Have no fear!

As you can tell by my lack of posts

and my lack of comments on your blog,

we've been busy.

And now we're going out of town.

But to keep you in suspense of my return to bloggerdom,

I may or may not have big news to post when we get home...

Don't fret.

I'll be back.

Bigger and better than ever!

possibly with some exciting news...

See you in May!

Carrie's Rule for Living #6

Have you ever been zinged? Has someone said something so nasty/snotty/rude to you that you just didn't know what to say? I remember this happening in high school. I would be stunned speechless by something a frenemy (don't know what this means? read here) would say that I couldn't say anything. If I did happen to think of something to say, it was usually totally lame and probably just made the snotty person think even less of me. Not that I cared. But I was just zinged. I wanted to zing em right back.

No? This hasn't ever happened to you?

Well, in high school, we (my brothers, sisters, and I) would usually go home and tell Mom all about the mean person who said that mean thing to us. We would always say, "What should I say next time?" as if there was going to be a next time. But when has the same person said the same thing to you twice? Me? Never. Unfortunately. And Mom would always think of the best zinger. It out zinged the frenemy every time. Mom was clever. Mom was witty. Mom was ruthless.

So what does this have to do with anything? I was totally zinged last week. By a seasoned zinger. I've heard this girl say some zippy zingers. And she finally fired one my way. And, of course, I said something totally lame in response. I had flashbacks to all my high school angst. And for the next 48 hours I thought of every zinger I could. And some were really good. Really REALLY good. But the problem with thinking of zingers is you gotta have serious kahonays to say that kind of stuff out loud to the intended zingee. And unlike my frenemy who totally zinged me last week, I just don't got it. Sure, I can storm around my house and spout off about mean people, but I just can't say it to some one's face.

And I don't want to be that girl. Her, the one who zinged me. I don't want to be like her. I want to be the socially awkward person who sometimes says something really stupid and then gets zinged for it. Because I'd rather have people pretend be nice to me for being socially awkward than have people pretend to be nice to me because I'm totally rude. I guess I'm just a champion for the socially awkward. Or maybe I'm the spokesperson since I sometimes tend to be apart of that group.

And maybe that was the beauty of sharing all of this with Mom. She would tell us what to say. And then, eventually, after the anger and hurt wore off, she would tell us why it wouldn't make us feel any better to say whatever clever zinger she thought up. She would tell us about people who sometimes have to say mean stuff to get heard or noticed. She would tell us that sometimes we don't always know what is happening in someone else's life. She taught us compassion. And when I have happened to work up the kahonays to fire my zinger, I would always find that Mom was right. I didn't feel better. Guilt is a great teacher. And my friend who zinged me, her life kinda sucks right now. So, you know, if she needed a punching bag, I'm a good target. Because zingers don't bother me for long. All I gotta do is think of what I could've said. Then realize I don't want to. The lesson here isn't a new one.

Turn the other cheek.

Are you watching?

Have you seen Eli Stone on ABC? NO? Well go here and start watching. I can't plug it enough. It's clean. It's wholesome. It's about random visions of George Michael. It's about a lawyer with a brain aneurysm. It's about doing the right thing. It's about doing good. It's great. No sex. No soap opera drama. No dancing babies.

It's so great. Watch it.

Support decent television!
PLEASE!

The Name Game

As a general rule, I don't play tag. And I don't do blog tags, but as this particular tag is also great family history information and great fun, I relented.


Lainey


Did you know that Lainey was {this close} to being Holly? Holly Miller. That is a cute name, isn't it? But she isn't a Holly. She is 100% Lainey. And here is how we figured it out.


While in P-Town, we hung out with this cousin's fam and their good friends. The friends of my cousin just had a baby like 3-6 months before I was due. And they named her Lainey. I tucked that little name in the back of my head. Tyler and I discussed said name away from the prying ears of the proud new parents, not wanting to offend. Next time we saw them, we politely requested usage of that adorable, perfect name. What was she gonna say? No? They weren't our life long friends, just acquaintances. So, Tyler and I totally poached the name. We weren't completely decided that was it. But in my heart, I was sure. I wouldn't admit it, because I was just too scared it might be wrong when I saw her, but I knew it was the name I wanted.


Weeks later, in the lovely hospital delivery room and moments after our little girl was born, the nurses kindly asked what her name was. Not wanting to decide before we met her, we replied, "We're not sure. We're thinking either Holly or Lainey."


The adorable nurse holds that sweet girl up, and says, "What do you think? Are you Holly?" The nurse pauses momentarily to listen to her response, Lainey is literally minutes old and screaming wildly. "Or are you Lainey?" The nurse pauses again, and we hear Lainey pause slightly in the vocal medley she's performing. There's our answer.


The nurses and the new baby's parents agree. She's Lainey from henceforth and forever. She will always be able to say she picked her own name. We have it on video. I'll add it to the post later if I can figure out how to manage it.


