I have a dream

I find the minds of 1st graders quite hilarious. Especially as they are learning to write complete sentences and thoughts about a given topic. The last parent-teacher conference Jeff and I attended with Pearl's teacher {which she passed with flying colors}, we stood outside of the classroom and read the latest thoughts her classmates had on Martin Luther King's famous "I have a dream" speech. And we laughed.

"that all peple need food. So peple do't diy. Give food to thame." ~ Pearl {yes, our Pearl... we're still working on spelling and handwriting}

"I have a bream that we have friends and they are nice to a chather." ~ Asthon

"That all pepul will be rich." ~ Anonymous

"That all peply will have mineh cklos. their will bee lots of food." ~ Zach

"I have a dream. For the food. Everyone should have food. I am glad for food." ~ Logan

"That all people love my songs and all people love my vhoous and people can have a backsage tikids." ~ Emma

"That everyone has a home and everyone doesn't have a war. and they don't kill." ~ Bilal

"That I have a wish that evrbudee reeds. I wish that evrbudee whrk. I wish that evroun have a hom." ~ Gabriella

Apparently kids this age are pretty concerned about food, including Pearl. Which is kind of surprising given Pearl has never gone a day in her life hungry, at least because she didn't have something to eat {complaining about what I cooked is another matter though}.

FIRE!!!

So... back in January {because I suck at blogging lately} we had a small house fire. I was home with the kids for some reason, like teacher prep day or something like that. I'd had kind of a bummer morning the day before after finding out something from a friend about another friend so I wasn't in the mood to do anything except lounge around in my pajamas. Without a bra. Or makeup. That's important for later in the story.

When I finally did decide to get out of bed, feed my children, and be ultra productive, I could smell something. Like the weird dusty burning smell that a new furnace filter has when the heat kicks on. I ignored it for awhile, thinking it must be a new furnace filter. But it kept getting stronger and stronger. Even the kids were starting to complain that something stunk.

I started wandering around the house sniffing all the rooms trying to figure out where the smell was coming from. But I wasn't too worried. After all a 100+ year old house makes funny noises and smells all the time. 

When I finally concluded it had to be in the T.V. room and started to walk back that way, I heard Pearl screaming, "I see smoke!" And by screaming I mean full out panic mode screaming! Granted, my own pulse was picking up a little speed because I couldn't figure out where in the heck that burning smell was coming from.

Then I saw it.

A puff of black smoke. A perfect little mushroom cloud coming out of the electrical outlet on the floor. Followed by a definite sizzle and then the power going out. {I should clarify that our house has most of its outlets in the floor but these outlets stick up out of the floor in these weird above ground boxes, not flush with the floor like newer homes.}

Now it was time to panic. I called our local fire department as I was frantically trying to get the kids' shoes on to send them over to the neighbors. I mean, normal people are still in their pajamas with no shoes on at 11 a.m. right? 

I figured calling the fire department was the easiest thing to do because one, they are about a block away, and two, I couldn't actually see any flames. I just wanted them to come check things out, especially in the crawl space. Apparently you should just call 9-1-1 because the dispatcher who answered FREAKED out! As soon as I described what was going on, she started yelling at me to hang up immediately and call 9-1-1. Sheesh! So I called 9-1-1, {while also throwing on a pair of jeans... no time for a bra because it only took the fire department about 30 seconds to get here} explained what was going on, and then was transferred right back to the lady at the fire department who had told me to cal 9-1-1. Ironic. 

Luckily our house is easy to identify. Not only is it located on a fairly major street in our city, but we do have a uniquely identifying sign hanging on our fence during the holidays. I simply said, "We're the ditto house" and they knew exactly where to go. In fact, that was the first thing the fire department asked me when I got there, "Hey are you the ditto house?"

I swear the entire emergency response team for our city showed up! Apparently they didn't have anything else to do. We had two fire engines, a police car, and an EMT truck. Those fire fighters hopped out of their trucks and I thought to myself, really? Really? Does it come with the job that all fire fighters must be 6' tall, muscular build, and very attractive? I mean, I wasn't wearing a bra! Or makeup! And still had bed head and bad breathe because I hadn't brushed my teeth yet. The dog is barking and howling with the sirens. And the kids ran over to the neighbors screaming {Pearl was so panicked she left Cole on the front porch while I was still on the phone with 9-1-1.} Awesome.

