Taking Your Child To Church Makes Him Naked

The first time Charlie went to church was the day of his baby blessing. He wore a smart little white romper made for him by his Grandmother Heim. Very dapper. His Grandparents Chelson and Uncle Spud were there all the way from Tennessee. All adored, fawned over, and cooed at the scrumptious little baby boy. After sacrament meeting and the blessing, we went outside to take some pictures to remember the auspicious occasion. Cameras were pulled from pockets, flashes were going off, successes being achieved, when there came upon us THUNDER BELOW.

I knew I needed to change his outfit before his bright yellow poop became a beacon of incorrigible childhood shining for all to see on the back of his stark white romper. That blessing outfit was intended for the use of all grandsons. I was supposed to give it back. I was supposed to not ruin it. And thus, I dashed off with great haste.

I rapidly tore (in a gentle, non-tearing sort of way) the romper off just in time to see yellow seeping through Charlie's white onesie, the way that ink starts pooling out and spreading when you hold a marker or a fountain pen to paper for too long. I had saved the romper! With my mother's help, I then changed Charlie into a fresh diaper and onesie, and we all set off home. I took with me the lesson that it is imperative to have a spare outfit, as well as diapers, in your bag at all times.

The next time the young Princeling went to church, we were out visiting my family. He wore a smart little sailor romper bought for him by his mother. Very dashing. He was finally big enough to wear it without swimming in it. (Strange how swimming in his sailor suit is undesirable. Ah well, fashion at its finest, I suppose.) We made it through sacrament meeting without incident. Sunday School was forgone in favor of feeding the young Prince and chatting with Mum in the mother's lounge.

But then he needed a diaper change.

Mother set Charlie on the changing table while I gathered the necessary equipment from my bag. Everything was going smoothly until Charlie felt the need to shower us with his blessings.

Mother and I managed to save ourselves. but Charlie's debonair little suit was quite wet, even his as yet unfastened and formerly fresh diaper. I victoriously pulled the extra onesie out of my bag, and we set about changing the lad for a second time. Once cleaned and clad only in onesie, socks, and blanket, we deemed Charlie decent and adjourned to Relief Society.

Where I stayed for only about ten minutes. Talk about some thunderings down below!

After begging pardon for my savage son's comportment, I excused myself from the room, taking with me the pack of wipes, a diaper, and my sister Megan. Megan actually came because she wanted to, not because I picked her up with other diaper changing accouterments. We got Charlie on the changing table again, and got his little bottom all cleaned up, and as the diaper was going on, Charlie struck us once again with his benevolence.

After the Prince had finished, we took stock of the damage. Charlie was wet. His clothes were wet. His socks were wet. His diaper was wet. And he was upset. I quickly set to work stripping him of his wet things, and took a fresh diaper (a size too large) from the emergency stash in the mother's lounge. Fortunately, his blanket had been set down on a chair away from the scene of the incident, and was therefore dry. Instead of being able to victoriously reach into my bag for some more clothes for my son, I was reduced to wrapping my naked-save-for-a-diaper child up in his blanket. Good thing that he likes being swaddled.  He remained naked until we returned home and I was able to get more clothes.

The next time Little Man went to church was this recent Sunday. He wore a onesie and some sweatpants. Very comfy. We were running late to get to our 8:30 meeting time, and efficiency and speed were the names of the game. Actually, the predominate name of the game was try not to wake the baby as we get him ready for church now. And we played that game pretty well until we actually got to church, at which point Charlie required my attention in the mother's lounge. I missed just about all of sacrament meeting.

By the time I had calmed Charlie to sleep, Andrew had already reported to his duty of nursery helper, so I went to Sunday School. On the way, I was stopped by my friend Aleece. She presented me with a pair of pants that went with an outfit she had given me for my baby shower months ago.

During Relief Society, the young Prince required feeding. I once again retired to the mother's lounge. I was burping him afterwards, when rather than a burp from his mouth, he presented me with what Andrew affectionately calls an Australian burp, due to the fact that this form of belch resounds from down under. I made my way to the changing table. I pulled off his sweats and noticed that they were soiled. SOILED. As was his onesie. I changed his diaper and stripped him down of his dirtied things.

I rummaged about in my bag, and found a spare onesie. And then, thanks to Aleece, a small pair of pants came out of my bag.

Thanks to Aleece, the cycle of Bring Your Baby To Church Dressed, Bring Him Home Naked would perhaps be broken. Aleece, to you, I give my sincerest gratitude. Thank you for saving me from looking like a horrid mother who doesn't dress her child before taking him out but really had spare clothes all along but not enough. You're a real pal.

And thus we see that taking a little boy to church can be a perilous adventure, full of much clothes changing, diving for cover, and memory making. I will from here on out be keeping more than one spare item of clothing in my bag when I go out with our little boy in tow. otherwise, he just might end up naked. Lesson now learnt.

PS. I found the camera!

Introducing the Young Prince Charles

HEAR YE, HEAR YE! AN ROYAL INTRODUCTION!

Hello again, family and friends. I know that it has been a while since you have heard from this source of news, but I assure you all that we are still alive. The healing, new (lack of) sleep schedule, continuing lack of sleep, and familial visits has made me rather reticent in my communications in this venue. Though fully equipped with this more than adequate excuse, I still offer my apologies and condolences to all persons who have been waiting anxiously to see our adorable baby. Worry not, dear ones, for the wait is over.

I know that a lot of new moms like to share their birth stories via blog. I think that's wonderful for them, but I opt out of that experience except for a sum up of the day. It happened. Charlie was born healthy, happy, and absolutely perfect in every way possible.

Charlie displaying an adorable little suit from Grandmama

That is a picture of little Charlie just one week old. He's pretty cute. Below you will enjoy looking at our first family portrait, taken when he was three weeks old. Charlie's little shirt matches his daddy's green polo, and I think that's just about the best thing I've ever done with my life. I'm very proud. I love my little family. I call Charlie my little Prince. 

Charlie modelling an attractive Instrument of Peace (a "pacifier" to the layman)

I take special pictures on his monthly birthdays, but it doesn't always work out so well. And by not always, I mean not ever. But it's fun to try and he's endearing when he throws himself away from candles and cake and ice cream. Don't worry- Andrew and I aren't feeding him all that junk food. No, we eat it in his honor right after blowing out the candle on his behalf.

NOTE: I am unable to find the camera at the moment. How unsurprising. I shall bring forth more recent pictures when I unearth the hiding piece of photographic technology.

Here is one of my favorite pictures of Prince Charlie and Andrew. Little Prince was smiling right up to the moment the photographer actually snapped the picture, and I love that little lip.

Charlie making an exhibition of the world's cutest lower lip

Since bringing the young Prince home, both Mother's Day and Father's Day have passed. I have been doing a lot of thinking about the critical roles of parents, and how much they do, and what a large and devastating impact it makes when they DON'T do. But those are deeper thoughts saved for another post. This one is fluffy and all about showing off our cute baby and proving that we're still alive. To achieve those ends, here are some more pictures.

Tiny Charlie wearing his daddy's Luigi hat.

Charlie's precious cheek receiving kisses.

Charlie climbing up Mt. Daddy

Charlie carrying on the cow tradition

The past two months have been filled with new challenges, many laughs, a camera that runs away all the time, long nights, long days, and plenty of joyfulness despite the hard parts of dealing with new parenthood. We love our baby, and we love each other. When the going gets tough, we relish in the fact that we have each other. We're still best friends, we're still here for each other, even if that's in a less-than-helpful-because-I'm-sleep-deprived sort of way. We've had some pretty low points while getting here, but we've had even higher ones. Charlie always knows the perfect times to coo, smile, gasp, and charm us right back into a cheerful mood.

I love Andrew. I love Charlie. I love my life, even when it's hard. No matter how great the trial- physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual- we can not only make it through, but we can conquer, we can come out on top, triumphant, stronger, and ready to thrive. How? By centering our lives on the gospel of Jesus Christ. It works. It will always work. It will always work because Christ's Atonement works. His Atonement always works when we apply it correctly and faithfully.

I rejoice in knowing that my family has the opportunity to be sealed for eternity. I have up days and down days, but at the end of every day, I give thanks for the greatest blessings.

Feast Your Eyes

Dear Folks,

Feast your eyes. This is the only pregnancy belly bump picture that you'll be getting. I, unlike many women, do not like advertising my belly for the world to see. My family video chats weekly, and I stand up to show them my profile only once each week- if someone misses it, then they miss it. Yes, I even do that to my family. The only reason that I'm posting this photo on the blog is because of my beloved Aunt Debbie. She sent me an email a while back, and was very sweet. In return for my compliance with her request, she offered a promise of her own. I shall let you see it in her own words. Behold:

Maybe that Prince Charming of yours could send along a photo of your growing Mommy self so we can enjoy the time of changes with you. Of course, I know not to touch The Belly - not even to swipe over it on my iPhone. ☺️

Aunt Debbie is a very smart woman. She has remembered that I have certain strong opinions about belly rubbing. In fact, you may remember some rather boldly put images in a Pictorial from a month or two ago, complete with massive threats to all who felt the need to harass me. Aunt Debbie, because I love you so much, here. A picture taken by my Prince Charming just yesterday. That would make me 37 weeks and two days pregnant in this photo.

(Andrew:  Don't touch it!  Yes - even the picture!)

And there you go. If anyone else has been wondering what I look like now with a belly, you may all say "Thank you, Aunt Debbie!" in the comments. This is all her fault.

In other news, I will be posting tomorrow or the next day about last week, which was filled with a birthday, a baby shower, and a book club. Definitely a big B week.

PS. I've decided to include a little present for you all. This is what Andrew had to work with yesterday while trying to get me to smile for the camera. Not exactly the princess of grace and poise you were expecting. Notice the rather displeased grimace in place of a real smile. Yup. That's just about how it goes around here.

NOTE: Just so you know, I do actually let Andrew touch my belly. It's his kid in there too, after all. And I like him. So he can feel the baby move and all that jazz. But he's just about the only one. 

Small Sand Toddlers and Slithering Sisterly Tricks

I have multiple sisters. Several sisters. In fact, I have five sisters. Right now, two of them are out in Utah, one doing some student teaching (Megan), and one attending BYU (Bug, commonly referenced as Bugheera by myself). You may recognize Megan from some previous posts, including the story about how we both publicly humiliated ourselves and the speech I gave as her maid of honor. Bugheera is featured in some special Pictorials herself regarding stinky vans and her lousy inability to give directions. Sometimes these two girls manage to get together, and when they do, chaos is the third and permanent member of their trio.

Every Sunday night, my family gets online to video chat via Google Plus. I love hearing stories and seeing faces. It's a great way to stay in touch. But if Megan and Buggy happen to be at the same place while we're trying to talk, then it's more like the rest of us watch them giggle and do lots of this.

That makes it hard to understand anyone at all. But I did manage to hear two stories that I felt deserved some pictures.

One weekend, Buggy and Megan decided to hang out together. On Sunday, they attended church. Bug was hungry during Sunday School, and went for a snack. Apparently, it was the wrong snack to bring into a meeting, because it just so happened to be the most difficult to manage victual in the world.

Megan insisted that she knew the best way to open this treacherous granola bar without making crumbs explode everywhere like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Bug pointed out that the package was already opened, and that Megan's benevolence may in fact just make things worse. Bug lost the fiercely whispered argument, and was promptly proved right when Megan managed to make a mess of it all. The entire granola bar disintegrated in the wrapper. Megan stuffed it under her seat.

If Megan and Bug had been the only attendees at this Sunday School, that trick may have worked. However, a little toddler was also present. He saw the wrapper under the seat and went straight for it. He seized it. He waved his prize about, bellowing like that savage Sand Person from Star Wars, the one that hits Luke upside the head and then raises his stick aloft.

And in case you have no idea what that picture is supposed to be or why it's funny, here. Educate yourself.

The actions of this miniature Tusken Raider gave his surroundings a gentle rain of granola bar crumbs, exactly what Megan and Bug had been desperately hoping to avoid. Whoops.

Later, Megan and Buggy were at home, and decided to try out some fun balancing games. Megan thought it would be a good idea to see if she could balance sitting atop Bug's feet. Megan could feel herself beginning to wobble, but she was determined to give Bug the benefit of the doubt, seeing as Buggy's so strong and all.

It turns out that Megan should have gone with the self-preservation instincts.

Because Megan just wound up square on her noggin, scrunched up like an accordion, and probably sounding like one, too. Bug was most likely laughing uproariously.

They shared these two stories with me, and I laughed at them. I was inspired to make some art out of it. This is a little post to tell my sisters that I love them, and to thank them for the laughs.

Sisters, I love you. Thank you for the laughs.

That is all.

NOTE: Thank you to all who are enjoying The Story and saying nice things about its entertainment value. Andrew and I rather enjoyed reminiscing, even if we didn't enjoy living it at times (the awkward bits). If you missed the last installment, it's The Zero-eth Date. Cheers to reading!

Blue or Pink?

Read this post from last time first. Here is the link: The Girl and the Awful Morning. Go read that, and then come read this. Ready, go!

NOTE: Really. Go read it now. Before reading this.

NOTE: Read it? Good. Carry on.

The girl sat in the waiting room. She was not embarrassed. She was not uncomfortable. She was excited. She was anxious. She had woken up early, and kept herself from getting distracted by anything, not even the wonderfully warm shower water. She managed to shave in a reasonable amount of time. It was amazing how much quicker that whole shaving business was if you bothered doing it more than once a week. When she stepped out of the shower, she had plenty of time to do her makeup, hair, get into her pre-selected outfit, and eat a nice breakfast. She was feeling rather pretty.

In the car, she wasn't stressed about turning left, even if there were lots of people on the road during morning traffic. Not only did she know where she was going this time, she wasn't driving. She was comfortably seated in the passenger seat, sending happy little smiles over to her handsome husband driver. He looked back at her, and laughed. She laughed, too. They must have had the same thought.

"Remember four weeks ago today when you were running late, and had no idea where you were going?" he asked.

She gave him a disdainful look of her best snobbery. Apparently they were not having the same thought. "I have decided to put that portion of my past firmly into my past, and not think about it."

He laughed again. As he accelerated after a red light turned green, he shot her a quick smile that let her know that he actually was thinking the same thing as she. And he was just as excited.

"Should we let our families know that we're on the way?" she asked.

"And ask their guesses?" he offered as a fun idea.

"Agreed!" she declared while whipping out her phone. She dialed the number for her parent's house, and was startled when her mother's voice answered. "Mama! You answered the phone!"

"Was I supposed to let it ring?"

"No. I was just... Well, I guess that I don't desperately need to get hold of you right this moment, so it is in keeping with traditional mom form to pick up the phone. Well, I'm just glad you answered. We're on our way!"

Her mother gasped. "Oh, so early? Yay! How exciting!"

"Yes, and we are now accepting guesses and bets," she said with a laugh.

She heard a multitude of muffled noises as Mama asked Daddy and the various kids around them for their input. "Well, it looks like Karsten is the only one who thinks pink, and he only picked that because he wants you to be happy," said Mama. "Daddy says you're doomed to no pink, since you want it so much."

"Stop cursing me!"

Mama laughed and said, "Call us and let us know!"

"Will do, Mama. Stay by the phone!"

As she hung up, she looked at her husband. "I've been cursed. And Daddy knows everything, so he must be right."

Her husband laughed again. He was happy this morning. It was a good morning. They were getting close, and both were anxiously excited.

"I was really certain that it was going to be blue, and then I had a dream that they did this all without me there, and I was really mad at them for not waiting for me. I mean, how rude! And then I didn't want them to tell me yet, but they did anyway, and it was pink. But I'm not sure how accurate this whole thing is without me present," she said in a thoughtful voice. Maybe more distracted than thoughtful. They could see the building now.

They jumped out of the car and quick marched to the building, holding hands like excited little kids going to the fair. She dragged him into the elevator. There was no one else in there. She confidently pressed the button for the third floor herself. When the doors dinged shut, he grabbed her close for a kiss. She giggled.

The elevator opened up, and they walked up to the check-in counter together. There was only one person in line in front of them, and it was soon their turn.

"I'd like to check-in," she said, and gave her name, doctor, and proof of insurance. There was scrolling, clicking, and a quick brush of the hair along her neck by her husband. The nurse stood up and went to the printer.

"You don't need to fill this out, just hold onto it for checkout," the nurse said while handing over a blue sheet of paper on a clipboard. "Go ahead a take a seat. They'll call your name when they're ready for you."

It was a much better morning than four weeks ago, she thought. She sat in the waiting room. She was not embarrassed, she was not uncomfortable. She was with her husband, and she hadn't done anything silly or wrong. She was excited. He was excited.

"Natashya?"

They both jumped up and ran over the lady in the doorway, who laughed. "You have an empty bladder, right?"

"Uh, no. They said they'd need a "sample" before the appointment," she said. Now she was uncomfortable.

The new nurse who had called her name said, "Well, you can just stroll back through the doors like you own the place and leave your sample back there, and come back up here."

Then her husband and her purse followed the nurse back into a different room, and she was left out there alone, to walk back across the whole waiting room while people stared at her, and stroll through the doors that said "Personnel Only" in big letters, all so she could tinkle in a cup. Sheesh. She started walking. She was embarrassed. She was uncomfortable. The same people who had watched her make a mad dash for one door now watched her walk slowly to the other door.

Once the ignominious task was completed, she scurried back to the appointment room to be reunited with her husband and her purse. She was excited again.

An hour or two later, everything was done. They'd met with all the different people, and they had what they really wanted with them in their hands. Who knew that black and white photos could be so misleading? Because obviously, this little picture was actually only one color.

They called their families, and made ready their announcement:

The Girl and the Awful Morning

The girl sat in the waiting room. She was embarrassed. She was uncomfortable.She had woken up late that morning, and then been immediately distracted by the invasion of ants in her kitchen. Rather than showering and getting ready, she instead seized her vacuum cleaner and went after the ants. She sucked up ants, crumbs, and almost lost her favorite dishcloth in her zeal to dismiss those ants from her kitchen and the world.

When she had finally stepped into the shower, she then promptly forgot all sense of time. She took her own sweet time shaving- it would have been a massacre on her legs to go any faster, considering she hadn't shaved for several... whiles. By the time she was wrapped in her towel and looking at a clock, it was eight minutes past time to go. Oops. She threw on some clothes, hastily tied her long, soaking wet hair into a knot at the base of her neck, grabbed her keys, and fled the premises. Never mind makeup! Who had time for such frivolities?

After turning left onto the main road, she realized that she honestly didn't know where she was going. She'd only been to this doctor once before, and she couldn't remember the way to get there. She snatched her phone and attempted to phone her mother. No such luck.  She tried again.

"Please leave your message at the---" She shut the machine up with a savage jab at the end call button. She continued down the road in silence. She knew that she was supposed to be on this road for a good while. It was when she turned off the long road and faced all the turns in smaller roads that presented the looming danger. And she was already late. Brilliant! she thought, feeling suddenly clever. She called her father. As the phone rang, she wondered why she had even attempted to call her mother. Not only are mothers notorious for not picking up the phone, her mother in particular had a very poor sense of direction.

"Hello?" came her father's gruff voice. He never enjoyed the phone. He said it made his ears itch.

"Daddy! Hello!" Some silence. "How are you doing today?"

"Tired."

"Did you work until four in the morning again?" she asked. He did that sometimes while building the house.

"No. I slept," her daddy said with a short laugh.

"Well, that explains it," she replied. "You tried something new. That's never good for rest." They shared a laugh, and then some silence. "So, Daddy... I'm on my way to a doctor's appointment."

"Do you know where you're going, or do you need me to look up a map and give you directions?" he asked immediately.

"Funny that you should ask that, Daddy," she said with a laugh, "because I don't really know how to get where I'm going."

She told him where she was and could hear him typing and pulling up Google maps on his computer. "Found where you are," her daddy said. "Where are you going?"

Where...? If she hadn't been driving down the road at a goodly pace, she would have bonked her makeup-less face against the steering wheel. She settled on a strangled gargle instead. "Actually, Daddy, I have no idea where I'm going. I forgot the address. It's the doctor I go to when I pass Hairy Man Road. Does that help?"

She heard him laughing and rubbing his hand on his face. "You," he said, "are just like Mom."

Apparently more of her mother's directionless skills had been passed on than she had originally hoped. Her father, however, had a wonderfully accurate memory and sense of direction. He had given her directions to the doctor's office once before, and was able to get her there again. As she parked, she marveled that her father really was that good. He lived in another state, and he could still get her around better than she could. Of course, he'd always just been that good. Daddy really did know everything.

She jumped out of the car, and quick-marched to the building. She called her husband to let him know she had arrived safely, and scuttled into the now-closing elevator. The man already in there turned to ask which floor she wanted, but noticed she was on the phone and hesitated- especially since she was saying "I love you, too." The man pointed at the buttons. She realized she didn't know which floor she wanted. She hadn't paused to check the map in the lobby. She timidly held up three fingers, and the kind mind obligingly pressed the button for her. She felt doubly dumb: on the phone in the elevator, and she didn't even know which floor her doctor was on. Fortunately, the man exited a floor before she did. He wouldn't know if she exited and then immediately re-entered the elevator.

The elevator doors dinged open. She stuck out her head cautiously, and completely sideways, to see if it was the right floor. It was, and there were plenty of people there to see her sideways meerkat impersonation. Lovely. She scurried to the check-in line. She was very late. The line was very slow, and she was growing even more stressed. She really disliked being late. It was rude, and embarrassing. It was finally her turn at the window.

"I'd like to check in," she said and stated her name and her doctor. After the attendant scrolled and clicked for several moments, she added in an embarrassed tone, "I'm some twenty minutes late, I'm afraid."

"Oh, hon, I don't know if the doctor will be able to see you anymore. Let me call back and see."

Well, rats, she though. Now she was holding up the long waiting line by making the nurse attendant desk helper person call back to see if the doctor would be benevolent enough to see a very tardy patient. A very embarrassed tardy patient.

"The doctor will see you, but you'll be worked in around other appointments who make it on time. Take this paper and wait for your name to be called."

She took the paper with a meek thank you, and went to sit in the waiting room. She looked around. The other women were much better groomed than she. Sure, she had been late because of taking care grooming, but it had been her legs, not her face. And no once could even see her legs under her jeans and knee-high socks. She wished that she had taken time for such frivolities as makeup. She looked like she had no reason to be late.

But she was late. She was very embarrassed. She was very uncomfortable sitting in that waiting room. So she took her notebook and pen out of her purse, and began writing.

The girl sat in the waiting room. She was embarrassed. She was uncomfortable. She had woken up late that morning...

Tashya sighed and sank into her seat. What an awful morning.

Two Days Late Still Counts For Something

I don't know if any of you folks realized this, but Mother's Day happened to be this Sunday. Two days ago. I didn't say anything at the time, but I thought that I'd let you in on the fact that I do have a mother. A very good one. I might even venture to say the best one in the entire world. And so, even though I have lots of things to say about the trip I just took, the wedding, and some really interesting Pictorials to share, I'm going to write a few words about my mother.

What this picture lacks in artistic skillz it makes up for in veracity of relationship portrayal. I love Mama. By the way, see that lovely sweater she's wearing? I bought her that. Happy Mother's Day, Mama! Mother is the one who taught me how to find the best deals when out shopping. She's the one who taught me how to plan a menu. She's the one who taught me how to love, serve, and listen. She's the one who taught me to play piano. She's the one who is always there to listen. She's the one who can always say "Everything is going to be okay!" and actually mean it.

She's the one who taught me to feel beautiful and look beautiful. She's the one who taught me to love being a woman. She's the one who taught me to be appreciative of the finer things in life. Like good stores. Like the best store.

Ya, Mama and I have shared many happy moments together within the walls of Kohl's stores across the country. Lots of good times there. You have got to love Kohl's Cards- you get all sorts of coupons! It was a mark of my womanhood when I was approved for my Kohl's Card. Andrew knows that whenever Mama and I get together, a trip to Kohl's must be on the agenda.

I'm also very glad for the things that my mother is not. Although she is still very beautiful and could pass as my sister, she is nothing at all like Mother Gothel from Rapunzel. She doesn't try to scare me into hiding, or into any kind of submission.

This is my favorite moment of Mother Gothel in Tangled. While my mother is hilarious, she is not devious.

And you know what? In addition to a magnificently wonderful mother, I also have two glorious grandmothers. Mama's mama is pretty darn awesome. She can decorate cakes, and in fact did the wedding cakes for both mine and Megan's weddings. She can also supply you with good things like slippery elm, which is good for what ails ye! When I think of Grandma Taylor, I think of the comforting smell of warm bread dough rising, delicious peach cream toppings for french toast, and the funnest game ever, Don't Eat Pete! Here is Grandma Taylor and Mama at Megan's wedding:

Grandma Chelson is Daddy's mama. She is very good at worrying about things. It's part of her adorable grandmotherliness. And she really is adorable. Grandma is amazing when it comes to genealogy. She has actually published a book about our family history. Isn't that amazing? She also does Baptism Books. When a grandchild (and she has a lot) turns eight and is baptized, she makes a scrapbook for them about their families and who they are. I've had mine for years, and I still love looking at mine! Here is Grandma Chelson looking adorable with Megan and Ray at the wedding:

I have so many wonderful blessings in my life because of these three women- and no, that doesn't include Mother Gothel. They have taught me about the true gospel of Jesus Christ, they have taught me about being a woman and a wife, they have taught me about the joy of serving and lifting others. I love Mama, and I love Grandma Taylor, and I love Grandma Chelson. They are wonderful women. Happy Mother's Day Two Days Later!

The Speech the Maid of Honor Didn't Get to Give

Hello, dear family and friends! How are you doing? Was your month as wonderfully chaotic and full and wonderful as my own? I'm guessing that, seeing as most of you are related to me, you will be answering "YES, Tash, it most definitely WAS!" And do you know what I say to that? FANTASTIC!

For those of you who don't know, I shall enlighten you. BEHOLD!

Do you remember Megan of Shower Ninja and Musical fiasco fame? Well, that's her, freshly married to her best friend Ray! Huzzah for Meggum and Raymond! The loveliest couple of them all! They were married May 3, 2013 in the Oquirrh Mountain Utah temple. Megan is absolutely radiant! Raymond is so handsome! Wanna see a better personality shot? Of course you do!

Perfect. Ray is smug, and Megan exultant. Congratulations to the both of you!

Raymond, I want to say something to you. I didn't get to give a speech at the wedding, so I'll say what I wanted to say here:

You should know that Megan's name means "priceless treasure, or pearl." She really is a pearl of great price! She is beautiful, isn't she? She has lovely golden curls, fantastic blue eyes that constantly sparkle with merriment, rosy cheeks that blossom like the flowers she loves so much. But Megan's beauty is so many other things, too. It's the way that her laughter simmers just under the surface, ready to burst out of her mouth like bubbles and chimes. It's the way that she can't walk without giving off an air of joie de vie. It's the way that she revels in the glory and beauty with God's creations. It's the way that her love and devotion are clear and visible to anyone who looks. Isn't she so beautiful?

Megan's love is constant, but her expressions of love burst forth in rays and pops of loving sunshine and fireworks. Having to constantly express that affection makes the storage puddle more depleted, and it's harder for her to store up for her pops of natural, un-forced affectionate actions. You won't be starved for love or attention, however, because it doesn't take that long between the bursts for Megan's loving, joyful, and passionate heart to fill up again.

You now have my sister for your wife. You are a very lucky man. Megan brings with her the love of her family, the loyalty of the people whose lives she has touched with laughter, and the pride of those who have seen her grow and develop. Megan is priceless. Megan is a treasure. When I think of you, the words "steadfast," and "devotion" come to mind. Together, you and Megan's life together will be filled with music, laughter, strength, companionship, growth, and wonder. I love you both. To the happy couple!

*End Speech!*

"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." 

-Ingrid Bergman

"Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love." 

-Albert Einstein

"At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." -Plato

Megan, my only older sibling, is a wonderful human, and my best friend. She and I aren't extremely similar in some things. She's the blonde to my brunette, the Marianne to my Elinor, the Ariel to my... strange combination of Flounder, Sebastian, and a more musically talented Scuttle. But we're also so very alike. Ask us about Anne of Green Gables sometime. Or music. Megan is generally more outspoken about her passions than I am, but we share many interests.

I feel like I should receive some sort of credit for their marriage. Years ago, when I was going to school at BYU-I still, I lived in the same house as Megan. We were roomies three out of the four semesters we were there together. It was near Christmas time, and I saw that there was going to be a singalong for Handel's wonderful Messiah. I LOVE singing, and what soprano doesn't get a kick out of those beautiful melismas? Seriously. I had spoken to this guy named Ray a few times during the semester, and knew that he had one fantastic voice. I decided to ask if he'd like to come along with me.

And BOY, am I glad that he did! Not only did we have a fabulous time trying to get to the singalong (try walking on ice in vicious heels without murdering the kindly gentleman by either spearing him with said deadly heels or bashing his head against the hard sidewalk- it's hard), we also had a great time singing (and Ray shouted AMEN in the ONE silent moment of the entire evening, and I spent the rest of the night trying not to laugh too obnoxiously- and you know how much funnier everything is when you're trying not to laugh!). But the evening came to an end, and Ray walked me home. Where he met my sister. He joined us in singing some Christmas carols. Megan's voice seems to have done the trick in getting Ray to notice her.

Next thing I know, the two are officially dating. A half a year later, I'd transferred to BYU in Provo, and the two are madly in love. And then, next thing I knew, Megan was putting in her papers to serve as a missionary. Ray was very supportive of her doing what she felt the Lord wanted her to do. So Megan left to serve the Lord in Santiago, Chile. Right before she left, she commanded me to not marry until her return so she can be at my wedding. Next thing I knew, I was engaged and getting married. Whoops. Sorry, Meggum!

But then Megan came home, and had no idea what to do with the English language or the opposite gender. Raymond was patient, the good man that he is, and by the time that Megan was getting better at recognizing the difference between Spanish and English, the two were getting it together! Next thing I knew, I was planning a wedding.

So, after a good few years, lots of waiting, being in different schools, different states, and even on different continents, Megan and Ray have found their way to the altar at least. They have been married for one week today! I love you, Megan and Ray!

NOTE: I didn't post anything in the past while because of my many adventures in preparing for the wedding. Those posts will be upcoming. This one was just about Megan and her beloved.

Why I Didn't Punch Life in the Face Last Night

Sometimes life gets really overwhelming. Sometimes you get fed up with being overwhelmed. Sometimes you just want to sock life in the face like a derby girl elbows her opponents, and tell him to stop messing with you, because you've had ENOUGH already! But you can't actually do that since life isn't an embodied form that you can deck in the face at will. Especially if you don't want to punch yourself/your own life. What stopped me from grabbing a box of Life cereal and reducing it to a blithering stack of sad crumbles? 

Teannka. Teannka stopped me. My youngest sister, and youngest sibling, Teannka.

Yesterday was one of those days. (And when did "one of those" come to mean something rather distateful, such as "one of those guys," or "one of those days," or "one of those cheeseburgers- you know, the kind where they gave you half a slice of cheese and absolutely no pickle"?) Nothing terrible happened. I was just rather unimpressed with my performance at living. And stressed about rescheduling a horrendous medical procedure that costs way more money than is probably practical. And stressed about needing that procedure. And stressed about stressing, which tends to aggravate and cause more stress.

And right when I'm about to go all haywire and beserker on everything, I get a text. It has been recreated here in its original spelling, punctuation, and grammar for your cooing pleasure:

"Dear Tashya I, love you so much I will be your friends.You make me Know all the princesses are pretty and are funny too as will.You make me know a little friends can make you happy.My favorite numbers are 2/4/6/8/10 but favorite two number of the princess all is 100 and 20.Small so I can see your small.I are happy. From your lovely Teannka Chelson."

My Teannka Chelson is lovely. She is my precious little sister, my darling little princess, and my very beloved little friend.  I'm so glad that I was able to teach her about all the princesses (Disney Princesses are very important, people!), and that princesses are funny as well as pretty. I'm glad that I was able to show her that just a few wonderful friends can help to make you happy. I'm glad she has favorite numbers so that she can play the Number/Color/Animal Game. I'm glad that she has learned to take joy in the smiles of other people.

And that little text from her, which took her quite some time to write out on Daddy's phone, made me smile. Not only was it exactly the right words that I was needing to cheer me, but it was at exactly the right time. I can't imagine a better or more efficacious way to be cheered at that moment.

Isn't she so adorable? That picture is from a few years ago when I was home from college for a break. Teannka (Baby) had three of her five older sisters dress up for a tea party. We raided Mama's pearl and jewel stash, as well as my own treasure chest of ball gowns and princess dresses. We also used Baby's awesome bright blue play makeup. Pinkies raised on our Beauty and the Beast/Cinderella tea cups, we sipped and feasted like the dainty princesses that we are. And gorged on cookies. I'll have to write a post sometime about the six Chelson girls and their princesses.

So after Teannka swooped in and put a giant grin on my face and a happy glow in my heart, Andrew saw the big break that he needed. He had been trying to console me since he'd gotten home from work, but I really don't like doctors, calling people, or medical procedures, and didn't feel like being cheered up at all (I make an exception for relatives or friends in the medical profession- I like you just fine). Poor Andrew. I sure was being difficult. But he saw his opportunity, and he seized it. What started as a miserable evening turned into one where we were laughing. Andrew made an executive decision that in order to help us drift off to sleep, we would snuggle and watch a good movie. In fact, one of the best movies.

That's right. The Sword in the Stone. The above gif is actually one of my favorite parts of the whole movie. Merlin is one of the best Disney characters ever created. And do you know what I learned lately? I heard that some people haven't seen it. Who hasn't seen this movie?! I mean, really? That's just ridiculous. I demand to know who you are so I can command you to forswear your evil ways and watch it. You better believe that I'm judging you. For your SEVERE lack of taste and judgement.

Andrew's idea worked, though. He got me cozied up and watched as I started to nod off. When my eyes were closed for long enough, he turned off the movie and carried me off to bed. Isn't he the sweetest husband? I really am so grateful to have a great man in my life to help me to keep from punching my life. I think that I'd be a bit black and blue by this point if it weren't for him!

I'm grateful for a lovely support network of family- Andrew, Baby, Mama, Megan- and friends- Tanney, Michele, Marcy, and Shannon. I really do feel so blessed. And blessings help to keep the punching to a minimum. But I wonder if I could get Andrew to do that Merlin thing with his beard... Now THAT would be a blessing of a good laugh! I think, however, that I shall allow the cranky old man to stay in the movie, and keep Andrew beardless out here with me.

NOTE: I've received a request for more Pictorials. I am pleased to announce that this has become a viable possibility once again due to the surfacing of a mouse. It's not my small cute rose pink mouse, but Andrew's larger gray and black mouse will do the trick for now. I just thought I'd let you know. Especially since I feel like I've betrayed my own artwork by having gifs and such on here. But it's not gone completely. I promise.

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A Stinky Adventure in a Big Van

(DISCLAIMER: I said that I would post this yesterday, but I didn't. It wasn't my fault. I had it all ready, but Andrew didn't see fit to add his comments till today. But he did, and they're good, so we're all glad we waited for Andy to be cool and witty with his commentary.)

While I may feel that the title of this post is pretty self-explanatory, others may not hold the same opinion. I shall therefore do my best to elucidate the situation. Read on.

While Andrew and I were in Tennessee visiting during the summer (see the previous post), we did a bit of helping out around the place. My family is building a house right now, and so it's great fun to be out there digging and pounding and shoveling and all sorts of cool stuff like that. I especially liked bashing bricks to pieces- I'm not sure why I got to do it, but it sure was fun.

(NOTE: I want to crush the bricks, not the house-builders.)

It helped that I was on a Thor movie high, and I was totally stoked to be using Mjolnir, that hammer forged by elves in the heart of a dying star..... or whatever it is he says. My brother Spud knows, but he's on a mission in Thailand right now. And no, I wasn't actually wearing a dress while doing this. Or a cape, sadly.

Anyway, back with the titular story. My family has a 15 passenger van to cart around our 12 member family. (Recap: Daddy and Mama, six girls and four boys.) When we need to cart stuff around, we take out enough of the seats so there is room in there. There are only seven kids at home now, anyways, so it's not like it's that big of a deal. It's a useful vehicle. We've had it since I was eight or something.

Apparently there is no trash service to my family's place. They live kind of in the country (though not too far away, since Daddy does teach at the university right there in town), and there is a trash dump-off place not far down the road. Basically, you just load up your trash, drive on down, chuck your trash in the giant dumpster, and then leave. I was never to know this joy, however. Life is not so simplistic for me.

There was a load of garbage to be taken down to the dump. The boys but it in the back of the van (this isn't as gross as it sounds- it wasn't free range trash, it was very well contained), and somehow I became the designated driver of the vehicle. Andy, Bug, and Fat Boy all came along for the ride and to help out. We were instructed to drop off the trash, and then fetch a large bag of ice from the Dollar General on the corner on our way home. So we all hopped in the van, and the screaming then began.

I hadn't driven that van in quite a while, and suddenly I'm driving down these little roads with hardly any shoulder at all! I was most intent on not hitting the other cars on the roads. Andy kept bothering me with trifling details, like mail boxes. What ended up happening was that I would scream and bellow loudly every time I saw a car coming, which would trigger Andy's warnings of minor obstacles.

(By Andy:  I would have to interject here and explain that by "minor obstacles," my dear and lovely wife means anything that would tear a fender off of even a van such as that one.  Which were usually NEXT to the road.  Though in response to this comment, my darling would like to point out that she--as can be seen from the picture-- was already more than busy bending the laws of physics to fit the van on the road in the first place.)

By the time that we finally made it to the dump, we were so relieved! However, we pulled up to the gate to see a horrendous sign that marked the peak of hopelessness of our journey.

Man, that was a disappointing sign, because, believe me, that sign knew what it was talking about. That van WAS a very stinky, smelly place. With a frustrated growl from EVERYONE in the van, we pulled out from the place and went back down that horridly tiny and twisted little road. We were all freaked out from being in a Big Van with Stinky Stuff, with a Crazy Driver. I don't know if Andrew or myself could be called the most stressed. We were both in a serious competition for that title.

When we got to Dollar General, Bug and I decided that we would wait in the van. We may or may not have been in a questionable state of appearance. Andy and Fat Boy went in to get the bag of ice. It should have taken a few minutes. Apparently, however, the checkout lady inside was gabbing away with someone and didn't feel like going faster than a bald man's hair growth.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch (aka, inside the van), Bug and I were dying.

Seriously, dying. (Note: The putrid green lines signify the putrescent odor, the rancid red lines denote the oppressive heat, and the other lines... well, just all around general unhappiness with the situation. I mean, seriously, look at our faces. Can't you just tell that we're massively upset?)

Not only was it very, very stinky inside of that van, it was also very, very hot outside of that van. Very warm. Quite warm. Extremely warm. SO, we faced a choice. We could either sit in that stinky van with the windows rolled up, and therefore enjoy the air conditioning OR we could roll down the windows have some breathable air. And, yes, this was an EITHER/OR situation. We did a little bit of both, alternating between the two whenever either the heat or the smell became too unbearable. The only thing we did throughout was seriously get confuzzled in a frustrated way about what was taking those boys so darn long. And then they did come back! And then Andy found out that Talkative Cashier had shortchanged him by quite a bit, and had to go back in, so we were stuck there for even LONGER!

(The poor checkout lady was more than a bit flustered.  She gave me $5 too little in change.  Then when I went back to bring it to her attention she gave me 3 or 4 too much.  It wasn't her day.  But Tashya doesn't quite feel as sorry for her as I do.)

By the time they were finally done, we girls had decided not to dawdle for a second longer than necessary. We sped home, screaming the entire five minutes, parked on the grass, and jumped out of the van. We avoided garbage and Big White Vans for a while following this ordeal. Fortunately, Bug and I have both recovered from the horrors of garbage warfare. Barely.

YES! WE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! And a Story or Two About Tennessee As Well

Hello, dear folk! How are you all? I know that it's been forever and a day since I last put ANYTHING up here, but I do have some reasons. None of them are extremely valid, but I'll say that they count anyway. The first and foremost of the group involves the fact that a little devil in the form of an overactive computer program snuck into my laptop and made it so that nothing would run. At all. But guess what? My favorite engineer fixed everything! He's so good at that!

As I put it, "He fixes what I break and eats what I bake!"

Pretty accurate statement.

Fun Fact: Before I ever really met Andrew, he came over to my apartment to pick up my roommate for the ward Halloween activity. Our water heater had broken, but I really needed to shower. I took the most freezing shower of my life, and pretty much almost died. My roommates mentioned the freezing water to Andrew, who said, "Let me see something." Then he did something, and our water heater was fixed. There was warm water once again! SALVATION from the COLD! I'm pretty sure that I fell in love with him right then. No romance sparked, however, since I didn't know who he was until a good while later. I was in my room for all of this. My mysterious hero!

Speaking of fixing stuff, I have a few stories about Andrew. Did you know that my handsome husband is also quite the mechanical miracle worker? True story. I shall confer evidences upon you at this point.

Way back in June, Andrew and I went out to visit my family in Tennessee. I never lived there, they moved there after Andy and I got married. And just so you know, Tennessee and Texas are a lot closer than Tennessee and Utah. Much better for visiting. But when we showed up, we found out that quite a few things were experiencing technical difficulties. Several people (related to me) grabbed Andy and expressed an interest in his ability to fix things. Like the lawn mower, and the fan, and the potato gun that we had brought out with us. And the fact that the bathroom door didn't have a lock- a fact that led to more than one embarrassing situation during our stay.

And Andy went to work and fixed that stuff. He couldn't fix everything (like the chainsaw and the internet thing), but that was in part because he didn't have the right parts. I feel very proud of him. He's pretty darn awesome.

In fact, I think that the only thing that rivaled Andy's awesomeness that week was Bug's ability to give directions.

During the week we were visiting, Andy and I went to get our hair done. We took Bug and Baby with us (Reminder: Bug is 18 (during the story she was 17) and Baby is 9, and they are two of my five sisters). We were going to to meet up with Mama and Daddy afterwards to go food shopping and then go home together. Mama and Daddy were out doing other errands while we were getting hair cuts. Food shopping is great because you get to help pick out the tasty edible stuffs to be consumed during the week. And you can usually ask Daddy for an Almond Joy. He's very loving and good like that.

Anyway, since Andy and I had never been to Tennessee before, we didn't know how to get around. Bug said that she knew how to get to the hair place. She was pretty darn certain. We just needed to get to that one big road, and then stay there until we turned right at Ross, which was right past the Waffle House. Sounds easy enough, right?

WRONG.

Under Bug's command, we drove up that one big road, over that bridge-hill type thing, back down again, and started looking for that one street by Ross. We never saw Ross. We looked for a Waffle House, and found out that Waffle House is the Murfreesboro, TN version of Starbucks- there is one on EVERY CORNER. So Bug told us to just keep going... keep going... a little further... keep going... So we did. And then we noticed that there weren't very many stores around any more. In fact....

Yup. Cool directions, right? I told Bug to stop giving directions and called Mama. We got some more solid directions, and turned around. As soon as we turned around, Bug took over again and told us to "Turn left here" like she knew where we were. And then as we were driving back the way we came, we saw this sign:

Bug had "kept us going" right on out of the city. She is a pretty darn awesome girl. But that's not the only story with Bug in it. Check back tomorrow for that one.

PS. My awesome friend is so much better at her blog than I am with this one. And she's cute about it, too. Michele, you are an inspiration (if you want to read her blog, you can with this link---> This is a link to Michele's cute blog!).

A Reason for Not Posting- Dear Grandpa

So, one of the many reasons that I have not posted for over two months is that my very beloved grandfather, Gary James Chelson, Sr., passed away on July 2. I flew from Austin to Portland to be with my family for the funeral service and the celebration of Grandpa's life. Rejoicing in conversation and song with a whole herd of extended family is a great way to recognize the wonderful posterity and legacy that Grandpa left behind.

The whole family was able to be there except for the two kids on missions, and Andy, who couldn't get out of work. It was great to have everyone together again. The last time that we had all been together was for a very different occasion- my wedding. That's when the family was last together, and we were all laughing and happy and rejoicing in the forging of a new family. Once again we were celebrating the bands of familyhood as we remembered Grandpa and his influence on our of our lives.

I, being one of the oldest grandchildren, remember a lot more about Grandpa than a lot of the younger children. Grandpa is very tall, a giant! And he has very, very large hands. His hands are strong, but very loving. Grandpa loves to serve, and he loves the gospel. He loves his Savior.

Grandpa played lots of games with the kids before his diabetes got worse. He would bounce us on his knees, and tickle us. He'd stick his thumb in your armpit and wiggle it around while demanding the return of his finger, while you were begging for the cessation of tickles. He would drop a dollar from up high, and you could keep it if you could catch it before it hit the ground. He would give shoulder rides. As his diabetes got worse, he lost one of his legs, his vision became poor, and he was not always lucid. But he would always say, "Hello, pretty girl!" when I came to visit him.

Grandpa has a wonderful bass voice. He sings very low! I think of him when I hear beautiful songs like "Shenandoah," which is one of his favorites. I'm sure he's back to singing again up in Paradise, meeting with all of his loved ones who passed on before him, including my aunt who died when she was four. It must be nice to see her again.

Though it is strange to think that Grandpa is not over there in Portland anymore, it is comforting to know that the gospel of Jesus Christ is a true gospel, and that families can be together forever. God be thanked for the gift of his Beloved Son, and the wondrous Plan of Salvation and Happiness.

A RED LETTER WEEK! (Part the Second: Woes with Cameras)

This is a later update about Graduation Week. It is Part Two. I begin. I didn't begin earlier because I didn't want to slaughter anyone with a sudden gushing forth of Weird Heim updates. And then lots of stuff happened. I'll write about it, too. But not in this post. This goes back to graduation week.

Wednesday, April 18. I bawled a lot. So did my mom. We dropped off Elder Spud at the MTC. It involved Daddy, Mama, Andrew, Elder Spud, and I, and a silver rental car my parents got for the trip. It also involved a camera to capture some memories of this moment. Can I just say that it was a sunny day?

Ya, that whole "TASH! Keep your eyes open!" thing got pretty old pretty darn fast. I'm sure Daddy got rather sick of it as well, since he was the one who had to keep telling me to open up my pretty eyeballs. It's just that they can get twitchy from trying so hard to keep them open. You'd think that people would learn to appreciate my fine makeup skills and just call it good. Or maybe I should learn to masterfully apply eye shadow to create the illusion of a glimmering eye upon my closed eyelid. Then it wouldn't matter WHEN people took my picture. I would always be prepared! MWAHAHAHAHAHA! WHAT NOW, CAMERA?!?!

Observe!

Open eyes: Notice the bizarre squint that appears in the corner of the eyes, the unnatural expression induced by the strain placed upon the eyeball-keeping-open-muscles, the excessively strange shape of the eyelashes.

Closed eyes: Notice the........ natural appearance.......... of ........... that...... thing.......

Contrary to obvious appearances, those shapes are not Dr. Seuss fish, but are in fact mine own makeup-festooned eyelids. Also, I do not intend to sport a Grinch-like grin. It was purely incidental, I assure you.

Anyway, after we took lots of pictures with and of Elder Spud, we all piled in the car. I got to sit by my brother. I was in the middle because that's the smallest spot, and I'm still the smallest person. (I have officially given up on being a big kid. Ever. I'm doomed to this shortness. But there are benefits to being short. You're cute and you can get away with things.) Andy was in the backseat too, and he spent most of the 10 minute ride bracing himself for what it would be like when there was no Elder Spud in the car. When we got to the MTC, there were loads of people to tell us where to go and whisk the new missionaries away and show them around and help them to settle in. We parked by the curb slot #23, and then all piled out of the car. We pulled Elder Spud's stuff out, and then stared forlornly at him. We took some more pictures. I wasn't in them, because now not only was it sunny, there was also some strange blob of liquid in my eyes that made them even harder to open... at least while maintaining at least some semblance of a humanoid facial structure.

And then Elder Spud marched into the MTC. He's there now. He's learning the Thai language, and is already learning how to be both the most popular guy on campus, and also one of the biggest trouble makers. He likes to tease other missionaries. I shall give unto you an example.

Elder Spud and some other missionaries were studying Thai. One of the sister missionaries had made lots of flashcards to study vocab words. Elder Spud thought he'd be clever and pull a trick on her. He took another note card and wrote some random symbols on it (I think that he calls the writing "script," but I'm not sure), and wrote a definition on the back. He challenged her ability to name off all of the vocab, a challenge which the sister valiantly accepted. She was doing very well until Elder Spud pulled out his own card. She tried so very hard to remember, but it's so very hard to remember a vocab term that isn't real. She got frustrated and grabbed the card from Elder Spud and read the back: "Why are you so mad?" She was not quite as amused as was Elder Spud. Isn't he a goon? But he's also a great goon. We are so proud of him!

Andy did well to prepare for the departure of Elder Spud. It turned out that he had brought chocolate truffles as well as mint Milano cookies, favorites of both Mama's and mine. There was crying and bawling and missing Elder Spud, though he had just barely walked into the MTC. Andy patted me on the head and gave me another cookie every time I heaved a sob. You can't sob with a cookie in your mouth, can you? After dropping Elder Spud off, Andy and I still both had one more final exam each before we were done with classes. We made it through. I held so tightly to my chocolate truffle that it melted in my pocket during my final. My consolation melted. *sigh* I miss my brother, but I know that he's in the right place doing the right thing. And that is consolation enough for me. Except for a chocolate truffle sounds pretty darn good. I like those things. .... Andrew....???