Where the Wild Things Are: 2008

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Pros Cons

Best part of my day:

The black skirt I ordered online--the one I had to order a size smaller than usual because they were out of the one I wanted--it came in the mail today.

It totally fits.

I'll pretend it's because I really didn't eat all that much at Thanksgiving instead of believing that different companies just have different sizes.

Worst part of my day:

My hands still smell like the onion I cut last night--a nice surprise I get every time I blow my nose, wash my face, etc.

But I'll take it. I still made out okay in the end.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Just a quick note to say we are all one the mend after a long bout with colds/coughs/boogers/drugs/etc. At least I'm on the mend. At that's really what matters. Not that I don't wish my kiddies health as well but somebody's got to cook and do laundry around here; hot dogs and mac 'n cheese will only take one so far. And I'm hoping Little Moo's teacher didn't realize how many times he wore the same pair of pants to school last week. Hey, jeans are jeans right? And who's saying that stain didn't get on them this morning at breakfast.

Anyway, thanks again to all the friends in my life who showed up with helping hands, kind words, pots of warm soup and homemade bread, and fashion advice. THANK YOU!

Now, if you read the header of this post you are probably thinking, "Angels and ambushes, okay, here were some angels, but where does the ambush come in?"

I'll tell you.

And this is why it's important I am getting better.

The children get bored when left to their own devices for too long. This is not good.

As I was finishing cleaning up from dinner the other night I heard a voice bellowing down from the master-bathroom, "MOOOOOOM! I'M READY TO BE WIPED UUUUUUUP." (It has kind of a catchy sing-song melody to it--I'm sure you know it.) So I dry my hands, take off my apron, and traipse up the stairs to clean the offending bottom. As I enter my bedroom a goose down missile pelts me in the head followed by two more pillows thrown by less accurate arms. AH HA! I'm quick to grab a shield pillow and lob a couple more back toward the bed were Matthew has staked his claim. But before we get to far into this fight I holler "Did you wipe yourself up?!"

And what is the answer.

No. He did not wipe himself up. He never went to the bathroom. It was all a ploy to coax me into their game. Oooooh. Those clever little buggers.

But just you wait. Next time I'm putting on that big ape suit and jumping into the room waving my arms like a lunatic and hollering for bananas. We'll see who gets the last laugh then. Ha ha.

Please don't turn me in to social services.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Saturday Night: 11:15 PM

I was BORN for this.

Did you see me totally get 94%. Yeah, I'm awesome.

I'm married to a ROCK STAR

~what's your hubby's secret identity?~

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Mothering

Yesterday my dear friend Malea left a comment here asking for some small help on my behalf (since she lives a couple thousand miles away and I would be over my little cold by the time she drove here).

Well, what does a 7:30 p.m. surprise knock at my door bring: another dear friend Misty with sweet Piper in tow and care package in arms. Warm apple cider (which I was just imagining), wafer-thin ginger cookies, and cars and coloring books to keep the boys occupied.

So here I sit with my mug of cider, warm relief spilling down my throat, and thankfulness filling my heart. Thanks to Malea for the call to arms and to Misty for the answer. Misty and her hubby just moved here a couple months ago at Chris' persuasion so I feel somewhat responsible for their happiness in their new city. It ought to be me bringing treats to her and yet here she is, using precious evening time to care for me. Thank you.

Not that I would wish sickness on anyone, but it is nice to be reminded how much we need each other. Nice to know that even though we are adults, at least in name, and much of us living away from family and our own mothers, we can fill that role for each other, to be the mother, and the mothered. And if my own mother were here, she would give you a hug, and tell you thank you. Thank you for watching out for me when she couldn't. And then she would bake you a nice batch of luscious cinnamon roles.

I cannot bake you a luscious batch of cinnamon roles. I'm sorry. But I can say thank you. So THANK YOU friends. Thank you for being my mothers.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Descent

SATURDAY:

I went with Chris to a work party. Unlike past years, this year I prepared ahead. I scouted out a dress a couple months ago, went shopping for new shoes (I finally gave up on thinking the cracked sole really isn't so bad--I mean, whose going to look down there anyway), found some black patent leather high heel maryjane strap beauties (Joseph likes 'em too), asked all my girlfriends opinions on pearls vs. diamond studs, and showered at 3 in the afternoon (closed-toe negated the need for fresh polish). Oh, and I plucked my eye brows during Joseph's nap while Chris had the boys at the movie. Took up about all of his nap, plus ten extra minutes to unfold my legs after being cramped indian-style so long on the bathroom counter, and I needed three people to verify unity amongst the brows afterward but everyone gave me a positive "identical." Little extra make up than normal, tamed hair (as much as possible)--point is, by the time 6:30 came along me and my little knee length black number were looking H-O-T hot. (I can say this since I am not posting a picture and you have only my unabashedly biased opinion to count on.)

