Boys-R-Us

Thanks

2011-11-24T03:33:00.000-08:00

It's 4:33 AM. I've been up since 3:34 AM.

Wake up times fascinate me. I find I wake up at exactly the same time every morning for several in a row then suddenly switch times. And, with each bio-rhythmic switch I feel a sense of loss, I'll miss 3:34 glowing red on the clock face like I'd miss a neighbor moving from my same street to the next town. It's not that I'll never see them again, just that the routine of waving each morning and again each evening will be a comfortable familiarity missed.

Back to 4:33 AM. I spent the last hour awake sending silly, sleepy text messages to the other graveyard clerk. (I work 7nights on/7 nights off as a clerk at a hospital) I rarely see the other graveyard clerk but randomly carry on conversations in the early morning hours when one of us is trying to stay awake and one trying to sleep. Love ya, Russ! At 4:33 AM I headed back to bed but found my half occupied by two warm sets of elbows and knees, their deep, peaceful breathing weakens my resolve to walk them back to their cold beds and the dog is snoring on most of the couch he's not supposed to be on... and so I write.

It's Thanksgiving today. Despite cold toes, I am touched with a profound thankfulness for those knees and elbows in my bed. Each of my sons has held that role at one time or another, though none more then these last two, and it ranks high on the thankful list. The peace of a warm boy body curled up against my back, the thrill of wondering if Rick will get the first elbow to the ribs or if it will be me? Call me strange, but I love it like I loved the growing awareness of each child wiggling in my womb.

There are Christmas lights and trees up here and there, I shake my head a little when I see lights up before Thanksgiving, and it's mostly not jealousy at others organizational skills. I really love Thanksgiving, wish I focused more on all I have instead of using the feast as energy to springboard into staying up all night consuming retailers into the black; and, yet I'm thankful for all the abundance around me, the ease of finding Kale after only two stores, the fist pump when I get an X-Box 360 for $50 dollars less then it priced out at.

I wonder if I'm attached to consumption, in the name of economic growth and progress like I'm sleepily attached to 3:34 AM glowing on my alarm clock. Have I become so familiar with retail-ism that I fear losing it more then I fear its over powering roll in my life? Am I watching to many YouTube documentaries?

Hmmm, that's enough deep thinking for one holiday. And now my Thankful List:

Husband, oh, my love.

Sons, nocturnal rib jabs, stinky sports gear, empty fridge and all.

Family, each one doing their part, sharing experiences that bless us all.

Friends, they see our best, know our worst and love us still.

Dogs, never have to wonder what they were thinking or what they think of you.

Nature, a constant reminder of God's intimate awareness of each detail, grand or miniscule.

Books, the best of traveling companions.

Chocolate Swirled Pumpkin Cheesecake, it's just that good.

Handicapped parking, those extra 40 steps each time I'm at the store remind me how good it is to move freely and to do it more often.

Bloggers, you share the little stuff the big stuff the good, bad and mundane, reminding me we're all human and all wonderful.

My job, I finally appreciate the leisurely years as a homemaker ;=)

Tank tops, they go under everything.

Jesus Christ, the Man who makes life with all my men a joy.

And now, some hand turkeys for your Thanksgiving viewing pleasure.

It started out innocently enough, I asked #7 for his hand to draw a hand turkey for his missionary brothers. They were traditional hand turkeys in traditional fall colors and are now on their way to Kansas City, Missouri and Athol, Idaho.

Then #6 wanted to make a hand turkey, things were going well until #7 became bored with the Autumn color scheme and gave his turkey some pink feathers and a green wobble (or whatever you call the thing that hangs down their neck).

He kinda looks like he's coming out of the closet just when he should be hiding in the closet.

Now, #6 is a quiet, traditional child and carefully drew a hand turkey that would make any pilgrim parent proud. Left on the cupboard overnight some older less conservative older brother added a, chain saw blade beak?

Disturbing!

No one would own up to it the next morning over cold cereal and so the therapist appointment remains unscheduled.

Here's a close-up.

I dunno, maybe it's a sonic gobble ray, maybe he's a mutant turkey, maybe he'll make it into the next X-Men movie... X Men need pets too, ya know.

I know, time to go back to bed.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Down, Set, Hike!

2011-11-19T00:08:00.000-08:00

This is not a football post, although I really need to do one of those.

My friend, Suz and I have decided hiking is our new passion.

And that means our 11 sons, 1 daughter, 2 husbands and 1 dog have a new passion too.

They're thrilled!

Our first hike this year was Little Wild Horse Canyon a beautiful Utah slot canyon.

Wait, is compartmentalizing a good or bad thing??

Next there was Calf Creek falls.

I think a good camera and longer bangs that will stay put is a priority for this hiking thing. Our trail companions sure are cute!

Then we hiked up to the Alpine Sliding rock, not much of a hike but, the destination was great.

Now so far none of these hikes was really demanding or challenging, then Suz got a Hiking book so we bumped it up in a BIG way.

Grove Creek to Battle Creek 9+ miles with an elevation increase of 2,300 feet. Ack! Way off in the distance... Way down there... That is the valley floor.

It was a tough hike; but, I gotta say, this was the most amazingly beautiful hike this year. The leaves had all turned to glorious shades of yellow, red and brown, the grasses were waist high, the weather was perfect. We even drank from a spring and no one got Mad Deer Disease. Buwaahaha, ha, errr...hmmm.

The weekend before Halloween we hiked Stewart Falls.

We found a Leprechaun hiding beside the trail.

Turns out the Leprechaun was just #6 really excited to be the Notre Dame mascot for Halloween. Darn! I could have really used that pot of gold.

There's always a moment on these crazy adventures of ours where the kids are far enough behind or in front that we can take a moment to quietly talk arm in arm. It's as renewing and beautiful as the scenery and the exercise.

So, if you haven't got a thing better to do next summer...

Down!

Set!

HIKE!

Were On Our Way...

2011-10-22T06:29:00.000-07:00

When #1 was a little guy he had a thing for a big purple dinosaur. We only had two Barney videos and we watched them each twice a day. I can still sing most of the songs in my sleep, "We're on our way. We're on our way. On our way to Grandpa's farm..."

It wasn't Grandpa's farm it was Uncle Wilbur's farm, Uncle Wilbur is a giant white pig with the most enormous set of, ummm...daddy pig parts that ever got patted by hesitant, unwitting pig petters. But, on a gorgeous fall day what could be more fun then petting pig bits, hay rides, catching squealing baby pigs, and eating kettle corn while wandering a corn maze with 5 wonderful kiddos, 2 cute husbands, and the best girl friend a Boy Mom could ever have.

Sky, the definition of azure blue. Corn, high as an elephants eye.

Adorable Hubby (lives up to his name, huh?) and Suz headed into the corn maze.

Lilly! Adam! Look at the camera!

Ummm, yeah, that's better?

#7, Lil and Suz enjoying kettle corn and the hay ride.

This little piggy escaped his pen. This little boy caught him. And, this Boy Mom said ewww, ewww, ewww, you touched a pig, all the way home.

The farmer, complete with a hat, gun and holster full of bullets, insisted this was the best way to catch a pig. I thought it looked cruel and only made him re-catch it twice so I could get a good picture.

Shudder, there was a lot of pig touching going on. I really, really don't care for pigs. They get their pig wrasslin' genes from their daddy.

This picture really doesn't do justice to the pig experience, the baby pigs were kinda cute and almost as big as the daddy pigs junk. I really did watch some hesitant little boy work up the courage to reach in and pet the pig, I figured that not having 4 teenage brothers the little guy had no idea what part he patted and that it was best he leave with his pig-petting-pride intact.

After riding a train of 50 gallon drums fashioned into different animals our little ones spotted a bunny and the chase was on. For 1/2 an hour they ran around hay bales in a big field, never intended to be part of the Uncle Wilbur's farm experience, until they successfully caught the sweet, soft little bunny and turned him over to the farmer for a free popcorn which they ate with their piggy smeared hands. I had to distract myself with thoughts of farmers living to a ripe old age and bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches to keep from tossing my kettle corn.

And, as the sun sank over the hay ride we headed home to pork taco salads and anti-bacterial soap.

Ahhh, Autumn, how I love thee!

Slip, Sliding Away

2011-10-21T05:56:00.000-07:00

At the thoughts of warm summer breezes slipping into fall you may...

Grit your teeth,

yell,

pray,

look around dazed and confused,

or grab a pair of shoes, cuz it's gonna get cold up in here.

You may be one who throws their arms up and goes along for the ride.

Whatever it is you do...

Love it!

Because so many of you asked, this is the sliding rock in Alpine. Suz and I took the boys and Lil a couple weeks ago. It's a gentle hike up and lots of fun, COLD though! I recommend a warm summer day rather then a cool autumn evening. And thanks to the random guy who took pictures of us, there were a couple shots of me with significant skin showing significantly, poor guy!

Lost In Translation

2011-10-03T10:56:00.000-07:00

We live in the Information Age, anything we want to know on any topic can be had with the click of a mouse or by opening our mouth and asking, with Discovery Channel, The Learning Channel, Food Network, and the Internet someone has heard something about almost everything. And while much of this information is remarkably accurate it never hurts to check your sources and verify your data.

Sometimes though, what means one thing to one and something entirely different to another rears its connotative head and even between speakers of the same language something gets lost in translation. A little clarification just to be sure the information giver really meant what the information receiver got is always a good plan. And, If you don't clarify you may find yourself wishing you had insisted on a better translation before acting on the information you thought you heard.

For instance:

If your kids tell you just as you're drifting off to sleep for the 3rd day of a seven day work rotation, "Mom, the dryer won't dry our clothes!" And you, knowing the dryer is old and has to be propped shut and is missing one of the tumblers, ~~metaphorically jump for joy because you'll take any excuse to put off doing laundry for a week or two,~~ think a sad goodbye to an old friend as you drift to sleep wondering how the budget can stretch to cover the repair bill or a new dryer and how you'll survive not doing any laundry until you're off graveyard shift and can take care of it all.

May learn, a week later when you make it down to check out the situation, that what your kids meant to say was, "Mom, we packed a huge batch of jeans, a batch of towels and a batch of blankets into the dryer so tightly that the barrel can't tumble and even if it could no air would circulate through the soggy mass. Now, strangely enough, our clothes aren't drying."

Then you would avoid sending kids to school in clothes that make your eyes water if the breeze hits them and having 3 days to do two weeks worth of laundry.

Or if you invited three families over for Sunday dinner and your boys told you, "Mom the backyard is looking marvelous, toys, socks and shoes, garbage, rock and stick collections and doggy droppings all cleaned up and put away, chairs placed in comfortable chatting circles and birds chirping happily". You might ~~think you can squeeze in vacuuming behind the couches, washing down the cupboards and showering in the 15 minutes before guests arrive~~ put the finishing touches on a lovely salad and never think to check the backyard just to be sure.

To late you'd translate what your boys said to, "Duh, we're boys, we think piles of dirt make great center pieces that will delight and entertain our dinner guests".

Then as you walked out to join your guests with a plate full of spaghetti goodness you wouldn't find a huge pile of potting soil in the middle of the patio with chairs carefully arranged around it.

And perhaps, if you get an email from a football coach, who you think has a little too much time on his hands because he's sending stats on 9 and 10 year old boys after each game, saying, "Here are directions to the football game in a town 40 minutes away tonight." You might ~~hit delete thinking, "Buddy, you put the O in OCD, I've been attending games in that town for many years and directions are for sissies"~~ assume you know the way, plan your evening down to the second, only to have a husband and son gone with both sets of car keys, end up leaving 30 minuets late, fly up the canyon at 20 miles over the speed limit where you discover that the old field has been converted to a soccer complex and then have to get directions that start with, "Ya know where McDonalds is?" from a teenager in a golf cart full of grass clippings, spend 25 more minutes searching frantically for the McDonald's while your 10 year old says things like, "Even if I miss the WHOLE GAME it was nice to drive up the canyon and see the waterfalls and autumn leaves with you, Mom."

You may learn that what the coach meant to say was, "I realize that many coaches don't keep stats on 9 and 10 year old players and that you probably won't care about stats when they're playing college ball at 19 and 20; but, the location of tonight's game is new, useful and handy information for a sleep deprived Mom with 4 football players and a busy schedule."

Then you would avoid wondering if your Doctor could prescribe a pharmaceutical cocktail of caffeine, anxiety meds and Valium in an easy to swallow tablet.

And, if a busy Mom tells you, "I love blogging and I'll be getting posts out a bit slower than usual but I won't miss all the fun and exciting things in my life and the lives of my Bloggy Buddies." You might ~~roll your eyes and say ha, like we'd even miss you~~ say, we know you'll be back soon, take a few more days between posts. Just keep up with reading our blogs so you aren't overwhelmed when you come back in a week or so.

Sadly you'd learn that what the busy Mom meant to say was, "I'm going to run around like a crazy woman and take on more projects then ten woman could handle and then in the few minutes of computer time I do get I'll become addicted to Angry Birds, and suddenly it will be 2 months since I've posted any thing and I'll be overwhelmed with where to start on mine or yours."

Then you could avoid endlessly clicking on her blog in the hopes that Blogger was wrong about it being two months and that she is once again lifting spirits and changing live with her witty and insightful posts...long awkward pause.

Hmmm, I guess this means I'm back.

2011-08-10T16:18:00.000-07:00

This boy, #2, football stud, adventurer, intellectual, sweetheart.

And, in my favorite picture...

Received his mission call today!

Mexico, Leon

He'll be leaving us December 28th for two years of studying and preaching the glorious message of God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ to the people of Mexico.

Our hearts are full to running over with the goodness of God and his beloved Son...and our beloved sons!

Acckkk!

2011-08-07T08:54:00.000-07:00

Just as my house was about to sign a contract with Better Homes and Gardens to appear as the centerfold in their, "Decorating with SWIMSUITS" issue... it's two weeks from school starting. Acckk!

Just as we were diving into ~~the first page of~~ those summer workbooks.

Just as my skin has gone from blinding white to...traffic stopping red, sigh!

Where did the summer go?

Maybe if I share some summer pictures with you I'll remember a few of those glorious, sun filled days...

Ummm, this is it! My one summer picture, a bunch of scouts at day camp, pretty sure my kidlette isn't even in it.

Feel free to nominate me for Lame Mom of the Summer!

off to take a few pictures!

2011-07-04T22:12:00.000-07:00

Just in case you didn't have a marvelously, fabulous Forth of July Holiday, mmMMWahh!!!

Nothing a couple of BIG Forth of July KISSES can't fix!

Happy Forth

WANTED: A Wedding (But I'd Settle for a Good Camera)

2011-06-21T15:44:00.000-07:00

It's June 21st, Summer Solstice! It's my favorite day of the year. The day of Greatest light.

It's also the day my backyard screams, begs, whines, and cries for a wedding. One of those celebration, of an impossibly beautiful romance fraught with drama and angst, weddings, a really big wedding, amidst the roses and clematis, the columbine and ferns (think the meadow where Edward and Bella shared their first kiss (Yeah I've read 'em all, don't hate!).

For years I've pleaded with couples planning marriage, or couples who had enjoyed a first date and may potentially marry one day or random strangers who would look good in white; but, yet again, the wedding begging wondrousness of my back yard is unused...sob! Is it because I don't have a water feature?? (I watch too many garden shows)

To make me feel a little better I wandered through my back yard in scrubs and a tank top soaking in the sights, sun and scent. I took a few ~~thousand~~ pictures for you to enjoy only to realize that my camera is on its last pixel and that I desperately need a new one. #1 son's camera broke, #8 needs a camera for his mission and #2 son needs a camera too. So if you're listening, God...Cannon...I'd really like a wedding; but, I'll settle for a camera.

Blue sky, roses, sunlight and solstice! Ahhhh!

Adam and Eve started the whole naughty gardening thing, I'm just keeping with tradition.

So delicate. I think these are my favorite roses.

Clematis and Columbine.

Can a garden ever have too many bird baths???

Or enough frogs??

Shhhh, he's my favorite!

These flowers come up every year, they get me tons of compliments, yet I have no clue what they are nor do starts grow for people I've given them to.

A cluster of flowers amongst the grape leaves.

I heart Hostas!

This is a picture from earlier this spring. Love the mix.

This picture is me trying to capture the pollen on the legs of the many bees that were buzzing madly in these flowers. Ummmm...ok, if you look closely you can see the bee.

Even if it is my camera giving each picture an Edenesque glow you should still be impressed.

I dare you to not smile!

I ask ya, where's a bride and a cake when you need one? Maybe I can find a sparkly skinned, bare chested vampire to lip lock with...;)

Wrought iron and flowers, sigh!

This picture is my favorite, love the bird house in the back corner. Thanks for walking through my backyard and sharing a bit of solstice with me. Feel free to send brides and or cameras my way.

2011-06-17T03:58:00.001-07:00

This one, our foster son (#8),

got his mission call.

Spokane, Washington!

Woo Hoo!

We're all proud of him, Adorable Hubby and I, his Mom, and many friends and acquaintances.

He'll be serving a two year mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints teaching about Jesus Christ, eternal families, the Bible, Book of Mormon and joyful living. He'll also serve in the local community and hopefully get to put his first language, American Sign Language, to good use.

Way to go #8!

The Future Is In Good Hands

2011-06-02T11:23:00.000-07:00

When we began the Junior and Senior years of schooling with our sons we decided that we would purchase each of our boys a Ninth Grade Yearbook and a Senior Yearbook. A Yearbook, for future generations who communicate with technology installed at birth and have never heard of paper or books or for people living under a rock who venture out only to read my blog, is a book filled with pictures of all the students in the three or four grade levels at your particular school and pictures of teams, clubs, and activities shared by students during the school year.

