Happy New Year!

Unless you live under a rock (and you don't have a calendar, because it got burned in the house fire that made it necessary to live under the rock) you're busy celebrating New Year's Eve tonight. You might be doing it with friends and family, playing games and watching movies. You might be doing it quietly, just sitting and thinking about the past year and what's ahead for the new. Some people choose to ignore the event altogether, which is commemorating it in their own way. But tonight, all humanity has one thing in common, regardless of where they live or what they believe: we all wish for change for the new year, for some kind of growth or advancement or improvement on what we have.

New Year's Eve is always a time of introspection for me. I can't help but think of all the goals I set that I didn't accomplish, but I also think about the things I did. I think about who I am as a person, and contemplate the things I could have done better in my relationships, as well as the things I think I did well. Of course, there are always regrets. That's just a part of life - we make mistakes, we learn from them, hopefully, and we do the best we can to make amends for them. Sometimes those amends are easy to make, and sometimes they are painful. Sometimes they can't be made at all, and we just trust that the Savior will step in and smooth everything out in His perfectly just and merciful way.

Sometimes, the goals we set are completely out of our hands. We can't really set a goal that someone else will do something, but we can set a goal to be ready when opportunities arise.

My life took some interesting turns in 2009. I started working full-time from home, and that's been a lot of fun as well as being a challenge in learning how to juggle. I'm still working on that juggling thing, but I have no doubt it will all fall into place. My husband and I are learning to work together more than ever before, and he has cheerfully pitched in with the dishes and the laundry. He's even going to be helping with the home schooling of our four adorable kidlets after the holidays are over. This has been a great opportunity for us to learn more about teamwork and unity.

What do I want for the new year? That's kind of a hard question. I've spent this year planting a lot of seeds, and I hope that in 2010, those seeds will sprout and grow into beautiful plants that will bear fruit for years to come. It's one of those "wait and see" things I detest. I like immediate results. Rarely get 'em, but I like 'em.

What else do I want? Well, of course, I'd love to lose all kinds of weight and become fabulously gorgeous, get out of debt, buy a new house and a new car, and don't forget the new wardrobe to go along with my new body.

Seriously, what I want most is to learn to find joy in the every day, and to teach that to my children. They are at the age where it's fun to criticize each other and to try to feel superior to each other, and a lot of my time is spent encouraging them to look for the good in each other (read: telling them to knock it off.) But then I realize that this kind of teaching can best be done by example, and I wonder, in what ways can I better model the importance of being grateful for the things I have, and how can I better demonstrate my appreciation for the people around me? Sometimes it's hard to find joy in pushing your way past a thousand people at the grocery story in the middle of the afternoon on New Year's Eve, trying not to lose one of your children in the mad press of people all vying for the last bottle of sparkling cider, when you don't want cider, you're only there for bread and milk (and chocolate, of course). It can be very hard to feel joy when your van doesn't start and you have to try three times before the engine turns over, and you wonder how much life is left in the old girl. (The van, not me, although that is a valid question.)

The fact is, life itself is a blessing, regardless of what it brings you. Someone very close to me is fighting cancer right now, and every moment of life that remains is cherished and appreciated more than I can say. Sometimes I'll call just to hear that person's voice and to assure myself that there's still the opportunity to say "I love you" and to be grateful for every second that remains. I love my children with every speck of my being, even when they're crabby and fighting and they all think it's their job to be "right." We can all make long lists of grievances about our daily struggles, but the fact that we're all here to struggle is a blessing, and we can take joy from that.

I guess you've noticed I tend to ramble when I get introspective. Thanks for listening; I know it sometimes takes me a while to get to my point. The point tonight is this: let the new year bring what it may. Joy, sorrow, pain, disappointment, moments where I'm so full of happiness, I think I'll burst. I'll take it all because I know that every moment of it is a blessing. Every trial will make me stronger, every pain-filled moment will make the joy that much greater. My only hope is that I'll rise to the challenge and see the joy in everything, regardless of what that "everything" entails.

Happy New Year, and may you get everything your heart desires in 2010.

Kissing is Dangerous

A few minutes ago, my five-year-old was being completely adorable and I grabbed him and kissed him all over his face. A second later, he pulled back.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" He clutched his eye.

"I'm sorry. Did my hair go in your eye?" I asked.

"No, your lips got in my eye," he said. "I need an ice pack."

Silly Mommy ...

My just-turned-five-year-old got a Yo Gabba Gabba Megablocks set for Christmas. It came with stickers to be placed on the pieces. He was being a little persnickety, having me move the stickers one millionth of a hair to the right or left. I moved one and handed it to him, feeling a little pithy.

"Is that tolerable?" I asked.

"No, that's short-erable," he replied.

Christmas Decorations ... or, Decorating with What We Got for Christmas

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. I learned something this year, something that I think I've needed to learn for a long time - the Christmas spirit is a tremendous blessing in our lives, and it's such a special time to reconnect with the Savior and our families, that the opposition will go to extraordinary lengths to distract us from feeling that spirit. I always go through a little bit of holiday depression this time of year. But with this realization, and doing what I could to shake it off and pray myself out of it, I think I've had a better Christmas this year than I have for a long time, even though I wasn't sure at first if I would.

Enough of my rambling. Let's move on.

For the last couple of years, I've had two framed pictures on my wall over my desk. One is of the cover for "Nothing to Regret," my first published novel. The second is of the cover for "Strength to Endure," my second published novel. When I released "Season of Sacrifice" in 2008 and "Agent in Old Lace" in May of this year, I thought to myself, I really should get more frames and add my new books to my wall. But I never got around to it.

When my sweet honey asked me what I wanted for Christmas this year, I decided to delegate that assignment to him. I asked him for those two covers, and also for the cover for "Stolen Christmas," the Christmas compilation book in which my story "Arrows to Heaven" appears. Then I asked my mom to come over and help me redo my walls.

Here are the results:
This is the wall directly over my desk. Notice how the cover for "Season of Sacrifice" is right next to my large picture of the Hole in the Rock. Very fitting that they go side by side.
This is the wall to my right as I sit at the desk, and above my smaller couch. Here we have the covers of my other books, and to the right on the bottom you'll see the certificate I got from the League of Utah Writers for "Strength to Endure." I admit, it's kind of a brag wall, but I've got pictures of my kids on the other wall, so they all get equal space.

You noticed, I presume, the hole on the bottom left of the group picture? A nail has been driven in to mark the place so that in March, when "Secret Sisters" is released, I can immediately hang it up. There won't be any procrastinating this time ... that hole is already bothering me. I've decided that I need to make a "coming soon ..." sign to put there so it doesn't look so empty.

I also got a hand mixer for Christmas, but I decided that wouldn't look so good hanging from my wall. I didn't say I was going to decorate with everything I got for Christmas ... that would just be silly.

A Christmas Surprise

The other night, one of our ward members knocked on our door. She has served as our son's Webelos leader for the last year, so her visit wasn't a total surprise, but the reason for her visit was.



She handed my husband this gorgeous homemade gingerbread house. It took her five days to make, from baking the gingerbread to letting each layer set.



She then adds tiny little touches all over, from lattice work on the shutters to a stack of firewood, made of Tootsie Rolls, propped up against the house.



This was truly a labor of love. She makes two a year, one for her house and one to give away. This year, we were the lucky recipients. She said that our son was a special boy in the Webelos den and they thought a lot of him and of our family, so she wanted us to have the house this year.



This act of service touched my heart so deeply. That she would take the time to create something so wonderful, and that she would share this talent of hers with us, made the season so special for me. Thanks, Sister Spaulding, for choosing us this year.

The Things We Do for Love, Part Two

Wanna know what's so cool about having a part two? You can go back and read part one. If you missed part one, click here, or you can put a little more elbow grease into it and scroll down. I'm good either way.

First off, let me keep my promise and upload these pictures. My husband was funny. He read part one and then he said, "Would you like me to plug the USB cable back in for you?" I'm so glad he picked up on my totally vague hint.Here is the gooey, gluey glop stuck to my hand.And here is the finished product in all its glory ... looking like ground beef.

So, back to my story, because believe it or not, there is more.

We fed the children the grayish brown little treat and strangely, it went over rather well. Then we opened presents, and proceeded with the next phase of our birthday celebration - a trip to the swimming pool. Yes, it is December, and it's stinkin' cold. But the child wanted to take his friends swimming for his birthday, and because I'm a good mother, I conceded the point. Also, being a frugal mother, I realized that by taking the children swimming, I could save money on other treats/activities, so I dovetailed my good motherness with my frugal motherness and it worked.

We ended up with eight children at the pool - three of my own and five guests. Yes, I do have four children, but we left the youngest at home with Grandma. Too hard to corral that many kids all at once. I do not wear a bathing suit, and so I stayed on the side of the pool, observing and taking pictures. After about twenty minutes, I was approached by a lifeguard, who told me that because of public health laws, I was not allowed to be down by the pool unless I was in a suit.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "But this is a birthday party, and most of these aren't my kids. I would rather have you mad at me than have their parents mad at me, and so I will be staying."

The poor lad looked somewhat discomfited. But he had to understand my position - my husband, who was in a suit, was at the other end of the pool with half the children, and the half I was watching wanted to go off the diving board. Like I'm going to ask my husband to supervise eight children, all at the same time? I may be a grumpy wife, but I'm not that grumpy. Plus, I'm a good mother.

