Lovetricity

I realized the other day that I have just about NO pictures of HotSpark on my blog. I don't want him to feel unloved. So I stole this from my friend Kristen's blog. Doesn't he look sharp in a tie??

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:

School Pictures

I cannot believe how expensive school pictures are! It's incredible. The cheapest package Madisen's school was offering was $22 bucks. Guess what it get's ya? A class picture, a sheet of 3X5's, a sheet of 2X3's and that's it. yup. 22 dollars. For the package I would have wanted it was 38 big ones. I'm too much of a cheapskate to pay for that, but I had to get Kindergarten pictures in her uniform. So I was torn. Then in a moment of unexplained brilliance, I decided that I would get her ready for pictures early that day (she has afternoon kindergarten) and take her by walmart to get their $7.00 package which is only one pose (just like school pictures) but you get a gazillion photos. With 8X10's and 5x7's and the whole deal. I paid 7 bucks for a class picture, and $7.00 for all her school pictures. That's a total of a whopping $14.00 dollars. Pat. On. Back. Thank you very much. I love beating the system. Especially after being completely duped in my last post. What do you guys do for pictures? Do you even bother with purchasing them?

Pumpkin Fraud

Kid's love the pumpkin patch. It seems likely since it's full of dirt and gooey messes. It's so fun to go and pick out the "perfect" pumpkin to bring home. Kind of makes me feel sad for all the other vegetables. When was the last time you heard of someone taking their families out for a special night of plucking the perfect radish? Just not the same. Poor radishes! At least radishes are honest. Pumpkins are living a lie. At least at our Farmers market. From where I sit to pick up my daughter from school, I can see the patch. I don't want to gossip, so I'll just tell you a super big secret that no one else is supposed to know: The pumpkin patch is a fraud! You're not picking pumpkins, you're lifting them from the dirt from where they were tossed after being shipped in on a little blue truck. Shipped in by some disgruntled worker who apparently doesn't even like pumpkins, judging by the way he was chucking them out of the truck bed. I hate to be the patch police, but I call pumpkin b.s. (bull snot of course). I feel so cheated! I HATE getting duped by the pumpkin people. Now it seems no different than going to the store and pulling one out of the box (which by the way is where Shea finally found hers after scouring the whole faux-patch and not finding one she liked).
I'm not going to stand for this kind of mockery next year. No one will make a fool out of this family! Next year we're going out for Halloween Radishes. Care to join us?



You see the little twig thingies they placed along the dirt to make it look like the pumpkin "grew"? FAKE


Don't be fooled by their masks of happiness. Underneath those smiling faces, they are just as upset as I am.

Snotty Boy Chicken

So, get this: I'm in the shower. (Not NOW! It's a story!!) The Boy comes toddling in covered head to toe in tiny pieces of toilet paper. Kinda like feathers. The roll is stretched out across the bathroom floor. He looks like a tissued chicken. His snotty nose is blubbering down past his chin. This shower didn't last long. sigh. I get out, dry off, wipe his nose, and hurry to get dressed. My interest is piqued. Finding nothing, I conclude that the paper must be attached by some sort of booger-glue. Gross. I wipe the snot n' feathered child down and move on to cleaning the house. The kitchen first, where I scrub something brown and sticky off the floor. (Pepsi?). I finish the bathroom and move on to my mom's carpeted living room. That's where I discover the open syrup bottle . . . .

Big Break

"Ahem." She said. I turned from the cheesecake I was pondering while waiting for the slowest deli meat cutter in the world to finish. I see a pretty young woman, about my height with make-up overkill, waiting to speak to me. After a quick mental check from me (are small tight black dresses the new standard for walmart? No, probably not) I cover up the child finger print mustard stain at the bottom of my t-shirt anyway, and wait for her to go on. "Your children are beautiful! How old are they?" Okay, now I know something is up. Not that I don't think my children are gorgeous, but do other people really think that when (after shopping for 3 hours and 3 different stores) their hair is skeewompus, their eyes are red and bloodshot because of 30 different crying spells, and their faces are covered in the chocolate m&m's I bribed them with if they would be good for "just one more store"? Do they? Seems suspicious. I tell her their ages and she laughs and says it's cute how they are hugging eachother. I look down. I'd say it was more of a headlock/deathgrip, but I guess she called it how she saw it. She gives me a feather-light handshake and introduces herself as so and so from some casting company. "We've casted for bla bla and High School Musical. Do you think we could set up a time when we could have them come in?" These children? I think. Do you see them with toungues wide open waiting for the sprinklers to spray down on the zuccinni? Hmmm. . . I guess that is kind of cute. "I don't think so" I say. "Really? Oh, okay. Well, take it as a compliment, your children are beautiful. . . " and she walked away. She is right about that I suppose, but I think what she was selling was a bunch of huff, and besides, shuffling kids around to casting calls doesn't seem all that much fun. Too much waiting. Kids wiggle when they wait. It's exhausting. When the sloth of a meat cutter was finally done, we checked out and went home. Fame free and tired. Do you think they'll hate me when they're older for making them miss out on their "big break"?