When they walked in the house they commented that yep, it smelled like a fire. I showed them the outlet that the smoke had come out of. They popped the box off, ripped back the carpet, and found a completely fried set of wires. The burning smell had been coming from the carpet. It was smoldering all around the outlet box. I got a stern lecture about our curtains hanging down near the outlets and a bit of a lecture/recommendation/questioning about how old the wiring in our house was. They said we were really lucky sparks didn't start flying because it could have caught the curtains or carpet on fire really easily. I half-jokingly said my husband was going to be very disappointed it didn't start an actual fire so we could upgrade. {Jeff was serious about wanting the house to burn down when I called to tell him the news.}

They walked around the rest of the house to check the outlets and electrical panel out in the garage, all while commenting how cool our house was. Um. Yeah. Real cool. My house built in 1910 just caught on fire, costing us potentially THOUSANDS of dollars to fix. We were given a clean bill of health, told to call an electrician to fix the outlets and make sure the panel didn't fry when the outlet popped and tripped the breakers, and move the curtains. Fire firelighters really don't like curtains. 

I called Jeff as they were leaving and said something like, um so we just had a house fire. I'm not sure if he thought I was playing a joke on him or if it was just such a shock to hear house fire but I had to repeat myself several times that yes, we had a real house fire. Jeff came zipping home to see the damage. He spent all afternoon {seriously, the next 3-4 hours} fixing the outlet and crawling in and out of our crawl space. Because of course NOTHING is an easy fix when you have an old house. The electrical outlets you can buy in the stores are not designed for old homes. So we had to cut a small hole in the floor beam to get everything to fit. Luckily the panel flipped back on, we had full power again, and Jeff was able to fix everything.

We Febreezed the heck out of our house too.

And said a silent prayer of thanks that we were all safe.

Fiiz Drinks

Jeff heard there was a new soda and treat bar just up the street from our house. How we missed it I have no clue because we can practically see it from our front yard. We decided to be spontaneous and walk there after dinner to see what the buzz was all about.

It's called Fiiz Drinks. They sell mixed drinks {we're talking soda pop here people} and cookies. It sounds kind of weird, but I'm telling you, I think it might be a hit! We aren't big soda pop drinkers, so a dirty Diet Coke or whatever the craze is doesn't really get me all giddy. But a place that actually sells Mtn. Dew and not solely Coke? Now you're talking! 

They make all kinds of "dirty" drinks in any soda flavor you want! Dr. Pepper fan? Check. Coke gal? Check. Pepsi lover? Check. Non-caffeine type? Check.... they have lemonade. Apparently the off menu drinks are the way to go but it's so overwhelming trying to decide what to get that they have some set drinks you can order.

I loved  the decor feel. The only thing bad was they didn't have enough places to sit. But considering it was their opening day and they were still working on getting the place finished, it was fine. We sat at the bar and chatted with the owners.

I went with the Dewberry, a Mtn. Dew with some berry sauce in it. Delicious! Jeff opted for the Mango something or other... a Mtn. Dew with mango sauce. It would be the drink to get on a super hot summer day. Pearl had a really good strawberry lemonade with whipped cream and sprinkles on top. And Fern boy? He hit defiant, crying, ornery, nothing will please him meltdown as soon as we got there.

I thought the prices were pretty reasonable, considering we got four drinks, a bag of popcorn, and a cookie for $8. Oh, did I mention cookies? Oh my goodness! I had the peanut butter cookie and it was so soft and peanuty delicious!

We are definitely going to go back for a treat. In fact, Jeff's already been back for Dewberry. It's something different and fun, and apparently an essential start to some people's day because they are open from 7:30 a.m. {who drinks a dirty diet Coke at 7:30 a.m.???} to 9:00 p.m. Check them out!

Oh. And I almost forgot. Apparently they have an off menu drink called the "Pink Poodle." I guess the store was actually a soda shop way back in the days called "The Pink Poodle." Makes me like Fiiz Drinks all the more!

Today was a good bleeder day

Shortly after my Grandma died, my Grandpa got a new "job" {aka a calling} at church as the stake blood drive coordinator. 

Well, he suckered me into signing up for his stake's blood drive so he could be done with filling donor slots. But after poking around for a vein in both arms - multiple times - and 45 minutes of squeezing those little stress balls later, and I still hadn't filled up my bag! I was sick to my stomach and dizzy. The poor phlebotomists were trying everything they could think of to get me to bleed {heat pads on my arms, more stress ball squeezing, tapping my arms} but they finally gave up. I was in tears telling them my Grandpa needed me to do this! They kept telling me it was ok, but I was so upset that I couldn't help my Grandpa {grief does weird things to you sometimes}. 

So every time I donate blood I think of my Grandpa and say a silent prayer that today I'll be a good bleeder. Today was a good bleeder day!

I hate Sundays

When Jeff and I were newlyweds, we always tried to sit behind the same family at church. They had two little boys and a baby girl. Every week they did something hilarious in sacrament meeting. Like the week they rolled a bottle of Coke under the pews all the way to the front of the room. Or the time we could smell something and turned around to see the boys open a bag of Funyuns (with a Coke of course). Or my personal favorite, the time they brought a 3ft battery operated T-rex who growled and lite up! 

Well... almost 12 years later and we are THAT family!!! 

At least Jeff didn't break out his Funyuns too {which he symbolically did sneak in my church bag}. My apologies to anyone in the vicinity of WWIII or who might be allergic to PBJ sandwiches {one for each kid and the biggest kid of all, oh yes, eaten in the middle of sacrament meeting}.

I sure hope God understands that sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. 

I hate Sundays.

Super Fans

I stood in line for more than an hour to get Chuckie Keeton's #16 signature for the boy.

Ok, for Jeff.

Fine. By the time I got to the start of the line to get the entire football teams' signatures, and then was told they were shutting it down and I couldn't get any signatures, that signature was for me.

Even if it took Jeff's streak of rebellion to butt in line to ensure we got that signature.

And boy were my boys happy about it. 

(That and I spent $10 on popcorn to keep them quiet for the basketball game)

Too-ra-too-ra-fa-dal-dink-a-di-do

My family has a song.

A theme song if you will. That causes us to breakout in random chorus at any given moment. All we need is a single, deep, baritone voice to say, "Oooohhhhh" and we're off.

Ours is "The Lumberjack song" and it goes something like this:

Oooohhhhh {hold for as long as it takes to get everyone to start singing with you} the lumberjack he cuts the pine

Too-ra-too-ra-fa-dal-dink-a-di-do

Oh the lumberjack he cuts the pine

Tree.

Oh the lumberjack he cuts the pine

The lumber's his but the jack is mine.

Lily-i-lily-i-lily-i-oh

lily-i-lily-i-lily-oh.

Oh the mining man he digs for gold

Too-ra-too-ra-fa-dal-dink-a-di-do

Oh the mining man he digs for gold

Dig.

Oh the mining man he digs for gold

But the money ends up in my billfold

Lily-i-lily-i-lily-i-oh

lily-i-lily-i-lily-oh.

Oh the marrin' man he marries soon

Too-ra-too-ra-fa-dal-dink-a-di-do

Oh the marrin' man he marries soon

Fudd.

Oh the marrin' man he marries soon

The groom comes home for his honeymoon.

Lily-i-lily-i-lily-i-oh

lily-i-lily-i-lily-oh.

I hope I remembered all the verses right. We only ever really knew the first verse anyway. You get the idea though. A quarky, funny, makes no sense but makes you smile and laugh kind of tune.

My Grandpa always sang it. And we always requested it of him at any gathering. I made my Dad promise that someone would break out in song at my Grandpa's funeral. We almost did during my Aunt Denise's talk but she chided us to keep quiet. But at the internment, well, that was a different story.

I love my Aunt Denise's face! We're still singing the first "ooooohhhhh" together.

Cole was not amused.

Someday when I get the recording of everyone's talks, I'll post them. I loved hearing all the stories and funny antics about my Grandpa. Remembering so many things... fishing, camping, "Hey kids.... have fun!" with a sharp jab to the ribs from my Grandma as she let him know to be quiet and let us stay up late laughing and playing games, teaching my Dad how to build and fix things {like a 1940 Ford pickup truck he got for Christmas}, Nabisco, his antics and jokes, cheating at games and cards just to spice things up, singing around the player piano, ow he quietly went about his life serving others {Awesome story... my Dad's two best friends growing up had both lost their Dads at a young age. While my Grandpa was teaching my Dad how to build model rockets, fix cars, build pinewood derby cars, help with Scouting projects, fish, camp, and work in the shop, he was also teaching them. When my Dad graduated high school, his best friend told him "Thanks." My Dad asked him for what and his response was, "For sharing your Dad with me."}. And of course his mission story.

You can't talk about my Grandpa without the mission story. 