When our Graduating Senior High School student brought home his year book last night his dad and I were eager to look through it. It's fun to see what his friends wrote in it and to look for pictures of him.

On the first page right next to where he had written his name, boldly, in marker, was a little note with a signature.

Good times in football.

Joshua Smith

"Uhhhhhmmmmmm??? Why did you sign your own year book?" I asked.

"I thought it was Bryant's".

"You signed right next to your own name?" I questioned gently.

"I know." He nodded at me reassuringly.

Should I be concerned?

#7

2011-05-31T11:11:00.001-07:00

We live in a desert, not Outback Chocolate Cake, a semi-arid climate favorable to lizards and sagebrush. Except this spring it has rained and rained and rained and raine... there are still ski resorts open and flooding is eminent.

Sunday at dinner #7 announced, "Today is not Sunday!" We all gazed at him, "It's Rainday, not Sunday!" He took a bite of his pickle and Banana pepper sandwich (he refuses to eat meat), "Duh, it's raining!"

Adorable Hubby and I looked at each other and shrugged, you can't argue with that kind of logic.

Yesterday #7 asked Adorable Hubby, "Is Lady GaGa real?"

"Ummm..." said Adorable Hubby looking my way for a help. He got a shrug from this Boy Mom, I believe in Lady GaGa like Utahans believe in too much rain.

Manic Monday

2011-05-16T10:35:00.000-07:00

Remember that song????

It's just another manic Monday (oh-woe)
I wish it was Sunday (oh-woe)
'Cause that's my Funday (oh-woe)
My I don't have to runday (oh)
It's just another manic Monday.

Me too, love the Bangles

Walk like an Egyptian...

The Bangles remind me of a college roommate. Every morning she washed and blow dried her hair, then ratted it out with a 1/2 can of Aqua Net. It was gloriously big and messy and wonderful. I admired her moxie, she was the whole, 80's Girl package and she thought I had nice calves...

We all had nice calves in the 80's because, hello...

What God and freakishly high heals didn't give us, fishnets and leg warmers covered up.

Wow! Tangent!

Uhhhh....

Oh! Random stuff going on, that's what I was going to blog about.

You can always tell I've dedicated myself to finding the laundry room floor when you end up with one of these long rambling, random posts. If only public nudity wasn't so frowned upon you would be spared all this.

I've had some great Mothers day gifts. From a homemade butterfly ring, to a funeral spray (now that was a thoughtful gift that the next lucky recipient will never suspect I re-gifted). This year I got three darling cards from three darling boy that will forever be my babies. #5 worked really hard on his, it opened the wrong way (precious) pictured a crepe paper sun and flower and said:

Mom,

I am like the flower growing in the light of the sun (you).

Oh, and you are as sweet as this Kit Kat bar.

A mini Kit Kat bar was taped beneath the last line.

"Oh, sweetie that's so nice of you!" I said.

He gave me a hug, a kiss and an angelic smile, "I know, can I have the Kit Kat bar?"

Baseball season is in full swing...Ha, get it??

Sorry!

Four games a week, four practices a week, farmers tans and late dinners; but, so worth the $80.00 a kid to watch your six year old pick dandelions and chase butterflies with his cleats untied and his pants on backwards. Luckily his shirt hangs down past his knees and he can't keep it tucked in so I'm the only one who knew his pants were on backwards, or so I've convinced myself.

The weather: The weather needs to be admitted to the lock down unit and heavily medicated. I can handle warm days and cool days, sunny days and rainy days; but, warm, cool, rainy, sunny days all on the same day???

My yard is NOT coming along at all. I put on capri's and a t-shirt, head out, trowel in hand, to frigid temperatures and rain. I go in and change to jeans, a sweatshirt and wool socks walk out and it's 80 and sunny. That's why the only planting I've accomplished are the planters on my front porch. I can't seem to make it past my front porch with out a wardrobe change. My front porch is really cute this year.

I got to chat with Missionary boy ( #1 son) on Mothers day. He's amazing, so grown up and content to serve and love and learn. Except for the Mothers Day when #5 was born, talking to my #1 goes down as the best Mothers Day gift to date.

Now why didn't I post that last bit up with the Mothers Day stuff?

I'd really like to get into a pair of these,without endangering myself and others when I moved. Bits of metal and rhinestones, with an unknown trajectory, fired at a high velocity from the backside of a 40 something mom with a junk food habit is an act of terrorism in most states. Don't take my word for it, call your local Homeland security officer.

I'd settle for a pair of these.

Only without the holes and the shoes that are an ER trip in the making...unless, tripping in the shoes is supposed to explain the holes?? But why is one pant leg rolled up higher than the other? Oh, and the shirt is adorable; but, the girls really can't go out unsupervised. So, completely disregard this outfit and picture me in something cute and totally appropriate for my age and body shape...but hot!

I'm down 6lbs from my winter weight high, Yay! Shivering and sweating at the same hour and a half baseball game is really paying off.

Thank heavens for only three weeks left in school. Please let me survive. Please let my kids survive. I'd probably really regret strangling one of them by August.

Wellllll, I'm off to change the washer/dryer and color Easter eggs...don't ask!

Happy Mothers Day

2011-05-08T02:31:00.001-07:00

I've been wanting to do this post for quite some time. I had intended to call it Book Ends because this post is about my sister Jenny and me. I am the oldest child in my family of eleven siblings and Jenny is the youngest. I think Jenny was three years old when I left for college so no one can claim that our similarities are due to my influence on her young impressionable mind.

It must be genetics.

Jenny and I have lived across the street from each other for the past nine years now. She with our Mom, me with my testosterone brood. It's been really fun to discover how similar we are despite the many years between us. Well, fun for us, I'm fairly sure my Mom wonders where we came from with our tattoo loving, tank top exchanging ways.

Jenny was the first person I went to after reading the anonymous "Friend" letter demanding my #2 son cut his hair and quit leading the church boys astray with his rebel ways. "Talk me down!" I said, handing her the letters and the pictures of missionaries and a convict. She read the letter, laughed and said, "No way I'm talking you down, I want to see you let loose on this!"

A few weeks ago Jenny started a blog, she calls it a book, soccer, movie blog, check it out at Alternate Readality on my sidebar. (Cute blog name, right?) Unfortunately soccer season was in full swing and Jenny was rooting hard for Real Madrid, her "soccer boys", she may have focused on soccer a lot in those first few posts. She posted a couple pictures of one soccer ~~body~~ boy shirtless, but with an assurance to those who might take offense, that she had even better pictures but didn't dare post them because, hello, our Mom would be scandalized.

She emailed me the "even better" picture of Sergio Ramos, the one she hadn't posted... is it hot in here? Now I intended to post that picture on another blog of mine with less of a family geared audience as a part of this post. Adorable Hubby and Jenny thought this post should be a Mothers Day post on this blog so I'll just describe the picture.

Jenny and I both agree that Sergio has a hot name and even hotter body, his face....so, so. But, when you're as impossibly hot as Sergio it's only fair you're not completely perfect. Any who, in this picture Sergio's hair is brushed out in shoulder length locks of manliness, and he's wearing only what God and soccer gave him (And WoW! What God and soccer gave him!) with a pair of soccer cleats covering his man parts.

I responded this with this email.

Dear Sergio and Jenny,

Which picture represents the soccer standards you hold dear?

(This is Sergio)

Please Read, For the Hotness of Soccer, especially the section about hair length. It states, and I quote, "Just because you are impossibly hot and have the body of a Greek Olympian doesn't mean you can wear your hair like one. Don't you realize that some players are balding and will be sad if they have to mouth kiss another player who mocks their follicley challenged hotness with his flowing locks of manliness? And certain players would be uncomfortable grabbing the ass of a player who wears his hair long. What would Soccer come to if hot, sweaty men no longer lip kissed and Glute Grabbed their fellow players?"

Sergio, since you brought your "man locks" to Real Madrid, like, two other players have grown their hair out too. See what your example is causing?

Please for the love of all that is Soccer, cut your hair, quit with all this open praying stuff and slip some guy the tongue already...perhaps that cute Australian player. Now he has nice short hair.

And, Jenny, quit encouraging Sergio.

Sincerely,

A Friend

Jenny responded with.

I was laughing sooooo hard I had to read it three times just to appreciate it! Thanks for all the hot pics. I'm not ashamed!

Now I'm not a huge soccer fan but I love that she is. And she can send me pictures of hot, scantily clad soccer players anytime...so I can be supportive and sisterly.

Jenny and I share a love for pedicures, tattoos, cute clothes, awesome shoes, movies, tank-tops, books, lime-coconut cup cakes, seasonal t-shirts, junior mints, Be-Dazzlers, sarcasm, writing, adventure, beaches...the list just keeps going.

We do have one little sibling rivalry however.

Who has the better cleavage...

Jenny?

or me?

I text-ed her this picture a week ago, and wished her a Happy Mothers day.

Why?

A couple years ago on Mothers Day we sat next to each other as a church member spoke about the evils of Sexting...on Mothers Day Sunday. We kept poking each other in the ribs and may have whispered how we wished we had our cell phones.

Jenny text-ed me back last week with her cleavage shot and, "It's not Mother's Day but what a great way to brighten my morning"

Clearly she was conceding the Cleavage Wars in my favor.

Mom, I know sometimes you wonder how you got eleven kids to turn out so great. Consider what you had to begin with and how you ended... how could you have failed with all that going on??

Love you, Jenny!

Love You Mom!

Happy Mothers Day to all you Moms out there.

Girls Gone Wild!

2011-04-22T13:19:00.000-07:00

Yep, this is a Spring Break post.

Those who live in sunnier climes, or watch TV after certain hours, or who aren't my Mother, will have heard spring break stories.

If you're a college coed your spring break packing list would look like this:

Beer
Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil
Bikini
Tank top
Shorts
Super cute sandals
Beer
Make-up
hair care products
Bikini
Beer

If you're two middle age moms your Spring Break packing list would look like this:

Zanax
Jackets
Coats
Gloves
Shorts
Long pants
Pull-ups
Bottled Water
Pajamas
Bottled Water
Juice pouches
Groceries
SPF 100 Sun Screen
Children's Tylenol
Children's Motrin
Children's Allergy
Bottled water
Socks
Shoes
Underwear
Groceries
Tylenol
Allergy pills
Motrin
Gloves
Hats
Scarves
Super sturdy sandals
Groceries
Recipes
Shampoo
Hiking shoes
Back packs
Paper Plates
Paper cups
Batteries
Movies
Game Boys
Chargers
Games
DVD Player
Hair Brush
Pony tail thingies
Bottled Water
Groceries
Socks
Camera
Kids
Dog
Leash
Dog food
Dog Dish
Dog toy
Snacks
Dog Snacks
Zanax
Ice
Coolers
Shirts
Marshmallows
Wienie roasters

If you're a college coed, you cram in some guys, friends, brothers car, radio blasting the latest hits then it's good-bye, studies, classes, jobs, and hello beaches for several sunny fun filled days.

If you're two 40ish Moms it's gas up the Mini-van and Suburban, attach a trailer for all the stuff, cram in 10 kids, and the dog, double check to make sure you have everything, stop at Wall-mart one more time just to be sure, realize you'll never make it to your destination by dinner time, stop at Wendy's, realize you forgot sunglasses, go back home to get sunglasses then it's good-bye children, dog, meals, housework, and hello, children, dog, meals and...wait...!

Now I'm not complaining mind you, my best friend Suz and I had a wonderful trip and only had to break out the Zanax a couple times.

Here's a map I found of Garfield county where most of our adventures took place. This area of our state is so much fun.

Day 1 was the trip down.

We planned to leave at 12:00 PM giving me a few hours of sleep after seven Graveyard shifts in a row. When we arrived in Loa, Utah a 2 1/2 hour drive at a little after 7:00 PM, #2, my 18 year old, said, "You realize that you two have your own time zone?" We were just proud of ourselves for making it before dark.

Day 2 Little Wild Horse Canyon

Utah is famous for it's amazing geological formations, I like to call it God's sandbox. Here we are hiking through a set of slot canyons, if you're claustrophobic you might want to look away.

100 feet down the trail the boys were distracted by a tree that just begged to be climbed.

Wow! Mom! An old building!

Claustrophobic much?

Our little ones climbing the walls.

This is all of us after losing the 4 youngest children for about 1/2 an hour and going through the first slot canyon.
This is our Spring Break girls gone wild shot! We might have text-ed our husbands this picture and called it Sluts in a Slot...but I would never tell you that here because this is a family blog and you're good Christian people and my Mom might be reading, hi, Mom!

The awesomeness of these canyons is indescribable, wind and water, sandstone and sunshine and we're just getting started.

Goblin Valley

Later that day we stopped at Goblin Valley and fixed a windy lunch or should that read lunch in the wind? Any who, we were cold and tired but wandered down amongst the goblins with our goblins for a few more pictures.

Bear in mind we were with many teenage boys who didn't see goblins... they saw other things.

Suz and I were above such juvenile thoughts and let our minds be uplifted by the majesty of Gods creations. We text-ed a few more pictures to our husbands about, "missing you" and, "something made me think of you" We're really thoughtful that way.

Suddenly, amidst all the goblins we spotted something else...

I hadn't been to Goblin Valley before and WOW! To all my bloggy friends, in other parts of the country or world, come to Utah; we'd love to expose you to some of the natural wonders our state has to offer.

Here is the Girls Gone Wild shot from Goblin Valley. Yes we're on our backs...what? We were escaping the wind.
Awww! That's Suz and Lily, our only girl. Aren't they gorgeous?

And last here is #6 basking in the boy joy of jumping from rock to rock to rock.

Day 2, Calf Creek Falls

The next day we drove up 10,000 feet over the top of Boulder mountain, still covered in snow and down, down, down to Calf Creek Falls. At some points the road into the falls was a sheer 300-1000 foot drop off on both sides. The area is called Hells Backbone and gulp, this was a Zanax moment.

Calf Creek Falls is at the back of a box canyon. A box canyon is well...a box. Calf Creek flows into the canyon over the rocks and after 100's of years the water has eroded the rock until a valley has formed. Early pioneers would herd young cattle into box canyons then build a fence across the open end. There the cattle were safe and had abundant food and water. And, I may have read the trail guide too many times.

The hike was 6 miles round trip, our teenage boys eager to swim in the falls beat the moms and younger children there by ~~something like 10 hours~~ a little bit. It was windy, shady and the water was melted snow. #4 bravely dove in just to say he did it then quickly got dressed and hiked back out to the sunshine.

#7 carried his swimsuit determined to, "Swim in the water fall because I can swim now!" And, because he, "Didn't want people to see his bum when he swam in the waterfall!" When we got to the falls he stripped down naked in front of all the other hikers, put on his swim suit, took 8 steps through ankle deep water, ran out took his swimsuit off in front of all the other hikers, put his clothes back on and hiked out to the sunshine. Good thing he showed off those swimming skills and that no one saw his bum (or his goblin).

Here's our girls gone wild shot at Calf Creek Falls.

The hike out was slow and pleasant. I spent most of my time holding hands and chatting with #7. We stopped and talked about the sites at each trail marker. Eventually we caught up with Suz, Lily, Milo and #5. That's when we got this cute picture.

The next day we slept in.

Fixed a gourmet breakfast. These are our whole wheat, Greek Yogurt, blackberry pancakes, Yum! Strangely our kiddos just wanted syrup on their pancakes.

Then we went to Torrey a touristy little town just outside Capital Reef National park. We let everyone choose a souvenir at the trading post. Here are our rowdy teens making the word blocks say something it's probably better you can't read.

Then we went into Capital Reef Park, stopped at the country store for pie and ice cream, then went over to the park for soccer, ultimate Frisbee, wading in the creek, and sunshine.

My #6, #3, #2, and #4, Suz's Tommy, and a random tourist from England.

Suz and Tommy practicing soccer skills.

#5 and Lilly playing in the creek.

Another Creek picture with a cool wooden bridge.

Here's our sunburned, windblown, happy and relaxed GGW picture at the park.

Suz and I have made a trip similar to this nearly every year for the past 1o years. Our children have many fond memories of all the fun.

One memory #5 was determined to duplicate the moment we stopped within site of some rock formations was the, "holding up a huge rock picture" we have many of them of all our boys at different ages.

"Uhhh, #5" says I. "You may be missing the point."

"No! I love this picture, just take it Mom, it will look great."

And...yeah! Unless holding up the sky was the shot we were going for...

We may not have escaped children, meals, and housework but that may be missing the point. We began coming here together when this boy, #5, was the baby. I can remember making a sling out of a receiving blanket and taking nursing breaks on hikes.

Now these are our babies.

We have precious few years left to make memories with these precious kidletts of ours. And, thanks to the best friend a wild girl could ever have, and husbands willing to send us off into the wilderness with only the few things we could stuff into a Suburban, Mini-Van and trailer, and cute, amazing, rowdy boys and our darling Princess Lil, and the dog, we have enough memories to fill that big blue Spring Break Sky.

Celebrate Boyishness

2011-03-31T03:15:00.000-07:00

It's my first night back in my bed after 7 nights of work and where am I? Cuddled up toasty warm next to Adorable Hubby? No!

I'm wide awake, wrapped up in my fuzzy blue bathrobe, Blogging and my toes are freezing.

So, what better time than now to begin my boy advice column?

My first bit of advice is this, Celebrate Boyishness.

I am the only thing even remotely pink and girly around here so my transition into the celebration of manliness has been forced rather than chosen. But choosing it daily, especially each time I walk into the bathroom, goes a long way toward making my life with boys joyous.

