Important announcement: Isaac is officially potty trained and just 3 days shy of his 4th birthday! About time and hallelujah!
The Prompts: Mama’s Losin’ It Challenge
2.) When I grow up I want to be like...
I’ve used that phrase “when I grow up” many a time when thinking of things I can’t afford and most likely will never be able to afford. “When I grow up, I want to have a house like Pemberly.” Or, “When I grow up I will get one of those Audi sports cars in midnight blue.” Or “When I grow up, I want to be 50 pounds lighter.” But when the question comes to “when I grow up I want to be like…” someone, there are many who come to mind. As far as mortal examples go, I’d have to pick from several people and the qualities I admire in them. I’d like to have my dad’s patience, my mom’s excitement for life, my sister Erin’s confidence, my brother Jared’s innovativeness, my sister Dani’s kindness, my husband Chris’ love of learning, my aunt Jodi’s creativity, and my kid’s buckets of energy. So, when I grow up I want to be like all the people I love.
4.) List 5 things you like to do while camping...mmmm, sleeping in the good ol’ outdoors!
Fishing: Ahhh..Power bait. I think the florescent green one works the best, though the pink is prettier. I am a catcher of fish, not an eater. I can feel alright about this because I know lots of people who do eat lake fish and so I figure I’m offering a service while having a great time catching them.
Hiking: Great fun, great sites, and toe nails do grow back.
Roast stuff: I suppose it’s the dormant pyromaniac that lurks in me and begs to come out once I hit an elevation higher than 7000 feet. I think this is something that every Boy Scout struggles with but with a weak, whispered, and insincere conscience that only suggests, in a quiet voice, “Don’t.” As a mother the need to resist has gotten stronger as my boys have gotten older and closer to the age of pyromania. I must be an example and stop lighting marshmallows on fire just to watch the flame change in color and intensity while the sticky goo slides off the stick to begin yet another pop of flame as it hits the coals below… “where’s that pyro-helpline phone number…? Ah, right here on the back of the match box…911?”
Sit and talk: So, how big was your fish? That big eh? Remember the story about Uncle E. who worked with the CCC building outhouses in the ‘30s? How he was painting down below the new toilet and some woman ran in to use it? And how it suddenly got dark? And then how he yelled, “oh no you don’t!” and gave that lady a nice swat on the backside with his mop? I wonder what kind of phobias she still has from that experience.
Inhale: Now that I live in Utah, the issue of proper oxygen inhalation hasn’t been that much of a big deal but when I lived in California, a trip up a mountain could be an instant cure to pleurisy.