Office Halloween Party!

For the past few years, my office has thrown a kids-friendly Halloween party. This year was the first time that our small zoo managed to make an appearance. And it was quite the scene! Many of my co-workers, including ones who aren't married and/or don't have kids, went all-out decorating the place. There were fun games, loads of candy, laughs and ahhs and nice compliments as gaggles of little kids sauntered through four floors in our office building. 

Most every co-worker of mine knows that I have four kids. Some still couldn't believe it was true, despite the visual evidence! We spent about an hour traipsing through the building. Below are some of the highlights. Becky dropped our kids off and then stayed in our Blue Bomber mini-van in the parking lot, catching up on rest and reading and phone calls. 

Below, Grouse and Daddy at the end of the Halloween mischief. He was zapped and stuffed with candy. I had resisted the bowls of candy and junk food, because in late October I was at my lowest weight in 3 years (near 163 pounds), and I was determined (still am) to keep as much of the seasonal weight-gain at bay this year.

Here is Yours Truly the Graduate! Easiest adult Halloween costume.

Goose dressed as a baker. She cheerfully played along at Halloween this year, but she's fast approaching the age where the magic of dressing up is losing its luster. I think she was sensitive to sticking out compared to all of the younger kids who were dressed up, like she wasn't cool enough to not dress up. 

Mouse went as a witch! She quickly grew tired of the pointy hat on her head, but she then used it (or, in business-speak) "disruptively innovated" it as her candy bag. Clever girl! 

Our kids and Marina, who (in business-speak) "project managed" our office Halloween party this year, with a lot of help from other co-workers.

Moose and Mouse (in the black-and-blue dress, with the gray streaks in her black wig) in the 5th floor conference room, catching a break at the end of the festivities.

Daddy and our kids outside my cobweb-draped office. Grouse was a dragon, Goose was a baker, Moose was a Star Wars stormtrooper (thanks to Mommy's awesome home-made costume), and Mouse was a witch.

Our small zoo before heading in for the Halloween goodies!

Moose in his Stormtrooper costume. His gun was a fortuitously shaped block of wood that had a "handle" on the bottom of the branch, like a gun's handle. We wrapped black electrical tape all around the wood, and Becky sewed a loop of fabric onto a black belt to create his gun holster. His chest, wrist, shoulder, knee, and back plates were from Costco plastic trays, which Becky spray-painted white. He wore regular white winter gloves, black thermal underwear, a long-sleeved black shirt, and Mouse's old black boots, which Becky spray-painted white. They were fraying along the ankles and calves, but Moose didn't mind. He said it made the boots look like he'd been in battle! 

Favorite Spot

This park, this place, is a little slice of heaven for me. I try to visit it each autumn when it is in the full glory of a New England foliage masterpiece. This year, due to a months-long drought, the leaves changed later and hung around longer than normal. So when I visited this park in late October, the visuals were not as stunning as in years past. 

Still, it's a place that I've visited since my childhood.  Not much has changed about it, and there isn't a ton to do once you're there. But a little stream runs through it. You can walk through wooden covered bridges over the water. It is wonderfully quiet and inviting. We have not taken our kids here yet, oddly, since it's on the way to my parents' house. I have dreams of bringing my canoe to this park and spending a spring afternoon on the nearby river, from which the park's stream shoots off. 

If we ever leave New England, this would be one place I would longingly miss. 

"The greatest form of charity..."

"...may be to withhold judgment." 

So said recently one of the leaders in our Mormon Church, Jean B. Bingham. She quoted a friend, who had said these words years before. "One of the most significant ways we can develop and demonstrate love for our neighbors is through being generous in our thoughts and words. Some years ago a cherished friend noted, 'The greatest form of charity may be withholding judgment.' That is still true today."

Amen!  

Becky and I have been drawn to this phrase. She is focusing on how to love and support our neighbors. She basks in the diversity of our neighborhood, our kids' schools, and her circles of friends.  

