the daily grind

Jerome the Gnome

2010-08-09T21:15:00.000-07:00

You know when you get something stuck in your head and you just can't let it go? Most of the time - for me, at least - it's a lyric. I'll think it over and over again in my head trying with all my power to not verbalize it because then the problem gets worse. Just ask Tyler. The story of what he calls our 'first date' (which it was not, by the way) is most unfortunately tied to one such incident - but that's a story for another time. . . maybe.

For the past, let's say, four or five years I've been trying to not give in to my inner child on this one particular issue. I had a stroke of genius, even if it was immature. Whether or not I actually caved or simply changed my mind is all gray area. Let's just say if the nagging 'brilliant idea' I've been putting off were a song, I've sung it out loud now and I'm threatening to do it again, and again, and again.

This is an area we ride at the ranch called the 'Enchanted Forrest'. Oooh, Ahhh. Enchanting, no? The majority of the property is covered in aspens, but when you enter 'The Enchanted Forrest' it's like you're riding into a Fairy Tale. A kind of dark one. Snow White, Hansel and Gretel, you know. It feels ancient, captivatingly beautiful, and a little spooky all at the same time. The smell of this area is what men's cologne that's touted as 'woodsy' should smell like. Intoxicating. I always picture creatures slipping behind a tree, scurrying into a hole, or taking flight as we go through. So it's no wonder I wanted to put a creature of some kind there. Right? I'm right, right?

Meet Jerome. It took me years to find the perfect Gnome for this assignment. (Thank you, Target, as always.) I'm not kidding. I searched the world, or at least the world wide web, and I finally found Jerome right here - at the mother ship. Who knew. He's perfect.

So now the Enchanted Forrest has a real live Gnome that calls it home. (Don't make me come out there and fight you. He's real, alright.)

He's just small enough that you won't notice him unless he's pretty much pointed out to you. Did I already say 'perfect'?

What? There's a what? Under where? See what I mean. Genius.

And now all I can think about is planting more Gnomes. Scratch the itch, what do you get?

Did I Mention I Love My Job?

2010-08-02T19:30:00.000-07:00

How Could I Not?

It's Full of this:

friends

(human and equine)

and this:

my other babies

and this:

astounding beauty

and this:

Three Excuses

2010-07-05T22:18:00.000-07:00

I haven't been avoiding you on purpose. I have a few very good reasons for my absence:

1. Computer had a nasty virus - required a few days of me fake-swearing at it, and then a few days at the computer hospital. It's breathing on its own now. Everything should be fine.

2. Holy busy weekend. Can we drag the fourth of July out ANY longer? I mean, really. Enough already.

3. Put in so many overtime hours over the last few weeks I've literally been told to stop working so much . . . unless circumstances (like this last weekend) require my presence. How to effectively do my job without being at work is a bit of a mystery to me - BUT a little more time at home might be nice.

Only in Walmart

2010-06-11T21:42:00.000-07:00

Every time I head out to do my grocery shopping I bemoan the fact that Walmart is SO much closer to me than Target. On the upside, Walmart is a mecca for people-watching. I heard this little gem last week - thought I would share.

Coming around the end of an aisle, I caught the very end of this educational conversation.

Mom to cartfull of runny-nosed children - "Because Mommies and Daddies get their
magic from Santa Claus, and Santa Claus gets his magic
from . . . (wait for it, people, this is the zinger) Jesus."

That's right. Apparently Jesus is magic. You heard me - or the crazy, misguided woman in the fishing aisle - just in case you were wondering who to ask next time you need a bit of magic. Wow. There you are, Sugar. Mommy will never lead you astray.
And I felt bad for referencing "The Santa Claus" for all my children's questions on the Santa subject. Now I feel just fine. I feel angelic. What were they doing talking about Santa in June anyway?

'Mileage'

2010-06-05T07:32:00.000-07:00

Soo, the first night we were in California I asked Tyler what 'the plan' was for the following day - which is somewhat of a nightly ritual for us. I was referring particularly to the wedding we were there for - I thought there was a rehearsal dinner, or things to help with, etc. The conversation went something like this:

Tyler- I thought we'd head over to Santa Cruz in the morning - do the boardwalk thing and hit the beach.
Me- K. Sounds good.
Tyler- We probably need to head back fairly early though, so we have time to get ready. (Red flag! Red flag! My husband is planning out time for me to get ready? Something is not right.)
Me- Get ready for what? Rehearsal dinner?
Tyler - No, we have other plans.
Me- So, there's no dinner?
Tyler- I think there is a dinner, but we're doing something else.
(awkward pause)
Me- Um, isn't that kind of rude? I mean we're here for the wedding.
Tyler- Well, the boys are going to the dinner, we're just doing something else.
Me- So there is a dinner. What are we doing, and that seems even worse - your family is babysitting the boys during the dinner while we do something else. . .
Tyler- You know what we're doing, and they offered.
Me- Mm, don't know what we're doing.
Tyler- Yes you do (huge smirk covering his face).
Me- Nnno I don't.
Tyler- Yes, you do. What is there to do here?
Me- Ahhh, I don't know. This is your town. There are a million things to do in San Francisco. Why are you being so weird?
Tyler- Because you know.
Me- Ohmygosh, I. don't. know. what. you're. talking. about.

I won't put you through the next ten minutes of "yes you do"s and "no I don't"s - then you would be as frustrated as I was. Bottom line is that for months Tyler had been planning (plotting) with his family to surprise me and take me to Wicked. He had everything worked out and I literally had no idea. I love surprises! I love Wicked! First Tyler brought me a bunch of New York Times Crossword Puzzles for trip (which ties with flowers, btw. I love them so.), then this? The whole trip was like a honeymoon all over again - only driving in a Suburban with four restless boys and my mother-in-law, so not quite the same after all. But still very, very good.

The gorgeous Orpheum Theatre

A not-so-gorgeous shot of us after the show!

(From the day we came home Tyler has been dumbfounded that I haven't just blurted out "We went to Wicked" to everyone I see. 'Did you tell ____?, Did you tell ____?" He keeps saying, "I thought I'd get more mileage out of this". I'm thinking this counts. Thank you, Baby! Here's your mileage!)

(And a huge 'thanks' to Tyler's family for making our night out possible! You are all so great!)

Quick Note

2010-05-31T17:52:00.000-07:00

Ugh. Just remembered I'm out of chicken food, and I so don't want to schlep all the way to the feed store tonight. Wonder if chickens eat Kashi. Pretty sure they do now. Fancy chickens.

2010-05-25T23:55:00.000-07:00

I am my to-do list. It's sad, I know, but I'm pretty sure that's what I've been reduced to.

Get up - check (it's a freebie and I'm taking it!)
Get the kids off to school - check
Feed Horses - check
Feed Chickens - check
Feed Baby every four hours - check, check, check, check . . .
Strip Beds - check
Laundry - Made noble attempt
Make Beds - Waiting on finalization of above line item
Exercise Horses - check
Exercise Self - thinking about it, hard
Water Potted Flowers / Plants - delegate
Weed Left Front - um, half-check
Grocery Store - put off 'till tomorrow
Baseball Practice and Games (5, 5:15, & 6:45) - Can't wait
Dinner - check (will have to be portable enough to be eaten in shifts during above line-items)
Convince Boys they already had Dinner when they ask at home - check, I think
Feed Horses again - check
Put Chickens 'to bed' - check
Bathe dog - check
Bathe Boys - check
Read with Boys - check
Read to Boys - check
Put Boys to Bed - check
Do Dishes - check
Vacuum Main Floor - check
Collapse in a heap and crawl into own bed - any minute now. . .

2010-05-24T23:10:00.000-07:00

The past month and half has been crazy busy. All normal activity aside we've had all the extra excitement (and work) that comes with the birth, care, and training of a baby horse; a trip to Montana for one of our niece's wedding; and a trip to California for another niece's wedding. It's been a fantastic spring so far. (We'll pretend it didn't snow today - grrr.)

I know I've pretty much inundated you all with pictures of the the little filly already, so now I think I'll throw a bunch of wedding and mini-vacation shots at you!

First, Alicia 's wedding in Montana - she asked me to photograph the day for her. Soooo, six-hundred some pictures later, I'm still editing. These are a few of my favorites so far. (The subject matter was too beautiful to skimp)

Alicia's beautiful girls

The stunning bride

Bride and Groom

The New Happy Family

Couple in search of a threshold

Shooting (and then editing) these pictures made me want two things: 1. To be a redhead, and 2. To have this exact pair of gorgeous red pumps!

Next, on to California for Emily's wedding! I wasn't the photographer for this wedding, so I don't have very many shots of their day, but I did take their engagements.

The orange background shots were my favorite - so vibrant.

And on their wedding day. . . what a beautiful couple! I wish I would have taken more pictures of them on the temple grounds. Somehow between chasing after the boys and not wanting to butt-in on the real photographer I didn't. At least they were in good hands!

Speaking of chasing my boys around . . . aren't they handsome? I know I'm a bit partial, but still.

I think Sy is glowing a little bit. Must be his halo.

Is it a little bit evil that I love this shot?

I'll have to post the rest of the trip later. This post feels suspiciously like a run-on sentence.

The Wordsmith Project

2010-05-18T16:15:00.000-07:00

My dear friend, let's call her Raymie the Great, (to protect the innocent you see.) has inspired me in many ways over the years. Back in the college days she decided she wanted to improve her vocabulary, a noble pursuit. She did the word-a-day thing. I don't remember the specific method she used to pick her daily word - probably a blind stab at an opened dictionary page or something of the sort. I do remember a few of her choices because she would use her daily word as many times as she possibly could that day to ensure she remembered it, to the point that the words became absurd by the end of the day. BUT she did broaden her vocabulary as well as the vocabulary of everyone else around her. (She generally has that impact on people no matter what she's doing, thus the self-imposed title, 'the great', still sticks.)

One word I remember particularly well because of her slight misunderstanding of the word. She had a date that she wasn't exactly excited to go on. Lon-the-home-teacher ( names still changed, mind you) arrived to pick her up for the night. She came down the stairs and said, and I quote, "Alright, let's get this ordeal on the road". Our mouths dropped, we looked at each other, and Raymie looked at all of us looking at each other. Awkward, there's a good word for that moment. She explained later that she had called 'Lon' before the date and asked him what she should wear to 'the ordeal'. So, really the moment at the front door wasn't as awkward as we thought it was - it was an inside joke by then. As much as Raymie might have felt going on the date was an ordeal, I'm sure she would have never said as much to Lon if she would have really understood the entire meaning of 'ordeal'. If, for example, she had looked up the word in a thesaurus she might have read, 'test, trial, experience' as synonyms. A full definition would, of course, include the information that the test, trial, or experience are extremely trying or severe. Poor Raymie, poor Lon. Although, they were certainly never meant to be a couple and Lon got that message faster than he may have otherwise.

My point in telling you this story (and thanks to 'Raymie' for letting me share it), is that I have a new little project all about words, language, spelling, etc. It's been in the works for awhile but now - after passing a blinking construction sign with two misspelled words, I'm finally ready to get the ball officially rolling.

Click the Wordsmith Project Tab at the top of the page if you want. Or don't. I'm not here to boss you around. If you do go, let me know what you think.

What Joy Looks Like

2010-05-14T10:19:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER - if you are going to press play, know that I know these are not the greatest videos. It seems my editing software is too outdated to take them and I'm too frustrated to try any other methods to make it work. (Getting this far literally took me two days - embarrassing, I know. I'm not proud. Okay, maybe I am, but that's not the point.)

ANYWAY, that said, try to ignore my commentary, little girlie giggles, and gale force winds blowing straight into the microphone. This little filly is so adorable I can hardly take it. I could watch her run around all day. . . which will become obvious very soon.

Izzy is quite sure she's found a new best friend.

She may be right.

Oh, My Darlin'

2010-05-02T21:53:00.000-07:00

I so love having such a great photographer for a friend! Leah came over to meet the new addition and took some beautiful pictures of her. The baby (I'm calling her Clementine for the time being) is all kinds of frisky today - very cute. She was literally running circles around Sunday (her proud Mother). Every second or third lap she would skid out and fall over, then pop right back up. I even saw a couple of little bucks.

She reminds me of a ballerina on point in this picture. Look at those legs!

What incredible changes one day makes. Isn't she gorgeous?

P.S. Check out some of Leah's work here.

It's a GIRL!!!

2010-05-01T15:46:00.000-07:00

Wow, have I ever been waiting a long time to say those words! And, no, I didn't sneak another pregnancy in under your noses. One of the ranch mares was pregnant. She's a gorgeous horse anyway but pregnancy suited her well.

We've been watching her like a hawk over the last week as all of the signs of foaling started. There wasn't a whole lot of sleeping going on - at least on my part. I didn't want to miss the birth. My vigilance paid off. She finally had a beautiful little buckskin filly last night. And she had her early enough (10:30-ish) that the boys got to watch the whole thing! Grey (of course) was ecstatic to see exactly how a horse is born and immediately followed his comment on the subject with "Now, I just need to know how a human is born . . . exactly". Tough luck kid. Still not ready to give 'the talk' to a first-grader. I think the horse birth probably answered a few questions on its own though.

Almost All Out

Scooting Away from Mama

Finally up - after much encouragement and a couple of face-plants

Figuring out the whole milk thing

I can't believe we were lucky enough to see the birth. It was incredible. As the baby was working on getting up for the first time she let out her first whinny and ALL of the other horses answered her in unison. It was so sweet. They had been trying to get a look at the excitement the whole time - craning their necks around the corner of the barn and over fences. Now both Sunday (the Mama) and her baby are doing well. Maybe we can get a little spring-like weather again so the little one can venture out of the barn without Sunday herding her back in - and the paddock and pasture can dry out enough that we can go out without big muck boots!

How much Are YOU Worth?

2010-04-26T21:53:00.000-07:00

So, I was doling out allowance money for the first time today. - sidebar: feeling somewhat guilty and somewhat lucky that my little slaves haven't been paid before now, but the natives are restless. They are just short of picketing in front of the house, or worse yet, the bathroom. What's a girl to do? I don't want to lose their services to some house up the street. Also, we just had a budgeting lesson with them and I could see their eyes start to glaze over as I was talking. I knew at that point they were hearing "blah, blah, blah, money, blah, blah, blah". As soon as I uttered the word 'allowance' their little faces lit up. There was a period with an uncontrollable amount of jumping , chattering and girlish giggles. I had them at hello - or 'your money', as it were.

Hmm, where was I? Oh yes, the boys first allowance. Soooo, Grey took his fist full of cold hard cash and fiendishly cried, "All this and the money from Riley for being her friend! I'm rich!" (insert sinister laughter here). Um, 'rrreeeecccchhh' (that's the sound of the needle screeching across the record as the whole room - or just me, in this case - turns to look at Grey). "Sorry, what?" I say. "Oh, yeah, Riley gave me ten cents to be her friend," he answers, like it's completely normal for other children to pay him for his friendship.

Me - "You're charging kids to be friends with you?"
Mr. Innocent - "She wanted to give me money, Mom." (Yeah, 'duh, Mom')
Me - "You were already her friend anyway, weren't you?"
M. I. - "Yeah."
Me - " Did you tell her she had to pay you to be your friend?"
M.I. - "Not really."
Me - "Not really? What does that mean?"
M. I. - "Just not really."

I still don't get it. How exactly did that conversation go? "I'll let you swing next to me for fifty cents. You don't have fifty? How much do you have? Ten? Okay , ten'll buy you a walk back in from recess - but no talking." Does she think she got her money's worth? Does he feel cheap? One way or another I told him he has to give the sweet little girl (who is as cute as they come, by the way - Grey should be paying her!) her money back. I mean, kudos for getting a little money for nothing, but it feels a bit like he's pimping himself out. Either that, or he's a natural-born entrepreneur.

Sweet nothings

2010-04-02T14:31:00.000-07:00

So, I have this cycle with my hair; (not that I am at all unique in this - I'm just saying . . .) I spend a year or two growing it out so it's nice and long. I buy a gazillion clips, headbands, and elastics. I obsess about color and just how long I want to get it. About the time it hits an inch or two below my shoulders I start to get really bugged by it and I rarely wear it down for more than an hour or two before I lash it back off my face. Somewhere in the cycle I (traditionally) get pregnant, so my hair gets thicker and grows even faster. Then I have a baby and the hair is not only more annoying because it's in my way, but what isn't falling out (such a lovely hormonal side-effect) is being yanked out as the baby climbs his way to my face 'Rapunzel-Rapunzel-let-down-your-hair-style. I start sneaking out the scissors and making ill-advised chops at my hair when Tyler isn't looking. Let's face it, if I hated my hair before I started the self-mutilation, there may not be a strong enough word to describe how I feel about it afterwards. So, I finally go in to have it cut. Last time around Grey was about three. He was so distraught about my short hair that he kept asking when I was going to get it 'cut long' again. When I say "kept asking", I mean he asked that for over a year! Keeping that reaction in mind I was fully prepared for my boys to express their distaste for a short cut again (even though it's not as short as the last time I chopped it). Sweet Nick looked at me, cocked his head, furrowed his brow, and then didn't say a word until hours later. After much thought (apparently) he came and told me in a very matter-of-fact tone that he likes my hair more than Macaroni and Cheese, the good kind - not from the box. And you should see that boy eat Macaroni and Cheese. He really likes my hair. (And so do I, by the way. Good riddance to the long stuff.)

All dressed up . . .

2010-03-13T16:47:00.000-08:00

Midweek my beautiful friend and sister in law, Holly, and I went to pamper our piggies and bask in the aromatherapy-land of the spa. A perfect girlie treat. We sat and chatted while our tired winter feet (and calves) were rubbed, slathered with sweet-smelling oils, massaged again, and de-calloused (is that a word?). Yes, there was painting involved as well.

Side note: Before heading off to the spa I applied a quick fresh coat of
paint on my toes - of course. Tyler caught me red-toed before my socks went on.

Tyler- You're going for pedicures, aren't you?

Me- Mmm-hmm.

Tyler - So, why'd you just repaint your toenails?

Me- Because we're going for pedicures - duh. Like I'm going to plop my
unpainted toes on the side of the foot bath while my pedicurist secretly
mocks my horrid, bare nails.

Tyler- Seriously? What's the point of going then?

Me - If I were going for a facial I'd still put makeup on.

Tyler- Different.

Me- Mmm, not so much.

Tyler- So much. So, so, so much.

Anyway - once our toes were all beautiful and glossy Holly slid out of her pedicure flimsy-flops and into a cute little pair of regular flip-flops. Me? Oh, yeah, I wore boots - because that's what I do. All winter long I change from one boot to another - muck boots, snow boots, tall boots, short boots, riding boots, furry boots. . . red boots, blue boots, old boots, new boots. You get the point. Not wanting to ruin my lovely toe-do I wore the flimsies out to the car. THEN I wore them into the feed-store. Why, you ask. I don't know. Because it's small store, because I had to stop on the way home, because I couldn't risk smudged paint! And I almost got away with it too. Alas, I found myself bare-footed with the tops of my flops around my ankles on my way to the cash register. I re-positioned the flimsies beneath my feet, tried to hold on to the straps with my toes, and shuffled my way up to pay. (Shuffling didn't work in the parking lot, btw.) I am the poster-child for absurdity.

BUT - my pedicure survived in tact . . . and my toes, I know. I told you they were more like fingers. I spent a good part of my childhood sweating in my Nikes because I was scared to unleash these babies on the world. Don't be sad. I'm over it now.

.

I just wish I could figure out what to do with all my bright pink-ness in this ever-so-lovely spring snowstorm we're having today. Yoga?

Family Pictures

2010-03-12T17:42:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since we've had pictures taken as a family - way too long actually. My friend and very talented photographer, Leah, graciously offered to do just that. She worked wonders on our motley little bunch. We're so happy with the results (even if one of us would have rather shed a little more baby weight before being in front of a camera - Bah! Baby pictures couldn't wait that long).

Nick's expression kills me in this one!

And the 'center of attention' award goes to . . .

Now we all know what Sy will look like when he's ninety.

Ah, Happy Family.

Can't you just hear the little 'coo' and giggle here? Another Daddy's boy.

Mother and Child

Thanks Leah - you're amazing!

Silence of the Chickens

2010-02-19T13:03:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago a friend of mine asked if we ever had cannibalism problems with our chickens. My darling chickens? Certainly not. I told her I had heard that chickens will go after another chicken if it's wounded, but I'd never seen our chickens do that. I should have knocked on her wood kitchen table - send a little anti-cannibalism ju-ju at my little feathered friends.

In the winter I normally just check on the chickens and gather their eggs during the nighttime feeding (of the horses). The morning after the cannibalism conversation, however, there were alarming noises coming from the hen house. Happy chickens sound like a roomful of women gabbing. (In fact, there is a large group of women that jog together past my house every day, and they sound like very happy chickens.) My chickens weren't happy. I would love to do an impression for you - I'm sure it would be terribly amusing. They sounded like a cross between someone learning to play the violin, demons scratching their way out of Hell, and, well, chickens. It was horrible.

I opened the door to see our brilliant White Leghorn rooster, Foghorn, doing a strangely slow strut around the coop. The bottom ridge of his comb was bleeding profusely and the blood had pooled up on the back of his neck and then run all down his back. All but one of the hens were following close behind him pecking at the blood if they got within range. The matriarch hen was perched up high in front of the laying boxes. I say perched but really she was bent forward with her head down as if she were a raptor ready to descend upon it's prey. She was making the loudest of the ungodly squawking shrieks I had heard from outside. I think I interrupted her attack when I came in. I tried to wash the blood off Foghorn which just made the chickens cackle all the more - they started drinking the bloody water as it ran down his feathers. The red heat lamp made the whole scene even creepier. It was like watching a chicken-horror flick. Needless to say I removed Foghorn from the coop. I put him safely at the top of the hay in the barn, even brought him little dishes of grain and water - which, as it turns out was more ridiculous than it seemed because he immediately flew down and booked it back over to the coop and paced outside while the hens continued to wail inside. "They want to eat you", I said. He didn't care. Chickens are stupid. (What a revelation, huh.)

Why do I continue to keep them, you ask.

This is why:

Beautiful fresh organic eggs. Aren't they pretty? The yolks are a deep, rich yellow - store bought eggs pale in comparison (literally). AND the custard these eggs make is nothing short of heavenly.

This time of year there is another reason to have chickens too.

A super fuzzy, adorable reason. Nothing heralds the coming of Spring like the cheep-cheep-cheeping of baby chicks.

Obsessed

2010-01-25T18:12:00.000-08:00

I am completely smitten.

Seriously. I can't get enough of this little guy. I could snuggle with him all day long, staring into his gorgeous eyes, smelling his yummy baby breath, listening to his content baby noises. That was the only good part of my sick day - I spent the day cuddled up with Sy. I look at him and think, "don't change, don't get bigger, don't grow up!"

Then he does this.

And this.

And it's okay if he gets a little bigger.

Then Izzy does this.

She likes baby smells too. Can't blame her.

Woops. Too far, Izzy, back off. Noooo lick-ey!

(She can't hold her licker.)

Random Shopping Notes

2010-01-20T23:37:00.000-08:00

I try not to shop with Tyler. It's not that I don't like his company, obviously, but we are rarely on the same wavelength when it comes to spending money. I think my weekly grocery budget (yes, I'm still on my budget . . . most of the time - yay me. I'm so proud of myself.) is pretty impressive and rather important. He thinks we could skim a little off the top or just fore go the groceries if he wants to get something else we really need, like a travel cover for the boat. 'It protects our investment,' he says. 'It's January,' I answer. 'That's why we're doing it now - it's cheaper.' You know what I think is cheaper? Not doing it at all. I digress.

What I wanted to tell you is that we took a quick trip to the grocery store together last week with all the kids in tow. (During which he completely dismantled my budget by throwing in a bunch of things that weren't on the list because the prices were good. Amateur.) Watching the three walking children follow him down an aisle brought visions of ducklings following their mother to my head. It was so cute. I couldn't stop quacking to myself, and the boys, the rest of the time. Of course that means I usually look like the duck, which isn't quite as funny to me for some reason. Don't know why. Actually when I'm there without Tyler all three of the boys seem hover around me like little moons if there is a shopping cart involved. I don't know how we ever get past anyone coming the other way with all the bodies stuck to the sides of the cart.

Not many people used to comment about us having three boys and no girls, but now that it's four it seems to be all anyone sees. A woman stopped us on our way into a craft store tonight with a "FOUR BOYS! Oh my! Well, if they're as good looking as this. . ." blah, blah, blah. She grabbed each of their faces in turn oo-ing and ah-ing about them. They took it very well when she was there and decided the whole incident was 'creepy' afterwards. I think I agree a little. She was a complete stranger. It's funny how some people act like children aren't real people sometimes and talk about them instead of to them. At least she didn't mistake Max for a girl because of his hair (like Santa did, of all people. If Max still believed in Ole' St. Nick surely that would have killed the illusion).

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

2010-01-20T08:30:00.000-08:00

The Good:

*In the process of taking down the Christmas decorations I finally hung bells on the doors we want Izzy to use. AND she now rings the bell when she wants to go out. It's so adorable I can hardly stand it. I want you all to come over just so she can ask to go out and I can stand there beaming with pride.

*Sunday night I decided it was time to stop waiting for the baby weight to fall off on it's own and actually start exercising.It's almost been three months, after all, and horseback riding a few hours a week certainly won't do the trick. SO, I braved the scale a set a goal to be down five pounds in two weeks.

The Bad:

*Izzy is abusing her new-found power and asks to go out CONSTANTLY. Half the time she's like a cat and goes part-way out and stands in the doorway trying to decide if the wind chill is to her liking.

*We're having a bit of a melt-down (literally) in the pastures. I know it will freeze again before the real Spring thaw, but WHEW, is it ever stinky out there! I don't even want to wear my new insulated muck boots (can you say 'heaven', btw. Never ever thought I would be so excited about such a thing, but it happens more and more often lately.) in it because I don't want them to smell. If only I could float over the top, that would be perfect.

The Ugly:

*Usually Izzy sticks around the yard when she goes out unless she is following me to feed the horses. Yesterday she went out to 'play' in the muck three times. . . which means I bathed her three times. I didn't even bring her with me for the night feeding, the boys let her out when she rang the bell and she raced out to me before they could stop her. That's going to get old really fast.

*Apparently I was more determined to lose that baby weight than I realized. I was down six pounds by the same time Monday. Pretty amazing, I must say. (Toot-toot) I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I ended up hugging the porcelain most of Sunday night and the next morning. It's been a long time since I've been hit that hard with the flu. I could hardly walk because my whole body ached so bad all day Monday, not that it felt much better to sit or lay, or just exist. Luckily it was a twenty-four hour bug so today I'm weak, but functioning. . .slowly. Nick was the first one to get it and I'm hoping the rest of the family - especially the baby - can avoid it.

So many issues

2010-01-11T22:42:00.000-08:00

I have this thing little thing that really bugs me. (Okay, so we all know there is a vast well from which to draw in the 'what bugs Wendy' category. But let's just pretend there is only one little thing. Thanks. You're too kind.) About a year ago I was surprised to hear a newscaster refer to a policeman as a 'cop'. Not that 'cop' is necessarily derogatory, as far as I know it's not. It just sounded really unprofessional, juvenile even. Don't get me wrong, I say 'cop', in conversation but then again I'm not broadcasting that conversation to millions of viewers either. Somehow it seems like a news source should be held to higher standard in their word choice. Shouldn't the type of forum dictate the formality of speech used? Now it seems like most news sources use the slang term more than they use 'police officer'. So much for decorum. I get an uncontrollable tick every time I hear it, but apparently 'cop' is acceptable enough 'cause all the cool kids (or newscasters at least) are using it. Slang is king.

Within the last couple of weeks my tick has gotten even worse. You might think I was having an epileptic fit if you didn't know better. I literally heard a news anchor say "The cops chased the bad guy . . .". Seriously, 'bad guy'. My mouth dropped, I swear it did. "ARE YOU FOUR?!" I asked the television. Tyler looked at me and smirked because he thinks I'm a language snob. (Yes, you can add that to list : music snob, food snob, book snob . . .to which I say 'Um, I did read the entire Twilight series, you know. How snobby could I be?) But, come on, could they NOT find a better word choice? Was it a 'bring your kids to work day' and the station let a kindergartner write their newscast? Did NO one in the office have access to a thesaurus when the writer hit a mental block looking for a synonym for 'BAD GUY'. How about 'Suspect'? 'Assailant'? 'Criminal'? Or, oh my, could it be so easy, how about 'man'? Yes, 'man' would be better. 'Man' would do nicely.

I'm not saying I think everyone should use the largest words possible, because honestly that's annoying too. Using a 'big word' when a simpler one will do the trick just sounds pompous. I'm completely for using the word that best fits what you're trying to say - as succinctly as possible. AND if you're having a casual conversation with someone, by all means, dumb it up as much as you want. If, however, you are a professional newscaster, and it's YOUR JOB to (at the very least) sound intelligent enough to be credible, perhaps using grade school vernacular is a bad choice. Got that, news chick?

Taking Down Christmas

2010-01-08T17:42:00.000-08:00

The Worst

No more warm twinkly lights
Trying to fit everything back into the storage bins
Locating all the Baby Jesus-es kidnapped from their Nativity scenes
Re-filling the dog and cat water dishes more often since the tree is no longer an option

The Best

Vacuuming up pine needles
Feeling less cramped
When it's finally over
Replacing the Christmas Scentsy with Clean, fresh smells

What's Wrong With Perfect?

2010-01-06T10:29:00.000-08:00

So, I've been thinking about making this the year of letting go. See, I might be just the teeny tiniest bit of a control freak - it's possible. Honestly I don't think it's a bad thing most of the time. Everyone likes things done a certain way, right? AND if someone, say your husband for instance, asks you how you want something done you should tell them how. . . exactly how. Right? And if that person is helping you fold laundry it should be okay that you want underwear to be folded just so, and each person's clothes grouped together to be put away, and clothes hung facing the same way and in their color groups. Right? Because if you have to go back and re-do all the 'help' then they're not really helping. Am I wrong here? I think not.

(Now here's the 'big but'. ) BUT, I'm a mother and part of my job as such is to teach my children to work. Last year I finally gave into that fact and handed over the chore of cleaning bathrooms to the two older boys. I still sneak in afterwards and finish the job because they can only do it over so many times before we want to poke each others eyes out and feelings get hurt. I've tried having them do the dishes. Unloading the dishwasher they can handle and it's actually pretty cute to watch. It always reminds me of the scene from Jumanji when monkeys are loose in the kitchen. (However, Tyler accused me of transferring my neurosis onto them because I like the flat-wear to be stacked neatly and facing the right way. I had to remind him of his obsession with pushing-in the dining room chairs.) Max is even pretty good at rinsing the dishes, but there's this part of me that can't just let them do it without re-checking everything afterward - re-stacking bowls, polishing glasses, re-washing pots. It feels like the first time I let each them pick out their own outfits - being torn between loving the fact that everything is mis-matched and topped off with a cape and actually feeling like we can leave the house. There's a balance I need to find between helping them grow and keeping my sanity - or is it pride - in tact. So, maybe we'll just keep working on dishes, vacuuming, and bathrooms for now. . . I'll let go of some other things later. Baby steps.

How Much is that Doggie. . .?

2010-01-01T17:28:00.000-08:00

My boys are generally pretty well behaved. It's true, they really are, and not just compared to Tasmanian Devils and hurricanes but next to actual live children their own age. Put a teacher, an aunt, or uncle (or Tyler) in the room with them and their halos 'ping' over their cherubic little heads.
They are, HOWEVER, also smart little devils and it took them less than twenty-four hours to figure out I'm a fairly ineffectual disciplinary figure when I'm feeding the baby. "Settle Down!" means close to nothing when it's yelled from the couch downstairs and they're destroying the second floor. What am I going to do? Yell at them. . . later. Ooo, we're soooo scared, Mom. Now after a few ill-advised, and unplanned shopping trips over their Christmas Break, they've realized I am also helpless while toting Silas in the baby-carrier. (While the stroller sat idly by at home in the garage. 'Yay' for spontaneity.)
So, after a terrifying whirlwind of a visit to Bath and Body Works I decided to press my luck and hit Gymboree. Before we could leave B&B, we had to find Nick's annoying singing stuffed toy his Uncle Josh brought him from Russia. Luckily Max was just hiding it in his hood so once Nick had cried sufficiently enough to fill his big brother's teasing quota, the toy magically appeared. Then, all the coats had to be turned right-side out and be put back on the right boy. (Honestly, why do the clothes come off in the first place? I swear to you we were in the store for fifteen minutes - I loaded a bag full of soaps and candles, had no wait at the register, and we were done. If I would have actually browsed a bit the boys would have probably been stripped down to their underwear and cooling-off in the sink! That's always the excuse for shedding their coats the second we enter a store and swinging them around like they're flagging down a bull; "But, it's SO HOT!".)
Anyway, we hit the clothes store and all three boys stayed with me pretty well for a few minutes. We were making good progress until, elbow deep in a sale bin of adorable briefs, I realized Nick wasn't with me anymore.

Me- Where is your brother?
Grey - (Giggle) That's what I tried to tell you.
Me - What? When?
Grey - Now. I'm telling you now. Nick got behind those things (pointing to the entire wall).
Me - What things? The shelves?
Grey- Yeah, the shelves. He's inside.
Max - That's why you can hear his toy singing.
Me- How did he get back there? Did you see him?
Grey - It's easy. You just go back there.
Max - Yeah, it's easy. (Giggle)
Grey - We were all back there.
Me - That's grrreat. Go get him before he knocks the whole store down!
Grey - (walking away) I can still hear his toy! (Giggle)

Okay, so a.) How did I miss the fact that all three children disappeared long enough to be behind a wall?! and b.) Why would they do such a thing in the first place? Why, why, why!?

AND, even worse - as we're driving out of the mall:
Max - Mom, see where it says '60% off sale'?
Me - Where? At Gymboree?
Max - Yeah. That's where Nick was.

Um, yeah. He was in the display window of the store! Little faceless child mannequins. . . and Nick - all in a 60% off Winter Wonderland.

It is at times like these when having a poker face might come in handy, but no. Not me. I laughed - hard. Dangit! When I asked Nick if anyone walking by saw him he said, "Yeah, but dey didn't see me." Okay. "Really?" I asked. "Well, maybe dey saw me. But dey didn't care. I tink dey yiked me dere." FANtastic. As long as they liked him. There's something else I didn't think I had to teach them NOT to do. That list is certainly growing.

Bleary and Bright

2009-12-28T21:59:00.000-08:00

There's nothing quite like that stingy-eyed weariness all parents of young children have on Christmas morning. Your eyes burn and water; your head feels strangely hollow - yet heavy; you seem to be both moving and hearing everything in slow-motion. At least it helps the crazy reactions your children have to some gifts seem like a funny dream, when in reality they might be a tad frightening.

See what I mean?

(Whose brilliant idea was that?)

If you are, perhaps, one of those super-human-mommy types that have all your wrapping (let alone your shopping) done the day after Thanksgiving, you will never know the joy of a slap-happy Christmas morning. (Actually I choose to believe you are a mythical creature anyway. It makes me feel better about my own last minute dashes to the store in search of. . . well, everything that needs to go under the tree.) I know the bleary-eyed feeling all too well - no matter how hard I try, we seem to end up going to bed right before the kids start stirring.

Our hair looks absurdly similar, I'm sure. HOWEVER, you will find no pictures of mine.

Likewise, if you aren't nodding off through the carnage of the Christmas Wrap you just expertly finished being shredded to bits you will in no way enjoy the late afternoon Christmas Nap the way you should. It happens right after the breakfast cleanup has been finished, you've bid all visiting family good-bye, and tucked the children in front of the television with game controllers in their sweet little hands. (Game timers don't exist on Christmas, at least not until you've racked up an hour or two of pillow time.)

If you ask yourself every other day of the year WHY Santa brings video games, all you'll have to do is remember the blissful Christmas afternoon nap and it will all become clear.

If you're lucky you'll have a perfect little baby to cuddle up with too.

Later you can answer the age-old question: Which is funnier, the cat hopped up on kitty-weed or the dog trying in vain to get the stuffed antlers off her head? Or maybe go for a Christmas-light drive. Whatever ends up happening, it will all seem like a blur after you finally have your own well-deserved visions of sugar plums dancing in your head.

Baby Silas

2009-12-14T22:46:00.000-08:00

October nineteenth - one week and one day after the 'official' due date I never thought I'd make it to - started with a trip to the midwives' offices where I was informed that I was still in pretty much the same position as I had been for the last month. (Lovely) SO, after a little membrane separation fun I went home, stuck Nick in a stroller and went power-walking. . . for two hours. Then I did some serious vacuuming and mopping. Since I don't believe in mopping with an actual mop (seriously, what's the point of spreading the wealth of dirt around?), 'mopping' actually means scrubbing, rinsing , and buffing the floor on my hands and knees 'It's- a-hard-knock-life-Annie'-style. I even got the contractions going pretty strong, just like I had for the previous three or four weeks with every other attempt I'd made to get the baby moving. And I tried them all, by the way; running (stairs and the regular sort), 'curb-walking', jumping jacks, jumping on the trampoline, loading up on the hot sauce, foot massages, etc., etc., etc. The worst thing about trying to induce labor yourself is that you just end up temporarily more uncomfortable than you already were. Still, nothing much out of the ordinary was happening by the time the kids were out of school so I switched back into Mommy mode - homework, laundry and the like.

That night, and it was a dark and stormy night (really, it was), Max had his final flag football game. My contractions had started to be a little more consistent but they were only about ten minutes apart, so we went anyway- with the hospital bag in the trunk. By the time we got there the contractions were moving between ten minutes and six minutes, but we couldn't just leave! So we waited until the end, set the kids up with spaghetti (and my parents) and headed to the hospital. Apparently the shift in the weather sent so many girls into labor that there was literally no room in the inn. We sat in the waiting room with the family of some poor mother-to-be that had been at it since seven that morning and was 'taking a break'. They had pizza, donuts, and Chinese food. I was suddenly FAMISHED and ready to abandon ship for the nearest establishment offering Carne Asada Burritos, Chow Mien, or a Grilled Cheese Sandwich. Luckily for us all a room opened up before I could make a break for it.

An hour later the hospital was ready to send us packing anyway - I wasn't progressing at all. My midwife talked them into giving me another hour. SO we walked the halls feeling ridiculous (me, shivering in my drafty hospital gown). After passing another couple in the same situation Tyler decided all labor and delivery wards should come equipped with a treadmill room. Can you see it? A room full of women staggering along on treadmills, beyond the point of caring that their hospital gowns are flapping open, husbands wildly cheering them on (and trying to hold their gowns closed), nurses stationed in each corner wielding fire hoses for the inevitable moment when someones' water breaks. Brilliant. Tyler is a visionary.

ANYWAY, by the end of the hour I had completed several laps around the floor, an energetic aerobics routine, and three packets of Saltines. Oh, and progressed just a teeny tiny bit - but enough that we were given the green light to stay. That was at nine-thirty. The midwife broke my water, I took a self-hypnosis trip to my happy place and at eleven-oh-seven Silas Kingsley was born. He weighed eight pounds, two ounces (exactly the same as Max and Nick - Grey had an extra ounce on them) and is completely perfect other than the fact that he seems to have inherited my toes - rather like fingers, really. Poor tyke.

I will now toot my own horn. Ready? Isn't he beautiful?! I think so too.
I think we got the very best one.

Driver's Ed by Wendy - Lesson 1

2009-10-01T20:56:00.000-07:00

So, I've got to ask. A.) Look like September to YOU? Not so much, eh?

You know, with the snow and all. But more important is B.) Does this road look big enough to accommodate anything more than one car going each way? The first picture is pretty much it's widest point.

All year long I drive this road. This twisty, turning, narrow road. At most points it's barely wide enough for a car going each direction. On the hairpin curves it is fraught with, it's a terror to drive, especially when someone coming the other way is too busy admiring the breathtaking views to stay in their own lane. All summer long I curse the ridiculous bikers laboriously making the ascent and then wildly careening back down the mountain with reckless - no, make that suicidal - abandon. (Oh, I know they're pushing themselves to the limit, and I should stand back in awe at their physical mastery. Blah, blah, blah. I've heard the same thing about everyone who takes their life into their own hands to conquer Mt. Everest. And you know what? I think they're all playing with half a deck too. Let's try working out your issues (and your physiques) somewhere that you're not actually endangering your life or anyone else's!) There IS NO ROOM for even a single biker on the side in many spots when two cars are on the road, and yet the majority of these spandex-clad maniacs ride in clumps. Single bikers will ride right in the middle of the lane (and flip you off if your horn ever-so-politely asks them to move over). Seriously.

I'm not sure the bikers are even as bad, however, as the Fall Color amateur-photographer freak show that stops and gets out of their cars all along the road to snap pictures of the leaves, and of their loved ones in front of the leaves. It's GORGEOUS. I get it. I can hardly go a day at the ranch without taking pictures, but get off the road before you do it! Go to a park. Take a hike. Or here's an idea - pull out on an actual turn-out in the road if you must shoot the scenery from the blacktop. But have some common sense. Don't park on the road, stick your children on top of a concrete guard rail and stand back in the lane your car isn't occupying to snap a picture with the disposable camera you just bought. Don't you see the myriad of disasters waiting to happen? The car full of like-minded color-gawkers that will momentarily come around the corner using both lanes and only watching the beauty drift by? Because they won't see YOU, they won't see your car, and they won't see your kids - not until it's too late for all of you.

Besides, you're in my way - just like the bikers. Grrr.

Bad Hair Day?

2009-08-29T08:52:00.000-07:00

Having a bad hair day? These pictures might make you feel a bit better about any unruly locks you may be dealing with:

This look is pretty much par for the course this time of year. Forelocks, manes, tails - all full of trillions of tiny burrs and big fat thistles. So, don't you feel better?

The Worst of it

2009-08-26T14:19:00.000-07:00

Out of all the weird things pregnancy does to a girl, the out and out craziness has to be the worst part. Worse than water retention? Yes. Worse than dropping everything you try to pick up? Yes. Worse than forgetting every word you've learned since the second grade? Yes. Worse than acid reflux, and restless leg syndrome, and peeing every thirty seconds, and having no room left in your body for your lungs, and constantly craving pellet ice, and not being able to paint your toenails all the way, and being moodier than a fat kid at boot camp, and, and, and. . .? YES!

Monday Night:

I am standing in the kitchen chopping up veggies for a stir fry (with a very sharp knife mind you) and bawling. Why? I don't know. Literally - I don't know, which is fine with me. I'm crazy pregnant lady and crying for no reason is in the job description. What isn't fine is trying to explain that I don't know why I'm crying to poor Mc-fix-it husband who innocently stumbled upon the scene. If he would have showed up fifteen minutes later I may have been just bubbly. Wish I could have stepped into his brain to watch him process the information.

Wife crying. Has knife. No blood. Belly very large. Says doesn't know why crying started. Can't stop it. Crying harder. Wow, belly even larger from side view. Take knife? Too risky. Abort mission. Call authorities. Retreat. Retreat. Retreat. Wonder what's for dinner.

I feel bad for him - for all husbands really - as they watch their wives lose their mind. There's nothing to be done. It's all about waiting and hoping the crazy goes away. And, MAN, do I hope it goes away.

P.S. Scary belly shots follow. Continue at your own risk.

Oh my, lost something.

No, no. False alarm. They're right there.

And Izzy too. Wow. I'm like a human sun-shade, or umbrella - if you will.

One of Us

2009-08-20T21:25:00.000-07:00

Remember my favorite Christmas gift this year - the one I'd been asking for for at least the last twelve or thirteen years? A little Jack Russell Terrier of my own? Have I told you how perfect she is for me? I have? Well, pretend I haven't, because I'm about to again.

Izzy with her friend, Todd.

So, little Izzy comes to the ranch with me. She runs alongside the horses when I ride. (and, NO, I haven't done that for a couple of weeks now. What are you? Tyler's spies?) Her tiny little legs keep up too, inexplicably. When she wants a break she jumps up and down next to me until I lean over and catch her. Then she rides with me - or whomever else she chooses - for awhile. She trees Wild Turkeys, plays hide-and-seek with the deer, terrorizes the pot-guts (and poor squirrels), and basically thinks she owns the place. Last week she was almost dinner for a hawk. (I'm NOT kidding. She was inches away from being carried off in the evil bird's talons. Now the relentless thing is stalking her. Good thing it can't seem to hunt quietly.) Basically, she's proved herself in that arena of my life.

Izzy bossing around one of the horses we were looking at buying.

She's been an amazing playmate with the boys from the start, so that was never a problem. The only thing close to an issue is that she isn't convinced Nick is her superior. Watching him try to walk her is hysterical. That's okay, he needs a friend to hang out with now that school is back in.

Wrestling with Nick

Last week we took her out on the boat with us, which Tyler has done before. This time, however, she took the plunge - literally - and came swimming. Grey was so nervous she was going to drown if she got in the lake. Once we all got in to swim a bit she jumped right in. So, we can cross that element off the list too. She's a boat-dog. If I could figure how to get a service-dog vest for her we could cross off 'likes to shop' and be set.

Driving the boat.

Getting ready for another swim.

I just hope she doesn't go postal when the baby comes.

Oh my.

2009-07-22T16:59:00.000-07:00

I knew I hadn't posted for a long time, but I had no idea it had been this long - I just looked at the date on my last post. So, to update:

I have officially locked Nick out of the pantry because I am fed up with finding fruit snack wrappers shoved in every nook and cranny (and couch cushion). Not to mention he stole my Icebreaker Sours and raided my dark chocolate covered nuts.

The boys have taken to sleeping in a tent - on the trampoline. (It's a good thing Tyler has WAY more energy than I do or this summer would have been horrible for the boys - boo Mommy, we want Dad!) I was ready to nix the whole thing after the first night without the tent resulted in a ga-zillion mosquito bites (Yes, I sprayed them with repellent. Sheesh. How irresponsible do you think I am?) and itchy, whiny boys.

As I was fulfilling my motherly role and explaining why we don't touch or try to re-light fireworks that don't go off, Tyler was brilliantly (out of my line of sight, of course) demonstrating the 'what not to do' portion of my lesson and nearly blew his fingers off. All boys in hysterics. (Again - boo Mommy, we want Dad!)

Took Izzy with us to watch fireworks on the fourth so she wouldn't be home alone and scared of all the noise. Not sure that was my best idea yet.

Actually wore yoga pants to work today. Don't worry - I skipped the boots and went with tennis shoes since I've stopped riding. . . really. (Haven't been on a horse since, um, well, Sunday.) Thought it would be more comfortable than wearing jeans. Turns out 29 weeks along is just uncomfortable no matter what. How do I forget these things?
The lovely girls at Juice and Java give Izzy a milk bone everyday when they give me my Chocolate Milk. She refuses to take it out of their hands, she just licks it until I take it and then she stays in the window hoping they'll pet her more and tell her how cute she is again, and again, and AGAIN. THEN she 'buries' the bone in the car. After a few days I have the boys bring in any remaining milk bones so she can bury them in the sofa. Occasionally I think she eats one.
Weeding / Watering the other night with the boys' 'help'. After about 30 minutes Grey stood up and shook his fists over his head saying "Curse you Morning- Glory! You will be defeated!". Three evil (and very manufactured) laughs ensued . . . and the helping came to an abrupt halt as all three boys became more interested in their sinister laughs than in actually 'defeating the morning glory'. Drat, foiled again.
It's been a week since I started this post. So, NOW I'm 30 weeks grumpy, I mean pregnant. I've begun growling at everyone like the Clint Eastwood character does in Gran Torino. Maybe I'll go back to riding and see if I can bump this baby along a little faster.

Ho, Ho, Hoe

2009-06-13T22:35:00.000-07:00

Note to self: the hoe is not your friend. Step away from the hoe. Asked Tyler to show me how to run the roto-tiller to weed the rows in the garden. He said "I don't think that's a good idea for you right now . . . you know, in your condition". "What condition?" I mumbled as I tried to bend over to pick up the the hoe without doing a second-position plie (however that's spelled). Two days later and I still can't take a breath deep enough to sneeze. Imagine that - your back also effects your ability to SNEEZE! I learn so much every time I hurt myself.

After a particularly chaotic day at the ranch which my boss unfortunately witnessed, he told Tyler "I think your wife forgets she's pregnant". (Apparently pregnant people don't chase horses or dogs up and down the hills - who knew. Wonder what 'they' do when the entire animal kingdom plans a revolt . . . on the same day.)Tyler never actually told me what his response to that comment was but I'm sure it included an eye roll. Meanwhile, the bubble-bellied characiture of me needs a back rub because although I certainly haven't forgotten that I'm pregnant I'm really not sure how to accomplish everything I need to without ending up unable to sneeze for a week.

P.S. I'm still thinking the roto-tiller couldn't have possibly been a worse idea than the hoe.

What little boys are made of

2009-05-30T22:28:00.000-07:00

I was being SO productive today. Gardening, shopping, selling SCHTUFF via virtual garage-sale, cleaning house (regular and the spring-type), directing chores, feeding animals and humans (of course), bathing children, de-ticking the dog(seriously) . . . AND during it all I managed to get all the way through EIGHT loads of laundry. Granted, you have to have a lot of laundry stored up to manage that task, and I know that's nothing to toot my horn about. I am what I am. It is what it is. (Did I mention the laundry is nowhere near being done?)I've been busy collecting the dirties for days now (not telling how many). On top of that I decided it was finally safe to stow away the winter gear - after it's washed, that is.

ANYWAY, just as I finished pulling the tick out of Izzy's belly -and simultaneously patting myself on the back - I discovered THIS lurking under the clothes in the washing machine.

Yeah. So, ever wonder what would happen if you didn't check your children's (or husband's) pockets before starting a load of laundry? Ponder the question no more. You will have a little window into their world if nothing else. I'm feeling a little like I dodged bullet seeing the green crayon that could have very well been melted into the entire load had it made its' way through the dryer too.

Can you identify everything? I get the peanuts - know where those came from even. The dried (well, some-what soggy now) pinto beans though? Who raided the pantry and thought those looked tasty? I would have liked to have been there to see the look on the culprit's face when he bit into one. Yummmy.

Highlights from the end of Kindergarten

2009-05-23T21:58:00.000-07:00

Grey has had serious reservations about the school year coming to a close, not that he has any choice in the matter. He loves, loves, loves his teacher, Mr. Kay. All else aside (mainly the prospect of staying at school for lunch - how thrilling!)I think he would almost rather stay in Kindergarten than move on to first grade next year just to keep his teacher. Kindergarten gets out a week earlier than the rest of the school so Grey is officially done. They had a lot of great activities over the last couple of weeks, and I just had to post a couple of the highlights because I love the pictures that came from them!

First - the Kindy 500. All of the Kindergartners 'drove' around the school in their own little cars visiting different American landmarks and symbols. (IE: Mount Rushmore, The Statue of Liberty, Betsy Ross and the American Flag, etc., etc. We won't mention who was dressed up as the Statue of Liberty though. . . nor will we be posting any pictures of that lovely sight. Sorry, Charlie. No can do.)

Crazy Hair Day was actually for the entire school, but Grey's hair was too great to not post. I told him he looked like Albert Einstein. "Who?" Yeah, should have stuck with a Harry Potter reference, I guess. At least now he knows who Einstein is, kind of. (I didn't get a picture of Max before he left and his hair had fallen almost to normalcy by the time he made it home!) Nick was sure, of course, he needed to be in the picture too.

Um, this one I just found on my camera. Grey's bed-head is almost as crazy as his crazy-hair day do. I love this whole picture - the hole in his sweats, Izzy's disobedient ear standing straight up, the fact that Grey is just sitting in her bed with her looking like an orphan, AND that I don't know how the picture came to be on my camera in the first place.

For graduation Grey's teacher put together a program for the families. He introduces each of the kids, tells about their favorite things and what they want to be when they grow up. The kids are all supposed to dress like what they're going to be. It is seriously one of the cutest things I've ever seen. There are always a couple of the girls that want to be a princess and a couple of boys that want to be a superhero. (The first kid out in Grey's program is going to be Indiana Jones) I love that at that age those are really options in their minds! Grey is dressed as a paleontologist (working in his lab), in case you couldn't tell. I think he's messing with all his "bone-cleaning tools" in this picture.

After their introductions the whole class sings a bunch of songs and then everyone watches a video of the kids and the activities they did throughout the year. So cute. I just missed getting a picture before this one where the little girls on either side of Grey are both hugging him. (He didn't look upset, at all.) Bad timing! This one will have to do!

At the end of their program they had a balloon launch. Each of the kids had written where they thought their balloon would go on a piece of paper tied to their balloon string. Grey's said "My balloon will fly to a magical land where leprechauns live". Then they said goodbye! Oh, so sad. All good things must come to an end, Grey!

No painting parties here.

2009-05-20T16:15:00.000-07:00

Well, it's official. I am the mother of boys, boys, boys. No end in sight - unless the mini ultrasound machine they used (since the big one decided to BREAK right as I got to the doctor's office) made the cord look like something else. I will not be re-painting a bedroom, or buying masses of pink baby things, or selling all the baby-boy things I've collected over the last three babies. Nope. Not me. At least I won't have to figure out how to do all those cute twisty hairstyles on a squirming little girl before church. AND, if I thought keeping my boys in matching socks was hard, I can't imagine throwing little flower barrettes and tights into the mix. Now it's time to go to work on names. . .

Not My Child

2009-05-13T10:10:00.000-07:00

Bed-headed Nick realizing flip-flops are not a good footwear choice around manure.

You know those things you hear about other people's children doing that make you think a.) Didn't their parents teach them anything?, b.) MY kids will never do something like that, and c.) Where were their parents?Well, if we weren't before, we are now officially 'those parents'.

I was out shopping for maternity clothes (both a mother's day gift and a nightmare) and Tyler had Nick. They were at Tyler's mom's house - which is right next to ours - and she was leading Tyler through his latest to-do list in the making. Nick was bored and asked to go home, so Tyler told him 'yes' and that he would be right there. When he did get home a few minutes later Nick wasn't there. Tyler went back to his mom's to see if Nick had changed his mind and just gone inside her house. No Nick. Back to the house. He searched inside, outside (upside down) to no avail. No Nick. Finally he decided to walk up the street a bit to check Nick's new favorite friend's house.

Nick's scooter was on their front porch. Before Tyler could even knock on the door our neighbor opened it with a huge grin on her face, saying something about Nick. "Oh, so he is here," Tyler responded. She proceeded to tell him that she just got home. When she walked past the front door she noticed a little pair of shoes sitting neatly inside, then she came across Nick, ALSO INSIDE. "Oh, there you are," he says, "Can Michael play?" So, he was there playing when Tyler got there. Eating fruit roll-ups, taking a 'nap' on the couch. (Yes, he asked for blanket and curled up for a minute or two.) These are all things he does when he goes to grandma's to 'play'. I'm surprised he didn't ask our neighbor to turn a movie on for him. Maybe he thinks the same rules that apply at her house apply everywhere.

Seriously, how embarrassing. Have I ever thought to teach him 'never just let yourself into someone else's house'? No. Didn't really think it was necessary. Don't they come with some common sense? Apparently, this one didn't. Silver lining? I have to give him credit for politely removing his shoes at the front door. That was thoughtful.

Too much

2009-05-05T19:28:00.000-07:00

I don't know where to begin. Today was, all things said, too much. Simply too much. A day that begs the question 'why do I surround myself with animals?'. They're so much work and bring such inevitable heartbreak. They seem to be in and out of our lives so quickly, yet the time they are with us they are SO with us - and would be every second if we let them.

Sadie's liver suddenly shut down last week. The dog with the insatiable appetite stopped eating - completely. The vet had little hope for her when I brought her in on Friday. He said he could run a barrage of tests but he doubted we would be able to save her even if he could figure out why her liver was failing. We tried some antibiotics and a special food to help her liver over the weekend just in case it was something minor. She ate every meal and even raided Izzy's bowl again. She seemed happy and energetic again. When I let her out this morning she was romping around the back yard with Izzy like she was a puppy too.

Then in the arena parking lot one of the horses stepped on Izzy's foot. Stepped, turned and stood on her foot. It was awful. We brought the horses back home and I rushed Izzy to the vet. I had only been there a few minutes when Tyler walked through the door with Nick. I thought they had come to see how Izzy was doing, but he told me Sadie was in the car barely breathing. He had seen her laying on the grass and had called to her. After a couple of times with no response he started towards her. She was semi-deaf anyway so he figured she just didn't hear him. Then she flopped her head back to look at him. She couldn't even get up. Her lungs were collapsing. I'm still so shocked. There was nothing left to do, so we had to put down our second dog in just over six months. I still have a hard time believing Duke is gone, and now the Golden we brought home to help him (and us) cope with losing his best friend, Gert, almost eight years ago, is gone too.

Miss Sadie - Max's 'twin' sister; master of finding dead carcasses (and rolling in them); terror of all pot-guts everywhere; lover of all things edible (and many things questionably so); falsely accused and wrongfully imprisoned chicken slayer; consumate wanderer; biggest, furriest, happiest Golden Retreiver ever - I can't believe you're gone, and I'm so, so, so very sorry you are. You were simply the sweetest, most gentle, loving dog. We miss you so much already.

Life (and sun) over Laundry, everytime

2009-04-30T13:52:00.000-07:00

Did I mention I don't even want to come inside when it's nice out? (except to fall into deep-coma-like naps every other afternoon) It's true. Consequently the dishes got out of control for a few days there, not to mention the laundry. I wouldn't mention the laundry, in fact, if this post didn't completely revolve around it. (it's okay, you can go now. I can tell you're bored already by yet another laundry post.) Alls-I-know-is I HAD to do a little wash. I told Grey to put a pair of socks he was wearing (outside without shoes, of course) in the hamper. He yelled back to me from the laundry room that he couldn't because the dirty clothes were "too tall"! Very nice. Don't you feel better about yourself now? Good - that's what I'm here for.
And now I'm off to ignore the new pile lurking behind the laundry chute doors and play with the horsies in the sun.

SFOD - it's catching

2009-04-23T17:20:00.000-07:00

With all this beautiful weather all I have been able to think about is planting. Flowers. Trees. Shrubs. Vegetables. Herbs. I find myself driving by nurseries NOT on my way. . . slowly. I picture elaborate landscape designs and mentally spend thousands upon thousands of dollars on foliage I'm not sure will survive in this climate, and I'm quite sure I don't know the names of. It's an obsession, possibly even a disease. A self-diagnosed case of SFOD - Seasonal Flowering Obsessive Disorder. Heard of it? It's an up-and-coming condition, I swear. Once the pharmaceutical companies discover its' rampant existence you'll be able to medicate for it. (Not me. I'll suffer. Besides, medicine is yucky.)

So, I decided Wednesday was the day to kick of the season with a well-deserved bang. After all I have done a little weeding, and I was devoid of horsey duties for the day (other than the whole feeding thing). Trying to convince Tyler of the actual need to do this was, of course, another story altogether. Maybe I should have picked a day he was working. Note to self: Don't mention needing flowers to husband. So, in discussing our plans for the day, our conversation went something like this:

Tyler- SOOOO, what are your plans for the day?
Me- Hmm. Laundry. Little housework. Work in the yard.
T- Oh, you have the day off.
M- Something like that, yes. I thought I'd just run to the store and pick up a few things to plant and then get started.
T- You're planting ...what?
M- Flowers for the planters and some more stuff for the terrace.
T- So, is that really what you want to do?
M- Um, yeah. ( Was I speaking in code?)
T- I'm just wondering if there's something else you'd rather spend money on?
M- I SO don't get the question. . . (flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers. . .)
T- You want to buy flowers?
M- Yes. Flowers.
T- I was thinking fence posts.
M- You want to know if I want to buy fenceposts?
T- Yeah, to finish the fence.
M- (Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers) Wellll, yes, but today I want to buy flowers. (And trees, and shrubs, and vegetables . . . besides, YOU buy fenceposts. Not quite my thing.)
T- I was also thinking we should get Max some of those hard tires for his bike.
M- O-kay. (and this has WHAT to do with my flowers?)
T- But you're thinking you want to buy flowers.
M- Yes. Flowers.
T- I was also thinking maybe we should go out for dinner.

I'm thinking maybe he was just thinking aloud. That's what I'm thinking. Otherwise it seems our lines of communication have completely broken down. Is it because of the flowers? I mean, I realize that prettying things up a bit doesn't enter into the realm of the logical male mind. I also realize - increasingly - that a large majority of decisions in my life seem to be based solely on a cuteness-factor that definitely lacks a certain logical factor. AND I'm thinking the consistency of that little habit may have finally short-circuited my oh-so-logical husband. The flowers are pretty though. AND, the herbs smell delicious. Maybe they'll bring him back to his senses.

Can Open - Worms Everywhere.

2009-04-14T12:34:00.000-07:00

So, I guess it's about time to let the cat out, of the bag that is. It's been pushing it's nose out for months now - just little glimpses here and there, meowing incessantly to those close and possibly even scratching some eyes out. Cats. I do realize that some of you saw it for what it was right away, mostly due to the following facts:

I have been simultaneously nauseous and famished 24 hours a day.

I have leaped to new heights of anti-social behaviour - mostly due to the above fact.

My nap time suddenly knows no bounds.

I teared up during 'Chuck', 'Lost', 'Grey's Anatomy', and 'Bones'. Not to mention 'Monster's vs. Aliens'. I mean, really! Get a grip.

Hot Chocolate has lost it's appeal. If you didn't know - that's huge, by the way. Huge.

I'm wearing a short-sleeved shirt. . . and it's cooler than seventy-five degrees out.

If it didn't completely gross me out, I think I could burp the alphabet at least twice - anytime after four p.m. . . . daily.

My super-sensitive nose has turned into a near bionic phenomenon.
I can't seem to hold onto anything! Loose joints, I tell you. Something my husband thinks is bogus, but I assure you, I'm not usually THIS clumsy.
My bladder thinks it's the size of a peanut.
What skinny jeans? They're in hibernation, bring on the fattys now and see how long they'll last before I have to add rubber bands to the fasteners.

That's right. I got myself knocked up (blasted husband :) Heh, heh). I've got a bun in the oven. I'm a defective typewriter. I'm glowing. I'm three sheets to the wind. Oh, wait. That's something else entirely. Scratch the three sheets comment. I'm eating for two. I'm prego, expecting, with child, hungry. AND I couldn't be happier. I was starting to think I should be on the lookout for hot flashes. Now I'll be getting a heat wave instead. Yay. (Not so much on the actual internal heat wave as on the baby-thing itself.) Anyway, here's to the second trimester energy actually kicking in one of these days so I can spend more time sitting here with you; because sitting really takes it out of me, you know.

Ah, such an idyllic life

2009-04-10T21:02:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago I was heading out to do the nighttime feeding (of all creatures great and small) when I heard my mother-in-law calling to me from her yard. "One of your horses is out!" I looked up in alarm, naturally. Surely if one was out the rest would be close behind. Luckily, it was Tyrone, the big Tennessee Walker that has no use for boundaries. As much as the others may want to follow his lead sometimes, very few ever do. I think they are stopped by one of two things; either they know Ty can simply leap tall fences in a single bound (and they can't so much or are too lazy), or they don't want to be caught following the low man on the totem pole anywhere - brilliant escape plan or not. So there stood the big beast calmly trimming our ever-so-patient neighbors' perfect lawn. (The soccer-field neighbor, not the not-so-nices' obviously) Apparently it was just too much for him to be in a nearly grass-less existence with all that tantalizing green so close. The fence line that separates our yards is simply ancient - it consists of cedar posts, some cedar rails, and a LOT of wire animal fencing. We haven't replaced anything there yet and it's weak spots are significant. My mother-in-law said she watched Ty pushing his head further and further through the fence, stretching his lips out to nibble the grass until she heard a crack. He broke the top rail, stood there for a minute and then stepped right over into their yard. The other horses were tearing around, rearing up, kicking, and generally just having a great time seeing one of their own on the outside, unaccompanied. The youngest mare, who is slightly less-than-graceful at times literally fell and slid at least twice (that I saw). 'All riled up' is the term that comes to mind. If any one of them had broken free anywhere - let alone in a field of grass - they would be nearly impossible to catch single-handedly. Tyrone, however, is that kid that's just not like the others.

It's not just the fact that his ears are a bit donkey-ish, it's not his fault, just his breed. I swear if he could talk his voice would come out sounding just like Eeyore's. Very sweet, but maybe a little dopey. So he just stood and waited for me to get almost up to his neck and then began to meander away with Izzy bolting around his feet yapping.

When we were almost to the back end of our neighbor's property, and passing our hay barn a white flash flew in front of us. It seriously took me a minute to figure out what it was, and then it dawned on me - Bunny the flying goat. I never knew she could jump through the space between the animal fencing and the barb-wire on the backside of her pen. In fact, I don't she realized it until that moment. She does this to herself no less than once every other day:

Then I have to spend an agonizing five minutes or so trying to get her head twisted just the right way to get her head and horns back through the fence - all so she can jubilantly ram me with her new-found freedom.

So, really, who knew?

And so, Ty kept meandering, Izzy kept yapping, I kept walking, and Bunny followed us all - except for the break she took every 30 seconds or so to stop and stand in front of me, or head-butt my thigh, or chase Izzy. (Why do we have a goat again? Oh yeah, it's cute. Almost forgot.) Ty rambled all the way out of their yard onto the covered canal where he turned South, and where at least it's fenced off at the end of our property. I breathed a sigh of relief. If he would have turned the other direction we could have been in for a long walk, and who knows what other random farm animals we would have picked up. He came to a rolling stop at the fence and let me halter him and lead him back all the way through our neighbors' yard, onto the street, around through my mother-in-law's yard, and finally back where we started. Remember, this me leading a horse whose back I literally can't see over, circled by a loud and annoying goat, chased by a yapping, jumping Terrier that suddenly thinks she's herding sheep. My only consolation is that (to the best of my knowledge) no one captured this twisted-pied-piper scene on tape. And this is where the story should end, except it doesn't. Because apparently I'm slow.

Back in the pasture I lost hold of the rope when I was latching the gate behind us - and Ty once again meandered off. Dragging his lead rope. Not a good thing. About that time he realized how excited all the other horses were and he decided to take a victory lap around the pasture. Not that big of a deal, really. UNTIL Bunny decided to play interference. Every time I got close to catching the little (big) twit Bunny was suddenly in front of me head-butting me or jumping sideways in the way only a goat (or a moron) would. Sideways, seriously. Finally I had to grab her and drag her off (making ridiculous choking noises, the big faker) just to get to my original mark.

In the end everyone was returned to their proper place. I even fed them.

Happy Belated

2009-04-06T15:39:00.000-07:00

So, I've been completely non-existent in the blogworld for weeks now and I have so many posts stored up in my head that I'm not sure where to begin. How about this little beauty of a picture.

Awww, isn't he cute? Weren't the seventies sad?

And, I know. There are hardly words. BUT, first I have to point out a couple of things. Tyler SO thinks he's not a redhead, and granted, he's not so fiery now as he is in this picture, but still. There's no other color his hair could possibly be. RED. We spent the last week in Palm Desert with Tyler's brother and family and I'm pretty sure I heard their boys calling him Carrot-top during a heated game of 'Chicken' in the pool. . . Next, can you make out the pink ruffle peeking through? Enough said there, pink ruffle. I think he said he was ten in this picture so I thought it a fitting tribute photo for making it through a full three additional decades. Oops, did I say that? He told the boys he was twenty-five. Well, Happy Belated 'twenty-fifth' Baby! So, maybe we'll finally have that belated house-warming party mid-summer (once the you can safely walk in the back without muck-boots) and call it a belated 'Big 4-0' celebration instead.

Then there's this guy:

Greybug (our other March 25th birthday) turned six. I marvel at how much personality is packed into this little body! He's quite seriously a laugh-a-minute. And he's SO excited to be six now, he hasn't stopped talking about it for weeks on end - "I wonder what I'll look like when I'm six?", "I think I might like black beans once I'm six" . . . As far as I can tell, he's pretty much the same now, but don't tell him that. His life has been completely transformed as far as he's concerned.

Desperately Seeking Girl in Cookie Costume

2009-03-16T21:42:00.000-07:00

You know how you have days where you hit late, late afternoon and you're suddenly so famished you're sure you're wasting away to nothing. You think as hard as you can, but can only come up with a handful of nuts and a glass of milk for your day's nourishment? (No wonder you're STARVING!) Friday was not that day. And Friday makes the days I lose track of time and forget to eat okay. For the record I'm pretty sure it wasn't really all my fault. I started out well - yogurt with a little bit of Grape Nuts sprinkled on top, breakfast of champions. Then I got down to feeding the boys and here we come to accomplice #1. Grey has been begging for Toaster Strudel. (because he saw a commercial for some and can't get them out of his head, along with the sham-wow, the snuggie, some black-head extractor and the most horrible carry-all purse that he is sure will solve all my problems. I digress.) Anyway the begging has been going for at least a month and I finally caved. Too bad the real thing wasn't quite as delicious as what he had hoped. All three boys left at least half of their tasty toaster treats on their plates. Too bad for me really, because I ended up eating most of what was left over. Not so bad, actually.

Inexplicably I was hungry again around lunchtime. I was getting ready to head out to the horses for a ride, I'd need my strength, folks. Frozen Burritos to the rescue. Mmm. Such a very guilty pleasure. (I think I might need one now. . .) And I'm quite willing to take full responsibility for that one. Never met a burrito I didn't like. Surely, you say, you stopped the madness there. But, no. That wasn't all.

After school I rounded up the boys, my lovely niece and her lovely girls and we all headed to the mall to meet another lovely niece and do a little shoe shopping for the boys. (Max informed me the day before that he "now [had] a new hole in the side of [his] shoe". New hole? I asked. Then he showed me how he could take the middle of the sole out through a hole in the bottom of his shoe! He was so proud of it, and I was so horrified. a.) How many people has shown THAT trick to? b.) How long has that been there?! c.) I can't believe we haven't seen child protective services, or at least had new shoes dropped off anonymously on the porch.) ANYWAY, as we pulled up to the mall I said something to the effect of thinking one of those soft mall pretzels sounded good all of the sudden. Enter accomplice #2. Lovely niece number one says, "Ooo, yeah. Have you ever had the little pretzel bites?" No, I hadn't. But let me tell you, I have now. I was feeling very empty bellied after the shoe store and numerous terrifying trips up and down the escalators with five little children - most of which who refused to hold anyone's hands. They were de-li-cous. (The pretzel bites, that is.) soft. warm. all buttery. and salty. Yummy.

As we loaded back into the car to head to our next shopping destination I realized WHY we were hungry and the kids were so whiny. It was basically seven o'clock and we hadn't really fed them or ourselves yet. So we hurried through some equally delicious jeans shopping and ordered some pizzas to pick up on the way home. Yeah, pizza would top off the day nicely. Luckily, lovely niece number two had the sense to insist on picking up salad 'stuff' (along with lovely nieces three and four) on the way back.

Not so luckily, ten minutes from home, warm pizza boxes on niece number one's lap, what to our wondering eyes should appear but accomplice #3 - a DANCING TAGALONG. You heard me. An enormous dancing cookie motioning mid-macarena to the girl scout-mothers sitting behind a table in the stripmall. (At whom we waved a twenty and asked "how much can I get for this?. . . wait, we've got more!") First off, a note to all you girl scouts:

For the two weeks or so I spent in girl scouts, we went door to door to sell our cookies, dressed in ridiculous little brownie outfits. (Wonder why I only lasted two weeks. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the stupid 'sand-art' bird we made at one of the three meeting I ever attended. It was always about the cookies. And starting fires. Boy Scouts make fires, thought the girls would too. No such luck. Filled up a sprite bottle with different colored sand, glued on a feather and googly eyes. I was out of there before the glue dried.) Where are all the Brownies now? All we see are your mothers. You don't realize what you're missing by NOT knocking on my door. Seriously, I am a veritable gold mine. No one has enough Samoas or Tagalongs to fill my freezer. Let me order them from you, little girls. If we're not home, leave us A CARD. You don't have to do the Macarena on the street corner (although, that was fairly impressive in itself.), or sit at a table outside a grocery store selling a measly few boxes at a time. Come. Sell in bulk. Go home happy.
So, long story short, the endless carb fest ended with BBQ Chicken pizza, refreshing salad, and too, too many scrumptious Girl Scout Cookies. . . which are now gone. We are now desperately seeking the dancing tagalong once more. Hope you stocked up, girlies.

Babies Come From Heaven

2009-03-02T10:49:00.000-08:00

Baby Max

Back in the day when I was thinking about someday being a 'mom', I only thought about the little kid mom-issues. Didn't sound too hard. Diapers, play-dates, Kool-Aid - nothing I couldn't handle. I never for a second approached the thought of my kids needing 'the talk'. (The first whopper of a step on the way to being a teenager, ugh.) Suddenly that seems to be an issue. Grey, who will be six this month has asked me repeatedly over the last week, "Sooo, how exactly do babies get in the mommies' tummies?". First I told him that Heavenly Father puts them there when he's ready to send down a new child. He squinted his eyes, furrowed his brow and said, "No, how exactly?". Great. I'm SO not getting into 'how exactly' with a kindergartner! Then, a feeling of relief overcame me as I realized I didn't ever have to tell him about the birds and the bees - this must be my reward for having only boys. I pawned the whole thing off on 'daddy', who told him to ask again in a couple of years. (Which means, of course, he'll keep pestering me about it until he moves on to some other mystery. Meanwhile, Max, who wouldn't dare ask that question if his life depended on it, has sat through each of Grey's little interrogations as silent as a stone. I'm thinking we got 'the talk' when were in, what, fourth grade? I hear so much about kids 'growing up' faster now with the onslaught of information that is constantly thrown at us all. Does that mean the point on the timeline where he actually needs in on that fun discussion has been moved to sooner than later? I mean, I'm pretty sure he still believes in Santa Claus; surely he can't be ready for this. Tyler is no more excited to sit down with him when the time comes. After all, his dad simply gave him a book titled "Now that You're Twelve", told him to read it and ask him if he had any questions. Right. "Um, Dad, I have a question about page six. . .". He was fourteen at the time, by the way. It didn't matter that his parents kept him out of the sex-ed program at school. His friends and brothers had already filled him in on all the gory details long before. So, he doesn't really have a good 'talk' to base his off of! I can't say I'm anywhere near being ready to have my little 'angels' knowing all there is to know. . . but how much time do we have left? A year? Two?

Feels like SPRING

2009-02-26T13:43:00.001-08:00

A couple of days ago it was sunny here. And no, it wasn't a dream. I felt the warmth on my face, even had to shed my jacket - not something I do lightly. I know for sure the sun was out because my solar-powered husband was outside all day working on fence lines. And, man, was he happy when he came back in all dirty and sweaty with blisters on his hands. That man loves his sunshine. He'd work outside all day long as happy as a clam - as long as the sun is out. Even the horses were all full of themselves (and spring fever) with all the sunhsine warming them up. They seemed to work in shifts - one half sprinting around and bucking while the other half lay like dead, bloated versions of themselves soaking in the sun. I took one that doesn't mind being out on his own on a little ride and it was a rodeo just getting him to the street. He pretty much pranced the whole time we were out too - because I wouldn't let him run.

We have the horses separated into two pastures. The biggest of the beasts (an almost seventeen-hand Tennessee Walker), however, feels no need to be restricted by fences and squeezes himself through one section of fence that doesn't have a middle rail almost daily. I had never seen him do it, but that's the only possible way, short of jumping an incredible height, for him to get back and forth.

Anytime we ride out from the house all the horses remaining run along the fence line to the end of the property, just in case we never bring their friends back, I guess. So when my furry friend and I were riding on this very warm day I wasn't surprised when all of the horses in the east pasture came running to see us off. Then I heard the strangest noise. It took me a second to get what it was - heavy duty vinyl . . .bending. First I thought it was Tyler since he was working on the fences. But as I turned toward the sound I watched the last half of the monstrous Tennessee Walker squeeze through the fence and bolt across the pasture at lightening speed whinnying the whole time. A.) So cute. B.) So very him. C.) So Spring Fever. At least now I know exactly how he gets back and forth, not that it means the problem will be remedied, nothing will change until McTyler gets another sunny day off. It was nice to have my suspicions affirmed though.

Who Needs Directions - it's a POPTART!

2009-02-19T17:40:00.000-08:00

So, one part of the New Year's Resolutions that I officially didn't make was to only shop for groceries once a week. (Oxen and mire notwithstanding) The theory is that in so doing I will a.) be more organized - have a weekly game plan for meals, etc.; b.) save money due to 'a'; c.) save time; and d.) eliminate unnecessary mental anguish caused by taking children to the store. (Please see this post if you need concrete examples of said anguish.) AND, so far, it's working brilliantly. (toot, toot! That's my horn . . .) The one drawback seems to be the brutal amount of time I actually spend in the blasted grocery store when I DO go, and the fact that I seem to pick the busiest times to do my shopping. I know I should just abort the mission when the only parking spaces left are closer to the other stores around than they are to the one I'm headed to. Unfortunately doing things the easy way (should read 'the sensible way') has never been my forte.

Last week I was in line long enough to have obtained my fill of headlines from the 'Enquirer' to 'Outdoor Living' and I still hadn't made it past the candy. What else could I do but peruse the shopping carts around me to see what everyone else was buying. Now, I would be quite horrified to be subjected to this same scrutiny myself. That said, the cart peeping was SO amusing I might never have to read magazines in line again. I saw some things that have always made me ask, 'who buys that?' . . . and now I know. A LOT of people buy a LOT of ridiculous products, and not that I think anyone reading this is one of those people, but I have to ask? Why would you buy. . .

Cinnamon Sugar? There's no secret ingredient here, folks. It's just Cinnamon. And Sugar. You can't go wrong when you mix it up, in fact , you can make it to your preference! Wow. If you're buying it for the cute shaker jar, you are totally forgiven for the 'cuteness exception'. Just don't do it again.

Peanut Butter and Jelly . . . in the same Jar. Really? Have so little space you don't have room for two jars? PB&J too labor intensive when you have to get TWO jars out? Do you refrigerate it when it's open, for the jelly, or put it in the pantry where the peanut butter BELONGS? Does it make you kind of gag when the two get all smeared together inside the jar? What if you want another flavor of jam?

'Easy Mac and Cheese'. As if the regular box of Mac and Cheese wasn't easy (and yucky) enough. I feel the same way about this little Mac & Cheese innovation (if you will) as I do about Pop Tarts not only having toaster directions, but MICROWAVE directions. If you don't have enough time to make a box of that dehydrated cheesy goodness on the stove (or to pop a pop tart in the toaster), perhaps it's time to reevaluate some life choices, huh?

Disposable Toilet Wands. A.) Seriously, get a pair of gloves and a sponge. That's the only way to get it clean anyway. B.) Get over it! C.) Try to save the environment a little bit while you're at it.

Pre-made, pre-portioned Cookie Dough. Sometimes it's nice to take the shortcut, I get that. BUT isn't it easy enough to spoon/cut/whatever the dough out of the little tube? Do we have to have the dough already portioned for us? Is there really some way to mess up the process? So, so sad.

Lunchables. First, ewww. Have you seen the 'pizza' ones? Just looking at them is enough to send my gag reflex into overdrive. I wish I could say I had never bought one of these sorry excuses for a lunch, but whiny kids will make you do crazy things. Bottom line (pizza lunchables excluded): cheese. crackers. lunch meat. in a TON of packaging. Not. Rocket. Science. Amen.

Hmm, you get the idea. Thank goodness no one was keeping track of how many bags of Chocolate Chips were in my cart.

My life. . . streamlined

2009-02-06T19:56:00.000-08:00

I pretty much balk at the idea of New Year's Resolutions, always have. This year, however, I just had too many things bugging me (I know, me, bugged, who would have guessed) to NOT make some changes. I'm not saying I got all official and laminated a list or anything. It's all floating around in my noggin, and there it will stay. One thing I will say is that I'm trying to simplify in many ways. In that spirit of thrift I thought of the Strunk and White mantra "omit needless words". Taking those words totally out of context I wandered very stream-of-consciousness-like to thinking about how much time I waste in the copious amounts of text floating around the web. Then, for a fraction of a second I considered checking out of the blog-o-sphere altogether and imagined HOW much time I would have to do. . . well, anything else. Good thing I didn't entertain that idea for long; because if there's one thing I learned from the very first journal I ever kept, it's that writing is cleansing. Doesn't matter if I'm babbling (kind of like now) to myself and breaking every language usage rule there is. It clears my head, period. So, with THAT explanation out of the way I thought I'd share with you a few of the other streamlining ideas I rejected.
I was thinking. . .

hairless cat? (and shave the dogs, and the kids for that matter)
make the kids' socks out of swiffer sheets? (if only I could really sew)
throw kids' dirty clothes in the tub with them?
read kids whatever book I'm reading to myself?
don't sleep?
stop wearing makeup?
use paper plates?
maid? (was sure that one was a keeper. . .)
feed the kids cereal for every meal?
move the chickens to the basement? (saving in SO many ways there)
leave hay barn open so horses can help themselves?
stop answering the phone?
don't exercise. . .or work. . .or shop?
toilet train cat and leave dogs outside?
boarding school?

I could go on all night, but that would be wasting valuable time.

The Mom Song

2009-02-03T16:31:00.000-08:00

I must be stuck in those late winter doldrums (which is a complete 'mom word' by the way. . . and because it is, it is so very fitting for this post. Alas, I digress.) because I simply haven't had much to say now for days on end. I still don't, even though the sun is out. Maybe it's because the Cardinals lost. Maybe it's because I'm trying to budget - which I hate. Maybe it's because I've had a stupid tennis elbow for months now. . . and I don't play tennis. (And there's a story for you there too. . .) Maybe it's because Grey caught the tail-end of Walker, Texas Ranger today and has a new hero. ('Mom, I'm Walker, Texas Stranger and I just shot a guy in the bum!' Lovely, no?) I don't know. But I DO know that when my brother emailed me this video clip I laughed out loud. So, if you're feeling 'oogy' (can you match that term with it's movie of origin?) you should watch this video. If you're not, watch the news and then come back.
AND, since I can't seem to figure out how to change playlist back to manual start, you'll want to pause that little gadget. So much work. Ever so sorry.

um, brrr.

2009-01-26T22:56:00.000-08:00

You know those 'tests' you used to do in grade-school, junior high, maybe even high school, where you answer a bunch of random questions on one of those impossible to make paper flower things, and the test results tell you your future? On all those tests I always answered 'horse' to the question 'if you could be any animal, which one would you be?'. I was thinking, of course, of the beauty, grace, and sheer majestic power of the beasts. When I fed the horses Monday MY coat was soaked through before I came in, and I was out for less than an hour. Poor big, strong, majestic horses.
On Tuesday they had a layer of ice over their coats, icicles hanging from their whiskers, and ice-dreds in their manes.

See the clump of ice hanging there in front of his eye? It's not suspended in mid-air, no siree. Hanging from a whisker-type hair. Ouch. (Not to mention annoying)

And then, there's the shot below. You know when you're out in the snow for a long time and you don't realize you have ice in your hair until you turn your head and it whacks your frozen face? Imagine it's completely covering you. At least the guy in this picture has a winter coat a Woolly Mammoth would be envious of. . . maybe he doesn't know he's a horse Popsicle. Granted, just when I think they must be freezing one of them drops down in the snow to roll around, but still. How comfortable can it be, really?

As much as I love dogs, you know where they have to go to do their business. No such thing as a 'dog box' or 'doggy litter'. Although judging from the way Sadie plays around in the snow, I don't think she's really all that cold either.

This one runs back to the warmth of the kitty bed on the porch if we're out too long. No winter coat there. Aww, isn't she cute?

So today, I'm thinking it's not so much a dog's life either. Today, I'm thinking 'cat'. Definitely a cat. Not a barn cat. Certainly not an alley cat. A prissy house cat curled up in front of a nice warm fire while the storm rages on the other side of the window. 'Want to go out today?' my nice human would say. I would flick my tail at them and have them follow me to 'my' bed so they could pet me. Then maybe I'd take a nap - far away from outside, and the cold, and the wet.

Do they make something for that?

2009-01-26T13:39:00.000-08:00

On Saturday Nick was a infuriatingly small eater - with the exception of breakfast. His nutrition for the day looked something like this:

Breakfast - 1/2 grapefruit and Four (count them, FOUR) bowls of Cocoa Puffs. (P.S. I know I'm an evil mother for providing 'treats' for breakfast. I'm over it, now you have to be too.) He was very proud of himself for drinking the milk in his bowl after EACH bowl of cereal. I'm thinking it's not such an impressive feat when the milk is chocolate instead of cheerio-flavored.
After-breakfast-snack - Batman Fruit snack that he snuck out of the pantry. We can only hope he stopped at one. He's become as adept at hiding the wrappers as he is at getting the snacks off the high shelves.
Lunch - Ham and Cheese Sandwich. . . except that it sat, untouched, on the counter until I decided it was too gross to force him to eat it . . . and I threw it away.
After-non-eaten-lunch-snack - Chocolate Chip Cookie he snuck from the cookie jar.
Warm Drink after being outside in the slush - Swiss Miss Cocoa with 'smarsmehwos'.
Dinner - (would have been. . .) Beef Chow Mien and Green Salad.

By the time Max and I had finished eating and Grey was within a bite or two of being excused Nick hadn't taken a single bite. I decided to take action and feed him myself. He was really pretty willing to take the first bite after I bribed him with extra story time if he hurried. Bite in, head turns (towards Grey luckily for me), and all the chocolate goodness of the day came spewing out. Grey didn't get hit but he grabbed his mouth and ran out of the room trying to avoid being the next contestant in the barf-o-rama.
AND . . . dinner's over! Who wants a bath?

SO, while I was on my hands and knees cleaning up the mess, I couldn't help thinking (as I always do on these occasions) about ALL the things we mothers clean up. Most of the messes are a direct result of bringing our own little human monsters home from the hospital. I get that. BUT if you would have told me just how many diapers I would change; how many accidents I would wish the diapers had held in; how many times I would strip dripping sheets from little beds; how many types of partly digested food I would mop up from various surfaces, I have to wonder if I would have been ready to procreate. Now, I'm down to 'it's nasty, but I've seen worse, and where are my puke-mopping-rubber-gloves?'. Before kids, I would have likely been the first one out the door just based on the smell factor alone. What has happened to me, and HOW? Some parts of motherhood just aren't pretty. At least the miracles don't stop when that first cry begins - somehow, if we let it, motherhood molds us into real mothers. Over time our weak girl-arms can outlast the strongest of men as we rock our babies for hours upon end; our wills bend to accommodate the needs of our little ones; our hearts grow and soften; and last, but not least, we clean up the rottenest of messes without running for relief, or tossing our own cookies.

But now I'm found

2009-01-21T21:31:00.000-08:00

Ah, yes. After months and months of the things we settle for when 'Lost' isn't on. . . it's finally back! Hooray for suspense, plot twists and that downward spiralling-to-a-crash noise in the soundtrack when something crazy and important has just happened. The kiddies are tucked in bed, the dishes are done (dishes are done, man), and I just took more sinus medication for my ridiculously persistant head-cold. I'm figuring I have about two hours before I'm totally incoherent again. Tyler better hurry it up and get home or I'm firing up the DVR without him.

Boys Will Be Boys

2009-01-15T21:32:00.000-08:00

Being the only girl growing up I always kind of thought I knew everything about boys. (I also felt like I knew what it was to be an only child - just with more battle scars.) Turns out I was wrong on both fronts. I get new glimpses into the male psyche every day through the four male minds I am now surrounded by. Most of the time the glimpses I get are endearing, but some of them simply reaffirm how completely different our two genders are.

Glimpse #1 - Boys on Cleaning

Me- You know what I hate? (not waiting for an answer) Dirty dishes left in the sink.

Tyler- You know what I love? That this sink is big enough to hold so many dirty dishes.

Glimpse #2 (literally, ha, ha) - Little Boys on Hygiene

Upon walking into the bathroom I discovered an un-flushed toilet - apparently this is the final stage in potty training, even my oldest (not the grown-up boy, thankfully) forgets this all too important step! (Just let it go children!) HOWEVER, instead of being upset I was overjoyed at the fact that at least whomever forgot to flush, used toilet paper! Hooray for small miracles.

Glimpse #3 - Boys on Onomatopoeia

You know how little (and big) boys use sound effects for everything? Half of Nick's names for things when he first started talking were really just the sounds those things made. Now he's progressed enough to have the following one-sided conversation with me:

"Mom, dis so funny. Gaba Hud (Jabba the Hutt) is all 'Bwaa, uhh'. An den Wuke's yike 'Whaauun-Whaauun' (light saber noises, I think). Den Tooey's (Chewie) all 'Awgghh'. And Gaba goes 'Oooogh! phhhhh!'. and dat's so funny. He goes 'Phhhhh!' Yike dat."

And Mommy 'goes' "just smile and wave, boys, smile and wave", because if I hadn't seen whichever Star Wars movie that scene was from I SO wouldn't have known what that conversation meant. Any boy -Star Wars fan or not - would have.

Glimpse #4 - Boys on Hats

One 'boy' in our house who has great hair can hardly be without his precious baseball hat - ever. If he was having a 'bad hair day' I would cut him some slack. If he were balding I might understand. If he were heading off to, say, play a baseball game I would get it. But, seriously, he gets out of bed in the morning and the hat is on before his feet hit the floor. He's not dressed, why is the hat on? 'Going somewhere', I ask? 'Yeah, downstairs', he says. 'Pants?', I say. No,no, not necessary yet, but the hat is. Today I witnessed him putting the hat on when he was heading to the shower. I cocked my head like a confused hound dog. How does the shirt come off with the hat on? Seriously. He just smiled at me, took the hat off, took the shirt off, and put the hat back on. Is it some sort of grown-up-boy rebellion?

Glimpse #5 - Boys on Hampers

Clothes Hamper: convenient, tidy receptacle for dirty laundry. AND the clothes form a pile adjacent to said hamper. We put a laundry chute in our house thinking the little boys would have SO much fun throwing their dirty clothes down it I would never have to search out their dirty underwear again. That lasted about, mmm, three days. Action figures are much more likely to make the journey down than a pair of jeans. Max actually goes to the effort of shoving all his dirty clothes (except his socks which he shoots into various hidden nooks and crannies) behind the clean clothes hanging in his closet. My biggest boy puts his unmentionables in the hamper and lays the rest of his 'worn clothes' in a pile at the end of our bed because he might wear them again. . . I say (girls against sniffing out the dirty laundry unite!!!) if it's not clean enough to put back with the clean clothes. . . probably not clean enough to wear. Maybe that's just me...

Glimpse #6 - Little boys on Kissing

Even my little Nick now covers his eyes and says, "Ewww" any time anyone kisses in a movie.(Okay, so that's pretty much just Anakin and Padme. . . or, maybe a few others.) I'm quite sure all the little girls of the world just blush and giggle.

In 'real life' even kissing has to have some goal behind it, some undetectable prize. As any purpose for kissing is lost on the little ones Nick has remedied all kissing situations (such as goodnight kisses, owie kisses, etc.) by deciding it's a contest of sorts and pronouncing a winner each time. Don't know what the rules are. Doubt there is a system of points. All I know is that upon being kissed, or delivering a kiss he shoots his hands over his head and shouts, "I WON da KISSING!". Boys.

Glimpse #7 - Boys on Fun

Tyler used to always say "A dogs' happiness is directly related to how dirty they are". So true, and so true also for little boys. Holly and I took the boys with us to ride at the arena today. I planned for their warmth - coats, hats, gloves, and cocoa. I planned for their entertainment - backpacks full of toys / books / you name it. I planned for their tummies - they had cereal, grapefruit, and eggs before we left and three snacks for while we were there. I didn't plan for the dirt factor. Why? Because I'm a girl, and no matter how much time I spend around horses and horsie-places, I would never intentionally get down in the soft, stinky, manure filled dirt. Just wouldn't. Why would anyone. . .unless they were boys. You would think I would have learned by now. We had been riding for maybe ten minutes with the boys safely stowed on the bleachers when Grey called to me. I knew they had been running circles around the bleachers but was still surprised when I looked up to see him covered from head to toe in the extra filthy dirt of a riding arena. I'm not talking 'I got my boots. . . dusty' covered either. I'm talking I'm-not-sure-what-color-his-jeans-used-to-be, didn't-I-just-wash-that-coat, why-does-my-five-year-old-have-a-mustache covered. When I asked him why he was so dirty he simply said, (with an expression of bewildered innocence) "I was rolling". Yes, rolling. Like, 'duh, rolling, Mom'. Of course he's rolling - look at all the dirt! Later in the day he said it was his best day ever. I'm thinking it was the dirt. No wonder they don't like to clean.

All things said, I love my boys, all of them. I love that they are such boys. I love their funny boyish ways. I love that I can see my own ridiculous girlie habits and quirks more clearly through their eyes, and hope I am the better for it.

* photo courtesy Kiera Eve Photography

What are you Wearing?

2009-01-13T14:58:00.000-08:00

Remember the good old days when you could pick up the phone and call anyone you wanted to . . . anonymously? Before caller ID? (What a bad day that was, huh? The first time you prank called someone and they called you right back - oh, the end of an era, that. At least I was past the calling-boys-and-hanging-up-if-they-answered-the-phone stage.) AND, remember when anyone could call YOU. . . anonymously and ask if your refrigerator was running, or just breathe heavily into the phone and say "what are you wearing"? (Now, only your husband would pull something like that, and you're really not fooled even if he calls from a work phone.)

My little brother played a really funny YouTube clip for us the other night that made me laugh at myself and my usual choice of comfy pjs. (It made Tyler laugh at me even harder.) Inexplicably, it also made me think about the random heavy-breathing prankster of yesteryear and I imagined the conversation we might have now . . . if caller ID didn't exist.

Me- Hello?
Heavy Breather- (Heavy Breathing)
Me- He-llo?
HB- (Heavier Breathing)
Me- Okay, then. Thanks for playing.
HB- What (Pant) are you (Pant, pant) wearing?
Me- Um, really!
HB- Oh, yeah, reeeeally.
Me- Pajama Pants and a sweater. Excited?
HB- It's four in the afternoon.
Me- Your point?
HB- Okay. . . Mmm, hot. Is that all you're wearing?
Me- Not even close.
HB- Tell me (pant) more.
Me- I'm omitting the undie-details, but, wool socks, tights, long underwear, a turtleneck, and an apron.
HB- Are you (Pant) outside?
Me- Right. Without my ridiculous eskimo-ish coat, fur-lined boots, beanie, scarf, insulated gloves and hand warmers? Nice try.
HB- What's wrong with you?
Me- I have warmth issues.
HB-
Me- Hello?
HB-
Me- Pervert.

So, what are you wearing?

And, back to the grind

2009-01-10T18:25:00.000-08:00

Hey there. Wow, that was quite a break but I guess it's time to get back to the blog-o-sphere. I mean the kids are back in school, it's a new year, I've finally taken down the Christmas decor (okay, almost, but by tonight, I swear) and incorporated the Christmas swag into daily life. Back to the norm. I've had a hard time being motivated to make the switch though. Everything feels so plain when the twinkle lights come down. Tyler told me he feels a little cramped over the holidays with all the extra stuff everywhere, but somehow it just feels cozy to me. The tree was so dry even a week before Christmas needles would drop to the floor if you walked past. Mama Kitty barely made it out with her life before the sagging limbs trapped her underneath forever. I'm not kidding. I took two or three strings of lights off with the tree inside before I was up to my ankles in pine needles and had to move the whole operation outside. Next year is the year I will cave. No more tree-guy. I'm all about a big pre-lit fakey and pine-tree scentsy now.

Our Christmas was great though. We were swimming in relatives (this is a good thing) from Christmas day until, well, yesterday. We had such good times with everyone - it was perfect! The only drawback is that Tyler and I are incredibly dull in comparison to the the smorgasbord of cousins, aunts, and uncles the boys have had to entertain them. Don't think they don't let us know exactly how boring we are too - they're pretty good boys, but no one would accuse them of being subtle.

Tyler completely surprised me with a gift on Christmas Eve. He had taken the boys to get it that day and they barely kept the secret. When I came home from my last minute shopping Max was all over Grey and Nick to 'not give it away'. Grey proceeded to tell me they were sending me on a little treasure hunt to find my gift and that they had to give it to me that night. And then:
Greybug- So, aren't you kind of thinking it has to be an animal now?
Me- Oh, woops. Actually I was thinking it must be pajamas.
Max- GREY!
After dinner that night everyone came with me on my little hunt. I should have known what it was since the rest of my family (namely my brothers) were so interested. The last clue led us to the guest bathroom where this sweet little girl was waiting!

Meet Izzy. She's a Jack Russell Terrier puppy - a dog that I have wanted for at least twelve or thirteen years now. I have to keep telling the boys she's Mommy's puppy just to get to play with her myself. Sadie and Mama Kitty aren't such big fans yet.
Anyway, she has been taking up a lot of my time and attention, but can you blame me? She's so cute! It's totally her fault if I slack on my blog. . . or anything else.

Every Batman has to start somewhere

2008-12-23T21:41:00.000-08:00

I walked into the den to find this little scene yesterday - NOT that there is anything abnormal about Nick playing on the computer. We even caught him downstairs in this same position one night well after eleven - when we thought he was asleep in bed. Little sneak! He is way too literate in the subject for my taste already. (Maybe it's a good thing, who knows.) His whole outfit totally cracked me up though. He was watching Lego Batman 'movies' over and over, apparently the cape was necessary for this exercise. Right after breakfast the first thing he asks invariably is "so, it's okay I go hop on da 'puter?". I'm a little a-scared.

(Please note that one of the garlands only has half of the lights working. . . I got a good week out of them before they burned out though.)

(Please do not note the mess on the desk. Thank you.)

A Christmas Poem for You

2008-12-22T18:25:00.000-08:00

Twas just days before Christmas
and all through the town
the snow won't stop falling
and the satellite's down.
Far more snowmobiles than plows
can be seen on my street
as we search through the pantry
for something warm to eat.
After shoveling my way
out to feed all the creatures
I'm feeling quite numb
through all of my features.
I'll put the kiddies to bed
turn the fire up just right.
Merry Christmas to all
and to all a good night!

Wow, and hope everyone is safe and warm inside on a night like this! (At least here! Brr.) Sorry for the lame poem. My brain is frozen. I told my mom the snow was up to my knees this morning and then had to take it back, because it was only half-way up my shins. Well, NOW IT IS! Big furry snow boots don't help all that much when the snow is higher than the boots. Time for new boots? (Isn't it always?)
Poor Mr. Barney McDreamy (the 'barn' kitty) is confined to cruise around in the paths I made because otherwise he'd sink in over his head. His fault though, really, we keep trying to bring him inside but the most inside time he can handle is overnight in the garage. Otherwise he howls like a banshee. I'm babbling. So sorry!

Tinkle All the Way

2008-12-15T20:39:00.000-08:00

Every time Nick hears "JingleBells" (Particularly the Jimmy Dean version) he breaks into a huge grin and through an excited giggle he shrieks (yes, shrieks), "YES! I wud dis song! Tinkle Bells is my fwavwite!" Then he literally bounces up and down singing through the entire thing. If I didn't already love Christmas music, that would sell me on it, right there.

So you might have guessed that I haven't really been doing laundry this whole time - well, maybe a little, but I've been busy, man! I've been hauling out the holly, decking the halls, wishing you a Merry Christmas, and letting it snow. I love the way everything glows at Christmastime. Beautiful lights inside and outside, rosy cheeks, crackling fires (Ah, the insistent cry of the tea kettle ready to make something to warm you to your toes). Even cars get a little merry with wreaths wired to their grills. I love having garland and twinkle lights throughout the house. It just feels so cozy and warm even if deep down inside I know that I'm wearing thermals, tights, wool socks. . . Look to the lights and feel warm. That's NOW though. The last two weeks of dealing with blasted twinkle lights officially gave me two grey hairs (I'm sure it was the lights.), which OF COURSE I have just as officially yanked out and sent on their way. But in the course of cursing out yet another series of inanimate objects I saw the light (if you will), or was enlightened (if you won't) about myself and my other - more masculine - half (you know, Tyler).

The tree (which we picked up from Tyler's friend, or as his sister so aptly put it "let me guess, Tyler knows a guy. . .") was already lit and Tyler had helped me find my sanity with a couple of strings of lights that decided to stop being lights once they were on the tree for thirty minutes or so. THAT night in itself was traumatic enough in the light department, but all ended well and fairly quickly. The next day I started in on the bazillion lengths of garland strung with lights. Not one of fourteen or so strings worked all the way. I know they worked when I took them down last year. What could have possibly happened to them all packed away nice and neat over the past months? Seriously. If the whole string wants to go out - fine, if a couple of lights don't want to work - splendid, but HALF the string? Or if you twitch the string this way or that it works? Come on, how long have little twinkle lights been made? Could it really be that hard to make some that aren't so finicky?

After replacing a few bulbs on a string and testing a ridiculous amount of them I still had one string that was half lit and half not. I was ready to toss it out the window, or in the garbage can at least, but McGuyver sitting on the couch couldn't let it go. He took over and switched out every unlit bulb - even the ones I had already changed. When that didn't work he started going through the wire connections to each bulb looking for who knows what.

McTyler- See, this light has three wires going in to it.

Scroogey Me- Uh-huh.

McT- Most of them only have two.

SM- Mm. (Fascinating. Can we throw it away yet?)

McT- I just need to find where the third wire comes in again. . . it bypasses this one, and this one, and this one. . .

SM- Then what? (Then we get to throw it away? Besides electricity isn't really your thing.)

McT- I don't know, I'm not good with electricity.

SM- Hmm. (Whatever do you mean? Like the time you melted a screwdriver fixing a ceiling fan? Like that?)

---At this point MacGuyver-Tyler jumped up from the couch and disappeared into the garage. He returned (Before I could throw the lights away.) with some kind of little electric current tester-thingy.---

SM- Um, what are you doing now? (You do know we could replace this string this for TWO dollars?)

McT- I just have to figure out where the current is stopping.

SM- Oh-kay. (awkward pause) I was just going to give up. (and throw them away.)

McT- Yeah, I kind of got that.

SM- So. . . you don't just-want-to-throw-them-away-and-buy-another-string? Much easier. (For two dollars!)

McT- Nope. I need to figure this out. This wire has (blah-blah) volts here but only (blah-blah) volts here.

SM- Cocoa?

McT- Working. Maybe later.

SM- Mm, yeah. Did I mention we could just throw them away?

McT- Yep.

BUT, long story short (because this went on for two tivo'd episodes of Chuck) - He checked all the little wires around each connection until he finally figured something out and saved the stupid light strand (and two dollars). So, what did I learn? The things I don't know how to do are completely my fault because I simply don't care enough. Tyler seems to know how to do everything not only because he cares, but because he can't let it (anything) go until he understands it completely. What's worse is that it drives me a little crazy when I don't 'get it' and he does. . . just not crazy enough to figure it out for myself.

I'm a Junkie.

2008-12-04T16:11:00.000-08:00

The signs - you know you should stop, maybe make dinner or put the kids to bed. So you put it off and then when you get around to doing all the things you should be doing all you can think about is when you can get back to your little addiction. How much longer? Can you take it? Your sleeping suffers because you stay up feeding your craving almost until it's time to wake up. Then when you finally turn off the light to get an hour or two of sleep your mind is too busy to let you rest. At last you see it affecting your family. "What are you doing, Mom?. . .Oh, never mind." And your husband comes home from work wearing vampire fangs just to get your attention. (And does he ever - get your attention, I mean.)

So, I stubbornly refused to touch any of the Twilight books for, hmm, years, I guess. I felt it must be a Buffy rip-off and I was far too loyal a fan of the Buffy / Angel love story (and Joss Whedon) to fall for another lesser vampire storyline. I did the same thing with the Harry Potter mania - Scoffed at the fanatics waiting in droves for their pre-ordered copies of the latest wizarding installment, and then I completely sold out. (Not that that had anything to do with Buffy. ) I read LITERATURE, not pulp-fiction. Sheesh. What a faker I am. As much as I love plod slowly through a multi-layered piece of 'serious ' literature, have I ever been so engrossed that I would literally fly through thousands of pages within a few days because I could-not-put-it-down? (I can stop anytime I want, I swear.) I don't think so. (Well, at least not when a grade hasn't been attached to the reading in some way.)

Bottom line - you can count me among one of the Twilight groupies now. (Dang-it.) Edward's team, of course. Now that the reading frenzy is over though, I'm a little lost. I went through the entire series in a week - Thanksgiving week at that. Now I have that strange feeling of surreal loss that you get when you close the last chapter of the world you've been escaping to and you're just not quite ready to let it go. Whatever shall I do, Wherever shall I go? To the laundry room, I guess.

Gobble, Gobble!

2008-12-01T08:16:00.000-08:00

Before

Happy Thanksgiving to all you turkeys out there! (Heh, heh.) SO, Thanksgiving went off without a hitch, except that for the first time in recent (or ancient for that matter) history I was finished with my portions of the meal (Turkey, Cranberries, Stuffing, Gravy and two pies) early. That, my friends, was more than a little disconcerting. Through all of my day-before prep I was silently repeating the mantra of "I can be ready on time, I can be ready on time". (Not unlike the "today is my best day yet!" mantra from freshman year - thanks to my roommate, Amy the Great). It must have worked though because I popped out of bed at six-thirty ready to pull the turkey out of the brine and stick him in the oven. The only holdup came in the form of the thirteen onions I had to cut between those roasted with the turkey and those for the stuffing. Onions are my Achilles heel in cooking. I've tried everything to get past the stinging, watery eyes - even as far as tying saran wrap around my face. Alas, it has all been to no avail. Tears run down my face as I blindly wield my knife, and every chop I make is one closer to lopping off a finger. The closest I've come to be able to survive this feat is turning the kitchen fan on high, strapping on my ski-goggles, and breathing through my mouth. It's not pretty. Tyler seems to think it's funny. I think it's necessary - you won't be seeing this girl on food network.

Lovely, I know. (I think the blur is totally appropriate for this picture - it's the way I was seeing!)

So when Mr. Turkey reached the perfect temperature to be done a full forty-five minutes earlier than I had planned for I didn't know what to do. It was like arriving early to an event that has assigned seating. Completely out of my element. I didn't know what to do. Good thing Tyler can keep a clear head in such times. He turned the oven off and cracked the door. My hero. The turkey was saved.

After :)

I put the boys to work helping me make thumbprint turkeys for the place-cards and put master-chef Tyler to work making the gravy from the pan juices. Delicious! The wonderful food everyone brought in was amazing. What a yummy day, and I didn't even need my flashcards.

Thanksgiving Traditions

2008-11-21T22:37:00.000-08:00

Does every family do the thing where they can't eat anything (aside from all the stuffed olives, roll dough, celery sticks etc., etc. everyone snacked on pre- sitting down to the dinner table) until everyone around the table has said three things they're thankful for . . . and no one can repeat what someone else has said? So the food gets incrementally colder as each person racks their brain for a new way to say they're thankful for the same things everyone preceding them said. Sweaty palms are wiped on napkins, minds go blank, and you find yourself blurting out "manicurists, muck boots, and bleach pens" (or some nonsense) only to see your loved ones sadly shaking their heads at your inadequate answers. "No!" you shout, "I'm not mocking tradition! I DO HAVE a thankful heart! I just want to move onto the pie and the little leftover turkey sandwiches that come LATER! And, and, and the first five people stole my TOP FIFTEEN ideas!" No? Your family doesn't go for that craziness? First, I don't believe you. Second, can I come to your house for Thanksgiving?
Since that's not an option, and I really do love Thanksgiving and family togetherness, and I AM grateful for a bazillion things that I could list any time of the day - except when it is suddenly demanded of me - I have a plan. I'm making cards. Not crafty little foofy cards (although my inner Martha is thinking some place cards would be a nice touch) but sneaky cheater note cards. Then, as all my thankful speaking points are taken I can just toss those cards casually over my shoulder and be ready to eloquently add whatever blessings I'm still holding. I'm not even writing down "Family, Friends," and "the Gospel" because I know those will be taken up by the first person to speak. Unless it's Nick because - judging from his prayers lately - the three things he is most grateful for are the temple (good one), dinner (if only he would eat. . .), and potty (really, and he can have that one all to himself).
SO I'm starting my note cards with these:
Love (which will SO get taken)
Music (ditto)
Freedom (ditto)
What would you say? You know it's coming. . . better be prepared.

Treats I Can Sink My Teeth Into. . .

2008-11-18T13:42:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I can pretty much sink my teeth into (and am willing to sink my teeth into. . .) most treats. BUT I don't always want my kids to treat themselves to all the irresistible snacks that I would - at least without my supervision. Two reasons: First (and most importantly) - some treats are just for me. . . and maybe Tyler, if he's nice. I'm not talking about a secret stash of something BAD here, but let's be honest no three-year-old has a palate that would really appreciate a square of Scharffen Berger bitter chocolate. Might as well give them M&Ms, or even the fake M&Ms - they'll be just as happy. . . and so will I. Second - Maybe some kids out there have (and pay heed to) a "that's enough" warning signal in their heads. My oldest actually rarely overeats anything, including treats. The other two? Fuhgettabouditt! They'll eat snacks until they're quite literally sick if we let them. (ie: if they 're sneaky enough.)

The solution? Healthy snacks that are good enough the kids sneak those instead of the alternatives. Several years ago Tyler introduced me to the best dried apples ever. His mom had dried them from some of the trees in their orchard. I've never been a fan of most dried apples - mostly because I 'm not a fan of eating cardboard OR styrofoam which is what most dried apples taste like to me. So why were hers so different? She used a different variety of apple - Jonathons. Not Jonagolds, Jonathons.

Aren't they beautiful?

SO yummy, I swear. Unfortunately we took out the Jonathon Apple trees a few years ago and are left with a bunch of Red Delicious trees- which are not so delicious (although the boys and the horses like them just fine. . .). I always look for Jonathons in the stores and farmers markets and I was so excited last week when I found some. (Yay!) So we've been using one of my favorite kitchen gadgets - my apple peeler/corer/slicer and drying a ton of apples. (Alright, a couple of bushels or something, but it seemed like a ton.)

The boys take turns using the gadget and then run around the house eating the long strings-o-apple-peel. (and screaming of course, but that has nothing to do with the apples, that's just all about little boys. I don't know why. It makes no sense to me.) I even made a pie for no reason other than we had so many apples. I'm feeling so very Martha Stewart-ish. And now we're monitoring the dried apple consumption instead of the Halloween candy. Much better.

Mini-Celebrations

2008-11-10T17:19:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm working on so many different big projects, goals, what-have-yous that I'm endlessly wrapped up in the doing and never stop to celebrate what's been done. More of a 'can't see the trees for the forest' rather than the other way around. Curse of the multi-tasker. SO, today while the craft area of the house has been piled (lovingly, I'm sure) with my STUFF from storage for me to sort out, while the laundry looms menacingly (and rather stinkily, I'm sure) in the hampers, while dinner sits marinating on the counter I am going to celebrate an accomplishment a long time coming.

We - have - finally - finished - off - my - worst - toothpaste - purchase - ever! Hooray! I thought the day would never come. Seriously. I'm not kidding. First off, I need to say that toothpaste needs to be minty. Knock-down, almost choking, breathing crisp frosty air minty. Cinnamon doesn't enter this equation. It doesn't make you feel fresh and clean. It makes your mouth feel. . . well, warm. If you disagree, good for you. You can have all the funky flavors out there that I wish I could love, but can't.

SO, forever ago (seriously) I bought a tube of cinnamon toothpaste and loved it for maybe one use, decided it was icky and bought the old standby mint-fest. I would have tossed the nasty one immediately but that little voice in the back of my head told me it was too irresponsible and wasteful. (Think of all the people that don't even have toothpaste. . .you know what I mean.) Luckily the other voice in my head said, "leave it for Tyler, he'll use it. He'll use anything. Hey Tyler!". Brilliant, no? Somehow he started using my minty wonder again though, so I tucked the cinnamon freak-show into the tin box under the counter I usually reserve for my 'back stock' toiletries. Problem solved. BUT THEN, MONTHS LATER (Eeeewww, right? I know.) the minty-wonder was gone and the cinnamon tube reappeared. Apparently Tyler went through the 'back stock' bin and found the reject toothpaste! UGH! I was guilted into finishing it with him and it lasted for-e-ver. I swear it has been weeks now that I have been squeezing the end of that tube hoping to NOT be able to get another toothbrushful out. But, no, it just kept on coming like unwanted manna. Waaah (angels singing) - the miracle of the toothpaste. Hooray. I couldn't toss it away and then have Tyler fishing it out of the garbage all, ''whada-ya-mean you couldn't get anymore out?' and squirting ridiculous amounts onto his toothbrush to out do me! (That's not me being competitive, by the way, that's just sheer pride.) No more though. The proverbial well is dry. Woo-hoo! Color me minty fresh. I'll be breathing frost-bite breath from now on, thank you very much.
_________________________________________________
Edited 12:15 am
No way! I just walked into the bathroom to find Tyler (who had not read this post yet) struggling to get one last dab of toothpaste out of the yucky tube. (At least the tube was on the counter instead of in the garbage) I guffawed loudly and, yes, sadly, snorted. When I had kind of composed myself I peeked back in and he was holding his toothbrush (topped with yummy cinnamon paste) triumphantly for me to witness his feat. And then I ran downstairs to tell you all. Brilliant.
_________________________________________________
Edited (again) to add 12:30 am
Not only did he find enough toothpaste for himself, but my toothbrush was waiting for me all toothpasted-up when I returned upstairs. Oh, how sweet.

That's One Super Tuesday Alright

2008-11-07T15:45:00.000-08:00

Remember a couple of weeks ago when the colors were still brilliant in the mountains, and before it decided to snow? (Grrr.) Remember that? Yeah, me too. I thought I would have all the time in the world to post Fall color pictures. Then winter bared it's ugly teeth and swallowed up every last leaf - at least from the branches in the higher altitudes. Along with the winter weather came the big move of the horses from the Summer Ranch to the Winter Ranch. It looked the rest of the week was going to get colder and wetter so we decided to move the horses on Tuesday. . . Super Tuesday to you. Talk about bad timing, since Tuesday decided to be the day with the worst weather of the week. (A bit foreboding, perhaps even a little foreshadowing, if you ask me.)

Let's remember the sunny weather with the gorgeous colors and feel warm and happy, shall we? For a minute.

Oooo.

Ahhh.

Nice, eh? (That's for all you Canadians out there. The 'eh', you know) The Saturday before the move we got a chance to get one last ride in, we we even brought our husbands. It was so much fun.

Now it's on to riding in the valleys if we can get a little nice weather, and soon we'll stick to the arenas. (BO-RING!)

Happy Halloweeeeen!!

2008-11-01T16:15:00.000-07:00

(Max as a Dementor, Grey as Zorro, Me as Elphaba the Wicked Witch of the West, and Nick as Batman. . . ready to hit the streets and get some candy! Oh yeah, and Tyler as the cameraman and door-answer-er.)

Oooooo! (That's a scary ghost sound by the way.) Nick has been drawing little blobish circles and saying 'Oooooo' for weeks now. 'Dat's a scary ghos, Mom'. All the little blobs look pretty much the same to me, but he assures me they're all very different ghosts. SO, our whole family has been pretty preoccupied with Halloween for some time now and now that it's officially over I'm not sure I want to let it go. The spooky decor is definitely staying up a few more days at least.
Th boys' school doesn't let the kids wear costumes to school on Halloween which I thought was very sad. I have great memories of the Halloween Parade at my elementary school. Teachers and students dressed up, parents came and the entire school tromped through the halls and through every classroom in the school. I'm sure it was chaos for the faculty and maybe even a dreaded event, but seriously, it was great fun for the kids. Part of the fun of being in costume is seeing (and being seen by) all your friends. In lieu of any costumed festivities at school I told the boys we would have a Halloween Costume Party for them at the house. Their guest lists weren't too bad separate, but they were a little spooky put together! We had twenty-three kids (and Grey's amazing kindergarten teacher, his wife and their son even stopped by - the kids went wild. He's quite a celebrity to them). When all was said and done (seventy-five 'witch-finger' cookies, twenty-three spider cupcakes, and twenty-three treat bags later) it was a very crazy, fun, chaos-filled hour-and-a-half! I'm definitelty glad we did it though and think it might have to become a tradition for us.

Witch Finger Cookies

I didn't have a chance to snap any pictures until the very end of the party. By that time, of course, most of the little goblins had shed multiple pieces of their costumes. Too bad I didn't group them together for a shot in the beginning - they were so adorable!

Hutch Henrie August 21, 1977 - October 18, 2008

2008-10-24T16:51:00.000-07:00

Early Sunday morning my beautiful sister-in-law and friend Holly sent me the terrible news that her brother Hutch was killed in a car accident. Neither Tyler nor I could believe it - it's just too much. Too much for one family to go through, honestly. We attended the service today at an overflowing funeral chapel. I just wanted to send our love again to the entire Henrie family as they find themselves inexplicably thrust once more into the refiner's fire. We love you and Hutch and are so saddened at his passing. He will be greatly missed by everyone he ever came into contact with. I'm sure he, Ashley and Verna are all watching from above even now wishing they could comfort you themselves. I wish I could do something to comfort you as well but feel inadequate for the task - words are not enough. We're here for you always.

Anybody Still There?

2008-10-23T21:13:00.000-07:00

So, I had a fit of 'time to get every project you've been thinking about doing for the last year done'. SO, after making some serious headway in the realms of mounting things on the wall, random organizing (picture me, a bajillion greeting cards, and a cute little file box - it's sickening and wonderful all at the same time, I know.), and, of course, more unpacking. I've had enough. For awhile. (I'm really quite productive when I'm not blogging, or reading what everyone else is blogging. Who knew.) Then an overly happy announcer-type appeared out of nowhere, shoved a microphone in my face and said "Well, Wendy, now that you've finally folded all that laundry and painted another wall shelf, what are you going to do?" Like any good American wanting to help spur the economy I cried, "I'm going to Disneyland!" And so it came to pass. We've always tried to do Disneyland in the off-times before but I had to see what all the "It's Halloweeeen Time" fuss was about, so off we went - along with at least half of the state (and some Az folks too) during Fall Break. Somehow we fit two eleven-hour days at Disneyland, a day at the San Diego Zoo, and a day at the beach in. I have to admit, the parts of Disneyland and CA Adventure that were decorated were pretty cool. Seeing the 'new and improved' Haunted Mansion alone was worth the trip. I'd like the Disney Staff to come and decorate our house for Halloween now, please.

The boys throwing out . . . who knows what signs.

Noodle and Tyler

Oh, look, it really IS the happiest place on earth.

We stayed with our good friends, Kara and Jason for the last few nights. One night we even left our kids with their kids and snuck out for an amazing dinner at our friend Jason Knibb's restaurant, nine-ten, in La Jolla. We miss his cooking Soooo much. He left the Tree Room five years ago and our mouths still water just thinking about our many favorites of his dishes. He truly has a gift. Mid-bite of one of the appetizers Jason sent out Tyler rolled his eyes back in his head and actually said "If he was a girl I'd date him!". Um, yeah. I know. At least it's not as bad as what I thought he said at first. . .

The next afternoon at the beach wasn't warm enough for playing in the water, but the boys did anyway. What was I thinking by NOT putting them in their swimsuits and heading to the beach?

To be fair, Max kind of tried to stay dry, and kind of succeeded.

Nick was scared to get in the water without holding one of our hands. (except for the moment of heroism when he tried to pull Kara and Jason's toddler out of the oncoming tide to 'safety'. . . by her hair. Poor Nick was so scared of the water he was crying the whole time he was 'saving' Mia.

Grey, on the other hand, was being typical Grey. He's 'not trying to get wet' in this picture in fact. Notice, please, that his hair is dripping. And, yes, his clothes couldn't possibly soak up any more water than they already had at the point I took this picture.

Kara and Me. I know, I look ridiculous. My hair gets all psuedo-curly in humidity, and then the jewelry. . . For all you know I'm wearing a big frilly white skirt. Cha, cha, cha!

Our two families. . .Ready to go 'home' as the sun sets. Thanks for you hospitality dear friends!

Sharpies Anyone?

2008-10-04T20:24:00.000-07:00

I saw these links (thanks to Ashley's Closet) to the coolest Sharpie Art ever and had to share. If you've seen these - ignore it, I'm slow. If not, enjoy. The wheels in my head are turning with wall art plans. . .

Cool Temporary Floor Treatment
Amazing Basement

I'm not a feminist, but. . .

2008-09-29T15:22:00.000-07:00

I am pro-woman, if that means anything at all. I love to be pampered and treated 'like a woman'. Sure, you can open my door for me, carry that heavy bag, pay for my dinner. . . (heh, heh). I don't get all the militant feminists insisting that they are the same as men, because I have one big, fat "does the word 'duh' mean anything to you?" for them on that one. Man - Woman. Pretty different, and it's not a bad thing. Women are entirely capable of most anything a man is, and then some. I do think we have to reserve a few things for each sex though. Men, you can have taking out the garbage and digging post holes. (On second thought, there are a lot of other things I would add to that list, but I don't have all night.) This woman (that's me.) would like to reserve not being the bread winner and all things mocha-flavored for herself. (Of course there's the obvious 'I can have a baby' thing lurking in the shadows, but I'm certainly not going to pull out that faulty card - we all know it takes two to tango.) Something I really have no patience for, however, is the assumption by any man that we women as a whole are a little lower on the intellectual ladder than men. It is astounding to me that this opinion really still exists. (It's really quite preposterous, if you ask me.) Seriously.
So, Saturday evening I was on my way home from the amazing massage my wonderful husband (not a chauvinist) had sent me to for my birthday. I had to stop for some fuel for the car - and I say fuel because I drive a diesel which, of course, doesn't run on 'gas'. There was a man filling up his minivan (who's the girl now, minivan guy?) on the other side of the pump I pulled up to. He was standing next to his car, so he both saw and heard me pull up. Diesel engines are not quiet even when they're little. As I filled up my car I noticed him watching me; looking at my little car, looking at the green diesel nozzle I was using, and looking at the dumb girl ruining her car by putting the wrong kind of fuel in it. Finally as he was driving away he decided it was time to put a stop to the madness.
MVG- Uh, you do know that's a diesel hose?
Me- Mm-huh. Sure do.
MVG- (staring) Uh, so, you can only use it in diesels.
Me- Yeah. Okay. Thanks. (Weird, You can only use diesel fuel in a diesel engine? That's just so unfair. Nobody told me!)
MVG- (Still staring - from the safety of his minivan) Uh, so is your car a diesel?
Me- Uh-huh. (No, actually I thought it might be fun to pay an extra fifty cents per gallon. It is my birthday, you know. I feel like splurging, and this seemed like the perfect way to do it! Dork.)
MVG- Oh, really, 'cause it's a car. Cars aren't usually diesels.
Me- Yep, it's a diesel. Promise. (What do you think these pumps are for, tractors?)
Mini-Van-Guy gave me one more suspicious look and drove s-l-o-w-l-y away. He was probably calling the diesel police. A.) If you don't know what you're talking about in the first place - don't talk. B.) It's a good thing it was my birthday or he would have really irritated me. (No one's allowed to tick me off on my birthday, it's my unwritten law. Deal with it. It should be an everyday law but sometimes I'm just too tired (ie:irritated) to enforce it.) C.) Minivans are stupid. Unless the doors open and shut by themselves, because that's pretty cool. BUT they'll never be pretty.
Oh yeah, and my point? There are a lot of less-than-smart people out there, I don't think one sex or the other really has dibs on having the majority.

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na!

2008-09-26T20:12:00.000-07:00

The boys wanted me to post their current favorite song. Yeah, check my flow. They especially like the "na-nas" and the "_______'s going to start a fight". What can I say, they don't go for the slow moody stuff but they DO have good taste. No radio Disney here. We can all do a serious groove to the Tings Tings though - even better than our 'Psyche' theme song dancing. (I know that's hard to believe. . . if only you could see it.)
I turn a year older in two-and-a-half hours, by the way. Woo-hoo! I would tell you to hurry up and be the first one to wish me a Happy Birthday, but my little brother, Josh called this morning from Russia to be the first. He's convinced it should count since it was one-thirty a.m. on Saturday there. I'll let it slide.

Farewell Summer. . . Hello Beautiful Fall!

2008-09-24T15:30:00.000-07:00

The best thing about living in an area that actually has seasons - in contrast to my years in the desert - is that just when you start to get a little tired of one extreme it's time to move to something else. So now that I've had enough of being dirty, sticky, tired and hot (do keep in mind I have to wear jeans and boots to work no matter what the weather is!) it's finally time to layer on the clothes instead of the sunblock. (So now I'll just be dirty and tired!) I love Fall. The colors are spectacular here - in the mountains especially.

So, before I inundate you with a bazillion fall-color pics I have to say good bye to summer! Farewell my favorite late summer beauties:

P.S. We ran into this guy yesterday and I took a ton of pictures of him (from about thirty feet away - apparently we're not very scary humans - don't know if that's an 'on horseback' thing or a girlie thing). We were waiting for him to stand up and run away, and by the time he finally did my batteries were 'exhausted'. I love that my camera says that, by the way. Poor batteries, are you EXHAUSTED?! Have I been working you too hard? Seeing gorgeous animals like this up close is my other favorite thing about Fall in the mountains!

I seriously don't get how they cruise around with something that massive on their heads. Why don't they tip over?

How Did This Happen?

2008-09-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

I'm a little late with this post, but if I gave up all the things I'm late for, sadly, I wouldn't do a whole lot. (Since tardiness is my ONLY flaw I've decided to embrace it rather than try to overcome it. Oh, sorry, that was a lie. . . so I guess I have two faults.) ANYWAY, enough about me, my BABY BOY is three. HOW, I ax you, did that happen? Apparently letting him keep his binki at bedtime didn't stay the hands of time. Now he has officially even given the binki the boot. He tossed his last two into the stinky garbage can last night in a moment of reckless abandon. An hour or so later when we headed for bed, he tiptoed back downstairs for them but came back empty handed because the garbage can smell almost made him sick! (You see, there are advantages to not taking the garbage out immediately. Although, that's really the only one that comes to mind.) We'll have to see how he does without one tonight!

I feel like I've been able to enjoy Nick's crazy antics a little more than Max and Grey's because I don't have a new baby to steal some of the attention. He's such a character - so sweet, goofy, and mischievous! Even though when I ask him if he's 'my boy' he always says 'NO, I Daddy boy. You Max and Grey boy'. Apart from from the obvious mix-up of me being the older boys' boy, rather than them being mine . . . he's really quite precise in how he feels the family is split up. But I know - deep down inside - he's my boy too!

Happy Birthday Little Man!

It's so easy. . .

2008-09-17T14:57:00.001-07:00

Oh no, here it is. Part of me feels so evil and mean to post this picture, but the other part laughs too hard to not. I apologize in advance to the person in the photo. I'm sure he is a really good person. Really. . . it's Geico's fault in the end.

Ah-ha!

2008-09-17T14:57:00.000-07:00

Thanks for showing me the error of my ways Alyssa! We have playlist liftoff! If I would have done it on my own I would toot my horn, instead I'm tooting for Alyssa.
(I tend to lean toward the moody stuff, but maybe I'll have to shake it up a bit, eh?)

5 Things

2008-09-16T19:07:00.000-07:00

I know I have been a big whiner for over a week - or at least you think I have since I haven't posted forever. BUT I swore I wouldn't post again until I got the blasted 'personal playlist' gadget working. You are now realizing that this is still a silent blog. I know. I can see you sitting there with you head tipped slightly toward your monitor. No, the volume isn't muted, your speakers are fine. It's me. I swear I'm following the directions, at least I think I am. Oh, who am I kidding- I am obviously NOT following the directions the way I should be or you would be enjoying my latest musical obsession. HOWEVER, I can't take it anymore - the not posting thing - and just like my oath to never enter another Walmart as long I live, I'm back sans the music.
I have the greatest picture on my phone and as soon as I can get it from my phone to the computer (yes, my technological savvy is lacking in many ways) I have to post it, and then we'll all laugh. And feel a little guilty about laughing. And laugh again. On the edge of your seats? Uh-huh.
What I really meant to tell you all is that I hurt my back a couple of weeks ago and while I've been waiting for it to heal (ie: I REALLY feel like an old woman now) I learned some very important things . . .about backs.

5 Things I Never Knew My Back Was Involved In:

1. Laying Down - I mean really! If you can't lay down, what can you do?
2. Vacuuming ( I know. That's pure naivety.)
3. Painting My Toenails
4. Laundry. (Good excuse to ignore it if I could justify sending the boys to school without underwear . . .)
5. Putting on My Pants. (You may also substitute 'pants' with 'underwear', if you feel like you must.)

Don't go worrying though. I went to the doctor and he 'adjusted' the worst of it away. (I can't begin to spell the nerve that was being pinched. Let's just not go there.) I thought the doc's advice on how to let my back heal was rather inspirational though: No standing. No sitting. Try to just walk and lie down. Seriously. Thought he was making a joke at first. How is that even possible? Anyway, now I'm just mildly sore and fairly functional. It's like old times! Woo-hoo!

Oh, oh, oh. I almost forgot. I have a new favorite word : PREPOSTEROUS! ('Inexplicably' was my old favorite and is still very close to my heart.) I love it because it sounds preposterous if you actually use it. Try it. I dare you. Say it out loud, try to slip it into a conversation without smirking when you say it. Don't be preposterous!

The Duke of Escalante Oct. 29, 1995 - Sept. 4, 2008

2008-09-04T22:21:00.000-07:00

"We need another and a wiser and perhaps a more mystical concept of animals. Remote from universal nature, and living by complicated artifice, man in civilization surveys the creature through the glass of his own knowledge and sees thereby a feather magnified and the whole image in distortion. We patronize them (animals) for their incompleteness, for their tragic fate of having taken form so far below ourselves. Therein we err, and greatly err. For the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. The animals are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendor and travail of the earth." - Henry Beston

My heart is broken. My friend, my old running and riding partner, my protector, my confidant, my first 'baby' - is gone. We have known it was coming for years, but as much as that makes it seem like it should be easier to say goodbye, it doesn't make it so. Knowing he was failing horribly doesn't make it easier. Feeling he is in a better place now doesn't make it hurt less.

We got Duke the summer that we got married as a hyper one-and-a-half-year-old from some friends that didn't have the time to put into training him. That was eleven and a half years ago. We already had an older Golden Retriever, Gert, that surprisingly took him under her wing. Between her training and Tyler's I hardly had to do anything. Duke came to work with me when I used to guide horseback tours and ran back and forth in front of the horses as we went - the same way he did when I took him running. It was like he couldn't help but run on ahead to see what was there, but he kept coming back to make sure I was still there. He must have covered at least twice as much ground with all his doubling back. If ever there was a dog whose physical makeup resembled 'Tigger', it was Duke. His 'bottoms were made out of springs'. He could jump vertically past my shoulders - from a stand-still, and would just because he was happy to see us.
Duke was all about being a retriever - if he didn't have a toy to be thrown he would find one - sticks (of course) and old water bottles were his favorite 'found' treasures. He would fetch as long as he could find someone to throw. If there was water involved there was no dog happier. He would leap with reckless abandon off of docks, the boat deck, rock walls, you name it. If you threw his toy - he would fly first, and then swim to bring it back.

Thunderstorms and fireworks, however, melted the poor thing into a quivering mess. Everyone knows animals act differently before a storm and if you know what signs to look for you can predict the weather. Duke was far more accurate than the weatherman, and an open book with his signs. Until the last year or so he never slept in our room, and a cold wet nose pressed into my side or nuzzling my palm in the middle of the night could only mean one thing. If a storm came when we weren't home Duke would burrow into the corner of our closet until either we came home, or the storm passed. His 'Tigger'-like hind end came in handy for him if he was outside when thunder started to roll - no fence could hold him. He ran, and ran, and ran - apparently he was trying to outrun the storm because he would turn up miles and miles away from home and never in the same area twice.

When I starting working at the ranch Duke and our new(er) Golden came to work with me most every day. While Sadie was still learning to control herself and would endlessly disappear after elk herds, sage hens or anything else we came across on the trail, Duke would simply perk up his ears, take a couple of deer-like bounds towards the wildlife in question and come dutifully back to me. The only occasion I can think of that he didn't come back the first time I called, I'm convinced he thought he was protecting me. Maybe he was. I used to ride a lot by myself - I felt safe enough being on horseback and having the dogs there as well. It was late Spring and the elk herds had temporarily scattered a bit for the pregnant cows to have their babies. We startled one just off the trail. Her baby must have just been born because it wasn't standing yet. The new 'mama' charged us. Sadie, miraculously, came running to me but Duke ran straight at the elk barking like crazy. The elk kept lifting up onto her hind legs and then crashing down low with her fronts out straight, almost like she was doing a very exaggerated bow - but with a completely different meaning. Duke was doing the same thing. They were facing each other and turning in large crazy circles with the point between them as the axis, Duke barking and snarling the whole time. I'd seen him act that way before when he was playing with us, with other dogs (even with some coyote pups), but this was different - it was more serious. His tail wasn't wagging, his tongue wasn't lolling playfully out of his mouth. Instead his lips were pulled back over teeth in a snarl. My sweet boy looked absolutely ferocious. I was riding a young horse that wanted out of the situation and I had a hard time just keeping him from bolting as I yelled for Duke to come. About one-hundred yards up the trail I got my horse to stop. When we got to that point it was as if Duke decided we were far away enough to be safe and came bounding after us. Instead of his usual spot out in front, however, he tailed us until the cow elk finally turned around and went back to her baby. Then he moved to the front clearly high from his encounter. I had always felt safe hiking, running, and riding with Duke. I felt like he would protect me, although I imagined a human attacker rather than another animal. After that incident I knew I had been right. We protected him from his fears and he was ready to protect us.

We told ourselves once he couldn't get around well it would 'be time'. That stage came and went. He still seemed happy when he was with us and rarely let any chance to follow us around outside pass him by, even though he was moving in an increasingly slow shuffle. The arthritis in his front elbows had fused his joints stiff and straight. We tried every medication the vets offered. The nerves in his back had begun dying a few years ago and slowly his back legs had lost feeling, which is why he shuffled. He moved his front legs and the back legs would follow. Stairs became impossible for him to maneuver over the last two months, we carried him up and down. Once he couldn't stand up by himself we would pick him up and steady him and then he would be okay. And then suddenly he wasn't. He couldn't stay standing unless we held onto him for awhile and positioned his legs. Still, sometimes even then he would fall right back down. He could barely hear anymore, his eyes had started to cloud over and we couldn't keep weight on him. The look in his eyes said everything, and we knew we couldn't put him through it any more.

As Tyler dug Duke's grave and I tried to do something - anything to keep myself from thinking and crying more, I found poor tender-hearted Grey standing on the back bumper of the Suburban. He was peering through the open window at Duke wrapped up in a blanket and had the saddest expression I've ever seen on his face. I put my arm around him and told him it's okay to cry when you feel sad. Glad for a tender-hearted husband, I pointed out that 'Daddy' had cried too. He got down and hugged me and I could tell then that he had already been crying. I still remember the way I felt as a child the first time I lost a pet. I know it's a part of life. I know the level of joy can only reach as deep as the level of our sorrow. I know each loss helps us grow and cherish what we have. I know these things, and I'm still sad. I am sad to lose my friend and sad to watch my boys dealing with losing their friend too. Duke has always been an immediate part of their world, and now the world has changed, and I can't kiss it to make it better. More than sending the boys off to a new year of school, I feel like we all grew older today.

Duke, you are greatly loved and missed.

What's bugging Tyler

2008-09-04T21:52:00.000-07:00

The kids are in school. The leaves are changing. The a/c isn't on half the time. The boat has barely moved all summer. It sits clean and shiny in the garage, waiting. . .

Poor Tyler waits all year - literally counting the days - for the warm months to arrive. He has the harbor weather report lines for the local lakes on his speed dial. I'm not kidding. By the time March hits each year he has checked water temperatures at lakes that take a day just to drive to. We normally take at least one early Spring boating getaway to a warmer area only to freeze our little wetsuits off in the still icy waters. He prices drysuits and rubs his hands like an evil villain type as he plots his escape to a more boat-friendly climate.

This spring and early summer was all about getting the house done. The rest of the summer has been about getting moved in and situated, and now it's gone. If the weather doesn't warm up enough for a few late summer days on the lake I fear the road trips he has already hatched out in his mind. I'm crossing my fingers for a bit more heat before we plunge all the way into cold, wet Fall.

Too tired - continued

2008-08-30T21:19:00.000-07:00

Feeling slightly remiss about all the blogging I've been thinking about but not doing. If only I could dictate straight to the blog while I'm musing. . . too bad.
STILL, I have no time to cyber-muse. So I'll be brief.
Three of my favorite moments from my sweet little guys this week:
1. Max - has decided he loves to sleep with his windows open so Foghorn (the rooster) can wake him up. . .funny how sleepy he still seems when I wake him up after the sun has been up for awhile. Can't believe how big he is now.
2.Grey-bug- told me what he wants to be when he grows up. Although he said 'an astronaut' first, he quickly changed his mind - before I could even fill in the blank on his teacher's questionnaire- to (drum roll, please. . .) a Ninja. 'Definitely a Ninja'. Does that come with dental?
3. Nicky- said 'bwess you' when I sneezed. How sweet is that? AND Nick came up to work with me for a little bit while 'the boys', as he calls them - he doesn't seem to get that he's part of that group- were in school. He helped me spray the horses down and then let them out for the night. Good one-on-one time.

I. am. so. tired.

2008-08-28T21:49:00.000-07:00

Here's what I want my days off to be like:
8am- asleep.
9am- still sleeping
10am- yep, you guessed it. Asleep. Although it's a good time to be arriving at consciousness.
11am-feeding the humans and animals, in my pajamas.
12am-possibly time to get clean and dressed, unless it's time for a nap. Maybe make sure the little ones are clean and dressed too.
You get the picture.
This week is too too too busy. Why does school starting signal an end to all free time I didn't know I had? Do we really have to have fifty soccer practices the same instant we start being homework-hounds? Does PTA have a number of required hours to fill? Let's ease in to this back-to-school thing here. Baby steps.
On top of that craziness, apparently Tyler was determined to get unpacked-right-now and all my plans of crawling back into bed after I got the school send-off-thingy taken care of were out the window. I do not have the time to fully explain the contrast in the way we 'unpack' things and seriously must return to this subject in a few days. . .when I am closer to sane. Let's just say that I might have, well let's say 'hidden', in the closet folding clothes of all things to escape all the "what do you want to do with this?"-ing.

"Am I Buggin' You? Don't Mean to Bug ya. . ."

2008-08-20T15:47:00.000-07:00

What's bugging me:
1. The other night I was out in the garage helping Tyler put up some shelves. . . - and by 'help' I mean what I usually end up doing when I 'help' Tyler: observe, offer moral support, and make extremely helpful suggestions which are always very much appreciated, I'm sure. Although, sometimes when help I end up being a part of things I should never be involved in. . . like helping stand fourteen-foot high garage framing walls - because I'm that strong, and tall, and it's easier than asking someone else for help. I digress. . .- anyway, I was watching Tyler put up shelves and I got distracted by one of my absolute most hated creatures; A nasty moth kept running into everything remotely close to me, making that horrible 'phluth' noise every time it hit. Why, I ask you, do they do that? They can fly, why can't they steer? Why must they invade my space and leave little dusty reminders when they do? Why don't they care if they run into something MUCH bigger than they are . . . something that wants to send them all to the fiery depths of Hell? I would care, if I were a bug. Seriously. I am not a squeamish girl, I deal with spiders and bees, and, and, and other stuff with relative calm. I don't think moths are going to kill me, or sting me, I just want them to stay away from me, and they don't.
The first time I heard about the whole butterfly sanctuary thing - or whatever you call it, I swear I was fighting my gag reflex. Still, I can hardly imagine something worse than a room full of elegant moth- cousins that want to come land on my finger or my hair. Actually, I can think of a lot of worse things - I watched an episode or two of Fear Factor - but I still cringe at the thought. Dear Butterflies, you're so pretty. Be pretty far away. Thank you.
2. Last week a grasshopper jumped in my boot. While I was wearing it. Without socks. And then it squished itself against my naked foot (I'm innocent.) leaving sick green grasshopper juice on my ankle. I KNOW it's partly my fault for wearing my cowboy boots with shorts, but it was just for a few minutes and I was at the ranch. . .it was totally justified. Again, WHY can't they jump away from people instead of at us? What is the point?
When we were riding yesterday we went through a meadow full of huge grasshoppers jumping so high that they were flying over the tops of our heads (on horseback). . . and you guessed it, one smacked me in the face, fell to my chest and jumped on to find it's next victim. I could hardly open my mouth (after I screamed of course) afterward for fear of. . . well, you know. I can't even write it.
3. My mean 'animal lover' unless-it's-not-their-own neighbors (not to be confused with my lovely mother-in-law, or with the nicest, coolest neighbors ever - they literally have a soccer field in their back yard, how cool is that?) are driving me nuts! A letter: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Not-so-Nice, I'm sorry that you think we should take our dog to a spinal specialist even though our Vet (a professional) has told us nothing can be done for him; I'm sorry you think we should tie him up even though he can barely walk; I don't care if he hobbles over to see the old dog across the street, in fact I think it's adorable and sweet. He's NOT running away, and you don't need to bring him back to us and shake your heads / fingers at us; I'm sorry you don't think we buy the right brand of pet food, I'm sorry the goat trimmed the bottom of your fruit trees for you, I guess we won't send you a bill since you're mad; I'm sorry you are misinformed enough to think that horses should be FAT- please look up 'founder' in the dictionary; I'm sorry you cover our fence rails with birdseed (for the birds and the deer) and that our chickens now make a beeline for it when they sneak out. . . you said you didn't care at first. (They are birds you know.) I am not sorry you stepped in chicken poo. I kind of think you deserve it. P.S. You live in the country, practically the mountains. There are animals here.

Ahhh. Thanks for listening, I feel better.

The Capture

2008-08-13T21:50:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it wasn't actually a capture. Remember two posts ago when Foghorn got out? Remember that? Well, I really did jump up from the computer to get him. As I slipped my boots on I yelled to the boys (you know, the ones that had JUST come running in to tell me the rooster was a.w.o.l.) to come help me catch the little sneak. No one came rushing out behind me though. I figured they were putting their shoes back on, and so I ran - so bravely, into the face of danger. No sign of the culprit. I knew all I had to do was listen for a minute though, he can't seem to help himself - he crows MORE when he is out of the chicken yard for some reason. Possibly a death wish. Sure enough, seconds later I heard him crowing loudly from the neighbors back yard. . .good thing the neighbor is my mother-in-law. Foghorn had escaped from the chicken yard (where he had clean water), gone through the horses' corral (past a water trough. . .full of water), past the goat (still more water), and squeezed through a hole in the fence of said mother-in-law's yard to get a drink from the dog's water dish. When I got there he was crowing, then he took a drink, crowed again, etc. until he saw me. He hunkered down low to the ground, and I swear he scratched at the cement like a bull ready to charge. Then he was off. If you have never seen a chicken run you must, by any means possible, find a way to see it. A. They are faster than you would ever imagine. B. It's so hysterical to watch them cruising at the speed of light, yet waddling at the same time it makes it almost impossible to give a good chase. I managed though. I even got one good picture of him booking across the corral. (yes, I brought my camera to catch the rooster. . . kind of thought I would be taking pictures of the boys chasing him around - very funny.)

By the time we were both back to the chicken yard back-up had finally arrived. It just wasn't what I was expecting (and I promise it was wearing clothes when I left the house).

While Nicky did bring his car and a plastic dolphin to help with the

capture I decided he would be most useful holding my camera while I tried to corner Mr. Leghorn. His photography speaks for itself.

He kept saying 'Ah see yo weg, no, Ah see mah weg!' And then the glorious moment evidently about the time of this pic, "Ah see mah ton!"

A final Nick's eye-view.

And, no. I didn't catch the blasted rooster. But Tyler did...the next day.

Tagged!

2008-08-04T08:12:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged by my brilliant friend, Kiera, and it's taken me awhile to finish because the prompts really made me think. I really like this tag mainly because it asks questions that expose you a little rather than the old 'If you could meet any one in history. . .', or 'If you could choose one person to be trapped on a desert island with. . . (wouldn't everyone just say MacGyver here so they could GET OFF THE ISLAND - good thing my husband basically is MacGyver, so I could choose him and sound cheesy, but be practical at the same time - brilliant.) .
SO, I'm tagging Amy the Great, Kara M., Tiffany, Ashley, and Marianne because I want to know what you think. . .

I am. . .strong (and fragile), happy (and pensive), energetic (and exhausted), optimistic (and wary), loving (and off-ish), outgoing (and reserved), confident (and self-critical), stubborn (and easygoing).
I think. . .in riddles - well not really, but wouldn't that be cool. Really, I think until my brain hurts, and then I either run, bake, read, or sleep so I don't have to think for awhile.
I know. . .we're all here for a reason; to perfect ourselves, to help others in the process.
I want. . .my children to be happy, good people; to have enough of my own time to do everything I want to do instead of just everything I need to do.
I have. . . everything I need.
I wish. . .(I was a little tiny fish-tiny fish) my boys wouldn't fight; I were taller.
I hate. . .feeling hatred; bugs that run into you; lack of accountability, laziness, lies, cruelty.
I miss. . .sleeping in, the (Arizona) desert, the carefree days of childhood.
I fear. . .losing my husband or children.
I feel. . .young and old - depending on the day.
I hear. . .my family waking, birds outside the window, the hum of the computer.
I smell. . . with a supersonic nose. (blessing or a curse - you decide)
I search. . . for peace, lost toys, car keys, matching socks, answers, and the right words.
I wonder. . .what all the silent spirits are thinking - tiny children and animals.
I regret. . .not saying 'I'm sorry' soon enough, tanning, quitting piano lessons, losing my temper.
I love. . .my boys, my husband, music, the gospel, the way the summer air feels around 3 am, epiphanies, deep dark chocolate, comic relief, laughing, crying in sad movies. . .or commercials (take your pick), good books, kind people, genuine people, perfectly grilled ahi, clean sheets, new shoes, the word 'mommy' when it's not being yelled, looking into my boys' eyes, galloping through the mountains, the smell of rain, the first snowfall of winter, movies, new notebooks, inside jokes, words (particularly 'inexplicably'). . . we could do this all day, you know. . .
I care. . .about first impressions, about peoples' feelings.
I always. . .change the toilet paper rolls, take notes, eat my vegetables, wear sunscreen.
I am not. . .prompt (as hard as I try.)
I believe. . . in the mercy and love of God; in the power of music; in the existence of miracles; in the goodness of mankind; in the beauty of love; in the gift of forgiveness.
I dance. . .when I cook; with my boys; to the psyche themesong; when I'm happy.
I sing. . .out loud, in my head, in the car, to my children. . . all the time, and it makes me feel connected to everything.
I don't always. . .want to be in charge; want to be seen; want to have the answer.
I write. . .poetry, prose, lyrics, dialogue; in my head, on paper, on the computer, constantly.
I win. . .unless I lose.
I lose. . .track of time.
I never. . .say never.
I listen. . .to directions. . . and then I usually forget half.
I can usually be found. . .yep. Usually.
I'm scared of. . .things beyond our control - natural disasters, other people's actions, war, etc.
I read. . .whenever I can- sometimes even at stoplights (if I'm done with my make-up, of course.)
I am happy about. . .life in general.

I'd like to thank the little people

2008-08-01T16:57:00.001-07:00

A couple of things I have to get off my chest and I have no time right now - (my three bottomless pits think they're hungry. . .and they think I should take care of that).

1. Dear Juice and Java girls - I love you, not in a freaky way, please don't be scared because I need you. You are so much better than the scary juice nazis that were serving bliss up about, hmm, 14 or 15 years ago. . . when my reliance on you began. Thank you so much for picking my name in your monthly drink-card giveaway. You have made an awful, terrible, horrible couple of days much better. You make the rockin' world go round.

2. Dear Tyler - I love you too, maybe in a freaky way, but please don't be scared, because I need you more than chocolate. BUT my blog obsession does not make me Doogie Houser. I'm sorry, but it just doesn't. AND, now that you've said that, I'm scared that the creepy little Italian Doogie friend is going to crawl in my window as I type and mess up my conclusion.

That's all for now. Must find something to cook. Oh, even worse - the boys have just sounded the 'Foghorn is Loose' alarm. Dang it. Maybe we should have Rooster for dinner.

Reading the Signs

2008-07-30T08:57:00.000-07:00

When things are hard or keep going wrong at what point do you stop and say probably wasn't meant to be and let it go, and at what point do you show perseverance? If you always push forward no matter what, when do you have time to read the signs, take a minute, and mark it up as a bad idea or bad timing or bad juju? When we took the boat out, for instance, and it wouldn't start (which might have something to do with the little monkeys who like to play in the boat while it sits in the garage.) should we have thrown the towel in then? Or (after jump-starting the boat in the harbor) how about when I was swinging around to pick Tyler and Max up for another run and saw Grey inexplicably paddling alongside the boat? ('But, I wanted to swim') How about when Nick leaned too far over the edge trying to fill his water-streamer gun and toppled in? No? Keep on keeping on? Endure to the end? When we left the radio on while the bilge was filling and the battery wasn't fully charged yet and had to be towed in to the harbor by some little twerp? Certainly then we should have wrapped things up and called it day. But no, the water was turning glassy and so were Tyler's eyes watching it. We jump started again and off we went into the sunset. To be fair, the last runs of the day were beautiful and mishap free. . . so was it a lesson in never giving up or should I have recognized a doomed day at the lake from the the first fruitless turn of the ignition? One way or another, boating always makes for good pictures and we had my 'little' brother, Josh, with us who left to fly back to work in Russia today. (We'll miss you Josh!)

Tyler and Nick

Greybug

Maxer

'Uncle' Josh

Grey and Max

Tyler boarding with Grey

Tyler boarding with Max

Tyler ignoring me while we're towed in. I said ' This reminds me of the first time I went skiing and had to get taken down the hill in a toboggan. I was so embarrassed'. Tyler answered 'You know what's different? No one was pointing a camera at you telling you to smile while it was happening'.

Max and Nick watching the tow boat

Last swim of the day

Five Minutes Later

2008-07-28T15:23:00.001-07:00

Literally five minutes after I posted the entry right before this one I got breakfast for the boys. They wanted to eat on the deck which wasn't an issue except of course that Grey was still Gollum (his bowl of Crispix had taken my place as his 'precious'), ie: still in nothing but underwear. I tried (and failed) to convince him to at least put some shorts on. I tried to scare him out of it by reminding him the neighbors would be able to see him. If Max EVER had the notion to run outside in his skivies he would definitely have been held off by that argument - not Grey. "They can only see my shoulders, Mom." Apparently the neighbors can't see through the railing on the deck. I gave in. What's the use of being a kid if you can't run around in your underwear every once in awhile anyway?
I looked out the kitchen window a few minutes later to see Grey in this pose.

And, yes, he was saying "ah-oom, ah-oom".

If it's not Batman. . .

2008-07-28T08:24:00.000-07:00

This morning:

Stripping the beds to throw the bedding in the wash. Grey curled up in his anywhere chair - in his underwear.

W- Hey, buddy, why don't you get dressed and I'll get you some breakfast.
G- Then I can't be Gollum.
W- Oh. Yeah. Good Point. Ok then, can you take your stuff to the laundry chute?
G- Yes. . . my precious.

Dear Officer Krupke,

2008-07-26T15:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes if something irritates me (hey, it's a family show, I'll keep the language decent for you)I do the counting to ten thing to see if I can find it funny. OR, if it's really bad and I'm REALLY irate, I try and shelve it for awhile - I figure the less I dwell on it the better. HOWEVER, if ignoring it doesn't work, I have to move to Plan B: complaining as loudly and as often as I can until I'm sick of hearing myself talk. Well, it's been a week since the authorities started their manhunt for me, dangerous criminal that I am, and I'm still a little ticked off.
So, first and foremost I'd like to thank the lovely officers (both of them) that decided to waste my time last Saturday (twice) for NO REASON AT ALL. Secondly, I would like to make the following disclaimer: IF I were doing something illegal, like speeding down the street I live on at three times the speed limit like so many other people do (dang kids. . .;), I would still be bothered at being the one to get caught and get ticketed. I would, however, understand why I was pulled over, whine about it and then be done with it - it would probably fall into the 'issues on the shelf' category for awhile. Lastly, I love you police officers, please don't pull me over again.
Early Saturday morning a sheriff truck pulled onto the old highway behind me. I checked my speed - fine - and continued along. At the next stoplight I signaled, and moved into the turn lane, so did the sheriff. Still, I'm thinking, 'I'm not doing anything wrong, no big deal'. Until we got about a half mile further down the road and the circus lights came on. When I asked the Big Lady-Sheriff why she had pulled me over (as I handed her my license and registration), she told me that my registration was expired.
W - Uh, no it's not. My little sticker's back there. (gesturing madly at the rear license plate.)
BL-S - Well, we've had some problems with counterfeit stickers, and the computer shows yours is expired.

I have to interrupt here for a minute - COUNTERFEIT REGISTRATION STICKERS - REALLY? Come on. Now that's some racket. Hey, I've got a printer, why didn't I think of that? In fact, now that I am thinking of it, I'm pretty sure I DID see a "Car Registration" sticker pack during my last Staples foray. It was right between the "Green Cards" and the "Driver's Licenses" packs.

W - This is the paper it came on. . .
BL-S - Yeah, let me just go check it out for you.
W - O-kay.(yes, please, if you could do that for me, that would be great because I've been worried that even though I stood in line - okay, Tyler stood in line - at the DMV and paid for the registration, and they gave us the little sticker and everything. . .)

So when Big Lady-Sheriff came back she said that the computer really did show that I wasn't registered (Seems like she already told me that.) and that it was a GOOD thing I had my proof of registration with me. Hmm, weird. So now's the point where I think the BL-S should have at the very least said, "sorry for the inconvenience". No such luck. She just told me to hold on to my registration and she was off. Apparently she was late for pulling someone else over for no reason. Busy, busy.

It would have been enough to irritate me that some random sheriff was running my plates just to keep herself awake, but wait, there's more. Remember how I said 'both of them'? No, BL-S didn't have a friend standing by watching. I went to work, had a lovely day, and got pulled over again on the way back. Seriously. Not only did I get pulled over, but this guy would have made a really bad tail-er in a spy movie look like a pro. He came barreling out into the right-hand lane from a little side road about two blocks before I moved into the turn lane (yes, from the left-lane. I'm law-abiding like that.), and followed me into the left turn lane from two cars back in the right-hand lane. (um, citizen's arrest?) The thought, "There is seriously no way!" had just crossed my mind, and maybe my lips, when he flipped on his lights. Now, if Big Lady-Sheriff had stood next to this Skinny Cop, I swear it would have looked a bit like Andre the Giant standing next to 'Wesley' in 'The Princess Bride'. I mean, I'm a bit of a runt, and I could have taken him.

Same reason for being pulled over. (Your license plate is really dirty, the '8' looked like a '9', so I ran it and . . .) My conversation with Skinny Cop was only unique from the one earlier that day (aside from when he started questioning why I had a temporary license - I felt like telling him he was lucky I had a valid one at all or he might have had to call for backup to take me in.) in that he started talking into the radio on his shoulder like there was someone talking back to him (uh, yeah, 10-4, in pursuit, over and out) when I asked why he had run my plates in the first place. It was good thing he pulled me over a block away from Juice -n- Java so I could immediately quench my fury with my long-time friend - okay obsession - an iced Cappuccino flavored Chocolate. (Yum, we will revisit this subject later.)

No, I didn't get a ticket either time - although Skinny Cop did say he would have HAD to if I hadn't had my proof of registration - but I'm still bugged. Why pick on me? Back in the day (ie: college)I played on a girls intramural flag football team. At the first game my brother, Rob, came to he told me that I was scary - that when I was running down the field (ready to score, no doubt. . . heh, heh) I looked like I was ready to kill someone. "Those girls are scared of you, I think I'm scared of you". Later on he told me that I had the same expression on my face when I drive. A.) This same brother also convinced my little brother that my dad speared a wild havelina (that's 'wild pig' to you. . . if I spelled it right) with a walking stick. . . he is not to be trusted in such matters. B.) That's ridiculous - I am sweet and innocent. C.) This is the ONLY reason I can think of for the Police force to come after me: I am a crazy, harried, housewife and I must, at all costs, be stopped.

On horses

2008-07-22T18:53:00.000-07:00

A friend of ours asked me yesterday if I thought people and horses could really communicate with each other. My answer - absolutely. I've had some pretty amazing experiences on horseback and just with horses that leave no doubt in my mind that there is an intelligence within them that is totally compatible with us. They're not scary, they're just big. truthfully, they're big scaredy-cats. They have very few ways to make themselves understood, and even fewer ways to protect themselves - they are 'prey' animals, not predators, after all. So, the trick is to try and get inside of their heads and understand why they might react to certain circumstances certain ways. This has to be done quietly if a horse is going to respond to you out of their desire to please you instead of out of fear. Communication really begins during this process. It's a beautiful thing.
The next thing our friend asked was if horses could really be trained as much, as fully, as dogs. Again - no question about it. Obviously we're not talking apples to apples, but the answer is definitely yes, with no limit to the tangents I could take from there.
When I get to the ranch in the mornings the horses are literally waiting to be let in out of their pasture. They know we're coming. They know what they're supposed to do to get their morning grain - so they do it. We throw their grain and supplements in their feeders and then open the gate at the end of a long row of stalls in their open-air barn. From top of the pecking order down to the low-man on the totem pole, they run in and file into their individual stalls. We walk behind them and close their stall doors. Easy as pie - easier, actually.(dough can be tricky, you know.) At the end of the day we open one end of the walk-way and then open their stall doors one at a time. They usually tear out of the barn as fast as they can go and run out to the pasture. I am ALWAYS amused by it. Seriously. It's so cute to watch. I tried to catch it on my little camera - didn't do the best job. Hope you like it!

Can I Have My Phone Call Now?

2008-07-18T23:33:00.000-07:00

The only thing I have to say about today is that it began with The Dark Knight, and I'm still thinking about it. . . fifteen hours later. Amazing. A little brutal, but brilliant. Everyone. All of it. Really. I can't begin without babbling forever, so I won't. I'm just leaving it at that. See it - don't bring your kids. (Poor Grey crawled under the cushions of the sofa and cried when I told him it was definitely not one they could see. Poor Batman obsessed little guy - but who could blame him. We all need a little of 'the Batman'.)

I Need a Little . . . Space?

2008-07-15T14:41:00.000-07:00

A week or so ago Tyler and I were talking in our room. Tyler was sitting on the window seat looking at the shelves that frame the space, and nonchalantly asked if he could have a shelf. I seriously didn't know what to do. Is this a test? Am I supposed to say "Of course, it's your house, have all the shelves you want"? Because if it was a test, and that was the appropriate answer, I failed. . . miserably. The conversation went more like this:

T- Can I have shelf?
W- What? (You crazy male, of course you can't have a shelf. The shelves are mine.)
T- A shelf. I want one.
W- What shelf? Why do you want a shelf? (Does he really want a shelf?)
T- The same reason you want shelves; to put things on.
W- (Great.) What kind of things?
T- I don't know, things, my things. Why, does it matter?
W- Well, yes, it matters. What kind of things?
T- I told you, my things.
W- Oh, so, tools and things? (Phew.) You have the space in your shop, right, lots of shelves, all yours. (except for the shelves I'll be filling up with my Christmas Totes, and Easter Totes, and Halloween Totes. . .)
T- No, I want a shelf inside.
W- Inside. A shelf other people can see?
T- No, I want an invisible shelf - of course a shelf people can see.
W- Does it have to be open, or can it have a door on it?
T- I said shelf, not cabinet.
W- To put . . . (your gigantic coin jars and old scout camp belt buckles on?) what on again?
T- Forget it.
W- No, really. I want to know. (Phew. He doesn't really want a shelf, he just wanted to see if I would say 'yes'. Shoot. I should have just said 'yes'.)

So, now I feel like an enormous brat - for good reason, I understand. But what is it about guys / men / whatever that makes them say "Whatever you want, it's your thing," while you're planning something, and then suddenly blurt out that they want their identity to be seen too? (I would like a shelf, please.) Is it a way of marking their territory - not making a decision when it's time for decisions to be made, but coming in afterwards and saying - "that choice you made there, right there, that one. . . don't like it, let's change it."? If Tyler happens to come into the room right after I've made the bed, he REVELS in taking a flying leap right onto the middle of it with a huge grin on his face and a making a slightly sadistic snicker. I'm thinking this is all tied together - some form of unconscious tree-marking behavior. . . Or maybe a shelf is just a shelf.

All Work and No Play

2008-07-09T15:48:00.000-07:00

So I kind of forgot that although we had some of our big stuff in the house before we moved in, we still had the real moving in to do. The unpacking. The sorting. The "where do you want this?, where do you want that?" -ing. I'm swamped with it. I don't think I want anything else I haven't already unpacked. The boxes can have it. . . until I realize I haven't seen the garlic press, the photo albums, or my copy of Paradise Lost. BUT, I'm done putting off doing the things I want to do just so I can unpack everything right this second. It may take me a year to move in, but I'm going to blog while I do it.

And here I go:

Yesterday was one of those days at "work". It started off with an early morning ride, which is a great time to run into some of my favorite reasons for "working" where I do.

(Yikes, sorry about that glare - sun, you know.)
We've been running into the herds of cow elk but the babies just started showing up! With such a wet spring the mountain is green and lush so they're all big and healthy.

This one is so little it still has its' spots. (They don't last long.) All the other babies we've seen in the last few days have already lost theirs.

After our first ride we still had enough time for a second shorter ride. We figured we had about an hour and a half as we headed off. We left the ranch to ride on forest service land for a little bit and ran into a parking lot full of emergency vehicles - Sherriff trucks, ambulances, and search and rescue trucks. We thought maybe the trail we were going to head up might be closed because of an accident, but none of the hikers standing at the bottom knew, so we asked one of the men that looked like he might be in the know. He apparently misunderstood my question of "Can we still ride up the trail?", because the next thing we knew we were tying big packs of rope, dry-suits, and who-knows-what-else onto the backs of our saddles and heading up a different trail. Each of the packs must have weighed at least 30-40 pounds. One of them was closer to 60 - much easier for a horse to carry than a person. So we sped up a very non-horse friendly trail to bring the supplies to the emergency crews already at a waterfall where a girl had fallen. We didn't stay to watch since there wasn't a lot of room at the base of the falls. Part way down a helicopter passed us and hovered quite close to the falls - glad we weren't there for that - horses and helicopters . . . not necessarily a good mix. At the bottom of the trail another heli was waiting so we tried to snap some pictures in front of it. (I know, I'm a huge nerd, I can't help it)
Here's Jody. Please note the very official looking man running up behind her to tell us the heli was about to take off and we needed to move. "They really stir things up, you know, ladies." (Yeah, yeah, yeah, but please don't call us ladies - might as well just have called us ma'am - the kiss of death.) Anyway, we're Search and Rescue now, back off. Don't we at least get a pat on the back, or a sherriff sticker? Sheesh. What, are you busy rescuing someone or something?

So, here are Holly and I a little further away. Weird, the helicopter is still there. Really, it is, you just can't get past my Elvis T and my big-mom hair to see it.

And again, where you can actually see the helicopter.

Anyway, our second ride took a bit longer than we had anticipated, but it was definitely a bit more exciting too.
P.S. The girl that fell is doing fine now, in case you were wondering.

Bunny the Goat

2008-06-12T19:47:00.000-07:00

I KNOW this is my second consecutive animal related post - but, really I'm a bit outnumbered here in that department. Plus, they're just so quirky that I'm pretty much constantly entertained by them. So, remember Bunny the Goat? (the survivor out of the Easter-Bunny Goat duo) Well, she's found a new spot to perch on, highest ground apparently. I have honestly pulled her down no less than ten times today. I had to post this picture.

By the way, for those you just joining us here, I am in no way responsible for naming the Goat. I was actually much more supportive of the boy's first choice, Indie (for the vintage version Indiana Jones - that's right I'm raising my boys right). Nicky is now completely confused. We were reading a farm animal picture book the other day and I couldn't for the life of me convince him the picture of a baby rabbit was really called a bunny. "NO, dat Bunny!" he kept saying, pointing, of course, to the picture on the opposite page of a goat. Lovely, really.

Unlikely Friends

2008-06-11T11:55:00.000-07:00

*All you non-animal-lovers beware of the following post*
So, I'm pretty much an animal geek, as anyone who has known me for more than say ten seconds knows. I have a hard time turning away a stray anything. (The chickens and goat can attest to this.) Two winters ago I would hear a cat somewhere in the horse shanty every time I went to feed the horses. The cat was super whiny but wouldn't let me get near it, so I left food for it. Little by little the cat came out and eventually even started following me back to the house - at a safe distance. Since he lived in the barn the boys named him Barney (SO clever, I know). He's actually a pretty cute orange & white cat so I tried to change his name to McDreamy but the boys wouldn't have it, so we compromised on Mr. Barney McDreamy.

Now Barney sleeps right outside the back door and is petrified to come in any further than that. He pretty much seems to think he's a dog - or at least one of the gang. He follows Duke and Sadie (Again, yes, I know, our creativity cup on pet names runneth over.) and rubs up against them. When I go out to do the nighttime feedings I feel like I'm being tailed by the second-hand cast of Homeward Bound. I've been trying to get a picture of Barney hanging out with the dogs for the longest time and I finally got a few of him with Duke before they both got up. (I think Sadie was somewhere sleeping off her nighttime binge of slaughtered cow, sick! I can't wait until the city puts the fence back up along the canal.)

Alright then - pictures!

2008-06-04T20:07:00.000-07:00

The almost curbside view of the house. (The garage didn't make it in the frame.)

Looking into the Kitchen from the Great Room.

. . .AND into the Great Room through the Kitchen.

Dining Room (from inside the Den)

Ahh. The Craft Room and into the Laundry Room from the Mud Room area. (Yes, the West Wing!) Only women could possibly FULLY appreciate this area. Tyler thinks he does, but he doesn't.

The 'Tower Room'. ie: Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair. . . Every girl needs a tower.

And now, what kept me up all hours of the night for the last couple of weeks:
First: Grey's Batman Room. And, yes, the building lights, the spotlight beam and the giant Batman signal glow in the dark. Maybe I'll even be able to get Grey to turn off his night light to see everything glow. . . maybe not.

Second: Nick's Train Room. SO, the hills still need a little work. . . I had to move on. I'll get back there. Seriously.

And my favorite: MY Room. Okay, I'll share. (All you get is the picture of the bed wall - because I'm obsessed with it, and that's about all I took pictures of.)Half-way through painting the wall behind the bed (most of which is actually covered BY the bed, but that's okay because I love the bed too!)I told Tyler that I loved it SO much I wanted to marry it. (It was late.) He told me to go for it, but I'm sure he's secretly jealous. He just hates to give me the satisfaction of ANY kind of reaction to anything I do or say.

The bed, by the way, was made by our friends Steve and Leah at Sleepy Beds. I love its' size and shape and the juxtaposition of its' blockiness with the girlie wall design and bedding. (Told you I'm obsessed.)

ANYWAY - I have to add that you shouldn't go feeling bad for Mr. Max because I didn't work myself to death in his room too - he said he wanted a 'normal room' almost until it was too late to do anything about it. THEN he comes up with "How about we just do a Star Wars room, with Darth Vader and maybe a tie fighter or something?" Like that's not five hundred THOUSAND times harder than the other rooms! It is sweet that he thinks I could just paint those things like snapping my fingers. Sweet, but a leetle bit unrealistic. Good thing FAThead makes a seven foot tall Darth Vader wall-clingy thing. Everbody's happy. (he DOES have magnetic/chalkboards on his closet doors like his brothers - sheesh!)
Blah-blah-blah, so sorry for the rambling. Can't wait to finally move in and have a housewarming party!

Sing Fat Lady, Sing

2008-05-30T19:54:00.000-07:00

Wednesday the asphalt for the street in front of the new house wasn't even poured. Only part of the driveway and sidewalks were in. No Sprinklers. No lawn or landscaping. Inside, the stairs and railing were all messed up and had to be torn out and re-done multiple times. There were only a few pieces of furniture in the house, no decor whatsoever. The flooring for the west wing (okay, it's a mud room, laundry room, craft room - but it is kind of a wing, and it is on the west end of the house)hadn't been installed. Etc. all you want on that and you've got the idea of where we were in the process. By noon today (Friday) it was all done. (Alright, alright. I still want to to add drapes to a few rooms and add a few more pillows here and there. You're so picky.) DONE! The last week and a half Tyler and I have averaged a bedtime of about 4:30 am. Last night, there was no bedtime for me. BUT now, it's done. Now there are a gazillion people traipsing through it, and we can't move in for two weeks. BUT, it's done. Stick a fork in it. Cue the fat lady. Done baby.

I took a few pictures today, but I can't post them until I get my own computer hooked back up - hopefully tomorrow.

Boys will be. . .

2008-05-16T20:35:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago the boys and I went to the ranch for a photoshoot with my friend, Kiera. She has graciously let me post me some of the great pictures she snapped of my three wonderful monsters. She has totally captured their enormous personalities! Hope you love these shots as much as I do! (I can't wait to see the rest Kiera!) P.S. the new header is one of her shots as well - "Look, an ant hill! Smash it! Kill the ants! Aaaaah!" (boys making noises of screaming ants)

Tick-tock

2008-05-15T21:18:00.000-07:00

I know, I disappeared again- I PROMISE to stop doing that in exactly. . . well, soon. The house is almost done, so when it is - I can blog like a madwoman because I will have nothing else to do. So much free time on my hands. Loads. OR, maybe I'll get around to doing some of the other things I've been blatantly avoiding. (Laundry doesn't count because, really, how long could I actually NOT do that before someone was out of underwear? Not long enough, that's for sure.)

Top 5 Things I Need to Stop Ignoring
1. Renewing My Driver's License. Apparently it expired in September, on my birthday, go figure. AND, I know, I could have just sent the renewal form back in August or something, but that would have taken forethought, and initiative, and (let's face it) caring - so I opted out.
2. Getting a new keyboard so I can type the letter 'e' without punching it. As if I didn't need enough help typing - although for only using 3 fingers on each hand I pretty much rock.
3. Playing my Guitar. Poor dusty guitar. (Okay, that's not entirely true. I would never let my guitar get dusty. NE-VAH! The case, on the other hand, is a different story.)
4. Planting My Garden. At least I'm par for my own course on this one - never planted before Memorial Day yet. . . why start now? I am destined to buy sugar peas and all other spring vegetables at the grocery store.
5. Riding the horses at home instead of just the ones at work! Enough said there.

Anyway, back to what I started out saying: the house has to be done by the end of the month so there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I took a few pictures inside and outside, but most everything is still masked off inside - kind of hard to tell what anything is.

Yeah, that's right. I said the end of the month. Two weeks and 1 day from today. Funny or scary - you decide!

Stupid Country Music

2008-05-02T22:31:00.000-07:00

I'm irritable and grouchy today. Too many horses doing horse things - like getting caught up their ropes and nearly spearing themselves on fence-posts, or getting loose and running just far enough away from me to keep me running after them like some ridiculous cartoon. Too many kids doing kid things - like drawing on the carpet with sidewalk chalk, or poking each other in the eyes with their Harry Potter wands (okay, the wands are actually de-pointed skewers - and I realize now that sounds even worse. . .). Too many clueless drivers period. Honestly, can we look, or possibly SIGNAL before trying to run me off the road. Once in high school a guy-friend of mine made a comment to me that went something like this: "Dude, did you really just check your blind-spot? Chicks never check their blind-spot". Should I have been offended? Maybe, if I was the type, which I'm not. I wasn't, but that's beside the point. What is the point? The point is I started the day off a little cranky.
THEN, I turned the radio on in the car. You know what was on it? Country. Seriously. Country. This has happened occasionally. . . since I've been married. I don't understand it AT ALL. Tyler isn't a little bit country, he's more a little bit rock -n- roll, or at least something other than country. Nevertheless, the country thing happens. According to Tyler I'm a music snob because I don't like it. So be it then. No offense to all you country-loving bumpkins out there. BUT . . . country sucks. Really, really, really. There is no art to it whatsoever - at least in the new breed. Lyrics should be lyrical, a poem set to music, if you will. It doesn't have to be beautiful. That's not what I'm saying. Let's just try and write a lyric that differs somewhat from your everyday speech. Grrr.
Okay then, I'm done. Feeling much better. Thanks.

Spring Break!

2008-04-24T17:06:00.000-07:00

Spring Break came at the perfect time this year - Tyler and I were both about at the end of our ropes managing the building of the new house, still fighting the city about the old house, and handling life in general! If the only thing we did was NOT have to get the kids up for school that would have been enough to get through. We decided we really wanted to get AWAY for a few days though so we spent the second half of the week in St. George. It was just far enough away to relax a little bit (alas, the cell phones still worked. . .). The weather was perfect, we visited our good friends the Kinyons there, and had good friends from home down as well. The boys played in the pool for two days straight.

On the third day we went to our favorite place for breakfast (& lunch): Bear Paw Cafe. The decor is awful but the food is SO good the cheesy southwestern indian art prints are forgivable! While we waited to get in we played in the park across the street. The boys thought this bench with the statue of Brigham Young was even better than the scary Ronald McDonald on the bench in our local McDonalds. (Grey thought it was supposed to be Santa in the 'off-season', but Max quickly corrected him with 'It's Abraham Lincoln, Grey!')I love the look on Nick's face.

Later we went to the park that has the little water play area in 'downtown' St. George. We were totally unprepared - no swimsuits, no towels . . . no swim diapers. Max was completely dismayed by this. Nick, on the other hand, ran right past the "no running - swim diapers required" sign with his regular diaper peeking conspiculously out of his shorts and onto the slippery surface where little bursts of water shoot up. His face was complete glee until he slipped (right in back of the "slippery surface - water shoes recommended" sign) flat on his back. He cried until he saw the manmade sandstone waterfall and river area. Back to bliss. The two older boys were super whiny about wanting to be in the pool instead until they saw how much fun Nick was having. Check out the evil eye Max is giving me in this first photo!

It was hard to come back, but we were glad to see the house still standing when we did.

Sweet Bug

2008-04-16T11:12:00.001-07:00

My sweet Grey Bug came running up to me saying he had something for me. Then he dug his little hand deep down in his pocket, past many other treasures no doubt, and pulled out a handful of dandelion heads. "Flowers, for you," he said. I'm never quite sure what to do with decapitated dandelions. Usually I put them in a little glass bowl of water - a lovely centerpiece! :) The gesture, however, totally melts me.