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Budding talent.

As her brothers nap, Jamie Beth sits quietly at the table and copies the words from a picture book. "This is good practice for me, so I can be an author and illustrator when I grow up," she explains. She then asks me to sign her up for a special class this summer, "one where I can read the stories to the kids at library storytime." I'm pretty sure there is no such class, but apparently there ought to be one; I'll keep my eyes open for ways to encourage this unexpected desire.

(Previously, Jamie Beth wanted to be a princess "in England, because that's where they live now.")

A little inspiration.

When I saw this picture as I flipped through the Eddie Bauer catalog, I made an instant decision: I'm taking yoga. I have never taken an exercise class, really never exercised (unless I count dancing with kids or putting the shopping cart away), and honestly, never had a desire to work out and sweat and hurt. However, I have enjoyed every dance class I've ever taken, mainly because I love the feeling of control and balance. So, maybe that's why a graceful, peaceful pose struck my fancy.

I'm writing this post partly to be accountable for my sudden burst of interest in exercise. Be sure to bug me until I follow through.

(And, by the way, when I tried this pose to show Matt what I was talking about, I flopped right over.)

Sigh...

Anyone else reluctant to pack up the Christmas decorations?

Oops

I have just committed my first leave-behind-one-of-my-kids offense.

We had just walked into our house after church yesterday when Dallin asked me, "Where's Matthew?" I closed my eyes as I suddenly realized that I had left Matthew at church.

Every Sunday, as soon as church ends, my family scatters: Jamie Beth and Dallin go with their aunt for an hour to play and have snacks. Matthew races home to pick up his bag of "regular clothes" that he prepared and left in the carport, and then races again to Papa and Nana's house. Matt stays behind to do his financial clerking. So, most Sundays, it's just me and little Nate quietly driving the two blocks home, or the three blocks to Papa and Nana's.

But yesterday was different because it was so cold. Tired Dallin just wanted to stay with me, and Matthew wanted a warm ride to his destinations. I remembered after I arrived home that he had said something like, "I'll be right out, Mom. Wait for me!" Unfortunately, those words barely made it to my brain; I just continued to bundle up the little ones, rushed them to the frigid car, and drove home. Didn't even think about stray 9-year-olds. Lucky for Matthew, he has thoughtful relatives who gather and deliver forgotten children.