Where the Wild Things Are

I just had a good trip to the post office with the children. I can hardly believe it myself. Usually I LOATHE the post office. My kids scream, Matthew runs around grabbing puffy envelopes, stuffed teddy bears, and hiding behind "no admittance" counters. Grumpy adults scowl at me. Not so this morning. Partly because I woke the kids up at the crack of dawn to get there by 7:50. There was still a short line, only two people though. My package was ready, stuffed, taped up, addressed, it only needed postage. As I pulled the kids out of the car to pack them into the stroller Will started complaining--No Mommy, No! I knew this was going to be a disaster but hopefully just a short one. To my surprise, we stood in line behind a very nice man who asked the kids about Santa--he he--they can talk all day about Santa. Immediately Will was interested, Matthew jumped into the conversation all about colored presents, legos, and diesel trains. Bless that man. Before I knew it I was up to the counter, had paid my five dollars, and was out the door. My own little Christmas Miracle!

There's been so much going on lately I've hardly had a free minute to get to the keyboard. I have lots of potential post energy but the kinetic part is having a hard time getting started. This post will serve to update some grammies on some funny things the kids have said and what they have been up to. A couple days ago I got together with two good friends, Elana and Tara, to make some gingerbread houses. Thanks to Elana the kids were decked out with a bazillion little Christmas candies. I thought Matthew's house was worthy of some blog space.

It's a rocket ship. See the licorice wings coming out the side--and that little candy cane sticking out from the roof is the American Flag. My little boys a patriot!

Here are a few things overheard lately:

After a rough morning Matthew blurted out to me: "I love you Mom. You're the greatest Mom ever. Not like those other moms." I'm not sure who those other moms are but it still made me feel good. Especially since he is always telling me he likes Tara's spaghetti better than mine and asking why I can't make it like her with no vegetables and meatballs.

Will likes to repeat whatever the nav system in our car says so after the nice nav lady tell me "Turn. Slightly. Right. In. 500. Feet." I often hear instructions from the back, "Turn slightly, Mom. Turn slightly." Except Will has a problem with his "l's" so it comes out "Turn swightwy, Mom. Turn swightwy. Was that swightwy right, Mom?"

The other day we passed a Santa out on a street corner and Will called out, "There's Santa, Mom." Matthew corrected him, "It's just a man dressed up like Santa, Will." I'm not sure what gave it away. Maybe it was the billboard Santa was wearing addvertising Jack's plumbing and heating. We want to be your plumber!"

This was heard while I was in the family room: "MOM! Joseph's in the oven!" (don't worry, it was just the drawer beneath the oven.)

Lastly, Matthew has been a bit over taken with Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer lately. He loves that old movie and likes to play all the characters. He even convinced some nice lady at Costco that his name was Rudolf. She commented that it's not a name your hear often and asked if it ran in the family. No. It just runs in his imagination. The other day he came to me despondent complaining the Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen were calling him names because of his red nose and wouldn't let him play their reindeer games. Oh dear. He has also assigned each family member a character from the movie. He is Rudolf, I, of course, get to be Mommy Donner, Chris is Donner (in the movie Donner is Rudolf's father) and William gets to be Clarice. This cracks me up. Clarice is Rudolf's love interest but Matthew thinks it's his sister. Fine with me. And too bad for Will on both fronts, love interest or sister. Matthew calls him Clarice and will come report to me, "Mom, Clarice won't let me have a turn on the computer," or I'll here him say, "Clarice, come play reindeer with me." Sorry Will. The plight of being the younger brother. And for the finale, there's the character Matthew calls the Abdominal Snoman. Oh yes, we know all about the Abdominal Snowman. He usually roars his ugly head after a big dinner of mexican food.

I've been out for a bit with household projects and glad to get a minute to check up on my blog world. Tiling, rearranging furniture, organizing closets, ahhhh, it's all taken hold of me. The lure of leaving town for a bit has put the fire in me to tidy up all those secret places, the back of the coat closet, the junk drawer, Chris' whole office--it's not really that secret being right next to the front door but has been an eye sore much too long. And I must confess, much of the mess is mine. I also had another 2 a.m. night last night staying up to work on a Christmas project for . . .Grammy! Who me? Yes, you. Couldn't be. Don't worry it is. Anyway, this post is much delayed but the computer was on the fritz during Halloween and I've been promising grandma's pictures for a month now so please indulge me. The best treat of the evening was a surprise visit by the one and only Daddy! Chris had been working out of town but made a special trip home to take the boys trick-or-treating and they were in heaven. Daddy and candy makes for one great time. Here's another picture. I'm pretty sure we ended up with more candy than we started with which was okay for a few days but unfortunately self-indulgent Emily knows how to get past the child lock on the pantry door. Self-control Emily is not happy about this and several weeks ago threw out all remaining Halloween candy. That was all well and good until self-indulgent Emily showed up again. The kids were in bed and she was ready to sit down and watch herself a little Entertainment Tonight with a piece 'o chocolate. When none was to be had she started to get a bit disgusted with self-control Emily. Fortunately, resourceful Emily had saved some of the candy for her Young Women's class and self-indulgent Emily remembered where it was. Mmmmmmmm. Chocolate. All is right with the world. At least until I go to bed, think about my day, and self-control Emily reemerges, determined to maintain the command post a bit longer tomorrow, to keep self-indulgent Emily at bay. Self-control Emily is very confident in her bed at night planning for the next day's events. Alas, by about 11:00 a.m. when hunger starts knocking and tiredness begins to set it, it is all to easy for self-indulgent Emily to bump self-control Emily to the passenger seat and drive this van wherever she pleases. And it's most likely Wendy's.

I enjoy reading the comments on other people's blogs but seldom click on any of the commenter's to see which blogs they belong too. (Follow me so far?) Tonight I was enjoying some productive neglect (credit's to Annie) and let a bit of wander lust take hold. This is where it led me . . .

