We had a great five days with my cousin Jeri who came to visit us this week. We had to go see the sites in DC.
The Natural History Museum has an exhibit on the trapped Chilean miners. James is checking out things made from copper.
Spencer is wearing the helmet of the first man who went down to rescue them.
That is the actual capsule the miners rode in to get out of the mine.
Magnetite and the boys.
Harry Potter's Gryffindor robes.
At the American History Museum, the kids didn't want to leave this message board where they could write what they'd say in the first telephone call.
James had to bring his class's pet along. His class seems to have a lot of pets.
Faith at the doll house in the American History Museum.
Our last stop before getting on the metro was a visit to Mr. Lincoln, our favorite. We were all sad when Jeri had to leave to go home. Faith asked first thing the next day where she went.
James played in his last basketball game of the season last Saturday. They had a great record going into the playoffs, but lost their first game so they were out. Unlike the other sports James has played, no win no trophy.
They still got to celebrate their season with a team party at Cici's tonight. (If I never eat there again it will be too soon.)
For Family Home Evening tonight we went prowling around our new house after dark. I had to come check out these kitchen cabinets that just went in today.
The boys in the basement.
Entryway stairs.
James's room.
Spencer's room.
The girls' room.
Upstairs.
Here is the best picture in the daylight of what our house is looking like lately. We're getting there.
"I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails. I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp. I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbors children. I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden. I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder. I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived." — Marjorie Pay Hinckley