SUNDAY:

Me in a ankle length, roomy skirt, long sleeve turtle neck, nylons, and black flats, NO NECKLACES OR DANGLY EARRINGS OF ANY KIND. It was Primary Program Day. I was in charge of seven four year olds. We sat on the first pew and moved to risers in front of the podium for their speaking parts and each song. During these times I crouched in front of them in the isle and pulled out every trick in the book to keep them smiling, singing, and away from picking noses, pulling pig tails, and bumping each other off the risers. Some of these children are little boys, my Will one of them. Some of these little boys like to jump spread-eagle off the risers into my arms when I am precariously balanced on the balls of my feet basically sitting on my heels. Due to a couple program practices I was aware of this tendency and debated wearing shorts under my skirt to avoid the horror of being knocked flat on my backside in the middle on the isle with my skirt around my shoulders. But the bulkiness was just too much, I had to maintain some dignity. Thankfully, each time a child caught air off the risers I saw in the nick of time and was able to brace myself before impact and smoothly swing the darling into my lap without incident. The program came off without a hitch and I took a shower as soon as I got home.

TODAY:

Old jeans, long sleeve waffle tee, sweatshirt, red slippers, pony tail, pockets full of tissues, chapped lips and red nose. We all have colds. We made it to the grocery store but other than that laid low and nursed a Zycam swab.

TOMORROW:

Well, who knows, we'll set our goal for: shower.

So if you need a warm, cozy place to hang out this week--throw on your sweats, pack up your kids, grab a box of tissues and come on over. We'll hang in the basement, play hot wheels and pillow fights, and dream of pretty shoes.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Boo!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

last week, that is, or was it the week before that . . .

I know I've been gone a bit but a small explanation: a little friend, and a little sickness. Unfortunately the sickness was mine. Ever since my pregnancy with Joseph I have been a little lactose intolerant.

*side note: I used to think that was one of those, how shall we say, uh, made-up illnesses. Kind of like restless leg syndrome. When I first saw the commercial for "RLS" I thought--seriously. Restless Leg Syndrome. Are you kidding me?! They have medication for that. I was indignant. And yet, I later found myself lying in bed, tired to the bone, but unable to go to sleep for the crazy feeling that if I didn't move my legs the world just might implode on itself, (a feeling which frankly I have had since childhood). And after three times of getting drop-dead-pass-out-crazy-wife-of-Mr. Rochester sick each time after eating a bowl of cereal or ice cream I decided there might be some credibility to the lactose issue.

Back to the present, after Joseph was born I was pretty much back to normal but every once in a while when my digestive system is feeling neglected it seizes on a small bowl of ice cream, or in this case, a large mug of milk with warm cookies, to remind me that it will not be shamelessly ignored and taken advantage of. So, Tuesday morning round about 2 a.m. found me writhing on the wood floor outside the bathroom--because, as I'm sure you know, the floor is low, flat, and cool, things one needs in a state of internal turmoil. By the time the sun came up I had made it off the floor to the couch but have spent the better part of the week recouping (and the computer screen was just an omen of nausea so I stayed away). I did, by the way, make it to the voting booth. With the help of Tara I avoided the 3-5 hour wait and made it in and out in 25 minutes!

The other item of note: Boo.

This is Boo. She is now our kitty. We went to the church Halloween party the Tuesday before and this is what we won. Yipee for us. She was there needing a family. About ten minutes into the trip home from the party some severe panic set in and I almost turned around to drop that kitty right back where she came from. But I didn't. I made it home. And I read Bridget's post and felt much better. Tara came over, and refused to take the kitty, but did tell me cats are a piece of cake and I would be fine. It turns out, cat's are a piece of cake and I am fine. Chris got home late that night to a fun little surprise (but there had been much discussion of a pet and I knew he loved kitties so I felt fine surprising him). He snuggled right up to Boo, let her nuzzle up in his neck, and ear, and hair. And in the morning we found out she had fleas. Tons of them. And she's too little for flea medicine (1 lb) so I had to give her a flea bath. And then another. And then comb the dead fleas off her, and watch the remaining live one jump, yes jump (with that little pinging sound) off her back. But the little bugger landed in the flea water bowl--ha ha ha, serves you right. And Chris spent the day crazily itching every invisible prick on his body like someone paranoid they might have fleas--because he was paranoid he might have fleas. Don't worry, he doesn't. Or at least he hasn't. Hasn't had them since he got back from Guatemala.

So we have Boo. And she spends her time playing around table legs, pawing at little hands,

licking faces,

and being William's best friend.

"We finally have a girl in our family!" he said.

And, of course, we girls held down the fort

while the boys went out to collect candy.

