A few years ago, the manager of the Welcome Center in our neighborhood asked if they could have my girls pose for some photos to put in their pamphlets, ads, etc.  Derrick works closely with the Welcome Center, as his firm does the all the civil engineering for our development, but I know that had nothing to do with this request.  I know that my children were needed for their dazzling good looks and me, for my legendary stage-mothering skills.  So, here’s a glance back to good ‘ole 2004 and some of the photos that ended up in the newspaper, Creekstone pamphlets and magazines, and even in some brochures on airplanes.  (An old friend called us from the airport, wondering what the heck our kidlets were doing on his flight!) So if you’re one of the few people on the continent who haven’t seen my child stars yet, here’s a bit of what the (highly professional) photo shoot produced when Rache was just five, and Megan, three: 

Weren’t they sweet?  Well, the Welcome Center beckoned us once again this year, and–sigh–once again I consented to having our good looks exploited for no pay.  (What can you do when your public needs you?)  Picture day just happened to fall on the same day as my half-misery-marathon, so these outfits were pulled out of the closet and not ironed about thirty minutes before shuttertime.  Literally, they were the only solid pieces of clothing in my kids’ wardrobe, which is why a multitude of us ended up in brown.  (It hasn’t happened yet, but someday I’ll show up in something besides a plain T-shirt for my family portraits.)

Here is another completely candid shot of us frolicking in the clover while sharing secrets and giggles.  (A typical Saturday afternoon for our family, of course.)

I imagine these photographs will be splashed across every major magazine in the country, so be watching your Gap ads!  The upside is that we can keep these images at no cost.  So there’s our merrychristmasfromtheSmithfamily photo, free!  (I am not kidding.  Expect it in December.)

The downside is that looking at the old photos of the girls made me nostalgic and slightly depressed about how fast my family is growing up.  I’ve really been struggling with this lately, as I seem to every September when school starts.  President Monson’s talk today at General Conference , however, gave me a much needed perspective change.  The main goal I’m taking away from Conference this year:  to enjoy what I have, today, and not wish my time away on the past or future.  To stop trying to do more; rather, keep doing what I am already doing, more happily and gratefully.

I am now opening up the commentary for two answers I hope to receive from all of you:
 1.  What part of conference inspired you the most?
 2.  How cute is my family and how much do I look like I haven’t aged a bit since you saw me last?  (Comments for #2 need be neither truthful nor sincere, obviously.)

I’d better run.  Our fifteen minutes of fame are almost up, and I’m gonna make the most of it.  Gotta go find someone to do lunch with!

I’ve been thinking lately about the difference between Bloggereality and, well, reality. I’ve observed a rather large gap between the two, at least for myself, and–I am hoping–for all of you (if I’m wrong on this, then I really did get the shaft and my life is pitiful compared to everyone else’s perfect children, dream vacations, and stunning good looks.) So, though perhaps my own reality doesn’t always “bite,” it doesn’t always smile, either. Case in point: Big, Annual Camping Trip, lots of planning, some of our best friends, perfect location, lots of junk food shopping, lots of packing, lots of excited kids, lots of excited adults. Bloggereality would report that this trip went perfectly, as evidenced by the perfectly posted pictures, but I am here to set the record straight. I learned last weekend that coming down with something akin to Strep Throat, complete with fever, chills and vomiting in a “cabin” (dare we give it that much credit?) with nothing nearby but an outhouse is, in the end, its own brand of adventure. Real adventure, not sissybloggingadventure. You know what I mean.

There was dirt, there was a graham cracker, there was chocolate.
That’s all we know.

Ethan and Max. All weekend. Do not even ask.

The elusive Secret Place

Clara had to be the sweetest, quietest, happiest baby I’d ever been around. Yes, I am including my own children in this assessment.

The dead fishskin find. Still not sure where she found it, how she got it, why she wanted it. Never did get a clear answer on that.