The Sand Man Cometh

Have you ever seen the blockbuster hit "Tom Thumb"?

No? Really?

It was one of the many of our VHS collection as children that had its very beginning and ending cut off. But in the middle of this memorable movie with Gideon from "Seven Brides" as the leading little man, was a scene called The Yawning Man." I was always amazed at how contagious yawning could be. I remember committing myself to a non-yawning stance as the song came on,--just to fail every time!

See if you can make it through these photos Zach captured after hours.



You are getting verrrry sleepy.

It's About....Time

Most everything is...about time.

Finding the one and only --takes time. Establishing a career --takes experience, which takes time. Trusting my instincts as a parent, deciphering personal thoughts versus promptings takes time. Friendships, built after first impressions have been replaced by time --are always different. Without exception, when I have discovered more about someone else's story, I find that my opinion changes. Usually, though, the change is more drastic as their story has been affected by time --and mine has too.


Miek's Dixie graduation 2000

Today I was reading some about my brother's fame as an actor in high school and college. Last week I was listening to music that used to play at our house as we were going through the Wells teenage years. The week before I was talking to my sister who lives in Las Vegas, and I remembered praying as a child, that we'd have the chance to be good friends as women. Monday I was asked to visit the daughter of a woman I know. She has recently suffered 3 miscarriages. And while my story has had some similar chapters as hers, time has worked it's magic and I have some hind-sight. Only time can do that. And it will take time.


For Paul --"Fire Creek"

While I am grateful for, and understand the necessity of time passing --when I open my blog and see the last photos I posted--of my very tall and grown-up looking son...I feel a bit melancholy. Since (and probably before) my London days, I have tried to appreciate every day. (In Hyde park there was a statue of Peter Pan and Big Ben with the quote: "Time Flies." I determined to not wish the time away.)

So I do not wish it away, but it marches on...regardless. It wasn't that long ago that we Wellses were up early, wrapped in blankets on the heater, waiting for scripture study. The music of James Taylor, The Beatles, Led Zepplin, The Thompson Twins, Alison Kraus, competed for coverage on the family room stereo (along with Dad's Deep Breakfast). Mom was busy with school projects, term paper edits, dance competitions, karate advancements, and Jed's plays.
But it is getting further and further away. My siblings are all married, their young features cropping up on the Wells cousins that resemble them. And we talk on the phone between interruptions from needy and inquisitive children --after all--those Wellses are the parents now --their chapters currently full of adventures in dance, karate, and piano lessons, laundry and employment decisions, job chart and scripture study attempts.

And so it goes...I am grateful for the characters in my book. They are people I'd want to spend a lifetime with.

Christmas caroling 2007

Furthur Proof

I just went to download our most recent photos and found these.

See?

Why do you think he shows an expression of surprise?

So this is what he does after I go to bed?. I'm trying to understand --I really am.

A New kind of Narcissim?

So as the first time parent of a teenager,

I am trying to figure out whether technology is partly to blame for the changes in my son, or if this just part of the self-definition of a 13 year old male (with a favorite gray birthday jacket).






Either way, my cell phone and camera are littered with a vast collection of Zach's self-portraits. My evenings are littered with various reports of his amazing athletic prowess. And my walls and door frames are covered with long finger prints --proof of his increasing height, and incorrigible desire to jump, hit, kick, and knock at things (I am beginning to have new insight into the motivation behind the weight set, the gravity boots, and the punching bag in the basement for my three brothers).

I feel awful about this confession: but last night, after Zach finally stopped trying to wrestle with his Dad; after he finished jamming out to his iPod in the hallway (way past bedtime); after he quit laughing at his silly parents (who were not trying to be funny)---
I said, with a perfected roll of my eyes, "He is driving me BANANAS!" (I know...I've got to reach a Separate Peace about this --I have many years to go (and two more boys...)

Good thing he's a handsome monkey.

Today I'm going to check the classifieds for punching bags and Karate classes.

The Errand Of An Angel

Sometimes an Angel's work looks something like this:


When Aunt Susie heard of Sam's death-defying dive, she brought dinner (enough for left overs (since Star was out of town)) cornbread, and her 1st attempt at sugar cookies.

It is comforting to have Angels on this side of mortality too. They hug tighter.

Their food also tastes better.

The Piano {Person}

With current emphasis on being politically correct, I will comply by altering the name of the title of the Billy Joel song (I'm sure there is probably something illegal about doing that too).

When my older children were younger children, Dixie Archibald sold us her old family piano. I used to sit at it and sight read my old lesson books after all the Halls were in bed. There were fewer of us then (and they used to go to bed when I put them there). That old piano has been through a couple of moves now, the bench has received a new cover, the paint is chipped, and the keys are a bit sticky. It is badly in need of a good tuner, but I love the off-key music that comes from its strings. It means that my children will have similar opportunities to mine. As they practice and plunk their way through Bastien, Beethoven, and Brahms, their ears will hopefully hear the majesty in music itself.

I came across this series of photos capturing Abbie's hands (with her Hawaiian ring) --my budding photographer, Zach, at work again.
Now motivating them to practice....(and getting Zach to play something other than variations on the I Love The Mountains theme...)

Why Be Fit

"Nah--I don't care for protein drinks, Mom."

Several people --administrators, faculty, staff, even students of BYU have, over the years, signed on for the rigorous training offered in the "Y Be Fit" program. It is harbored in the dungeons of the Richards Building. I've personally known a few who've been willing --thinking it will change the course of their lives for good. And to be frank --I have not yet come across one, who when told they'd need to have each "roll" pinched and measured, be weighed under water, and then commit to follow the exercise regimen (kindly printed and lovingly bound for them on xeroxed papers)--wondered "WHY be fit?"

See how he's dressed and ready to go? His jacket says "Athlete."

My youngest son seems to share these sentiments despite having never been weighed and humiliated in front a bunch of college co-eds. He would rather lean back against his Momma than sit up on his own. He'd prefer just to rest and smile cheek-to-cheek, than stand straight up on his chubby legs. But with another big milestone age just around the corner, his Momma has started doing sit-up exercises with him, adjusting the level on the "excer-saucer" and has even borrowed a "Johnny Jumper."

Everyone is doing their part to encourage action in the saucer.

He can sit up on his own for quite a while now, but when he notices Mom is behind him, he just flops back into her lap and smiles. Then he straightens his back and refuses, still smiling, to resume the sitting position.
Where do these kids get this obstinate streak? Surely not from their Mother!

"WHY are we doing this again?" Nah --I don't think so."