And hopefully, in about another week, she will be fully transformed from a barn kitty into a house kitty, and I can relax with the bleach bottle and flea wash.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

A Little Love

This fabulous Daddy deserves a little recognition. Last week I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. I felt behind on kindergarten stuff, church stuff, and just couldn't get on top of the house work/laundry. This week has been better and brought a few unexpected pick-me-ups that though they sound small, did wonders to brighten my day.

When Chris got home Monday and found me lamenting the fact that with one week left to go in the month, I have NO money left, he pulled out his wallet and with a stately air, handed over all the cash it contained! Oh how I love cash (because I never seem to have any). Ha ha, thank you honey! Now, reader, don't be confused into thinking wads of cash bring me complete pleasure (well, they do, a little bit) but in quite a non-monetary sort of way it was very sweet and unexpected.
Before leaving this morning the hubby quickly ran to pick up his dry-cleaning. Unbenonst to me he took my car, which I later discovered, upon using it myself and finding it newly filled with gas! Thanks again sweetie! (Since I had blown my gas money on new winter pants for Matthew--I know, priorities.)
Also after he left this morning, I went upstairs into our room to tidy up and found he had emptied the bathroom garbage cans--thank you AGAIN honey! This might sound small but just by the way the chips fall is not something he usually takes care of so it was another sweet surprise. (Because, let's face it, the soggy diapes were starting to spill over onto the floor.)
And lastly, this happened a couple months ago but has to be ranked in the top sweetest things ever done for me. We were traveling home from Utah and had finally situated ourselves on the plane with Chris and the boys in one row and me and Joseph on the isle of another. We had just finished several weeks of vacation (which you understand, left us exhausted), had managed to get our three children, three HUGE car seats, double stroller, and baggage through the airport and onto the plane (also exhausting), and were currently trying to get the kids to settle down and stop annoying the old people in front of us. As the flight attendant went down the isle passing out headphones I didn't even bother to make eye contact. There was no hope me trying to wrestle a toddler on my lap, keep two other boys from driving their father batty, and trouble with cords going from my ears past the toddler on my lap and into the armrest. Chris tried to get my attention about the movie but I smiled weakly and waved it off, too busy catching falling fruit snacks. About a minute later he handed me some head phones (really honey, I can't watch a movie) took Joseph from my lap (you're taking Joseph?!) refused my offer to trade him a baby for a 3 year old (seriously?!) and per his instructions I sat back, had a soda, and calmly watched Leatherheads. The most pleasant movie experience ever. And I know when we got on that plane he was just as tired, just as exhausted, and just as in need of a "2-hour-quiet-time" as me.

So, Thank You Honey. Thanks for watching out for me. Thanks for watching out for my budget, my bathrooms, and my peace of mind. I love you!

Emmy

Monday, October 20, 2008

Tidy-Up Mondays

Oh, how I love thee, Clean Kitchen. I love thy spotless counters, thy swept floors, thy clean table. I love thy bare island, free from knick knacks, stray mail, groceries, fridge remnants, and school notices. Thy tidy coin cup, thy cutting board purged of food stains. Yes, this is a happy place to be in.

But it took a little doing, it was a busy weekend, several family activities, several church activities, and lots of visitors. By Sunday evening I was tired. So I didn't freshen you up until this morning, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to sit in your own filth overnight. But it was worth it, wasn't it, dear Kitchen. We have spent some quality time together this morning. Just you and me. And the sponge. And the paper towels. And the clorox. But now we are pristine and clean.

And so I will leave you to a little rest before the lunch rush. Have a good time and I will turn around now and go find out what the little ones are up to.

Oh crap. I forgot about YOU. You, Rest-Of-The-House. (Rats. This is what the little ones have been up to.) Oh, how I DO NOT love thee, Very Untidy Family Room. Let me count the ways:

Notice the gray p.j.s on the floor (and two other sets unseen on the couch). Evidence of a rushed change into clothes grabbed randomly out of the dryer in the hopes of still making the bus (we did, thank you).
The tennis shoe next to those p.j.s. Evidence of the children who did not get on the bus and returned home forgetting that there is a very nice shoe tray right inside the back door waiting to except those little sneakers.
Some long blue magnet thing that belongs to a set of long magnets things. A set that will soon be lost forever if that blue one doesn't quickly march over to collect it's buddies before they stray underneath the couch, down the vents, and parts beyond.
The two blue sweatshirts on the floor, from afore mentioned children who also forgot there are some very attractive hooks right inside that back door as well.
There is that DVD in front on the TV from Joseph's unwelcomed foray into the movie cabinet.
The baby toy basket, empty but standing guard over its one-time inhabitants.
There's that green box of wipes on the fireplace, and if you look close, yes, there it is, a dirty diap--soaking up the sun in hopes of hastening it's odorific takeover of my home.
Oh, and there, next to the top left leg of the coffee table is yet another, balled up soggy diap. We might as well get the baskets out and have ourselves a good 'ol easter egg hunt.
Two blue pairs of sweats by the wipes, quickly left there last night in the hopes of running around the house nekkid several times before being forced into pajamas. Pajamas that would later join those sweats. Join those sweats in a room that is neither for washing clothes nor for storing clothes. A room that has no business at all holding clothes and yet, seems to get stuck with that job all the time.
And we might as well make it ten with the messy magazine pile. "The garbage is coming for you lot," that's all I can say. "Psst, except you, J.Crew Catalog, you can stay a while longer. Just don't tell the others."

So there you have it. My Euphoria . . .

and my defeat . . .

Oh, well. No time for the defeat now. Have to go take a shower. So we'll make this easy. Should you chance to come to my house today. Come right in, I will welcome you. But you are only allowed to face this direction.

And whatever you do, just don't run around.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

NO!

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

William

Happy Birthday my beautiful boy.

You are four, have been since yesterday, and it's hard for me to believe you don't look like this anymore. When you were born you were a nice looking baby and I of course thought you were cute, receding hair line and all, but then you turned into the most angelic thing I had ever seen.

You were a mellow baby but before too long your personality began to show and now you are my most passionate boy. You invest yourself 100% in whatever you are doing. You love to wrestle, chase, and rough-house. Your love pats soon turned into wallops and your "greeting hug" turned into a full speed collision. More than once you have almost knocked down unsuspecting adults with an attack from behind and always seem utterly bewildered when I reprimand you for it, as if you can't imagine someone wouldn't want to be welcomed by the surprise impact of a sprinting child. But that same physicality which takes it's toll on your brothers and the neighbor children, also brings you into my lap anytime we are close. When you are hurt, or sad, or in trouble, you only want to be held. When we read together you love to snuggle. When we play you frequently come over to lay your head on my shoulder for a few seconds before running off again, you touch my face while we talk, you nuzzle into my neck when we watch a show. You are the easiest with your I love you's and the most generous with hugs. So, my apologies to the neighbor children, and to your brothers, and to those unsuspecting adults, but I wouldn't change this about you. I will take your snuggles, your kisses and hugs, and your I love you's as long as you will give them, and try to be grateful for the thumps and bumps that go with them. I'm hoping eventually the hugs win out over the bruises.

In any case, happy birthday to you little boy. I love you.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Perplexed Postman

After tirelessly unloading this into my garage the other day the fed-ex man asked me with a quizzical look,

"Is this really all rice and wheat?!"

Yup. Look it up--ldscatalog.com. We're just crazy like that.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Bye Bye Baby

Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

My baby turned 2. It was a big day. We had the neighborhood kids over for cake and ice cream. (So far I have successfully avoided full-out planned parties.) Matthew helped with the preparations by decorating Joseph's poster with rocket ships, aliens, and the moon, complete with craters.

And as a heads up to other moms: Birthday Crowns--the best craft ever. Works for most any age, requires little preparation--just some poster board and foam stickers and tape--keeps kids busy for quite a while, and gives them something to take home.

Joseph blew out his two candles with the help of some friends and according to Chris, this cake required the accompaniment of far less milk than my usual cakes. I suppose that's a compliment. Thanks honey.

Last year after cake Joseph required a hose-down on the deck. This year was cool and rainy so he ended up in the shower, and for quite a different reason. After dessert I stripped Joseph down to just his diaper and let him run off to play with the other kids. We adults were chatting and cleaning up the kitchen when Joseph walked up to me with outstretched hand wanting it to be wiped off. As I bent with a wet dish towel the thought flickered through my mind, "I'm pretty sure none of that cake frosting was grayish-brown." In my mili-second of hesitation I heard the dreaded words, "Ahh, is that p--?!," followed by a scream from my friend Tara, "Where did it come from!" My first response was, "Seriously Tara. Where did it come from? You've got two boys of your own. If you don't know the answer to that question your husband is WAY too helpful." Well, it wasn't frosting, I'll tell you that. I gave Chris the option of kid or carpet, he chose carpet and I took Joseph up to the shower. And this is why he opened his presents in his pajamas :).

Ever since helping Grammy with the tools in the basement he has been trying to hammer stuff. Uh, I wouldn't get to close there, Will.

Our fresh and clean baby finished off his party with his favorite activity. Wrestling with Daddy.