Jelly Belly

How old are your children supposed to be when they stop believing you're the smartest person in the world? 13? 15? 5?!!! Five. Madisen's five and I've already lost it. I have no hold over her now, it's very depressing. I thought I could at least hold out until 8 or 9. No worries though, because she still thinks I'm awesome. She told me today I was NOT smarter than Jared (her uncle), but my brain was AWESOME! Does that seem like a sympathy compliment to you? I've been trying to rack my awesome brain to think of a reason for her shift from team Mom to team Jared. Could it be the fact that I spent a whole 20 minutes this morning making goofy sounds and faces to get her to stop playing the "copy-me" game? (she's got a killer copy-cat. ). No, probably not that. Because I sometimes forget things? No, I guess not. Ah, yes, I remember now. . . it must be because of last night when I lost the Jam lid. I made a pb&j for the boy. I went to put the jam back in the fridge and couldn't find the lid anywhere. Not on the counter, not behind me on the oven. Not back in the fridge, not on the floor, not on the counter where I had just barely looked . Oh! There it is: Stuck to my belly. Not the best accessory I must say.
Yup. It must be that.

Kinderdiscrimination

Sometimes people are just rude. Sometimes those people are about 3.5 feet tall. I'll explain. I've always known that children are cruel. Don't spread this around or anything, but I may have been the target of quite a bit of cruelty in elementary school. I had crooked front teeth and couldn't play kick ball. It's amazing I even survived. Thankfully I had an awesome BFF Lindsay. She was the pretty, popular, funny, amazing at kickball girl. I was her oddball sidekick. We got along beautifully. On the way to school yesterday Madisen was telling me about her 3 pre-school best buddies. I asked her who her best buddy was in Kindergarten. Here's how it went:
Madisen: Well, everyone is in two's.
Me: In two's?
Madisen: Yeah like Kaston is with Cooper, and Jerzie is with Aspen, and Mayu is with Hola, and Brinley used to be my best buddy but now she plays with Sydney. I'm just one.
What?? My daughter is just one? What's wrong with these children? Can't they see that she's so much fun to be around, she's completely sweet, angelic, beautiful? She practically has "I am cool" tattooed on her forehead! I felt like marching into the classroom, to teach those children a thing or two about choosing their friends. They obviously haven't been raised right.
Me: what about Billy? I hear you talk about Billy. . .
Madisen: Um. . . Billy is by himself, he's just one.
Me: Great! Why don't you be best buddies with Billy?
Madisen: (sighing) O-Kaaay Mom, but, he IS the smallest person in our class. . . .


That's right. My daughter the discriminator. Unfortunately we just can't change some people's views about short people.
Upon closer examination of the situation, I've decided that maybe I went about this all wrong. I guess I probably should have said it was wonderful she didn't have a best buddy because it's great to be best friends with everyone. I can't help it though. All those years of tortured torment otherwise known as 5th grade 6th grade and 7th grade. I can't change the past; however, I can teach Madisen how to trick her classmates into gluing their fingers together. . . .

If I had a dollar for. . .

Every time I needed a dollar, I'd be a rich woman. Also, if I had a dollar for every time someone told me I "never" answer my phone, I'd be rolling in the dough. It's always confusing, I think, "Wait, didn't I just answer my phone?" I pick up the phone every time I hear it ring. The phone rings, I pick it up. Just because the majority of the time my phone is left out in the car, or in my purse out in the car, or left inside my purse not out in the car, but in the dressing room of the store I last exited, does not mean I'm hard to get a hold of. Besides, who doesn't like a challenge? If I was easy to call, people would stop calling me because where's the fun in that? Don't get me wrong, I think cell phones are a beautiful thing. They've saved me from many a predicament. (Sometimes I almost run out of gas) It's just that a strong independent woman like me, who is always on the go, and in the mix of things (today I did laundry AND loaded the dishwasher. how's that for excitement?) can't be tied down by cellular leashes. Problem is, I want to have my cake and eat it too. Or make my calls and have you answer too. So. . . . . when I call tomorrow. . . you're um, gonna answer right?

Homeless Famous Waiter

Wheeewwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Long time no blog! Where have I been you ask? Homeless. Concerned? Don't be. A nice lady took pity on us, and now we're living the high life mortgage free. It definitely has it's benefits. When was the last time you were able to blow your money on matching family snuggies just because you could? That's what I thought. My Mom's been bombarded with tantrums and snotty noses. Thankfully the children have been angels, or she probably would have kicked my Lovetricity out by now. (he really knows how to throw a fit) Kidding Pete. I want to congratulate all of you for being famous by association. Maybe you haven't heard, but I am about to be a published writer. I have a friend who writes for the Tremonton Leader who showed my blog to his boss, and now I am going to have a column published once a month in their paper! How awesome is that?! So basically all I'm asking is a teensy favor. I don't need anyone to lie, I just want you be honest and gush in the comments about how you can't live a single day without reading my incredible blog, and then buy each member of your family a subscription to the Tremonton Leader. You'd do that for me right? No? Oh. . . . well this is awkward. Well, it's time to pick up Skye from school again. This kindergarten thing is killing me. My days of carefree play-all-day living are over. Now I have to pick up drop off every day and I have to do homework! Now I know what real Mom's do. I've officially become a real Mom. I thought that had already happened when I turned from fun, social, Jodi into giant human napkin. Nope, I was wrong. It's when you turn from giant napkin into Mom of School aged child. Better hurry up and get going so I can wait an hour in the parking lot! Tata!


-Jodi. Mom-of-School-Aged-Child

Friends don't fit in a box. But they sure can jinx.

I'm on the computer wasting precious packing time. I just can't seem to find any motivation, because it's a little bit illegal to stuff my friends in a box and take them with me. Cops frown on that. Phooey! We still have not come to the realization that we might be moving in two days. The papers are not signed yet and it seems any thought of the home selling will just put a big jinx on it. Speaking of jinx-Do you remember being young and "jinxing" your friends? If you were jinxed that was just it. They might as well duct tape your mouth closed because you were NOT talking. Tapping people on the shoulder, waving at kids you didn't usually talk to, raising your hand in class when you didn't know the answer just so the teacher would say your name. You had to. You'd been jinxed. You were held bound by the Jinx Law. No way around it. My friends took it one step further: "personal Jinx" . With personal Jinx you cannot talk until the person who jinxed you says your name. Then Oooooh Boy, you were in trouble. Might as well write the whole day off as a loss. My kids don't abide by the Jinx law. They're suspicious of Mommy coming up with a game where they're not allowed to talk. They think I made it up. It's not like I don't enjoy the shrilling music of one sibling yelling to the other, I'm just trying to have some quality time with my kids. They don't get it . It's those younger generations. They just don't know how to have fun anymore.*sigh*

Shea just told me the side of her brain hurts. . . do you think I could talk her into a nap to get rid of the pain?

Jodiisms

I have a deep dark secret. I must tell it because ever since it happened this morning, Pete has been itching to spread the rumor. I have to get it out there in my own words before he has peppered it with all of his embellishments. Here goes:

I was putting on my make up this morning, and picked up my foundation. It crashed to the floor and spilled an ugly mess all over the floor. I picked it up and looked at it and decided it was a pretty clean break. I wasn't going with out make-up today so I stuck my finger in what was left of the bottle and dotted it on my face. As I started to rub it in a chunk of glass scraped across my cheek. I said Ow! pretty audible, although, I was too embarrassed to tell Robyn (whom I was on the phone with) what had happened. So now I have glass flecked goop all across my face and I have to figure out how to remove it without scratching up my entire facial epidermis. Trick is, I only have one hand because my other is occupied with the phone. After successfully removing all of the prickly globs, and living to tell about it, I hung up with Robyn and called my husband. Before spilling the beans, I swore him to secrecy and scolded him for leaving me home alone when obviously I need constant supervision. Unfortunately, Pete won't leave a good story untold, so it's halfway around his job site right now. So now you have heard it from me.


Another day, another Jodiism.

Potty Time NOW! or whenever

I just got done at the burn clinic. Shea insists she needs to go potty. Right now. Can't wait. University Hospital is a happy little maze of skinny hallways, and too small signs. Can't find the bathroom. We finally find a little hole looking bathroom and try to open the door. It's locked. I keep jiggling and shaking the handle until it dawns on me that perhaps it is a one person only bathroom and some unsuspecting person may not feel comfortable about the frustrated door knob turns and 3 year old fist banging. Quickly we walk away like we didn't just freak somebody out. We hit the elevator button and get on with what I think is probably the scariest looking man in the hospital. Not too hard to do since I am usually suspicious of all old men, who are by themselves with scary dirty white beards, and holy flannel shirts. The elevator takes it's sweet time and I'm getting nervous about Shea. She is only 3 after all. When the door opens, Shea runs out as I am adjusting Jumbostroller to turn around and back our way out. I back right into someone in a wheel chair and stumble slightly on his feet-which are in casts. Nice. So I hurry to get out of their way so they can get around me down the hall. Turns out I went about hurrying the wrong way because they were trying to get onto the elevator where I was completely blocking them. So poor cast man gets thrusted forward by wheelchair driver and gets his legs almost stuck between the doors as they close. Thankfully Kindscaryman was there to catch the door and help him inside. What a nice fellow. Not like Thoughtlessmomlady running rampant through the hospital with Jumbostroller and potty dance child. So there we are on the main floor. Shea says she CANNOT wait and we rush to the next bathroom. She takes her time selecting from one of the 150 stalls until she finds the perfect one. Because she had a sucker in her mouth, I take it from her and put the stick end in mine to hold it while I take care of putting toilet paper on the seat for her and other things so her sucker doesn't get dirty. I know gross, but what else would I do with it? I get my hair all over it. I shut the stall door to wait for her to finish. Time goes by. Five whole minutes go by. I finally open the door to see Shea completely dressed and unpottied with one finger stuck in each ear. Apparently she was waiting for the next door neighbor to finish because she doesn't like the loud noise of the flush. Neighbor was taking a while. Shea gave up and we just washed her hands. And mine. And the sucker. There was no helping my sticky hair. Shea gets all excited about the motion sensored paper towel dispenser. So excited in fact that she's skipping out the door. She turns around to make sure I'm following and when she sees that I am, she turns right around and BAM! right into the water fountain. She took a spout to the chin. Bummer. It's time to go. And just when I feel we can't do any more damage, I walk out of the parking lot elevator slowly and unobservantly enough to let the doors close just in time for the lady helping two special needs adults in wheelchairs to not be able to catch it.

And this is why I don't leave the house. The end.


**to add insult to injury, the child didn't really need to go. not for hours.

And The Award Goes To:

Me! I award myself with the "First Day Of Kindergarten Drop Off Without Any Mom Tears Because Sudden Bursts Of Overly Sad Emotion Throughout The Day Don't Count Award" Or simply known as the FDOKDOWAMTBSBOOSETTDDC award! Yay! It's not that I'm patting myself on the back or anything, it's just that I don't think anyone can ever have too many awards, right? First of all, I'd like to thank Madisen, who without her tears shed over fears of missing Mommy at school, my emotional heart-string-dry-sobs would not have been possible. I'd also like to thank her for leaving me at the classroom door without a backward glance, and for also telling me she didn't miss me at all upon pick-up. I need to thank the parking lot attendants, who wave their proud orange wands high and wide even though it's obvious no one is going anywhere for a long time. I also appreciate Shea, who was a necessary part in delaying the 571 cars behind us when she decided to take off her seat belt right when Madisen was placed in the van, setting off several frantic parking attendants flagging their little hearts out to get us to hurry out of the way. And lastly I would like to thank Madisen's classmates for already teaching her about secrets they shouldn't tell anyone else. (And the Joke's on you J****e because Madisen went ahead and told me that you do not in fact have a twin sister.) Thank you everyone again! I leave you with pictures of the cutest little kindergartner I've ever seen:




just turn your head slightly to the left until I can find someone more computer savvy than myself.

