I will preface what I really came here to write with a something-other-than-brief description of my work experience. Read at your own risk.
I got my first real job (the kind involving paper work and taxes) when I was 16. I was a cashier at
Wegmans (this is different than being a cashier at any other grocery store... you just have to go there to know what I mean). It was a fun job. I worked at it for the summer after 10th Grade and into my Junior year of high school. The only problem was that it was a 15-20 minute drive there and back and I didn't have a license. My parents would drive me there and come back later to pick me up. My parents encouraged me to look for a new job within walking distance.
I did and started that October working for Farrell-Messler Insurance Agency as their gopher girl. I filed papers, processed mail (in a nifty mail machine thingy), bought their groceries, ordered office supplies, made their bank deposits, made their coffee, did their dishes, and learned to write simple insurance policies. And I walked to the agency each day after school. At the end of the school year, Mr. Farrell, the big man in the office, pulled me aside and let me know that his daughter was coming home from college for the summer. She needed a job. And he only needed one gopher. So I lost my job. I didn't consider it a huge loss, however, because I was tired of the preppy clothes I was required to wear in the office, I hated dealing with coffee, and I actually found Mr. Farrell to be rather intimidating.
My mom and my brother, together, landed me my next job. (I'm sure my brother doesn't remember this, but it's true). The two of them were on a job hunt for my brother, who was only 15, so they were more specifically on an under-the-table-job hunt. The best brand of that kind of a job around here is farm labor (just ask the illegals) and that's where they went looking. Out towards Covert there's a farm called Poppycock Farm. They have a few big barns, so my mom chose a house next to one of them and knocked at their door (I'm sure he went too, but I'm also sure it was more my mom's idea, so she probably did the knocking and the talking). The woman who answered indicated that she didn't own the farm or have anything to do with it other than living next door to it and smelling its smells, but she did express interest in hiring a kid to do her gardening that summer. My mom, knowing me all to well, told Mrs. Bialke that I would jump at the chance to be paid to work in flower gardens all summer. So that's what I did. I worked mornings, before it got too hot, and I loved it. I also loved the association with the Bialkes. They had three daughters, who were ten year old, identical triplets. When summer gardening was over, I continued to babysit the triplets sometimes.
Babysitting was my only source of income for the majority of my Senior year. There was a lot of pressure for me to get a real job and I'm still not sure why I was so reticent, but I was. I just kept putting it off. Until March of my Senior year. I took cello lessons out in Brooktondale, high up in the hills. That drive was my favorite and the memory of being up on the hill in Brooktondale is still one of the most beautiful that I have. It seems like I would have driven slower to savor the drive that I loved so much, but I had a terrible habit of speeding. Like crazy. I liked to see how fast I could go and try to break my personal records. I never got caught until that March on a drive home from a lesson (through sleet). The officer didn't go easy on me and I was stuck with a fine of more money than I had. Instead of telling my parents, I decided to get a job and earn a pay check before the fine was due. I think my entire first pay check from
Purity went to the Town of Dryden. What a stinker. I finally had motivation to get a job though.
My official title was Ice Cream Scooper (at least that's what I put on my resume) and it was such an awesome job. I ate so much ice cream that summer. People told me that I would get sick of it, but I didn't. I even gained weight because of it, but no complaints. I had so much fun and met so many neat people and experienced having frozen boogers on a regular basis. And I made a lot of money. Customers would tip us generously and I would often end up making 11, 12, and 13 bucks an hour thanks to tips. (Without tips I only made 6) Purity makes their own ice cream in the back of the building and they made a lot of flavors. Maybe 30 or 40. I memorized the name and ingredients of every flavor and sundae and shake. I even had dreams about them for months after I left. One more added bonus from my job at Purity was the weird bump of muscle that developed on my right forearm from scooping.
I returned to Purity the following May after finishing my first year at BYU. My boss, who owned Purity, also owned some branches of Purity called Eat Dessert First. I had worked at the one she owned near the Commons about once a week the previous summer, but this time she wanted me to be largely responsible for the one up in Cornell's College Town. Eat Dessert First served ice cream as a side thing. It mostly sold many different kinds of cakes and pies and cookies and brownies. Did I mention coffee? It's primary source of revenue came from the sale of coffee related items. I had to figure out how to make cappuccinos, lattes, mocha lattes, espressos, iced coffees, flavored coffees, regular coffee, dark coffee, and every other kind of coffee and I had to figure out how to make them perfectly. The people (Cornell students) who came in were (mostly) stuck up and would demand perfection. If I didn't get it right, they would tell me. I got burned more than a few times thanks to coffee. Let's just say it should have been the bane of my existence that summer, except that it wasn't my only job or even my full time one that summer. For a few weeks, I worked three jobs at once. I worked full time in a factory, where I needed to be by 6:50 every morning. To get there on time, I would leave around 6:15, when I finished at the factory at 3:20pm, I would rush off to either of my part time jobs where I would work until 10 or 11pm (or when I worked at Purity, sometimes I wouldn't finish until around 1:00am). I would shower at night and try to be asleep by 1:30 just to start over again the next morning.