There are many variations in the mind and thinking process of boys and girls; and, you really don't need me to explain this. Every woman that spends time with men has a moment each day where she holds out her hands in question, as she shakes her head in confusion, "What the...was HE thinking??" She wonders.

It's not what he was thinking, Dearie, it's how he was thinking. He was thinking with his man brain, and thank the good Lord for that!

Look, I'm a girl, I've been thinking with my girl head for many, many years. The last thing I need is for my single minded, single tasking, stand-up-pee'rs to start emotionally, hormonally, maniacally multi-tasking, every decision. I've got that handled, thanks!

I remember listening to my Mother-In-law, helping her little granddaughter get ready for a family excursion. "Now why are you crying?" Mom-In-Law said, clearly she was at the end of her patience.

"I just want to do it all by MYSELF, Grandma!" The little whisp of pink stubbornness sobbed, dramatically.

I realized a huge difference in boys and girls. As a mom to many boys I have never heard, "I just want to do it myself!" I have heard, "I can't do this, you do it." And, I've heard, "I can do this!" But the sobbing demand , "I Want to do it MYSELF" never.

Celebrate those difference ladies, our husbands and sons help us put down some of the overwhelming pressure we put on ourselves to do EVERYTHING ourselves. Our beautiful boys remind us that thinking like a girl and being a female is not the only way to live life and that the, my way or nothing mentality robs us of peace and stresses the crap out of us.

We are born with our Male/Female differences for a reason. Rejoice in those reasons, delight in the differences, celebrate the simple complexity that is the manliness of your LITTLE man.

And that cute BIG man in your life? Celebrate his manliness too ;)

Tadah! The first boy advice post.

Feel free to ask questions for upcoming boy raising posts? Please!

One of Us is This Cool

2011-03-21T13:08:00.000-07:00

This Blogger is my hero. She makes me laugh. Well, me and a kazillion other people, with her words of the year, smut one year, debauchery another, Ha! Her lofty goals, getting her blog banned from as many work places as possible or extreme littering. She has taught lovely lessons about relationships, and real estate sales; but, my favorite is Kristina pointing out how to glean little niggets of awesomeness from the lives of celebrities. I can't even begin to do justice to her hilarity and brilliance! I'm just not that cool.

No, sadly I'll never be as cool as Kristina, but my 6 year old #7? He's all that and a bag of Icy Hot.

#7 comes in early one morning last week and jumps on my bed in the usual manner, flip over the foot-board. "Mom, Do you like Justin Beaver (Beiber)?" He asks.

"Yes, I loooooovvvee him, he is soooooo cute and sings soooooo good!" I answer, in my best syrupy sarcastic voice.

"Well, you're the only one in our whole family who like Justin Beaver (Beiber). Know why?" he asks with a glint in his eye.

"Why am I the only one that likes Justin BieBer?" I ask, emphasizing the B sound, even though calling him Justin BeaVer is hilarious. (Don't even ask, Mom, I'm not explaining it.)

"We don't like him because we're all boys.... and he's a girl!" He waits for the laugh. Which he got!

You should go check out Kristina's Blog .

And no worries, Kristina, #7's won't be taking over your spot in the blogiverse just yet; he's got cool and celebrity snark down but is still working on the finer points of writing, ABC's and stuff.

Curse and Drat! My links don't seem to be working. I warned you I'm not cool. Go to Pulsipher Predilections on my side bar.

Complimentary

2011-03-15T03:14:00.000-07:00

Every mom of boys hopes she can teach her sons to notice the strengths of others. She also hopes that somehow she can teach her sons to offer sweet, sincere, heart-felt compliments. Think about it, if I can accomplish that one little thing my daughters-in-law will love me, birds will sing, fairies will dance in the moonlight and world peace will abound.

Sadly this is not as easy as it sounds. Boys are just so honest. And somewhat oblivious. "Wow! Your butt is Huge! What the heck happened to it?" Is so easily misunderstood. True Story!

Sunday at church I think we saw a little progress though. #5 is 9 years old and really loves music. He sat on the edge of the bench listening intently as a mother and daughter with beautifully trained and practiced vocal skills sang, Come Thou Font of Every Blessing. Half-way through the song he turned to me eyes shining and said loudly, "How the freak did they get their voices to sound like that?" He turned back and listened some more. "Mom, I've heard them both talk and wow, who knew they could sing this way?" The song ended, "That was incredible!"

I have known this family since forever so I shared the compliment with the Mom. "I think that is the best compliment I have ever received" she said!

Freakin' world peace can't be far behind.

Really

2011-03-11T00:00:00.000-08:00

My 18 year old is a great kid, really! He handles his own schedule at school, serves at church, has a great group of friends. Josh is a loving big brother, is always willing to lend a hand, cares deeply about people. This boy is always studying and learning wayyyy beyond the scope of what is required for school. He's reliable and fun to be around. And Hot! The kid has a body that just won't stop, got his braces off recently (did I mention he helped pay for them) and he has blue eyes, longer brown hair and wears a bandanna. As a headband. Everyday.

Uhh..bandanna and long hair? Not what I pictured when I wrote the storybook of his life; but, considering that his father wore overalls to high school. Yep! Overalls over a hoodie no-less. So yeah! I'm OK with long hair and a bandanna. Even the pink one. Mostly.

Now, our church prefers the clean cut look. Most everyone knows what a Mormon Missionary looks like, short hair, white shirt, tie. Preferred look, fine with me, I'm also fine with the NO alcohol/tobacco/drugs rule, NO pre-marital sex, No lying, stealing, cheating,and sassing your momma rules. But, lets face it, all these rules are only effective if he makes the choice; his Dad and I can teach the benefits and pitfalls of keeping or ignoring rules but ultimately it's up to him.

And, as I've mentioned he's making amazing choices. But, alas the long hair.

Last year as his older brother Jacob was preparing for a mission, Josh was Mr. Clean cut and was really hard on his big brother for having a longer hair style. Then something changed, Josh refused haircuts and stood up for his brother saying he thought Jacob should be able to wear his hair however he wanted until his 2 year church mission began. Jacob left and Joshua continued to grow his hair and began to get harassed, by people at church and in the community mostly in the form of teasing lots of it.

One day a few months ago I asked Josh what had changed Mr.Clean Cut into a bandanna wearing Hippie. He explained that he found himself judging his big brother, who, like him, was following all the rules except the hair suggestion. He realized that judging another for the choices they make is a greater sin then the breaking of the rule and chose to overcome his judgmental nature by creating the same experience for himself. Walking past the barbers chair in his brothers moccasins, so to speak.

Yesterday as I went through the mail I came across a letter addressed to, Mr. Joshua Smith. Inside were a picture cut from the Newspaper of two returning missionaries and a picture printed from a police record site of a long haired criminal, carefully selected to have hair close to the same style as Joshua's, and a letter that went something like this:

Joshua,

Look at these two pictures which one represents the values you hold dear. Your example has led to half the boys your age choosing a long hair style. You are not following church leaders and need to set a better example.

A Friend

Actually it was much more harshly worded and left the impression that Joshua was choosing the lifestyle of a hardened criminal because of the length of his hair.

I was livid!

Joshua read the letter then responded to my fuming by relating this story. Two Buddhist Monks came to a river crossing. A woman, also at the crossing but unable to cross on her own, was picked up and carried by one of the Monks across the river. The Monks continued on their way, after traveling several miles one stopped, turned angrily to his companion and said, "Brother, I am unable to continue with out letting you know my feelings. The monks voice rose as he corrected his companion, "We have strict rules governing our conduct, rules that allow us to be our best, serve most effectively and protect us from a lower way of life. One of those rules forbids us to have any physical contact with a woman. You have broken this rule and I must, as your brother, point out this sin."

The other replied, "Brother, I put down the woman many miles ago, you have carried her all this way."

"Mom, sometimes we get so caught up keeping the rules that we forget the purpose of the rules. I am learning from this experience how judgmental and condemning of others I have been and still am. Put it down it's OK!"

Well, shut my face!

I told you he was a great kid.

And, "Friend". Really?

Because Someone Asked

2011-02-23T15:07:00.000-08:00

I'm updating because someone asked. It's not my fault.

I could also be avoiding some other projects that really need to get done...possibly.

I attended Life the Universe and Everything last weekend. Thanks Mark for the invitation. LTUE is a conference for fantasy fiction writers and illustrators. Despite knowing this I was still a little shocked when the First Contact panel was about Alien/Human contact. Let's just say, "A couple of the attendees were likely writing Auto-biographical not fictional accounts."

Lets see, the Killer Breakfast, (I'm told it was my first Dungeons and Dragons session, booyah!) was great fun! And, I was reminded that it has been a REALLY long time since high school writing classes. Reminders of Story Arcs and Characterization and How to Draw Really Great Under Sea Creatures were not only a good review but, encouraging coming from actually published authors and artists.

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Last night was the Blue and Gold Banquet for Cub Scouts. I'm kinda into Cub Scouts, shocking, I know. Waking up to help a 9 year old and an 8 year old make a cake each and making sure 6 year old felt included by allowing him to squirt water into the humongous tub of Homemade Root Beer we were bringing was delightful indeed. As a bonus I got to mop my floors, always a joy! The night turned out well, way to go, paulbrowning, a mighty Cub Master and why weren't you at LTUE, I saw no illustrations finer than yours. Did I mention I got out of cooking dinner?

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I'm going to have to start running each day if the next task on my "Balls" quest is going to work out. I'm pretty sure the 4 walks I managed to walk in February will prove to be little deterrent to the aching muscles and huffing/puffing that is to come. I am determined though!

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Help! The fridge is empty again and the cupboards are barren? One little Three-Day-Weekend and it's like an Egyptian Locust Plague.

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And, battery is dying the torment is over!

What a Sweetheart

2011-02-13T06:40:00.000-08:00

In honor of Valentines day I thought I'd share a couple Adorable Hubby moments. I've picked up some extra shifts in February. We could really use the additional fundage but nine nights of 9PM to 7AM is tough. Almost as tough as trying to fall to sleep all alone and freezing cold in my semi-dark bedroom.

This past week when I got home, all the boys were ready to go to school and our bed was made with my side folded down and a couple of heated corn bags for my feet. What a sweetie.

Adorable Hubby is always doing thoughtful little things like that.

Yesterday at the end of my shower I took down the shower curtain and threw it away, shudder! Disgusting, but not nearly as bad as the toilet.

Adorable Hubby and I ran some errands, including buying a new shower curtain then, as we were headed home, he said, "For your Valentines gift how about if I clean the toilet for you." Ahhh the sweetness.

15 minutes later I walked in the bathroom to see Adorable Hubby, scrubber in hand, up to his elbow in toilet water...ACKKKKK!

I'm pretty sure that he's gonna want me to hold that hand at some point this Valentines weekend. He'll maybe even use that hand to brush a lock of hair out of my eyes then tenderly cup my cheek as he gently kisses me...

Classifieds

2011-02-06T02:27:00.000-08:00

Tonight #3 chucked a Swiss Army Wallet tin at either Adorable Hubby or #2, I don't think he really cared who he hit, nor do I think he had a good reason to chuck it. Boys just throw stuff.

Unfortunately for him Adorable Hubby, who was a paper boy for many years, caught it and chucked it back at #3 who turned sideways and took the dead on accurate hit to the shoulder. Thus began a discussion of skills acquired as a newspaper boy.

Remember newspapers? They used to be delivered by cute neighborhood boys to your porch or roof or driveway. Your dad used to read the Headlines, then the Editorial page, followed by a discussion with your mom about the idiot opinions of some people and then, if you were lucky, he would read the Funnies hand them to your mom to read and then you got them. If you we're like me you made do with the classified adds (specifically the Personals, always great entertainment, and possibly the Lost pets column on a big news and opinions day) until those treasured Funnies were finally available.

For twenty years of married life, Adorable Hubby and I have never got the paper. I should get one for the coupons but knowing myself, well... Adorable Hubby knowing myself, that is just another well intentioned stack waiting for me to get too. We DO NOT need another one of those.

I do, however, really need to take out a classified.

You see, I have decided to quit fighting to change my sleeping pattern from days to nights every seven days. I've always been a bit of a night owl so, instead of trying unsuccessfully to adjust I'm just going to stay up until 2:30 AM on the weeks I don't work then I'll sleep in until 11:30AM. Now that I've grown accustomed to the embarrassment of hearing the boys tell random strangers at the door and on the phone that I'm still asleep in the middle of the day, it should all work out.

But, nights get lonely. I need a night owl friend.

I'm working on my add, not sure whether to place it in the Help Wanted, Personal, or Missing Pets section.

Wanted: Night time friend. Should enjoy mid-night movies and re-runs of Law And Order SVU. Be available for trips to Wal-Mart and all night drug stores. Toilet cleaning skills are a must. Good listener. Sense of humor. Daily bathing and teeth brushing required(just in case homeless people still use newspapers for warmth). Laundry skills not required but helpful. Knowledge of local all-night establishments is essential. Interviews conducted every other 7 nights at Blockbuster video on center street.

And speaking of classifieds, remember The Pina Colada Song? "...If you like Pina Coladas, getting caught in the rain. If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain. If you like making love at midnight with two dudes and a cake..."

Turns out there aren't two dudes and a cake involved. I'm a little sad about that, Adorable Hubby is still laughing.

Word Of The Year

2011-01-31T21:42:00.000-08:00

So today while making Chicken, Vegetable Tortellini soup, and doing the dishes and making snowmen cookies that, sadly, looked nothing like I'd pictured and only slightly resembled snowmen, I thought of my word for the year.

Two years ago, "light" worked out well I was able to cast a lot of light on some dark beliefs that had kept me trapped in, well, the dark

Then last year was, "experience". Yay me! I learned how to spell it and I learned a lot about experience. My feelings/learning's are best summarized here.

I have spent all of January trying to find just the right word, a word that will give me the courage to step into the light, experience without fear and walk joyfully through the next half of my life a changed woman.

Drummmmm, rollllllll!

My word for 2011 is BALLS, as in, time to grow a pair and do some stuff.

I'm off to a good start, I signed up for a writers conference in February.

I am registering for a 10k in June.

I must say, however, the most ballsy thing I've done so far is publicly owning my word, I think I'll have a t-shirt made...

See, I always worry what people will think. I try to let only the appropriate, sweet parts of me show... this year I'll be, uhhh, showing my balls. Hmm, well...something like that.

Judgers (so a word) beware, this girl's growing balls and she's not afraid to use 'em.

Now, I realize I run the risk of blending into my background, I am surrounded by a lot of testosterone producing danglies. I assure you this is all about me being a more beautiful, God lovin, happy, sexy, crazy WOMAN. So don't you worry.

And, thanks to all for your vote of Boy Raising Advice confidence. I'm planning on Thursdays as the post day.

Woo Hoo! 2011's gonna be great!

Well That's A Relief

2011-01-29T11:54:00.000-08:00

I have mentioned that growing up in an all brother house makes teaching female pronouns, challenging. It's not that we don't use she , her, hers, she's ever I do occasionally talk about myself and other girly types. But, apparantly, exposure to a word and frequent practice of a word are worlds apart.

It is a never ending source of entertainment to watch my 8 or 9 year old struggle to speak about a member of the opposite sex. "He's...uhh, hers...mmmm she's, well, what I'm trying to say is, this shoe came off that girl's foot." Never ending entertainment for others that is, it makes me feel like a communications teacher failure.

Imagine my relief this morning at hearing an 11 year old neighbor boy, also a member of an all brothers house, say, "Did you know my dog Duke was a girl? That's so weird that he was a girl but he had a boy name."

My boys nodded with empathy. "Wow, that really sucks for him," they agreed.

I'm Thinking of Stuff

2011-01-27T20:41:00.000-08:00

That title should scare you, it does me.

So, I've been thinking of writing a weekly post filled with boy raising wisdom...

What think you?

Obviously I have a little experience in the subject matter.

It should be entertaining.

I promise it will be out of the box.

Sooooo, yays? nays?

Like I need your permission to write about stuff on MY blog; but, really your opinion does matter to me. Really it does.

Nerdalicious

2011-01-26T16:03:00.000-08:00

Sunday #5 broke a shoe lace just before church. "No worries," I said "You got two sets of shoelaces with your new shoes so you can use the extra pair for your Sunday shoes."

"Uhh, Mom, do you think maybe this looks a little nerdy?"

I think my boys are beginning to suspect a lack in my fashion sense.

In my defense I remembered two sets of shoe laces not colors.
And, it's a vicious rumor that someone said, 'Dude, those are AWESOME!" I would never refer to someone as "dude".

Why I Have Bad Hair Days

2011-01-22T21:13:00.000-08:00

I've been trying to give myself time to get my hair done before going out in public. Ha!

We all know that's gonna be a short lived goal.

But a goal nonetheless and I was three nights into it and really proud of myself, I had managed to curl my hair and spritz in some hair spray for three whole nights. Yay Me!

Then #5, perched on the edge of the bathtub watching me curl and spritz asked, "Mom, why do you put that stuff in your hair?"

"It's hairspray. It helps my curls stay in place."

He laughed, "What's the point of curling your hair and putting in stuff to make it stay when curling your hair just makes all your boys want to play with it and mess it up?"

Uhhhh...Hmmmm....Errrr... So back to bad hair days???

You Say Potato

2011-01-20T14:26:00.000-08:00

I had to take #7 to the dentist to have an achy tooth filled. Nothing triggers more "Mom guilt" in me than having to get dental work done, it's so expensive, it's terrifying to a child and makes me regret every sugary treat I ever gave them.

Making it worse, when #7 had been to the dentist not many months before taking x-rays had been difficult so we had given up because we couldn't see any outward sign of trouble.

So I'm sitting in the dentist office feeling guilty and resenting the inventor of Fruit By the Foot, looking at #7's sweet face as he sat excitedly in the exam chair with a Horton Hears a Who paper towel chained across his chest. "Mom," he says, eyes sparkling at the thought of this new adventure, "I hope they give me a new teeth brusher!"

"You mean tooth br..." I start to correct his English. Then I realized...

He's not this guy.

So maybe I'm the one mispronouncing.

And, maybe the guilt can go too. I bet this guy never ate a Fruit By the Foot.

Sleepless In Insanity

2011-01-15T03:43:00.000-08:00

Last night at work...which is to say, Thursday at about 2:30 AM...which is my, " last night" but your 2 nights ago. Now that were all clear about that... Eh hmm.

Anyway, whenever it was that wasn't tonight, and by that I mean, not last night but the night before your last night; because it's 5:00 AM, so my last night is different than yours, theoretically. A great word, theoretically, my boys all use it by 4 years old, it makes preschool teachers eyes pop. Um, where was I going. Oh, so our office is under construction, everything is torn up and some walls are temporarily made of plastic that, I swear, breaths.

It is a little creepy most nights but last night (shudder), super creepy! I kept hearing rustlings and whisperings. Scenes from the movie, The Sixth Sense kept flashing through my head. I got so creeped out (Creeped out is another fun phrase for preschool teachers) at one point that I followed Steve The Housekeeper around for 15 minutes so I didn't have to be alone. Ummm, NO! Of course I don't think that creeped Steve out at all, much.

Tonight (don't worry I'm sure my previous excellent explanation will suffice) I decided to Google soup. The point was, to take my mind off the breathing plastic walls and find some great soup recipes to get me through January.

I mentioned in the previous post that my boys don't think much of soup as a meal, so I did a search for kid friendly soup.

This was the result.

Octopus Soup for dinner boys. Buwahhahaha!

I can't stop laughing for the past three hours. Ummm, NO I don't think Steve The Housekeeper is at all nervous about my insane cackling, "Are you Steve? Steve???"

January

2011-01-13T02:24:00.000-08:00

Confession: I kinda, maybe, don't love January. A lot!

Yep, putting that right out there. I really gave it a try this year. I told myself January gets a bad rap I'll think of some warm cozy thing I love about January each day and I'll do it. I was just sure that would help.

Warm cozy things I love:

Soup. Unfortunately, the Boys are not big fans. They think soup should accompany steak, and baked potatoes, and homemade rolls, salad, and seven layer dessert...grrr!

Warm jammies. What could go wrong with warm jammies? Try having to go to work in the cold just at the time for putting on warm jammies. Ahh...Graveyards!

Reading. I was able to get through the last Fablehaven book. Sadly, I felt guilty about all the things I needed to get done. Sigh.

Blankets. My awesome Mom made three denim quilt tops for me to give to #8, #3 and #4. We have plans to find some flannel and get them finished. But, the term is ending and school work needs finished and Christmas needs taking down and organized and put away. Boo

Cuddling. Well...that's been fabulous, except for those pesky jobs we both have.

Friends. We have spent some catch-up time with friends on a couple occasions this month. Love that!

Media. January is the perfect month to get really into some TV or blogging. So far the TV broke and the computer has a virus, the router gave up the ghost. Always, everything breaks in January. Why??

Socks. Warm, fuzzy, socks! #3 is a sock fiend. He will raid my sock drawer multiple times a day. Either he's color blind or really secure in his teenboyhood, pink and lime green socks are not a deterrent. Nor is his size 11 feet in my size 9 socks.

Hot chocolate. Swore off sugar...dang!

Peanut butter cookies. Swore off sugar...dang!

Cleaning and organizing. Wait, that's not warm and cuddly and I don't enjoy it. Stupid plastic bins and organizers in all the stores.

Writing. Still don't have a stinkin' program on my laptop. To cold to go out and get it done.

Snow. I really enjoy walking in falling snow all bundled up toasty warm. The dirty frozen mess and poor air quality are making that impossible this month.

Yeah! Yeah! I'm whining and feeling sorry for myself.

Blame it on January, I am!

Daisy If You Do

2011-01-03T22:29:00.000-08:00

I'm finally taking down Christmas. The stockings are emptied, and by emptied I mean I ate the rest of the candy and treats left in mine...and left in a few of the boys. Yep, well on my way to completing that New Years resolution to gain 30 lbs and grow out my armpit hair 10 inches so I can donate it to locks of love.

Now don't get all jealous and stuff because your Christmas is still out. I haven't put the stockings away yet, and I haven't taken down any of the 6 Christmas trees, including the live one...wait, why do we call them live trees when they have been cut down and stuck in a tub of water that dried out three weeks ago? Hmm, I hope #6 doesn't get crazy learning to ride his Ripstick in the house. One spark and I can shop vac the ashes. Sorry. Sugar high. Easily distracted.

So, anyway this un-decorating thing started me to thinking about a couple gifts I got.

A book of Carl Sandberg poetry and a pink GerberaDaisy.

You can blame Carl, or the sugar...

Dalliance With a Daisy, InWinter

For Christmas, a pink Gerbera Daisy.

Displayed, amidst snowy evergreens, absurdly.

Cheekily calling my Christmas bluff.

Why do those with most to give, worry most if they give enough.

I loved these two gifts best...well, the white mocha powder and Harley Davidson mug were pretty sweet too. I'm drying the daisy between page 257 and 258 of my new, used book.

Back to un-decorating.

Hmmm, I wonder what's left in Adorable Hubby's stocking...?

New

2011-01-02T02:13:00.000-08:00

New Years Day was a beautiful day at Boy House.

8 years ago on December 22nd #6 came into our lives.

The best way I can think of to describe this son is a story.

Any mother of boys knows well the Super-hero phase. Around 5 - 7 years old little boys become invincible and angst ridden just like Spidey or Bat Man. Now, anyone who spends any time at all studying the whole super hero thing, (and I have...in real time) is aware of the juxtaposition of the noble, good nature of their favorite hero and the dark angst that is part and parcel of the super psyche. It seems, any super-hero worthy of a letter on his chest must own the darkness as well as the light in his soul. To ignore one or the other runs the risk of becoming something less than super. It's all about not getting too caught-up in your own shtick.

And, that's our #6.

A bit over a year ago on a summer evening, as I walked through the living room, past the front door, open to let in the cool of the evening (or, we really do live in a barn), I could hear my two youngest and their cousin playing in the yard. There was nothing alarming about the scene, but some Mom sense urged me through the door to the front porch. Just then a small pair of feet and legs appeared above my head as #6 began climbing down from the roof.

Of course, I did what any Super Mom would do, I grabbed his leg to help him find his footing and began lecturing. Suddenly, #6 lost his grip on the roof and swung down suspended by my hand around his ankle in a magnificent sideways arching swing; his head missing, by inches on either side, the concrete slab of the porch and the decorative metal arbors in the flower bed. He came to rest, calmly, hanging upside down from my hand and said, in the mildest of voices, "Thanks, Mom, you saved my life."

The next day we were alone in the kitchen, #6 sat at the cupboard eating, I was cleaning. "Mom," he said in a quiet, thoughtful voice. "You saved my life yesterday."

"I did." I answered.

"You know I wouldn't have fallen if you hadn't been holding on to me?" He asked, with a slight frown.

I hesitated, looking into his sober, blue eyes. "I know." It was the truth.

"I love you, Mom." He nodded at me and walked away.

Yesterday, on New Years Day, our little super hero was baptized by his 18 year old brother. They sat together, alone, on the front row of the chapel, dressed in white. When the Bishop announced that #2 would be baptizing his brother #6 reached up and patted #2 reassuringly on the shoulder.

#6, thank you for your solemn, contemplative nature. The symbolism of you becoming new in Christ on this first day of a new year is magnificent. You were born on the darkest day of the year, December 22, the day of least sun light. I cradled your naked little body in front of the window, hour after hour for nearly two weeks to fill you with enough sun light to purify the jaundice in your blood. You never fussed or complained.

You never do.

Your name, Joseph, means, "To increase." From your birth on a dark December night, light and love have increased and grown in our family.

Thank you, for your heroic nature. Thank you, for teaching us not to get so caught up in one view of ourselves or an experience that we lose sight of the wholeness of life, the delicate balance between good and bad, old and new, dark and light.

Thank you for following the example of the Savior and for making this a beautiful New Years Day.

Dear Santa,

2010-12-28T08:16:00.000-08:00

How are ya, Big Fella?

Recuperated? Rested?

Good, Good!

Say, remember the last three years we've had that little post-stocking-filling discussion about super sized boxes of Christmas Nerds, that festively colored, fruity little treat that I did not want to become a Christmas tradition?

Hmmm, well, one of us forgot...AGAIN!

I'm not tossing blame around, it's just that there are half eaten boxes of Nerds lying around everywhere, spilling their tasty little nuggets of Christmasy cheer, into couches, onto counter-tops, carpets, and beds. And, what with someone bringing THREE buckets of those little plastic army guys...

So, for next year when your magical mind is figuring out how to fill those ginormous stockings that seemed like a great idea back in the day when there were only four of them, 8....not so much, think beyond the FRICKIN' NERD'S!!!

Uhhmm, let's not have this little conversation again, Mmkay?

Love ya tons!!

XOXOXO
Boy Mom

Christmas Thoughts

2010-12-25T01:11:00.000-08:00

It's 2:13 AM, Santa has come and gone, everything's wrapped and ready for tomorrow. There are gifts under the tree to hand out, presents from the "Big Fella" (as he's known at Boy House)attractively arranged, every dish (but one with a left over cracker and a half bottle of coke) is neatly washed and put away. We all worked together to wash walls, vacuum nooks and crannies, clean bedrooms and, Christmas miracle, the laundry room is clean with only 5 unwashed batches, can you hear the heavenly choirs? Even the pans, and utensils, serving platters and non-perishables are neatly arranged ready for our annual Christmas Breakfast.

This is my favorite time of Christmas, everything is perfect, like a snowy yard with no footprints or tip-tilted snowmen wearing, soggy scarfs and leaves that didn't get raked.

I wander through the silent house enjoying the lights, the decorations, full candy dishes, containers of fudge and cookies, brimming and ready to serve. I smile at the perfectly wrapped gifts and careful arrangement of packaged toys, and brand new clothes. I take pictures of the perfection like a picture will freeze it, make it last, quiet the chaos that will erupt as seven boys, a tired husband, and 40-50 breakfast guests crowd into our average size home.

I find my mind drawn to a still, silent night. I have felt the euphoria that comes after the labor and work of a birth is done, when the overwhelming pressure is over and the baby is cradled in my arms, fingers and toes examined, everything perfect. But that night in Bethlehem, that perfect, quiet moment was not what saved me, not what grants me strength to press through the trials of life, affords me courage to love, empowers me to overcome.

That came in the days and years to follow, from the heart pounding rush of a midnight flight, to the constant clamor of the ill and hungry. It came in the scorn of betrayal, the agony of Gethsemane the mocking on the path to Golgotha. There were quiet moments, with hearts and belly's full. Wondrous moments of gratitude for healing. Reassuring moments when Father spoke from the heavens. I'm sure those moments were savored as only a Savior can.

So I savor this quiet, this silent night, and rejoice that morning and noise and commotion will come. "For God", on a sacred, still night and again equally on a cacophonous, tumultuous hill, "So loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son. That whoso believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."

Christmas blessings to all of my beloved bloggy friends!

Gee Thanks, Babe!

2010-12-22T01:51:00.000-08:00

Tonight I asked a man at work what gift he was getting his wife for Christmas.

"Well, I'm actually getting her a maid to come in and help with the heavy cleaning." (Yes, he's a doctor.)

"Wow, what a great gift. Will the maid be peeking out of the top of her stocking with a feather duster and a cute little french outfit?" (Yeah, I talk to doctors that way... 'cuz my jobs just for fun, don't cha know!)

The conversation started me to thinking that there are some gifts a husband could get his wife that, wonderful seeming though they may be, should, perchance, be accepted with suspicion.

Because I love you and wouldn't want your marriage to suffer many years from now when you suddenly suspect an ulterior motive behind all those unique and wondrous gifts your dear one showered on you, I've made a little Suspish List.

Boy Mom's Suspish List

1) A French Maid

Uhhh, Mon Cheri, unless she's from Winnemucka, France, drives an older Japanese car, wears sweats and a t-shirt that says I conquered the Monster Steak Sandwich at Frenchy's Bar and Grill...Be suspicious.

2) Sugar-free Chocolate and diet soda

Chiquita, this should immediately bring to mind that sweet pick-up line from the movie Napoleon Dynamite, "I see you're drinking 1% (milk, for those unlucky enough to not have this movie oft quoted in their presence), is that because you think you're fat? 'Cause you're not. You could be drinking whole if you wanted too." Now, let suspicion invert the quote. Don't question the logic? It's 3:00a.m. and Boy Mama's sleepy.

3) A Couples Massage from,
BENEFITS SPA
Desiree Jucy, CMT

Ladies, lovely as an hour of knot kneading may sound...this is the gift you refund for a Rubbed Steak at Outback with your best girlfriend. Trust Boy Mom on this one.

5) Self-help Books

What you sayin' boy? Don't mis-read, Boy Mama's all about self improvement; jus', self-motivated, self-improvement.

6)Ironing Boards, Hangers and Spray Starch

Sister, take that highly suspicious crap back to Walmart toute de suite (learned that fancy term from the French maid).

7) If the box says, STANLEY, DE WALT, CRAFTSMAN or comes from HOME DEPOT

Precious, I want to put this gently...He's going to be getting a whole lot more out of that chain saw then you, even if you are the 'crafty type'.

8) A year of ESPN2 and a new cable box.

Girl, if you love LPGA Wednesdays, re-runs of Pete Sampras before the hair went bye-bye, and soccer players (yum), this may be the perfect gift. If you're still trying to sound out LPGA...then, not so much.

9) Naughty Lingerie

Sweet Cheeks, if you can't wear it to drag the garbage can to the street 20 seconds before the truck gets to your house. If it's inappropriate to drive the lil' 'uns to school in, even with a ratty 'ol bath robe over it. Well then, it just might be the gift that keeps giving. To. Him. Jus' keepin' it real, ladies.

10) If, at any time during the Holiday Season, you hear that darlin' man of yours say something like, "Girl, my Mom and I picked up a truly fab little wifey gift that you're just going to A. Dore!" (Hmm, well if he says anything, about any subject, like that... then, Hon, we need to have a whole 'nother little chat).Let's jus' say if "My Mom" and "gift" come up in the same sentence, gal, let, Boy Mom's Suspish Gift List be your guide and don't you even open that little bundle. Hide it under the piles of discarded wrapping paper. (Unless, of course your Mum-in-law is super cool like mine and picks out absolutely amazing gifts. She says she reads my blog, we'll see :))

Now, Luv, If you get such a gift from your Numero Uno, don't despair. Hug on that boy, tell 'im you love, Love, LOVE it, then hit those after Christmas sales hard. Buy your wonderful lil' self something really, really great, Boy Mom insists.

My work here is done. Feel free to re-produce copies for all your girlies.

And, remember, if a lady doesn't give her man an amazing gift, well then, Sugar Plum... 'nuff said.

Swiftly Home

2010-12-20T02:34:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about the choices I make, the choices others make and the experiences that those choices lead too.

I've spent most of my life believing that the experiences we have are good or bad and that it's all tied into making good and bad choices. I have been guilty many times, of thinking my choices and resultant experiences were the good choices and that others, who were living life differently then I, were, "Doing it wrong." I have been happy to, "tsk tsk" them and all too willing to point out the error of their ways so they might benefit from a set of experiences more similar to mine.

I have, on the other hand, looked at someones life situation and their experiences as better then mine. I have scolded myself for not being more like so and so. I have spent many hours trying to figure out how to make different choices so my life could be as wonderful as I perceived other lives were.

Mostly though I have gone back to my past over and over and over beating myself up for choices and experiences I have lived and wondering, till I'm sick of being in my own skull, how much better my life would be if I had just not made certain choices.

The past nearly three years our family has had many experiences that I never expected to have. It is easy, and most would say important, for us to look at these experiences as bad, wrong and painful to ourselves and others. I have gone from feeling like a victim, to being angry, to setting impossibly ridiculous lists of goals and precautions to prevent these experiences from ever happening again and to fix the pain caused.

A few days ago I was trying to deal with the emotions of handling it all and trying to figure out what the, "Right" thing to do was. I had not been awake long and was still in bed, wrapped in a blanket, near tears trying to figure it all out. #7 burst through the bedroom door, flipped over the foot board of the bed, and dove at me for a hug. As soon as he caught sight of my face he stopped and asked, "Mom, what's wrong?"

I briefly explained that I was trying to figure out some things and that people were hurting and asked him to pray for them and me. He rolled over closed his eyes and silently prayed. After a minute or so he sat up, curled up in my lap and asked, "Mom, why do we say bless us to get swiftly home ?"

"Do you mean, get safely home?" I asked.

"Oh!" He said, gave me a hug and kiss, jumped off the bed and ran out to play.

I can't get that thought out of my head. "Bless us to get swiftly home."

We come to this earth to receive a mortal body, have experiences that teach us to know our spiritual selves, to yield flesh to the spiritual self, so that we may return home to God, literally at some point and to create in our fleshly tabernacles the peace of our heavenly home.

I have cautioned my children over and over about choices and experiences that I have deemed unsafe. I have held them back, scolded them, and attempted to force them into certain choices and experiences. I have done this, I tell them and myself, for their safety; because, we all know that you just can't learn anything good from bad choices. I've worked really hard to set them on the right path. The only path, my path. I have cautioned not only my children but many others against choices they were making.I have spent much of my life miserably convinced that I knew the safest way home. Until a sweet son innocently suggested a new perspective.

What if safely isn't the answer? What if safely home should be swiftly home and what if all our experiences are bringing us swiftly home?

Maybe I am too quick to label choices as good and bad, maybe they are just choices that lead to the experiences that teach me of my spiritual nature? What if the factor determining that an experience is good or bad is what I learn? What if every choice I make is like a stepping stone in the river of experience, and we each are connected to our Heavenly home by a river flowing between God and us? Would I sit prudently on the bank, avoiding the swift, swirling waters for safety's sake?

If I knew that leaping from rock to rock, was the way home to Father would I stand flat footed on a big rock in my river, proud of my choice, sure I had avoided a terrible experience. Would I proudly look over at other river runners, and shout safe navigational instructions? Would I mock or scold when a jump landed them in the current and carried them, bumping along? Would I forsake the wet, rocky path of my river, scramble up on the bank to sit scared and shivering, agonizing over the slippery rocks, and wild currents.

My personal river has, at times, felt like a happy little brook until it merges with another river. Suddenly we are sharing currents and eddies, rocks, submerged logs, mud and turbulence. As the volume of water increases, we may both feel we are tumbling down stream to fast, out of control. Each may lose sight of their personal connection with God. Then we may begin to blame others insisting that their choices are determining our experience. We feel that we're drowning and flail helplessly, clinging to any little floating scrap of debris.

That's where I am, clinging, treading until every muscle aches.

But you know... I'm learning. I'm learning, from the warm, dry, days and the wet, scary, slippery days. I'm thinking that if God can offer a little peace though the simple faith of a 6 year old then surely I can keep leaping from rock to rock, choice to choice, learning from each experience and finding the grace to allow others their choices and experiences with love and compassion. I'm tired of judging, overwhelmed with worrying, ready to look to Father and love living each moment of my journey swiftly home.

I remembered this picture by Greg Olsen after re-reading this post. I could have just posted the picture it sums up my thoughts so beautifully. Greg Olsen, Fear Not

Christmas Listing

2010-12-12T21:35:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted in quite a while, it's on my Christmas To Do list. It's just below fulfilling my boys wish lists.

#1-- I'm just happy to be serving the Lord. Ahhhhhh!
#2-- Just a couple books about transcendentalism and spiritual quantum physics. Uhhhh!
#3--A girl. Ummmm...
#4--A mixer board. Whaaa?
#5--A helicopter with a remote control crane and eye. Sheesh!!
#6--A Rip Stick. Hmmm... (I think I was supposed to be riding one of those this year.)
#7--A pot of gold. Riiiiiiight!
#8--I don't know. Grrrrr!

So as soon as I get done checking out the army surplus store for a helicopter and catching that Leprechaun....

What Does Boy House Wish You and Yours for Thanksgiving?

2010-11-25T06:49:00.000-08:00

This morning cuddling in bed with #6 and #7, the subject of pies came up.

Boy Mom: #6 what is your favorite kind of pie?

#6: Pumpkin...Duh!

Boy Mom: #7, what's your favorite kind of pie?

#7: I like them all mixed together.

#6, Boy Mom and Adorable Hubby: Wha???

#7:What? It tastes like rainbows!

So from Boy House to your house, Thanksgiving rainbows...Duh!

Seriously though, so thankful for all of you.

Of Mice and Boy Mom

2010-11-19T01:52:00.000-08:00

"Mice are dumb!" That's how a thirteen year old boy comforts you when guilt over a mouse trap that didn't finish the job turns you into a big bawl baby.

But, getting caught in a trap is not what makes mice dumb. Nor is leaving little love pellets in the cabinet under the sink, that would be what makes mice freaking, gross, germy, disgusting, vulgar, little varmints.

Nope, what makes mice dumb is the same thing that makes this Boy Mom dumb. And, that would be cheese!

I don't know if mice really even like cheese, they're still dumb whether they do or not. I do know that I like only a few carefully selected varieties of cheese. Yet, whenever they sample cheese at Costco I try a piece. Bleaaagh!

Dumb barely covers it!!

We Believe

2010-11-11T11:23:00.000-08:00

We're all about wholesome Christian principals here at Boy House.

But some of them make us grit our teeth a little...apparently.

As Easy as Fall...ing Off a Log

2010-11-08T17:11:00.000-08:00

This has been an easy fall.

Downright balmy for our lil' old state. Saturday I watched a little girl ride by on her scooter, bare-footed, dressed in shorts and a tank top, it's November in Utah, and it made sense.

And, Ohhh the jump on thankfulness, in this thanksgiving month, when the temperature stays warm enough that no one, gets frostbite at a football game.

But, now that football is over and turkeys are plumped, the green leaves and growing grass is getting old.

I need crisp fall mornings, and evenings that make necessities of hot soup and hot chocolate and long, blanketed cuddles.

So, this morning when Maxine, the most put together, say what she means co-worker ever, told me to enjoy the weather I was expecting another sunny, balmy day.

I smiled at the rain, at Maxine's sarcasm, and walked slowly to the car. At home I took my time falling asleep and woke to the sounds of rain on the roof, the smell of wet leaves, wet boys and new rubber rain boots. Ahhh sensory heaven!

I was so inspired that I put on a pair of warm sweats, a hoodie and... flip flops?? And went to get a... pedicure??? Wha???? I know I'm a nut when I'm operating on too little sleep, I have cute fall colored toes though...the inside of my boots will appreciate them.

Now, I have a fall confession to make.

I have a set of Halloween tree ornaments and...I know, Turkey Day tree ornaments. I was so inspired by the blustery fall weather that I convinced #6 and #7 to hang turkeys and sunflowers on the tree. They made sarcastic little comments like, "What are you going to hang on the Christmas tree next, Mom, Christmas stuff?"

Another fall confession, I made pies, pumpkin and apple, and I didn't share with any friends or neighbors. Not even my Mom. I have a little streak of pie stingy going on 'cause I don't really make pies; but, when fall weather inspires me to venture out of my baking comfort zone and it turns out this beautiful...I promise they were just like this, well that's when I make a cup of something warm and steamy with an extra scoop of cream and I imagine I live life out on the open road. My home is

an airstream trailer, my kitchen table a truck stop cafe', pie and country music is a meal and a change of seasons is just a few miles down the road.

So fall, if you're really out there and today's' rain and cool wasn't a brief interlude in an endless summer, hurry up already, I wanta rake leaves and buy socks and put away the shorts and eat turkey and bite into a frosted apple.

Teams

2010-11-04T03:36:00.000-07:00

It's easy, in a family of so many boys, for a sport, that 5 or more boys are playing and a dad is coaching, to become the living, breathing, eating focus of every moment of its season.

It has felt like football had taken over our lives the past few months. School work, schedules, church activities, sleep, meals all of it has been effected.

Except for #4, somehow he just calmly does whatever needs to be done in each moment. At football he is consistent and diligent he plays to the best of his ability and expects everyone else to do the same. He is supportive of other players and does his best to be on time and focused at each practice or game.

School work is finished each day, he even signed up for a study class so he'd have extra time to get it all done.

At the beginning of this school year we signed him up for 8th grade orchestra. He had learned to play the electric bass and we figured it was the same as the string bass. The orchestra teacher (who looks about 17 years old) corrected our assumption that the two basses are the same and let us know that she would accept #4 into 8th grade orchestra only because she had no other bass player in that group.

#4 stayed after school and worked with his teacher 2 or 3 days week. He practiced diligently. We could recognize tunes immediately and were impressed, but we were so busy with football that his efforts largely went unnoticed.

#4's football team was really doing well. Every game won! Playoffs beginning. One night #4 mentioned a concern about a conflict he could see coming. His football games were on Wednesdays and in two weeks he had an orchestra concert on Wednesday.

I gotta admit I'm not that scheduled a person. I figure if I can get through this week that two weeks from now will take care of itself. So I gave him my best advice. "Well, we'll just have to pray that your football game is at 8:00 and your concert is at 7:00 and then you can do both; but, I will support whatever decision you make."

#4 debated the decision for two weeks concerned he would have a choice to make. And, he did! Tuesday before football practice he asked me what he should do. His concert was at 7:00PM his game at 8:00 PM. This was an important game, his couch wanted him at the field for warm-ups by 6:45, he was a starter, and 2 other boys were going to miss the concert for the game.

This is when parenting is really gut wrenching. I'll beat my boys into submission without a flinch; but, helping them decide between two equally important and worthwhile activities, YIKES!

We discussed the similarities between the activities, how football was a team sport and he was important to the team; but, that he was the only bass player and had made a commitment and received a lot of personal help from his teacher as well. #4 decided that we had to do both. So at 6:45 PM, despite the strenuous protests of his coach and his two older brothers, #4 was in his seat, dressed in Sunday best, waiting for the concert to begin.

Adorable Hubby and I found seats and waited. I sat silently praying it would all come together and that we had parented effectively, that the right decision had been made.

7:03PM. The concert begins, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is squeaked out by the 7th graders.

7:09 PM It was a long, stinkin' version of Twinkle, Twinkle...

7:10PM The orchestra teacher begins explaining exactly how she wants the students to practice, she has them demonstrate each technique.

7:20PM Adorable Hubby has elbowed me so many times in the ribs that I was actually thankful, for the first time ever, that I have padding. And, I was seriously questioning my parenting.

7:25 PM 7th grade Orchestra leaves the stage and 8th grade files on. Thankfully they are seated quickly and the lone bass player is perched on a stool bow posed ready to begin.

7:26 PM The first song starts, the deep, perfectly tuned notes of the bass add fullness and harmony to the music.

7:29 PM The song ends and Adorable Hubby and I are in tears as the teacher praises the efforts of this group, she begins to put the microphone down for the next song, Adorable Hubby and I sigh with relief, she brings the microphone back to her mouth. "Oh one more thing, we're so thrilled to have Ben Smith here tonight as our bass player he has done a years worth of work in just over a month."

7:30PM Adorable Hubby and I can't see the stage. Yep! We both know that we're big boobs and that one of us has big... never mind.

7:33 PM The second song ends #4, Adorable Hubby and I run for the car.

7:50PM After a quick in car clothing change including a stop at home for forgotten cleats, lest you think #4 isn't all forgetfully normal teen boy, we arrive at the field.

8:00PM #4 begins his best game of the season. Boy Mom cradles a hot chocolate and gives Adorable Hubby a few, I'm not a nut job parent after all, elbows to the ribs.

10:15 PM #4 comes into our bedroom for a goodnight hug. Adorable Hubby tells him, "Now don't tell your brothers I said this... you played an incredible game tonight and I was very proud of you; but, I was even more proud of your efforts in orchestra."

We're an all boy house and sports seasons, especially football, can consume us, thanks to our amazing son who's choices reminded us that life is most beautiful when it is balanced.

And, last night his team won the middle weight championship. Football season is officially over. YAY!

Costume Made Halloween

2010-10-31T20:32:00.000-07:00

This was an odd year for Halloween it being on Sunday and all. I am usually ready to go with decorations and costume boxes to be dug through and costumes decided on by the 15th at the latest. But, this year it was hard to get in the spirit (a little Halloween joke) and my usual Halloween night soup, and treats Hangout, a 7 year tradition, was on the 29th, which coincidentally was the same day as the three little boys school costume parade and my second day of cooking (Usually cook for at least three days) first day of decorating and cleaning.

The costume box found it's way to the living room on the 28th around 8:00 pm which is when #5 decided to use the 11 year old wizard costume first worn by #1 and #6 decided on the 12 year old grim reaper cloak most often worn by #2 (a child with a darker humor) and #7 grabbed a Sponge Bob costume given to us last year by who knows who.

The 29th dawned cloudy and cold and very early. At 7:10 am three boys were on my bed with the bag of colored hair sprays and face paint left over from last year.

#5: (round faced 9 year old) Should I wear this wizard hat or this wizard hat?

We have two wizard costumes and a lizard costume, one year due to #4 and his inability to pronounce his L's we had a Wizard, a Wizard and a W(L)izard. I love all the memories that haunt me when I open the costume box each year. (I know, I've obviously eaten way to much pilfered trick or treat candy and really need to knock it off with the lame Halloween humor attempts)

Boy Mom: (Very sleepy 40 something) We could forget the wizard hat and spray your hair gold. (As she smears white and black grease paint on a pale skinny #6 in his too big grim reaper costume)

#5: Do wizards have gold hair?

Boy Mom: (yawning) Duh! They can have whatever hair color they want...they're wizards. We could spray your hair black. ( to grim reaper boy)

#6: (He was already pale, probably in anticipation of puking his guts out later that night, and with the white face paint and black around his eyes...) Actually, Grim Reapers have white hair.

#5: Actually, Grim Reapers have NO hair.

#6: Actually, you're right!

#7: (Excited, Blond, 6 year old in a sponge bob costume.) Actually, can I have blue hair?

#5 and #6: (Loudly and in unison) You're Sponge Bob???!!!

Boy Mom: (Feeling her first caffeine craving of the day) Actually, I could use a couple more hours sleep...Arghh!

We had a lovely get together with friends, some have been coming to celebrate with us for all 7 years now. Decorations were up! Soups were hearty! Treats were abundant! House was mostly clean! Puking didn't start until 5:00 AM or so.

And even though it seemed an odd year it ended up being a Bootiful Happy Halloween!

If I pinky swear no more Halloween humor, will you all come next year?!!

Pink Mystery

2010-10-27T02:05:00.000-07:00

Not a lot of pink laying around at boy house...just isn't there.

Also, you would be sadly disappointed if you were looking for a girl toy. Wait, we have those.. so to speak, uhh hmm... I believe I'm trying to say, play items directed towards the interest of little girls.

Take baby dolls for instance, we did get one once. Just before #2 was born I bought a baby doll with a little blue pajama sleeping bag outfit to prepare #1 to be a big brother. He held it for 20 seconds or so, handed it back and patted me on the leg, "You baby, Mom." He said.

That baby doll was loved on briefly by each of our sons when they went through the figuring out the difference between mommies and daddies phase. And, that baby doll, he remained clean and in his little blue pajama outfit until little girl cousins came to play... Y'all, girls are hard on baby dolls. They draw on them, undress them, drag them out to the sandbox....

Any who, the other day my American Girl catalog arrived in the mail. This is a super sized, super little girly magazine full of dolls and every accessory imaginable for dolls themed to different eras of American history and the beautiful faces and customs of the many immigrants that make America.

I get the American Girl catalog because at some point, a few years ago, I was sure I would get a little girl some day and that she and I would delight in all things pink and girly...I was probably delusional from puking non-stop for 5 months with morning sickness.

On the second page of the catalogue is pictured row after row of versions of the original doll. All the same face, full cheeks and a darling mouth with two perfect little white teeth; but, with nearly any combination of hair color, skin tone and eye color so that your little American Girl can have a doll that looks uniquely like her.

#7: Mom what's this. {He hands me the magazine with a confused look}.

Boy Mom: It's a catalog of baby doll stuff.

#7: Huh????

Boy Mom: For girls.

#7: Ohhhhh!! {He looks at the rows of dolls on the first page.}

#7: They're all the same! He's confused again.

Boy Mom: They have different skin and eyes and hair so the doll can look just like the girl. Which one would look like you?

#7: Hmmmm, {he has to check, he climbs up to look in the mirror.} I have white hair and white skin and blue eyes. {Our boys don't learn hair color words until they're umm...18?? }

{What??? it just doesn't come up.}

#7: I'm like that one. {He points at a blue eyed, blond doll.}

Boy Mom: Good job! Shall we look to see what kind of clothes you like to wear.

#7: Uhhh, {he gives me a why on earth would we do that look} Let's look to see what doll Lily is. {Lily is his best friend who is a girl.}

#7: Hmmm??? {He intently studies the pictures but just can't figure it out.}

Boy Mom: What about this one? {Points at a Lily looking doll.}

#7: {Peering closely at the doll.} Yep, I think you're right Mom. Her has Brown Hair like Lily. Her has brown eyes like Lily. And, her has... buck teeth?????

Did I mention that female pronouns aren't learned at an early age either?

And that I'll be cancelling my American Girl catalog.

Powelling Around

2010-10-22T22:46:00.000-07:00

First! Will someone please hurry over and SLAP me for that post title!

In Utah and surrounding states we are known for our amazing sandstone canyons. Many are national parks. Zions! Arches! Capital Reef is one I've spent a lot of time hiking and swimming in. These are crazy beautiful creations of nature and I never get tired of hiking, exploring and discovering for the bazillionth time each little nook and cranny of brilliantly colored canyon, dry, sandy riverbed floors enclosed by, 100 foot straight up on either side, rock walls.

Pictures (mostly pirated from friends cameras) are of me and my boys and the many friends that have joined us at Capital Reef over the years. I include them so you'll have a picture of how how incredible these parks are and then be able to imagine how cool they are when you add water. Just Add Water... now that would have been a good post title.

One of these canyon areas, carved by the Colorado River, is Glen Canyon which at some point (really not in the mood to research a Utah history lesson here) was filled with water when they dammed the river so that desert states like Utah, Colorado, Arizona, Nevada and California would have water available year round. This huge man-made lake, well known to folks in the Western US as Lake Powell is named after a one armed explorer (really, he had one arm).

Lake Powell is a hugely popular recreation site and we have some friends who have a house boat. They have asked us many times to come down and hang out with them so, over fall break we went. Neither the other Mom nor I brought our camera so you'll have to imagine how fun it was and how great we all looked in our swimsuits four days straight.