Underground Robbery

I went to the Discovery Children's Museum today with my friend Crystal and her adorable kids. It's such a fun place. We bought a pass for Christmas so we've been several times since then.
Let me give you a little background info: A few months back Pete and me took the kids there and when we were trying to leave the underground parking we saw a sign: Cash or Checks only. Seriously? What year is this-1980? Who carries cash around? When did you last write out a check? And for a dollar? I don't think so. The Old Cashier Man gave us a good stern talkin' to about reading signs and yada yada. He finally gave up and told us he was taking down our license plate and we were going to owe him that dollar next time. That's right, we were shaking in our booties. Anyway, since then, I've remembered to validate parking inside the museum because it's one dollar instead of three, and I can use my card. Today however we stop to get validated and they tell us:
"well it's a dollar for up to three hours, but if you use a card there is a minimum purchase of five dollars. You can buy something from the store to make up for it. . . . "

WHAT?

ROBBERY!!! They WILL take money from us or they will NOT let us leave! What is this conspiracy? I'm a MEMBER for crying out loud! Haven't I paid my dues already? They know we can't use our cards outside, so they cook up this brilliant scheme.

Now I'm grumpy.

Watch out children's museum. You're gettin' a letter!

Looking Too Much, and Burning Hands

We had been driving around for a while running errands the other day when Shea told me her head hurt.
"you're head hurts?"
"Yes"
"Why does it hurt?"
"I think I've been looking too much"

I know how you feel Shea. Sometimes I definitely feel I have looked too, too much.
Yesterday was a sad day. I had Shea vacuuming her bedroom when I hear the 'crunch-crunch' of something too big being sucked up. I hear The Boy start to cry. I start running down the hall, and Shea meets me and yells terrified, "Mommy! I vacuumed up The Boy!"
Turns out she did not vacuum up ALL of the Boy, but his hand did take a beating. He has a pretty yucky friction burn. We get to go to the burn clinic tomorrow to have it looked at. The pediatrician threw out some words like "could damage his hand" and "possible skin graph" Yikes! I don't think it will go as far as the graph, but I'll let you know how it goes.
Thank you Jared and Von for coming to the rescue! Doc was pretty impressed with the wrapping skills! What would we do without you?

Patience

Do you ever feel strongly like the Lord is trying to teach you patience?
Do you ever wish you could hurry up and learn it so that you can move on to the next lesson?

Hanging Up My Chef's Hat

WARNING! This post is not pretty.

Today I made pancakes. Put batter in a blender because I couldn't find a bowl big enough. Made several pancakes, all the way down to the end of the batter. Realized there was A LOT of batter left. Pretty much ALL the batter was left; stuck to the sides of the blender. We all had watercakes for dinner. Sad. But that's what kids are good for. Gobbling down your cooking mistakes. They like syrup. Lots. And when you add enough syrup and butter to watercakes, they're actually not too shabby.

Lesson Learned: blender+pancake batter= watercaked embarrassing blog confession.
Lesson Learned: syrup+butter= clueless children
Lesson Learned: water+pancake batter= not as easy as it sounds.

It may be time to give up my chef dreams. Hmm.

Blog Clips

Time for another episode of blog clips:

Madisen and Shea had a very in depth debate the other day. No decision was made so I leave it to you for a vote. Shea asked why Elmo doesn't have teeth. Madisen replied that obviously he does have teeth you just cannot see them. Shea said, "Oh because they're black". Madisen rolled her eyes and tried to explain that, "No, Elmo's teeth are NOT black they are white just like ours. You just can't see them because his mouth is so dark." (duh).

Um, does Elmo have teeth?

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Ever can't get to sleep because you have a case of the nose whistles? You try unsuccessfully to fall asleep, but can't because someone in the room won't stop whistling, then you find out the person is you?
No?

Uh, me either.

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Does Madisen really have to start Kindergarten?

Poultry Predjudiced

A rooster is a chicken. It is. The male kind. A hen is a chicken. The female kind. Both chickens; different names. So why is it then, that when Lovetricity asked me the other day:
"A rooster is a chicken, right? So does that mean we sometimes eat Rooster?"
My whole world turned upside down? Flowers are one thing, but I don't think a chicken by any other name will taste as sweet. Chik-fil-A definitely looks different to me now. Just because their cow's never say, "eat more rooster" does Not mean there are no roosters snuck between your buns, right? So many questions follow this discovery!Does the fact that I am repulsed by the idea of eating a male chicken, mean I don't care about the female one's? Are the female chicken's any less important than the males? Are others of you poultry-predjudice as I am?





Rooster Nuggets? Grilled Rooster Breast? Rooster Cordon Bleu? No thank you! I'm a Roostatarian.

My Name is Jodi and. . .

I am a killer. A straight up, in your face, serial killer. Just ask my yard. The stories it could tell. I've heard of the green thumb. I always thought it was a myth. Never really paid much attention. After looking at my brand-new-just- five-days-ago-flowers however, I've realized not only do I not have any green appendages, but my thumbs ARE awfully brown and crumbly. Crispy like. I was told in ninth grade that all those crinkly lines on my hands just meant I had an old soul. Nope. Markings of a killer.
I may have misplaced my camera, so I've brought in some stand in pictures, so you can feel the pain like I do.
5 short days ago, we dug up a new homey dirt haven to place some happy plants in. I could almost hear them singing. They looked like this:


Sadly, under the care of ME, they now resemble this:



and this:


Although, mine are less "dead is beautiful" and more, "crisp like desert"

It's not as if I set out to do this. It just happened. I know, likely story. But I can't help myself. I feel sad for them. It's almost like they're gazing across the street with longing, thinking about how the soil is probably richer on the other side of the fence/road. Can't say I blame them. Erin's flowers are tauntingly pretty. I have one last weapon however. This time in their favor. "I can overcome this!" I think to myself, so we've layed it on thick with the Miracle Grow!
Ahem.

(This was of course BEFORE we realized, Miracle Grow isn't SUPPOSED to be layed on thick)

sigh.

Wiggle Derby

Ever since I turned 27, I've really been coming into my own as a mature, responsible woman. I've started to see things in a clearer way, and have realized I need to have a plan in place for the future. Thankfully, I have some awesome friends who have helped me realize which way I need to go. They completely suprised me last night with a trip to Leatherby's. Which is, by golly, THE best ice cream place ever! And like any mature adult, Misty decided our night would best be spent, not by going home, but instead Wiggle Bike Racing! I have now found my niche! I am to be the worlds best wiggle bike racer! Darn it, I guess I'm going to have to practice lots and lots!
Oh, you've never ridden a Wiggle bike?
Baby, you haven't lived!
Our night just got started at 11:00 p.m. when we shoved the teenage make-out couple out of the way to start our races. Sonia "The Madam" Morgan was to start us off down the hill. There was a 90 degree turn halfway through, before we were soaring down the sidewalk at lightning speed. There were only a few crashes, but a gazillion screams. That poor couple, they had no idea what they were in for when they chose that park for "snuggling". We were just finishing up, when the Pops showed up to let us know wiggle time was over. I'm so bummed, because I didn't have my camera, but no worries! Just check out out Misty "Stay-at-home-Mom" Startup's blog(funny farm) And look for our team next year at the second annual Jodi's birthday slash Wiggle Derby!




scroll down (Funny Farm) to the last two pics to see our team:
In the top one left to right: Erin "goin' on green" Lundgreen, "Shakin' it" Sheri Vaughn, Jodi LaLa, "Stay-at-Home-Mom", and "A Penny for Your Jenny" Child's

Bottom Pic: Lia "Lovin' The Lighning" Goldsberry, The Madam, Goin on Green, Lala, and Penny for Your Jenny.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

Thanks so much to everyone who came, and I definately missed those who couldn't come, (ahem, Robyn, Jolene, Megan) it was a blast!

How About That?

It's my birthday and stuff. I'm livin it up loca style. So far I've gone to the nursery to buy flowers for my front yard, cleaned my house and took a nap. All that and it's only 4:52 p.m. If this is any indicator for how the rest of the day goes, then WOW! Lookout! Hot Spark is taking me out Saturday. Who wants to waste their birthday on a Thursday? I think my day has shown, I know how to party. Thankfully I'm not over the hill for a while. My Mom's generation went over the hill at 30, so they have been on the frowny side for a while. Nowaday's 40 is the new 30 so I still have about 13 whole years before I have to buy doilies. Anyway, I'm sure Andrew has something spectacular planned for this weekend. I'm sure because he has to. My birthday is 2 weeks before our anniversary. The very first birthday I had when we were married I told him:
"Our anniversary is coming up pretty quick, so if you want me to renew our marriage contract for another year, you should probably think really hard about what you are getting me for my birthday."

Still to this day he believes there is such thing as a marriage contract I get to renew based on his behaviour. It's kinda like grown up Santa Claus I suppose. If he does well, he gets to live with me for another year! Seriously, how did he get so lucky?! Yay for birthdays! I'm not like taking names or anything, but if you wanted to wish me an awesome HB there's only like seven hours left.

Campin' Stuff

We camped all week. It was fabulous!!! I love love love being dirty, grungy, and gross. Okay, the truth is I DO like camping I just don't like bugs. At all. It was very depressing to me to get bitten by a horsefly, and bring home a bazillion mosquito bites. (sad). It started out well though. We went down to Starvation Lake and started the trip off with a bang. The second we arrived we opened the car door and Shea stepped barefoot right into a cactus. Rockin'! I knew this was going to be awesome. The rest of the trip went really smoothly because I have an awesome extended family. Especially my cousin Callie's husband Charlie, who is super darn good looking, and didn't even ask me to write that into my blog. The sad thing is, I didn't take one stinkin' picture the whole trip. So you guys don't get to enjoy his beauty. If I had taken pictures I would put the picture of him here-------->
Also, if I had brought my camera, you would see cousin Travis shooting at bees with his pellet gun here------------>
You would see Lovetricity, hanging out on the rafts with the girls here-------->
My dog Kona diving under water for rocks here---------->
The Boy making a meal of dirt here-------->
And my natural good looks (even during a camping trip) first thing in the morning here------>
Isn't it almost like you were there? I bet you are jealous after these visuals aye? Since we've been home I've learned you can take the kids out of the camp, but not the camp out of the kids. We had an awesome meal at my Mom's house tonight. The Boy wouldn't eat a thing. He refused everything we gave him. After dinner, he stuck his nose up at the brownies we ate, ( uh, I mean Pete ate I would never eat those) but had no qualms about munching on a spoon full of ants. Go figure. It's all that camping. Turning him into a neanderthal. Well, no more news to report here, nope no more news NOBODY is having a birthday this week. No one. Not even me. If somebody WAS having a birthday this week it might be on Thursday. The 30th. That would mean there would only be 4 shopping days left. Hypothetically speaking of course. Peace Out!!

