$412.32

That's what I had to pay today to get our A/C going again. Why? A stinking earwig (pincher bug) got in and shorted out 2 electrical parts.

So here's a PSA: keep the area around your unit free of grass, weeds, and plants. Helps keep the buggies away, apparently.

Unity through trials

We've loved our ward since we moved here. This has been the best ward, for us, that we've ever been in. That's significant because we really loved our last ward, too. We feel that we belong here, though. We have good friends in this ward, many people that we get along really well with. I've especially made some wonderful "girl" friends here who love so much.

This summer was hard for our ward. We had one really devastating tragedy; one of those things that, even though it didn't directly happen to you, you know will change you forever. The night it happened I remember crying with my friends on the phone, praying with them, brainstorming ways we could help the people going through it. Our hearts were broken, we were all desperate to fix it. Church that Sunday was very solemn and intensely spiritual where, as a Ward family we talked about it, and discussed the Gospel principles that could help them (and us) through it. Now I can see how that and a few other things that happened within the ward united us. The ward feels even more like a family. Healing is still happening, but even now we can see how we all pull together.

In our marriage, we've seen the same principle. One of the biggest struggles we had was infertility early in our marriage. Since 14 years old I was told that I may never have children. Even having advanced warning of those problems didn't help much when it all came down to it and we wanted nothing more than to be parents. Matt was a bit stronger than I was, but it was hard on both of us- both the uncertainty of it, and the many procedures and medications we tried in those years. Now, with our house buzzing with our 3 little miracles, that seems like a lifetime ago. But the strength we found leaning on the Lord and on each other is still there. Our relationship is a good, solid, blissfully happy one. Every difficulty we work through has bonded us more strongly together, and for that I'm grateful.

Even on an individual level, or maybe ESPECIALLY on an individual level, it's easy to see how the trials we have in our lives unite us more with the Lord as we lean on Him. There is so much beauty in the Gospel.

The 8 worst apologies ever

(an article on CNN that I saw this morning and liked)

(The Frisky) -- Despite what that old chestnut love story will have you believe, love doesn't mean never having to say you're sorry.

In fact, one of the most important components of any relationship is the ability to suck it up and apologize every now and again.

It's hardly brain surgery, but who among us hasn't been the recipient of an apology that wound up making you feel even worse than the original transgression?

For something that's basically a no-brainer, there's a bevy of ways to get it very, very wrong.

In fact, the late Randy Pausch's bestseller, "The Last Lecture," has an entire chapter called "A bad apology is worse than no apology."

Now granted, men are definitely more prone to the botched apology (see John Edwards, Bill Clinton, etcetera), but we ladies have also been known to blow an act of contrition on occasion. Here are some apology strategies to avoid:

1. The blame shifter

Witness the number one worst way to say sorry of all time: "I'm sorry you feel that way." Interesting game plan -- blaming the person you're ostensibly making amends to for getting rightfully pissed off at your horrendous behavior. If you're not sorry for your actions, don't apologize. If you are genuinely repentant, take off the training bra, squeeze 'em into the underwire, and take responsibility like a woman.

2. Lady liquor made me do it

So you had a little too much to drink at a friend's birthday party and ended up making out in the bathroom with the bartender. When your boyfriend finds out, it's probably best to just own up to the mistake rather than say, "But I was drunk!" Those five shots of tequila only gave you the courage to do something stupid and regretful, it didn't actually do it for you.

3. It's all in the genes

What I wouldn't pay to be a fly on the wall the first time some cheater tries to use the new study showing that some men have a genetic predisposition towards non-monogamy. Sorry ladies, so far there's no equivalent study for us female types, so don't even think about it.

4. Forcing forgiveness

"You have to forgive me -- you must!" Demanding absolution is possibly more annoying than your original sin. This is a lose/lose.

5. The big but

An acquaintance's wife apologized for sleeping with a coworker with the caveat, "But he came onto me!" So obviously she had no choice but to cozy up. Oh, please. Inserting the word "but" into any apology immediately negates it.

6. The sympathy bid

A boyfriend once "apologized" for standing me up by ruefully rambling on about how his tragic childhood left him ill-equipped to deal with obligations. What this had to do with blowing off dinner still eludes me. You're supposed to be making a plea for forgiveness, not hosting a pity party for one.

7. e-Sorry

There are very few occasions that warrant an e-card. Screwing up and subsequently begging forgiveness via an animated teddy bear and a terrible jingle is definitely not one of them.

8. Skirting the issue

"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," is not the same as "I'm sorry I cheated on you with your best friend, in your bed, while you were at your uncle's funeral." Though either way you phrase it, I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for forgiveness on that one. 

Thousands of peaches. . .

Oh, how I love fall. Okay maybe it's not technically fall, but we're doing typical fall things: Abby started school, I'm back at piano lessons, and we're starting to harvest things from the garden (by "things", I mean tomatoes. Mostly cherry. I managed to kill everything else). Other things I love about fall? I was born in the fall, which has improved my life tremendously. I was married in the fall, which has improved my life at least as much! There is one thing about fall that I think I still love (ask me next week), which will be the subject of this post:

Peaches.

I was raised on canned peaches. Beautiful, tasty canned peaches. I have fond memories of going to Schumaker's or Williamson's to pick peaches with my silbings and my mom, and then having boxes and boxes of peaches in the kitchen while she spent the week artfully cutting, sugaring, and canning them, then lining them in gorgeous rows. Those weeks were wonderful. We had sliced peaches on waffles, sliced peaches on ice cream, peaches and cream, peach scampi, peach a la king. . . sorry, I was channeling Bubba for a second. I know I'm seeing those weeks through peach-colored glasses, because only now I'm realizing the amount of work those weeks were for Mom! 

I've always had quite a domestic bent. I yearn to be the kind of homemmaker my mother has always been. I usually fall flat, but I try. This year, the church orchard had a bumper crop of Elberta peaches, so I decided to try my hand at canning.

Dad, Mom, the two little ones and I set out for Caldwell on Monday morning. The drive was lovely. The weather was perfect. Driving up the hill to the church farm, there is a breathtaking view of the orchards and vineyards and fields below. We found the right rows. The peaches were perfect. Plump and fuzzy with beautiful hues of yellows and oranges and reds. My little ones were having fun, I was hanging out with some of my favorite people. I was in heaven. 

Peach fuzz does things to a person's skin that are not pleasant. Nevertheless, I had a goal in mind. We spent the first part of the morning picking for the welfare cannery, then started picking our own. By now the baby was starting to fuss, so I was in a hurry. I was shooting for 2 or 3 bushels, so I spent the next hour picking and hauling as quickly as I could. We got ready to leave. Dad looked in the back of the van and laughed at the quantity. More like 5 or 6 bushels. Oh well, I thought, even better! Lots of peaches.

Well. . . yesterday I sorted through them and reboxed, in order of ripeness. I had a small box of pretty ripe ones, but not enough for The Big Production, so I decided to make jam. That would be a good use of the small box!

Two hours and five peaches later, I had 6 1/2 pints of jam and aching feet. 

So this morning, I moved on to freezer jam. That would use more!  Four peaches and a few small containers took me a little over an hour. And gave me an aching back.

So I said to myself, hey, self, we use peaches for smoothies. Let's just freeze the rest! Over an hour and a little more than half the box later, I have about 3 gallons of peach slices in the freezer.

Folks, I haven't even used half a bushel. I asked my mom how many bushels she used to get. Twelve. TWELVE. She'd spend all day, every day for the better part of a week canning those twelve bushels. And my mom is Superwoman, if you didn't know. She can outwork any man or woman I can think of, and that's not hyperbole. 

So here's some math I know:

If my mom cans 12 bushels of peaches in a week, how long will it take me to can about 6? Factor in the Superwoman factor, and I'm hoping to be done by Halloween. Of course, they won't last that long.

Thankfully, Superwoman is coming over tomorrow to get me going and give me her hard-earned wisdom. Fifty-ish years of being a housewife, and I get to glean all of that knowledge. Maybe I'll be done sometime this month.

I love peaches. . .right?