My Grandpa moved to a little town, Orangeville, Utah, when he was a teenageer. He met and fell in love with my Grandma and wanted to marry her. But my Grandma Peacock (my Grandma's mother) wanted him to go on a mission first. Or join the Army. I think anything to delay getting married so young.

It didn't work out that way.

My Grandparents weren't active... my Grandpa smoked, he cursed, he drank coffee. But my Grandpa lived his life loving and serving and accepting others for who they were just like Christ did.  I remember as a little girl, my mom telling me, "There's a smoking section in Heaven just for Grandpa."

In the final days of my Grandma Peacock's life, somehow the conversation of not going on a mission when he was young got brought up again. Well, my Grandma Peacock got the better of him when she told him, "then what's stopping you go now?" I remember my Grandpa was really upset with her for saying this, telling us, "for 50 years she's never once butted in and now this! I can't go on a mission!" And he meant it.

The day my grandparents got home from my Grandma Peacock's funeral, their Bishop and lifelong friend came over and asked if they'd serve a mission in Nauvoo, IL. Apparently Grandma Peacock got the best of Grandpa on the other side! The Stake President had been told they needed someone to go to Nauvoo to do carpentry work for the temple. My Grandpa's neighbor, who also happened to be in his ward's bishopric at the time, told the Bishop "I've got Don Jewkes to church every day of the week except Sunday. And that's your job." {My Grandpa worked for the church after he retired repairing churh meeting houses and the Institute buildings so he really was at church every day but Sunday.} It was a very special time for my church, restoring the Nauvoo temple.

I can still remember the day my Grandma told us what was going on. It was "Thursday lunch" day when me and my Dad would go over from campus and eat lunch with Grandma and Grandpa - the day after their Bishop had come over to ask them a question that would change their lives. We were the only ones who knew. She wasn't frantic or giddy but just super shocked and I never remember her talking so much or so fast about anything. When we asked her if they were going to go, she just said, "I don't know. I just don't know." It was going to take quite the lifestyle change to go. Grandma swore my Dad and I to secrecy, even from my Grandpa, because he was still kind of in shock and didn't want anyone to know. So we kept our secret for a few weeks until my Grandpa slowly warmed up to the idea of serving a mission. It must have been so hard for them to walk into church that first Sunday after 60+ years of inactivity. And my Grandpa wasn't about to "pray about it 'cause I'm afraid of the answer." 

But he did.

And when he got his answer, the first thing he did was run down to "coffee" at Angie's to tell his coffee buddies that he was going on a mission! He was so excited. And then remembered that he had to run home to tell Grandma. My mom remembers coming up for "Thursday lunch" the day my Grandpa got his answer. He was teasing her and told her, "I got a new church job" then asking her to guess what it might be. Well, my Mom guessed it and when she blurted out, "You're going on a mission to Nauvoo!" my Grandpa was shocked. He was kind of mad and asked her who had told her. Nobody did. My mom just knew and told him, "Because they need the best."

There are details missing to the story but it's one that forever changed our family. I will never forget driving out to see my Grandparents in Nauvoo with my girlfriends and then again with my family for the temple open house. We went to dinner with my Grandparents {and Grandma Great who happened to come to Nauvoo to see her "missionary" at the same time I was there} and I will forever treasure the sight of walking down the street and seeing my missionary Grandpa waiting for me. He was beaming with light and had the biggest, happiest, most genuine smile I've ever seen. I could feel the Spirit just bursting out of him. It's a sacred experience that I hold near to my heart.

My Grandpa and Grandma were amazing. I miss them so much.

Grandpa's Workshop

I couldn't bear the thought of leaving my Grandpa's house without some pictures of his shop.

Just as he left things.

In fact, the shop was the first thing Pearl asked about after Jeff told her "old" Grandpa Jewkes had died.... "But who will take care of his shop now?"

He always joked when we would drop by, that his "living room" was a mess and he was just about to clean up. The funny thing was, it always looked like that.

Seeing all the tools, varnishes, and sawdust - EVERYWHERE - reminds me of Grandpa. And the smell of the wood chips is my Grandpa's smell. just like Jergen's Original Scent (almond) lotion reminds me of Grandma.

I wish you could know all the stories, all the memories that are triggered by each of these pictures. But there's too many. The pattern for the chairs, baskets, trains, jewerly boxes, and more. The story of the nut bowls and the lathe. The paintbrushes that are glued in their place so they were useless because everyone knew my Grandpa loved to paint. Grandpa's "Handcrafted by Don R. Jewkes" stamp which he seared into all of his projects. 

And Grandpa's chair.