I worked up until the day we left so trip preparations, which usually for me include, multiple changes of clothing for every family member , any food and drink item imaginable, 5 or more preparation only trips to stores, a spotlessly clean(in case we die and someone has to go through it) house, all the laundry done and a valiant effort to lose 50lbs and get into Olympic triathlete shape all in one marathon 24 hour rush the day before we leave, were severely limited.

Yes, of course, Adorable Hubby and the boys love my OCD trip preparations...OK! I'm lying! Preparation for this trip was exactly their style. We made it to Costco with no menu plan carefully written to include food preferences, allergies and favorites of each person in the travel party, with alternative meal items and specialty foods. We bought some stuff! We went to a football game, came home found a couple coolers, went to bed got up 45 minuets before we were leaving, yelled at everybody to put on a swimsuit grab a blanket and some pajamas, piled in the suburban and pulled out.

Fortunately our hosts were terrific and didn't mind that between #5, #6 and #7 there were two pajama pants and 1 shirt, and that #3 wore Underarmor underwear as a swimsuit, I never did quite figure out if he didn't bring a swimsuit or just thought it was an acceptable option. They also didn't complain that there was no garlic in the Alfredo sauce even though I insisted that no floating marina store would be without garlic and that it would be worth the 45 minute trip.

We spent four days zipping over the lake, wind in our hair, soaking up the last rays of sun, swimming, eating, skinny dipping...uhhh chunky dunking, laughing, climbing up huge sand hills, making inappropriate sand shapes, eating, laughing, exploring, building rafts, eating, listening to bowel sounds, laughing and wondering why it had taken us so many years to get to Lake Powell.

Thanks to our Pals the Gardner family for being such terrific hosts, for finally getting us down to Lake Powell and for the best fall break ever,"We'll Powell around with you any time."

Really, really needing that slap right about now...

Dazed and Confused Mondays

2010-10-11T13:54:00.000-07:00

There are some things that leave me feeling befuddled.

Take goat cheese. It smells like barf. So when is it too barfy smelling to serve?

Tonight leaving a church meeting I passed the teenager meeting just starting, as I walked by I heard their leader encouraging them to be on time. Out in the parking lot I said hi to several people coming late????? Uhhh, maybe talkin' to the wrong crowd, darlin'.

You know that building? The one that is a new resturaunt every 6 months. What is it about that building??? And, who are these people that think, "ahhh... but the last 30 owners didn't have what I got."

Walking past a 3 foot x 3 foot talking, blinking skull at Costco. #7 says, "Woahhhhh! Mom, that's the coolest Christmas decoration ever!!!"

"Uhh, the coolest Halloween decoration ever?" I question.

"I know! Right?" He gives me a thumbs up.

"???"

Don't you just love it when the traffic Gods are smiling on you and the perfect left turn opportunity opens up before you? The kind of left hand turn that flows, not to close to the car in front of you, no braking, Nascar stuff, taking you smoothly through a crowded intersection without a pause. What really was the point of a pale Adorable Hubby mentioning that it was a four way stop?

Costco once again, I've escaped all by myself for a little girl time. I have two items a lime green and blue bottle of Herbal Essences shampoo, and a twin pack of feminine products. "Is that everything?" asks the checker, he's looking mighty fine in his pointy toed shoes and his mod shirt. I'm kinda distracted by the highlights in his perfectly messy hair or something because I say, "Yes....Oh! Wait! I forgot! I need a weiner!" What the... is the matter with me? It's like I need a Haz Mat wash down to get the testosterone off before I go out in public.

So what makes you a bit soft in the head?

Seasoning

2010-10-05T21:56:00.000-07:00

It's turned blustery and it snowed on the mountain tops. I love fall, breaking out sweaters and soup recipes.

This fall has felt like an endless summer, 87 degree days, air conditioner and sprinklers still turned on, Saturday I got sunburned at the football game.

Football? Well if you insist.

I'm kinda the quintessential football Mom.

I get that you can't wash the luck out of winning uniforms, "Embrace that smell!"

I know that winners need celebration and losers need space.

I don't talk to coaches during the game even if it's something real important like, what they want for dinner.

I don't yell, "Ohhhh man, I just washed those pants!" Well, not out-loud anyway.

I bring cool after game snacks.

I mostly know what all the penalty signs mean...well, I know what grabbing on, face masking and pushing look like. And I know to yell, "Let em play!" When it's against us, and "That's right!" When it's against them.

I know to bring sunglasses and ice water and blankets and hot chocolate to the same game because you just never know.

At little league games I stalk up and down the sidelines and shout encouraging stuff, "That's OK tigers, shut them down on the...uhh, after..point...thingy!"

When my little players get hurt by the big, mean first and second graders on the other team I give them a hug, a drink and yell, "Now go kick their asses!"

And some Saturdays I do it all at the same game while wearing my Fully Chested t-shirt, I'm just quintessential that way...

And, WOW! am I looking forward to football being over and nothing but raking and baking.

Dog Days of Summer

2010-09-23T01:24:00.000-07:00

I have never really understood what, "dog days of summer" was referring too until this year.

Apparently it's when your black furry dog sheds his summer coat to make room for the winter coat and the last few days of summer are spent in a cloud of fur an inch thick all over your house.

But, understanding the old saying hasn't really cleared anything up...

Why, does the dog need to shed the old fur? Can't he just grow some winter fur to add to the summer fur, like layering a blouse and a jacket over a tank top?

Does shop vacuuming a dog help with shedding? Oh! Oh! Pick me! I know! The answer is no, not really.

"Wait, your dog will stand there and let you shop vac him? He doesn't run or bite at the vacuum?"

"What can I say, he doesn't get layering either."

And how can a dog with the surface area of...ummm, a dog, shed enough hair to cover the entire surface area of a house? Isn't that a mathematical impossibility?

Finally, and most importantly why the crap did I not see this coming when I stood at the pound, on the other side of the kennel wondering why this dog wasn't barking with all the rest.

Doggone dog days of summer!

What's In Your Wallet?

2010-09-09T05:19:00.000-07:00

I have, after many years, reached a point in child rearing where I can look at my purse as a fashionable accessory rather then a diaper bag.

I celebrated with smallish purses that held the basics, a wallet, lip gloss, powder, girly supplies and a pen.

Then came Hobo bags.

I held out! I was potty-trained...er my boys were potty trained. A Hobo bag was large, it could hold a lot of stuff, I didn't need or want a lot of stuff hanging off my shoulder, whacking me in the back. I've been there and done that.

Then an inexpensive, go with anything Hobo bag caught my eye. It was voluminous. I promised to show some restraint.

Now, I'm the type that gets waved through security check points. Everyone in the party may get ID'd. Not me!

So imagine my surprise the other day when my purse was searched by a security guard at the court house. Apparently the x-ray machine showed some suspicious items.

First, the dour looking guard pulled out a flashlight. Hmm...it does kinda looks like the silencer to a gun, I thought. He turned it on, turned it off then dropped it back in the bag.

I believed the embarrassment for both of us was over.

NOPE!

He continued to dig though pulling out item after item and comparing them to the picture on the screen.

A tinfoil pack of Tuna Fish
Pineapple tags
Muscle relaxant cream in a metal tube
Five lip gloss in various containers
Lotion
KY Jelly
Two sets of keys
A hair brush
A tooth brush
A package of diaper wipes
Two powder compacts
A finger nail file
A glasses cleaning kit
12 pens
4 lbs of coins
Toe separators
Wallet containing 3 more lbs of coins
A tin of Altoids
3 packages of gum
A bottle of shampoo
A bottle of hand sanitizer
2 eyeliners
Mascara
An envelope full of amusement park discount tickets
Two bottles of vitamins
A bubble gum sucker
A Happy Easter pencil
A months worth of grocery store receipts
Coupons
Deodorant
Dental floss
A check book
A Zip Lock of herbal tea bags
And, one tampon

What the poor guy didn't find was the pocket knife he thought he'd spotted.

Can you imagine a Boy Mom purse without a pocket knife? I too was a bit shocked!

I think I'll give my hobo bag to a hobo and downsize. I have no restraint!

Football Hostage Update

2010-08-28T05:19:00.000-07:00

I was able to sneak this letter out...

The tortures are terrible I'm being asked to do unspeakable things. Like figure out how to get three boys and one Adorable Hubby to three different practices at three different locations at the same time. With one car.

Tonight they violated the Geneva convention by strapping me to a metal stadium bench and dumping gallons of rain water over my hair, in my face, down my shirt and pants while electrical currents flashed overhead. Finally when I was thoroughly soaked the wind machines were turned on and the temperature was dropped 20 degrees. Human Rights Advocates grab your poster boards somebody needs to protest.

There have been demeaning questions, "Why did you let #5 take my water bottle I filled?" "Why are we never eating dinner until 8:45pm?" "I hate football! Why did you sign me up when I cried and begged and told you I was unloved if you wouldn't?"

When it all gets to be to much they send in a little 7 year old who has worn full football gear constantly since last Christmas, and can't understand why he doesn't practice on Sunday. He tells me with shining eyes, "Mom, my position is secret ninja guard!"

"Do you mean free safety?"

"Yeah!!!!" With such joy and wonder that I forget for a moment that I'm a captive and develop a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome, start identifying with my captors and even fall in love with their cause...until they ask the most unspeakable thing of all.

"Mom, will you wash my football stuff?"

If you get this letter send chocolate and a chauffeur and a maid.

Love,

Boy Mom

Stuff I Need to Get OFF My Chest (Or, in Some Instances, ON)

2010-08-16T14:03:00.000-07:00

I was bitter and angry when the Schlotzsky's Deli near our home closed. For the past several years I have suffered bouts of depression and unreasonable anger when faced with purchasing a substandard sandwich. Oh Joy! Adorable Hubby found a Shlotzsky's Deli in Utah only 22 miles away according to Google. There is also a Schlotzsky's in Pocatello, Idaho 183 miles away and seriously worth the drive and whatever social stigma is attached to driving 183 miles to get a sandwich in Pocatello.

There now, I feel much better... unless I think of Kenny Rogers Roasters.

My boys are really good to let me sleep during days when I've worked a graveyard. From time to time though they feel compelled to wake me for some really important news. I don't resent these important moments in the least.

On Thursday an entirely new and earth shatteringly important discover was made in Boy Yard.

Apparently one of these.

Got ~~it on~~ together with one of these.

And created one of....

Sadly, #5 pushed (No I didn't it was an accident) #7 (It wasn't an accident and he HIT me and it was his fault) who landed on the newly discovered land Crustacean (Rolly Polly's are crustaceans, I Googled it.) with pincers and squished out it's kind forever.

Terribly sad, because we all know how rare crustaceans with pincers are. The entomological world and #7 are reeling from the blow.

Worth getting woke up for and not at all resentment causing.

And since we're on the subject of graveyard shifts. I usually get up around 3:00 PM, throw on some clothes and try to get a few things done before getting ready for work at 8:00 PM or often later. I usually leave for work at 8:45 PM, or often later, with wet hair and no make up, and I always drive ~~at 90 miles an hour~~ with the windows open to savor a little of my favorite time of day.

So when I arrive at work having used the open windows as my hair dryer and put on whatever make up I could find in my purse, I kinda look like this.

Smokin' Hot, I know. And, when arriving at Radiology from the ER patients seem really calmed by my appearance. A working girl does what she can.

Why can't I get organized and to places on time?

And speaking of awesome t-shirts and chests... What? Well we are now!

This is the t-shirt/slogan handed out to local college football fans a couple years back.

And this is the much awesomer version made for my Birthday by my awesomely artistic and dashingly manly friend, Paul. His gorgeous female counterpart, Mandi made me cookies and negotiated the always tricky woman's sizing dilemma, earning her an awesome accolade as well.

Now that's something worth keeping on my chest.

All t-shirt modeling inquiries will be handled by my agent, Adorable H Hubby Dawg, yo!

The Sweetest Things

2010-08-11T10:32:00.000-07:00

Monday August 9th we took our 4 youngest boys and their cousin back to Lagoon, the large amusement park in our state. We really enjoyed our visit a couple weeks ago. So much so that Adorable Hubby got all spontaneous on me and insisted we bounce back (only $10.00 a person to come back with in the next couple weeks of your full price, or coupon price, visit).

I love when Adorable Hubby get's spontaneous so we ditched the dirty house, over grown lawn and laundry for a fun night.

On our first ride, the Tilt-A-Whirl I kept making eye contact with the ride operator, he apparently thought it was more then me begging for the ride to be over soon so I could run find a restroom because as we got off he offered me his hand, a suave smile and probably said, "Have a really great day". To #6 and I his accent made it sound a lot like a really sincere, "Happy Birthday!"

"Wow!" Said #6 looking up at me wide-eyed, "How did he know it's your Birthday tomorrow?"

So, since everyone at Lagoon and most likely the whole world knows it's not at all vain for me to blog about my birthday. Right?

I started the day by sleeping in until 9:45, not without kicking the dog and multiple boys including some neighbor kids out of my room, but still 9:45 WOO HOO!

It would have been a bit later but that's when #4 and #5 came in with breakfast in bed. Three 8 inch pancakes with peanut butter and organic maple syrup, two cold, rubbery fried eggs (a #5 delicacy, he's 9 just smile and eat), eight pieces of bacon, and two pieces of toast, artfully arranged on a meat serving platter that may have needed to be rinsed off before use.

And it was delicious! I have wonderful sons! And a 2000 calorie breakfast on your birthday is perfectly acceptable...?

Next, I hung out in bed and texted with some friends and discovered the joys of a birthday on facebook, when I found 30+ greetings from friends and family and a stranger from India who thinks I have nice eyes in my email in box.

My sister Laura is in town, she is just 13 months younger than me, we were really close in college, last year we almost lost her to an aneurysm. She is in town for a week! What a great present, to hang out with Laura and my youngest sister Jenny. We pedicured, Pier Oned, Chilli'sd and laughed and talked. Sweeter than the free brownie at Chilli's is time with those you love.

I got home and suddenly remembered I was married and had children, errands and dirty dishes...fortunately my friend Suzie called and we chatted through the errands and chores. A best friend is the best birthday present you'll ever get and you get it every stinking day! Sweet!

I Finished off the day at dinner with Adorable Hubby and came home to well wishes and treats from more friends.

Thanks everyone for making it a great day! And, I heartily reccomend a spontaneous night including an unexpected if misinterpreted birthday greeting from a teenager at an amusement park to keep you from feeling too old.

RanSOm NoTe

2010-08-07T09:57:00.000-07:00

I've Got BoY MOm.

IF you WaNt heR baCk place...

A couPle thou$and dollar$
FiVe sEtS of PaDs
FIve (GaG) MoUth GUaRds
fiVe JersEys
FivE pair'S of StinKy socks
10 muDDy cleATes
FivE paIrs of GrasS sTained wHite panTs
FIVE sets of exPen$ive, sweaty unDer Armour
ThreE LaWn cHairs
Twelve KaTrillon bottleS Of GaToRadE
2 LosT gloveS (from diffErent pAirs of course)
TweNty weeKly PracTices
5 GaMes a wEEk
60 StadDium DiNNeRs
1 LarGe, waRm, approRiateLy colORed blanKeT
aNd
ThRee MonThs

In A diStinCTtively MaRkeD sUbUrBan.

You wIll bE conTacteD by 5 CoaChes witH drOp oFf/pIck uP tIMes.

wE aRe sERious abOut ThIS dO NoT tRy to contAct law EnforCement TheY WoN'T wriTE Off thAt sPeeDing to PraCticE TickEt.

IF YOU evEr WanT to sEE BOy MoM again follOw alL insTrucTions.

signeD

FOOtBaLL SeAson

Amusements

2010-08-02T04:24:00.000-07:00

Friday we (all of Adorable Hubbies family) headed north to Lagoon, a large amusement park.

Grandpa and Grandma were kind enough to get all of the grand kids their tickets. They had carefully searched for discount tickets that brought the price down to something like reasonable, then had placed the tickets and money in an envelope. I got home from work, slept a couple hours, showered, jumped in the car and realized as I was walking up to the ticket window that I had neither discount tickets or the money. Brilliant!

Despite the huge price for reuglar tickets we decided there was really nothing we could do. It was over an hour to go home, we'd just have to buy the tickets at full price, so I got in line feeling bitter. As I stood there a lady walked up got in the line next to me turned to me and said, how many discount tickets do you need. Sweet!!! Turns out they were a better discount then the ones I'd left home. Extra sweet!

This was our first time in 19 years year of attending amusement parks without a diaper bag, or a stroller and the first time all of our boys could go on all but one or two rides. OK, I'll admit it, this no baby thing, has it's perks.

The first ride of the day was the old wooden roller coaster. My riding companion was #5 our nine year old. It's been a couple years since he had been to an amusement park the last time we came he could only ride the little kid stuff, he was excited but, turns out this boy has a bit of a swearing issue when he's nervous. I was a little shocked that sitting next to his mother didn't inhibit him more. I had never heard the word $h!t used so many ways in such a short time...until a bit later on the ride Wicked. A lady on that ride came up with some curse word combination's that would have been downright impressive... if she hadn't been sitting next to her 7 year old.

Can I say once again how nice it was not to have to worry about a diaper bag, a stroller or stringing together multi-word cursing combination's.

As long as we've been married Adorable Hubby has been planning a roller coaster vacation. It goes something like this, rent an RV drive to every really cool roller coaster location in the US, spend a day riding then move on. After watching a couple shows on the food network this weekend I've decided my version is a roller coaster and restaurant vacation which means the RV will have to have a really great restroom.

