Congratulations Godmother Kelly!

I don’t know if it was her fantastic sales pitch or the fact that deep down I feel she’s the most qualified doll owner to name my newly acquired, but KELLY is the winner!!!

Anika Tessie. Sounds fantastic. Tess is probably going to be the middle name of my next daughter, so I love Tessie. I don’t care if they’re close, it’s all in the family.

Thank you ALL for your fantastic contributions to the Cabbage Patch Kid Name Contest. The stories were heart warming and heart breaking, may you all be blessed with real babies to snuggle and name. Or grand babies. Or Godchildren. Whatever suits your fancy.

On Saturday I bought my daughter her first Cabbage Patch Kid.

I swung by a garage sale (a serious addiction of mine) and started rummaging through the toys. There, under a kite, was an original 1980 cabbage patch doll. Beautiful yellow (yarn) hair, same outfit she was born in, even the original diaper. I snatched her up like a piece of chocolate cheesecake and hurried to the register. She cost me ten bucks, worth every penny.

As I drove home my mind wandered back to my own cabbage patch doll. Bridgette. According to my mom, she was the last one on the shelf (remember how hard they were to find?) and we were lucky to get her. I know I should have been in love with her and I TRIED to be in love with her, but she wasn’t my kid.

She had short blond loopy hair and dressed like a boy. My best friend Kendra’s doll had long yellow hair and was all girl. Oh, how I coveted that doll. I’d try to kiss and coo over Bridette, but my heart wasn’t in it. I could never really get over the disappointment of that short blond hair, may she rest in peace up in my parent’s attic.

But this doll, this doll, is everything I ever wanted in a Cabbage Patch Kid. I brought her home, washed her clothes, cleaned her face and snuggled down to take a nice big wiff of her head. She’s still got it, that sweet Cabbage Patch smell. Amazing how they never seem to lose it.

But I have one monumental problem. I don’t know her name. We all know how important the official name is, and there is no way for me to backtrack and find it now. So I am taking matters into my own hands. I must name this child.

So I need your help. I am having a Cabbage Patch Kid naming contest. The winner will be granted Godmotherhood. Let’s hear them. Girl. Yellow hair. Baby clothes.

Well?

Yesterday I took the entire town to Walmart. Now, Walmart on a Saturday in Utah isn’t such a pleasant experience. There are usually no “big” carts to be had (since there are 49 million Young Mothers With Three Kids) and no close parking spots. Why I thought my family could handle this field trip is beyond me. I guess I was feeling a little reckless.

Rex hit the roof as soon as I started to unfasten his seat belt. I pulled him out and looked around frantically, all I needed was a cart that could hold three kids so I could keep the chaos contained.

I looked at the outdoor cart stall and there it sat: bright blue plastic glistening in the hot September sun, just waiting to save me. But of course, it was the furthest cart in. I would have to pull two entire rows of carts out of the stalls in order to reach it.

My heart sank as I headed toward that evasive cart. June Bug in one arm, Rex hysterically kicking in the other arm, Harrison trying to peel some gum off the middle of the road–there was just no way. I thought of my available limbs. My feet, I’d have to use my feet to pull the carts apart.

At that precise moment an angel in a white (of course white) Ford Explorer stepped in front of me and started shuffling through the carts. She was an older angel, the kind who probably earned her sainthood with three or four or seven kids of her own. She made quick work of those carts and presented me with my prize. Blue. Shiny. Harnesses. Heaven.

What could I say? How could I tell her in one sentence that my husband is on the other side of the country and I’m really lonely and I didn’t think I could do it today and then she came along and saved us all from certain and immediate tears and blubbering? I was trying to think of words and trying not to cry all over my beautiful blue cart when she hopped in her car and drove away. I’m telling you, there are blessings EVERYWHERE.

I think she might have been one of the Three Nephites, I’m not sure.

I got a D+ in BYU’s Physical Science the first time I took it and flunked it the second time. I learned two things from this experience: First, all right-brained students at BYU should pay the gas money and take their science classes at the Salt Lake Extension Center. There is nothing like getting credit from a class like “Appreciation of Nature”. Our assignments revolved around spending one half hour out in nature each week, where we were then invited to record and share our thoughts. My kind of class.

The second thing I learned from Physical Science is some law about all things being in a state of decomposition. When we got home from our six week vacation, I remembered this stupid law.

My yard plan for the summer revolved around leaving my house and pretending the weeds wouldn’t take over in my absence. Upon our return home I’ve realized that we have become “those” neighbors. You know the ones. Brown lawn, thistle growing along the path to the front door, dandelions the flower of choice. We’ve been spreading the love this summer by reseeding the neighborhood with the fluffy white down from our yard.

The worst part about it is our brown grass. Apparently, despite forking a nice sum over to a lawn fertilizer company and having sprinklers that work, our grass is the only brown grass on the entire street. Our lawn company is trying to tell us that our lawn is in “shock”. That’s funny. We seem to have the only surprised lawn in town. Perhaps the company’s name should be something more along the lines of, Beautiful Green Lawns But Sometimes Brown If We Burn Them.

And so on Monday I went out and tackled the foliage. I didn’t plan to weed. In my attempt to be occupied that morning I had baked and delivered bread to our neighbors who took care of the house for us (it is necessary when baking bread to immediately confiscate it so I am not tempted to deter from my salami safe-haven).

After three or four passes in front of my house with said goods, I couldn’t resist reaching down and tugging out a weed on my way inside. One weed led to another, and before I knew it, I’d been out there an hour and had done a thorough weeding of the entire front area, despite the many critter holes which FREAK ME OUT. I kept sending telepathic messages to the snakes/rodents who live in them to just stay put.

And I gotta admit, it felt good. Kind of like repentance. It’s so much better to dig in and confront those sins. Passing in front of them every day only brings anxiety. Clean feels so good.