I was so, so happy to have Andrew home on Sunday! He was gone all day on Saturday—came home in the middle of dinner, ate a few bites, changed into his Sunday clothes, and was off for priesthood session. He bought a bag of lifesavers for refreshment throughout the session.
He and his dad have this tradition of eating one lifesaver per talk. Andrew's determined to carry the tradition on—solo—until Benjamin turns twelve and they can do it together.
When we were skyping with my parents, my dad mentioned that he saw Andrew's dad and Jacob at priesthood session. I asked if they were eating lifesavers.
"You mean light sabers, Mom," Rachel corrected me.
We might just call them light sabers forever.
Anyway, Andrew and I made orange rolls together. Andrew started the dough on Saturday night and was a little shocked about the quantities of flour, butter, and yeast he put in. Six cups of flour!? Three tablespoons of yeast?! How much butter?!
"It's a good thing we don't make these very often," I said. "How much butter does the filling call for again?"
"14 tablespoons."
"Wow, that's a lot of butter!"
We put the dough in the fridge to sit overnight and got up in the morning to finish making them. I consulted the recipe for instructions on what to do next and noticed, for the first time, the yield was four dozen rolls!
We were suddenly making a whole lot of orange rolls! It's a good thing we have so many baking dishes. I had just said to Andrew, "Why do we even have so many cake pans? How many cake pans do we really need? Why did we keep so many from our wedding—we should have given a few away!"
And then I ate my words just a few minutes later when we filled four cake pans with orange rolls.
Frankly, it was the most delicious baking mistake I've ever made. We ate our fill and delivered some plates to some of our neighbours across the street and some of the families in our ward and Andrew took some to his study group on Monday and we just barely finished the last of them today. It was a lot of orange rolls.
President Eyring's talk was amazing. We had just talked about putting up a wall to stop the flow of God's blessings in Relief Society last Sunday so President Eyring's talk about putting a canopy over our heads was a great extension of that lesson. It's so true—Heavenly Father is always right there but we so often block him out of our lives. And to what purpose, really?
Many of the talks were amazing. I think I'm going to start listening to them during the day, just have them on in the background as I go about my day-to-day routine. I remember my Auntie Judy doing this and thinking she was a little crazy for wanting to listen to conference all year long. And now here I am thinking that maybe I should have conference on so I can hear and learn from it all day long. It's amazing how much sense grown ups make once you are one and how little sense they make when you're not. I keep telling Rachel that one day many things will suddenly make sense—like why I care when she spills tomato sauce on a white shirt but not when she smears toothpaste on her jammies. That's easy for a grown up to understand but Rachel's been puzzling about it for days.
"Are you sure you don't need to scrub them?"
"Pretty sure, yeah."
"I can just put them in the laundry basket—you don't want to spray them with anything?"
"They'll be fine. Just put them in the laundry basket."
"We should probably spray them."
"They'll be fine—toothpaste is soap...you wash clothes with soap...it will be fine."
"Toothpaste is not soap. It tastes good."
"Toothpaste is soap that tastes good. Put your jammies in the laundry basket. They'll be fine."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
We played Conference Bingo during the last session. Rachel and I reviewed the words/pictures so she knew what she was looking for. She was constantly trying to put a marker on "hymn," like whenever anyone said, "Come unto him," or anything like that.
Other funny things happened. I'm trying to remember what they are...
Oh, on Saturday Miriam turned to me on the couch and said, "Mom, will you say, 'Who's my conference buddy?'"
"Who's my conference buddy?" I asked (in a sickeningly sweet tone similar to how I'd ask Benjamin (or a puppy), 'Who's my good boy?').
Miriam's arm shot up in the air like she was volunteering to walk on the moon. "I AM!" she squealed and then she draped herself around my neck in a huge hug.
This is a ploy invented by Andrew to get the girls to stop being my constant shadows.
"Who's my hiking buddy?" he'll ask in that get-excited tone and suddenly both girls are clamoring for his hand instead of mine.
"Who's my baking buddy?" he'll ask, and suddenly both girls are in the kitchen, fighting for stirring rights leaving me free to cuddle Benjamin in peace.