Now that all the boys are old enough ~~to curse like sailors~~ to ride everything we may just have to make this a reality.

Meanwhile, were bouncing back to Lagoon sometime this weekend. Wanta come?

Soul Soil in July

2010-07-27T10:37:00.000-07:00

I may have mentioned that I love gardening...really love it. Freakin', stinking, OCD love it.

I am touched by how simply and beautifully plants give, receive and grow.

I remember once during a particularly trying period of time my Mother-in-law called to tell me everything would be fine. She had awoke early that morning worried about life and had gone out to sit on the porch next to her, always planted just so, flower bed. She glanced down to see several of her beautiful flowers pulled off and crushed into neat little piles of petals, obviously the work of a grandchild.

In that moment all the worries that life didn't seem to be presenting itself immaculately landscaped into eye pleasing rows of carefully coordinated and spaced arrangements didn't matter. Those little bundles of petals arrange by chubby fingers were more beautiful and peace giving then the most skilled gardener could achieve.

And those flowers pulled off the stem before their time, in simple acceptance of their destiny are the only blossoms still remembered of all the flowers that bloomed that year.

I blogged a couple years ago about the plant that I gave up on getting rid of and let have it's summer in the sun. Turns out it was a burr plant. It was the exact right size for the spot, ended up covered in beautiful purple flowers was a favorite of bugs, butterfly's and bees, and turned out to be the perfect metaphor for that year. I took it out for good that fall it wasn't a metaphor I wanted to continue, but no plant has filled the spot as beautifully since.

Summer evenings when the air is starting to cool and heat is rising from sun soaked earth and pavement is one of my favorites. Around 8:00 in the evening I am drawn out to wander my yard and neighborhood. I might water scorched soil or chat with a neighbor, watch a game of street football, but nearly every evening I wander through my yard to see what's new in each nook and cranny. A Day Lilly that was a bud in the morning may have chosen this as her day. A Fairy Slipper may be curling up for the night, a droopy Tomato may be longing for a long cool drink. Nearly always a bird will light on the fence cock his head, fix a bird eye stare on me, determine I'm not a threat, then slip into the bird bath to clean up for an evening with his lady bird. Soon he'll be followed by his flighty mate who will hop along the fence impatiently waiting for her turn in the bathroom. I delight in these birdy bathing rituals and once a day dump out each birdbath and fill them with fresh water.

At this point I need to break for a little background info.

When we moved into our current yard my favorite corner garden was filled with a plastic wading pool full of dirt rocks and rotting weeds. My Sister-in-law had starting the summer before to weed and get rid of some debris, had commandeered the old plastic wading pool as a green dump. She figured that my brother, a landscaper could scoop the thing up with the tractor and haul it off once it was filled; and, there it sat moldering. I spent my first summer in the house remodeling and being pregnant with #6, the only thing I did for the yard that year was transplant an uprooted rose bush from my Moms front yard. I didn't make it out to water it and figured it had died there next to the composting kiddie pool of yuck.

The following spring inside projects, mine and the house, were done and the yard was calling. I had a vision for my corner garden, roses climbing the fence, a terrace of rocks, a bench, and a bird bath surrounded by a plethora of perennials. First up was to get rid of the kiddie pool of rotting weeds, which after two years and a wet winter had become a swamp, complete with an 8"slug. It took me three weeks of transferring sludgy scoop after scoop into the garbage can then waiting for the next garbage pick-up day to fill the can again. My motivation was the transplanted rose bush which had somehow clung to life and was sending out green shoots that I hopefully wound and tucked into the fence.I only got one or two roses that June but the miracle rose bush kept my plans alive over the next three years as my garden slowly became what I had dreamed for it.

This year June was stunning, so many roses weighed down each branch that they drooped in rosy curtains to the ground. Lavender scented the air, Clematis clambered up the arbor bench and the base of the bird bath, deep purple complementing the happy yellow of Columbine. I threw myself at the feet of several couples who I knew were talking marriage and begged them to elope to my back yard during those last two weeks of June.

July came rains dried and roses wilted with out a wedding. I was a little sad that so much beauty went largely unnoticed. I felt the roses had given their all for little reward and now they were wilted and browning.

Typically as July heats up and dries out I lose a bit of my gardening zest and wonder if my efforts really matter. Tonight I slipped out for a few minutes before work at 9:00pm to visit my yard. The long, hot, dry, days have sapped more then my gardening zeal, patches of grass are yellowing, plants were drooping from the heat, halfheartedly I turned on the hose and wandered around feeling like I was visiting care-worn friends. As I watered my corner garden I made vague plans to prune back the roses and pull a few weeds, my thoughts as wilted as my plants.

Turning to the bird bath I began my usual routine of dumping and refilling, but was stopped short by the sight of a whole rose, delicately browned on the edges, petals translucent like antique parchment, floating in the warm water of the bird bath. My weary thoughts dissipated, my breath caught at the singular beauty of the moment. My roses preserved by the sun, yielding graciously, transcending the end of a season with a grace and elegance which eluded them in the wild, cacophony of June.

And there in that dry, sweltering, July evening I looked with new perspective and realized that in the heat of the sun my plants were producing fruit, fruit in which are the seeds of life in a new season. I judge their drooping at the end of a long hot summer day, assigning them human resistance, depression, cares. Perhaps, instead it is acceptance of the season, peace in the heat that transforms blossoms to fruit bearing the seeds of life, the quiet journey of immortality taking place before my eyes. Yes it's hard work and some drooping leaves are to be expected and accepted. No fruitless resistance here in my garden only roots reaching a bit deeper for moisture, leaves creating all the energy possible, fruit and seed drawing all that moisture, all that energy, so the plant can live beautifully over and over and over.

And, so our lives. No matter how hot the summer gets or how much snow piles upon us in the winter the Son is preserving our efforts and we will experience wildly beautiful springs, eternal springs welling up within the garden of our soul. The more extreme the season, the years when arrangements and growth are unexpected those are the giving seasons, the years most remembered. God is the gardener we are the fruit each season provides for the next, springs are joyful, tumultuous, blossoms give way to fruit which grows and matures in the heat of summer, autumns cold nights mature and sweeten the fruit until it's drops to the earth where blanketed by winter snow it rests and waits for the cycle to begin again.

That's what I adore about this gardening thing, it's all about the giving, receiving, and growing of life, it's work and sweat, sludge and dreaming, tenacity, clinging, fragrance, color, vibrant moments of clarity, heat and drooping, moisture and sunlight, soul fruit, seeds, metaphors for life, and I freaking, stinkin' love it.

And LIFE? Yeah, I freakin' stinking, OCD, love that too.

#7

2010-07-26T11:54:00.000-07:00

There is something special about this baby boy of mine.

Wednesday when I woke up after seven graveyard shifts he curled up in bed with me, kissed me, played with my hair, asked if I was done working for seven days then, when I had assured him I was done working for a week, he took my face in his hands smiled sweetly and said "Mom, we should spend more time together...at the store!"

Uhhh....!

That's #7 tenderness for ya!

Today #7 turns SIX years old. "No really it's OK! I'm sniff, sob...just fine"

He assures me he'll still be my baby.

And judging from his face and hands after birthday cake last night he's good for at least that aspect of baby for several years.

#7 you are my YELLOW, my sunshine, tender wrapped in fierce and chocolate frosting, it's an honor to be your mother.

Happy Birthday!

Motown Smack Down

2010-07-17T05:41:00.000-07:00

My teenage drivers distinguish themselves by the music selections they listen to at 7brillon megahertz as they drive.

It would never occur to them to turn their music down or off when they pull into the driveway.

If I haven't ejected the loudly offending disc and tossed it into the back seat, a knee jerk reaction when 6 seconds after the car starts the music blasts out scaring the snot out of me, I occasionally find myself really liking a song.

I liked the song that was playing as I pulled into work tonight. So, as I gathered my stuff(enough crap to pass as a bag lady) I pushed the eject button on the CD player, thinking I would download it to my laptop (always looking for great tunes).

The CD player didn't spit out a disc for me it just flashed in blinking, red lights.

NO

What? You don't tell the Momma NO!

Even if the song is on the radio...

Oh Boy

2010-07-15T05:04:00.000-07:00

A post about boyness.

If you're the card carrying mom of a boy and have never been, socked by a snuggle, or knocked over by a kiss, or hospitalized by a hug, your time is coming. It isn't intentional or even mean, far from it, it's just that boys do everything big, and loud including affection.

I love that my teenagers need hugs from their mom. I'd prefer that #2 didn't see picking lil' ol' me up with his hugs as extra loving, especially on Grandmas old rotting wooden deck. His legs may fit in between the 4" inch crack, mine don't. Ahh boy hugs.

Bathrooms: It's sad when you feel a little happy at glancing out the window and spying your son answering the call o' nature in the the backyard because you just cleaned the bathroom.

Boys are fit to tie: Yesterday the 3 year old neighbor boy showed me his favorite toy, a Lightning McQueen car tied to what looked like a happy meal toy with a balloon string. Boys go through phases where they twitch a little with out a rope or string in their hand. One year all #2 asked for from Santa Claus was a rope and gun.

Boys aren't fond of Sunday clothes. #7 comes home from church strips down to superhero unders in the front yard, turns on the hose and washes every fiber of stuffy church clothes off as the neighbors drive past on their way home from church. Adorable Hubby assures me that only the women are judging because all the men would like to join him.

Boys are smart. I was woken up by a fight over Lego's. #5 said #7 had a Lego guy made with Lego's that #5 claimed were his...Ummm, apparently it's possible for a boy to distinguish which Lego's in a bucket of 53 katrillion tiny Lego bits are his.

I suggested that they work together to build another guy so that both would have one. A meltdown ensued.

I sighed and sat down on the floor to try to build #5 a Lego guy. I admit to being super tired and drugged against pain from my recent hug, but seriously, could there be anything more confusing to the mom brain than a bucket of tiny Lego parts.

Fortunately my being there was enough and #5 built himself a Lego guy and left me with a pat on the head and some patronizing advice. "Uhhh Mom, it's ok, I don't need any more parts, and you should really try to get more sleep."

Boys make holes. In walls and landscaping and their heads...the doctor showed me how to use the staple gun and sent me home with a gun and three leftover staples. My mad butterfly bandage skills now have an alternative... Buwahhaha staples.

#7? Oh he's fine, three staples and a toy did the trick.

Boys are hungry!!!! Always and forever starving, snarling, hungry! Sigh! I came home from swimming with #7, #6, #5 and two friends to #4 grilling double cheeseburgers with his friend. What happened to a glass of milk and a couple cookies?

Boys are tender: Thanks to my big tough little brothers, my husband and my sons for being the caregivers after my traumatic hug. I was carried, medicated, blessed, comforted, caressed, and checked on by these amazing boys in my life.

Boys are wonderful! Mostly!

My Man

2010-07-07T20:50:00.000-07:00

21 years ago today Adorable Hubby, who at the time was just Adorable, picked me up at 6:00 or so in the morning so we wouldn't be late to our wedding ceremony which was at 10:30. The little old ladies at the temple rolled their eyes a bit when we walked in at a quarter to 7:00 and sweetly informed us we had 2 1/2 hours to kill.

Not a problem, I just never get tired of time with this incredible guy.

Adorable Hubby quickly found that the wildly impetuous, tattooed, tank top wearing, good time girl he thought he'd married was actually a prim and proper homemaker with a 'sweet' personality and a lot of guilt...wait, flip that around. (I haven't got the tattoo yet Mom so quit being scandalized)

I on the other hand got just what I bargained for. The cutest, sexiest, lovingest, man a girl could ever hope for.

My top 10 Adorable Hubby favorite personality traits.

10. I can, and on many occasions have, asked him to be my best girlfriend. He loves shopping at Bed Bath and Beyond, maybe even more than me. He will consult with me on cute clothes, can pick out the cutest shoes ever, he'll gossip, read people magazine and I'm thinking any day now I'll convince him to get hot pink glitter toes to match my ~~lime green~~ french ones.

9. He indulges my little addictions. Tank tops, tattoos, sandboxes, coffee ice cream, black licorice, Cadbury, pedicures, plants, boys...

8. He's a talker, a unique and amazing trait in a man, I'm pretty sure we'll talk ourselves to death in some old folks home somewhere, and they'll make a movie about us...or not.

7. He's a cook, steak sandwiches, Mtn. Dew potatoes, BBQ, root beer, mashed potatoes, breakfast burritos are some of his specialties. And cooking for 8 sons doesn't intimidate him.

6. He loves my toughness and treasures my tenderness.

5. He makes me laugh!

4. He's a big cry baby. Likely as not a tender moment will end with Adorable Hubby crying about the moment and me crying because he's crying.

3. He can't keep his hands off me...enough said.

2. He has always seen me for who I really am, even when I didn't know myself. He has encouraged, defended and even battled for the real me, and against the toughest adversary any man could ever face a woman who is learning to love and accept herself.

1. He honors me. There is nothing about the role, and true nature of womanhood that he doesn't delight in. I am free to be every amazing beautiful thing a women is when I choose to beloved of him.

Thanks Adorable, for picking me up so early that morning, for being the best Hubby ever and for killing the last 21 years with me.

I love you!

2010-07-01T14:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was supposed to hike up to Timpanogos cave

with this blogger.

Would you look at all those boys...we probably won't find much in common... but still, I have been looking forward to her visit for many weeks and was so happy to hear her say, "Hi Boy Mom. Almost happy enough to ignore the burning in my chest with each breath and hike 1.5 miles straight up to walk through a cold, damp cave, before yelling at 12 boys to slow down for 1.5 miles straight down. It actually was my fear of not being able to yell in my usual grating "That Woman" voice that really made me say, "I'd better not." And, we'll be getting together on the 10th for a local parade.

So, to make good on my excuse I popped over to the Instacare and was told that it could be pleurisy which, apparently is diagnosed by squeezing on a persons ribs while bending them into various pretzel shapes; or, pneumonia, diagnosed by nodding and looking concerned. Seriously Doc, could you break out the stethoscope and listen for a sec? I'll be leaving you a couple hundred bucks, lets just say, it's the least you could do.

A few days ago #6 asked me, "Mom, are you still a doctor?" My three littles think working at the hospital makes me a doctor. Being a doctor comes in handy at times like this, I considered my symptoms and prescribed a pedicure. Cute toes can cure anything.

At my favorite pedicure place there were massaging chair to massaging chair people, I'd have to wait...What? Did I mention it's MY pedicure place? I glared at the nearest customers and headed to another pedi-place close by.

Walking into a new pedicure place is nerve wracking, you can almost hear the nail fungi growing. I'm known at MY place, I can chat or not, I know who gives the best massage, when to switch feets... it's never a good feeling to realize three steps inside the new place that A) you're the one and only customer and B) the blinds are down, presumably to keep out the summer sun. The sound track from Psycho began playing in my head.

I never worked out where the two male employees accents were from, they didn't talk much. The one who didn't jump up and grab me sat in a pedi-chair watching a show about a prison in Peru. Uhhh, maybe a different channel would attract another customer or make the ONE you've got feel a bit less like the victim in a movie produced by the police department.

The short little fellow who did grab me said, "How I help you, Mam?"

"I'd like a pedicure." I had been thinking of getting lime green glitter toes.

"You pick color" He pointed.

"I w...."

"French! Yes. OK you sit here!"

"Umm..."

The rest of the French pedicure was communicated with taps and pointing. Until the massage on the second leg. I have a large birthmark on the front of the calf. "What happen skin?" He demanded loudly making me jump.

"It's a birthmark, it will fade as you rub it."

"AAAAhhhhaaaaaa" He rubbed and pointed like a kid pleased with a new toy. The Psycho music was back.

Silence again except for the Peru prisoners cheering their team at an inter-prison soccer match.

I tried to relax by turning up the massaging chair.

Suddenly he spoke again "YOU Toes, good circulation, sometimes no circulation, toes YEWHH! (he made a face to show his disgust). You toes...(he nodded his head and gave me two thumbs up)

I guessed that was a big compliment but didn't want to get lulled into a false sense of safety. I leaned my head back, waiting for my toes to dry and planned my escape, just in case.

Praise Buddah, the bell rang as another customer entered. Spanky (because despite an exorbitant amount of goo his hair stuck up in the back) touched my big toe, nodded his head, put my shoes on me, took my $30.00 dollars almost smiled at the $10.00 tip(what, it was way less then the Dr.) and nodded once more as I walked my "Two thumbs up" French toes out into the glorious sunlight, unfortunately the deep breath of summer air hurt, a lot. Guess I need Med school refresher course.

Sorry I missed the hike Lashel, looking forward to the parade.

Ah Ha

2010-06-23T02:33:00.000-07:00

#4 and his friend started making movies together 3 years ago.

Our sandbox is the favorite location for many of their shoots.

They often come in for props, and special effects equipment.

Yesterday they were rummaging through the kitchen tool drawer looking for string.

"What you two doing?" I asked.

"Working on a proddy." Replied #4.

"A proddy, is that what you call a production?" I like to prove how cool I am by being down with all their slang terms. I'm tight like that.

#4 rolls his eyes ever so slightly. "Were making fun of Iron Man."

"Uhhh, a parody?" I ask.

"Is that how you say it? Good to know."

Happy Fathers Day

2010-06-20T22:45:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up 15 minutes before church started.

Adorable Hubby had lovingly dressed #6 and #7 for church, in plaid shorts, t-shirts and the new brightly colored foam shoes(Croc's) I had bought for them on my Saturday night grocery run.

I changed them into church shirts wiped them down with a diaper wipes just in case their baths from the night before had worn off, and told them they would need to put on church shoes.

