The Gold Girls

DIY Dining Room Frames
Remember the post
where I told you about
my thrift store picture frames?


Well, here are the photos of the finished product.
Just for my mother-in-law.
She won’t be visiting any time soon
to see it for herself.

My father-in-law
will be serving in the
Columbia, South Carolina
LDS temple presidency
and my mother-in-law will be
assisting the temple matron
for the next three years.

We are so excited for them
in their new calling.

I think I need to redo this one 
so that the lettering is darker and easier to read.

Your love is better than ice-cream.
And African safari animals.

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How to raise girls right.
Growing up I never understood that my friends were allowed 
to come and go with their boyfriends as they pleased.
As a parent, I am even more perplexed by the parents
who not 
only let their young daughters date,
but encourage them to do so.
It’s crazy and foreign to me.
Just like my mom and dad
and LG’s mom and dad,
we will stand by the no dating until 16 rule.
We want to keep our girls innocent and pure,
and have every expectation that they will
live according to God’s command
and follow in our footsteps 
and save themselves
until marriage.
Read on for some really great rules to raising girls right.

This time General Conference was especially special for me.
Of course, the talk about how to be a good dad to girls
was totally awesome.
I am so grateful that my girls have such a great daddy.
The ideas presented by Elaine Dalton, 
who just had three sons welcome new baby girls 
within a three week span, are timely, true, and tender. 
Make sure you go over and watch. 
Then conveniently leave it open for your hubby to find.

And if you really want to be safe,
you can always use this date my daughter application
used by the father of a good family friend.
Yeah, seriously.
He was a cop once.
And he was ultra safe.
Almost even too conservative for this conservative.
But most definitely on the certifiably paranoid schizophrenia side.
After reading this application again
and chuckling, I think God was really
good to our girls
to give them a gentle giant of a father
to even out their crazy mom.
But, at least I am not this crazy:

APPLICATION TO DATE MY DAUGHTER



NOTE: This application will be incomplete and rejected unless accompanied by a complete financial statement, job history, driving record, lineage, and current certified medical report (including drug tests) from your doctor. 
1. NAME  ___________________________________________DATE OF BIRTH ________________                    PLEASE PRINT FOR INSCRIPTION ON TOMB STONE


2. HEIGHT ______________ WEIGHT __________ I.Q _______G.P.A.____________ 
3. SOCIAL SECURITY # _____________ DRIVERS LICENSE # __________________ 
4. BOY SCOUTRANK____________________________________________________
5. HOME ADDRESS _________________ CITY/STATE___________ ZIP __________ 


6. Do you have one MALE and one FEMALE parent? ___yes___no   

If No, EXPLAIN______________________________________________________
7. Number of years your parents have been married________________________________
8. Do you own a van? ______ A truck with oversizedtires? ______     A waterbed? _________     
Do you have an earring, nose ring, belly buttonring,    or a tattoo? _____________________     
(If  “yes” to any of #8, discontinue applicationand leave premises


9. In 50 words or less, what does “LATE” mean to you?_________________________________________________________________________________________________
10. In 50 words or less, what does “DON’T TOUCH MY DAUGHTER” mean to you? ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
11. In 50 words or less, what does “HER FATHER IS A SNIPER” mean to you?________________



12. Church you attend _____________ 

      How often do you attend ______________________ 


13. When would be the best time to interview yourfather, mother and priest/rabbi/minister?____________________________________ 


14. Answer by filling in the blank: please answer freely. ALL answers are confidential      
(That means I won’t  tell anyone -ever- Ipromise.)     
a) If I were shot, the last place on my body Iwould want wounded is      _________________________________
b) If I were beaten, the last bone I would wantbroken is my       ______________________________________     
c) A woman’s place is in the       ______________________________________     
d) The one thing I hope this application does not ask me about is      _________________________

e) When I first meet a girl, the first thing I notice about her is      ______________________________________      (NOTE: If your answer begins with “T” or “A”,discontinue. Leave premises keeping your head low. Running in a serpentine fashion is advised.) 
15. What do you want to be IF you grow up?____________________________________   


Please Review the Following Nine Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter


Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up. 

Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or handsoff of my daughter’s body, I will remove them. Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely thatthey appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big,and I will not object.  However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during thecourse of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely inplace to your waist. 

Rule Four: It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughtersafely back at my house, and the only word I need fromyou on this subject is “early.” 


Rule Five: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, if you make her cry, I will make you cry. 


Rule Six: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget.  If you want to be on time forthe movie, you should not be dating.  My daughter istrying to fix her hair, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge.  Instead of juststanding there, why don’t you do something useful,like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Seven: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas,or anything softer than a wooden stool.  Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.  Places where there is darkness.  Placeswhere there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough toinduce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater,and a goose down parka – zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay.Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better. 


Rule Eight: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied,balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing,merciless god of your universe.  If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance totell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  I have a sniper rifle, a shovel, and fiveacres down by the horses. Do not trifle with me. 

Rule Nine: Be afraid.  Be very, very afraid.  It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in thedriveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi.  When my Agent Orange starts acting up,the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. Assoon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak theperimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, thenreturn to your car – there is no need for you to come inside.  The camouflaged face at the window is mine.Should any of the above rules be misunderstood, and broken you may feel the need to run. 


However you need to remember that I have my Sniper Dope (ranging abilities) out to 1000 yards, in low light conditions.Should you run you’ll only die tired!


I SWEAR THAT I HAVE READ ALL THE RULES AND THAT ALL INFORMATION SUPPLIED ABOVE IS TRUE AND CORRECT TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH,DISMEMBERMENT, NATIVE AMERICAN ANT TORTURE,ELECTROCUTION, CHINESE WATER TORTURE, AND RED HOT POKERS. 

______________________________________________________________


Signature (That means sign your name) Thank you for your interest. Please allow four to sixyears for processing. You will be notified in writingif you are approved. Please do not try to call orwrite. If you do attempt any communication before yourapplication is approved, automatic disqualificationwill result. If your application is rejected, you will be notifiedby two gentlemen wearing white ties and carryingviolin cases (You might want to watch your back). This is your “last chance” to check your answers.Perhaps you should check your response to question#10. This guy didn’t get it!Do you still want to date my daughter?


_____ Yes, please accept my application 


_____ I um, no, I uh, think I have the wrong house.

My husband loves his moobs.

Abigail thought she was being clever to shorten the name for LG’s manboobs to moobs.
Little did she know that the term is already in use everywhere.
Surely she hadn’t ever referenced the urban dictionary.
I guess it’s an easy combination to conclude.

Here is a funny story just for my sister in law Meagan
who has missed the old me while I was caught up in too much drama.

A while back we were having a talk about modesty.

I was telling Abigail to go and put a T-shirt on over her undershirt.

I said, “Cover up Abigail, nobody, including your family members want  to see your bra all hanging out.”

Abigail said, “Nobody needs to see dad’s moobs through his sexy silky undershirt either.”
LG loves to taunt the girls when he wears his one silky top.
He also loves to taunt me when we go to sleep at night.
Oh Alice, you know I’m wearing my sexy silky right?
Uh huh, hun, why don’t you take it off? Take it all off baby.
And hurry, cause that see-through top kind of creeps me out.

Before I went into the whole Emma Watson routine,
LG kicked in.

“I find the whole concept of being ‘sexy’ embarrassing and confusing. If I do an interview with photographs people desperately want to change me – dye my hair blonder, pluck my eyebrows, give me a fringe. Then there’s the choice of clothes. I know everyone wants a picture of me in a mini-skirt. But that’s not me. I feel uncomfortable. I’d never go out in a mini-skirt. It’s nothing to do with protecting the Hermione image. I wouldn’t do that. Personally, I don’t actually think it’s even that sexy. What’s sexy about saying, ‘I’m here with my boobs out and a short skirt, have a look at everything I’ve got?’ My idea of sexy is that less is more. The less you reveal the more people can wonder. – Emma Watson



He said, “Girls, for every time you wear something that is too revealing,
I am going to take my shirt off and show my moobs to your friends.”

Oh the horror.

The girls screamed in unison…”NOOOO, not the moobs”.

“Oh, yes I will. I’ve got moobs and I know how to use them.”
He shot a wink my way.
I smiled.
And then had a good belly laugh.

Does that make me a pervert? Since I think that is absolutely hilarious, and if he ever did flash the moobs to scare our girls, I would most definitely take a look.

Hunting for Clothes
I haven’t done a thrifty post in a while. 
I can’t wait to post my hubby’s Father’s Day gifts. 
I did good. 
Really good.
And this morning I realized that I hadn’t done anything for our dads yet.
Ugh.
Not ugh to our dads, but ugh to my thoughtlessness.
So, the other day, Abigail and I went through her list of “to-pack” for her first year of church girl’s camp.
Enter squeals of delight. 
And lots and lots of vicarious living.
To our dismay, Abigail needed a winter coat.
She lost hers sometime in December and has been making due with heavy sweatshirts ever since.
Once we made it to the move in April, and it wasn’t so terribly cold here in Utah, we figured we wouldn’t have to worry about it again until next year.
We thought wrong.
There is still snow on the ground at the campsite.
Where am I going to find a winter coat in the middle of June?
No problem. We may find an even BETTER winter coat this time of year.
If we shop at the thrift store.
Which we do.
A lot.
So, guess what?
We found a $300 Nils winter ski jacket in almost brand new condition for  $18. I then used my 20% off coupon and saved a few more bucks.
The girl loves her new jacket
and I love it too.
It’s the prettiest most pale pink with black and white.
And apparently the black and white makes the pink acceptable.
Win win.
Needless to say, I’m a bargain hunter.
I like the idea of being a hunter.
On the prowl.
Anyhow, anyone with lots of kids knows that you save the hand me downs.
I guess Sophia and Bella will be the proud owners of a pale pink ski jacket someday.
Meanwhile, Abigail will be wearing it to camp,
and when she gets home, we will put it in her closet bin with the rest of her winter clothes.
Three times a year, I go through the bins.
Summer, winter, and back to school.
I’ve got it down to a science.
Three times a year, I take time with each child to inspect every article of their clothing.
We put “still using” articles back in the drawers and closet.
We hand down the “too small” but will fit your sister next season to the correct person’s bin.
And we retrieve and put away from the bin the seasonals:
bathing suits, long sleeves, sweaters, coats, shorts, etc.
It’s so exciting.
In a house full of girls,
clothes are a big hit.
And finding a shirt that you had forgotten 
about buying months before 
is the equivalent to remembering 
you have $20 in the pocket of your jeans.
Throughout the year, I buy “off season” on sale.
Meaning when winter and summer things go on sale,
I stock up in the appropriate sizes.
I put all my bargains in the bins.
When back to school time comes, 
I rarely have to get my kids anything 
because they usually have a few nice outfits waiting for them in their bin.
Outfits that I got for cheap.
Real cheap.
Oh and shoes I also got for cheap.
The new things lighten the disappointment from the hand me downs.
Or at least I like to think that they do.
But to tell you the truth,
with this system, I think my kids have an equal appreciation 
for new, handed down, or bought second hand.
I believe in affirmative action.
Equal opportunity for clothes of all backgrounds.
Caroline is wearing the things from this bin now.
Check out those cute tennis shoes and Tevas.
The tennis shoes were bought at Target last year for $2.
And the Teva’s were from a yard sale for a $1.
Both are in excellent condition.
And used equally.
And here is Sophia’s bin from last year.
Yeah for her teeny little frame.
All of her shorts still fit!
Bonus.
The only place I had to hunt was the bin at the house.

Funny Beiber

Remember this old Justin Beiber post?

We love Justin Beiber around here.
Sophia especially loves it when we tease her about him.
I am not really in a writing mood,
so I am sharing with you things I find interesting on youtube.
This female version of Justin Beiber rocks house.
I believe her original song is only funny when she performs it.

I overheard another funny conversation at our house the other day.
It has nothing to do with Justin Beiber.
Unless showcasing that my kids are so beyond celebrity worship counts?

I was recently asked to work with the Cub Scout at church.
Yes, the Lord and the church as a whole both have a great sense of humor.
The mother of 4 girls is, of course, the perfect choice to be a Cub Scout Den Leader.
Needless to say, I’ve been trying to psych myself up about it.

Abigail turned to me at church when they announced my newest calling and said,
“Mom, it looks like you are finally going to get your boys.”

So, later that day, I hear this:

Abigail to Bella: Bella, you are gonna have an in with the boys your age now.
Bella: Yeah, I know. Sweet.
Sophia: It’s too bad mom doesn’t get to work with the boys your age
           Abigail.
Abigail: No, I don’t want mom to work with the boys my age,
            I want her to work with the Eagle Scouts.
Sophia: Why?
Abigail: Those older boys are cuter. 14 and 15 year olds are just
             right.
Sophia: But the Eagles Scouts are older than that.
Abigail: Even better.

And I thought for a minute that Abigail was just vying for the more driven boys.
She could care less about Eagle Scout status.
She just wants those older boys.

I love eavesdropping on them.
I am predicting a day in the near future
that I will remind Abigail that she only wants an Eagle Scout.
Gotta keep that conversation at the top of my trick bag.
It may be very handy when LG and I don’t approve a certain somebody.

Back to the original story.
I am happy to now understand more fully
why exactly Justin Beiber is irrelevant at our house.
Apparently my girls only want the Eagle Scouts.

I guess that’s why I have to work in Cub Scouts.
Somebody has to start these boys on the right path.
They have to earn the Eagle to be worthy of my girls.
Or be 4 years older.
Precisely why Justin Beiber would never stand a chance.
How old is that kid? 8?

I hit the motherload.
Just minutes ago I hit the motherload. Under one of the seats of my minivan, just waiting for a diligent mother, was a lost Barbie DVD, the pre-teen’s favorite flowered flip-flop, and the toddler’s teeny pink croc. Wow, two pairs of shoes have been rightfully reunited and that makes this mother very very happy!! I won’t tell you about all the discarded Easter candy wrappers, and candy (some chocolate) and cheez-its and fruit snacks and french fries I had to wade through to hit my motherload, it would just be embarrassing and may make you question this mother’s luck. Or worse, my ability to teach my children hygeine. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness, dears. (In my sweetest tone)  How many times do I have to tell you?” (In not such a sweet tone) No, let’s just focus on how totally lucky I am.
I was on hands and knees with my hindside perfectly wedged between the carseat and the van door searching diligently for one thing and one thing alone: the pacifier. The dreaded yet much needed pacifier. I am not talking about the baby needing it, although she is addicted. But, once again, this post is about me and my good fortune, not my children and all that is wrong with them because of me. No, I am the one that needs that pacifier. If it’s up to me, she will have it until she is five, and in kindergarten, cause let’s face it, my house is loud, and getting louder every day. 
My four girls could take on my family of upbringing without a worry. Who cares that we’d be outnumbered by three? We would win a decibel contest…with flying musical instruments.  I am talking by the brass section or even the percussion. So, every bit helps in the hushing of my brood, and that teeny pacifier is my saving grace. And for some reason the baby likes to play fetch with mommy. The little monster. She knows when I am most needing silence. And she always seems to know when mommy is most desperate for quiet. Which only happens when we are down to the last pacifier. You would never believe me when I tell you that we really do own 6 of them. You especially wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that at least once a day, we can’t find a single one of them. I would love to share all my sane moments with the inventor of the pacifier. I do have one question though, why couldn’t God send an nondetachable perfectly matching built in one for each and every baby? Those darn velcro tie things can’t withstand the wrath of my 2 year old.
Back to the motherload. Mother’s Day was last weekend. I scored. My amazing husband (and I guess my kids too) got me a beautiful silver ring, a pedicure and a Costco membership. How could I ever complain, right? Wrong. Do you know what my best mother’s day gift was? Remember I am the luckiest girl alive. My motto is all or nothing…especially when it comes to cleaning. My children’s real gift to me on Mother’s Day was a whole sippy cup of milk…wait for it….dumped everywhere (and I mean everywhere)…wait for some more… on the second pew back… in the middle of Sacrament meeting. On the baby. On her blanket. On the pew. On the carpet. On every single toy and every single snack baggy and every single page of every single board-book. Even on the hymn book. You see, I am the luckiest mother alive and Abigail had helped get the baby’s “shut up and be happy bag” ready for church as part of Operation Pamper Mom Day. She did a great job. She just forgot one thing: the plastic piece that holds the milk inside the cup.
This luckiest mother alive…and smartest mother alive ..sent her hubby out with the screaming baby. The baby had accomplished her role in helping to spread (or should I say pour) the joy..everywhere and was upset that she had no milk left. And who knows where the pacifier was. It’s always hiding when we need it. I used a diaper and the dry portions of the baby’s blankie to soak up as much as I could. And then I took out my baby wipes and had sanitizer for the rest of the sour prevention duties. In the background I could hear people. They were faint in volume compared to my task at hand, but I think they were talking about how wonderful their mothers were. I am not quite sure why they thought they were so wonderful, but I have a good idea, or two, or three. 
All the while I am thinking, “Oh how lucky I am to be a mother. Someday when I am dead, my kids may get up in church and talk about how wonderful I am.” They won’t even recall this fiasco. They won’t say “only a mother can handle a situation like that.” And as I am having this conversation with myself, I finished the clean up job and found the pacifier under the pew. I simultaneously had the thought that they won’t have to remember this. No they won’t have to remember any part of it, because hopefully, if I have any luck at all, they will someday get to live it. The motherload indeed. I couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day.

And here I am a few days later. Once again, a pink croc is missing and we are down to the last pacifier. Yes, the cycle will continue on forever. As long as there are women out there who are willing to have children.

Lessons from the Easter Eggs
Everyone starts with smiles.
Caroline has the best “cheese” ever.
Sophia is a close second.

And how quickly they turn on you.

And turn some more.

 O.k. Caroline, you can have a turn.

Now everybody is happy.

Some like to eat. Some like to show off.
I prefer eating.
And then showing off.

Sophia gave this awesome talk in primary on Easter. She wrote it all by herself.


We are all like Easter eggs.

We are all like Easter eggs because when a chicken lays an egg it is white, smooth, and good to be eaten and it is like Heavenly Father is the chicken and we are the eggs, when Heavenly Father sent us down to earth we were white, smooth, and whole.
When we come to earth it is like we are in a package and our parents keep us in the safe package until we are eight. When we are eight and get baptized, we have to take care of our own egg.
When we sin our egg gets dirty and gross. Sometimes people sin so bad that it’s like their egg breaks apart and splatters all over the kitchen floor.
For the egg to go back to Heavenly Father, it has to be white pure and how it was when you came to earth. But, when we mess up our eggs, we can’t fix the egg by ourselves. If we tried to clean up our eggs ourselves it would just get more and more broken and make a bigger mess.
The only one who can fix us or forgive us (or our egg) is Jesus Christ. So when we sin, we have to ask for Jesus Christ to use the Atonement to fix our egg. The only way Jesus Christ could make it possible to fix our eggs was for Him to atone for our sins in the Garden of Gethsemane and to die for us on the cross.
I want to keep my egg clean white and non-broken and I am very happy that Jesus Christ will fix my egg even when it gets dirty and disgusting and broken.