It's a lovely game. It can get them excited about just about anything.
He and his dad have this tradition of eating one lifesaver per talk. Andrew's determined to carry the tradition on—solo—until Benjamin turns twelve and they can do it together.
When we were skyping with my parents, my dad mentioned that he saw Andrew's dad and Jacob at priesthood session. I asked if they were eating lifesavers.
"You mean light sabers, Mom," Rachel corrected me.
We might just call them light sabers forever.
Anyway, Andrew and I made orange rolls together. Andrew started the dough on Saturday night and was a little shocked about the quantities of flour, butter, and yeast he put in. Six cups of flour!? Three tablespoons of yeast?! How much butter?!
"It's a good thing we don't make these very often," I said. "How much butter does the filling call for again?"
"14 tablespoons."
"Wow, that's a lot of butter!"
We put the dough in the fridge to sit overnight and got up in the morning to finish making them. I consulted the recipe for instructions on what to do next and noticed, for the first time, the yield was four dozen rolls!
We were suddenly making a whole lot of orange rolls! It's a good thing we have so many baking dishes. I had just said to Andrew, "Why do we even have so many cake pans? How many cake pans do we really need? Why did we keep so many from our wedding—we should have given a few away!"
And then I ate my words just a few minutes later when we filled four cake pans with orange rolls.
Frankly, it was the most delicious baking mistake I've ever made. We ate our fill and delivered some plates to some of our neighbours across the street and some of the families in our ward and Andrew took some to his study group on Monday and we just barely finished the last of them today. It was a lot of orange rolls.
President Eyring's talk was amazing. We had just talked about putting up a wall to stop the flow of God's blessings in Relief Society last Sunday so President Eyring's talk about putting a canopy over our heads was a great extension of that lesson. It's so true—Heavenly Father is always right there but we so often block him out of our lives. And to what purpose, really?
Many of the talks were amazing. I think I'm going to start listening to them during the day, just have them on in the background as I go about my day-to-day routine. I remember my Auntie Judy doing this and thinking she was a little crazy for wanting to listen to conference all year long. And now here I am thinking that maybe I should have conference on so I can hear and learn from it all day long. It's amazing how much sense grown ups make once you are one and how little sense they make when you're not. I keep telling Rachel that one day many things will suddenly make sense—like why I care when she spills tomato sauce on a white shirt but not when she smears toothpaste on her jammies. That's easy for a grown up to understand but Rachel's been puzzling about it for days.
"Are you sure you don't need to scrub them?"
"Pretty sure, yeah."
"I can just put them in the laundry basket—you don't want to spray them with anything?"
"They'll be fine. Just put them in the laundry basket."
"We should probably spray them."
"They'll be fine—toothpaste is soap...you wash clothes with soap...it will be fine."
"Toothpaste is not soap. It tastes good."
"Toothpaste is soap that tastes good. Put your jammies in the laundry basket. They'll be fine."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
We played Conference Bingo during the last session. Rachel and I reviewed the words/pictures so she knew what she was looking for. She was constantly trying to put a marker on "hymn," like whenever anyone said, "Come unto him," or anything like that.
Other funny things happened. I'm trying to remember what they are...
Oh, on Saturday Miriam turned to me on the couch and said, "Mom, will you say, 'Who's my conference buddy?'"
"Who's my conference buddy?" I asked (in a sickeningly sweet tone similar to how I'd ask Benjamin (or a puppy), 'Who's my good boy?').
Miriam's arm shot up in the air like she was volunteering to walk on the moon. "I AM!" she squealed and then she draped herself around my neck in a huge hug.
This is a ploy invented by Andrew to get the girls to stop being my constant shadows.
"Who's my hiking buddy?" he'll ask in that get-excited tone and suddenly both girls are clamoring for his hand instead of mine.
"Who's my baking buddy?" he'll ask, and suddenly both girls are in the kitchen, fighting for stirring rights leaving me free to cuddle Benjamin in peace.
It's a lovely game. It can get them excited about just about anything.
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