"We have a gallery up there, where parents can watch," the lifeguard said, pointing to a glassed-in balcony.

"What good would I be up there?" I asked him.

The poor lad continued to look discomfited. "Well, it's just that it's a health code violation," he explained yet again, perhaps feeling that this time, I would suddenly care.

"I'm not trying to break your rules," I said. "But this is what I've got to do."

"Well, maybe if you took off your shoes ..."

I slid them off and tucked them under my arm.

He wandered off, probably hating his job and possibly his life, in that order.

A few minutes later, he came back. "I just talked with my supervisor, and she said that if you have any children under nine, then a parent needs to be in the water with them."

"I have one eight-year-old, and the rest are older," I said. "My husband is in the pool on that end."

"So, if he's in there, the rest of the kids should be all right," the lifeguard tried to hint.

I had to give the guy some credit. He was trying his best to keep things mellow, and stick to his guns. I don't fault him at all. Yes, indeed, it's not his fault that he was losing this argument. This very mellow argument.

"I'll be staying," I replied. What he needed to understand is that this birthday party was comprised of boys I had taught in Scouts. I know these boys. I know they need watching. I wasn't going anywhere. I felt very strongly that I was supposed to stay by that pool.

"If you sat on that bench, over there, and didn't go near the water ..."

He was extending an olive branch. I took it.

"Thank you," I said, and walked over to the bench.

And as I sat on the bench, it all of a sudden became very clear to me why I had the strong impression that I was not to leave the pool area.

The bench was situated near the shallow end, and from where I sat, I could see two men, in about their late thirties, early forties, come in and climb into the shallow end. They relaxed there for a few minutes, chatting. My daughter, who has turned thirteen this year, came over to ask me if she could swim in one of the lanes, and I gave my permission. As she walked toward the lanes, she had to pass these two men, and I watched them as their eyes followed her. As she passed them, their heads swiveled and they continued to watch her as she made her way to the lane. Eyeballs up and down her body, the whole bit. It was beyond blatant.

Mama saw red.

As soon as my daughter got in the water, one of the men let go from the side of the pool and got into the lane next to hers, and started following her.

Mama saw crimson flecked with black.

I motioned my husband over and told him to get over there and follow our daughter down the length of the pool. He took off. As soon as the man following her saw him coming, he turned back and rejoined his friend at the side.

I had asked my husband to tell my daughter to come back. She did. I watched those two men watch her get out of the pool, and I made eye contact with one of them. My husband was nearby. I stared at the man, flicked my eyes to my husband, then to my daughter, then back to him. Then I raised an eyebrow.

That's my daughter, that's my husband, and we're watching you, I telegraphed. I held his eyes until he broke the connection.

A few minutes later, we rounded up the kids and we left.

I won't bore you with all the other details of the day ... the guest who left his towel in the van even when I told him to bring it and had to share with another child ... or the guest who thought he lost his cell phone in the locker room and it turns out he'd left it at home after all. While vastly entertaining and perfect to relate on days when I want to feel sorry for myself, those details aren't really pertinent to the story.

What is pertinent is my gratitude for the nudge that I needed to stay by the pool. My husband would not have seen what was happening with my daughter from where he was. If I had not broken the law, defied the lifeguard, and possibly put my rec center membership in jeopardy, my daughter could have been put in a very compromising situation. I thought I was there to watch the boys, and I was pretty useful in that regard, I must say. But my daughter needed me there to protect her. I think that's worth a few scowls from the lifeguard, don't you?

The Things We Do for Love

As you commence the reading of this post, I would like for you to keep in mind that I am not insane. I present this to you first and foremost because I realize that this fact may come into question once, if not multiple times, as you read.

My second child reached the landmark age of eleven this week, and his birthday party is tomorrow. He has decided that he doesn't like cake, and so he requested chocolate Rice Krispy treats instead, made with chocolate marshmallows and Cocoa Krispies. I love my son. I am a good mother. I said okay.

Last week, it was my father's birthday. I've been promising him one of my famous low-sodium carrot cakes for a long time, and so I mixed one up. Now, like most people, I have dishes I take to public gatherings and dishes I only pull out for family. You know how it is - the one nice bowl, the one nice cake pan ... I took my one nice cake pan to my father's. I haven't gone to pick it up yet.

So, I can't sleep. I decided that rather than lying in bed for another hour, waiting for that oh, so elusive Mr. Sandman, I'd make the Krispy treats and get them ready for the morning. First step - pull out the ingredients. No problemo, until we get to the cake pan. That's right - my nice cake pan is at my dad's house. Now, I do realize that the guests for tomorrow, being boys, won't care whether I serve them out of a silver charger or a pig trough, but it matters to me. I want to bolster my false belief that a perfect party is the proper indication of the depth of love I have for my son, so I think to myself, I can't use an old, beat-up pan. I'll be creative. I'll press the mixture into cupcake shapes. Won't that be ingenious? But because I know how hard it is to get stuff out of those little cupcake pans, I'll use liners. See? I'm so smart.

I prepare my cupcake pans with liners, and then I proceed to follow the oh, so easy instructions. I haven't made Krispy Treats since I was a teenager, but how hard can they be? I remember a lot of stirring, and then ... yumminess. I'm definitely up for the challenge.

I put the marshmallows into the pot. Interesting ... chocolate marshmallows aren't really brown. They're actually sort of a taupe, leaning toward gray. The more they melt, the more gray they appear. Blended together with the butter, they take on rather a ghastly hue more suited to a Halloween party than a birthday. But this is what my son wanted, and I am a good mother. So I proceed.

I pour in the Krispies and I stir. I blend them all quite well (and my hand is still protesting, but it's all worth it. He's a lovely boy) and I prepare to press them into the cupcake pan. You know, the funny thing about a Krispy Treat mixture before it sets up ... it would rather stick to the spoon than to paper. I spend a few minutes wrestling this interesting phenomenon, only to decide that the cake pan is going to be the way to go, after all. I pull out my two battered cake pans, spray them, and begin to scoop the mixture into them. It was a double batch, you see. Only one child has RSVP'd for this party so far, but I would so much rather be over-prepared than under.

The interesting thing about melted marshmallows, which have now somewhat started to set up because I wasn't moving quickly enough (something about wrestling with cupcake liners ... whatever)is that when stretched, they begin to take on the appearance of spider webs. So I'm scooping this mixture into the pans, and it looks for all the world like a huge, sticky spider had a hey-day in my kitchen.

I then run into another problem. The mixture, now cooler than is really ideal, has formed quite an attachment to the spoon. If this were a Jane Austen novel, we would say that they had an understanding. I decide that I must take matters into my own hands ... literally. I pull the mixture from the spoon. I have now succeeded in making myself a victim of the big sticky spider. I have strings hanging from all fingers, and clumps of Krispies dangling in midair.

All right, I can do this. In fact, by this point, I'm composing a blog in my mind. My thoughts can all either be transcribed as Facebook status updates or blogs - what can I say. I reach out and grab my digital camera - every good blogger's most necessary tool. I take a picture of my hand. It's quite funny.

What is not so funny is the fact that I have a mound of mixture in my pan and it doesn't look very Treat-like. So I do the most enterprising thing I can think of - I grab a stick of butter off the counter and slather my hands, then use my hands to press the mixture into the pans.

Remarkable.

Did you know that chocolate marshmallows melted over chocolate Rice Krispies look just like ground beef?

Both pans are now done. The pot wherein the travesty occurred is soaking in the sink. I decide to assuage my angst by sitting down to write a blog about my whole experience, only to discover that someone has unplugged the USB cable from the back of the computer, the cable they aren't ever supposed to unplug because I might, oh, I don't know - want to use it someday. The pictures will have to come after someone who is smarter than me can find the correct place to plug it back in for me, which would not be necessary if certain people would just obey certain rules of the house.

Did I mention it's now 3:30 a.m.?

It Just Makes Me Happy

Facebook Contest

Hey, all my faithful blog readers ...

What does Tristi want for Christmas? Tristi wants 1,000 Facebook friends! I'm at 729 right now, so I only need 271. That's not hard, now, is it??

It's not hard to make Facebook friends, but if you want friends who enjoy the same things you do, well, that can get a little tricky. And that's why I'm holding a contest!

Here are the rules:

1. Between now and December 20th, contact your Facebook friends ... the ones you really are friends with. :) Ask them if they'd like to be friends with me, and tell them a little about me: I'm really nice, I never swear in my FB posts (out loud, that is) and I'm a fun-loving Mormon author.

2. Ask them to come and friend me. Have them include a personal message, telling me that you sent them.

The person who sends me the most Facebook friends will receive a copy of "Stolen Christmas" and a bag of my favorite candy, gummy peach rings.

Now, what's in this for all your friends, you ask? Why would they want to friend me?

Well, that's a silly question! Who wouldn't want to be friends with me? But if you must know, I will tell you.

Each and every person who friends me between now and Christmas will get a mention on my blog and a shout-out on Facebook. If they have a blog, I will link to it in my post on this blog. (Now, here's where you're just contacting people who like the same kinds of things I like - I'm not posting links to questionable blogs, so don't even ask me.)

So, what does Tristi like, you ask?

Almost everything, but especially reading, and nice people, and Dancing with the Stars, and Christmas shoppers, and patriots, and raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens.

Don't send me angry people.

Okay, on your marks, get set ... go!