Resties

January 20, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

The kids and I are pathetic.

My fever went down yesterday, so LIKE A DANG FOOL I got up and slowly cleaned.  I thought the whole “slowly” thing justified it.

“I am taking it easy,” I told myself, “By doing it slowly.”  And then I thought how nice it would be for my husband -who has been running himself ragged trying to take care of us and work -to come home to some corn chowder, one of his favorite dishes.

I even took plenty of time to lie down between picking-up jobs and dish washings.

Right before the chowder finished cooking, my fever returned and I had to run to the bathroom for the first of what turned out to be three terrible bloody noses.  Okay, did I phrase that right?  It makes it sound like I have three noses.

Anyway, last night turned out to be really bad.  The poor kids’ bodies have HAD it, and though mine has too, I hate that I can’t get up and get back to life as I know it.  But I know if I don’t take it easy today, I’ll have another night like last night and I really think I’d rather slit my wrists and do a handstand in saltwater at this point.

BUT during the times that I actually did rest yesterday, I was able to snap a few pictures that I wanted to share.  The first is of my legs.  Have I ever told you how much I hate them?  Well, I USED to.  They were the bane of my existence.  They were awkward and long, and I was just sure that my life would never achieve it’s true measure of happiness until someone came along with a miracle medical procedure that would shave off a good 5 inches from both sides.

I blamed them for my utter lack of grace.

I blamed my utter lack of grace for my lack of popularity.

I blamed my lack of popularity on my acne.

I blamed my acne for never having any boys interested in me.

So really, my legs were at the root of all these rather radical evils.  Somewhere between living with a roommate with long legs like mine and being six years into marriage, I quit worrying about my legs.

I stopped hating them.

Remarkably, I made more friends, experienced significantly less acne problems, developed a serious relationship with a seriously hot boy (I thought he was a man until I looked at those pictures we developed a couple weeks ago.  Shoot, he was just a kid!), and became magnificently graceful!

Okay, that last one was a lie wishful thinking.

Yesterday as my son slept on the floor next to the couch, I had to snap a picture.  This angle isn’t the best to see it, but my son is SO tiny!  He has the littlest bones and the tiniest frame.  The best part about his body is his big rolly-polly head.  I love to watch him walk around.  I’ve got my very own LIVE little bobble-head.Photobucket
As I sat and watching him sleep, I looked over his thin little body and I couldn’t help but think of “My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding” when Toula’s aunt pinched someone’s (can’t remember whose) collar bone and says, “I could snap you like a chicken!”

I love my little guy. I love that he is sleeping less (though he is sleeping now) and I love that he woke up throwing punches about thirty minutes ago. Must’ve been SOME dream.
While he took the nap you see in the picture above, Lacy crawled on my lap. I let her, and we watched a movie together. Soon enough I looked down and noticed something.
My legs.
Guess what? I LOVE them! I LOVE my legs. I love my long, covered-in-black-hair-but-glaringly-white-underneath LEGS! They’re still long. They’re still awkward. But guess what else they are?Photobucket
Best dang recliner on the block, by jingo!Photobucket
They aren’t sexy, but they’re able.
Hm.
That sentence might just be the theme for my entire body. I’ll have a shirt made, shall I? Have those words emblazoned across the chest?Photobucket

The last picture I have to share with you is revealing. I’m not talking about my chest anymore, so don’t get any ideas.
I’m talking about my housekeeping.
Keep in mind, I’ve been playing nurse since Jan.1, breaking only to be sick myself.
Yes, my tree is still up. I haven’t had a second to take it down, and that’s the gospel truth. But look past that, if you can, to see my daughter with my lap apron tied across her chest. She’s washing the windows with a baby wipe.
They’re so “clean” now!Photobucket
Doesn’t that picture make you happy?

Well, SOMEONE has got to pick up the slack since mom’s literally fallen down on the job -might as well be Lace.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband ·

Conversations

January 18, 2011 by · 3 Comments

My daughter is a source of true joy in my life.  She’s has certain independence about her that I just LOVE.  Through dating her Daddy, I learned something remarkable about him: when someone told him not to do something, it piqued his interest rather than put him on guard.

He passed that trait directly on to his daughter.

“Sweetie, don’t spill that.” Automatically makes her think, “but WHY?” and she proceeds to spill.  She knows what she’s doing is naughty, but she does it anyway on account of insatiable curiosity and a small degree of stubborness.

The great side-effect of this trait is that she believes she can do anything.  Anything at all.  And I’ll TAKE that, by jingo!  I love watching her make her way through life perfectly content on believing that there isn’t anything she can’t do.  She’s got confidence in spades.

I’ve been trying to remember to record my latest favorite of her conversational cuteness.  It’s “up yer…”

As in, “Mom, get my crayons.  They’re up yer closet.”

“Mom, can you see my fishy?  She’s up my dresser.”

It sounds so rude when she says it, and her innocent tone makes it all the more funny.

The other thing she likes to do is use “very” in the place of “really.”

As in, “Mom, I very love you.”  It actually does sound sweeter than “I really love you.”

Right now, though, she’s sick.  She feels better today than she did yesterday, and I’m grateful for that.  The worst part about really sick kids (aside from the constant worry, of course) is the way you seem to “lose” your child’s personality.  I sometimes have to keep from tapping on their head and asking, “Are you still in there?”  They always come back, though.  After about three doses of medicine and a few days of mostly sleeping, they always come back.

Last night, she called for me from her bedroom.  I was on the couch on account of my OWN sickness.  I walked in, and she said, “Mom, I just need a hug.”  I crawled under her thick blanket with her and loved on her.  I asked her if she wanted medicine, and she said that she did.   I explained to her what a Priesthood Blessing was (she’s had one before, but little minds sometimes forget) and asked her if she wanted one.

“Jesus,” I said, pointing to the picture on her wall, “Doesn’t want you to be sick.  It makes him so sad because he loves you so much.”  I softly stroked her cheeks that had turned red on account of her very high fever.

“Jesus wants to help make you all better, but he’s in Heaven right now.  He lives in Heaven, but He can help through the Priesthood that Daddy has.  If you let Daddy give you a blessing, Jesus can help make you all better.”  I then asked her if she would want a blessing.

“Yes,” she said, hoarsely.

“Okay, ” I said, “Daddy is going to give it to you because Jesus lives in…” I paused to let her finish the sentence.

“Church,” she croaked out.  I giggled.  Giggling makes me cough, but I couldn’t help it.  Just then, a truck pulled into our driveway and it just happened to be PAPA who lives about 4 hours away!  We couldn’t believe it!  He came at just the right time.  After her Daddy and Papa gave her a blessing, she took a little bit of medicine and went to bed.  She woke up several times during the night.  I was able to help her once, but that was it.  After helping her only once, I literally stumbled back to the couch and sank into it, nevermore to rise.

Sunday night, I had started to run a slight fever.  I knew what was coming, so I used what strength I still had to take care of my sick daughter.  She’d had to miss out on her own birthday shin-dig of cake and ice cream and Great-Grandma’s house on account of her running a temperature.

“Sweetie,” I said, holding her in my arms and looking down into her red, watery eyes, “I’m SO sorry you’re sick!  I just want to take care of you.  I bet Grandpa would be SO SAD to hear that his Lacy was sick.  I bet if he came over, he would read a book to you.  Can I read a book to you?”

“Yeah, you can just read Jim’s book that he gived to me.” She said.  Before I could even ask what book that was or where it was, she added, “It’s under the counter about the kitchen.”

Sure enough, under the kitchen counter there was one book.  I took it into her room, sat on her bed, and started reading to her.  Between page turns, she would ask me questions that had nothing WHATSOEVER to do with the book.

“Bryce is mean to me,” she would say.

“How is he mean?” I would asked.

“He just CRUNCHED my fishy cracker,” she thrust one finger held up high in my face, “Just ONE fishy cracker.  Not ALL of them,” she opened her palm, wiggling all five fingers, and then quickly tucked them all under except one, “Just ONE.”

“What did you say to him?” I asked, holding back a laugh.

“I just telled him to STOP IT,” she said, “And he did.  But sometimes he hits me.”

“He hits you?” I asked, suddenly not even THINKING about laughing.

“Yeah, and he just gets in very trouvle. And they tell him, ‘stand in the corner, fold your arms,’ and he does but he still tries to KICK like this,” she said, flailing her little legs under the thick blanket, “He is mean to me,” she repeated, “And mean to all of us at Primary.”

“And he gets in trouble from the teachers?” I asked.

“Yep!”

“Who are your teachers?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“I dunno!” She shrugged, “I just know that Jesus loves me and even Bryce and you and Daddy and Trenton and EVERYONE!”

“That’s right,” I replied, smiling.

“Mom, what is service?” She asked.  I went on to take full advantage of the “teaching” moment and talked to her about service and why we do it and what kinds of services she can do at her age. I was so excited to have a little discussion with her, and got so wrapped up in it that she took me by surprise when she interrupted me.

“Mom,” she said, “Just read my book to me.”

I couldn’t help but all out laugh out loud.  Every time she woke up last night, she was still burning up with fever, but she popped out of bed this morning, ran into the living room where I was still in a half-dazed Nyquill induced coma and said, “MOM!  LOOK at the SKY!  It is SO BEAUTIFUL.  It’s PINK!” I reached up to find her fever 100% gone.

She crawled on top of me and cracked the curtain open, forcing me to see the goodness of morning.  The trick today will be getting her to REST her little body so the fever doesn’t come back full-force like it did with her brother.

After croup, pink eye, and this obstinate and terrible cold dovetailing each other, I’m MORE than ready for spring.  Who’s with me?!

Filed Under: The Girl ·

Plagued and Blessed but Not Blessed by Plague

January 12, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

A few weeks ago, I dropped Lacy off at preschool and remarked to my aunt (who was teaching) that my son had croup.

“We haven’t been sick for a long time,” I knocked on wood, “So I guess it’s our turn.”

I had no idea the ill forces of germs swirling around me heard what I said.

“You turn?  Your turn?” They buzzed around me, clinging to my jeans and hovering over my lips.

The croup came and went.  Then it was the colds.  Then it was pink eye.  Before Lacy’s was gone, Trent had it.  Before Trent’s was gone, Lacy started coughing.

She’s still coughing.

His eye is still showing signs of The Pink Death.

And last night, in the middle of our mad dash to the city to spontaneously catch a late-night showing of “Tangled,” my dear boy started heating up.  Smack dab in the middle of the action that literally had his sister on the EDGE of her seat, he clawed his way to my chest and fell fast asleep.Photobucket

Last night, he refused his bed and asked in a very worn, small voice for “Mama…”  That voice, it turns out, has the ability to melt me completely and quickly.

Yes, son I’ll hold you.

Yes, son I’ll give you $20.

Yes, son here’s the keys to the car.

Yes, son you can live with me forever.

We had a blast at the movies.  We haven’t set foot outside in days, and it was great to really escape for just a few hours.  The fortunate thing about having my husband as my husband is that he loves his family sososo much.  Like… he does whatever he can to take care of us but still insists on spending tons of time with us.  How he manages it is beyond me.

We took a mad dash to the city on Saturday to take care of our BIG shopping trip.  I hired out one of my piano students to watch the kids from 10 am to 6 pm.  We shopped bulk.  We shopped Wal-Mart.  We shopped Target.  We shopped Claire’s (on account of the birthday girl).  Our pocketbook did not escape unscathed.  So when my husband balanced his checkbook to see how much dough was left over to see IF we could make it to the movies… he drew a dire conclusion: nope.  No movie for the birthday girl.

There’s a local theater, and we thought we’d just take her there.  I looked them up online for movie times and prices, and they weren’t open yesterday.  I texted the news to my husband who instantly texted back that WE WOULD FIND A WAY.  I found a missing check for $30.  He counted the change in his change jar.  We all rejoiced and made the trek to the late night showing on what little we had.Photobucket
(dad bought the kids little kiddie snack combos with his quarters. What a man.)
And you know what?  It was 233449% WORTH IT.  It makes facing yet another day of sickness and cancelling practically everything I’m supposed to attend to doable.Photobucket

Family has a way of doing that to you.

And by “that” I mean sharing sickness.

By “that” I mean making you laugh so hard you cough your lungs into your throat.

By “that” I mean bolstering your spirits when you haven’t had a hint of sunlight in weeks and are starting to show signs of Cullen.

By “that” I mean loving you enough to put two feet under you when you can’t put them there for yourself.

As we were getting ready to leave the theater, my daughter thanked me for “her movie” and then went on to say, “I will just keep my mom and dad and when we wake up in the morning time, we will come to flag and it will be my birthday and I will be FIVE!”

She has NO IDEA how true that is.  It feels like she was born yesterday.  Surely she’ll be at least FIVE tomorrow, if not 15.Photobucket

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband ·

Birthday Girl!

January 11, 2011 by · 3 Comments

I just logged onto my old blog -the private one.  I was looking for pictures from my daughter’s past birthdays.  I finally bagged the idea.  I HAD to.  I wasn’t finding any pictures because I was too busy laughing too hard.  That blog was hilarious!  What’s happened to my writing?

My husband and I have have been huddled next to the lap top for the past hour reading, reading, reading.  And laughing, laughing, laughing.  There was the one post I wrote about how I think about death and he thinks about phone upgrades -I longed to be normal like him.  There was the one post where I tried to make birthday invites for my daughter and ended up losing my mind.  I called my husband crying and he laughed at me. He told me it was no big deal that I invited everyone to have cake at Lacy’s Grandma and GRADPA’s house.  That’s right.  I forgot the “N” in gradpa.  I cried.  I literally cried.  But that’s only because my daughter had knocked over a display of batteries, chewed up a box of crayons (which I then had to buy), opened a carton of yogurt, gotten snot on my scarf, dropped her bottle repeatedly in an effort to get yet more attention, and leaned up against the cart in order to SCREAM as loudly as she could.

Makes me want to cry all over again just reading about it.

I didn’t make invites this year.  In fact, I didn’t even plan a party.  She doesn’t care.

My external hard drive has come to the rescue of this post.  I wanted to post 5 pictures -one for every birthday (including the original birth day).  I’m doing this for my sake.  I honestly don’t BELIEVE it’s been four years.  I’m going to prove it to myself.


So that was yesterday, right? RIGHT?!
No. I know.
Because aside from being at her actual birth day, I threw her a party a year later.
She HATED that bow on her head. Seconds after I snapped that picture, she yanked it off her head and threw it down with all the vehemence a one yearling could muster. And I laughed. Any good mother would do likewise.
Her second birthday:

We gave her a small wooden rocking chair that he father promised to sand and stain… Ask him about that next time you see him, won’tcha?
We also gave her an art easel. DON’T ask me about that. Ever.
Third Birthday:

These pictures aren’t having a good effect on me. Can someone hand me a paper bag to breathe in?
Here she is first thing this morning. She’s wearing her birthday princess ribbon and sporting a headband/crown/veil/everything a princess could EVER ask for in headgear.

We just finished decorating her cake. You should see my kitchen. She asked for a square rainbow cake. I’ll make sure she gets it on Sunday when we gather the family together to have cake and eat it too. In the meantime, I thought she’d appreciate making her own cake. She (im)patiently sat on the counter and helped me mix everything up. Can I brag for a sentence?
My daughter is a queen egg-cracker.
No shells! No breaking-of-yolk!
Okay, that was three sentences but I couldn’t help it. My buttons are popping.
A rainbow and clouds -as IF you even needed to ask. Since I snapped that picture, she’s added grass. And her name. And an unfortunate little cake-snowman.
While she decorated, her brother grabbed some of my carrots and made something all his own. You think MY buttons were popping? You should have seen his!
“I MADE IT, MAMA!” He practically screamed at me, hopping up and down.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to log off. My house is strewn with carrots and I’ve got to scrounge around for some pride. I lost it all this morning when my four year old spanked me at Candyland. Thrice.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl ·

Midnight Brain

January 10, 2011 by · 1 Comment

My latest dreams.

I’m accustomed to having whacked-out dreams, but I’m starting to wonder at myself.  My dreams have always been weird, yes.  But the past few nights, they have been weirdly VIVID.  I can FEEL them.  When I wake up, I’m not here.  I’m still in Dreamland, and it takes me a few awkward minutes to adjust.

For example, a few nights ago I lost a beauty pageant.  I knew I was going to lose the minute I saw my competitors.  They were all married to wealthy rock stars.

I mean, you JUST can’t win. I sat in my seat (which happened to be on the steps of a grassy outdoor Colosseum-ish courtyard) and devised a plan to win the next year’s competition.
Pshhhhhhhhhhh. Right.

Beauty pageant? Me? Beauty has never been my gift. I’ve made a habit out of paying other women who are good at the whole “beauty” thing to work their magic on me.
“Eyebrows… there should be two!”

Anyway, last night I dreamed of encouraging one of guys I graduated with to propose to the woman he loved. Not only propose, mind you, but to TAKE HER HOME to meet his family.
“That will win her over,” I said, “There’s no way she’ll refuse after meeting your mother.”
What the HECK kind of advice is that? And what woman wouldn’t go running? Besides, it isn’t the mother she would be marrying. In my dream, he agreed and went with it. I was 100% sure the plan would work and went home satisfied. Where was home? A mansion. Not a modern mansion… an old-fashioned, charming-by-day-but-creepy-by-night mansion. I climbed three flights of stairs to the nursery where my children were playing.
The nursery was rather small, considering the size of the house it was in, but it was really practical. There were cupboards galore and a counter that surrounded the entire room. The best part? The sink. There was also a microwave and a fridge. I tried giving my kids, who were running around my feet, snacks but all of the snacks were expired. EVEN the marshmallows. I gave up on the that and spent the rest of my dream trying to clean up.
Incidentally, I made no progress.  It didn’t deter me, and I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned but every time I turned around there was another mess.

That dream was most vivid of all. And though I’ve been awake for two hours, I’m still trying to pry myself out of Dreamland. It’s not working out well today, see… because I woke up and continued what I had been doing in my dream. At present the children are running around my feet and I’m trying to clean up.
I’m making no progress.
All I’m missing is the mansion.

Filed Under: The Boy, The Girl ·

Babies, It’s Cold Outside

December 30, 2010 by · Leave a Comment

This morning, my daughter pounced on me in bed.
“It’s SNOWING!” she cried out, “Come see! Come see!” I hadn’t put my glasses on yet and was blind as a bat, but I could at least see sunlight streaming through my bedroom window. I seriously doubted that it was snowing, but I (eventually) got up anyway. My daughter was perched on her bed, holding her bedroom curtain open.
“SNOW MAMA!” She said. By this time, she had woken her little brother up and shared the glad tidings with him.
“..’NOW!” He echoed her. My daughter was beside herself, hopping and wiggling.
“I just needa get my shoes and pants and coat on to go outside!” She said.
“Yeah,” I said, “Go ahead and do that.” In the meantime, I wandered back into my bedroom to give my husband a good morning kissing and thank him for sharing his cold with me.
I hadn’t so much as kissed her father as she showed up in my bedroom.
One look at her and I couldn’t help but say “HONEY!” Instant fear was evident in her face. She thought that she was in trouble.
“Babe,” I called to my husband who had started to walk away, “Come see your daughter.” She prepped herself for a good talking to. I watched her shoulders fall and her gaze shift to the floor. He came around the corner and laughed.
Her shoulders perked back up.
Her eyes lit up as a grin spread across her face…

She was wearing the most ridiculously adorably outfit. Pink slipper boots with two poms poms attached to each, pink and white sweat pants, a brown shirt (inside out, of course), her red dress coat, and an old crochet hat I had made two years ago.
I was still in my PJs, I hadn’t expected her to get dressed so fast. She ran out of my bedroom and was outside before I could tell her to slow down. Her brother came in the room and asked me to zip up his coat. The minute I was through, he followed his sister outside. I hurried and changed to get outside with them as quickly as possible. Just as I swung open the front door to walk outside, my daughter was walking back inside.
“Come on,” she said to her brother, “Let’s go inside.”
“Wait, wait!” I was confused, “WHY do you want to go inside? You JUST got out here!”
“It’s TOO COLD, MAMA!” She said. I asked her to please take a few steps out onto the snow with her brother. Just long enough to…

Arizona kids don’t take to kindly to snow.
Hot cocoa, anyone?

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband ·

The Polar Express

December 29, 2010 by · Leave a Comment

When my Dad had five of his six kids, he decided to take us on the Grand Canyon Railway.  When my Dad had six of his six kids and two of them were married, he decided to take us on the Grand Canyon Railway.

When my Dad had six of his six kids and three of them were married and producing grandchildren, he decided to take us on the Grand Canyon Railway’s Polar Express.

My husband had to take a lat minute trip (seven hours round trip) for work, and we were afraid he’d miss the train. But he made it because he’s the CHAMP of all CHAMPS.
Outside the train depot they had horse-drawn buggies.

They were pulled by clysdales. The kids weren’t too impressed. After all, it wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before.
(Thanks to Grandpa for the ride and thanks to Steve for the picture.)

The old-fashioned train we rose on had seat that you could switch to face each other. I had a heck of time annoying my family to get two seats facing each other for our little family of four to sit in when what turned out happening was my children sat with us for all of two seconds before giving us faces like this:
And begging for Grandpa.
Our family of four soon turned into a family of three.
And, shortly thereafter… two. My husband and I had two seats to ourselves and my parents ended up with one seat for four.
As the train went to the North Pole, “chefs” came around and handed out cookies and hot cocoa “made by Mrs. Clause.” After we had eaten our cookie and finished off our cocoa, they played a reading of “The Polar Express” over the train intercom and the “Chefs” walked around showing us the illustrations in the book.
They had real chef clothes and everything.

Soon after the reading was over, we arrived at The North Pole. We didn’t get out, mind you. We were instructed to stay on the train and simply look out the window.
And what did we see?
Lights! Lights! Thousands of lights! And little workshops! And then…

SANTA!
I couldn’t get a picture because the flash would reflect off the train window. But he was there, and I surely believed he would be.
I must also mention to the non-believers that Santa was -in real fact -a real man standing out there in the cold. I think my husband should share the “champ” title with him.
Just as we passed the North Pole,the train stopped and started backing up. The kids were thrilled to be able to see Santa once again.

“Santa? Where are you?” My son asked. But as we passed back by, he was GONE. My son didn’t give up looking for him and only looked away from the window to give us this face:o
And ask, “Where’s Santa?”
After a few agonizing minutes, a “chef” got on the intercom and announced that Santa was on the train! The downside? We had to sing until he got there. The worst part? If you didn’t sing, they made you take the microphone and sing in front of everyone on Train Compartment “I”. The entire lot of us help up our little paper songbooks and dutifully sang (or lip synced) as the Song Nazi Chef made her rounds, pulling up obstinate train-riders who refused to sing and sending them to the front of the group.
I guess we finally sang loud enough because…
BECAUSE…

He CAME! Santa came onto the train! He stopped to visit with every single child and give them a very special gift.

“Don’t ever lose it,” he told them, “It’s very special.”

And here’s a picture thrown in for a good laugh…
After Santa left, the train soon came to a stop back at the depot. We all climbed off the train and grouped together in front of a painted sign. A kind passer-by offered to take our picture, and we let him. He did such a good job we nearly tracked him down to pay him.
There’s ALL of us (minus one angel grandchild, Laynee). And the best news of all is that that picture will become outdated as of Julyish 2011… my sister in law’s got a bun in the oven!

As we walked through the depot, perused the gift shop, and left without buying anything, my daughter absolutely BROKE DOWN in tears. When I asked her what was wrong, she let me know.
“I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE!” She said. I know you shouldn’t reward a child when they throw a fit. I know that giving them what they want when they bawl for it isn’t in good parenting practice.
BUT. THOSE. TEARS!!!!!!
They will be the undoing of my husband. They will be the undoing of me. Someday, I believe they will be the undoing of the entire world.
Minutes later, we were back in the gift shop. The boy bought a little toy train. The girls bought a bag of rocks. And we all drove home happy.
The only failure of the entire trip? The elf hat I made Dad. I added his brand to it in hopes he would keep it on. He tolerated my foolishness for one picture.
It was a hat made to custom fit a cowboy hat. Very legit. But he passed it on to my little brother Jim who became instantly attached. I strongly believe that my Dad actually really really REALLY wanted it bad, but he knew it would break my poor brother’s heart if he tried taking it away.
Yeah, that’s what happened.

Thank you for a GREAT experience, Dad!!!!!! We all loved it, and you are the best. We stopped on the way out to take a picture of the old train they have sitting by the station. When I looked at it, I remembered the first time we rode the Grand Canyon Railway as a family. We all posed in front of the old train for a picture. I wore floral tights. This is a bad picture, but it’s still worth posting on account of the memory it gave me.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband · Tagged With: ,

After Taste

December 27, 2010 by · Leave a Comment

My daughter, the pirate.

When she put this outfit on this afternoon, my son cried out “pirate!” to which she replied, “I certainly am.”

We pulled her dress-up clothes out after we wrote some thank you notes. We’ve never written thank you notes for Christmas gifts before, and I felt like we should. She really has been enjoying every single gift 100%, and I thought it would be fun to sit down with her and write some notes. I would dictate to her.
“Write the letter T.” I would say.
“How is T?” She’d ask. After the first few cards, she had it figured out. After she’d written “Thank you” across the top, I’d write whatever she told me to. She would start out sweet… really sweet.
So sweet I’d nearly tear up over the wonderfulness of it all. Then she’d hit me with something else.

“Thank you for being you.” Aww…
“Tripe,” Ewww…

The backward “N” was too cute not to capture.
In her thank you note to my grandparents, she said “Thank you for being you. Thank you for F.”
I’m sure they’ll really take that to heart. I mean, really… who wouldn’t?

As I made dinner, I asked her what she wanted to do for her 4th birthday in a few weeks. She wants a square rainbow cake. I asked her who she wanted at her party.
“Everyone!” She cried out, “Just everyone at my party!”
She began naming off her cousins one by one. It was so adorable. She really wanted to share her birthday with everyone. I thought about how sweet it was for all of three seconds before she hit me with
“Just not you. I just want everyone to be at my party and you can leave.”

I might have cried my eyes out had I not been thrown into a fit of laughter.

I sent her away to watch a movie. This year, she asked Santa for a “DDD” player, and he delivered. Luckily, he had a spare one still in the box in his closet.
Santa also managed to finagle a small television set for her. Since Santa came to visit, our regular TV has been neglected. Dormant. (Dare I say it?) Replaced.

That’s right, our bigger, clearer, surround sound television and DVD player have been replaced with a teensy TV and teensy DDD player. We haven’t finished setting them up in the kids’ room yet, and I went into the living room to find this.

Look at them, bordering on Amish.
Lucky devils.

Notice I wasn’t invited…
So I left.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband ·

Confessions: Post-Holiday Edition

December 27, 2010 by · Leave a Comment

#1) I love hot chocolate, but every time I indulge I find myself washing it down with at least 46 ounces of freezing cold water.  Yes, hot cocoa makes me thirsty -so thirsty I’d consider hocking my kidney for cool, clear water.  And yet, I still find myself guzzling the elixir of winter at least three times a week.  Okay, five.

#2) I went looking for my son on Christmas afternoon and couldn’t find him anywhere.  I really couldn’t.  Just before my instincts hit the PANIC button, I found him.
He was almost 100% camouflaged by the wrapping paper, toys, chocolates… packages, boxes and bags!

