My One Year Blogoversary!!!

One year ago today, I made my first post. *tear* It's been a short blog year, but full of awesome stuff. Like the time Jenny taught me about blogstalking. I couldn't have killed more free time without her knowledge. Like the day Misty and several others took me wiggle biking. Like the time/s I got to publicly embarrass my husband (which of course I am so, so sorry about). I would like you to celebrate my blogoversary, by having some of my blog friends BLOG FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!! Sheesh. It's been several weeks for most of you, and months for a lot of you. It's hard feeling all alone around here.

My rant is done, so Merry Christmas!! only 3 more sleeps!!




this of course is not meant for those of you who have updated. To you I would just like to say: well done. :-)

Slurp

MMMMMmmmmmmmmmmm. . . . . . yogurt.

"I'm not supersticious, but I'm a little sticious"

I ordered some ants from a company in Utah for my daughters Birthday present ant farm. They arrived dead. Nobody gave them the "Arrive Alive" memo. Dead like my microwave. Dead like my garage door. Dead like my car.

I'm starting to get supersticious

I Am A Pioneeress

Someone is trying to tell me something. The beginning of the week started out strong with me happily microwaving my daughters lunch, when suddenly: said microwave died. I thought it was just a little tantrum, but after several tries, and a few gentle fist pounds, it turns out it's dead. So the rest of the week I have been learning new ways to cook. I feel grateful for this experience, because now I can empathize with the pioneers. Cooking from scratch is hard, but worth it! Cold cut sandwiches are surprisingly good when you have enough condiments. Step one of me being a Pioneeress. Step two happened yesterday morning when I was opening my garage to take my daughter to the bus stop. It opened halfway, then stopped. Wouldn't go up, wouldn't go down. It was a cute little trick for early in the morning. I was so close, because I could walk out side and feel the caressing bite of -3 degree temps, but unfortunately we were unable to get the full experience via our warm van because it wouldn't fit out of the garage. The power in the whole house went out just long enough for Madisen to miss the bus. So I was able to empathize with those who lived way back when; those who had to walk to school up hill both ways in the snow. Madisen's school is 3 whole miles away, and there's a small hill at the end. It was snowing and took me a good half an hour to drive before I was all the way back home. Well, maybe 15 minutes. Step 3 cheerily came this afternoon when my car died. I was picking up Skye at the bus, turned off the car for a few minutes, tried turning it back on and it was dead. Dead like the microwave, and dead like the garage door. So we put on our trek faces, and trudged through the snow and 10 degree weather all the way home. Madisen complained it was far, so I told her to sing. Singing is very pioneer like. The bus stop is at least .20 miles, so I used it as an opportunity to teach my children. I feel now I have learned my humbling lesson, and earned a Mom bonnet in the process. This week of being a pioneer was hard, but I think, after how I've grown as a person, I can honestly say: It was worth it.

EHOW

How To Decorate Christmas Tree

Step One: Kick self in bottom for promising children a fun night of decorating Christmas tree on same night husband is sick on couch.

Step Two: Plaster smiles and start anyway with cheery Christmas tunes in background
Step Three: Set up fake Christmas tree

Step Four: Take down fake Christmas tree, so you can set it back up correctly.
Step Five: Instruct children to help fluff tree so that although, you know, I know, and the neighbors know it's a fake tree, we can all pretend we're fooling someone.

Step Six: Keep fluffing
Step Seven: Keep Fluffing

Step Eight: Ignore complaints from children of too much fluffing. Check Plastered Smile.
Step Nine: Fluff again.

Step Ten: Decide the fake look isn't all that bad and quit fluffing before you reach the back.
Step Eleven: Carefully open delicate ornaments so children can thoughtfully adorn tree.

Step Twelve: Turn around to happily help place an ornament on tree.
Step Thirteen: Disguise bad word you were going to say as something else after you see that during the 30 seconds you were turned around your living room turned into a dangerous mine of colorful glass orbs, and sharp loose hooks. (must have been the one year old)

Step Fourteen: Realize you've lost one year old. Realize bare feet were not the best idea. Grab shoes, Grab one year old from inside of tree.
Step Fifteen: Rearrange face so it barely passes as a smile.

Step Sixteen: Ooh, and Aah, over how beautiful the large cluster of ornaments looks on the otherwise tall and bare tree.
Step Seventeen: Grab one year old from inside of tree. Clean up broken glass orb he used as a baseball. Hope frustrated curled lip is observed as a smile. Spend a few minutes helping children spread out ornaments so they are evenly spaced top to bottom.

Step Eighteen: Place Star on top of Christmas tree. Stand back so star doesn't bend back down and whack you in the forehead like it did a few moments previous. Grab one year old
Step Nineteen: Wake up husband for the initial lighting.

Step Twenty: Ooh, and Aah over finished product. Ignore the bottom half of the tree that is now naked due to the one year old.

Step Twenty One: Place one year old in bed. Grab Pepsi. Smile.

Flu Crew

The part I love most about no sunshine and frigidly cold weather is how often our family gets the flu. I'm not counting or anything, but we are going on day 9 of being holed up in the sick house. 3 kids down zero to go. Me and Pete have a bet as to which one of us will go down first. Madisen has been flat on her back for so long, this morning she said she doesn't feel like bending. I don't know what that means. Why is it that you feel so much more maternal when you're kids are down for the count? Is it their sweet, innocent, vulnerability? How pathetically cute they look in their tight footie pajama's? Maybe that they are rendered incapable of the expert toddler trickery that usually turns a normal, well balanced, clean home into a messy mayhem where Mom is standing dumbstruck in the middle of it all, but the children are long gone laughing all the way? Hard to say. The upside of sick kids is you have an excuse to not make dinner that will probably just turn out as glop anyway. You can reward yourself with a night off from being StoveSlave. Blessed Pizza Night. Er, nope. Sometimes you accidently move outside of Pizza Man Delivery Parameters. Oops. Then what to do? We're not THAT rural. We have all the standards of a civilized society: Walmart is just around the corner, and McDonalds just a few streets away, so. . . . . . . what gives? I thought about contacting the city council and DEMANDING they explain this huge oversight, but the pony express doesn't make it's way out here for about a week. My fury might be gone by then. Instead I'll just work on my hermit techniques until this little Piggie Flu decides to take flight. Wish me luck!

Bleak Black Friday

There is something masochistic about shopping the day after Thanksgiving. It’s definitely one for the adrenaline junkies. The black Friday shoppers can be classified into two groups. The first are the Planners. The Planners are wearing track suits, ear muffs, and gloves with hand warmers. You can generally find them toward the outside of the hungry, impatient pack. They see themselves slipping in the sides, while the mid crowd shoves ineffectually to get through the tiny door space. Their over-caffeinated bodies are bouncing slightly while they pour over the store leaflet, and then close their eyes to visualize where each item is located. No, the planners are not talking to you, they are mumbling to themselves about where each item is located, since they have already staked out the store’s layout the day before. They are aware of the route they will take to swiftly and efficiently acquire their haul, and have prepared back up routes if one way is too crowded. The Planners know ahead of time, which checkouts are 20 items or less or self checkout. They have planned not only this strike, but attacks on several other stores throughout the day at precisely planned intervals. They have their drive looped out since there is no time for backtracking, and know exactly how far and how long it will take to get to each destination. Their assaults will be quick and precise. No plans for lunch. There is no time. The Planners are shopping right on through to get the best deals. Then there are the Procrastinators. The Procrastinators plan little, and jump out of bed at 3 a.m. Their disordered manes are swiftly pulled into ponytails. No time for a brush. Procrastinators move in packs, and view all other shopper groups as the enemy. A Procrastinator is distinguished from a Planner by their offensive stance, and crazed eyes. Procrastinators spend the time before the store opening to size up possible opponents. The lucky first Procrastinators in line gloat about their first place spot believing this will grant them immunity from empty shelves. Procrastinators take a few different strategies. Some of them attach themselves early to a Planner, hoping to snatch whatever deals the Planner is moving toward. Others swiped a sale leaflet off the kitchen counter on their way out, and now have a few items in mind. They plan to use their energized shoulders and quick elbows, to help them find those items. When the doors are opened, the Procrastinators have no strategy against the whoosh of body inertia, but keep their eyes on the door knowing that if they can keep standing, this will soon be over. Once inside, the Procrastinator’s inner animal comes out. Their heads are low; their hands fast, grabbing at anything that looks like others might want; whether on a shelf or in someone’s cart. Procrastinators unfortunate lack of planning means, they are last in line at the checkout. Little hair is left in the ponytail, many are unsure of their friend’s fates. Procrastinators usually seem satisfied with their day’s tallies, although many will decide to forgo the mayhem next year. When Procrastinators leave this store, they go to lunch.

Thankful for Bald Bus Drivers

Ooops- It's November. Not just November, but the week of Thanksgiving. Where did that come from? I'm supposed to bring a dessert to my family's Thanksgiving feast bonanza. It's like they don't even know me at all. If my darn camera wasn't broken, I would give you the wonderful picture of my Dessert Pre Thanksgiving Trial Run. I've never seen cookies so unhappy with themselves. It's not that they tasted bad, but I have enough self pride to not serve goo with chocolate chips to my family. Pete was nice. He kindly ate several glop's before letting me toss them-well, It, in the trash can. But it's the week of Thanksgiving. No gripes allowed. I'm supposed to give my list of things I am thankful for today. I am thankful for store bakery's. Post Its. My family. Cell Phones. Spare keys. Spare Spare Keys. Old Friends. New Friends. Books. And Old Bus Driver's. Not necessarily in that order. Although the last one especially stands out this week. We have a new Kindergarten, and new kindergarten routine. In many ways it's been great. My daughter rides the bus to school, instead of me driving 20 minutes to drop her off like before. When Kindergarten is only 3 hours long, that translates into about an hour and a half of more time between when Madisen goes to school and I have to pick her up. She loves the bus. She always sits by her friend Henry because he brings treats. He also gossips. Apparently Boston (a girl) and Frank are in love. "Yes Mom, Henry told me. He said it looked like they were kissing." Besides, the exposure other kids are giving my young innocent daughter, most days I love the bus too. Except for last early day. I was soaking up my post treadmill run shower, and lazily doing my hair when I realized: "Ohmygosh! It's early day!We have to go NOW!" It was 5 minutes past the time the bus was supposed to be there (around the corner a little ways) and here I was blissfully unaware that my daughter could be wandering alone and lost looking for Mom. I screamed to Shea to grab her shoes, and yanked the Boy out from under his nap (only in a diaper of course. perfect. ) and buckled them quickly into the cold car. I sped around the corner and spotted the bus. Phew. They were late. I was fine. NOPE. They had been driving around looking for my house, and gave up and just waited for me. Yikes, how late was I?? And how many other Mom's are waiting for their kids, because he wasted so much time at our stop? I felt like world's worst mother, but so grateful that he let her get back on the bus when I wasn't there. So I am grateful for him this week.
What are you thankful for?

Saturday Report

Madisen burst open the door early Saturday morning to give us the report:

"The Boy's being Japan! The Boy is being Japan!"

What?

"Like this" She proceeds to jump up on the cedar chest, bend over halfway and leave her arms swaying back and forth as she says (in a deep growl) "ooh-ooh ahh-ahh! ooh-ooh ahh-ahh!"
Wow. The Japanese are strange. What sort of ritual is this ?And pat myself on the back if my son is so brilliant to be in the know at only 16months! As my brain slowly wakes up, I realize:
"Oh, chimpanzee! The Boy is being a chimpanzee."

"Yup."

She leaves the room. Comes back in to give us a new report.

"Now he's being Daddy!"

Pete puffs up his chest with pride. That's right!

She jumps up on the cedar chest again, lays flat on her back with her arms folded behind her head. Relaxed.

"Just like you Daddy!"

The Week Of Pete

And boy was it! We moved to our new house this week. It's beautiful down here, and people have been awesome. The neighbors were even really friendly and welcoming. In the beginning at least. I thought we could at least go a couple months or so before people found out just exactly who we are but nope. I leave Pete home alone once and he exposes us. The old owners left us a tiny key which he assumed went to our mailbox. There was a big group of women standing outside in a neighbors front yard, and he thought he would be Captain Awesome, and go introduce himself. He shakes hands with all of them and gives his million dollar smile. Then innocently asks if they can direct him to the mailboxes. PAUSE.
"um, in the corner of your yard. . . . " they say. He turns around and sure enough, there it is. And wouldn't you know it: there's boxes in everyone's yard. He backtracked to explain how we had group boxes at our old house and the key looked just like our old mailbox key, but the damage was already done. Now we're out there. There's no hiding it anymore.
We moved in to a house with a field in the back. Nice big open space. And mice. Sometimes those mice like to find their way into a house to get warm food. And sometimes guys named Pete might spot them in their brand new home and try trapping it into a corner with their trusty dog Kona as right hand man. And rumor has it that Pete does a wicked impression of Michael Jackson slash wiggly jello slash screaming little girl when that mouse runs RIGHT UP HIS PANTS!!! Seriously! The inside of his pants! It was headed up to the buttocks before he was able to shake him back out. He's hunting with a vengeance now though. So gross! But also so very, very, funny. I might have laughed really hard for the rest of the night. Even all the way through the bedtime story for our girls, and the evening prayers. Turns out his eyes can really bulge when met with hairy rodent assassins. He got me back though. I asked him if he had seen my wallet because I needed to leave, and he told me he had put it (with all of my other necessities for said trip) in my purse, and in my car so that I wouldn't forget them. Pshaw! Like I would forget something. I stuck my chin out, rolled my eyes and explained harshly how I didn't need a babysitter. I was plenty old enough to get ready without someone holding my hands. I spun quickly to make my dramatic exit and went face first into the wall. I wasn't even kind of close to the hallway where I thought I was. Bad deal. Good week for Pete though. Yay PETE!

Boo for B.O.U. S's

Boo for Halloween and it's unfairness. My kids eat candy and candy and candy and get crazy energy, which then leads to running around and burning off all of their candy calories. It rots their teeth, and makes them fall out, so what happens? They get a new set of teeth that grow in. What's that teaching them? It's no wonder why I never learned to not eat too much candy as a child. But I'm old now. Candy isn't the same for old people. We eat too much candy, we get sick and lay on the couch which leads to B.O.U.S's: Belly's of unusual size. It's not our fault though. It's the candy that pulls a bait and switch when we grow up. Ever notice how loud chocolate is? I never heard it when I was little. But you better believe it was screaming at me as I snuck some from the girls bag's when they weren't looking respectably purchased a small sample from the grocery isle. There was a dentist advertising last week he would pay kids to bring in their candy. I like that kind of motivation. If every time I wanted to eat chocolate, someone paid me 50 cents, that I could do. I think that would shut the Snicker's right up. "I don't need you, melty, crunchy cornicopia of sweet heaveness: I have a dollar. Take that!" (insert tough guy chest thrust here)

Below I will leave you with pictures of my little candy beggars:
This is Skye. She's laughing at my weak candy calorie burning metabolism.


Closest one of my little Jasmine AKA Sydney. Skye was a witch for her school party and Hedwig for trickortreating.

Jack, trying to escape after being forced into an embarrassing Mickey Mouse costume

We're faster than he is Mwahahaha!
My kids and their cousins. I wish we had better pics, but it's hard to get them to stand still when they know their about to be immersed in candy begging mischief.

Straw-ba-ba-ba-berry Breakdown!

Unfortunately, having big sister's does have it's drawbacks. Like learning that when Strawberry Shortcake is playing for the umpteenth time, there can only be one thing left to do: