General Conference

All my childhood memories of Conference are very black and white.  General Conference was a black-and-white, desperately boring weekend.  As a new mom, I decided to be way cooler than my own parents and teach my daughter to enjoy Conference...through bribery.  I settled on ziplock containers with pictures of the apostles glued to them, filled with prizes.  When the apostle spoke, hooray! There's a prize.

But then my daughter was disappointed every time there was a non-apostle speaker.  So I doubled the amount of containers.  Then she was disappointed when President Monson got up to speak more than once.  So I made three for President Monson.  Then she was disappointed at the audit report.  So I bought bags of candy to make up the difference.  Then I had another daughter, and they fought over the prizes.  So I made another set.  Then I had another daughter.  And another.

Everyone always talks about the commercialization of Christmas, but I think it's possible that I have successfully commercialized General Conference.  If my kids don't have a new toy or treat every twenty minutes for all eight hours of conference, you would think that the world is ending in blood and terror.  Ziplock containers pasted with smiling pictures of David A. Bednar and Dieter F. Uchtdorf are constantly cycling through my dishwasher.  The girls spend the time between speakers protecting their hoard.

Maybe this year I'll just sit and listen.

Anyway, here's a picture of President Monson for my friend Britta --she's putting together a General Conference packet for October, you should check it out.

Jesus Christ Restored the Fulness of the Gospel through Joseph Smith

An attempt at a Joseph Smith picture for April's primary theme:

Child of God

Here's your basic, "Hi, I'm a child of God" graphic.  I'm having a little bit too much fun figuring out how to use pixlr.com.

Maybe I'll do a few more of these.  Here's my four-year-old's rendition:

Chip off the old block, that one.  

"...See that ye serve Him...," D&C 4:2

I think this could go nicely at the bottom edge of a Young Women flyer.

I honestly don't know where the other leg went.  If you look at it too long, it kind of makes you dizzy.  Here's the black & white:

Girl with Sign

Here's a girl with a sign (inspired by Mormon Channel's "I pray when..." photos).

I don't know what I'm going to use it for yet.  I imagine there's a lot of things you can write on a sign like this.  If it were my kids, it would probably say:

But I'll probably make something like this General Conference reminder.  Any other ideas?

LDS Prophet Clipart (It's supposed to be Lehi, can you tell?)

I was just thinking, as everyone does now and again, "I should start a blog."  And then I realized, just as most everyone does now and again, "I already have a blog."  So, without further fanfare, I reintroduce the world to "The Warren Smith Family."

In celebration I am posting this clipart I drew (based on the painting "Lehi and his Family") for next month's primary theme, "God Speaks Through Prophets."  I benefit so much from other people's blogged illustrations, I thought I could add another free image on the internet (besides, it is my first clip art, and I'm tickled with how it turned out).

I will be putting this in our March Primary Newsletter.  You may do what you like.  Just celebrate the fact that I drew a picture not covered in children's scribbles.  I will also be doing that.  I may also eat some chocolate.

Cheers,

Emily

Tuesday 1:15pm

Tuesday 1:15pm. That means Maile Helen needs to be in her car seat, Diana too. We need three diapers, two blankets, two books, a full book bag, diaper wipes, socks, and shoes. The stroller is already in the car. What about the baby bjorn? It's already there.

"Emily? What else do we need?" A common, sometimes useful, often lazy/annoying question.

"I'm getting a bottle of juice." The lids are never quite handy, and she is already burdened with a bag too big for a human with straps too small for a shoulder that requires an all-precious elbow to keep it from falling.

Diana: "I want to feed the baby! I want the bottle." This used to be nap time. Hopefully, she'll just sleep in the car a little. But she's starting to melt.

"My bottle! I want the baby bottle!" Apparently, we didn't get it the first time, so she adds decibels.

Emily responds, "Not now Diana. We're going to the zoo!" The zoo is a big selling point. It may work.

"No! No! I want the BABY BOTTLE!!! NOOOOOOOOOO!" She's melting. Rationality is just about gone. Tears flow.

Emily gives up. "Diana, we have to go to school now." She takes Maile to the car.

"Nooo! NO school! Baby bottle!!!" She's melted, on the floor.

I say,"Diana," she says, "Baby Bottle."

I say, "You want the baby bottle."

She responds, "No! I want the bottle!" Whining. Yelling. Crying.

I keep at it. "The bottle. You want the bottle." Diana pauses for a moment. Just a moment. That's the sign that she heard it.

"I want to bottle," she explains through tears.

"You want the bottle," I understand at eye level.

"I want the bottle," her voice cracks.

"You want to feed Maile."

"Yes."

"You want the bottle to feed Maile."

It's a different cry. Less angry. More sad.

"Can I help you?" I'm almost excited, but not too cheerleader. "I want to help you get the bottle, so you can feed Maile. Can I help you?"

"... yes ..." (with tears)

"First, car. Second, zoo. Third, bottle." (I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map. I'm the map! Can you sing it?)

"Where next Boots?" We've switched to some helpful Dora the Explorer scripting.

"The car."

