Psychological inkblots or fireworks? You decide

So. I have decided it was wise not to kill my boys over the basement flood, even though they might have deserved it. I also forgave them when, a mere day later, my boys were wrestling in the basement and my oldest child put a giant hole in the wall with his knee. (Yay, Dad! Another hole for you to fix on your next visit!)

I have not ruled out selling them to gypsies, however.

But for fun, I thought I'd show you some of my favorite fireworks pictures from this year and tell you how to make some of your own for next year.

I know, it might have been nice to have this information on, say, July 3rd. But what can I say? This is the best you can expect from me this week.

I love taking pictures of fireworks - it's like distorted, colorful works of art that come out gloriously different every time you click the shutter. You never know what you're going to get. Someday I may mount a few of these on canvas and find someplace cool to hang them.


First, your camera must be set to manual for this. For those of you who waste a perfectly good SLR camera by keeping it on the auto setting, turn the knob to the giant "M."

Also, if the previous paragraph applies to you, stop what you are doing immediately. Log on to Amazon, send away for this book, and pray I forgive you for your ignorance.

For those of you who actually know how to use your camera properly, you will be allowed to move on to step two.

Lower your shutter speed until it says "bulb." This is the slowest shutter speed setting and will allow you to manually hold the shutter open for as long as your little heart desires.

You can put your f-stop (or aperture) at whatever you'd like - I played around with mine and found that the wider apertures (or smaller f-stop numbers) worked better as it allowed more light in. I also had my ISO set to 100.

Then, just point at the fireworks and shoot, holding down on the shutter release for as long as you like.

I didn't take my tripod this year, and I wish I would have. Balancing the camera on my knees while shooting in the rain wasn't ideal.

But they turned out pretty cool - each one more different than the last.

And afterwards, it's totally fun to study each picture and find something in the lines, squiggles, and colors. Kind of like a homemade inkblot test of sorts. You can give them to your family for an enlightening night of psycho-analysis. (Get it, en-LIGHT-ening? Okay. Bad pun).

For the record, my children saw food in nearly every picture. What does that say about us?

Is it just me or does that last one look slightly like Daniel Craig? A little? No?

Fine. Party poopers.

A question on a summer Monday

Question:

What happens when your boys decide to build a fort in the unfinished part of the basement near the air conditioners, and they shove the condensation hoses away from the drain and point them towards the finished part of the house, where carpet, drywall, and other such things reside?

Answer:

A freakin' flood, that's what.

Be back soon, I promise. Just as soon as I finish dealing with the water, the pulled up carpet, the soaking wet drywall, and general clean-up of the area. Oh, and as soon as I decide to let the boys out of their cage again.

They're only still alive because they didn't know what those hoses were for and I can't legally kill them for their ignorance.

Believe me, I wanted to.

Don't hate her because she's beautiful

Last week, I was lucky enough to get my hands on this gorgeous girl for a photo shoot. I'd had it on the books for a few weeks, and I was dying to get her in front of my camera.

And do you want to know the best part? She has no idea just how absolutely beautiful she is.

Which makes her just about the nicest girl you'll ever meet.

I know, right? I took about 450 pictures and spent four hours whittling them down to the top 100. They were all THAT GOOD. It had absolutely nothing to do with my photography skills, and was attributable entirely to her gorgeous self. She couldn't take a bad picture if she tried.

I like to call this one her sexy look.

Which kind of annoyed and grossed her out.

It's almost unfair - someone having skin this flawless. There was nary a freckle or a blemish to be found. In my next life, I demand to look exactly like this.

Thanks, Rachel. You are a darling girl and as nice as they come. I had a blast taking pictures of you.

Oh, and stay away from all the boys this fall at BYU. You might not realize your charm, my dear, but they most certainly will.

Breakfast in bed

A few days ago, I heard some clattering down in the kitchen. I flopped over and groggily looked at the clock, then immediately rolled over and went back to sleep.

I mean, if those kids of mine want to wake up at the crack of dawn and forage for their own breakfast? Have at it.

About an hour later, all three of them appeared eagerly at the foot of my bed, a tray balancing precariously in the hands of my youngest. I sat up, put my glasses on, and tried to graciously receive their thoughtful gesture.

There was a browning apple, cut and arranged into the shape of a flower, most happily by my oldest son. He practically burst with pride while he told me of the great effort it was to cut it up without slicing off any of his fingers.

I silently thanked their guardian angels for THAT small help.

There was also a (now) cold cup of what appeared to be hot chocolate. A quick stir brought up the many spoonfuls of hot cocoa mix that were residing on the bottom. My middle child noted with great joy how he successfully managed to boil the water and pour it into the cup without burning himself or anyone else.

I then not only thanked their guardian angels, but I began to see the whole morning as nothing short of miraculous.

And, lastly, there was a bowl of my favorite cereal, and I only know this because it was pointed out to me by my youngest child. It was pretty much unrecognizable as anything other than brown mush.

Her hazel eyes shone as she told me how she poured the milk ALL. BY. HERSELF. She then went on to say how she finished her part of my breakfast first and had to wait (somewhat impatiently) for the boys to finish theirs.

Translation: My cold cereal had been sitting in milk for about an hour.

I tell you this - it took everything I had to eat that cereal in front of their happy faces. I tried to disguise my gagging, and with each soggy bite it grew more difficult. I made it about halfway through and then convinced them that we should all go downstairs and eat together.

Somehow, magically, the cereal was gone before I made it downstairs.

I think the toilet really liked it.

The Week of Josh

Last week, as we do every year, we celebrated the Husband's birthday and Father's Day - all within a few days of each other.

He has dubbed it, "The Week of Josh," and makes demands for cakes, presents, and celebratory honor all week long.

I roll my eyes each and every year, groaning out loud, and wondering when it will ever be the Week of Stie. The children, however, jump with glee at the mere possibility of getting cake every day, and immediately start making homespun presents from clay, sticks, and rocks.

Which everyone totally wants for their birthday.

This year, however, the week of Josh was doomed from the start.

Business took him out of town on his birthday and the evening of Father's Day, something no man should ever have to do.

A search for the one present he actually wanted this year ended in disappointment as we discovered it will be back ordered for several weeks. (I have consented on this gift for a few reasons, one of them being that he'll just go out and buy it anyway, and the other because it just so happens to be the weapon of choice for my imaginary boyfriend, James Bond. Nothing wrong with bringing your fantasies to life, right?)

And just a few days shy of his actual birthday, his loving wife accidentally uploaded a system-crippling virus onto the family computer. Doing this resulted in hundreds of dollars shelled out to Geek Squad, and the eventual purchase of a new computer. A computer which everyone but the Husband will realistically use.

Top that off with the trip made to the Apple store wherein the loving wife was also purchased an i-phone. Ahem.

So, for his 37th year, the Husband generously shelled out a large sum of money to make others happy, put his own birthday wishes aside, and cheerfully ate a large slice of the driest birthday cake in history.


While the many layers seem enticing and delicious, it was, in fact, not.

Happy Week of Josh, baby. In spite of indications otherwise, you are extremely loved. It is the generosity of your spirit, your soul without guile, and your constant thought of others that makes you who you are.

And, um, here's hoping I do a little better next year.

Epiphany

We are thick in the throws of summer around here (though you'd hardly recognize it with all the thunderstorms plaguing the land) and I have had a few epiphanies.

The most important being: I really like my kids.

I know that should not come as a new realization, but should be a natural, ever-present thought in a mother's mind.

And it is.

But sometimes it's hard to remember when you're constantly surrounded by the noise, nagging, and needs of three little ones.

This morning (and on several of the mornings lately) I have had the company of my oldest son on my runs. He's eagerly laced up his shoes and we've hit the streets together in the early hours. I was selfishly worried that the quality of my workout would suffer as a result of my young companion (I do eat all that cookie dough, you know), but that has not been the case at all.

This kid can really hold his own.

No one ever told me the elated sense of pleasure I would feel, having this little person suddenly big enough to physically keep up with me. Easy conversation, the back and forth between us is as natural as can be. He talks to me. Tells me things he's feeling and working on in his little 11-year-old world.

As the miles between us and home build up, I realize the distance between he and I shrinks drastically.

Back at home, the others have made strides of their own, as well.

Last night, the light beneath a door led to me discover Chase, still awake and reading. So wrapped up in his book, that all sense of time was lost. The urgent desire to see how it all ends was keeping him from sleep. His tired eyes sparkled as he told me of the book he just could not put down. I smiled as I shut the door, and left him to his happy ending.

This boy, the one who struggled and cried when he was learning to read. His letters constantly transposed and his eyes tired from the strain - often he was left in a puddle of anguish. And often I was left in a sea of worry.

I'll tell you what - I'll let him have that late night of reading any day.

And let us not forget the princess. She, who is sometimes the neediest and most loud voice of all. The girl who has been self-appointed as a one-woman tattling machine has lately been less consumed with what others are or are not doing, and more interested in her own pursuits.

I cherish the sleepy, rock star hair that strolls into my bedroom for an early morning cuddle under the covers. I love the sound of her voice, soft and scratchy, as she tells me of her hopes and dreams for the day.

She plans big, this one.

Always wanting to grab life by the horns, and so impatient when there are trifles like breakfast and showers standing in her way.

But I have also caught her watching me lately. Observing the way I perform this little job called Mom, and forming her own ideas of the way she'll do it herself one day. Makes me stand a little taller and strive to be that much better. To be more patient. To love more, and be cross less. To cherish, instead of just tolerate. To teach, and not just discipline.

Life is a series of peaks and valleys. And right now, I feel sheer gratitude for the mountain top I've been standing on. Here's hoping I get to stay here for a while.

Because I really like the view.