,
And so my needs are great;
Help me to understand his words
Before it grows too late.
I am a child of God.
Rich blessings are in store;
If I but learn to do his will
I'll live with him once more.

I am a child of God.
His promises are sure;
Celestial glory shall be mine
If I can but endure.

FYI: "I am a Child of God" has since been translated into over 90 languages. It is one of the 45 hymns that the church publishes in its basic curriculum sources that are used in areas of the world where the church is new or underdeveloped. Thus, it is typically one of the first hymns that new Latter-Day Saints receive and learn.