• I started at my friend Nikki's blog. I noticed in her sidebar a link to another friend, Nicky, who moved away a while ago.
• I jumped over to Nicky's blog to see if her new baby had come and in her side bar noticed another name of an old ward member, Maylin, who (or is it "whom"?) I never new well and has since moved away but is the daughter-in-law of a good friend. So . . .
• Popped on over to Maylin's blog to do a bit of stalking and noticed in her sidebar that her mother-in-law, my friend Robin, actually has a blog of her own. Stay with me, only three more to go . . .
• While posting my comment on Robin's blog, I felt a little pinch of curiosity as to who was behind the screen name "Our Ole' Kentucky Home," who had also commented so I clicked on him/her/them to find out who would choose such a name.
• Our Ole' Kentucky Home took me to the blog of Nate and Sarah Wells. People I had never heard of before and had no idea existed on this little earth with me but did in fact live in Kentucky as their screen name suggested. I guess that's why they chose it. Anyhow, out of the corner of my eye in their sidebar I noticed the name Jillyn Wells. I know one person and one person only named Jillyn so again, dragged the mouse over and click . . .
• Who should I find but one of my mother's best friends! Ha Ha Ha! A woman I have know for YEARS, whose children I went to school with, whose husband was our vet (an important man in a household of four dogs), and whose front door I see every time I exit my parent's house. Again, ha ha ha, I couldn't get over it. So, hello Jillyn! Fancy meeting you out here in bloggyville!

So I suppose the six degrees of separation theory works for internets as well. The only people I don't know in this scenario are Nate and Sarah Wells so my questions are two: 1)Robin, how do you know these people and 2)I assume you, Jillyn, with the same last name and all, are related--am I correct? To the rest of you I issue a challenge to head out into the blue and see who you can find with some random comment clicking . . . happy hunting! Update me with any good stories.

A bit of randomness to begin your week:

1. The tile is ongoing. I am only a grouter and know better than to engage the actual saw so the heavy work only gets done on weekends when hubby is home. The floor is finished but the built in wall/shelf and the front of the tub are still in the works. Pictures coming soon.
2. I watched the You Tube debate last week and actually found it very interesting. I don't think I have watched an entire debate before. We all know politics are important, being involved and all that citizenship stuff but putting all that aside, I couldn't get over the post debate commercial. Obviously networks target adds toward assumed viewers. Dora dolls in between Diego shows, Tide and Palmolive are at home on the Food network, etc. So this is You Tube, I would image a young, hip, techno savvy crowd. Imagine my surprise when 'ol Anderson Cooper raps up his opinion on the debate along with some of his distinguished friends only to be followed by an announcement as to why I should buy a Cat Grass Chia Pet for my furry friend. What does this mean? Is the young, hip crowd so techno savvy they have lost their humanness and only have relationships with cats? Or perhaps is the older, crazy-cat-lady crowd suddenly found a place to feel needed and understood on You Tube? Discuss.
3. Where is the justice in placing the Chipotle in the same building as the dang Gold's Gym. I'm just trying to get me a burrito. I don't want to share the sidewalk with lycra clad men with pecs embarrassingly larger than mine. Rather than trying to shed some calories running for the door I am only trying to bite into mine a bit sooner. Then as I leave the building with said burrito and its mate of chips I must confront chipper twenty-somethings in their little outfits with their little gym totes skipping to their little cars. Not only am I not working out but I can't even wait for the car to delve into the warm saltiness of my bag 'o chips. I did try to maintain some dignity by pulling out a chip with an elegant teacup grasp, little pinky held aloft but all the daintiness was lost due to my mitten clad hand acting more like velcro and emerging from the bag looking like a chip paw. Rats, foiled again.

It's almost 2 a.m. I have just finished grouting the new tile in the master bath. I've cleaned up my work space, thrown out the dirty water, shown my little munchkin who woke up 30 minutes ago some constellations. Now I myself am headed to the shower, my sheets won't allow this kind of filth. And then . . . sleep . . . ahhhhhhh

(before and after photos to follow shortly)

p.s. In case you were worried, I didn't really wear those maternity pants :)

What I am thankful for tonight: An Aunt who I can call when I sit alone in the study, children asleep and husband traveling home, and unknowingly click a link on a friends blog and stumble across some music that calls to me of my Grandmother. Thankful that after I put down my box of tissues I can call Omi's phone number and Aunt Mary will answer and talk with me. Thankful that in her voice I can hear my Omi, that she will say the same things to me Omi would have, and I can listen to her and feel family around me again. Thanks Aunt Mary. Ich liebe Dich.

So, dear internets, which would you rather be seen as, ugly with no sense of put-togetherness, or rude and insensitive. Maybe this only happens to me but it seems all to often I find myself in a position having to choose the lesser of two evils. Ugly vs. rude, unobservant vs. incompetant. I'll explain. This happened a few weeks ago but the computer was on the fritz at the time so I am just blogging now. Cleveland was in the throws of trying to win a fourth game against the Red Sox (which we now know was to no avail) and Tribe fever was ripe here in our lovely land. It was Saturday morning and Chris was loading up the boys in the car for our traditional Saturday morning breakfast. I had scrambled out of bed, thrown on some clothes and was headed down the stairs to join him. Fortunately I passed a mirror on the way to the garage and realized my hair was in no condition to be seen outside the house. All the baby hairs that have grown in since Joseph's birth sent them running for the hills have reached their teen years. Adolensence has taken hold of them and they are rebelling against all conformity and reaching with all their might for a bit of individualism. This does not bode well for my hair as a whole. Individualism I'm sure has a positive side to it but not for hair. Hair, frankly, should be a communist society, each doing its small part for the greater good, each willing to bend here, accept a little product there, in an effort to produce a style greater than the sum of its parts. Unfortunately, capitalism is well and thriving upon my weary head. It's busier than the floor of the stock market up there with every folicle wavy itself crazy and clammering to be heard above the others. Can't you all just calm down?!