8oz Is For Wimps

Now that The Boy is one he's been eating a little more.






He's a growing boy, what can I do?

Kissing Cupcakes

Do you ever go to the grocery store hungry? No, right? Everyone knows that rule. If you go to the store hungry your food bill will go up and your waistline out. Not the best way to grow. I usually make it a rule to shop right after breakfast or lunch. However, since I wanted my children to eat today (I hate hate hate grocery shopping.. . it's been a while) I ended up arriving just before lunchtime. My tummy-growl check came back negative so I thought I could handle it. I was doing pretty good too, until I noticed I was making eyes at the Hostess. MMMMM, preservative chocolate cream cake. A quick self reprimand and I was back on track toward the milk. Only $1.50- Yay! When I hear a catcall, coming from behind me. I turned around determined to show the culprit I was definitely NOT appreciative( while internally noting that I've still got it) when I realized it was just the french bread, assaulting me with it's fresh, hot, scent. Now I'm feeling a bit dizzy and decide to get out before I end up embarrassing myself by proposing to the pastries. (love them) I feel pretty good now. I went in planning on spending about $20 and only spent about $50. That sounds pretty bad until I tell you everything I bought was on the list; I'm just really bad at cost predictions. Well, everything except the take-and-bake pizza that snuck into my cart who knows how? But I can justify that. Really. Just ask my friend Misty ("Funny Farm" blog). I can have pizza for lunch, because I didn't eat breakfast, and I'm going to run tonight. And it was take-n-bake which is probably less greasy and fatty than delivery. And, I mowed my lawn.
See? Learned my lesson.



Mmmm, cake.

Flack Attack

I've been getting a lot of flack lately. A few people in my family have been flackin' about how I haven't blogged lately. So, because I haven't blogged all summer, You're about to get a whopper about how I've spent my summer vacation. Ready? No? Fine.

So I just took my facebook fortune this morning. "If you want the rainbow, you must put up with the rain."
I don't understand this. Why put up with depressing rain? Rain is not fun. It's soppy. Haven't you heard that famous quote:
"Life is about waiting for the storm to pass, not about dancing in the rain." And famous quotes are usually right. Besides I don't have the time to deal with soppy, I'm a busy person. Yesterday, I went to church, then took a nap, then watched t.v. with Pete, then went to dinner at his parents. Super busy.

So the point of this story is I did a redo. Remember being little, and when you didn't win a game or race, you would pout and shout RE-DO? It still works.
My new fortune:
"You are Talented in many ways".

Much better.
Thank you.




p.s. For those of you who have flacked: Yes I will blog about Jared coming home, and Jack's 1st birthday. He's 1 Hurray!

To Kill A Spider

Directions for disposal of Arachnid-Hairius-Scarius-Maximus:

Step 1: Spot big scary hairy offender perched creepily on daughters sandal
Step 2: Squeal quietly so as not to alert children Give a full body shake to get rid of eeby-jeeby's
Step 3: Throw shoes mate from across the room in hopes it will land directly on spider sending him to a miserable squishy death.
Step 4: Say bad word.
Step 5: Grab vacuum. Place all attachments onto vacuum hose to make it as long as possible. Stand across room reaching with what you wish were"go-go-gadget" arms.
Step 6: Touch spider with tip and squeal a little as it walks away casually to underside of shoe.
Step 7: Say bad word. Take a deep breather and a little eeby-jeeby shake.Briefly consider asking daughter to come squish spider for you. Put on determined face. Step back in to battle.
Step 8: Holding breath, point inadequately short hose toward spider. Commit to not thinking about 8 disturbing legs. Place hose over offensive spider and watch his legs start to lift upward. Watch spider disappear into dark tunnel of death.
Step 9: Quickly drop hose before the dead spider thud hits. Jeeby shake, jump, and dance. Squeal loudly. Leave vacuum running considerably longer than necessary in case dead spider has any thoughts of haunting sequel.
Step 10: Run out of room to call husband and tell about brave war against arachnid. Embellish a little. Leave vacuum for husband to clean up.

Thriving On Awkward

We have people coming to replace carpet in our Master bedroom and basement today. I'm very excited. But I gotta say, I HATE having people come over to work on our house. I always feel so weird about it. I never know if I should hang out with them, or if I should stay away, and leave them alone. I don't want to be rude and ignore them, but I don't want to be crazy and look over their shoulders. Pete says I just over-think it too much. And as I was over-thinking his comment, I had an epiphany. You know how some people thrive on the drama? I think I thrive on the awkward! All this time I thought I was shy, but I think I just get a weird rush with making things awkward. I get butterflies when I go up and talk to Strangeworkerguy, and then stand around in silence because I can't think of what to say. "So, you come here often?" just doesn't seem to fit right. As it was all coming together, I decided that now I need to choose where I go from here. Knowing is only the pre-step. Then there's admitting that I T.O.A thrive on the awkward. Then you have to take action. Overcoming the problem seems like it will take too much work, so I've decided to embrace it. I'm not alone either. Here are examples of other's who T.O.A.





Oh, Rock, you silly guy!



Just because you're two headed, doesn't mean you can't be awkward.


And last but not least. Two washed up bad guys T.O.A.ing




Do you T.O.A?

Happy Birthday Mom!!!

Today is my mom's birthday. It's super special because this time she's turning a whole year older. Not like a few years ago when we all celebrated her 48th birthday. We had cards, "happy 48th!" cake "happy 48th" and balloons "happy 48th". She went an entire year before realizing ( just before her "49th" birthday) that after doing the math she really was in fact only 47. She got to turn 48 twice. Not a lot of people have that chance. Anyway, today she did decide to turn 50. She marched right on up over that hill like it was nobody's business. I think she's kind of depressed about it. I don't know why. I told her 50 is not nearly as ancient as the 60 that's coming up here pretty quick, but for whatever reason that didn't make her feel better. So I was hoping, that if you read this, whether you know her or not, you could wish my mom, Rita, a happy birthday. Maybe then, she would be happy. And put me back in the will


Happy Birthday Mom! I love you!!!!!

20 Cents Addicted

Today I did something I thought I would never do. I was on the way home from my girl's dance class and remembered I didn't have any diet coke at home. The thought of walking in to a store with three greedy children didn't sound very tempting, so I decided to go out of my way to stop at Chick-fil-A to get a Coke Zero. For those of you who are unaware they have to-die-for Coke Zero!
Out of my way? That's right. But not the worst part. I pulled up to the speaker and gave my order of a medium Coke Zero.
"Would you like to make it a large for only 20 cents more?" What? Of course not! Have you seen the SIZES of large drinks lately? Bigger than my head. I thought about all that caffeine I would be draining into my veins, and how the carbonation is awful for my running and I was grossed out at even the thought. I would rather not be 20 cents closer to addiction (because I am not addicted, by the way). Then I thought about all the stuff I was going to be busy with for the rest of the day.



"Yes please" I heard myself say.

I am ashamed. I supersized. I supersized myself right into addiction. It's time to face the bubbly-syrupy-aspartame music.

My name is Jodi, and I 20 centsed myself into addiction.

bigger than my HEAD for cryin' out loud! eek!

Right on the Head

I love how kids see the world. Madisen is trying to describe to me somebody so I can tell her the person's name, but I can't figure out who she is talking about. So all of you people who have:

"had dinner with us a lot of times, but maybe like two times, and have a dog, and look like you have an oval head, but actually have a circle head,"

Will you please contact me so I can ask Madisen if it's you whom she is speaking of?

Thank you.

Learning To Skate

Roller Skates?:



Check.



Strawberry Shortcake Knee Pads and Dora Elbow pads?:


Check.



Check.



Pretty Dress and Princess Tiara?




Check.
Now She's Ready.

Up the Crick Without T.V.

From Comcast news today:

Television stations across the U.S. cut their analog signals today, likely stranding more than 1 million unprepared homes without TV service.

Stranded. They are just up the crick without a paddle. How will this turn out? What WILL all those 1 million people do? Can you imagine having NO T.V.? You might end up actually (eek!) talking to some friends. Or reading. It's such a good thing Comcast is keeping us updated. This is quite serious after all. I would love to see how it all turns out. It's like nobody saw it coming. There's nothing like a spontaneous disaster hitting so suddenly, a year and a half after everyone warned you it would. Yikes. Hope someone show's mercy and throws them a life line.

(or maybe a book.)

So we're clear: overuse of the internet is completely validated.

The Cereal Battle

Does anybody else struggle in the cereal isle? I HATE the cereal isle. It's a battleground for my inner self. Do I buy the good healthy cereal that my children won't eat, but I can pat myself on the back for being such a good parent? Or do I buy the sugar loaded junk that my kids will eat, but makes me feel like I'm world's worst parent? Ugh! Last night I ended up with chocalate mini wheats, and some rice crispies. I justified the Chocoloate Mini Wheats by telling myself at least they were full of fiber. The crispies are lose-lose. No health and no sugar. It seemed a good compromise. Nobody wins. I spent 10 whole minutes looking like an idiot going up and down back and forth the dang isle over this decision the other night. WHY? I have no idea. It's cereal for crying out loud! Tell me I'm not alone please??
What do you guys do?

I Heart Pepsi (and Pete)

This is why I love my husband:

I was very busy sitting here on the computer as Pete was watching the NBA finals next to me. Suddenly the urge for a diet pepsi was overwhelming, so I turned to him and frantically yelled
"quick! Go get me a pepsi!" He looked intense, this seemed like a challenge. (if you make it seem like a challenge ladies, they are all over it) He jumps up and runs to the fridge, as I'm yelling
Hurry! Hurry up!, Quick!" His socks slid across the kitchen floor,and he gains his footing just in time to grab the fridge handle.
"Quick, I need it!"
He grabs the pepsi, and fly's over the couch arm to land halfway on the cushions, and pass the pepsi off to me before he overcorrects his spin and plunges to the hardwood floor. Don't worry, the pepsi wasn't shaken.
Boys are so simple. Do you remember when your older siblings could get you to do anything if they said "I'll time ya?" No? Uh, me either.
Same concept folks.
Excuse me now, I have a Pepsi to drink.

I spent 3 hrs today chasing The Boy around a dress rehearsal for the girl's dance. This was after 2 hours at the zoo. What a rough life I have wouldn't you say? I was talking to one of the other Mom's and she asked if my poor husband was at home fending for himself for dinner.
um. . . yes.
Because apparently she had left a note with her husband describing where everything that he needed for his dinner was. You know, the precooked bacon she had made at 2:00 this afternoon, and all the other ingredients for his BLT. She also took the time to lay out everything that her other daughter would need for dinner.

Hmm. . . I probably should have done this.
I thought of my husband coming home to his bagel and Pepsi and felt really bad. What made it worse was that she seemed to think this was a rare occasion for us too. Like the husband being un-dinnered was just a fluke.
"Ah, poor guy, just BLT's tonight" she had said.
"left him a note" she had said.
I cleared my throat a little. She was waiting for me to say something. I could have told her Pete would have been thrilled with BLT's. Or even a homemade sandwich. But, I made a new friend and I think that is MUCH more important than telling the truth.

I feel like "ohmygosh, I know" was an awesome reply and wasn't even a fib, it was an un-lie.

Un-Lie: verb
fibbing by interpretation

By the way, for those of you who want to know the end of this story, He did get dinner when I got home. Pizza is in the food groups. Right between fruit and diet coke.

BLT's and the Un-Lie

I spent 3 hrs today chasing Jack around a dance dress rehearsal. This was after 2 hours at the zoo. What a rough life I have wouldn't you say? I was talking to one of the other Mom's and she asked if my poor husband was at home fending for himself for dinner.
um. . . yes.
Because apparently she had left a note with her husband describing where everything that he needed for his dinner was. You know, the precooked bacon she had made at 2:00 this afternoon, and all the other ingredients for his BLT. She also took the time to lay out everything that her other daughter would need for dinner.

Hmm. . . I probably should have done this.
I thought of my husband coming home to his bagel and Pepsi and felt really bad. What made it worse was that she seemed to think this was a rare occasion for us too. Like the husband being un-dinnered was just a fluke.
"Ah, poor guy, just BLT's tonight" she had said.
"left him a note" she had said.
I cleared my throat a little. She was waiting for me to say something. I could have told her Andrew would have been thrilled with BLT's. Or even a homemade sandwich. But, I made a new friend and I think that is MUCH more important than telling the truth.

I feel like "ohmygosh, I know" was an awesome reply and wasn't even a fib, it was an un-lie.

Un-Lie: verb
fibbing by interpretation

By the way, for those of you who want to know the end of this story, He did get dinner when I got home. Pizza is in the food groups. Right between fruit and diet coke.

Point for me!

I know you're not supposed to revel in other people making fool's of themselve's.

But

I was very very much the reveler today when I watched someone else search for their keys when they were in their own hand. I didn't even tell her because I wanted to see how long it would take for her to find them.

Does that make me mean?

Ahhhhh. I felt pretty triumphant because at that moment I knew exactly where my keys were. They were in the diaper bag by my feet.
Or in my back pocket.
Or my purse.



Point for JODI!!

Blips

I have lots of blog thoughts. . . but not ones that I could drag into a big blog. Here they are in random order:

***********************
The gay rights debate is huge in CA right now. I was watching the news today and really and truly heard this come from an activists mouth: "I just can't believe that in the state of California, the majority can override the minorities rights."
????????
I don't even know how to explain that one to him. Where do you start?
************************
Andrew was complaining today about how he couldn't find MY key's this morning. I suggested he probably barely looked. That he probably only checked the dumb places like the Key hook, and my purse. He said that was true. How am I to train him?? After a huge eye roll from me (boys can be so ridiculous) he did admit that he hadn't yet checked the sugar bowl OR the refrigerator. He would get right on that when we got home.
We found them inside his shoes. (thank you Shea)
***************************
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in The Boy's world. It must be a much more tasty place. I have never, as of yet, walked into church and wanted to give the pews a good lick. FYI, judging by his face, They don't taste very good.

There you have it folks! The end and stuff.

Class of 2009

Madisen Graduated last night. It's like one day they're babies and the next you're sending them out into the real world. She's so grown up. I just hope she knows what she's going to do with her life. I'm encouraging her to put a plan in place. I would hate to see her hard earned diploma go to waste. Kindergarten is a rough place. You gotta be one step ahead of the booger eating bullies or you may just get sucked into their game. I know their game. "knuckle sandwich" isn't as tasty as it sounds. I may have been a nerdy kid, but like my Mom always told me I'm not as dumb as I look. I'm not too worried about Madisen though. I think she has a pretty good head on her shoulders.
She's pretty confident she does too.
So anyway, without further ado, here is Mother Goose Time graduating preschool student of 2009:


Doesn't she look so studious?


Miss Charri with some of Madisen's favorite preschool buddies


She couldn't wear the hat because it clashed with her pretty bow. You understand. I must say I love Ainsley's model pose and Kayden's tongue hanging out. :) So cute.

Beat By a Sheet

Did you know there are several videos on youtube on how to fold a fitted sheet?




It's a beautiful thing.

But

I still don't get it, and I watched the video 5 times. I don't understand because last year I took several youtube tennis lessons and now I'm pretty much an expert in tennis. This is so frustrating and I take it as a blow to my domestic-divaness. It's personal. I MUST learn to fold the fitted sheet. Not just because of the divaness, but because if I don't, what will I brag about to my neighbors?

My Morning

Any guesses as to what this is? "The Culprit" thought it was pretty fun.
Mom did not:



I went straight to the shower to clean "The Culprit" and repremand myself for leaving this within little hand reach, when someone thought she would be helpful:




She Was:



I might be upset about the mess if it weren't for "The Culprit" being so darn full of remorse:







Doesn't he look so darn innocent?