And now my baby is a toddler. So I suppose I shouldn't call him a baby any more. But I think I will. And I think I will still let him have his rag and paci, and not mind that he still talks mostly in signs and screams rather than words. I think I will still bring him into bed with me rather than let him cry it out, and I will still cling to his wispy baby hair, and I'm pretty sure I will still let him have a bowl of cheerios for dinner. Because I have living proof that whether I push it on him or not, he will learn to talk, he will give up his paci, he will eventually have to get his hair cut, and before I know it he will get on a bus and go someplace without me. So, for now, two years old or no, he is still my baby.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

1st Day of School

Even though we just got back from vacation Sunday evening, I set my alarm for early Monday morning. I got up. I took a shower. I washed, dried, and curled my hair. I put on my best blouse, my new Lucky jeans, and my favorite green flats. I was so excited to meet Mrs. Matyi. I ate my breakfast in a hurry, gathered my paper work, and waited for Chris by the car; and then I remembered something. The most important something. THE KINDERGARTNER. Oh . . . yes . . .uh, Matthew, it's YOUR first day of school isn't it, uh, ha-ha {embarrassed laugh}.

I coaxed his limp body out of bed. I got him some shorts and a clean shirt. (He did have new shoes.) I wet his hair down and combed it--guess that cut will have to wait for the weekend. And gave him a nice nutritious breakfast of Fruit Loops, minus toast or juice. (In my defense, we just got back into town the night before and there were neither bread nor eggs to be had. Luckily Rick and Misty left us some milk--thanks guys!--so cereal it was. Our lovely plan of getting up early and taking the family to breakfast was a long shot on a normal day but factor in our living the past three weeks in the mountain time zone and we were lucky we woke up at all.)

Since Matthew missed orientation due to our trip (which will have it's day in future posts--now that I'm back to blogging and all) Daddy and I took him to school early to meet his teacher, put his various crayons, markers, and glue sticks in their appropriate places, and get comfortable in his new room. That took about 10 seconds. And then he was a kindergartner. Standing in line with other kindergartners. Holding the hand of some other woman who was not me. Walking with a pile of 5-year-olds all looking to big for their britches. Back into the room and he was gone. I was left holding Chris' hand, maybe a bit to tight for his comfort but being the sweet hubby he is, he didn't say anything.

We went home, Chris left for work, and I spent the next couple hours wandering aimlessly from one silly item to the next, unable to focus on anything important, passing full suitcases needing emptying umpteen times. I was too anxious for the bus ride, nervous I would get distracted and forget the time. Scared I wouldn't be at the back doors of the school when he came out. But I didn't forget the time. I wasn't late. Jodi dropped me off right on time, I met my beautiful boy, and together we rode home on the bus. Not that I'm a paranoid parent or anything, I just like to have a frame of reference, you know, so I know what he's talking about.

And even if I wanted him to be just a little bit, Matthew wasn't nervous. He didn't miss me. He had a fantastic day. He loves recess. He's making new friends. And is his usual social, happy, brilliant self. As for me and my getting up early, fixing my hair, and getting dressed before the bus, I'm sure his teacher and bus driver will find out any morning now that it's all a facade. I'm sure this charade of being a put-together, stylish, organized mother will collapse any moment into the reality that is mothering monkeys. But maybe I'll try it one more time, maybe I can keep it up a little longer in hopes of really becoming organized (the stylish will have to wait). After all, tomorrow is another day.

Ha ha, so much for being organized--never got to combing Will's hair!

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Belated Shout-Out

A little while ago I was tagged by two different friends, at about the same time. As I'm sure you are aware, I haven't been the most prompt blogger of late so it took me a bit of time to get to them. I happened to click on Tara's link first (in no particular order, I SWEAR) and answered her blog. If you are not already one of the hoards of people who have read it you can do so here, 'cause it's fascinating stuff. Really. Fascinating. It can waste up at least 2.3 minutes of your day.

Anyway, then I went to answer Malea's tag only to find out it was the same as Tara's. At the time I was fast sliding down the slippery slope of sleep deprivation (take that high school English teacher--there's an alliteration for ya) and never got back to noting Malea in the credits of my first tag. So--here's a shout out to Malea. Check her out. Mother of four monkeys, world traveler, and high school buddy extraordinaire. In honor of her I will add one more thing to my list of Random/Surprising facts:

My family (the one I grew up in) derives about half their dialogue from movie lines. So here's one for you:

Baa, Ram, Ewe.

To your breed, your fleece, your clan be true.

Sheep be True.

Baa, Ram, Ewe.

Ha ha ha. It's so funny. Any guesses?

Monday, July 21, 2008

Steven

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEVE!

Today is my brother Steve's birthday. He's my older brother by two years and the first to come along in the family. The rest of us really lucked out, especially me being the next one down. He's the kind of older brother every kid deserves. He's the older brother who walked to school with me and who was waiting at my door when kindergarten was over. He taught me how to work my bike lock and for the better part of a year met me on the playground after lunch to put my very weird retainer back in. He pulled me up into tree houses to avoid rabid dogs (at least I was sure they were) and boosted me up onto our elementary school roof so I wouldn't be left behind when he and a friend found a new Saturday play place. Then when the bikes that had carried us to our new play place were confiscated by a grumpy Saturday-working teacher who heard our heavy tread on the roof, he bravely confronted Mr. Grimshaw and apologized for all of us to get them back (while I hid behind him). He's a supreme pillow fighter, hide-and-seeker, and checkers player. He perfected the up-the-fence-onto-the-roof-down-the-tree move for our neighborhood kick-the-can games. Steve is fearless. He climbed to the very top of trees during gusty windstorms, never hesitated to tickle sleeping parents uncovered feet, outwitted burly assailants on the streets of Prague, and snuck up the back staircase of Neuschwanstein castle. A hero for any girl. I followed him through elementary, middle school, high school. Always two years behind, always met with accolades when I announced whose sister I was. College saw us together for a year as his mission to Hungary put him two years back. A year I shared his car, his friends, his chemistry class, and his company.

Now Steve's married and advises me on things like how to make good spaghetti and razing three monkeys. Advice I still long for, treasure, and love. Happy birthday Steve.

Just so we're all clear, although Steve is mostly perfect he does have a few vices. He hates to loose, he thinks cheating is part of the game, and if you don't pay attention at the breakfast table--he'll steal your bacon.

love you Steve

Angie, Steve, Tabitha, Simon, Thomas, Atticus

Monday, July 14, 2008

Anticipation and Reward

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Fellowshipping

My dear friend Tara is concerned that I'm becoming inactive in my blogging. She is taking it upon herself to gently remind me of the blessings I am missing out on (keeping-up long distance relationships, making new friends, informing grandparents of important happenings, etc.), sweetly discuss with me options for better budgeting my time to make room for blogging, and in her first effort to coax me back into the fold has "tagged" me on her blog. Oh, it all looks so innocent. I will go along for now. So here is Tara's Tag of Threes:

3 Joys:

The three monkeys I live with; uh, make that four.
A warm summer evening, sprinklers, and watermelon.
The attention the lost sheep gets when returning to the fold.

3 Fears:

The dark.
Heights/steep cliff edges--this didn't really develop until the monkeys showed up. Now just looking towards the edge when they're with me makes my stomach drop.
Perhaps the lost sheep really hasn't been missed and gets no attention at all.

3 Obsessions/Collections:

Putting "the seat" down--it's a 1.7 second job, seriously. Come on, Monkeys.
Currently the preview for Australia. I watch it on my computer more often than I care to admit.
Sheep.

3 Random/Surprising Facts:

I paraded through University Mall once dressed like a cotton ball.
I have an Akubra cowboy hat just like The Man From Snowy River.
I uesd to wear that hat to heard sheep.

There you go. I tag my sweet sister-in-law Lindsey, my newly reacquainted friend Leslie, and Wooly.

Monday, June 30, 2008

Okay, Here Are Some Pictures

I'm sorry. It's not that I've had so much more to do than usual. There is the basement of course but it's not as if I'm the one down there on my hands and knees hammering nails. It's just been one of those times when everything has kind of gotten away from me a bit. I feel unorganized, forgetful, distracted, and most of all, tired. You know those times when you just haven't found the sleep you need, or at least the sleep you can reasonably function on, you wake up groggy, can't get going, feel like you're playing catch-up all day . . . I've just been in a slump.

{I must interject here--my sweet young women that I teach at church and truly enjoy were bemoaning the possibility of potentially waking up by 6:30 this Wednesday. "Oh, we can't do it. Six thirty, are you kidding. Oh, I'll be so tired. I just can't get up that early, I have to work at 2 that afternoon." Wah wah wah. I love these girls, I truly do, but I just had to tell them, I couldn't listen to it any longer. Mind you, they where also required to be in bed by 10:00 Tuesday night, they were still getting a full 8 1/2 hours. So I stepped up and spoke my mind (nicely of course) but I told them. Seriously girls, you can't do it. You're just too tired. I'm sympathetic. I really am. I understand you have work, and school--except you don't have school, it's SUMMER--and you're family and friends. I know you have a lot going on but come on. You're too tired. You're telling me this. I am too tired. And not just from a weekend of parties, not just because I had to get up by 8 to make it to church. I haven't had a decent nights sleep in something like 6 YEARS! Years, girls, years. Not to mention staying up late to prepare lessons for you so come on, buck up, you can do it, because when you go home, nobody needs you, nobody is counting on you, you can go right to bed and not be disturbed. So please, please don't complain to me about sleep.}

Oh, I'm sorry, enough ranting. I was nice. They laughed. I hope they understood I was not joking. Anyway, so I'm tired. Who isn't. But unfortunately blogging has been preempted by the thought of a pillow. I will try and get a quick post out now, but even though it's barely 9, I'm already to tired to make it at all interesting, clever, or witty, not that my posts are much of that anyway. So here is a very sparsely worded, entirely unentertaining, down to business post. The Basement Pictures:

(Although it is almost completely finished now, I took these before the carpet went in. I can't bring myself to post more recent ones until everything is finished--have to keep a bit of surprise you know.)

Finished Storage Room

that little niche in the back only goes back a few feet. It was just extra space I didn't want to waste--thought it would be perfect to hang winter coats or store big containers of water or something.

Bathroom:

those little tiles amongst the white are cobalt blue--I love 'em and I've got some green polka-dot towels to go in there.

Reading Nook:

That place where the freezer is will soon be occupied by three cute bean bags. Opposite that wall are two book shelves. And that handsome man in the back is our lovely contractor. The two cutouts in the wall to the left of him look into the nook under the stairs that was made into a fun little play place.

Play Area:

There is the little play space under the stairs, a closet against the back wall, the closet doors are sitting in the space where the slide will go, and a stage is built in the right corner. The pictures hanging on the walls are big stickers I'm trying to figure out where to put.

Couch/TV Area:

self explanatory--couch and TV will go here

Craft Area:

This is the kids craft area--currently holding all the stuff we hauled out from the back storage room to do a little electrical work. There are some cubbies and a short counter with a sink. The window looks into my craft area--'cause I'm so crafty. This way I can go in, shut the door to keep sticky hands out, but still keep an eye on kiddies.

So there you go, the basement. I love it. And as soon as I get it all done (soon I promise) I'll post the final pics.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Salutations

Dear Basement Carpet,

Welcome to our home! I know you had a bit of a rough introduction but the boys have been waiting so long and I was so excited for the four of you to meet. I hope you didn't mind the immediate dashing back and forth across your cushy top. And I'm sorry that in the first two minutes of our relationship Matthew kicked a scab on his ankle while running and has already scarred your lovely self with spatters of blood. But I worked quickly, didn't I, to sponge it off, and dab you dry--good as new, don't you think? Please forgive us.

But, my dear basement carpet that I already love, I hope you understand--I hope you understand that in choosing to be basement carpet, in choosing to be our basement carpet, you have not chosen a particularly easy life, but I can promise you it will be rewarding. And we will love you. But our love might be in ways you are not expecting. We will not be showing our affection for you with holiday cocktail parties, or nights of gentlemen around pool tables and ladies chatting at a bar, or evening wine and cheese soirees; but, you will become an expert wrestler, gymnastics spotter, and tear absorber. You will be witness to hundreds of precious children's comments, thousands of baby giggles, and umpteen exasperated parental moments. You will host countless parties, both planned and spontaneous. You will be the foundation for every train set-up, Hot Wheels track, and imaginary jungle. And you will be hailed by bare knees, tender palms, and in-coming noggins as the savior of all bumps and abrasions. You will see us at our best and at our worst. And I hope, when our time has come to part, that you will look back on your scars with fondness, and not think back to this very day wishing that you had rolled yourself right back into that white van as soon as you got a look in here and chosen job #2 in a nice quite retirement home. I hope you will look at your own bumps and bruises, and remember the crazy boys who gave them to you, and know that you have been loved.

Welcome to our family!

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Omnipotent

Overheard in the garage as we are about to leave on a bike ride . . .

Me: Matthew, hurry and run go to the bathroom.

Little Boy: Mom, I don't have to pee.

Me: Are you sure?

Little Boy: Uh huh.

Me: Listen, you can't even hold still to find your helmet. Now run inside and go pee.

Little Boy: I don't have to pee.

Me: Yes you do. Go pee.

{little boy runs inside}

Little Boy: {yelled from inside the bathroom} Mom! You where right! I did have to pee! You always know everything.

Me: Yes. That is why you should listen to me.

Little Boy: How do you do that, Mom?! You just know everything just like Jesus!

{The possibilities of his belief in this, my newly discovered omniscience, dance happily through my head and yet, I cannot bring myself to answer definitively in the affirmative}

Me: Well, maybe not quite as much. {I did wish the little boy to believe me all-knowing, but I did not wish to be struck down on the spot}.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

This Kid's Got Ideas

The other day Matthew was talking to me about growing older and asking how long until he turns 7, how long until he turns 12, and how long until he turns 19, etc. I asked him if he knew what he can do when he turns 19. He said no. I explained, "You can go on a mission. Daddy went on a mission, and Papa, and Uncle Steve, and Uncle Matt, and Uncle Phil." "You know what I'm going to do when I turn 19 Mom?" What honey? "I'm going to go on vacation to Florida. And go snorkeling, and ride the waves, and play in the sand. And practice my surfing."

Yes. We will revisit this later.