She responds, "okay." And without fuss, she climbs into her car seat and lets me buckle her in.

Within the last few weeks/months we have seen a huge difference in Diana's ability to delay gratification; to wait for a prize in the future, and to see the steps required to get there. This particular interaction blew me away. I think about how difficult it is for me to put aside something I desperately want. Diana was consoled with a plan that wouldn't give her what she wanted for over half an hour. And the first step in the plan was get in the car, which is something she struggles with. We're proud of our Super Girl.

piano peanuts popcorn pails pencil paper hammer nails

Maile Helen's been sleeping for three hours and Diana's been hypnotized by Sid the Science Kid for almost as long and I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself. I almost started playing puzzles by myself. After an hour or two I remembered that we have a piano I haven't played in a long time, but even though I played loud, Maile's still sleeping. Lindsay Lohan behind bars is the biggest internet news, it's too hot to bake anything, and I don't have a single idea what book I could start to read, especially since I'm convinced Maile will wake up the second I start it. Life is hard. I'm going to go clean the cupboards.

Daddy's Girl

I was about to change Diana's diaper during our road trip last Monday when she stopped me and said, "No, Daddy's turn!" She then demanded that daddy sing "Old MacDonald had a Farm" non-stop for the next 40 miles. Any time I tried to join in to give Warren a break, she said "No, Stop it!" and then daddy would have to start again. I got a nice break. The trip would have been completely great overall if it weren't for the screaming, the vomit, and the coyote who gave its life to destroy our radiator. From dust we come, to dust we shall return; may he rest in peace.

Baby

Been a while, hasn't it? It's a little unfortunate because I wanted to tell anyone who doesn't know (it's freaking obvious since I'm as big as a whale) that we are pregnant with child number two, and I wanted it to be at the end of another blog because I'm a little embarrassed that the fetus is already almost four months old and we haven't bothered telling anyone yet, except for a post on the wall of the Hoggard family fantasy football league, which I'm sorry, family, but I've forgotten to check the last two weeks, but don't you realize that I have never in my life watched an entire game of football and it's pointless to insist I join every year, that of course, beside the point that it's been so long since we blogged anything at all, and I'm hitting an absolute blank. Luckily for me, we have a lot of unpublished blog drafts, so I'll just borrow from an April 5 list of things that Diana has swallowed which resulted in a phone call to poison control (1-800-222-1222).

1. neosporin
2. acrylic paint
3. automatic dishwasher detergent
4. rabbitfoot grass (Polypogon monspeliensis)
5. chlorox bleach

And by the way, we're pregnant with number Two.

National Night Out (video)

Today, Emily was on the news. She's modest about it. She didn't even tell me she was going to do it. In fact, she forgot about it because she was helping our neighbors move. I'm less modest about her and openly think she's smart and sexy.

Check out the video. And send her a message - it'll make her feel uncomfortable.

Memory Lane

Remember this, Warren?

Baking Cookies

Step 1: Cream shortening and sugars; add eggs, water, vanilla and mix. Add dry ingredients and chocolate chips.

Step 2: Shape dough into 1" balls. Place 2" apart on a greased cookie sheet.

Step 3: Bake at 325 degrees F for 12-15 minutes. Serve.

Ultimate

My sister Liz is visiting us for the summer, and she brought with her a passion for Ultimate Frisbee--a passion she is diligently attempting to pass on to my daughter. Here is Diana's first foray into the world of Frisbee:

I've got just the thing

A problem? Great! I have the solution! Lose your keys? Lost-key paging devices. Miss an assignment at school? Get a palm pilot. It solved all my problems. Lonely? There should never be more than two lonely people. Stop complaining and go find someone.

So, go ahead, I'm listening.

Please, no need to go on. I already understand. It's a simple thing really. (So simple, I'm a little surprised you would bring it up. Good thing I'm patient.) I've seen it many times. This is what you should do. Tell you what, I'll even help.

Really? You don't like the idea? That's ridiculous. Can you hear yourself talking? The flaws in your arguments only support me and make you look, honestly, a little foolish. Maybe you didn't hear me--let me say that again. Clearer this time.

Why wouldn't she listen? So stubborn. Just not willing. I did my part.

I guess I could have said it that way. Yes, those words are preciser. That's what I really meant to say. This intonation could have made it sharper. If only I had said that, she would have seen clearer. I'm more convinced than ever. This is what she needs to do, or she'll miss out.

Don't worry, I'll make sure to bring it up next time. She'll thank me.

several months and counting...

Today was my five-months-since-radiation, eight-months-since-chemo, and four-months-since-the-last-doctor's appointment doctor's appointment. As this qualifies as a significant milestone in the life of any former cancer-care consumer, I am providing an update on the status of my health.

I just did a personal evaluation, and it's not all that great. One day before my 25th birthday, and I can only struggle through 2 push-ups, 10 sit-ups, and absolutely no pull-ups. This is especially depressing when you compare it to the National Physical Fitness Standards for children: Fifty percent of six-year-old girls can do 6 push-ups, 23 curl ups, and 1 pull-up. I am put to shame.

It shouldn't be a surprise. My only exercise is watering my plants, which I do sporadically, and my diet consists mostly of ice cream bars and frozen egg rolls. But on a lighter note: five months since radiation, eight months since chemo, and four months since the last doctor's appointment, I am still cancer-free. You may all celebrate by buying me a gym membership.

For the marriage

After Diana went to bed, we got in the car. We got there early and sat in the waiting room. When we met him, we all sat on couches and talked. He wanted to know why we were there at this time of our lives. We explained that we weren't getting any less busy and just decided to do it. I guess that answer didn't satisfy him. He pulled out some written surveys. What are the top five reasons you are here? Social anxiety? Marriage problems? Self confidence? What kind of music do you listen to? Ryan had to know to be able to help us, but the questions seemed strangely uncomfortable. We just wanted to have fun. Isn't that why everyone signs up for dance classes?

They wouldn't tell us their prices on the internet or the phone. And they wouldn't tell us in person until after the lesson, so we knew it would be expensive and we knew this lesson was a sales pitch. But, it was fun anyway. First, he convinced us that we could dance by having us walk forward, backward, left and right - while holding his hand. By the time it was over, Emily and I could do the a waltz box step (albeit stiff) and the six steps for a simple under the arm spin. Emily was accused of excellent rhythm and I was treated fragile - he probably assumed that I was dragged there. It was fun and we finished filling out a lesson report card.

We'll do it again, but we probably won't drop out of school and tap into our 401K. We're just not that dedicated.

Family Portraits in San Diego

Last weekend, we drove to San Diego to celebrate the end of Warren's winter semester class. IT WAS AWESOME.

California is pretty cool. I could see myself living there on the following conditions:

1. Everyone would have to stop working out and gain some body fat. It seemed like every person we saw could enter the Boston marathon next week. Intimidating.

2. The government needs to step in and pay for food and housing so I can afford to go to Sea World.

and, 3. Someone has to ease traffic by inventing the Star Trek transporter machine.

What do you think, give it fifty years? Maybe we'll retire to Sunny California.

At some point during our trip, all three of us tried to take a self-portrait-style family picture. I took the first one at Mission Beach, Diana took the second on the Lord Hornblower cruise ship, and Warren took the third at the San Diego temple. Even though Warren's turned out the best, it looks like Diana has some real artistic sense--a photographer in the making. If you'd like to commission her for your own vacation family portraits, I believe she has very reasonable rates. Unfortunately, she doesn't travel well, so plan accordingly.

Growing up

Growing up, I adopted stuffed animals and dolls from anywhere and everywhere and gave them names and birthdays. My Cabbage Patch doll was the matriarch of these hodgepodge adoptees. She had yellow yarn hair, blue eyes, and a hard plastic head with permanent dimples. She occupied the place of honor on my pillow and supervised every stuffed animal parade and tea party.

One traumatic nine-year-old evening I wandered into my bedroom to find two of my Barbies lying mutilated on the floor, covered with blue ink mustaches and tattoos. I followed laughter to my parents' room across the hall, but froze in horror at the door. My brothers--Dave certainly, but there may have been others--my brothers had shaved my precious Cabbage Patch doll and drawn a face on the back of her bald head, leaving a fringe of yellow yarn hanging on her new chin as a grotesque beard. Cruelty! Murder! And they were laughing about it. I sobbed; I screamed; I grabbed the doll. Part of me remembers swinging her mutilated plastic head and trying to crush Dave's skull. I have bad aim. No one cared.

Mom had one answer for all of these atrocities: "Don’t worry, your brothers won’t be so mean to you when they grow up." Right. I wanted the lot of them hung up by their thumbs screaming, and she wanted me to wait ten years before I could play with my stuffed animals in peace.

But she was right. They grew up. Me too. By then I wasn't playing with my dolls; instead I was embracing teenage awkwardness. I remember proudly toting my whole locker in a ridiculous stack and spending fifteen minutes per class ostentatiously searching for each handout that I needed. I was pathetically starved for attention. I like to think that there were some who mercifully said, “It’s OK. She’ll grow up," instead of, "What a loser." It took a while, but I did grow up.

Last week, I went to the dentist. The hygienist looked at my file and said, “Are you on any medications? I see last time you were here, you were doing chemotherapy.”

I answered, “Oh, no, I’m done with that.I did radiation in January, and now just regular check-ups.”

“Wow,” she said. “You really grow from something like that.” She said it so casually that I wanted to laugh, as if cancer was a patch that I could sew on to my Boy Scout sash, maybe right next to "having a baby" or "death of a loved one." Cancer was useless; it didn't even give me radioactive superpowers. Or maybe I’m just block-headed and couldn't even learn something when it’s injected into my right arm. Maybe I should try again?

One of these days I’m going to learn how to be a mother. I’m going to stop obsessively checking Facebook, anxiously engage in a good cause, and do many good things of my own free will. One of these days I’ll grow up. Thank goodness Warren's the merciful type. Until then, I guess I’ll just keep trying.

Dancing Girl

Diana discovered the art of dance last week. Here is a clip: