Drilling, Salsa, and a Sweet Card

May 4, 2011 by · 2 Comments

I love my dentist because he is my uncle. I love my uncle. He was always the “cool” uncle who gave us too much candy and pushed us too fast on Grandma’s very own merry-go-round in her backyard. When he came home from his mission in Japan, he let us eat his Japanese food and play with his Japanese alarm clock.

But really. I hate going to the dentist. I’m a big baby when it comes to sitting in THE CHAIR. I went in last week to have a toothache checked. It turned out to be a sinus infection, but my uncle had me schedule an appointment to get some cavities filled. That appointment was set for next week. They called me a few days ago and bumped it up to yesterday.

As I woke up yesterday, the first thing I thought was “In a few hours I’ll be in THE CHAIR.”
I made breakfast. I dropped Lacy off at preschool. I did my visiting teaching. All the while, my little mental timer was going off.
“Four more hours!”
“Three more hours!”
“Two and a half hours!”

When the time came, I resigned myself to THE CHAIR. I admitted to my uncle that I was very nervous -that dental work always makes me nervous. I then admitted that over the years my teeth had become more and more sensitive and that I would probably need an embarrassing amount of numbing something-or-other.
I was under the impression that we were going to fill 2 cavities.
My dentist then broke the news: we were filling all of them. All FIVE to be exact.
But then my uncle came out to play and gave me laughing gas.

Ah, laughing gas. I felt a little silly, sitting there, inhaling laughing gas. I mean -I’ve pushed two babies completely OUT OF MY BODY and there I was shaking like a leaf at the thought of a teensy drill specifically designed to rid my mouth of decay.
Oh brother.
I silently wondered if there were any way to momentarily detach my head from my body, fix my mouth, and then gently reattach at the neck. I would be all for it.
The laughing gas started doing it’s job, and I smiled. I remember the last time I was given laughing gas.
It was when my dentist pulled my wisdom teeth out. He told my mother -who was keeping a diligent vigil by my side -that laughing gas often made little children fall asleep.
And then I remember closing my eyes and spinning… spinning… spinning… I could hear the soft background noise of the television -the gentle hum of the machines around me. Gradually, the noises grew softer and gave way to the sound of my breathing. My entire body relaxed. UNTIL…
I felt a strong pull. It stopped my happy spinning and tried to pull me out of it. I fought it, but it was growing stronger. My will gave in -laughing gas has a way of weakening you like that. I cracked one eye open and heard my dentist chuckle, “She fell asleep.”
It turns out there’s two types of people who fall asleep with laughing gas: little kids and sleep-deprived young mothers.

Yesterday, I’m happy to report, I didn’t fall (completely) asleep. Hooray! I’m also happy to report that my uncle numbed me up so well that I only felt a little pain a total of 3 times during 2 1/2 hours of my sitting in THE CHAIR.
He ended up filling 6 cavities, by the way.
He is a champ. It was hard to thank him, though, when he was done. It’s always hard to thank anyone when you can’t feel the lower half of your jaw.

I went home, picked up the kids from my sainted babysitter, and resigned myself to my living room floor to work on my blasted wreath for an hour or so. I knew I had piano lessons to teach that afternoon, but I couldn’t talk. How can you teach if you can’t talk?
Well, you pray. You PRAY that enough of the numbing stuff will wear off in time. As it happened, I was able to talk enough to one parent (my aunt who would never ever ever judge me for talking like a slobbering drunk) and cancel. By the time my second student came, I was able to talk enough that he only laughed at me once.
By the time Enrichment rolled around, I had made almost a complete recovery and was so hungry that I ate 3 servings my aunt’s Black Bean Salsa (recipe compliments of my brother, Steve). I should have been embarrassed about the way I shoved it into my mouth using a homemade tortilla chip (no spoons), but I didn’t even care. I mean -it had CILANTRO in it!

This morning, I’m absolutely thrilled to have that done and over with. My uncle makes my dentist look so friendly.

Quick backtrack:
When I picked Lacy up from preschool, she had a couple of crafts for me. I love them! I sat for a good 15 minutes last night just looking at the big paper card she had made. I love it so much I want to share it with you. I know you’ll appreciate it.
In one corner:
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Ah, I love that. It makes me laugh every time I look at it. Why? Because I choose to believe it’s true even though it isn’t.
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Snuggly really is the best. Our family is so touchy-feely with each other there oughta be a warning sign on our door.
I’m just soaking up as much as possible before they get to an age where they don’t want their mom slobbering all over them.
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I submit that there is nothing cuter than this. “I love my mom” written in scrawly handwriting? That is TEXTBOOK for “cutest thing in the entire world.”
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Look out, future suitors. SOMEONE likes bling. And you know what they say about diamonds? A girl’s best friend.
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“You have six fingers on your [left] hand. Someone was looking for you.”

Thanks, Aunt Cat, for the sweetest Mother’s Day card I’ve ever received.
Thanks, Uncle Clarence, for the laughing gas, numbing stuff, fillings, and japanese candy.
Thanks, Aunt Julie, for the salsa. Also: thanks for not making fun of me when I tried to ask you for an aluminum pan. It’s hard to say “aluminum” when you can’t feel your jaw, but like a CHAMP -you knew what I meant.

Anyone want to weave their way into my family? I have the greatest. Just remember: anyone who marries my daughter needs to be prepared to fork out quite a bit for bling. and chocolate.

Filed Under: Family ·

Getting in the Mood for Mother’s Day

May 3, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

Mother’s Day is Sunday.  I hope I’m not the only one out there who has to give my husband warnings.

“Mother’s Day is in two weeks.”
“Mother’s Day is happening during this pay period.”
“This is your one week Mother’s Day warning.”

He never gets upset about the reminding. He only thanks me profusely. I’m excited for Mother’s Day this year. Every year, I cook a Mother’s Day dinner for my grandma and mom. This year we’ll be having BBQ ribs (made with Dr. Pepper), homemade potato salad, leaf salad, and cinnamon rolls for dessert. I can’t wait for the meal to come together! I can’t wait for our families to come together! Did I mention that I was excited to give my mom her Mother’s Day gift? I AM! It was put into my hands on Sunday, and I’m absolutely hopping excited to hand it over to my mom. I even took pictures of it! But I can’t share them yet. Because I signed my mom up for email feeds from my blog, so she HAS to read my crap.

Anyway.
My husband got asked to speak in church on Mother’s Day. AND so did my Dad. Excitement! Yes I’ll attend an extra hour of church just to hear my dad speak. Don’t you think I won’t!

Last night, I started feeling the Mother’s Day love. After the kids got out of their bath, they came to me on the couch for lotion and PJs. My son has the cutest hooded towel, and I was surprised when he crawled up on the couch and nestled himself down for the biggest, most snuggly hug in the whole world.
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Can you see his little towel-clad arms wrapped around me?
It was the sweetest thing.
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And there he stayed until he’d gotten his fill. Then he moved and let his sister get her lotion and PJs. After I got her dressed, I sat on the floor.
“You might brush my hair,” my daughter said.
“Yeah,” I nodded, “sit right here…” I motioned to a spot on the floor in the front of me between my legs.
“No,” she shook her head, “You might put your legs like…” She pushed my legs together and then laid herself on top of them. It took my by completely surprise! Have you ever balanced a four-year old on your legs before? It might have been hard had she not been a perfect fit.
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(see the wreath off to the right side? Remind me to tell you about THAT later.)
I looked down at our feet and it made me so happy.
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We said our prayers and then told the kids to hop in bed, but they didn’t. Lacy wanted her hair brushed some more, and Trenton wanted to play with his Dad some more.
So I went on brushing completely unaware that my husband took this picture.
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He bought a Droid (Thunderbolt) last month and he’s been using the heck out of it. He went a little picture happy. And he went a little effects happy too. Why is the above picture blue? I asked him.
Because it can be! He answered.
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Ahhhhhh… freshly bathed babies. Nothing in the world smells as sweet.
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I only wonder where my son went when all of this picture taking was going down…

And now. I’m going to tell you about the wreath. I started it on Friday night. I saw a tutorial on a website for it. The woman talked about how easy it was to make. How she saw one at a boutique for $40 and then went home and made one for $2. I was really excited about the idea of making one. I sat curled up on the floor Friday night and watched television with my husband as I cut swirls out of pages torn from a book and made little roses and glued them to a wreath.
I giggled with every new rose made and paraded the wreath in front of my husband’s face.Photobucket
“Isn’t it looking good?” I squealed.
And then came Saturday. And Sunday. And Monday. And that blasted thing STILL isn’t done! I’ve been working on it for days and hours and hours! I’ve streamed just about every classic Netflix movie that looks even remotely interesting! My husband came home from work last night and found me curled up in front of my poor page-ripped book.
“Still at it?” He asked. I aimed the glue gun at my wreath and pretended to shoot it.
He laughed at me.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You were so excited about it and now you hate it,” he laughed, “It’s cute.”

Want to know what to get me for Mother’s Day darling?
Some good sense to not start silly projects like this!
Also… dear, can you make paper roses? I need about 40 more.

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

So Many Choices

April 25, 2011 by · 1 Comment

What do I blog about today?  Easter morning?  Easter luncheon at Grandma’s?  Grandma’s Grand Traditional Easter Egg Hunt?  The unplanned nightcrawlers hunt that happened afterward?  Grandpa’s 80th birthday?

Truth be told, Grandpa doesn’t care much about birthdays (maybe he doesn’t care much FOR birthdays).  My ten year old cousin, Leigh, made him a beautiful bundt cake (! can you believe it?!  She’s 10!) and we all ate most of it before he even got home from the prison where he helps out with Sunday Services.

When he finally did come home, he quickly changed into his work coveralls because he had irrigation water that needed checking.  When he walked into the Easter Egg Hunt, we all sang “Happy Birthday” to him and then grandma asked him if he’d gotten anything to eat.

“I stole a slice of ham and a biscuit, and I drank some juice,” he said.

“Did you get enough? Do you want some candy?” Grandma held out a small bag full of mini Hershey bars that kids had turned into her for $1 a piece.  Grandma pulled a handful out and gave them to Grandpa, “They’re the good kind,” she finished.  He thanked her with a smile on his face.

I stood by the side and soaked it all in -grateful for both of them and the love they’ve always shown for each other. They never show it by way of physical touch (I’ve seen them kiss once though!  Grandpa surprised Grandma while she was washing dishes and laid one on her and it made her blush) -they’ve always shown it by the way they treat each other.  They make sure the other is always taken care of.  I’m grateful they’ve worked hard together.  I’m grateful that they’ve stayed together.  I’m grateful that Grandpa will give me organ lessons.  I’m grateful that he watches Lawrence Welk.  I’m grateful that grandma watches basketball games and my husband can join her.  I’m grateful that grandma always buys my husband’s favorite flavor of ice cream for him.  I’m grateful for the examples they are to me and for absolutely everything they’ve taught me.  They are -both of them -bottomless wells of information.

This picture isn’t the best, but only because I snuck it in yesterday.  Grandma’s holding a bag full of chocolate and Grandpa has some in his hands.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa.  We all love you and grandma more than you know.

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(Easter report to come. I woke up with a nasty head cold, so my brain is only sorta functioning.)

Filed Under: Family ·

The Wonderful

April 20, 2011 by · 2 Comments

Through a series of fortunate events yesterday, I now own:

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This is very important. Very important. First of all, it was printed in 1962 and used all of the original illustrations from the first edition (which was printed in 1900). Second, it was written by L. Frank Baum who I respect for his tenacity to follow his day dreams. Third, it smells like an old book.

Have you ever seen L. Frank Baum?

I don’t think I could have married him. First of all, we would have day dreamed ourselves into bankruptcy (which he almost managed to do on his own several times -even after The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was published). Second of all, he hopped from place to place and job to job. It would have driven me stack-raving mad.
He probably would have used my insanity as fodder for a best-seller, but that’s beside the point.

The point is that I admire the man. He always kept going despite monster-sized road blocks. He even went so far as to publish The Wonderful Wizard of Oz himself. Can you believe that? No one would publish his book, so he published it himself.

I also can’t help but admire him for his unwavering loyalty and devotion to his wife, evidenced here:
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He dedicated his book to her.
It’s also rumored that after the book succeeded in sales, he bought her an Emerald Ring. I chose to believe -beyond a shadow of a doubt -that rumor is true.

Her name was Maud. Maud Gage. Maud Gage Baum.
Four letters in every name -how wonderful! They also had four sons.

L. Frank Baum (Lyman Frank Baum, but he hated the name Lyman) wrote in introduction to his book. He called it a Wonder Story, something of a modern fairy tale. But unlike the Fairy Tales of Grimm, it was devoid of all nightmarishness. That, by the way, isn’t a word.

Read what he says here:
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“It aspires to be a modernized fairy tale in which the wonderment and joy are retained and the heartache and nightmares are left out.”

That one sentence completely sums up my feelings about my online web-log (my blog).  Except there’s something antiquated about the notion of a fairy-tale in the world we live in today.  You have to live above the muck, you know, to actually believe it can happen.  For myself, I reside comfortably in the clouds.  As I read back on my blog (which I do quite often) I never remember the tears I’ve had, the sleepless nights of worry, fear, or lost hopes.  I don’t remember the pain, the sorrow, the heartaches.  That is to say: I don’t remember them AS WELL.  With every passing reading, I forget the heartaches more and more.  If everything goes as planned, my children won’t recall them at all.

I do remember the joys, the laughter, the happiness, and the hilarity of my children.

And so we live, day-by-day, in our own little Wonder Story, full of joy and happiness without nightmares.

We have nothing to fear here in the clouds.
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(scripture time on Daddy’s iPod. Scripturing has never been so cool. Esther on a touch screen!)
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A quote:
“As they passed the rows of houses they saw through the open doors that men were sweeping and dusting and washing dishes, while the women sat around in groups, gossiping and laughing.

What has happened?’ the Scarecrow asked a sad-looking man with a bushy beard, who wore an apron and was wheeling a baby carriage along the sidewalk.

Why, we’ve had a revolution, your Majesty — as you ought to know very well,’ replied the man; ‘and since you went away the women have been running things to suit themselves. I’m glad you have decided to come back and restore order, for doing housework and minding the children is wearing out the strength of every man in the Emerald City.’

Hm!’ said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. ‘If it is such hard work as you say, how did the women manage it so easily?’

I really do not know,’ replied the man, with a deep sigh. ‘Perhaps the women are made of cast-iron.”
— L. Frank Baum (The Marvelous Land of Oz)

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

The June Cleaver Experiment

April 19, 2011 by · 2 Comments

A few days ago, I wrote a post about housekeeping. I shared a few pictures from a housekeeping book. In that same housekeeping book, the author (Daryl V. Hoole) suggests getting yourself dressed and ready for the day before serving breakfast. I thought it was a good idea in general, but nothing I was ever going to attempt. But the thought lingered. And lingered. And lingered longer, and I suddenly found myself thinking of it as a challenge.
Yesterday, I took that challenge -by jingo. I woke up, showered, dressed, did my make-up, did my hair, and then served breakfast to my husband with a (sarcastic) smile.
“This is for you, dearest,” I beamed.
“Thank you, darling,” he beamed back.

And then he left for work.
But before he left for work, he kissed me. Because I had gotten ready for the day, I was wearing lip gloss deliciously flavored with strawberry something-or-other (probably chemicals, right?). And his normal quick “I’m heading out the door” peck on the lips was replaced with a long, long, long… kiiiiiiissssssssss. The kind that make you swoon.
After he pulled away, he looked at me, thanked me for remembering just how much he loves the tasty lip gloss, and then told me I was hot.

Hot? Say whaaa?

I must here state that I really half-arsed my way through “getting ready for the day.” Instead of washing my hair, I straightened day-old hair. Instead of dressing up in something impressive, I opted for my comfy tennis shoes, my Old Navy jeans, and a handy blue Hansen’s Auto t-shirt. Did I mention that I’m still carrying a mound of holiday weight around my mid-section? Well I am.
But throughout the day I got texts from him.
“How are you?”
“What are you up to?”
And when he came home, he showered me in compliments the likes of which have never been heard since the dating days. This is shocking! And I’ll tell you why.
It has nothing to do with my husband. He’s as sweet as a honeysuckle. It has everything to do with me and those children running around my ankles.
THESE children.
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There was NO END to their naughtiness yesterday! Absolutely no end! My main goal yesterday was to fold laundry. My loveseat is overflowing with laundry, and I was going to fold it come hell or high water!
But guess what?
On account of my children’s naughty behavior, I took my exhausted self and banished it to the kitchen instead. I hid behind beef soup (made with steak -sorry dad), dishes, and -surprisingly -pineapple meringue pie. Do you remember that old graduation song -the one filled with great advice and catchy music? Every now and then, a phrase from that song will pop out at me.
Like:
Do one thing every day that scares you.

Well, meringue scares me, okay? It looks so easy to mess up! So I took it on. I let the laundry sit where it may and I beat egg whites to my heart’s content. Because I banished myself to the kitchen, dinner happened to be ready when my husband walked through the door at 5.
THIS IS NOT NORMAL!
And I think it sort of cancels out that one time I served my family dinner at 11:45 in the PM.

As the day wore on, what was left of my patience flew out the window and despite the fact that my make-up was on and my hair was done, I sounded quite the beast. But my husband told me several times over how hot I was.
Hot. Hot.
I’m still wrapping my mind around that.
Hot? No. I’m not hot. I’m a mom!
(“I’m not a woman anymore. I’m a mom!” Name it…)

We ran into town to get a few Eastery things for an Easter package we were assembling for our brother on a mission, and I tried to keep my cool and not dump my negativity all over my husband. I didn’t succeed 100%, but I did okay. We stopped off at the post office to get the mail before they locked the door AND to shove candy in my son’s mouth so he would stop falling asleep since it was nigh unto 7 in the PM and he had skipped his nap.
Which is another story.
And mama doesn’t allow naps at 7 in the PM. EV-ER.

When my husband came back out with the mail, he told me that the latest issue of Country Living had come in. He almost set it aside (gasp!) but I held out my eager hands and begged for it.
I squealed with delight and hugged it to my chest, clinging to my huge ray of sunshine on an otherwise trying day.
As I did so, my husband continued to say some of the sweetest things I’ve heard since we were dating.

During my Kitchen Confinement, I had done the dishes approximately 70 billion times (okay, 3) and after dinner was done, I did them once again. But I didn’t put the soup up.
After the packages were assembled, my husband put the soup up. I didn’t ask him to, he just DID.  Then he scrounged up every dirty dish in the house and washed them.
Then he turned on The Odd Couple as I put the kids into bed (never been so happy to).
Then he laid a blanket out in front of the television.
Then he offered me his arm.
And we laughed and ate pineapple meringue pie.

I also gave him the best foot rub known to mankind as my way of saying “Sorry for my lousy attitude, chum.”

I’m still trying to figure out what went on yesterday, and this is what I’ve come up with so far.

Meager attempt to look nice + flavored lip gloss > losing patience with naughty children

June Cleaver, the world may condemn you in their own way, but today -as I served breakfast to my husband 100% dressed and ready for the day -I praised you. Though your ways and hair may seem dated, they stand for something monumental.
And let’s face it: he did my dishes. without even so much as a nudge.

But today I’ve really got to buckle down and fold that laundry.
Thank goodness for leftover pineapple meringue pie in the fridge.

Here’s a few shots of our package assembly last night (aka FHE):
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Check out how happy I look in this picture. Can you tell it had been a long day? (lie and say “no”…)
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World’s Greatest Man and his children. See how the daughter is clinging to him for affection? See how the son is mid-whine and saying “Nooooooo!” because his mother asked him to smile for the picture?
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Happy Tuesday, all. May it be better than Monday.

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

The Times! The Times!

April 15, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

I drove one of my Beehives home from mutual Wednesday night and I made a comment about The Andy Griffith Show.
She said, “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” I asked.
“The Andy… whatever, whatever?”
“You’ve never heard of The Andy Griffith Show?” I asked.
“Nope,” she shook her head.  And then I cried for the youth of our nation.

I’ve decided that for one of our activities, we’re going to eat popcorn popped from an air popper and watch The Andy Griffith Show.

PS: my daughter asked me what a radio was a few weeks ago.
PPS: when we got the mail last week, my daughter asked me if she could open my “e-mail.” Again, I cried for the youth of our nation.

Before I go, I need to share something with you. Gather ’round. My brother was here yesterday, and we went into town together. As we exited the highway, we found ourselves behind a vinyl-clad truck. It had only good things to say about God, and we got a kick out of it. The back tail-gate was emblazoned with “JESUSAVES.” I didn’t think anything of it until my brother asked, “Where’s Jesus Avenues?”
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Anyone?

Filed Under: Family ·

After the Flood(s)

April 12, 2011 by · 4 Comments

I popped into mom’s house last night.  She asked me how my day went.  I told her it was good.  Then I did a mental scan of how my day went and I laughed out loud.

“Do you really want to know how my day went?” I asked.   She said she did.  So I told her the honest truth.

Trent has decided he’s a little interested in going potty.  In fact, he wanted to spend most of the afternoon just sitting on it.  Incidentally, he never USED it.  I’m not kidding when I say he spent most of the afternoon on it.  I couldn’t just sit there while he sat there.  I had to get dinner going and dishes done… so I left him.

You’re all shaking your head right now, aren’t you? You’re thinking, ‘IDIOT!’

And you’re all right.  All of you.  He decided to wash his own hands, and I didn’t hear the water running full force because I was doing dishes.  When I checked on him, water was overflowing out of the sink and onto the floor.  I immediately set to cleaning it up, and situations like this usually upset me.  But yesterday, it didn’t really faze me.  I was sort of proud of how I handled the situation.  It wouldn’t have been such a terrible situation if I hadn’t have just washed every towel in the house.  They were all wet!  I went on a real hunt for towels and found just enough to clean it up.  The floor needed to be mopped anyway, right?

I stripped my son down to his nothings.

His clothes were drenched anyway. I didn’t bother putting a diaper on him because I knew he’d want to sit on the potty again. I put the wet towels in the dryer and loaded the washer with a comforter. I thought there’d be enough room for a pillow too. Trouble was: it was a body pillow. A THIN body pillow, but a body pillow nonetheless.
Then I mopped the kitchen. And why not? It needed done, and my knees were already wet from mopping the kids’ bathroom.
My husband came home just in time to see our linoleum gleam. Minutes after he came home, I heard a strange sort of sound coming from the washer. I went to check on it to find…
A flood in the laundry room.

Our laundry room has a door in it -the back door. It’s a splendid set-up, really. I threw the back door open and started mopping up whatever water I could however I could. My landlord (my dad) happened to be a few feet away working on his tractor.
He asked me what my kids were up to.
I confessed to him I didn’t know. I was too busy mopping up my little flood to know. Apparently my kids saw their grandpa from the kitchen window. As I mopped, I saw my daughter sprint by in her tutu and boots. She had escaped through the front door. I thought about telling her to come back and ASK before leaving, but I was so concerned with shoveling water that I was pretty much incapable of noticing anything else. I shut the back door and started moving things out of the laundry room.
Some 5 gallon buckets full of flour.
Our 72 hour kits.
Our three-part laundry basket.
The broom.
The ironing board.
The carpet cleaner.

I threw open the back door again and caught site of something. My son.
I quickly went back to mopping up water and then it registered. MY SON! My naked son! Except he wasn’t quite naked. I looked closer. My dad was sitting on his tractor. My son was sitting next to him wearing a jacket. Then my son leaned forward and…
BARE BUTT CRACK!

I couldn’t help laughing. And laughing and laughing and laughing. When I went to fetch him and bring him back home, I noticed he was wearing his boots. His boots and a jacket. And that’s all.

My husband joined me in the fight to clean up the laundry room, we ate dinner, and last night I slept for 10 hours on the living room couch. I didn’t even make it to bed.

Yesterday might have been hair-pulling awful if it hadn’t been so darn funny.
Take this for instance: after I got the kids back inside my house from Their Great Escape (out the front door), I looked out of my window to see Dad tilling up his garden. Look behind him. His cows. They followed him! Isn’t that just the sweetest thing?
They sure know who their sugar daddy is.

After I took that picture, I walked back inside. I glanced at my flower bed. My barren flower bed. But I saw something pushing up through the dirt. You know what it is?

It’s a strawberry plant!! I planted strawberries in my flower bed last year and they failed miserably MOSTLY because I treated them terribly and a little because the flower bed wasn’t the best place to plant them. The best place would probably be somewhere in Georgia.
I feel so bad for that plant. I abused it! And STILL it wants me back! My husband took a class in college that described abusive relationships. He said that after someone abuses their spouse (or child), they go through a honeymoon stage. The abusive spouse (or parent) is exceptionally caring and sweet, but it eventually wears off giving way to the next stage which is less-honeymoonish. Eventually the cycle repeats itself. The spouse abuses, apologizes, and the couple enters the Honeymoon faze again.

I feel like I’m in the Honeymoon faze with my plant. I’m watering it and loving it and speaking kind words. But my black thumb will inevitably rear it’s ugly head and the plant will suffer. I’ve promised the plant I’ll change, but hey. I can’t change who I am.
And soon enough when visitors come to my door and ask me why my plant looks like it does -torn and terrible -I’ll tell them my plant is clumsy and that she probably fell down the stairs.
At that point, I would expect my visitors get suspicious and they’d never allow me to babysit their plants. EVER.

Did you know that a few weeks ago I told my husband I wanted to deep-clean the laundry room? Be careful what you wish for. I’m off to scrub. After I’m done scrubbing, I’m going to treat my strawberry plant to a spa day.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl ·

Have a Laugh

March 31, 2011 by · 6 Comments

I laughed hard exactly five times yesterday.

#1) While I was working in the kitchen in the morning making cookies, my son started singing.  Here’s a little background: Santa Clause brought my son a neon green fish that looked like Lacy’s neon pink fish.  Lacy named her fish a few different things before settling on Glinda the Good Fish.  Because Trent isn’t old enough to think of his own pet names, Lacy took it upon herself to name the green fish Jesus.  We tried in vain to dissuade her.  Really, we tried everything.  There’s something radically irreverent about a fish named Jesus.  I expected lightening to strike the tank at anytime, but it never did.  Anyway, we don’t have to worry about it anymore.  The green fish died.  We found it dead in the tank minutes before leaving town to visit Grammy.  We broke the news to the kids on the drive over, and when Lacy arrived at Grammy’s house, she spread the word… “Jesus died!” I told this to my brother, and he suggested we save the fish until Easter to see if it came to.  Sadly, the fish has been flushed.   The bright side to this story is that I thought I didn’t have to worry about lightening striking anything.  I counted my eggs before they were hatched, it would seem.  And I couldn’t help but laugh as I listened to my son sing one of the only songs he knows by heart:

“He’s makin’ a list and checkin’ it Christ.”

I corrected him and he now sings it correctly.  Though it took one more, “He’s makin’ a list and checkin’ it Chr–TWICE.”  But he did get it.  And that’s all that matters.

#2) Lacy has some markers.  I bought them on clearance at Wal-Mart and they hardly ever come out to play.  They are special occasion markers.  As I was getting ready for mutual and my husband on sitting on our bed, our little Lacy Lou came plowing into our bedroom, her arm covered in blue marker.

“TRENT DID THIS!” She cried, holding out the offending blue marker, “So I just said ‘DEMMIT’ to him!”

I popped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, “What did you just say?” I asked.

“I say Trent did THIS!” She held out her arm, “And I was so mad so I just said ‘demmit’ to him.”

Dad took care of that situation.  Sometimes the best solution to a problem is the cause.

#3) Curiosity got the better of this cat, who -for some reason I’ll never know -wondered what it would be like to be a pair of dirty jeans.


I’ve come to believe it’s my lot in life to hear thuds followed by screams. Such was the case yesterday. Any good mother would have just pulled the kid out. But I asked her not to move while I got the camera. These are the things we never want to forget.

(no children were harmed while these pictures were taken. Apart from being shaken up, she was absolutely fine.)

#4) One of my Beehives told me about the book she’s reading. She gave me an introduction into what the book is like, and it went something like this: “It’s like an old book. Not like ‘old’ old, but like set back in time. Like…” she paused here to gather her thoughts… “okay, like you know when they used to kill people that they thought were witches? Like that. The book happened around that time but it’s fake. The story isn’t real… like the Titanic.”

Instead of correcting her, I just nodded and proceeded to make notes on the paper in front of me of what she was saying so I’d be sure not to forget it.

#5) Trent busted out what he likes to call his Battle Cat last night. Prepare to be scared.

Heaven help the David who goes against THAT Goliath.

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

To Bulk Shop or Not to Bulk Shop?

March 30, 2011 by · 6 Comments

I love shopping bulk.  When my feet alight the floors of Sam’s, my heart skips a few beats and I ain’t kiddin’.  I sorta wish I were because that’s really geeky of me.  If I had $1000 to just spend in any one store, that store would be Sam’s Club.  I tell you this so you’ll know that I shop Sam’s because I love Sam’s.  I don’t necessarily shop Sam’s to save money.

I’ve never been one to crunch numbers.  I’ve never been one to crunch much of anything which is why my abs look like they do (bread dough, anyone?).  But a few times a year, I’ll look at my massive carton of Olive Oil and wonder ‘AM I saving money?’

On one hand, it’s nice to stock up on stuff like toilet paper because we live out in the country.

On the other hand, we spend so much in gas (over $60 a trip) to just go to the city (read: to go to Sam’s Club).

On one hand, the prices ARE lower!  Two pounds of colby/jack cheese for 6 bucks!

On the other hand, we pay a $40 membership… and then there’s the gas.

On one hand, we don’t have to shop for essentials regularly.

On the other hand: we still do.

It’s all my fault, and here’s why: I use more of the essentials if we have them.  I once made the monumental mistake of buying the Sam’s Club size Crisco Shortening and proceeded to bake my weight in cookies.  Bad, bad.  How did THAT save money? or time? or health?

Take last night for instance.  The kids were bored.  They were starting to fight, and I had spent all day not really playing with them because I was getting a costume ready.  I played the part of Ruth in a Relief Society program last night, and I hadn’t gotten a costume ready at all.  I ended up saying a prayer the MORNING OF the program and taking a pair of scissors to three yards of yellow fabric.

(Note to Jewel: I finally used up the last of the pale yellow fabric!  Now I’ve got to figure out how to use up the yards and yards of school bus yellow fabric. Boo.)

(Note to Sara: your sister, Emily, is on the front row dressed as the mother of Joseph who was sold into Egypt.  She was laughing because she is pregnant and portraying a woman who died giving birth.  She did awesome.)

(Note to Laurie: Beki is on the far right.  She portrayed Emma Smith and did an amazing job.)

(Note to Kristal: thanks a million for snapping pictures for me, champ.)
Photobucket

Carol Shelly is on the far left. She’s the most beautiful woman in town.
Photobucket

I can’t tell you how nervous I was about this whole thing. Silly, isn’t it? I was amongst friends! Anyway, it was a really neat experience (“the memory of which I wouldn’t part with for anything”). As I stumbled through the door of my home after the program, arms laden with food and head laden with a headache, I saw my kiddos. They needed the attention they’d been denied all day.
“Let’s play,” I said to my daughter.
“PIRATES?!” She asked.
“Sure,” I nodded. My son went immediately into action, throwing on his pirate hat (compliments of Gerri -thanks, Gerri!).
I went to the cupboards and pulled out my tin foil. I purchased it at Sam’s Club, you know.
I purchased approximately 50 thousand POUNDS of tinfoil all at once from Sam’s Club. I made three swords (ugly swords). After I’d been wounded and killed a number of times, I made a two guns (ugly guns). Then my little girl pirate magically turned into Snow White and requested a crown. I made her one that wasn’t up to par, so she asked for another, insisting I wear her cast-off. As long as we’re talking about insisting, I was also forced to call her Snow White for the remainder of the evening.

(check out her “beaded” necklace. I’ll sell you one for 10 cents.)

We had so much fun that Dad couldn’t resist playing with us.

I should have made my pirate name “Ruthless” on account of my still sporting half of my Ruth costume. Har har. Not like the kids would have appreciated my cheesy humor. Matter of fact: I don’t think they EVER will.

The question remains: Am I actually saving money by shopping at Sam’s?
The answer? Who givza.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl ·

Too Much Goodness

March 29, 2011 by · 2 Comments

Have you ever had days that were so stock full of goodness you didn’t know how to put it all into words?  What do I want to remember most?  The visit with Granny?  The visit to a friend?  The evening spent in the company of my great-great-great grandfather’s military medals?

First things first, I must tell you how smart my grandmother is.  She’s a reflexology whiz, and could tell my just by looking at my tootsies… that my body isn’t assimilating proteins.  Do you know what that means?  THAT means I now have an excuse to buy up chickens to my heart’s content, raise them, butcher the better part of them, and keep a few to lay eggs for my breakfast and brunchy whims.  Typing that all out makes me sound a little less like a nurturing mother and a little more like a blood thirsty dictator.

Anyway.

After one great session with my grandmother, I raced to pick up the children from my sister-in-law and then I raced to pick up my husband from work and then I went the speed limit to Snowflake where I spent over an hour with my friend Jewel and her all-natural peanut butter.  Of course I ended up talking about myself much more than I should have -a great failing of mine that I’m constantly trying to remedy.  I do believe I’ll spend the better part of my life trying to conquer my personality failings.  I need to let my real outlet be this blog and leave it at that.  I spent the entire drive home wondering how the heck Jewel really was, and I was in a bad state of remorse for not being a better friend.  My one consolation? That I’d have another try.  We’ll take our husbands and our childrens and we will grill meats and eat salads.  Date impending.

After leaving Jewel’s, we went home and ate some dinner.

We ate some boneless, skinless chicken breast that I had made in the crockpot earlier that day.  Granny told me two very important things:

#1)I need to stop eating store bought meat as much as possible -chicken is the very worst sort on account of the antibiotics and horomones in the meat.  My body is not assimilating proteins and my store-bought chicken intake is not helping.  I must give it up and replace it like a blood thirsty Hitler, which -despite my naturally nurturing nature -I’m happy to do.

#2) I need to chew my food better.  This is a monumental task for me given that I was raised in a family of six children who all raced to see who could eat fastest.

As I ate my chicken last night, I thought the least I could do was chew.  I had to concentrate on chewing.  Isn’t that a little sad?  A little pathetic?  I thought so, anyway.  I got over it, though, when I knew at the end of my chewing I’d be rewarded with

THE medals. The medals I’ve heard so much talk of! They were in my hands!

That’s him decked out in his medals. Isn’t he the best looking man you’ve ever seen (husbands aside)? He lived about the same time Jane Austen did, though I’d venture to say that he outdoes all of her heroes. He is incomparable.
He was so adored that he had 14 wives.
Okay, I just had to throw that in there. I don’t think he had 14 wives on account of his looks. I think he had 14 wives because some women needed a husband and he was up to the task (what a champ). I might also throw in that he didn’t take a second wife until after the death of his first wife. I might also throw in that his second wife was the widow of his brother. I might ALSO throw in that he married a woman by the same name as his first wife (Maren Katherine -who I come through) (the first one, not the second one), and I’m wondering if that ever threw him for a loop.
A quick excerpt from his journal:
On May 24th (1851), I took employment in
Copenhagen. While here I was afforded
the opportunity to hear about a religious
movement called Mormonism, the correct
name is, “The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints.” I was informed about its
truthfulness by the Lord, who was the originator
of the same, and he gave me about
it. One of the Elders of the Church, Elder
Christiansen, visited me at the room where
I resided. During our conversation he put
his hand upon my previously mentioned
injured knee. I then thought to myself, if
he is a servant of God, like unto those of
olden times, then the healing power should
affect me because of being touched by
him. He had no knowledge of my injury.
As he touched me, I felt a chill go over my
whole body. I excused my self and left the
room to remove the bandage from my
knee and, from that time on, I was made
well and whole.

And now a few more pictures:

Thanks to Google’s translator, I can tell you the wording on the medal says:
Frederik VII KING OF DENMARK

The words on the above medal translate to “GOD AND KING.”

This little guy was hard to make out.


I haven’t the slightest what it means, and I’m very sorry for it.

Jens Hansen was an amazing man who rose up from the depths of poverty as a child to become a Latter-Day Saint Pioneer. His son, Joseph (the only surviving child from his marriage to Maren Katherine the First) helped to settle the place I live in now. Joseph’s son, Delbert, helped the place I live in now to flourish.  Delbert’s son, Eugene, brought economy to our little town through his dairy and ranching. And Eugene’s son -my dad – continues the tradition on, working in a mechanic shop Delbert Hansen helped to build up.  My father’s son is carrying on that tradition. It’s in his blood, it would seem.

The Hansen Boys’ hands are all callused from hard work, and everything those calluses touch tend to flourish.  Hard work has a wonderful way of making an oasis out of a desert, it seems.
Many thanks to Aunt Sarah May for letting me barge into her home last night and take pictures of every little thing she put in front of my face AND for giving me a CD full of great information and great pictures.
Like this one:
I think it’s officially safe to blame my obstinate facial hair on my great great great grandfather.

Filed Under: Family · Tagged With: , , ,