So, have you ever got one of those checks in the mail? They are written out to you, personally for $5000. Or maybe $10,000. Or something like that. And at first you get really excited and think, yes! And then you read the fine print that says if you cash this check--this amazing wonderful gift out of thin air that will solve all of your problems--you will owe the credit company 38% compounded interest for the rest of your life and your first child. Or your second.

So, I'm watching CNN's coverage of the tea party in Chicago, and the fabulous professional reporter lady is getting a little worked-up at one of the protesters, trying to help him understand that he has nothing to protest about because the government is going to send him a check for $400. And, all I can think is, does this woman never read her junk mail?

Happy Birthday

Happy birthday, my brother!

Today you would be 32 years old. If you were here, I would make you a carrot cake, of course. My children know you through my stories of a dark-haired mischievous boy with a wicked sense of humor and a love for the natural world. I sometimes see flashes of you in my children: Sarai has your love for the outdoors along with your "not-knowing-when-to-stop" issue. Brigham has your eyes. And almost all of my children are short.

It has been 13 years, and sometimes I worry. I worry that my memories of you will fade or be distorted since you can't correct me. Here are some few (that perhaps others will correct as needed). I remember when David drew your name for Christmas and gave you fish hooks. The look on your face was priceless--a sort of sad irony. I remember when you went out on the lake with Ray, and blistered the backs of your legs so badly you couldn't move for three days. I remember feeling smug when Helene was born and I got a sister instead of the brother that you and Luke were both cheering for. I remember playing in Grandma Sweetman's sawdust heap with you with all sorts of little bowls and cups--I think you must have played with little cars and trucks, though. I remember your first goatee--strawberry blond, which surprised us since your hair was so dark. I remember that you would come and steal little pinches of dough whenever I was cooking, and later you became something of a "master chef" in your own right. You were always so creative, so adventurous, so funny. You were also often frustrating, irritating, and sort of like a runaway train.

One thing I don't worry about: where you are now. My first memory is of the altar in the Idaho Falls temple. I remember seeing myself and a little blond boy (Luke) in the eternity mirrors. There must have been a round-bellied Mom in the mirror, too, since you were born a month later. ( I probably had to look up too far to see Mom and Dad. That's probably why I don't have their image in my memory. Maybe if I thought hard enough, I could remember their knees.) I have felt such a sense of peace since you passed on, knowing that you are a member of our eternal family, and that Heavenly Father loves you and knows better than I your worth and the work that you need to do. I have felt that you are at peace, and that you are working hard, sharing the gospel with those near and dear to us.

I love you and I miss you, dear boy.