#3) Tony Stark fathered my children. Evidenced here:

And here:

#4) On Christmas Eve, I got up before the sun and dashed away to Wal-Mart where I beat the crowd (yay!) and spent the entirety of our food budget plus $2 on last-minute Christmas items such as chocolate and chocolate chips and white chocolate. On the drive home, I stopped off at Mom’s for some fresh eggs. Once home, my husband set to making a Christmas Eve Feast of a Breakfast. While our backs were turned, our son (Spawn #2 of Iron Man) snuck an egg. He proceeded to crack it on the kitchen floor. Instead of harassing him for stealing, I took a picture. His first cracked egg, and he didn’t even break the yoke! Of COURSE I had to capture it. My first cracked egg went down the front of my mom’s blender and down the front of my mom’s kitchen cabinets and all over my mom’s kitchen floor. And I was 8! He’s TWO! I’d love nothing more than to post evidence, but my husband imported the picture to a currently inaccessible file. But wait for it, and prepare to be dazzled.

#5) We slept in until 8 on Christmas morning.

#6) I’ve never seen “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

#7) I have a celebrity crush on The Old Man, dadgummit.

#8) I don’t read books. There. I said it. Recently, facebook was hit with a list of books that apparently not many people have read. The idea was: you were supposed to go through the list and then report back to all of your adoring facebook fans JUST how many books you had read. I wished I could have read the list and come off conquerer. Instead, I came off pathetic. The Harry Potter Series? Nope. I ditched that darkfest somewhere in the middle of book three. A Christmas Carol? I’m ashamed to say… never. I’ve never read it. I’ve seen about eleventy million movie versions though. I haven’t read the Twilight series. I haven’t read The Hunger Games. One solitary Stansfield book aside, I haven’t read any LDS fiction. I have to tell you this because I think I give the impression that I do read when, in fact, I don’t. It isn’t that I don’t like to read. I’m constantly picking up quote books and perusing my book full of Frost poetry, but those are books that don’t require bookmarks of any kind! I can pick them up and put them down at will without ever having to WAIT to find out what happens next.

Two summers ago, I read a nonfiction book and loved it so much that I recommended it to Granny. She told me she’d look into it after Christmas.
“I only read during the week after Christmas,” she said, “What did you do last year during the week after Christmas?” she asked. I had no answer for her -I was completely baffled.
“No one can answer that question,” she said, “No one seems to know what they do during that time. No one even takes the time to write in their journals what they do during that week because apparently they don’t do anything. Since I’m not going to remember what I do anyway that week, I take it to read.”

Her reasoning is sound -very sound.

And yet… and yet… Santa brought me something better than a book. And don’t go guessing “A KINDLE?!” because I’ll scratch my eyes out over the prospect of library books becoming extinct.
No, no. He brought me a lap top.

And so we go #9) We’re on number nine, right? I could just scroll up and find out but I’d rather not. I’m actually doing good to just type what I’m typing now on my new keyboard. I’m afraid if I try to scroll, I’ll delete something monumental (like that uber hot picture of Darren McGavin). It turns out I will be spending the week after Christmas WRITING. My heart should like to leap out of my chest! (Mostly because I keep feeding it fatty holiday food, but that’s another Resolution post for another day. In the meantime, I just posted mom’s orange roll recipe on the cooking page. Delve on over.)

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband · Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Christmas Face

December 25, 2010 by · 1 Comment

I snapped a picture as my daughter began opening her first Christmas present this morning.

The picture utterly reeks of gladness.  It embodies the magic of Christmas morning, something that I realized about two nights ago… I have completely lost all feeling for.

Yes, about two nights ago I nearly had a Holiday meltdown, complete with whine and topped with pity.  I was stressed and tired and hungry, and wondering WHY I let myself get that way every dang year.

As I looked through the pictures I snapped this morning, I was reminded of EXACTLY why I do it to myself every dang year.Because it turns out that Christmas magic isn’t something you lose… it’s simply something you pass on.

(Thanks, Mom)

Filed Under: Family, The Girl · Tagged With: