How to be a rock star mom: Step-by-step instructions

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Step One:
Have a good friend plugged in enough to the local literary scene that she alerts you to a book signing by your son's favorite author, Rick Riordan, creator of the brilliant Percy Jackson series.

Be sure to tell your oldest son about this as though it were your idea.

Step Two:
Take your oldest son and two of his friends to the book signing. Arrive two hours early in anticipation of the large crowds. Bring Subway sandwiches and a deck of cards to keep them busy.


Bask in the glow of their praise for your genius as you watch the line stretch out behind you for miles.

Step Three:
While waiting for the signing to start, steal your son's copy of the newest Percy Jackson saga, and ignore Radio Disney blasting from the speakers above your head. Pay no attention whatsoever to the ongoing pictionary game while reading said book. Look up momentarily to discover your son diving head first into the game and take a photograph of his thoughtful and artistic rendition of Medusa.

Smile, wave, and pretend you've been paying attention the whole time.

Step Four:
Laugh and shake your head when the crowd erupts in squeals and screams as Mr. Riordan enters the room. Be grateful your own son is above such hysterics.

Look over to find him hopelessly mooning over Mr. Riordan and basking in the sheer bliss of the moment.

Step Five:
Have your camera ready for the very moment when his peaceful bliss turns into utter delight as he realizes JUST. WHERE. HE. IS. RIGHT. NOW.

Feel very satisfied for making him so happy.


Step Six:
Text friends while waiting in a seemingly endless line for Mr. Riordan's signature.


Step Seven:
Be glad there is a former middle school teacher out there who decided to tell a bedtime story to his son. These actions, several years later, will cause your son to proclaim this day as, "THE BEST DAY OF HIS WHOLE LIFE."

Step Eight:
Drive home with a profound sense of satisfaction for, today, indeed, you were a great mom.
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If any of you (or your children) have not read these books, I highly recommend picking up a copy of the first book in the series, "The Lightning Thief." We have all enjoyed them at our house, and look forward anxiously for the movie coming out next February. They are a fabulous way to get your kids excited about reading. My oldest has become a fanatic on Greek mythology and these books have led him to study this subject in depth. I might even venture out on a limb to say that I liked them better than the Harry Potters.

Don't hate me. Read them and judge for yourself.

Would you like to super size that ego?

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Well.

For the first time ever, I am at a loss for words.

How much do I love you, my cute little internet peeps?

I would have logged on here sooner to tell you as much, but I couldn't fit my now-gigantic head through the front door, let alone squeeze it in and be able to sit down in front of the computer.

You have made my day. You have rocked my world. You have given me the will to live.

Well, that last part was maybe a bit dramatic.

But, still, I am humbly honored and thrilled to know you're all out there, somehow connecting with the stuff that gets churned out here at Stie's Thoughts. I love you all. I wish we could go to dinner sometime and have you tell me again how wonderful I am.

Okay. I'll stop now. Really.

I will be drawing a winning comment tonight, and will accept entries until 8 p.m., central time, for anybody coming late to what became the surprise party for Stie.

Thanks, friends.

Coaxing you all out of the closet

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I realized recently that I have been doing this little blogging thing for almost two-and-a-half years now. And you know what? I still love it. It's still fun. It's therapeutic for me, and it's given me a permanent record of my everyday life.

Which, we all know, is extremely exciting, right?

I know Angelina must weep with envy at the fabulousness that is me. Me and my thighs made entirely out of cookie dough.

But I feel like you know me here. You get me. You come back to see what dumb things I've done lately. You laugh at my bad haircuts and roll your eyes when I strut my stuff for the handicapped men at the grocery store. I figure, if you're reading me with any regularity, you must find something here that you like.

And so I have decided that today it is time for me to meet all of you. Because I like you. And I think it's time we became friends.

So here's the deal: Leave me a comment saying hi. Maybe tell me how you found me or when you first started reading. I'm even willing to entertain your hate mail. I guess I'm stupid curious like that. But, please, just say SOMETHING.

Even if you've never said something before. Come of your lurking closet. Just this once. Then you can go back in and I will let you read this blog in peace.

I will then take all the lovely love notes from you, throw them into a proverbial hat, and pick a random winner. The winning comment will receive something from me at some point in the near future. Not sure what, but it will be fabulous.

So, come on. Say hi.

Because sometimes? A girl just needs a little validation from her internet peeps.

Channeling my inner June Cleaver

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A few weeks ago, I made a bargain with my friend, Maren. I told her that if she would teach me how to make jam, I would teach her how to make homemade chicken noodle soup.

Gabi has posted about the four-generation family recipe for chicken noodle soup here, which I now consider to be a large portion of Hannah's future dowry. I might have married the Husband for this recipe alone, had I known.

It is the same recipe I faithfully use, and it is truly amazing. My favorite part is actually using half an egg shell to measure the milk for the noodles. Something about that just seems so old-fashioned, so earthy.

What? I can be earthy. I can be old fashioned.

Shut up.

ANYway, I urge you to take advantage of the season, head out, and get yourself some strawberries, sugar, pectin, and jars. Because the joy of taking this:



While remembering to do a little bit of this:

And laughing with someone while they do this:


Will ultimately net you a large batch of this:

Pure, red, sugary heaven.

Which, by the way, I have had to ration. The little (and big) people around here seem to think they can have jam on just about everything. It's killing me how fast we're going through this stuff. I feel like I need to stash it safely away from their grubby mitts and growling stomachs.

I decided to hide the rest in the freezer under the vegetables. We all KNOW the children will never look there.

Neither will the Husband.

So, without further rambling on my part, I give you the recipe:

FREEZER JAM
3 cups mashed berries
5 cups sugar (I know, don't even say it, Robyn)
1 cup water
1 box pectin

Wash and stem the berries. Mash by hand (or in a blender if you're lazy like us). Stir sugar into berries and let sit for 20 minutes.

In the meantime, add pectin to water and stir until dissolved. Bring water and pectin to a boil, and boil for one full minute. Add water and pectin to berry mixture; stir until combined. Pour into clean, dry jam jars, leaving a little head room at the top. Cover with lids. Let jam jars sit on your counter for 24 hours, then store in the freezer.

Or until your piggy little munchkins get a hold of some and practically eat it by the spoonfuls.

Also critical to the success of the recipe is having some warm, soft, homemade bread handy. It helps you ensure that your blood sugar will remain in a constant diabetic state for at least a week straight.

Which any good jam really ought to do.

BYU's most eligible bachelor

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A few weeks ago, one of my friends asked me to take senior pictures of her son. I was excited to practice taking pictures on someone willing and capable of sitting happily and smiling for me.

Unlike the people around here who would rather endure the dentist's drill than pose for their mother without the promise of cold, hard cash.

Dustan was a photographer's dream. He endured outfit changes, multiple locations, and more than an hour's worth of smiling at my camera. I think it was worth the effort and wanted to show you a few of my favorites.

Look out, ladies of BYU. This handsome fella is coming your way this fall:







Somehow, I don't remember the boys in my high school being nearly as cute or half as nice as Dustan is.
Grab him now, girls. He'll be going fast.