Well, I hurried right past the mirror to the basket full of ball caps with which to tame fuzzy brood but here I found a problem. The only ball cap I own (and proudly) is blue. With a great big Boston "B" emblazoned on the front. (My two boys are Boston babies after all.) I started to put it on and realized, "Ahhh, I'll draw more stares for my Red Sox hat than my crazy hair." What to do? I searched the basket a little deeper and came up with a Michigan hat and a Pittsburg hat. No better. And this is really just coincidence, we aren't huge sports fans in the first place. I stupidly wore the Michigan hat out in my back yard a couple weeks after we moved in and my neighbor tackfully let me know it wasn't quite appropriate if I wanted to make any friends here (Thanks Bob!). So what was I to do, wear the hat and have everyone at the breakfast place think I was a traitor to my city, ungrateful for all the fantastic people and culture here, and eventually pelted with eggs, run out and asked to never return? OR. Be looked at with pitty, as a mother who is too stressed out, has let herself go, has no fashion sense, and needs a hair intervention STAT. Rock and a hard place if there ever was one. I dug through the basket one more time in hopes of an answer. I didn't find one. In the end I settled on a hat Chris must have picked up from some car dealer somewhere. It had a mercedes logo on the front and frankly didn't do a very good job at capping the rebelious hair as well as sending out a hoity-toity vibe which was SO opposite from the rest of my look. I guess I lost on both fronts. Just my luck.

Oh well, at least the eggs were good.

If your a mother of a boy or a pack of boys, hop on over to my friend Nikki's blog a watch this video.

Well, he's done it agian. The hubby has been hard at work installing new hardrives, recovering missing data, reinstalling programs, and searching though every shelf, box, and cuboard for all the operating disks to run this old computer. I think he finally has it fixed. [Unfortunately, don't tell him, I found a new love just as he finished his work.] Isn't it lovely. That's the whole thing. Speakers? Already in there. Hard drive/tower? Already in there. Video camera? Already in there. ITS ALL THERE. Maybe I love it because of my disdain for tangly cords. I swear, rats nest doesn't even begin to describe what's going on behind this little table I'm typing on. However, this here coputer has served me well and deserves another chance after is brush with death. My dad was a firm believer in the 'ol use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without. One woudn't be surprised then, to find out he wore the same suit he graduated high school in to his 20 year reunion. Come to think of it I think I Joseph was rattling around my old middle school retainer in it's purple case just the other day. Be happy Dad, I still have it! I'm fine to make it do but my doing without the past couple weeks coudn't have lasted much longer (so thanks honey!). Anyway, here's to my renewed blogging efforts and many more posts to come, with a little luck!

The computer is down again. I think for good this time. I am again over in Tara's kitchen typing while she feeds my greedy little children. Good thing I have friends so social services doesn't come calling. But, that is not what this blog is about. This blog is about being honest and it's accompanying blessings, or hardships. So, we are taught to be honest, to choose the right, and to look forward to our mansions in heaven (I tell you though, I don't want that mansion unless it comes with some poor soul doomed to a lesser kingdom to clean it). However, sometimes mansions in heaven seem a little too far off for me. I like the honesty I learned in little kid primary--the kind where you turn in the candy you stole and the manager is so pleased he gives you a king size bar, the kind where you confess to Mr. Mumford that he didn't grade your 7th grade math paper right and you actually got one more wrong than he thought and he to repay your honesty he gives you 100%. I like the getting your cake and eating it too honesty. Mansions in heaven are great but a little immediate gratification isn't bad either. I remember in college when I took an English paper in to the professor to show him a mistake he didn't catch. "Oh, thanks," he said. "I guess that brings you down to an 86%." What! Seriously. You're not going to give me extra credit for telling the truth? Ah, honesty, it's a crap chute. (Sorry, Mom, I'm channelling Laura.) As I get older I run into more and more of the blessings in heaven type of honesty and less of the ends well for everybody kind. More of the honesty where telling the truth actually gets you the consequence you deserve instead of absolving you of responsibility. Blessings in heaven are great but I miss the easy stuff. So, a couple days ago I took the kids down to trick or treat with the senior citizens. The kids and old folks had a great time but as we were loading up in the car Will fell out of the car slamming his door into the mini van next to us. Rats. I was trying to do a good deed and be nice to old people and this is what I get. I'm ashamed to say I was less concerned with William lying prone on the ground, his feet still in the car and more concerned with the very obvious dent he had put in the car next to us. I looked around, no moms where headed our way, the parking lot was otherwise empty, the angel and devil on my shoulders started negotiating. Nuts, I found a scrap of paper in my car, wrote a note explaining what had happened (I did make sure I mentioned the child falling), and left my phone number. I resisted the temptation to place the note in a place it might accidentally blow away or not be seen and stuck it under the wipers. Is it horrible to want the blessing of being honest and also hoping the lady never calls me? Well, I've been starring at cake a couple days now, nobody has called, and I'm feeling lucky enough that tonight I just might eat it.

We had stake conference a couple weeks ago and I got an idea. An awful idea. I had a wonderful, awful idea. (there's a quote for you) Anyway, here was my idea. You know how sacrament meeting is with little ones. It's 75 minutes of shushing, pleading to whisper, breaking out every plastic toy, coloring book, lacing card you've got, and finally stuffing the little mouths with mini marshmallows in an effort to keep them quiet and placated all the while trying to gather the smallest amount of spiritual growth and knowledge from the speaker so your worship doesn't feel in vain and (more importantly) so when you see said speaker in the hall later you can thank him or her for a wonderful talk and say something competent. Well, we all know stake conference is ten times worse; and of course, all hope is completely lost if we end up sitting in the over flow area on the metal folding chairs. (Which we always do.) Might as well pack up and head home for all the good it will do us and the harm it will do whoever we sit by. The metal chairs combined with the wood gym floor make for a, uh, perfect storm, shall we say of childhood noise. Clanging toy cars on those metal seats reverberate to no end and no matter how hard the kiddies try those same cars are always sliding across the seat, swooshing up over the back lip on the chair and slamming into the completely non absorbent shellacked floor of the gym. Even if cars are put away and sedentary activities brought out there is something about the folding chairs that just lours the children in like bugs to those zappy blue lights. I don't know a kid who can sit still on a folding chair without poking fingers or feet into the crevices and slats. (Actually I bet those Eddington kids could.) I remember a particular sacrament meeting from my childhood in which my father carried my screaming brother out into the foyer while my mother carried the folding chair his head was stuck in. (That's my brother Phil. Things like that just happen to him.)

Anyway, back to stake conference. My idea was this. To offer ourselves even the slimmest possibility of making it through the two hour meeting we had to sit in a pew and preferably one of the side ones. I need the cushion seat to dampen noise, the hard back to offer a visual block, and the wall on the side to contain the kids so there is only one way out. Unfortunately, past experience has shown that you have to show up a minimum of an hour early to sit in the pew section and, well, that's just laughable around here. I don't know why people show up so early. Stay home. Have a nice breakfast. Come 10 minutes early, maybe 15. Please. To combat these people who enjoy sitting and listening to the choir practice and chatting with old friends in other wards my plan was to take all my church bags and scriptures with me to the Saturday evening adult meeting and then strategically place them on a desired pew to act as a placeholder and await my timely arrival the next morning about 10 minutes before the meeting started. It was genius! Why had I not thought of this before. A solution to my problem. It was good in so many ways. It saved me a needed pew, it took care of packing the bags so I wasn't rushing to do it Sunday morning, it forced us to be a little bit early since it would be far to embarrassing to walk in late to a pew other people had been wanting. I ran into one snag. The husband. He did not think this was such a good idea although every friend I questioned heartily agreed it was. He told me I couldn't do it. He told me even if I tried somebody would probably go through the chapel after the Saturday meeting, collect all the left bags, and drop them at the lost-and-found. With a bit of resentment in my heart (a great way to start a church meeting) I left the bags and went with him.

You can imagine the look on Chris' face when Brother Anderson gets up to give a few announcements and comments that in conferences past some people have thought it clever to leave bags, coats, scriptures to save a place for them so they don't have to come early the next morning. He let us all know that several people would indeed be going through the chapel after the meeting and collecting all left items to be deposited on top of the coat racks. Ahhh, foiled again. This was doubly hard, not only was my idea shot down while Chris' ego got a firm boost but apparently this was not such a brilliant, cutting-edge idea in the first place. Evidently enough people thought of this before me that the leadership has taken notice. Rats! So much for my idea. My terrible idea. My terrible, mundane, overused idea.

[I showed 'em in the end though. We did, in fact, show up an hour early to stake conference and DID get to sit in the pews! Although not a side one with a wall. That's got to be some kind of first! Yes, Dad, we were EARLY.]

I ran across some old pieces of scrap paper today I had used to jot down funny things Matthew had told me. Here is a small sampling along with a couple from this past week. Hope they give you a laugh.

April 13, 2007

• "I want to fly. Mom, can you get a real Tinkerbell and shake it on my head. She'll make fixing dust and put it on my head and then I can fly."
• "Mom, have you ever seen a crab nebula? When I was a boy my father would take me into outer space and as we flew by I saw a crab nebula."

Easter out at the ranch.

• As Matthew walked past me-- "Howdy little lady."

August 8, 2007

• As Chris pulled up in front of the Harley Davidson dealer-- "Welcome to the motorcycle shop, Mom. The greatest shop in the world!"
• After helping him to "wipe up" in the bathroom I said, "Good job Matthew." His reply, "It's my pleasure."

Recently

• On our way to school we stopped for two ambulances and a fire truck to go past with sirens roaring. From the back Matthew asked, "What is all this cacophony?" Um, he gets it from T.V. A little show called Pinkey Dinkey Doo. Good to know somebody is teaching him.
• As an Amish farmer ran past us at Saturday's market Matthew calls out, "Mom, look. There goes a pioneer!"
• Chris made peanut butter pancakes for dinner on Sunday. While I was out of the room Matthew got in a little trouble-- Matthew: "I dumped out a whole lot of syrup Mom." Me: "Yeah?" Matthew: "Yeah. But Dad already put me in the corner so you don't have too. But he already got me out. He didn't make me stay there a long time like you did when I peed in my unders. That was nice. And look, I licked it all up so you wouldn't know what I did. " Ooooh, thanks for telling me about your sneaky way of covering your tracks!

So after all my wishing and waiting to get my computer back it has already been four days since my last post. I had so many things to say. So, what has kept me away these past few days . . . well, first off it was Fear Factor. No, not the T.V. version, I might have a few issues but squandering time on a Fear Factory Tivo marathon when it could be used for blogging or other precious matters such as sleep is not one of them. This was the Wednesday Night Mutual version of Fear Factor. At let me say first off it was a fantastic activity (um, if I do say so myself.) The preparation took up all of Tuesday and Wednesday but we had some great challenges for the young men and young women. We had blindfold basketball tosses, we had 3-legged obstacle courses, we had disgusting food, and we even had bugs. Real bugs. Coated with powdered cheese but still very real bugs, crickets, and meal worms. It was really very disgusting but these kids ate them. Each activity was matched with a scripture or gospel principle and it just turned out well in spite of a few impudent teenagers but what would mutual night be without a little adolescent attitude. But, after putting my kids aside for two days while prepping for this and then dragging them along to mutual and then trying to run the activity while shuffling them to the nursery every five minutes I was ready to hit the sack as soon as I pulled in the driveway Wednesday night. There was the first part of the week. As for yesterday and today--I caught Stie's cold. I knew as soon as I read she was sick I should have vacated the offending blog and washed myself in a pool of purel but I didn't. I stuck around. I read her post. I looked at her photos. I even exchanged comments with her. I should have known this would happen. So now here I sit shivering in my clothes that a few hours ago were practically soaked with my sweat (sorry, that's a bit gross). And that's what I have been doing all week. The poor children have survived on waffles and instant oatmeal (thank you Mr. Quaker) and now Daddy's home and can take them to a decent breakfast tomorrow. I'm off to a hot shower and bed and will have happier things to tell soon hopefully.

Just thought I would give you a heads-up (although being omniscient you probably already know this) but Matthew thinks he has you all figured out. A couple nights ago we had spinach and mozzarella raviolis for dinner. As Matthew was eating his he casually asked me, "Mom, does Jesus put spinach in raviolis so you won't know you're eating it?" Um, yup, he's pretty smart that way. At least the little man went ahead and still ate them. Here are a couple more of his thoughts.

You know how just about every question at church can be answered with about 4 or 5 key words. Well, Matthew has discovered this. I've been trying to help him learn all the songs for the primary program that coming up so yesterday I started playing the first bit of a song and asked him to guess what it was (I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ.) His first answer was The Lord has blessed me? Close but no. Then he just started listing stuff. "Jesus Christ?" No. He clapped his hands and jumped up and down, "Pray, pray, pray!" Still no. "Missionaries!" Sunday school's going to be a piece of cake for this kid.

Lastly, tonight for family home evening we read the story about Christ coming to visit the Nephites and asking all the little children to come to Him and blessing them. Matthew loved it and couldn't get over the pictures of Christ holding all the little children. He told me "I want Him to come to me Mom. I haven't seen Him in a long long long time." I told Matthew some day he will see Him and Jesus will tell him what a good boy he has been. Matthew said, "Yeah, but sometimes I'm bad." I told him we can always be better. His response: "I'll tell him I peed in my unders." Well, not such a bad idea, it just may take intervention of a higher power to conquer this peeing in the unders.

Ha Ha I'm back! AND . . . it turns out the able bodied crew at the geek squad is not so able bodied and much more geek. Their diagnosis of our computer was essentially, "Uh, we think there might be something wrong with your hard drive." Um, seriously? Did you read that off the sheet we filled out about what we think might be wrong with it when we dropped it off? After not being of any help and taking lots of our money, Chris himself has apparently fixed the computer. At least for now. He says it is still liable to crash but all the important stuff (read: my babies photographic history of their entire lives) is safe and has been backed up several times. So, hurrah for the hubby. I guess all those hard years at MIT have payed off! I have my own personal geek squad. Except not so geeky of course. (side note: I used to always see signs for the MIT theatre club when I was walking around campus and found it amusing. I guess I shouldn't assume they all fit the pale, scrawny, sallow looking student with poor p.r. skills stereotype. Chris is anything but pale, scrawny, and sallow looking. And his p.r. skills aren't bad either.) He fixed the all important life line to the outside and deserves some praise. The hardest part about not having Internet for the past week (other than missing you, dear internets), what ever will the weather be like? Ahhh, what will I dress the children in today? Pants, shirts, and sweater's? Or maybe it will turn out to be a shorts and T-shirt day? Oh the choices. And, really, you never know with our bipolar weather here. One day will be a warm 77 degrees and the next 54. Really, we have had over a 30 degree drop from one day to the next this past week. I have to keep switching the air conditioning off and the heater on only to find myself roasting in the house two days later and turning the thermostat back to cool. I suppose I could check the T.V. for the weather but between the hours of 7:00a.m. and 8:00 p.m. it is fixed on either noggin or sprout and a curse on whoever changes that remote! After 8:00 my own personal viewing time is much too important to waste with flipping channels to check the weather. So thank you, weather.com, for the instant gratification of solving my daily clothing questions immediately whenever I decide to ask. Anyway, there is much to catch up on so a little preview of what will be coming over the next week or so . . .

• the primary talent show (a shameless marketing of my children but very cute)
• face painting--we shall see who ends up with the short end of the stick
• Matthew's got all those standard church answers down
• my thoughts on General Petraeus vs. The Never Ending Story
• and many other fully unimportant happenings in my life

Stay Tuned . . .

They found me, or my computer anyway. Though the lingo has changed I fear the ol' computer is about to suffer the same fate as our dear Billy Bones after being served with "The Blue Screen of Death." I did not know this term existed but apparently is does and more apparently my computer got it. This is why I have been away for awhile and am now typing in the kitchen of my friend Tara instead of Chris' office. The computer has been handed over to the able bodied crew of the Geek Squad and they are trying to recover what they can before the whole thing makes a trip to visit Davey Jones. Depending on the outcome of this endeavor I might be making a widespread casting call for any photos of my children any of you might have since that computer kept in its' hidden depths every image of the kiddo's from the past 4 1/2 years. Anyway, don't give up on me, I'll be back eventually. Other than that the only thing that can be said in this situation is, "Well, that's done." And there is your new quote.

I walked briskly down the airport corridors, head up, confidence in my eyes, a woman obviously focused on a destination, undistracted and with a goal in mind. One carry-on bag slung over my shoulder and a stylish hand bag under my arm. Dressed in something other than jeans and a T-shirt, hair actually washed and styled, and making use of all the extra wonderful pieces of jewelry I have other than just a simple silver wedding band. I boarded the plane unrushed, took my time walking to the door when my row was called, easily stowed by bag and calmly sat sipping my water and reading my magazine. Then I started my people watching and as I observed I wondered . . .were they watching me, and more importantly . . . can they tell? Can I pull off this look of the confident career woman or the unhampered, newly married, jet setter? Do I look like I do this all the time, flying back and forth, sitting in airports, traveling the world, or is it obvious--obvious that I am not really a one carry-on bag woman. Do they know that if they could look in my stylish handbag they would actually find some fruit snacks and a spare diaper? Can they tell when I pulled out my phone to turn it off that I am actually not best friends with this device and was secretly praying I wouldn't set off some alarm in trying to disarm it? Do they assume I just picked up my clothes from the cleaners or can they see the small stain of tossed breakfast oatmeal on my shoulder? Can they tell? Can they tell it is all just a facade. That really I have three small boys at home, that every other time I'm in the airport I'm carrying one, chasing another, and dragging bags behind me. Do they know I never sit in my own seat calmly reading a magazine about completely unimportant celebrity news? Well, whether I was an obvious counterfeit or not, I enjoyed my pretend time on the plane but the best part of this New York trip . . . not having to pretend with old friends. Try as we might to be hip mama's out for a good weekend on the town, what did we talk about: our children--ha ha--what are they doing, who is dating who, recipes that everyone will eat, how are the hubbies surviving at home, the politics of neighborhood friendships, the pain of buying new wardrobes every 6 months for growing children, who is sleeping through the night, and most importantly, how to raise healthy, responsible, confident, caring kids. With children ranging from 21 years to 1 amongst us we had a good group of experiences to draw from! Along with the chatting we couldn't have had a more perfect time. Here's what I learned:

• A weekend with old friends is always a blessing
• While walking the streets of NYC, within the space of one step my nose can go from being delicately enticed by the smell of roasting marshmallow to being completely smothered by the overpowering odor of urine
• I'm not sure I will enjoy roasted mallows again for quite a long time
• The Drowsy Chaperon is a FANTASTIC musical and if you are lucky enough to blindly pick it out of a group to go see, count yourself supremely blessed
• Using your one weekend without babies to stay up until 2:30 chatting with buddies instead of catching up on some much needed sleep is completely worth it
• A day of musicals, live and televised, watched from chairs and comfy hotel beds, is luxury indeed
• If your cell phone happens to run out of batteries and you find yourself without a charger, DO NOT pay the $80.00 every vendor in Times Square wants to charge you for a new one (actually it was $79.95)
• Every hotel is loaded with spare phone chargers that people have forgotten. Just ask the concierge and they will find one that fits your phone and charge it for you for a very small fee
• If your hotel doesn't have the right charger, (like my hotel) check the Marriott Marquee, they have two huge buckets full!
• The Marriott also has a business area where you can check in for your flight and print your boarding pass for free--this is great to know and it apparently doesn't matter if you are actually a guest there or not
• With friends like these a few years apart doesn't make a bit of difference
• Hubbies who take on a solo weekend with the boys deserve much praise but making it look too easy might quickly earn you another such weekend :)
• A delicious Sunday Brunch at a rotating restaurant is the perfect end to the perfect weekend
• Thanks Christie, Annie, Sue, Alyson, and Gabi. Can't wait to see you again!

I started this post a while ago and now when I published it the site put it in chronological order so I now have a new post several weeks ago. Hope that made sense but you can see it here. I have had more trouble setting this one up but I don't have time to work on it any more. I have bags to pack and sleeping to do. Oh well. haha! thanks for all your comments. I fixed it and it is now found right below!

MY "GOING SOMEWHERE WITHOUT THE CHILDREN" BAG

obviously there isn't much in it

my birthday present from Chris that he brought back from a trip to England

some pens, a receipt from the salon (about the only place I go without the kids)some lip gloss

"GIRLS' NIGHT OUT" BAG

valentines gift from Chris, perfect little size HOLY COW, MONEY?! I love it when I find that! some movie tickets and Cheesecake Factory receipt (from after the show :) a friends cell number, more movie tickets, and some earrings

OLD FAITHFUL

this bag goes everywhere every day and she's nice enough to cling to my back by herself so my arms are free for more important things like keeping boys from running free in parking lots

black wallet from Franklin Planner dayswipes, diaps, and bibsreceipts from grocery and J.Crew (if only I could afford to really shop there . . .)coupon for Italian ice and a measuring tape some gum, floss, Listerine pocket pak, mint a band aid, some Tylenol, and raisins a Pez dispenser, plastic animals, a car, some crayons (left over from restaurants--they just throw them away after all) some bonus cards from the grocery and plant store a pen, a baby spoon (these are showing up everywhere) a paperclip, and 11 cents!

Last week we ventured out with the neighborhood for a favorite fall activity . . . Apple Picking! Unfortunately, as I check out other blogs I find most people have already done this and perhaps this post is just another redundant child's activity for some of you but, for the sake of grandparents, I press on. We found a perfect farm not too far away that has not only apples, but also a kiddie play place complete with hay bale mazes (an open and closed dark one), pumpkins, piggies, and some miniature donkeys. This is wonderful since the children are rather unscrupulous about which apples they pick and their bags fill up within a matter of minutes leaving us with the choice of either going home almost as soon as we get there or spending my monthly allotment of grocery money on the 87 bags they will fill up if I let them pick any longer. Even though their picking went by in a flash they had a great time running under the branches, down the rows of trees, and taking small bites out of every apple they picked. William was very protective of his personal bag of apples and insisted on carrying it himself all the way back to the car. When he was sitting down resting I asked him to show me an apple so I could get a picture but he showed me the sign for apple, that's what he is doing in the photo. He likes watching a Signing Time video we borrowed from a friend and the other day whacked Matthew on the back and told me, "Mom, that's the sign for 'hit'." Yup, I guess that would be it buddy. All in all it was a great day for kids and especially for me. Why for me you ask? Well, here are my top ten reasons . . .

1. I got to play outside with my kiddies
2. I now have lots of delicious apples for apple crisp
3. I left the farm with some very worn out children
4. Nobody was caught running naked through the woods
5. Nobody peed on anybody else (although Matthew did pee on a tree while I ran interference)
6. Nobody got lost (for more than a few minutes anyway)
7. Nobody left the activity sans underwear
8. There was no vomit incident
9. Everyone left with the same number of digits they came with
10. Nobody held out a smelly hand to me commenting there was a chance his underwear might contain something extra besides a skinny bum.

Perfect. And now off to make some of that apple crisp! (Thank you Ina Garten)

As you might have guessed from the title today is my mother's birthday. She is a spectacular woman of whom I have yet to meet an equal. (Hope that was a correct sentence. Although, one of Mom's few shortcomings is her grammar and spelling-which I inherited-so if it is, she will never know!) She taught me all the important things in life, besides grammar and spelling (Mrs. Smiley took on that doomed task). She taught me how to make brownies, how to clean a toilet, how to fold a shirt, and how to plant a garden. She taught me how to fold in the corners of my bed sheets, how to french braid my own hair, and how to cook a roast (at least she tried). She taught me how to go adventuring, how to have pillow fights with your kids, how to be confident, and how to let other people win. She taught me to love reading, to love history, to love learning, and to love any stray animal that comes your way.