He also told me he has decided not to become a Policeman. His reason: "I would feel so sad when I have to put you in jail, Mom." Thank you Little Moo. He obviously has high goals for what I might become after he grows up and quits caring for me.

Monday, June 9, 2008

I am a #1

In answer to the last post's question--I'm a number one. For several reasons I'm sure but here are the top two:

I hate confrontation. I avoid it. I pretend I don't know it's happening. I run the other way. Etc. I will thank anyone, for telling me anything, and thank them happily, and then apologize for anything happily, if it avoids any kind of, um, other people getting upset with me about stuff.
The other truth is, for better or worse, I am a fairly trusting mother. I really do (probably without realizing it most times) trust that if I leave my kids on the playground while running another to the bathroom, or take my eye off two of them to help another down from a tree, that all the other mothers/fathers/nice people will notice if the boy I am not watching is about to tumble out off the climbing wall, or fall out of the grocery cart, or fall into deep water, and that said nice people will help the child I happen to be neglecting at the time. Isn't that how we all get along with more than one kid? I hope. Please say it is. At least I know I have stepped in more than once for other kids without thinking the worse of that mother knowing I have been or will be in the same situation at some time.

So, THANK YOU, to all you people who help me do my parenting. Who notice my child in danger when I am tying another's shoe (or chatting with my friend--but that never really happens) and easily save them when I cannot. But please don't mind if I joke about it later--like I had everything under control.

p.s. Is it horrible that I actually had looked over the fence to check the depth of the water and was slightly more lax knowing that, if they did fall over, at least it was shallow enough that they could walk to the shore?

And one more thing, Marissa's comment would have made for one heck of a good story:

What about #4 - let your kid fall in and when the annoying white honkey runs over to the railing screaming "I TOLD YOU SO" you cold cock his honkey a-double-s right over the railing after your kid. Then you say, "KICK DOWN WHITE BOY! HOW YA LIKE ME NOW!"

Friday, May 30, 2008

3 Degrees of Truth

Situation:

You are at the zoo. It's time for lunch. You find a nice spot on a little veranda overlooking the bird pond and lay out some peanut butter sandwiches for the kiddos. You eat lunch and as the children successively finish their sandwiches squares and apple slices they begin to meander around, pulling themselves up on the railing to better see the swans and ducks swimming in the pond. As you are getting the baby cleaned up a man a a few tables over catches your attention ton let you know your kids are rather high on the railing and leaning over. (He doesn't want them to fall, of course.) This man was polite, and I'm sure he was legitimately concerned, so how do you reply?

Thank him for watching out for your kids and hustle them down from the railing and back to the table (very cordial--helps everyone else feel good)
Thank him for watching out for your kids and let him know you are keeping an eye on them and they'll be fine (nice but leaves the man still a bit nervous)
Tell him you are a very responsible parent and would never let your child hang over a railing before first looking over yourself to check the depth of the water. And you are almost positive that, should he fall over, if he stands on his very tippy toes he should be able to keep his head above water. Or grab on to one of those pilings in any case.

Any thoughts?

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

First Try

Tonight we were having a special "Temple Marriage" night for our Young Women at church so to make it a real celebration, my buddies Tara and Elana came over this morning and we made Wedding Cake! And I must say, for first timers I think we did rather well. I did learn that when cleaning frosting smears off a cake platter, select pieces from your son's lego set can come in handy.

It was a moist yellow cake with a chocolate truffle filling and an almond/vanilla bean frosting. We finished it off with little beads around the bottom of the ribbon and Tara brought her glass temple cake topper for the finishing touch.

Now as usually happens when three moms get together of a morning to frost cake, there were quite a few children around. Thankfully we had lots of hands to retrieve them from banging on the neighbors glass door, dangling from monkey bars, falling in toilets, and other kid chaos. Other wise the clever children busied themselves snitching swipes of frosting

and making melodious music. A bunch of toddlers on the piano--such sweet sounds.

Despite the jarring aural environment, the cake turned out well, the girls loved it, and if you want a piece--come on over. We've got loads of extra! Thanks to Grammy for recipes and Pops for moral support!

Because of the hurry to get cake done, get our selves cleaned up, and kids ready to stay with Pops and Dad's, neither Tara or I ate any real dinner. And let me tell you, lots of cake with 50 pounds of sugar frosting on an empty stomach makes for a crazy drive home. Tara and I car pooled and also took one of our 12-year-old young women. The relief of having the activity over combined with a bit of a sugar rush bought out a rather silly side of myself, err, I mean Tara. I warned her we better be quiet or else ol' Hamilton in the back seat was sure to find out we were really LOSERS. Tara absolutely confirmed we are losers by saying, "We're not losers. We're RAD." To which I replied, "Kick down, white boy!"