Brady Tyler


We were thrilled when we found out that we were having a boy. Ecstatic. We also had high hopes of repeating our 'ask the baby' method of child naming. So we knew we needed 2 choices. Derrick Tyler or ... blank. We kept drawing blanks.


Finally, my 'rents and little sister, Laurie, come to visit. On Sunday afternoon, the conversation turns to what to name The Boy. Some discussion was had about the type of name we wanted. I was hoping for a quarterback name with maybe some hope for apostleship tossed in there, too. He could totally be both, right? NFL quarterback in his younger years, then, as age and wisdom descend upon him, a calling to the 12. (you know I'm being extremely glib, yes?) Anyway, my sister, Laurie, tosses a name into the hat. What about Brady?


Hhmm... What about Brady? Brady Tyler Miller.


Definitely has the quarterback quotient we're looking for. We consider it. It's on the short list with Derrick as we head to the hospital.


Circumstances being what they are, we forget the whole 'ask the baby' method after our emergency c-section. Sure, we could've tried asking him later, but this method totally loses its efficacy when Baby isn't brand spankin' new, so we deliberate. Whatever. It wasn't a difficult choice. Once again, I was certain he was going to be Brady. And if Baby had chosen Derrick, I, as the one birthing him, would probably have overridden his decision anyway. I asked Tyler, he chose Brady. I would've overridden him, too, but at least now he thinks he did the choosing of our son's cute and athletic and hopefully apostolic name. (here comes the lightening!)


Fun fact about B-Man's name: Tyler's full name is Tyler Brad. Add a letter, switch first and middle and you've got Brady!


So Mommies and Daddies of Bloggerdom, how did you name your kiddos? And if you're currently preggers, what names are you considering? We'll make sure to set you straight about that one that you 'made up' on your own that you think is so great.

Did I tell you?

We went vertical!

Tyler, that is.

Monday, to be exact.

Unbelievably happy, to be even more exact.

So, crutches and the casts for two weeks, but at least we know his feet still work now! And he can drive something besides his wheelchair, which was the biggest pain of it all for me. Life is far from 'back to normal', but

We're on our way!

And if you are wondering what this is all about, click here. Then click here.

If I wasn't writing this down...

Dear Lainey,


My darling girl, we've spent another conference weekend together, one I hope never to forget. If I wasn't writing this down I certainly wouldn't remember how I missed most of Saturday morning's session because you and your brother were distracting in good AND bad ways. If I wasn't writing this down I might not remember how you fell asleep yesterday afternoon, along with Mommy and Daddy (don't worry, we promise to read it all later...). If I wasn't writing this down, I probably wouldn't remember the psychedelic coloring job you did on Joseph F. Smith. He never looked so good, little one. If I wasn't writing this down I may not remember your impromptu ballet dance during the choir's beautiful music. I probably wouldn't remember that you fell and skinned your knees and had a mammoth sized tantrum after conference today, if I wasn't writing this down. And I'd probably forget all about the crazy hair-do we concocted together today and how your hair was inches shorter and feet wider from the curls, if I didn't write it down.


But most importantly, I wouldn't remember two special moments if I didn't write them down. And these are moments I don't want you to forget, either. You see, I will always remember the example you set for me today, my only-4-but-very-smart-little-daughter. As we listened this afternoon to Elder Ballard talk about being a mother, you taught me an important lesson, too. I listened intently, soaking up any advice an apostle can give me in this most important role of my life. As he said that those 'shining moments' as a mother come only sporadically, I thought of that Saturday morning before that was so trying and many, many other trying moments. I didn't know one of those good moments was just about to happen.


Elder Ballard also gave fantastic practical advice to me and to Daddy. And then, as you and Daddy cuddled on the couch, Elder Ballard said he wanted to speak to the children. And Daddy, being the good daddy that he is, made sure you knew to listen. And you did. What did he tell you, Lainey? Will you remember forever his council to you? Maybe not, but when he told you to 'put your arms around your mother' you climbed right off that snugly couch with Daddy and did just what that Apostle of the Lord asked you to do. That might have been the best hug I ever received. Thank you, sweet girl! And then, even more special, after our dinner I asked you to help me unload the dishwasher. Do you know what you said to me? "Sure, I'll help. Because that's what the Prophet said." You remembered that Elder Ballard asked you to help with the dishes. He isn't the prophet, but you got the gist, didn't you?


Lainey, if I wasn't writing this down, I might forget that you, at 4 years old, followed the council of Elder Ballard without hesitation. You really listened to what a man called of God said to you, didn't you? Thank you, my darling daughter, for helping me see the simpleness of the way. Thank you for showing me how easy it can be to follow the Prophet. Thank you for helping me feel hope in this oft times hopeless and never ending challenge that is motherhood. If I wasn't writing this down, I might forget these lessons you've taught me.

But now I'll remember. I wrote it down.