In case you couldn't tell, I'm taking a little blogging break . I just need some time for some deep reflection and re-evaluation. Either that, or I'm just feeling too darn lazy. You decide.
May 2, 2008
Takin' a break . . .
In case you couldn't tell, I'm taking a little blogging break . I just need some time for some deep reflection and re-evaluation. Either that, or I'm just feeling too darn lazy. You decide.
Apr 21, 2008
Eight is great! Gonna eat chocolate cake!
I can't believe my Miss Kolbi is 8 today! (I feel so old!). She's been so excited! With her birthday money (yes, she already spent it) she bought a digital camera with which she's aspiring to be a photographer like her Grandpa Gary. When asked what she would like to do for her birthday, she most wanted a Daddy/Daughter date. So Chris is taking her to see National Treasure at the dollar theater and out for some dinner afterwords. She can't stop talking about it! How did she grow up so fast???
So in honor of her day, Here's a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my . . .
often Quirky . . .
regularly silly . . .
generally helpful . . .
naturally fancy . . .
occasionally shy . . .
exceptionally happy . . .
always a Treasure
beautiful Kolbi!!Happy Birthday Kolbi! I love you buckets!!
Apr 17, 2008
Heard in the Trenches IV (we have way too many silly conversations around here)
Jonah and I were asking Zoe what sounds different animals make. She wasn't being very accommodating. . . this is what we got out of her.
Jonah: "Zoe, what does a duck say?"
Zoe: "Kak."
Me: "What does a dog say?"
Zoe: "No dog!"
Me: "does it say 'Ruff!'?"
Zoe: "No ruff!"
Jonah: "what does a cat say?"
Zoe: "No cat say!"
Jonah: "does it say 'meow'?"
Zoe: "No moow!"
Me: "Zoe, what does Jonah say?"
Zoe: (looks at Jonah) "Mine!!"
---------------------------------------
Zoe has really gotten in to the Ringling Bros spirit around here. After just about everything she does, she throws her hands up in the air and pronounces "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
For example:
-She gets out the step stool, carries it into the center of the living room (She's center ring material you know), climbs up on it . . . "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
-She finishes her meal and throws her utensils on the floor, throws her hands up . . . "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
-She falls down (none to gracefully I might add), lays there on the floor, throws her hands above her head and pronounces. . . "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
-She removes all of her clothes by herself, streaks into the room buck naked . . . "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
Ah, showmanship at it's finest!
----------------------------------------------
Zoe has been picking up entirely too much from the older kids. They, unfortunately are NOT a good influence. She walked up to Aiden during scripture study the other night and whacked him on the head with a book. Chris says, "Whoa Zoe, you need to tell Aiden sorry. We give loves not ouches."
Zoe replies: "I tan't"
Dad: "Yes, you need to tell him sorry."
Zoe: "I tan't!"
Dad: (suppressing a smile) "Tell him sorry for hitting him."
Zoe: (putting her hands on her hips) "I did!"
Dad: (kids are giggling) "No you didn't. Say sorry."
Zoe: (walks up to Aiden) "Torry Aid-n. I ya you (I love you)." (gives him a hug)
Then, as soon as dad turns around, she winds up her arm and bonks him again . . .
Dad: "Uh, No. . . "
Me: "He does have silk ties."
Jonah: (standing up in his chair, pointing his finger at Dad) "Eeeewww! You wear poop around your neck!!!!"
Kids: "Eeeewwww!"
Me: "Way to go hon!"
-------------------------------------------
Zoe's become quite the avid bird watcher. She loves to look out the windows at the birds perched on the fence. Her bird-watching sessions go a little something like this . . .
(Looks out window) "Wew (where) bird? Wew? Bii-ird? Wew bird?
(Spots one) "Der y'is!"
(Starts pounding on the glass) "BIRD! BIRD! BII-IRD!!"
(Finally makes enough ruckus and scares the bird away) (surprised) "Wew birdy go?"
-------------------------------------------
Jonah: "Zoe, what does a duck say?"
Zoe: "Kak."
Me: "What does a dog say?"
Zoe: "No dog!"
Me: "does it say 'Ruff!'?"
Zoe: "No ruff!"
Jonah: "what does a cat say?"
Zoe: "No cat say!"
Jonah: "does it say 'meow'?"
Zoe: "No moow!"
Me: "Zoe, what does Jonah say?"
Zoe: (looks at Jonah) "Mine!!"
---------------------------------------
Zoe has really gotten in to the Ringling Bros spirit around here. After just about everything she does, she throws her hands up in the air and pronounces "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
For example:
-She gets out the step stool, carries it into the center of the living room (She's center ring material you know), climbs up on it . . . "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
-She finishes her meal and throws her utensils on the floor, throws her hands up . . . "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
-She falls down (none to gracefully I might add), lays there on the floor, throws her hands above her head and pronounces. . . "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
-She removes all of her clothes by herself, streaks into the room buck naked . . . "Ta Daaaa!!!!"
Ah, showmanship at it's finest!
----------------------------------------------
Zoe has been picking up entirely too much from the older kids. They, unfortunately are NOT a good influence. She walked up to Aiden during scripture study the other night and whacked him on the head with a book. Chris says, "Whoa Zoe, you need to tell Aiden sorry. We give loves not ouches."
Zoe replies: "I tan't"
Dad: "Yes, you need to tell him sorry."
Zoe: "I tan't!"
Dad: (suppressing a smile) "Tell him sorry for hitting him."
Zoe: (putting her hands on her hips) "I did!"
Dad: (kids are giggling) "No you didn't. Say sorry."
Zoe: (walks up to Aiden) "Torry Aid-n. I ya you (I love you)." (gives him a hug)
Then, as soon as dad turns around, she winds up her arm and bonks him again . . .
-------------------------------------------------
Sometimes you don't realize that you say something a lot until your kids start parroting you. . . I was standing in the kitchen next to the counter, I leaned over to pick something off the floor and gouged my back on the corner. "Ouch!" I exclaimed. Zoe, who was sitting next to me, says, "It's 'Shoot!' Mama?"
------------------------------------------------
I got Zoe out of her crib in the morning and carried her into my bedroom. She began looking around and said, "Where Da-dee go?" I replied, "He went to school." To which she stated, "Aw, Man!"
The following is a perfect example of why we don't go to fancy restaurants . . . EVER.
Kolbi: "Dad, what is your shirt made out of?"
Dad: "Cotton."
Kolbi: "Did you know you're wearing a plant? It's a natural resource."
Dad: "Wow Kolbi. Very good. (Playfully) Did you know that certain kinds of shirts are made from silk. And silk comes out of a worms bum?"
Kids: "Eeeww! Poop shirts!?"
Dad: (laughing) "Well, not exactly . . . "
Kolbi: (interrupting) "Dad, do you have a silk shirt?"
Dad: "Uh, No. . . "
Me: "He does have silk ties."
Jonah: (standing up in his chair, pointing his finger at Dad) "Eeeewww! You wear poop around your neck!!!!"
Kids: "Eeeewwww!"
Me: "Way to go hon!"
-------------------------------------------
Zoe's become quite the avid bird watcher. She loves to look out the windows at the birds perched on the fence. Her bird-watching sessions go a little something like this . . .
(Looks out window) "Wew (where) bird? Wew? Bii-ird? Wew bird?
(Spots one) "Der y'is!"
(Starts pounding on the glass) "BIRD! BIRD! BII-IRD!!"
(Finally makes enough ruckus and scares the bird away) (surprised) "Wew birdy go?"
-------------------------------------------
Aiden was in the other room by himself. I heard him singing and went to investigate. This is what I heard . . .
(a lovely variation of I'm just a kid by Simple Plan)
"I'm just a kid and i want some tre-eats.
I'm just a kid and I know that it's not fair.
I'm just a kid and I want lots of tre-eats.
I'm just a kid and you won't let me eat them. . . "
Check out the real video by the way, it's pretty funny.
Apr 16, 2008
Brett Dennen
An incredibly thoughtful gal that attends Parker Chiropractic with the hubby, sent him home with a CD of songs from this guy~ Brett Dennen. Apparently she thought I might like him. I just have to say ~She's brilliant! I'm totally hooked! Check his site out, you won't regret it.
Here's the lyrics to one of my favorite songs (that's saying alot, I like em' all!). . .
DARLIN' DO NOT FEAR
When I arrived in my own set of clothes
I was half a world away from my home
And I was hunted by the wolves and I was heckled by the crows
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
Alongside my innocence I laid in bed awake
Conflicted in these chains with the impetus of age
But like a phantom she crept across the floor and out the window
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
From this place on the mantle my heart was taken down
Scattered in a thousand little pieces on the ground
And out below the streetlamp like an orphan with a halo
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
'Cause it won't last - your worries will pass
All your troubles they don't stand a chance
And sometimes it takes more than a lifetime to know
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
The confidence is full with your faith etched in stone
And I let clean comfort you from the wild unknown
So very auburn and hatred like a hatchet in snow
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
If you have a broken heart or a battered soul
Find something to hold on to or to let go
To help you through the hard nights like a flask filled with hope
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
'Cause it won't last - your worries will pass
All your troubles they don't stand a chance
And it always hurts the worst when it's the ones we love the most
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
Sometimes your path is marked in the sky
Sometimes you're forced to fit in between the lines
Sometimes all that you can do is say no
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
I said, when I arrived in my own set of clothes
I was half a world away from my home
And I was hunted by the wolves and I was heckled by the crows
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
I said, Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
We said, Darlin' do not fear . . .
Thanks Janette. You were right. He's awesome!
Here's the lyrics to one of my favorite songs (that's saying alot, I like em' all!). . .
DARLIN' DO NOT FEAR
When I arrived in my own set of clothes
I was half a world away from my home
And I was hunted by the wolves and I was heckled by the crows
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
Alongside my innocence I laid in bed awake
Conflicted in these chains with the impetus of age
But like a phantom she crept across the floor and out the window
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
From this place on the mantle my heart was taken down
Scattered in a thousand little pieces on the ground
And out below the streetlamp like an orphan with a halo
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
'Cause it won't last - your worries will pass
All your troubles they don't stand a chance
And sometimes it takes more than a lifetime to know
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
The confidence is full with your faith etched in stone
And I let clean comfort you from the wild unknown
So very auburn and hatred like a hatchet in snow
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
If you have a broken heart or a battered soul
Find something to hold on to or to let go
To help you through the hard nights like a flask filled with hope
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
'Cause it won't last - your worries will pass
All your troubles they don't stand a chance
And it always hurts the worst when it's the ones we love the most
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
Sometimes your path is marked in the sky
Sometimes you're forced to fit in between the lines
Sometimes all that you can do is say no
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
I said, when I arrived in my own set of clothes
I was half a world away from my home
And I was hunted by the wolves and I was heckled by the crows
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
I said, Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
We said, Darlin' do not fear . . .
Thanks Janette. You were right. He's awesome!
Apr 1, 2008
Heard in the Trenches III (the mini-est monkey version)
Aiden's prayer over breakfast:
"Heavenly Father, Thank you for this food. And we will get big and strong. And be like superheroes. And this is a new day of our lives. . . "
------------------------------
Aiden has a very active imagination. In fact, he's invented an alternate reality, with a new house and family~ he calls this his "House Dream" because it started as a dream. I often hear tales of what his other mom lets him do ("My other mom says I can have all the treats for dinner." "My mom says I can stay up tonight." "My mom says I can drive the car to the store." etc.). It makes for very odd conversations, I tell ya. The other day he was telling me this:
Aiden: "Mom, did you know my mom said I can marry you when I'm a dad?"
Me: (smiling) "No, really?"
Aiden: "Yeah, and I love to marry girls!"
------------------------------------
Aiden has been very fascinated with kissing and getting married lately. He thinks Hannah Montana is beautiful and frequently (much to his sister's distress) tries to kiss Kolbi's posters of said pop star. He went to my friends house one day and her daughter (who is a year older than him) dressed up in her fancy dress-up clothes then asked him to dance with her. This made quite an impression on him and he's been somewhat smitten ever since. One Sunday they passed love notes (pictures of them dancing together) back and forth. He hung them on his wall the moment he got home. He's been making big plans ever since.
This conversation was relayed to me by this friend who was watching Aiden for me again. Aiden announces, "Olivia, I'm going to marry you when I'm big as a dad. Then I'm going to kiss you." Olivia's mom interjects, "How about you go on a mission first." Aiden says thoughtfully, "oh yeah, that." Turns to Olivia, "Then I'm going to kiss you."
-------------------------------------
Zoe's started to say prayers now. In fact she's very enthusiastic about it and the rest of us have to suppress giggles cause she's just so darn cute! A typical prayer goes a little like this . . .
Mom: "Heavenly Father . . . "
Zoe: (in a squeaky little voice, arms folded tight and eyes squished closed) "squeak, whisper, squeak, squeak"
Mom: "Thank you for. . . "
Zoe: "Tank goo . . ."
Mom: "Daddy . . .
Zoe: "Daa-yee"
Mom: "Mommy . . ."
Z: "Ma-mee"
M: "Kolbi . . ."
Z: "Bol-bee"
M: "Jonah . . . "
Z: "No-nah"
M: "Aiden . . ."
Z: "Aid-n"
M: "Please help . . . "
Zoe: "Aid-n" (giggles from the kids)
M: "Please help . . ."
Zoe: "No-nah." (more giggles from the kids)
M: (sees a pattern here, moving on) "in the name . . ."
Zoe: "Aid-n"
M: "Of Jesus . . . "
Zoe: "De-sus"
M: "Christ . . ."
Zoe: "Cri."
M: "Amen."
Zoe: "Maa-menn!" (Throws her arms out wide. The kids lose it in fits of giggles and she beams proudly).
---------------------------------------------
As we're driving about, Aiden, Zoe and I often jam to tunes. Aiden is very funny about the songs. As I'm scanning through stations, Almost every song he's slightly familiar with, he informs me that that is his "favorite song." He likes to assign parts to the family . . . "I'm playing the guitar, Dad's singing, Jonah's playing the drums . . . "
He also takes the songs very literally. We were listening to a song where the female lead was singing "Baby, something, something, something." He complains from the back seat, "She keeps calling me Baby! I'm not a baby!"
We also listened to Bon Jovi's song "Who says you can't go Home" and he started bawling in the back seat. "What's wrong?!?" I asked. He wails out, "They said I can't go hoooomme!"
He likes to make up names for the songs too. The other day we heard a song I wasn't familiar with, he informs me, "This song is called, 'Water, Water, I want a drink and you're not letting me'." As the chorus starts, he says, "SEE! He just said he's thirsty!"
-------------------------------------------------
We like to eat Hummus in this family, sprinkled with paprika. Aiden was asking for some one morning and said, "Mom, can I have some of that white stuff with that red stuff on it. I want a lot, a lot, of red stuff, but not too much red stuff because that will SPICE my tongue off!"
-----------------------------------------------
Zoe was walking out of her room and bonked her elbow on the door sill. She scrunches up her face, grabs her elbow and says, "Oh, dat's ouches!"
--------------------------------------------------
Aiden was going through our pantry and bugging me for some spaghettios. I looked at the label to find that it was full of modified food starch and high fructose corn syrup. Not wanting him to be a spaz I told him no (repeatedly). He wouldn't take this for an answer however and kept whining and bugging for it. He kept asking why not. Finally in exasperation I said, "Because it's full of CRAP!" (I know, way to keep your cool mom!). His eyes get big and he says, "That has POOP in it?!?!"
"Heavenly Father, Thank you for this food. And we will get big and strong. And be like superheroes. And this is a new day of our lives. . . "
------------------------------
Aiden has a very active imagination. In fact, he's invented an alternate reality, with a new house and family~ he calls this his "House Dream" because it started as a dream. I often hear tales of what his other mom lets him do ("My other mom says I can have all the treats for dinner." "My mom says I can stay up tonight." "My mom says I can drive the car to the store." etc.). It makes for very odd conversations, I tell ya. The other day he was telling me this:
Aiden: "Mom, did you know my mom said I can marry you when I'm a dad?"
Me: (smiling) "No, really?"
Aiden: "Yeah, and I love to marry girls!"
------------------------------------
Aiden has been very fascinated with kissing and getting married lately. He thinks Hannah Montana is beautiful and frequently (much to his sister's distress) tries to kiss Kolbi's posters of said pop star. He went to my friends house one day and her daughter (who is a year older than him) dressed up in her fancy dress-up clothes then asked him to dance with her. This made quite an impression on him and he's been somewhat smitten ever since. One Sunday they passed love notes (pictures of them dancing together) back and forth. He hung them on his wall the moment he got home. He's been making big plans ever since.
This conversation was relayed to me by this friend who was watching Aiden for me again. Aiden announces, "Olivia, I'm going to marry you when I'm big as a dad. Then I'm going to kiss you." Olivia's mom interjects, "How about you go on a mission first." Aiden says thoughtfully, "oh yeah, that." Turns to Olivia, "Then I'm going to kiss you."
-------------------------------------
Zoe's started to say prayers now. In fact she's very enthusiastic about it and the rest of us have to suppress giggles cause she's just so darn cute! A typical prayer goes a little like this . . .
Mom: "Heavenly Father . . . "
Zoe: (in a squeaky little voice, arms folded tight and eyes squished closed) "squeak, whisper, squeak, squeak"
Mom: "Thank you for. . . "
Zoe: "Tank goo . . ."
Mom: "Daddy . . .
Zoe: "Daa-yee"
Mom: "Mommy . . ."
Z: "Ma-mee"
M: "Kolbi . . ."
Z: "Bol-bee"
M: "Jonah . . . "
Z: "No-nah"
M: "Aiden . . ."
Z: "Aid-n"
M: "Please help . . . "
Zoe: "Aid-n" (giggles from the kids)
M: "Please help . . ."
Zoe: "No-nah." (more giggles from the kids)
M: (sees a pattern here, moving on) "in the name . . ."
Zoe: "Aid-n"
M: "Of Jesus . . . "
Zoe: "De-sus"
M: "Christ . . ."
Zoe: "Cri."
M: "Amen."
Zoe: "Maa-menn!" (Throws her arms out wide. The kids lose it in fits of giggles and she beams proudly).
---------------------------------------------
As we're driving about, Aiden, Zoe and I often jam to tunes. Aiden is very funny about the songs. As I'm scanning through stations, Almost every song he's slightly familiar with, he informs me that that is his "favorite song." He likes to assign parts to the family . . . "I'm playing the guitar, Dad's singing, Jonah's playing the drums . . . "
He also takes the songs very literally. We were listening to a song where the female lead was singing "Baby, something, something, something." He complains from the back seat, "She keeps calling me Baby! I'm not a baby!"
We also listened to Bon Jovi's song "Who says you can't go Home" and he started bawling in the back seat. "What's wrong?!?" I asked. He wails out, "They said I can't go hoooomme!"
He likes to make up names for the songs too. The other day we heard a song I wasn't familiar with, he informs me, "This song is called, 'Water, Water, I want a drink and you're not letting me'." As the chorus starts, he says, "SEE! He just said he's thirsty!"
-------------------------------------------------
We like to eat Hummus in this family, sprinkled with paprika. Aiden was asking for some one morning and said, "Mom, can I have some of that white stuff with that red stuff on it. I want a lot, a lot, of red stuff, but not too much red stuff because that will SPICE my tongue off!"
-----------------------------------------------
Zoe was walking out of her room and bonked her elbow on the door sill. She scrunches up her face, grabs her elbow and says, "Oh, dat's ouches!"
--------------------------------------------------
Aiden was going through our pantry and bugging me for some spaghettios. I looked at the label to find that it was full of modified food starch and high fructose corn syrup. Not wanting him to be a spaz I told him no (repeatedly). He wouldn't take this for an answer however and kept whining and bugging for it. He kept asking why not. Finally in exasperation I said, "Because it's full of CRAP!" (I know, way to keep your cool mom!). His eyes get big and he says, "That has POOP in it?!?!"
Mar 24, 2008
Next stop, the Twilight Zone!
This exceedingly long post is #4 dedicated to my crazy, exceedingly long/ exceedingly wrong week (what, now 2 weeks back? I know, I'm terribly pathetic).
--------------------------------------------------
-Today felt like it should have been narrated by Rod Serling. If I had known I was stepping into the Twilight Zone, I don't think I would have left the bed. I started out the morning hoping to trim Kolbi's hair before she had to get ready for school (it was looking a bit ragged and all sorts of split-endish). This is the same Kolbi who who has been trying to grow her hair out for 6 months now because her friend Jaiden has super lengthy beautiful locks, and her friend Piper has hair down to there, and her friend so-and-so actually sits on her hair, and . . . well, you get the picture. This is the same girl who has cried for the last 3 haircuts because I trimmed a quarter-inch and "Now it's tooooo Shooorrrrttt!" When I started to cut, however, Kolbi proclaimed she wanted, not a trim, but a full-on CHOP. Her friend so-and-so has short hair, and she wanted to do it too. "Ok Self", I thought, "No problem."
Well, I lied. Every time I thought I got it even, I would go to the other side to find I was still crooked. I couldn't seem to get it straight and even, and the clock is ticking, and the other three monkies are starting to wake up and demand my attention, and the hair just keeps falling, and it's still not straight, and Kolbi is wiggling, and it's now longer on the left than the right, so I trim the left and now it's shorter than the right, and she's starting to look like I thought I was a jungle-woman hacking through her hair with a flippin' machete! I finally got it **cough cough** (quote, unquote) even (ok, as even as it was going to get this morning before I took the Wahl to my own wrist). I proclaimed her "DONE" and immediately she starts to tear up because it's not as short as so-and-so's. (Really, already at this age??? Do we really have to be such a conformist? Aaaaagh!) I shoe her into the shower (she can tell from the way my eyeballs are protruding out of my skull and spewing forth fire that I mean business), she beats a hasty retreat. I vacuumed up the dead cat while she showered and clogged the drain and the other three ran amok (their absolute FAVORITE pastime). By the skin of our teeth she made it to school and I went home ready to collapse and it was only 8:05 a.m.
Next came the grand adventure of the babysitting swap which actually went really well. I had only one friend drop-off her kids, including her gorgeous 6-month old (who I think epitomizes cuteness and was an ABSOLUTE angel!) I plopped the kids in front of a show (after a brief squabble about the virtues of Star Wars verses PBS kids) and actually succeeded in getting the kitchen cleaned up a little. That is, until the show ran out and they were pining for a snack (of which only about half actually made it INTO the little bodies). By the time mom came to pick them up, it was snowing pretty hard. By the time I went to drop Jonah off at school, one of Texas's rare snowstorms was hitting us full-force.
By 3 o'clock, we were buried in 4 inches of snow and it was still dumping!
Now, having lived in Denver, Chicago, Utah, and Idaho (all competitors for the "Snowiest Winter" award) I've seen my fair share of snow. One of my few joys in moving to Texas is that there's no snow (well maybe a quarter inch dusting 1 day out of the year). But as I pull out of the garage, I am in a winter wonderland and it's apparent Texas felt the need to at least run in the Competition even if it knew there was a snowball's chance in Texas of actually winning. As I clutch my steering wheel and gaze out at the blizzard that has descended upon us, I'm assaulted with so many bitter snow memories . . . [Cue memory reel . . . ah, my snow-filled paper route days in Colorado when I was a kid. The time I was about 7, pulling my stupid red wagon full of the Denver Post, trudging through the snow ~that was literally up to my chin! Oh, but rain, or sleet, or snow right? (oh wait, that's the postal service). . . How about the time, while traveling to a stake youth dance in Chicago (the same Chicago where they put 10 foot poles on the fire hydrants so they can find them under the snow in winter~think I'm joking? 'Fraid not), my car spun around 3 times, [to the tune of my friend hitting me repeatedly and chanting "It's okay! It's okay! It's okay!"] planted me the wrong direction, and abruptly died on a major highway. . . . Or the time I was walking uphill to campus in Rexburg Idaho and ended up slipping/sliding back down the very lengthy hill 3 times, thus bruising my knees, shins, chin, and unmentionables! . . . Or the time I walked out my apartment door one wintery morning in Provo, Utah, abruptly slipped, and bounced my skull off the pavement, effectively giving myself a lovely black-eye (which I used to fool my then-boyfriend into thinking I'd been mugged and finally admitting what happened as he was picking up the phone to call campus police) . . . NOT happy memories (okay, the fooling of the boyfriend was actually pretty funny in a sick way, but the other memories . . .not so much)!]
I pull out of the driveway and am painfully reminded that my two rear tires are as bald as Mr. Clean, and they ain't giving me no traction what-so-ever! (I knew they were bald, but we're too poor to replace them yet and I wasn't expecting to walk out of my Texas door into Alaska!) I gingerly slip-slide my way slooowwwlllyyy to school (all the time reminding myself that I've driven in snow more than your average bear, that I can do this~I've done it so many times before. But my traitorous brain kept whispering back, "but not on bald tires with precious cargo in the back!" Thanks a lot! No pressure!) At the school, of course, there's an insanely long line to pick up the kids. All the time I'm completely paranoid that while on the hill, my tires are just going to slip on the ice and we're going to slide down the hill taking out multiple cars on the way. My knuckles are whiter than the snow and I'm praying most fervently. I picked up the monkies without incident and we made it home safely at a snail's pace. *Whew* Except I couldn't actually get up my driveway and into my garage! My oh so barren tires give a mighty effort, squealing and clawing for a hold, but the snow is indomitable and isn't giving up. Finally, after three tries, I gun it and the van gives a lusty roar as we sail into the garage, narrowly missing the back wall. Jonah, who is begging me to stop trying because he is, at this point, terrified, heaves a pitiful sigh of relief. I let out the breath I've been holding all the way home, and we scramble out of the vehicle.
At home, the kids beg mercilessly to play in the snow. I inwardly groan, imagining all of the snow that will be tracked into the house, the wet & muddy coats, shoes, socks, gloves, and jeans that will be clogging my laundry room, how cold it is out there, and the fact that I will have to accompany said monkies into winter wonderland (Have I mentioned that I hate snow?). I suck it up however, bundle the monkies like little eskimos, and send them out to play in the nasty white stuff.
I have to admit, it was really good packing snow, perfect for snowballs and Large snowmen (a rare treat in Texas ~ our last rare snow storm produced a miniature snowman that barely came above the children's shoes). We threw snowballs for a while, shoveled with our gardening shovels, and the kids helped the neighbors build a snowman taller than Kolbi. And the snow kept coming!
Zoe, the one who fought hardest for her right to play in the snow, became cold, sick of her mittens, and bored of the snow within 5 minutes. She started dragging out all of the summer sports equipment and then screaming when she couldn't ride her trike in the snow. 
Oh, the sheer audacity of this snowstorm to ruin her contemplated plans!! This was when this tired little Cleopatra LOST IT Big time!!! Her wails sailed out over the snowy plains and echoed back considerably. If there were mountains, I'm sure she would have started an avalanche! I hastily informed the children we needed to get inside, Zoe was ready to blow her little top and melt all of the snow single-handedly (if she didn't push me over the edge first, in which case I would do the proud deed). Surprisingly, my little snow angels didn't oblige willingly. I wrangled, wrestled, coaxed, coerced, and threatened them with their lives (all the while desperately trying to hold onto the slippery lil' krakatoa) and finally got them stripped of their soggies and inside the house, where they begin to ooze and meltdown at the injustice of it all. I reach out and hit the button to close the garage (hoping to effectively shut our drama off from the rest of the world), it starts to descend, stops, and turns right back around. What!?!?
Either the snow was too deep or too swirly and the garage door sensors were picking it up, thus keeping it from coming down. If I kept the door open much longer, the garage would be packed with the crud, and Chris wouldn't be able to get his car in. So, Mukluk to the rescue, I absorb the kiddos in a show and head out to shovel the driveway (with a garden shovel mind you. FUN!) so the hubs won't have to battle his way into the garage and so we can close the darn thing. After considerable toil, the right side of the driveway is clear, salted, and I'm ready to collapse (oh, wait, but it's time to make dinner!! Woo hoo!! Will the fun never end?!). I hit the button to close the door again, and lo and behold . . . it STILL doesn't close!! What the @#$&@^@*$%*?!?!
Inside, I search vigilantly for the manual for the garage door. I call the manufacturer and sit for a half hour just chillin' to their lovely muzak (actually I was thanking my hubby for my lovely blue-tooth that saved my neck and arm while I started scrounging for something brilliant to make for dinner). Finally I get a genuine human voice, he sounds really young, and after each question I hear him typing into his computer, followed by long pauses. Does he really know what he's doing? What he lacks in age and experience, however, he makes up for in enthusiasm, exuding words like "Fantastic! Wonderful! Excellent! and Marvelous!" He walks me through several steps which effectively dismantle the darn door. Then he asks me to pull the door down manually. That's when I solved the mystery . . . when the chillins got out the shovels to play in the snow earlier, they knocked a pole in the path of the door. Hence, when the door came down, it would hit the pole and go right back up (a lovely little detail I couldn't see through the solid steel of the parked van~I'm no Superman). I get the pole out of the way, but now, the instructions for re-assembling the door aren't working. My door is still manual (and that ain't gonna fly~we paid extra for an opener for a reason). . . the 12 year old on the other line puts me on hold to speak to someone who actually knows what he's doing. Meanwhile, I fiddle (hoping my impromptu pizzas aren't burning in the oven) and get it to work. My friend comes back on the line and I tell him what I did to fix it. "Fantastic!" He says, "That's just what I was about to tell you to do." "Wonderful!" I say, "Thanks for your help!" and rush inside just in time to pull the pizzas out of the oven (narrowly avoiding another Day of Rest incident).
Chris arrives home safely **Whew** and we have a lovely little dinner together. The kids regal him with tales of their joyous snow adventures (sprinkled with expressions of disgust that the abominable snowmom brought them in too soon). At least someone had fun in the stupid snow! It certainly wasn't me! Chris looks over at Kolbi's new hair cut and asks, "Why is one side longer than the other?" THAT'S IT!!! I pull Kolbi into the bathroom, yank out the Wahl, and start hacking away again. I'm dead determined this time not to send my child to school looking like her head got caught in the lawnmower. By the time I'm done, the bathroom looks like there's been another cat fight in there, Kolbi is actually looking more presentable, and it's way past everybody's bedtime. Chris and I, in great haste, packed the sardines off to bed, and both collapsed on the couch. I survey the damage . . . there's still muddy, wet shoes by the front door, a pile of wet laundry piled next to the washer, dishes from dinner all over the kitchen (not to mention half of dinner that ended up on the floor. . . What's the deal with not being able to get the food INTO the mouth??), and I've noticed I've developed a few new tics. Chris just grabs the remote control, flips on the idiot box, and we sink into the couch while our brains leak out of our ears. Aaaaaah! A moment's peace! The news comes on and I swear it's Rod Serling's voice predicting sunny weather tomorrow. Temperatures are rising and the snow is already melting making the morning commute not too bad. . . . "You're moving out of a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. A land where nothing is quite as it should be." He says, "an area which we call the Twilight Zone".
__________________________
Up next: Family fun ~ or die trying
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-Today felt like it should have been narrated by Rod Serling. If I had known I was stepping into the Twilight Zone, I don't think I would have left the bed. I started out the morning hoping to trim Kolbi's hair before she had to get ready for school (it was looking a bit ragged and all sorts of split-endish). This is the same Kolbi who who has been trying to grow her hair out for 6 months now because her friend Jaiden has super lengthy beautiful locks, and her friend Piper has hair down to there, and her friend so-and-so actually sits on her hair, and . . . well, you get the picture. This is the same girl who has cried for the last 3 haircuts because I trimmed a quarter-inch and "Now it's tooooo Shooorrrrttt!" When I started to cut, however, Kolbi proclaimed she wanted, not a trim, but a full-on CHOP. Her friend so-and-so has short hair, and she wanted to do it too. "Ok Self", I thought, "No problem."Well, I lied. Every time I thought I got it even, I would go to the other side to find I was still crooked. I couldn't seem to get it straight and even, and the clock is ticking, and the other three monkies are starting to wake up and demand my attention, and the hair just keeps falling, and it's still not straight, and Kolbi is wiggling, and it's now longer on the left than the right, so I trim the left and now it's shorter than the right, and she's starting to look like I thought I was a jungle-woman hacking through her hair with a flippin' machete! I finally got it **cough cough** (quote, unquote) even (ok, as even as it was going to get this morning before I took the Wahl to my own wrist). I proclaimed her "DONE" and immediately she starts to tear up because it's not as short as so-and-so's. (Really, already at this age??? Do we really have to be such a conformist? Aaaaagh!) I shoe her into the shower (she can tell from the way my eyeballs are protruding out of my skull and spewing forth fire that I mean business), she beats a hasty retreat. I vacuumed up the dead cat while she showered and clogged the drain and the other three ran amok (their absolute FAVORITE pastime). By the skin of our teeth she made it to school and I went home ready to collapse and it was only 8:05 a.m.
Next came the grand adventure of the babysitting swap which actually went really well. I had only one friend drop-off her kids, including her gorgeous 6-month old (who I think epitomizes cuteness and was an ABSOLUTE angel!) I plopped the kids in front of a show (after a brief squabble about the virtues of Star Wars verses PBS kids) and actually succeeded in getting the kitchen cleaned up a little. That is, until the show ran out and they were pining for a snack (of which only about half actually made it INTO the little bodies). By the time mom came to pick them up, it was snowing pretty hard. By the time I went to drop Jonah off at school, one of Texas's rare snowstorms was hitting us full-force.
By 3 o'clock, we were buried in 4 inches of snow and it was still dumping!
Now, having lived in Denver, Chicago, Utah, and Idaho (all competitors for the "Snowiest Winter" award) I've seen my fair share of snow. One of my few joys in moving to Texas is that there's no snow (well maybe a quarter inch dusting 1 day out of the year). But as I pull out of the garage, I am in a winter wonderland and it's apparent Texas felt the need to at least run in the Competition even if it knew there was a snowball's chance in Texas of actually winning. As I clutch my steering wheel and gaze out at the blizzard that has descended upon us, I'm assaulted with so many bitter snow memories . . . [Cue memory reel . . . ah, my snow-filled paper route days in Colorado when I was a kid. The time I was about 7, pulling my stupid red wagon full of the Denver Post, trudging through the snow ~that was literally up to my chin! Oh, but rain, or sleet, or snow right? (oh wait, that's the postal service). . . How about the time, while traveling to a stake youth dance in Chicago (the same Chicago where they put 10 foot poles on the fire hydrants so they can find them under the snow in winter~think I'm joking? 'Fraid not), my car spun around 3 times, [to the tune of my friend hitting me repeatedly and chanting "It's okay! It's okay! It's okay!"] planted me the wrong direction, and abruptly died on a major highway. . . . Or the time I was walking uphill to campus in Rexburg Idaho and ended up slipping/sliding back down the very lengthy hill 3 times, thus bruising my knees, shins, chin, and unmentionables! . . . Or the time I walked out my apartment door one wintery morning in Provo, Utah, abruptly slipped, and bounced my skull off the pavement, effectively giving myself a lovely black-eye (which I used to fool my then-boyfriend into thinking I'd been mugged and finally admitting what happened as he was picking up the phone to call campus police) . . . NOT happy memories (okay, the fooling of the boyfriend was actually pretty funny in a sick way, but the other memories . . .not so much)!]I pull out of the driveway and am painfully reminded that my two rear tires are as bald as Mr. Clean, and they ain't giving me no traction what-so-ever! (I knew they were bald, but we're too poor to replace them yet and I wasn't expecting to walk out of my Texas door into Alaska!) I gingerly slip-slide my way slooowwwlllyyy to school (all the time reminding myself that I've driven in snow more than your average bear, that I can do this~I've done it so many times before. But my traitorous brain kept whispering back, "but not on bald tires with precious cargo in the back!" Thanks a lot! No pressure!) At the school, of course, there's an insanely long line to pick up the kids. All the time I'm completely paranoid that while on the hill, my tires are just going to slip on the ice and we're going to slide down the hill taking out multiple cars on the way. My knuckles are whiter than the snow and I'm praying most fervently. I picked up the monkies without incident and we made it home safely at a snail's pace. *Whew* Except I couldn't actually get up my driveway and into my garage! My oh so barren tires give a mighty effort, squealing and clawing for a hold, but the snow is indomitable and isn't giving up. Finally, after three tries, I gun it and the van gives a lusty roar as we sail into the garage, narrowly missing the back wall. Jonah, who is begging me to stop trying because he is, at this point, terrified, heaves a pitiful sigh of relief. I let out the breath I've been holding all the way home, and we scramble out of the vehicle.
At home, the kids beg mercilessly to play in the snow. I inwardly groan, imagining all of the snow that will be tracked into the house, the wet & muddy coats, shoes, socks, gloves, and jeans that will be clogging my laundry room, how cold it is out there, and the fact that I will have to accompany said monkies into winter wonderland (Have I mentioned that I hate snow?). I suck it up however, bundle the monkies like little eskimos, and send them out to play in the nasty white stuff.
I have to admit, it was really good packing snow, perfect for snowballs and Large snowmen (a rare treat in Texas ~ our last rare snow storm produced a miniature snowman that barely came above the children's shoes). We threw snowballs for a while, shoveled with our gardening shovels, and the kids helped the neighbors build a snowman taller than Kolbi. And the snow kept coming!
Zoe, the one who fought hardest for her right to play in the snow, became cold, sick of her mittens, and bored of the snow within 5 minutes. She started dragging out all of the summer sports equipment and then screaming when she couldn't ride her trike in the snow. 
Oh, the sheer audacity of this snowstorm to ruin her contemplated plans!! This was when this tired little Cleopatra LOST IT Big time!!! Her wails sailed out over the snowy plains and echoed back considerably. If there were mountains, I'm sure she would have started an avalanche! I hastily informed the children we needed to get inside, Zoe was ready to blow her little top and melt all of the snow single-handedly (if she didn't push me over the edge first, in which case I would do the proud deed). Surprisingly, my little snow angels didn't oblige willingly. I wrangled, wrestled, coaxed, coerced, and threatened them with their lives (all the while desperately trying to hold onto the slippery lil' krakatoa) and finally got them stripped of their soggies and inside the house, where they begin to ooze and meltdown at the injustice of it all. I reach out and hit the button to close the garage (hoping to effectively shut our drama off from the rest of the world), it starts to descend, stops, and turns right back around. What!?!?Either the snow was too deep or too swirly and the garage door sensors were picking it up, thus keeping it from coming down. If I kept the door open much longer, the garage would be packed with the crud, and Chris wouldn't be able to get his car in. So, Mukluk to the rescue, I absorb the kiddos in a show and head out to shovel the driveway (with a garden shovel mind you. FUN!) so the hubs won't have to battle his way into the garage and so we can close the darn thing. After considerable toil, the right side of the driveway is clear, salted, and I'm ready to collapse (oh, wait, but it's time to make dinner!! Woo hoo!! Will the fun never end?!). I hit the button to close the door again, and lo and behold . . . it STILL doesn't close!! What the @#$&@^@*$%*?!?!
Inside, I search vigilantly for the manual for the garage door. I call the manufacturer and sit for a half hour just chillin' to their lovely muzak (actually I was thanking my hubby for my lovely blue-tooth that saved my neck and arm while I started scrounging for something brilliant to make for dinner). Finally I get a genuine human voice, he sounds really young, and after each question I hear him typing into his computer, followed by long pauses. Does he really know what he's doing? What he lacks in age and experience, however, he makes up for in enthusiasm, exuding words like "Fantastic! Wonderful! Excellent! and Marvelous!" He walks me through several steps which effectively dismantle the darn door. Then he asks me to pull the door down manually. That's when I solved the mystery . . . when the chillins got out the shovels to play in the snow earlier, they knocked a pole in the path of the door. Hence, when the door came down, it would hit the pole and go right back up (a lovely little detail I couldn't see through the solid steel of the parked van~I'm no Superman). I get the pole out of the way, but now, the instructions for re-assembling the door aren't working. My door is still manual (and that ain't gonna fly~we paid extra for an opener for a reason). . . the 12 year old on the other line puts me on hold to speak to someone who actually knows what he's doing. Meanwhile, I fiddle (hoping my impromptu pizzas aren't burning in the oven) and get it to work. My friend comes back on the line and I tell him what I did to fix it. "Fantastic!" He says, "That's just what I was about to tell you to do." "Wonderful!" I say, "Thanks for your help!" and rush inside just in time to pull the pizzas out of the oven (narrowly avoiding another Day of Rest incident).
Chris arrives home safely **Whew** and we have a lovely little dinner together. The kids regal him with tales of their joyous snow adventures (sprinkled with expressions of disgust that the abominable snowmom brought them in too soon). At least someone had fun in the stupid snow! It certainly wasn't me! Chris looks over at Kolbi's new hair cut and asks, "Why is one side longer than the other?" THAT'S IT!!! I pull Kolbi into the bathroom, yank out the Wahl, and start hacking away again. I'm dead determined this time not to send my child to school looking like her head got caught in the lawnmower. By the time I'm done, the bathroom looks like there's been another cat fight in there, Kolbi is actually looking more presentable, and it's way past everybody's bedtime. Chris and I, in great haste, packed the sardines off to bed, and both collapsed on the couch. I survey the damage . . . there's still muddy, wet shoes by the front door, a pile of wet laundry piled next to the washer, dishes from dinner all over the kitchen (not to mention half of dinner that ended up on the floor. . . What's the deal with not being able to get the food INTO the mouth??), and I've noticed I've developed a few new tics. Chris just grabs the remote control, flips on the idiot box, and we sink into the couch while our brains leak out of our ears. Aaaaaah! A moment's peace! The news comes on and I swear it's Rod Serling's voice predicting sunny weather tomorrow. Temperatures are rising and the snow is already melting making the morning commute not too bad. . . . "You're moving out of a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. A land where nothing is quite as it should be." He says, "an area which we call the Twilight Zone".
__________________________
Up next: Family fun ~ or die trying
Mar 19, 2008
To hurl, or not to hurl? That is the question.
Post #3 dedicated to my crazy week . . .
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~ This was the day for my follow up appointment from my oral surgery. It took a lot of finagling to figure out babysitters for my kids and getting Jonah off to school. But I had it all worked out. I was feeling pretty prepared and eager to get the insanely obnoxious stray strings from my stitches cut out. I felt that I would truly slip over the very thin ledge to insanity if that fishing line poked the bottom of my tongue one more time!
Well, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that jazz . . . Jonah (a.k.a. Hurl King) wakes up complaining that his tummy hurts. He's definitely not acting normal and so the big green puke bowl becomes his wingman. Throughout breakfast he moans and cries for daddy (I wasn't being nearly sympathetic for his liking) and generally makes a fuss. "Are you sure you're not just hungry Jonah?" I keep asking. "Do you want to try eating something?" He just moans louder and hugs his bowl tighter. A couple times I think he might really hurl, I wipe his brow with a cold cloth and push the bowl up under his chin, but nothing comes of it.
When it's time to take Kolbi to school, Jonah's still acting very green and I'm feeling the stitches considering pulling the suckers out myself! After dropping Kolbi off, the periodontist's office is now open. I call and report that my kid is sick and I'm going to have to reschedule. The next available appointment is in 2 weeks!! I'll be in the loony bin by then! As I'm in the middle of my phone conversation (and having already cancelled my appointment), I hear Jonah in the back of the van say, "Mom, I think I'm okay. I think I'm just hungry." I peer at him in the rear view mirror and indeed he looks quite sunny and fine. I tell the receptionist to please put me back down for today and I will call back to cancel if he actually hurls.
Now I engage in a great internal debate. Should I still send him to my friends' house and potentially expose her kids? They just got over passing the gamboo around. What if I give it to them again by sending my potentially contagious monkey over there? What if I'm solely responsible for the medical downfall of their family? (Okay, I know, I'm a bit of a drama queen too). I call my friend and explain the sitch'. Being the saint that she is, my friend convinces me that it will be okay. If he throws up, then what are you gonna do. She tells me to bring them over anyways. In fact, she almost orders me to bring them over (she knows me too well!).
I end up taking my kids over. I fret the whole time that perhaps he's hurling right now? What have I done to my friend? But I go to my appointment anyways. As I'm walking in I hear lots of whispered tones from the office staff . . . "Look, she made it! I guess he's okay." I get the stitches cut (actually she PULLED the suckers out~ not what I was expecting or prepared for). The Doc says it all looks surprisingly good (He expected part of the gum to die off, but Noooo, my gums are just to stubborn ~I keep surprising him with my healing abilities). I rush back to pick up my kiddos ~prepared to apologize profusely~ but as I walk through the door, Jonah is all wildness, smiles, and sunshine. All that drama for nothing. I took him home, shoveled lunch at him, and sent him off to school to potentially infect all of the other little monkies in his class. All's well that ends well, but sometimes I really just wish he'd make up his mind!
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Up next: You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.
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~ This was the day for my follow up appointment from my oral surgery. It took a lot of finagling to figure out babysitters for my kids and getting Jonah off to school. But I had it all worked out. I was feeling pretty prepared and eager to get the insanely obnoxious stray strings from my stitches cut out. I felt that I would truly slip over the very thin ledge to insanity if that fishing line poked the bottom of my tongue one more time!Well, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that jazz . . . Jonah (a.k.a. Hurl King) wakes up complaining that his tummy hurts. He's definitely not acting normal and so the big green puke bowl becomes his wingman. Throughout breakfast he moans and cries for daddy (I wasn't being nearly sympathetic for his liking) and generally makes a fuss. "Are you sure you're not just hungry Jonah?" I keep asking. "Do you want to try eating something?" He just moans louder and hugs his bowl tighter. A couple times I think he might really hurl, I wipe his brow with a cold cloth and push the bowl up under his chin, but nothing comes of it.
When it's time to take Kolbi to school, Jonah's still acting very green and I'm feeling the stitches considering pulling the suckers out myself! After dropping Kolbi off, the periodontist's office is now open. I call and report that my kid is sick and I'm going to have to reschedule. The next available appointment is in 2 weeks!! I'll be in the loony bin by then! As I'm in the middle of my phone conversation (and having already cancelled my appointment), I hear Jonah in the back of the van say, "Mom, I think I'm okay. I think I'm just hungry." I peer at him in the rear view mirror and indeed he looks quite sunny and fine. I tell the receptionist to please put me back down for today and I will call back to cancel if he actually hurls.
Now I engage in a great internal debate. Should I still send him to my friends' house and potentially expose her kids? They just got over passing the gamboo around. What if I give it to them again by sending my potentially contagious monkey over there? What if I'm solely responsible for the medical downfall of their family? (Okay, I know, I'm a bit of a drama queen too). I call my friend and explain the sitch'. Being the saint that she is, my friend convinces me that it will be okay. If he throws up, then what are you gonna do. She tells me to bring them over anyways. In fact, she almost orders me to bring them over (she knows me too well!).
I end up taking my kids over. I fret the whole time that perhaps he's hurling right now? What have I done to my friend? But I go to my appointment anyways. As I'm walking in I hear lots of whispered tones from the office staff . . . "Look, she made it! I guess he's okay." I get the stitches cut (actually she PULLED the suckers out~ not what I was expecting or prepared for). The Doc says it all looks surprisingly good (He expected part of the gum to die off, but Noooo, my gums are just to stubborn ~I keep surprising him with my healing abilities). I rush back to pick up my kiddos ~prepared to apologize profusely~ but as I walk through the door, Jonah is all wildness, smiles, and sunshine. All that drama for nothing. I took him home, shoveled lunch at him, and sent him off to school to potentially infect all of the other little monkies in his class. All's well that ends well, but sometimes I really just wish he'd make up his mind!
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Up next: You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.
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