I was just reading to my boys the story of Helaman and his young warriors. I'm sure you know the story. They had been taught by their mothers to have faith and not doubt. As they recount the words of their mothers to Helaman they tell him "We do not doubt our mothers knew it." Everything my mother taught me, from the silly to the eternal, from the outward service to others to her quite devotion to family and faith, I do not doubt she knew it. And although my brownies are dry and my roast is burned, the service cuts short and I'm not much of a scriptorian, don't worry Mom--the lessons were learned and just like you taught me, I'm pressing on. I love you. Happy Birthday!

I had a dream about Omi several nights ago. In my dream I was at her funeral and had walked up to say goodbye before the casket was closed. As I was looking at her, her eyes fluttered open. Remember, this is a dream and anything goes. This was not some weird bizarre scenario she just opened her eyes and looked at me. She said, "I love you." Now, not to get too prophetic she also told me not to forget to put her earrings on her (clip on's I'm sure) but all the same, it was nice to here from you, Omi. I love you too. Talk to you soon. (p.s. and don't worry about the earrings--I've got you covered.)

A letter from my mother. She calls me sweet pea and sent this along with a lonely sock that got left at her house when we visited. The comfort of being called sweet pea is always nice after a harrowing day with a traveling hubby and three rambunctious boys.

My sister's address on her mission in Japan. For being the baby of the family I think she is the most independent and self reliant--great qualities for a missionary!A postcard from a fancy wedding of Chris' friend we attended with the children. Thank goodness Grammy came along to lend a hand or fifty two.

My visiting teaching list (guess I better call those ladies!).

A gift card for dinner about to expire. Chris' Italian fetish has been replaced by a 24/7 need for Mexican food.

Some pictures of family. Uncle Brian and Aunt Kathy's family who helped get us established with the bakery here (when you move to a new city it works wonders to find a good bakery right away--some almondines and raspberry napoleons can smother any homesickness!).

Matthew's and Will's little friends Maryanne and Katie--still miss you!

And Tiffany and Jaklyn--I love saying hello to you everyday!

A Christmas email letter from my older brother that is too clever to not look at often. He always has been my clever, funny, creative brother. Just older than me I idolized him as a child and still can't take his picture down.

A seasonal schedule for pick-your-own fruits near here. One of our favorite activities with the boys.

A place to jot down memorable things the boys say so I can remember them until I can get them into a more permanent home.

A note from the grill fix-it man saying he can't fix my grill and will have to order still more parts (reminds me--I need to call him to schedule another appointment, oops).

The website for the Thomas the Train recall. Matthew is anxiously awaiting our new pieces in the mail. Oh I hope they come soon.

There you have it, a little bulletin on me. You never know what little scraps of paper can say. Now it's your turn!

I've always been one for a good sort. This is why I have been away from the blog for a bit. It's that time of year--sorting time. I love seeing things peeking out the tops of their appropriate bins, little labeled boxes all in a row. When I was a child I loved going to R & K Bookstore which had an office supply section and digging my eager fingers into buckets full of identical paper clips, gazing at small tins displaying tightly packed groups of matching pencils and pens of all colors, delving my hands into containers of a million small elephant erasers, and squeezing each multi-colored squishy pencil grip between my finders before returning it to its pile of cohorts. As an adult building train set-ups with little Jacob Mika we always sorted out all the track into piles of long straight, short straight, wide and sharp curves, switching pieces, etc. (Jacob also loved a good sort, lucky for me!) You'd think all this organizational love would spill over into my household but alas, sometimes three active boys take precedence and more often than not I suppress a cringe and continue cooking dinner rather than halt my activities to make sure the plastic animals are not getting put away with the mega blocks. Our baskets all have pretty good labels and the boys do well at matching toys to the appropriate bin but after a while things just get jumbled up and it is time . . . time for THE BIG TOY SORT!

We dump all the toys into a pile, surround it with baskets, and begin the sorting. Thankfully one big pile is all we have and the sorting progresses fairly quickly (albeit I have to keep on the little ones and do most of it myself--but it makes my happy!).

The other task I took on last week is not nearly as fun as the toy sort, doesn't progress nearly as quickly, and has to be done solely by me. That lovely biannual activity for those of us who live in seasonal climes--the fall clothes sort. Buckets are hauled out from closets and under beds, drawers and shelves are emptied, and the boys must stand in front of me fully fed up with the whole ordeal while I try one item after another on their bodies to discover what fits and what gets a little rest in a bin until the next child grows into it. After many nights folding, checking tags, and making piles I have finished. New buckets were bought and filled and now every item is in its place. I have been sneaking little peaks at my work during the day--it just makes me feel happy to see all the buckets in a row with their happy little labels peeking through the plastic: 3-6 months summer, 2T winter, 0-3 months all seasons, etc. Ahhh, the peace of organized clothes, it's as good as a trip to the spa.

This is what I have been doing all evening. I finally decided to dump out the basket Chris calls sock h#*@ and spend some TV time practicing my preschool matching skills. Now, if we can track the underwear fairy back to her lair I shouldn't have to do his laundry for weeks! Guess we know what not to get him for Christmas!

This is not really a post but more of just a notice. For a funny laugh pop on over to my friend Gremhog's site and take a gander at this video. Perhaps you have seen it before but I laughed out loud.

I was inspired by my friend Annie's post a short while ago about wringing the last bit of pleasure out of our passing summer and have been meaning to follow her example. We did our own bit of wringing a couple weekends ago and this past weekend welcomed in what hopes to be a beautiful autumn. Summer called it quits around here with two fabulous events. The first being the air show. In past years Chris has just taken Matthew but this year we went down as a family and found a nice spot on a hillside overlooking the lake to wait in anticipation. After what was much too long for two aviation loving boys we heard a rumbling in the distance. Heads started craning every which way and before we new it--WHOOOSH, there went the THUNDERBIRDS! Matthew and Will could hardly contain their little emotions. The half hour show was amazing to say the least and has inspired a good bit of play around my family room over the past weeks.

1. The most important question to be asked in our house for the next 20 years or so

Me: What did you do at school today:

Matthew: First we took a picture. That was fun. Then we took another picture. That was fun. Then everybody sitted down like a pretzel. Then we put on our listening ears. (here he counts his fingers) Four. That was number four. Then number five, we all sat at tables!

(Ahhh-he's already making lists. He is his mother's child.)

2. More spill-over from Bindi (sorry this goes on a bit)

Matthew: Guess which animal I am this morning, mom?

Me: A cheetah?

Matthew: No. I'll give you a clue. I'm orange and white.

Me: A tiger? (apparently I'm pigment challenged)

Matthew: No. I'll give you two clues. I'm orange and white and I live in a cave.

Me: A lizard?

Matthew: No. I'll give you three clues. (can you tell he's a bit into numbers lately) I'm orange and white. I live in a cave and I like to eat meat. (any guesses anyone?) I'll give you four clues. I'm orange and white. I like to eat meat. I live in a cave and I like to jump on rocks. Here's five clues. I'm orange and white. I live in a cave. I like to eat meat. I like to jump on rocks and I'm a wild dog that lives in Australia.

Me: (finally) A dingo?

Matthew: YES!

3. Guess who's in charge of Mom

Me (as I grab Joseph's hand from diving into the toilet water): Ahhhh. Who left the bathroom door open?! Matthew, did you leave to door open? You know you are always supposed to close the door.

Matthew: No. Did you leave it open Mom?

Me: Actually, maybe I did leave this door open.

Matthew: Is Jesus going to put you in the corner?

I found this clip on another friends blog. I'm not quite sure of the blogging protocol of swiping it to also put on my site--is that very bad bloggity manners? However, I went back to watch it so many times I had to post it here to share. The voice, of course, is astounding, but I found the most wonderous part of the whole thing is watching Pavarotti's face during the piece and especially at the end as he is practically overcome by his own music. Like an actor you can see him get into character before he begins, he becomes the Prince, he feels and believes every little word he is singing. It really is beautiful. I'm still trying to figure out how to post the actual video here so until I do you will have to click the link. (Sorry:) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssun-uqjA3E

A WORD OF WARNING: This can be somewhat captivating. Especially for those of us prone to easy distraction. Example: you watch the video, you watch it again, you visit google for the translation, you go back and watch the clip again after reading it, you check out the other Pavarotti clips You Tube provides for your sight seeing pleasure and find they are not quite as good as the first one, you remember the video your friend Jodi told you to see about a nursing eight year old but are unable to find it (probably a good thing), and not until then do you smell something burning. So, before you click on the link above, please, please go into your kitchen and make sure you have not left a small pot of shredded beef simmering in some spices and salsa that will quickly evaporate leaving the meat to begin a slow descent into charred oblivion and demoting your pot to the back of the cuboard until your lovely mother-in-law comes to visit again since she is the one who fixed the pot last time you did this. (Hi Grammy, yes, you might want to check on some plane tickets, I did it again.)

All three of the boys had to visit the doctor today for shots. I loaded the stroller with books, toys, and fruit snacks to hopefully keep the two who weren't current victims occupied while the unlucky other child had his turn. There should be some kind of endurance award for this activity--the hilariously fun task of trying to absorb critical health information projected at you by an expert while asking and answering pertinent questions about child A's growth, behavior, and habits, all while wragling child A on a paper covered table, keeping child B in his stroller and out of the medicinal supplies and garbage can and coaxing child C to look through that magazine again before consuming a fourth pack of fruit snacks; then roating the children until each has had a turn at each station. I tell you, I am one proud mamma when we leave the office without having broken anything and still in fairly happy moods (Dr.'s included). Anyway, the shots still take Will and Joseph by surprise and they hardly have time to scream before the event is over. Matthew, however, remembered shots from the last time he was at the doctor and started saying "Ouch ouch ouch," before the nurse even gripped his thigh. As his skin was puctured he let out a blood curdling scream followed by some hearty sobs but after application of a special "super star" sparkly baindaid he calmed down and was able to go for a walk with the doctor to pick out a sticker. Leaving the office we stopped to make our next appointments with the receptionist and Matthew skipped around to her side of the counter, pulled up his shorts, and exclaimed, "Do you see my super star bandaid?!" She nodded and was duly impressed. Matthew looked at her with a scrunched up nose and said with a knowing voice, "It really, really hurt, though." She responded with the appropriate empathy. Then Matthew got an impish look in his face and said with a little up-turned inflection in his voice and all the pride in the world, "Did you hear me scream?!"

I thought these photos would explain better than I ever could. Hope you enjoy them! I know the show is a bit long but Grandma's look at this so please bear with me :)

So it turns out, some years ago a little girl was born who must have been very sweet. She grew up being nice to all those around her, was a friend to everyone, and helped all she met to feel good about themselves. She continued growing up, married, had three little boys, moved around the country a bit, and eventually became a primary teacher to a little boy who bit her. This is the only past I can imagine for Matthew's, a.k.a. The Cheetah's primary teacher because she is the sweetest, most understanding and forgiving person ever! She even apologized to me that I found out about his biting! Truly she is a saint. Thank you, Nikole, for being such an angel! As for Matthew, a bit more of the story that was too funny to leave out. Chris happened to be out of town Sunday so missed the drama at church. I had already dealt with punishment and all that stuff by the time he got home Sunday afternoon but obviously still told him about everything that went down earlier in the day. Chris called Matthew in to where we were standing and said, "Matthew, did you bite your teacher." Instead of responding Matthew looked over at me with a stare that I can hardly describe. It was part astonishment, part betrayal, part that odd smile you get when you are embarrassed but don't know how to react. I could just see it in his face, "Holy Cow! You sold me out to Dad?! You told him? I thought we were buds? Where's the family loyalty? A little warning would have been nice. What's up with that!" He stared at me with this look so long that I had to turn away and choke back the laugh (so did Chris). Then, as Chris started talking to him Matthew looked up from his tilted down face and said ever so penitently, "Dad, um, Dad, uh, Mom already put me in the corner so you don't have to." Priceless!