To me, our family's resident historian and current-events guru, this quote resonates for a different reason. I'm floored that people cannot reason with each other, be more civil, turn the other cheek, and embrace our differences of opinion, beliefs, and lifestyles, let alone why any of this leads time and again to violence. In a world of dire suffering - poverty, starvation, disease, loss of wildlife, loss of habitat - it is appalling that so many people waste time, energy, and money highlighting our differences, instead of directing talents to confront the existential crises that billions of our fellow humans grapple with. 

*       *       *

There has been a lot of talk about LGBTQA+ rights in my church the last few years. I've been silent about my opinion, partly because I don't typically raise my voice, but also because I've been afraid to offer my different opinion. Several friends have inspired me with their vocal stance, delivered in civil ways that have sought to offer a different perspective but not to plow over other people's thoughts. That's what I aspire to do now, too.

So two weeks ago, on National Coming Out Day, I added the pride flag on my Facebook wall. I'm putting it on my blog. I am raising my voice to say I support you, those in and out of my church, but especially those in my church who are on the LGBTQA spectrum. I value your experience. I value you. 

Why now? Why me? Why raise my voice on this issue? Because it affects my friends and family. Because life isn't black-or-white, and life isn't forever, so let's focus on embracing the varieties of all walks of life, including gender or sexual identity. Because I have a cousin who is gay. Because I have lifelong friends who cannot fathom my joining a church that too often has opposed their identity. I personally think people are born straight, gay, bi, pan, a-, and questioning. Because, because, because...

Maybe it's a 40's thing? 

Because I'd rather speak my mind than hold my tongue. 

I think, one day, my kids will ask, "Dad, if you opposed the Iraq War, what did you do to oppose it?" I didn't march in the streets. I didn't plaster Facebook. I was silent, or relatively so, only speaking up at work and in my family. They might ask, "Dad, if you felt this way about [this-or-that], why didn't you use your talents to shine a different light?" Not only will my children ask these questions. My opinion? We'll be held accountable for our actions, in-actions, and the misuse of the talents that God has given us. 

The late astronomer Carl Sagan once said: "The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their mis-understandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds...There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. 

"To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known." This is Earth, below, as seen from over three billion miles away, by Voyager in 1990. It's not the blue circle; it's a tiny speck inside the blue circle. That's all we have. My wish is that we take much better care of it, and of all the life that lives on it.

1986 World Series

I was 11 years old in October 1986, when my beloved Boston Red Sox went to the World Series for the first time since the year I was born. I was at the perfect time of life to be a rabid baseball fan: I was still young enough to find simple joys in the game, but old enough to understand some of the more complex parts of it, like pitching match-ups; I had few obligations in life, so there seemed to often be time to play baseball with my friends after school and on weekends; my interests were fewer, so I theoretically had more time to focus on those that really mattered to me.

The Red Sox won the first two games of the Series at Shea Stadium, home of the New York Mets, then returned home to Fenway Park, their home ballpark. The Sox went limp at home in the first two games to even the Series 2-2. Game 5 at Fenway Park saw the Olde Towne Team win, 4-2, leaving the Sox two final games at Shea Stadium to win just one and claim their first World Series title since 1918.

Game 6 was 30 years ago today, on October 25th, 1986. It was a Saturday night. I watched the first few innings in my parents' living room, seeing the Red Sox take an early 2-0 lead through four-and-a-half innings, and then getting extremely nervous after the Mets evened the score in the bottom of the 5th. When the Sox scored another run in the 7th inning, I felt relieved and oddly confident, and also extremely tired. I went upstairs to bed, thus missing when the Mets tied the game again in the 8th inning.

The game was tied into the 10th inning, but not for long. The Sox scored 2 runs to take a 5-3 lead. At some point, either while the Sox were batting or when the Mets came up to bat in the bottom of the 10th inning, my Dad thought to himself, "I've got to wake Tim up to see this! The Red Sox are about to win the World Series"

Dear Old Dad did, indeed, sprint up our front hallway staircase, gently rap on my bedroom door, and woke me up. My Dad has long been a person who retires around 9 p.m. each night, so for him to be awake this late, in my drowsy state I knew that it was important. 

"Come back downstairs!" my Dad eagerly encouraged me. "The Red Sox are about to win the World Series! You don't want to miss this."

But miss it we all did. Several times, the Sox were one out, and then one strike, away from winning their first World Series title in 68 years. Poor pitching decisions, a wild pitch, a screaming crowd preventing the closer from hearing his second baseman to attempt a nearly-certain pick-off of a runner on third base, a wild pitch, and a ball rolling through the first baseman's legs.

There was enough blame to go around for the Red Sox blowing this potential Series-winning game. But all, or almost all, of the blame fell on Bill Bucker, the first baseman. 

My Dad apologized for waking me up. He and I made our way back upstairs to go to sleep. There would be a Game 7, on a school night. I didn't bother watching most of the game. I don't think my Dad did, either. The next morning after Game 7, I did not ask my Dad about Game 7 of the World Series when I woke up. I didn't ask him about it over breakfast. I kind of hoped that he was holding on to this tremendous secret about who won, and would burst out in excitement to tell me, when I finally asked, that the Red Sox were World Champions.

No, I didn't ask my Dad the inevitable question until we got in our 1984 Plymouth Voyager mini-van for my drive to middle school. 

*       *       *

For many years after 1986, it became, oddly, a badge of honor to be a Sox fan. We embraced our supposed underdog status, reveled in our insular cult of suffering. We became insufferable. Fans across the country started hating us for our smug attitude. There was nothing "lovable" about our loser identity. We came close a few times, especially in 2003 against the dreaded New York Yankees. But 1986 still hurt more. 

The Red Sox's win in 2004 erased the pain and disappointment and bitterness. Our badge of dishonor was ripped off. We had reason to believe! And in our glorious victory, we again became tedious: The smug winners, with Sox players all over the media. But the victory was oh-so sweet. 

1986 was officially over and done. 

Bedtime Readers

So, this happened for the first time last week: Goose reading books at bedtime to her youngest brother, Our Little Grouse. It made for a magical new bedtime routine, one that we hope will happen on a more frequent basis in the weeks and months ahead. Right now, and for the last year-plus, one parent (me or Becky) has read books to our two boys in their room while the other parent stays with our girls in their room as they read aloud or silently. It's meant that, on most nights, both me and Becky are in the throes of the bedtime routine, which normally runs at least 45 minutes to an hour. 

But on this night, we were able to have about 10 minutes to ourselves, alone and not in the thick of it, thanks to Goose's guest appearance as a book-reader. Those extra minutes back in our lives felt like a gift, and it's also important for our kids to have their own quiet time to bond. So, may the bedtime and book-reading fates be kind to us again, and let this sweet moment be something we experience again (and again) soon!

The Wisdom of Solomon

This sunny fall afternoon, our kids watched an episode of Little House on the Prairie. It's our family's post-church Sunday afternoon tradition. All six of us don't watch it, because Our Little Grouse customarily naps right after church, and sometimes Becky does, too. But I'm there, and our three oldest kids are there. 

Today's episode was called The Wisdom of Solomon, about a young African-American boy who ran away to the Ingalls' village of Walnut Grove. This son of Mississippi sharecroppers wanted to attend school, against the wishes of some villagers and his family. It was a powerful and sobering episode, and I wasn't prepared for its emotional tug. Neither was our oldest child, Our Dear Goose. This episode dealt with racism and the legacy of slavery. It was a heavy show to watch. In hindsight, I wished I had prepared our kids for it better. 

With the episode drawing to its end, Goose tried to explain to her brother and sister what was happening. She sat on our living room floor, watching Solomon leave Walnut Grove after handing the teacher a hand-made wooden sign in which he had carved "Bless This School." Goose could barely get the words, "This is so unfair!" out through her tears. She cried into my arms. 

She cried for the injustice of denying education to a child, who was just like her except for skin color and gender, who wanted to learn and be around other kids. But this child was denied that right, simply because of his skin color. It's a travesty, one that my own kids won't have to deal with, because of their skin color. I'm not sure how to talk to my kids about white privilege, yet. But I think I know how to talk to them about racism and injustice. 

On Sunday afternoon, Goose and I talked about injustice through our tears, as I cried and she cried, over something so terribly cruel and wrong. I am glad that she recognized this trial as unfair to Solomon. She attends school with a virtual rainbow of kids' skin colors, which is such a blessing. I am thankful for this multi-cultural environment in which we raise our family. 

But there are still prejudices and injustices, some of which will impact Goose's friends in the years ahead as kids grow older and school-yard taunts turn more sinister. My own kids may not escape prejudice either, because of their faith. I am so thankful for the strides in civil rights and equality that have been made over the last few decades, but there is still prejudice and there is still a need to educate against it, and a need to correct it. 

This presidential election has given us an opportunity in our home to speak out against the candidate who we feel is contributing to the perpetuation of prejudice and discrimination, of Muslims and immigrants and people on the LGBTQA spectrum and women. I am grateful to see our oldest kids feel repelled by his words.    

Goose and I felt helpless watching this episode, knowing we can do nothing for the countless real-life Solomons who endured racism, injustice, the denial of human rights, and slavery for generations. But we can do something to combat it when we encounter it in today's society. 

That's my take-away from The Wisdom of Solomon.  

The Headless Horseman

Our three oldest kids, over the last month, have been spooked by The Headless Horseman, the fictional character from author Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. That story was one of my favorites from my childhood, since it featured some elements of story- telling that I loved, even at that age: woods, nature, slightly spooky stuff, history, the Revolutionary War. 

I've wanted to screen Disney's classic The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad, the cartoon that featured Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman, for our kids at Halloween. But recent reactions from our kids have moth-balled this idea. 

 

For one thing, an episode of Little House on the Prairie that we watched last month had a Halloween theme. Some parts were legit scary. Our kids had nightmares, including about the end of the episode, where, after all of the spooks were rationally explained and reasoned away, the credits were about to roll - when all of a sudden, out of the woods, came a dark horse down a dirt road, with a headless horseman in the saddle. Laura Ingalls and her friend beat a hasty retreat into the woods. 

And, curtain!

So this week, when I've been on vacation, my oldest boy found a copy of the aforementioned Disney cartoon classic at our library. I loved it as a kid. Given their prior reactions, our girls were in no mood to watch the movie. Our son, however, seemed genuinely excited to watch it. We talked about it yesterday. We agreed to watch it last night. But when we got home from an afternoon at a school playground, he suddenly got the yips about it.

At bedtime, a tiresome torture last night for various reasons, Our Mighty Moose again gave voice to his fears about the Headless Horseman, after I said prayers, shut the light out, and told him a fun story. Having spent an hour reading books to Moose and his brother Grouse, and with the clock inching toward 9 p.m., I frankly admit to being in no mood for his beyond-bedtime antics. 

I was about to lose my own head over this! 

So, no we're definitely not watching anything related to the Headless Horseman this Halloween, or next Halloween, or maybe not until all four kids are in high school, at the rate we're going! 

Goose's surgery

Poor Goose. Seriously, poor Goose. In the last month, she has had two surgeries (minor, to be sure, but no fun) and some additional dental work. She's never been shy about displaying her anxiety about dentists and doctors, so these surgeries posed additional challenges beyond the hassle of needing to get them done. 

The first surgery, below, was to remove her ear tubes, which have been in since mid-fall of 2013. The second surgery was to remove four of her baby teeth, which stubbornly refused to fall out in time and were beginning to hinder her adult teeth's progression. In both cases, Goose was sedated. I took both days off to be at home and lend a hand, though Becky did the leg-work of actually being in the hospital on both occasions. And yes, Goose's teeth were removed at a hospital, due to her aforementioned loathing of dentists. She was a most un- cooperative patient at the dentist's office, and our terrific pediatric dentist thought it best that he be removed from the procedure so that Goose would not hold any linger loathing of him that would cause her to put off visiting the dentist in the future. 

Well, that was his logic. But maybe he was cahoots with the hospital for a cut of the bill? 

I'm kidding.

Kind of.

Sweet Goose, here's hoping that your slew of surgeries are over for a long time! I was home today and made you blueberry muffins for a treat, because you love them. 

Violin Duet

Each fall, our congregation puts on a one-hour Primary Program, featuring songs by the Primary-aged kids (3 to 12) in our ward. Leading up to this program, the kids and their teachers and Primary leaders spend weeks rehearsing songs, reciting scripture verses, and sharing parts of their beliefs, all to be shared during the Primary Program.

This year, Goose and her friend G. broke out their violins for a number during the Primary Program. I'm pretty sure this is the first time that Goose has played her violin in front of our whole congregation, and she and her friend did a great job! 

Here they are, below, showing off their violins. 

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Becky's 40th Birthday Trip to the Big Apple

In early September, a few weeks before she turned the big 4-0, Becky and her best friend Alyson went to New York City for three days with our daughters Goose and Mouse. It was our girls' first time in the Big Apple, and Becky's first time there in many years. They saw both Wicked and Matilda at night, staying up way past our daughters' normal bedtime. It sounds and looks like they had a super-fun time.

They canoed in Central Park one sunny afternoon, with our girls taking turns at the helm. I am sure that our countless times out in our family's canoe on the Charles River prepared them well for the rigors of this day's adventure (sarcasm, please!)

Cheesing for the camera!

 

Riding the New York City subway system.

Becky texted me this photo, above. She added the words: "Just got to our hotel in the Big Apple! But first things first: Watching the Disney Channel!"

Rockefeller Plaza

 

Staten Island Ferry, off to see Lady Liberty!

Times Square (avert your eyes, kids!)

Lining up to see Wicked. It's Becky's favorite musical.

Our family's three women had an awesome trip to New York City. For it being under five hours away, it's a little embarrassing that we haven't all gone there, and that it took so long for any of us to visit or re-visit the metropolis. But the prospect of lugging young kids and all of their gear around, in a stroller, with the vast crowds of humanity, felt too daunting in our family's younger years. We wanted to visit when our kids would remember their trip. And now I think this means that all six of us need to visit the Big Apple soon!

8 is Great!

Our Little Mouse is now eight years old! Here she is, at Boston's Franklin Park Zoo, on a field trip with her first grade class last spring. I was the lucky one who got to chaperone this outing with Mouse. Way in the background, nearly invisible, is a giraffe, which Mouse had written a school assignment about in prep for the field trip. She was disappointed, to the point of crying, when the giraffes were kept indoors because, although it was mid-May, the zoo deemed it too cold for them to be outside. 

But near the end, as all of the kids, teachers, and chaperones lined up to head back to the buses, we got word that a giraffe was outside. Mouse and I scrambled through crowds to reach this enclosure. She got a much better look at the giraffe with her eyes than I was able to capture with my camera. And her teacher made time as we waited to get on the bus for Mouse to read her report to her classmates. Those moments felt like heaven to me. It was one of my most favorite times with her. I was so thrilled for my daughter.

She came into this world at a much less thrilling time. The global economy was cratering. I was worried about my job. I was worried about being a parent of two kids, when being a parent to just one was all we had known, for the scant previous 19 months. Those dark days are long over. We've navigated parenthood through trial and error and the addition of two more kids after Mouse.

Through it all, Mouse has often been a source of calm amid the storms of life. I love that about her. She's go-with-the-flow. She doesn't too often raise a stink, yet she does have a backbone and stands up for herself. Her stories, her recounting of her dreams and her days at school and church, can go on and on and on. She's a snuggler and a cuddler. She is a reader and a writer. Leaving home on any outing takes a few minutes longer than we'd like or had anticipated, because Mouse needs to scurry through our home, traipsing through her stash of notebooks and grabbing a pen, so she can write as we drive.

Mouse, you're a book lover and a story-writer, with a pad of paper always by your side. I am excited to see and live alongside you the next chapters of your life! A stack of every book ever written, topped by every pad of paper ever made, would pale in comparison to the height of my love for you!

Be Afraid!

Someone did not enjoy seeing the Halloween displays on a recent Costco trip with Mommy:

Our Little Grouse talked about these creatures for a few days and nights afterward. He did not thankfully have nightmares about them, but whenever someone in our home donned an old Halloween costume, Grouse would babble to us about it being scary. I don't think he is as enamored of Halloween as his older brother was, at this age. To each their own. 

Maybe this is a sign of things to come: Grouse, in his pre-teen years, chilling in the family mini-van with Dear Old Dad, riding out the wait as the rest of our family tours a haunted house. I'll enjoy the company.

Obsessed with Wood

Our two little boys are obsessed with wood right now. Moose, at almost five-and-a-half years old, has created categories for his wood collection. 

For example, in his world, "sweet wood" is a piece of wood that isn't damp, doesn't have bark flaking off it, and has no knots, tangles, or blemishes on it. "Not sweeter wood" [yes, I didn't understand the terminological distinction when I first heard it] is wood that comes close to "sweet wood," but falls just a bit short of the top of the wood pyramid. 

Over the spring, into the summer, and still in this fall, Moose and his little brother Grouse have taken to selecting, lugging around, and bringing home dozens of sticks and branches. Maybe we have broken some laws about transporting wood across state lines and may have contributed to future outbreaks of non-native insect invasions (such as taking wood from Boston to Vermont, which does not need any more wood).

We have had to cap their wood-collecting frenzy at times. For example, on Columbus Day itself, we walked around Walden Pond in Concord. The brotherly duo stopped numerous times to test the quality of downed limbs. Moose collected so many samples, his arms were full. Grouse wanted some of his brother's sticks. Then, Grouse wanted me to carry his sticks. A short time later, Grouse wanted me to carry him and his sticks.

Not good times.

There was crying at our Blue Bomber mini-van when the boys heard that, unfortunately, most of their wood needed to stay at Walden. I would have cried, too, but for different reasons: my arms ached from carrying my son(s) around the Pond, and their wood; I was frigid from the wind whipping across the Pond; and my eyes were a crusty mess from wood fragments that had chipped off as I carried them.

So we have a pile of wood in our backyard, uncovered from the elements - thus rendering a lot of Moose's "sweet wood" into his unfavorable "not sweeter wood" category.

Othello

Mouse, on the cusp of turning 8, is rockin' her new hair style. She finally became convinced to show off more of her face. Before her new 'do, Mouse's hair was constantly covering her ears, much of her forehead, and her eyes. I am biased of course, but she is beautiful. And I'm not saying that because she looks like me! Whenever we or she would pull her mane of hair back from her face, I'd say, "I love seeing your whole face! You're beautiful!" Becky legit worried that I was giving Mouse a complex about her looks, when in reality I was trying to boost her self-esteem. 

I'll admit it: In looks and personality, Mouse is a lot like me. So I harbor a special wish to be mindful that she's not getting lost in the shuffle of our family, because she's introverted, quiet, shy - just like I was, and still am in some ways.

Anyhow, she's a joy beyond measure. She's a kooky kid who, in this photo, was trying to read the cover of the board game Othello's box - holding it upside-down and backward no less!  

Sierra's Visit

How is this for a good friend? In the months leading up to Becky turning the big 4-0, one of her best friends, Sierra, and I conspired to surprise Becky by flying Sierra into town for her actual birthday. These two were best friends during the three years that Sierra and her family lived in the Boston area. Many friends have come and gone during our time here, but no one departure stung as much as when Sierra's family moved away. 

So, the chance to reunite these two was too good to pass up. Sierra arrived in town two days after Becky's birthday (on a Wednesday this year) and stayed the whole weekend. She left her three kids at home with her husband, who had to re-arrange his schedule to be on-call. She needed to plan lessons for her sub for the school where she teaches. Her flights got delayed. She "slept" in a Midwestern airport terminal for a few hours before finally landing in Boston. 

When she arrived, Becky was at the dentist's office. I picked Sierra up from the airport and had about two hours before Becky got home, because Becky ran some errands after the dentist. During that time, Sierra and I brainstormed just how and where and what Sierra should be doing when Becky arrived home. Should Sierra be nonchalantly reading a book in our backyard? Should she be standing on our front porch, waving frantically as Becky turned the car into our driveway? Maybe Becky should arrive home, and a few minutes later, Sierra would ring our front doorbell?

The "reveal" we hit on was this: For Becky's birthday, I asked 40 of her friends to send me a note about what Becky has meant to them during their lives. I compiled the notes and planned to give my wife one note each day, starting on her birthday. So on Friday morning, I told Sierra, "Today should be the day Becky reads your note!" She agreed. It was a 3-page tome! I drew an arrow at the bottom of the last page (that, in hindsight, slightly tipped Becky off), left it on our kitchen counter, and Sierra quickly signed the back of the last page: "I'm in the living room!"

Becky came home, saw Sierra's note, and started reading. Halfway through the 3-pager, as I stood in the kitchen watching Becky read Sierra's tribute, Becky squealed in glee. "What?!" I frantically asked, trying to play it cool. Becky's hand covered her mouth. "No, No!" she mumbled, then kept reading. 

By the last page, Becky knew something suspicious was up. I had taken the whole day off, and tried to play it simple, that she and I would go on a lunch date. I was very short on details, though, because I'm a horrible liar and have no poker face. Had I embellished the "story" of this "date" for Becky, I likely would have somehow tipped my hand and blown Sierra's cover. Yeah, I'm good no so good like that.


Becky, in record time, finished Sierra's note, turned the page, saw Sierra's message, and screamed like a banshee! Flying through our kitchen to our front living room, Becky was on cloud nine. I am glad I was not standing in her way! Sierra came around the corner from our living room with a bunch of balloons in her hand, and the two of them hugged for minutes, gleefully cheering and babbling and basking in their reunion. I'll admit it: I got teary.

The rest of Sierra's visit was awesome. Becky and Sierra went on walks together. They went to the General Women's session of our church's conference. They talked long into the night. It was magical. Sierra, as always, was great with our kids. She's the type of Becky's friend who is, somehow, against her better judgment, friends with me, too.

  
More to come from this fantastic weekend!

Hoedown!

The current bishop of our Mormon congregation is a Westerner by birth. He loves talking about growing up around his family's sheep farm in southern Utah. He likes cowboy boots, huge belt buckles, and cowboy hats -- which is interesting, because in his day job, he's in suits and ties and traveling across the pond a lot for work. Each fall, he and his family host an end-of-summer hoedown at their home.

Becky pulled out all of the stops to get our suburban, East Coast-raised family into the few Western items of apparel that we have. For some of our tribe, they pulled off the dude ranch look pretty well. For others, not so much. I think Goose is entering that stage of life where she is more aware than ever before about what she wears, and what other girls will be wearing (especially older, "cooler" girls), so she wanted to fit in with them by not fitting in with the sartorially Western crowd. 

Moose, on the other hand, loved any chance to dress up like a train robber. Mouse brought out her new-ish bonnet, which she had purchased this summer in Amish Country. She also wanted to look like Little House on the Prairie's Laura Ingalls Wilder, and I think she did! Grouse let it be known that he was displeased with his clothing selections, so Becky did her best to balance his staunch choices with some elements of hoedown clothing. 

And as Halloween is just days away, you might be getting a sneak peek at our family's costume choices for this year! 

New Look!

This was Becky's birthday treat for herself - a new hair style! She rang in the beginning of her forties by changing up her hair. Gone are the long locks. She really likes it, though it did take some getting used to for her. As for me, I've kind of always gone against the general stereotype that guys like women to have long hair. I either like it somewhere in-between long and short, or short. Just my different strokes. So I loved the new look on my beautiful wife! She was nervous that it is such a radical departure from how she's most often worn her hair length, but 40 cheers to a new hair style at 40, babe!