The factory was the craziest job I've ever had.It was more of a man's job, but I worked it with plenty of girls, too. It's still not too funny to me some of the things we did, so let's just say that it required the wearing of steel toed boots,
goggles, ear plugs, and sometimes full body suits.
My other part time job was at the Ithaca Yacht Club. I was too young to wait tables, so I bussed them. The only thing redeeming about that job was that I worked with my brother.
I came home from BYU that summer to rest from school and see my family, but I worked so much that I saw very very little of my family and by comparison, school seemed like a huge break when I returned. It was a little lesson about what summers are for adults... nothing special, just hotter. I was becoming an adult and very quickly losing enthusiam for "summer vacation".
My next job after the Summer From Hell was back at BYU and once again titled Ice Cream Scooper. The only differences between working at the Creamery On 9th and Purity was management, grill operation, and milkshakes in Utah would be called "soft ice cream" in New York. The management difference turned out to make all the difference and I resigned after only 2-ish months.
That brings me (wow this turned out way longer than I intended) to my last job as a wage earning employee. I worked for BYU Vending for my last 3 years at BYU. They were that good. Or they paid me that well. Or a little of both, I don't know. They title says it all. I was a route driver, so I drove around and filled vending machines. For some of the time I was in charge of FHP, meaning I carried a big black duffle bag full of tampons around campus to fill said machines and collected only quarters. That is a very long story, with lots of other stories intermingled, of its own, so I'll leave it at that.
Now for the reason I even started this post.
My Favorite Job.
Lucky for me, it is my current job, and I expect to hold this position for the rest of my life. Because of this job, I am disgusted by almost nothing, sometimes I feel that maybe I have super powers, and I am losing my hair color fast. After some days, I really think that I've seen it all, but I know that's not true. It's probably the most difficult job (even considering my time spent in the factory) I've ever tried, but it's definitely the most rewarding. I'm even okay with not getting paid to do it, because, truly, there is nothing I would rather be doing. I love being a mom.
I love spending all day, every day with these two little crazies. They are so much fun and they are so cute. They make me wonder about things that I've never thought of before and try things that I really never even wanted to try. Sometimes I just can't believe how blessed I have been to be their mom.
I have two sisters. They're both pretty cute girls and lots of fun to be around. They're also both a lot younger than I am, so sometimes I feel more like their mom than their sister and I'm sure they sometimes think of me more of a grumpy adult. So, my Christmas present to them this year was a night for sisters only. I was hoping that it would help remind them that when it comes down to the bare bones truth, I'm really just another one of them (just 15 years older....) 
Unbelievable. That's what I think. What happened to that little baby of mine? He's so grown up and so active (makes it hard to get a good photo of him...) Now for some random ramblings about the Pookster: He eats pretty much everything we eat. He has a bad habit of rubbing food in his hair when a)He is finished eating or b)He doesn't like what you're trying to feed him. He is suddenly interested in watching Curious George with Nolan. He likes to color with crayons (and does an astounding job of it, I might add). He took a bath (more like he played naked) in one side of the kitchen sink while I did dishes in the other side today. Thank goodness for double basin sinks! It worked out well for both of us, we may try it again sometime. His hair curls a lot when it gets wet. It's also getting pretty long and shaggy looking........ He gets hurt in some small way pretty much every day. To keep him from hurting himself, I would seriously have to carry him around all day or strap him to something. So, hopefully he gradually becomes less dangerous. He graduated to 12 month clothes. It's crazy to see him in clothes that Nolan was still wearing when Gerret was born! This kid definitely has something on Nolan as far as size goes. They'll be in the same clothes by the time they're in elementary school. He copies all sorts of sounds and words and actions. I don't know if he understands totally what he's saying, but he does say "dada" and something like "dawdaw" when he points at pictures of dogs on the wall. He has an infectious laugh and those big dark brown eyes and dimples and oh man, he's just so awful cute. Sometimes, all I can think is, where did this kid come from? He couldn't be mine! Other times, when he's being Baby Crankypants, all I can think is, where did this kid come from? Take him back!
Now for these dumb pictures. The light was nice and that happens so infrequently these days,
that I thought I would capitalize on it. I really only wanted 1 picture of 11 month old Gerret, but it had to be good. Nolan thought he would get in on the action. That would have been fine with me, if Gerret would have cooperated. Like I said, I was only interested in a good picture of 11 month old Gerret. In my book, that means the audience has ample opportunity to acknowledge how endearing those eyes are.... and it's focused, and the light is good, and nothing is going too wrong (like boogers, too much food on the face, too much belly showing, distracting background, etc.) And so, he just would not look up. When he finally did, I got this:
Lindsay is quite possibly the greatest mom ever. She's also the best wife anyone could ever have (so sorry for the rest of everyone out there who's not her husband). She has a very quiet strength about her that carries her through even the toughest days. On Sunday last, she taught young womens, gave a talk in sacrament meeting, rehearsed a choir song for the first time, and then lent her support in a village wide christmas concert. She will always tell you about how shy and uncomfortable she is in a public setting, but despite it all she has never let it keep her from helping out when help was needed. And, as depicted, she has to do it all while having at least one boy hanging from her somewhere (even when the little guys are in bed I usually take over for them). I just want this to be a little tribute to the one who writes this blog and takes care of our family. You all know her, but not like I know her. She is as delicate yet firm as she is in the picture. And we do love to take our boys out into the woods--a little hard to do when it dumps snow all over the place . . . alas, we'll need to wait another few months before a picture like this is taken again. She'll still be just as photogenic though.
we put up our Christmas tree and decorations. We couldn't fit the fake tree we had last year, so we used just the top of it on a little table in our kitchen. Nolan helped me set up the nativity and Patrick put lights around our kitchen window. It's all very cheery and nice and helps our kitchen seem more cozy and inviting. Monday, Patrick took the day off. He had a dentist appointment in the morning, so we all took a trip to Ithaca. Gerret, Nolan, and I went to Target during part of the appointment and spent the rest of the time in the car, singing songs and eating snacks. After Ithaca, we did family stuff at home. 
It snowed all night Thursday and into Friday and we ended up getting enough for school to be canceled, so I watched The Aunts, which really ended up being The Aunts watched Nolan. He really likes them and was so excited when Aunt Olivia took him outside to play in the snow. When Patrick got home, we piled in the car and went to the Ithaca Chapel to see one of my young women get baptized. I have been the Young Woman President in the branch since August-ish and had only one partially active young woman until recently, and then suddenly my once-a-month Young Woman's Sunday meeting turned into an ev
ery week investigator class with two interested young women. Well, one of them got baptized this Friday and we went to it (the other girl is getting baptized next week and my investigator class will turn into a new member class). 
Now, this isn't because we're cheap, or not creative, or don't like to be together, or don't know helpful people who would love to feed, bathe, diaper, hug, and play with our adorable children. No Ma'am. Not one of those descriptions apply to us. It is more like this: We're picky about our children's sleeping habits. I guess it's been more like a feeling that when you've got something good, (like a small baby who sleeps through the night) why do anything that might upset it? I'm not saying it's good to feel this way, but we just haven't been able to help it. Luckily, we don't really have babies anymore (see previous post) and both of our boys are pretty solid about their routines and how they sleep, so.................... we ventured out before bedtime this past Saturday and didn't return until after the little angels had long since been tucked in. We didn't really do anything too incredible, just went to CFCU's Holiday Party, but it is definitely worthy of mention. We had dinner. We talked with other grown ups. We even walked through the mall afterward. And it didn't disturb any sleep habits. So I think we'll try to do this more than once a year.
Olivia filled the trampoline with leaves one day and invited Nolan to a little Autumn jumping party. He had so much fun jumping in and throwing the leaves. Then they (well I think Olivia really started it) got the idea to suff their clothes with leaves and prance around singing "Fatty the Clown. Fatty the Clown". Nolan got a real kick out of this song/phrase and just kept singing it and dancing around all stuffed with leaves long after it was old to Olivia. I got a real kick out of watching Fatty the Clown dance around and squeal in utter amusement. It's funny, the things that little kids find entertaining.
Gerret isn't walking on his own yet, but is still so close. I'm not complaining about this. Babies his size should stick to crawling, as they don't have enough sense to be safe about their mobility. He's dangerous enough just crawling... and climbing stairs, which he does way too quickly and carelessly to make me feel comfortable. Besides that, he is changing recently. Having Jordan and Diana here had a good effect on him. Somehow, he seems a lot more mature to me. Maybe it's just a coincidence that they showed up when they did, or maybe he really needed them here to help him graduate from babyhood (is that a word?). Now he's somewhere between baby and toddler. He is communicating a lot more and finding more ways than just crying to do it. He also seems to smile more and just be happier. He continues to amaze me with the things he picks up from watching us. Now he understands to fold his arms during prayer (and it is just beyond cute...) and the past few days he has started giving hugs on demand. Gerret is such a sweet little boy. He loves to cuddle and make kisses (he doesn't plant them anywhere yet though, just makes them in the air). He really loves Grandma. Which is good because Nolan is definitely a "Bapa" boy.