#7 turned to me and stated emphatically, "It's Fathers Day and DAD said we could wear these shoes, Dad can say whatever he wants today because it's Fathers Day! I'm listening to Dad and wearing these shoes!"

To all the great dads I know and love...Have fun saying whatever you want today. Hey, since this is being posted so late at night feel free to say whatever you want on Monday as well.

And, a great big HAPPY FATHERS DAY HUG to you.

A Rant

2010-06-17T04:58:00.000-07:00

Three weeks before school let out #5 came home with an important 3rd grade assignment. He was asked to choose from a list of famous Americans then write a report on his choice.

For #3 the choice was obvious, he would do his report on Nicola Tesla a Croatian born inventor who was a contemporary of Thomas Edison and who WAS NOT (for some odd reason at least in my third graders mind), on the list of famous Americans.

That darn educational TV teaching 9 year old's about inventors and history and crab fishing. How do you tell a nine year old who has taken up the cause of a man who did become an American citizen and who really should be equally as famous as Edison, that he just can't do the report because it isn't what the teacher wants.

So we compromised. My passionate, intelligent third grader and I, wrote the report,(his ultimatum involved not writing a report, picketing and possibly a hunger strike), followed all the guidelines, for the Edison paper then added our own twist by comparing the lives of Edison and Tesla, concluding that if both men had been willing to use their ability to see things in new and creative ways, to work together and get along with each other, the results could have been phenomenal.

At the conclusion of the last day of school when I went through #5's box of papers I came across this note attached to his third grade report.

Isaac,
Wow, I learned a lot about someone I had never even heard of. Next time please follow the instructions.

People, I have loved this teacher. #5 would not have made it through the year without her loving, consistent patience with him.

But, WHAT THE...

I don't know who the other Famous Americans he could have chosen were. I do know that not one of them followed the instructions as outlined. They were free thinkers, visionaries, rebels even.

Edison made it through three months of formal schooling, before the teacher called him, "addled". Tesla would have "sick" spells and do nothing for weeks then wake up with the entire working model for his next invention envisioned in complete detail.

I do know that Paul Revere was one of the choices, I wonder if the British teacher of his day would have pointed him out as a role model for following instructions.

In fact weren't most famous Americans once infamous Americans.

As I said, I have loved this boys teacher. I don't believe she is the problem just symptomatic of a larger problem.

And thus my rant.

If a third grader cares deeply enough about any subject to think outside of the instructions and fight for his right to express his beliefs by going where most third graders don't go... Shouldn't we be celebrating that?

Does our current system of education encourage and support the next generation of famous Americans.

Have we gotten so mired in trying to follow set after set of instructions that we have lost the meaning of life?

Do we think ourselves above those who follow different sets of instructions then ours or who throw out the instructions all together.

I don't have any answers just my little rant here.

I believe people and relationships are more important then the instructions.

I believe the only set of instructions that really matters is to Love God and others. And,that it is these instructions, purely lived which create the only basis for true teaching.

As Thomas Edison said of his mother who became his teacher. "My mother was the making of me. She was so true, so sure of me; and I felt I had something to live for, someone I must not disappoint."

Rant over. Now let's just hope his teacher wasn't referring to the fact that we didn't type his report.... a rant for another day.

Marvel-ous Laundry

2010-06-05T19:29:00.001-07:00

Blog Reader, I'd like you to meet my Laundry Room.

Laundry room, this is my dear friend Blog Reader.

Laundry room was looking really great one day, little patches of the concrete floor could be seen. Boxes of pictures hoping for a scrapbook were nearly visible. I was listening to the washer swish and the dryer tumble thinking, "Wow, 1,2,3,4...umm 7 loads of dark's two, 2 loads of towels,1 load of blankets and the laundry will be done. Except for the clothes on the bathroom floor, and in the bedrooms, and the socks in the backyard... sigh."

Still, knowing Laundry Room at its worst, I was feeling super proud of myself, then I noticed a pair of feet poking out from under the dryer. Ah Ha!

I should have suspected that it would take the help of an actual super hero to get Laundry Room looking this good. I'm not surprised that Bruce Banner got very angry at Laundry Room what with piles of wet sandy shorts and t-shirts, mounds of jeans and sweatshirts because, hello? it snowed two weeks ago. And, I'm sure he popped a button or two when he noticed clean folded clothes, boys didn't put away, cleverly mixed in with sweaty, stinky football girdles and grass stained socks. I'm guessing it was the used once tossed on the floor towels that made my pal Bruce furious enough to transform into the Hulk. Whatever did the trick I was just thrilled that he was there until...

Laundry Room is one tough villain.

No worries, I'm sure somewhere in the piles are a few pairs of X-Men underwear to lend headless Hulk a hand.

Things That Go Bump in the Light

2010-06-05T05:32:00.000-07:00

This Graveyard Shift thing means that I try to spend from 7:30 AM to 2:30 PM sleeping. Meanwhile, life continues as usual.

Summer sunlight streams through the windows. Brightly!

Lawns get mowed with LOUD, sputtering mowers.

Cars come and go and come and go. Go. GO!

Phones ring! RRiiiiiinnngggg!! Hello...Yes, but she's sleeping....No, I don't think she wants to wake-up right now....OK, I'll ask her. Mom....mom....mom...um, Uhh, do you want to talk to the...Who is this again?...Red Cross? To the Red Crossss... Bleary evil eye! Ummm, she'll have to call you later.

Teenagers eat three, no four! Well, you had three too... I didn't get one, I'm telling Mom! Bagels.

Door bells ring.

Electric guitars are practiced, amplifier on. Kashmir is the current craze. Please Rock and Roll God's let this Led Zeppelin revival end.

Elmo costumes are tried on dogs. Three laughing boys are sure Mom will want to wake up for this. One embarrassed, growling, dog insists Mom wakes up for this. Ok, it was almost worth it. Just wish I'd gotten a picture.

Weeds grow!

Laundry molders!

And sleepy or not I'm there for it.

Kinda!

Oh Baby!

2010-06-03T18:19:00.000-07:00

Of course I love all my boys the best, just ask them.

There is something about my baby, #7, though.

I'm not sure if it's his killer sense of style.

Or, that he sings Led Zeppelin.

Or, that he is surviving life with seven older brothers, tenacity, love, and cuteness intact.

Maybe it's just a wise Heavenly Fathers way of letting me know that it's OK to let go of the raising babies stage of life.

Because, "Duh, Mom, I'm always gonna be your baby!"

And, baby, that's a promise I can live with.

Happy Memorial Day From THAT Family

2010-05-31T08:05:00.000-07:00

You know THAT family. Their kids have no concept of time and will show up at your house at any hour. On a holiday.In stocking feet.

It's 8:55 AM. #7 just came home from the neighbors with a bag of cotton candy. I didn't even know #7 was awake. Pretty sure we have now successfully met all the qualifications for THAT family status.

I suppose if you sell cotton candy to the neighbor kids for $2.00 a bag, a little pricey I think, then, well, you're taking money for candy from babies and you deserve to live around the corner from THAT family.

Happy Memorial Day! Honoring all who have served for the freedom to live, love, worship and eat cotton candy for breakfast.

Urgent Update

2010-05-26T03:21:00.000-07:00

Top 10 clues you may be in URGENT need of a family photo update.

10. Mom and Dad are the only family members who aren't 12 inches taller then they were in the last photo

9. The oldest son is leaving for two years.

8. You've added a family member.

7. The youngest member has been potty trained for three years.

6. The kids have lost their baby fat Mom and Dad have gained some.

5. The clothes you wore in the last photo were featured on the latest episode of "What Not to Wear."

4. Great Grandpa keeps asking, "Now, who's teenagers are those?"

3. Most of the teeth in the last picture have been collected by the tooth fairy.

2. A really great friend has a really great camera and is willing to snap photos of 8 reluctant boys at your convenience, thanks Stacie.

1. You're all at the park wearing matching outfits.

Notes From the Graveyard

2010-05-24T01:24:00.000-07:00

So, what is the appropriate thing to do when you spill a warm, caffeinated, drink (what, I slept three hours so I could go to church with my boys, don't judge!) on the new laptop you got so you could blog etc. on the graveyard shift?

Offer it a pastry?

Burst into exhausted tears?

Blog it so Adorable Hubby will find out?

Contemplate the possibility that your guilt over the new laptop and the drink subconsciously created a cataclysmic mutually assured destruction phenomenon. What? It's metaphysics my mind is just wired that way.

Dump the laptop upside down, allow the liquid to drain out, wipe it off and pray?

Be grateful that you lost less than 1/8 the drink because three hours is really, really not enough sleep?

Ponder a mathematical equation for how many calories your spill saved you?

Do a happy dance because amazingly your laptop seems to have survived?

Ask all your blog friends to send you a music play list because yours is incredibly boring?

Girls, Girls, Girls!

2010-05-23T04:17:00.000-07:00

Oh those girls!

For most women a relationship with their girls is a love/hate thing, they're too big, too small, mismatched, droopy. I've never met a girl who was perfectly content with her girls, and I'm no different then the average gal I suppose.

I am an..., uhh, hmm, significantly busted gal and have noticed that each of my girls has a personality all her own, which makes bra shopping a daunting challenge.

Friday night before Mothers Day I was left alone with the girls whilst Adorable Hubby took his sons camping.

After some discussion my lovely ladies suggested that it really was time for a new bra. It has taken over two years of whining and complaining, culminating in the girls issuing a not so empty threat to bust the established perimeters of our relationship and host their own episode of "Girls Gone Wild", airing during peak family viewing hours not the usual late, late night venue.

Warning: Tender Reader, feel free to continue reading but be advised, shopping with the girls, for the girls, is an adventure for the bravest of souls.

So, with the girls strapped precariously in their worn safety harnesses, a wad of cash in hand, a glob of trepidation in soul, we three set out.

It was a balmy evening, setting sunny rays lighted the spring green leaves and grasses along our path to the mall. A gentle breeze couldn't dry the sick trickle of sweat tracing a path between my shoulder blades as I marched resolutely through the parking lot.

The girls giggled with nervous anticipation, I swallowed a floppy lump of pride and approached the sales girl.

She spoke with just the hint of a Spanish accent, the girls were thrilled, they don't get out much, meeting a foreigner added a spark of mystery to our excursion.

"May I touch you?" She sounded like Antonio Banderas in a Lane Bryant sales girl role.

"Umm, sure." As I raised my arms above my head the girls attempted an escape.

"If we split up she'll never catch us." One darted high the other slipped low.

"You musst try zees new back smoother bra!". The sales girl shouted. Every mothers day shopper in the store, possibly the mall, turned to stare.

"Wooo! HOO!" Screamed the girls, distracted from their escape attempt.

"ok" I whispered.

30 minutes later, being trapped in a dressing room with two girls on the loose, upwards of 20 different bras being shoved under the door by Antonio's louder sister, and only the tattered, dingy remnants of a bygone support system for courage was wearing on the three of us.

And, that's when, "da girl on da right hand side" (help me out, isn't there a song with that line as a lyric) got feisty. Now, it's not like Rightee isn't know for her antics, she's always and forever pushing the boundaries, she lives on the edge, one unexpected jounce away from public indecency, and, she's sneaky about it, playing the introvert all the while sneaking out the side or casually slipping her way south; but, with a dressing room full of Mothers Day shoppers and the sales girl giving her way to much attention for her antics she was out of control.

There we were, Rightee being naughty, leftee hanging out peacefully her extroverted appearance masking a demure personality, sales girl popping in, at increasingly frustrating intervals, to poke and prod, frown and "ai yai yai!" hands in the air. Finally, just as the girls and I were ready to give up and head over to Chick Fillet we twisted, wriggled and shimmied into a bra that seemed to work... if we leaned slightly forward with one shoulder, twisted at the waist a bit and turned our head to one side.

By this time our sales girl, having joined the partay in the dressing room, turning her back at key moments, was barely containing her exacerbation with the whole thing. As we turned to her, a hesitantly triumphal light in our eyes, did her face light up with success? No, she too twisted her head to one side, frowned, tried a different head position, threw her hands out expletively (work with me on my expressive writing here) and proclaimed at the top of her lungs, "NO! Somezing izz WRONG!!!" She poked Rightee, a mad light in her eye, then stormed out, muttering "We have only one more option..."

I gotta confess, I cried a little just then. Leftee glared at Rightee, Rightee hung her head, but cheekily. The sales girl returned, she didn't bother to turn her back, we wiggled into the last option, turned to the sales girl and waited...she pursed her lips, nodded, made the finger motion to spin us around, we spun, we waited, "ZEES IS PERFECT! She announced at the top of her lungs to every Mothers Day shopper in the store, possibly the mall.

I gotta confess, I cried a little more.

The girls cheered!

A Happy Mothers Day for me and the girls and Antonio's Lane Bryant sister, until we heard the price. Gasp!

The Girls insisted they were worth it, Antonio's sister insisted we were worth it. Sigh!

Girls, girls, girls, it's a love/hate thing.

The Good The Bad and The Ugly

2010-05-21T03:43:00.000-07:00

Lot's of stuff has been going on in the life of this Boy Mom, how's about a quick recap.

I began Graveyard shifts at work on May 5th.

Good=I work 7 days and have 7days off. Good to be home with boys. Good to have full time hours. Good to qualify for benefits.

Bad= The transition from on days to off days, loopy and grumpy. Sleeping in the summer sunlight. Being lonely all night. Sleeping alone all day. Standing on the sidewalk at 7:00am with sleep deprived morals, I'm yours for a mattress and a cuddle.

Ugly= that first three hours of dead sleep after a long night, a bomb could go off people. Let's just say I woke up to the dog in bed with me one morning, yuck, I'm telling ya, Ugggly.

Sending your first baby, OK he's nineteen but still, off on a two year church mission.

Good= He gave each of his brothers one of his possessions to care for while he was gone. He gave us each a beautiful blessing, simple but profound. Watching him square his shoulders, pick up his luggage and step firmly into manhood. I get his cell phone!!! The tears running down the face of his teenage brothers as they stood on the porch watching us pull out, they really love each other. Holding Adorable Hubbies hand as we drove home from dropping him off. All the love and support from family and friends. What better way to find yourself then to lose yourself in the service of the Lord and your fellow man.

Bad= I have a nineteen year old, how did that happen? $$$$ goodness sakes! Unknown parenting territory, how do you tell your big, manly 19 year old that leaving his pants and a belt wadded up on a table in the family room after you claim you've checked and have absolutely everything, doesn't bode well for your manliness or your Mom's heart (all right I concede that leaving stuff all over the house until the Magical Man Fairy puts it away probably is a sign of manliness and that yes I'll...I mean the Magical Man Fairy will probably mail him his pants neatly folded with fresh chocolate chip cookies). It's two freakin' years, people, two years, I spent nearly that getting him fully potty trained. Dang I'm gonna miss that boy!

Ugly=The stuff you find under beds and dressers when four boys change rooms.

May 18th was the official one year anniversary of being a working woman.

Good=Money. New friends. Conversations where people aren't referred to as "dog" or "moOOommmmm!". Finding out I'm good at things besides cleaning bathrooms and laundry which we all know I'm really not at all good at.

Bad= Does a working Mom's house and yard ever really get or stay clean. Time, so little of it. Missing even one second of my boys lives, it just goes soooo fast.

Ugly= Laundry is even worse now, really, really, really, really ugly.

Since Christmas we are dog owners again.

Good= Watching #7 play and play and play with his dog. Watching #1 take Titan (dogs name) hiking and walking. Being greeted every I come home with a nerdy dog grin, (actually looks like he's snarling about to rip your head off). Dog ears. Big, brown puppy eyes.

Bad= DOG HAIR. DOG POOP. DOG FARTS. DOG BREATH. DOG GERMS. CHEWING. GNAWING. BIG BROWN PUPPY EYES. One more muddy, messy, hungry boy to clean up after.

Ugly= He watches me shower, like I need less privacy in the bathroom.

Well, folks that's some of the stuff that's made me an inconsistent blogger over the past few months. I am hoping this graveyard shift will provide writing time.

#5

2010-05-12T04:32:00.000-07:00

Today is #5's birthday.

Happy 9th birthday #5.

And, yes you have to go to school today! And, every day the rest of the year, just in case you were wondering. Not that you ask me that question every, single, solitary, day or anything.

#5 was the only baby handed to me the moment of his birth, I'll never forget gazing into the biggest, curious, blue eyes I have ever seen. You gazed around at me and dad, the doctor, the nurse, no crying just eagerness to see every bit of this amazing life you were beginning.

You still have the most beautiful, blue eyes and an insatiable curiosity about life. I love your commitment to the History, and Discover channel, your passion for learning from everyone you meet.

A deep, strong, passionate current of compassion and courage of conviction run eternally through your beautiful soul. There will be those who tell you not to feel so much, to compromise, ignore those voices. Love passionately and fully every person and experience in your life your pure love will lead you to joy.

Remember to laugh. When you were barely three you asked me what a Mexican chicken says? Taco Doodle Doo still makes me laugh every time I think of it. Your name means to laugh, life is full of funny stuff masquerading as serious, always look for the laugh in a situation. Laughter is the wide angle lens of life, zoomed in too tightly on an experience we lose the perspective of it's place in the big picture. I love how closely you examine each tiny detail noticing the slightest detail or nuance, I love how quickly you perceive the bigger picture, how the small and seemingly insignificant create the whole.

#5 you were born on mothers day. You look the most like me, the only son with the same hair and eye color. Each day you teach me to be a better person.

Happy Birthday

Shopping

2010-05-05T17:28:00.000-07:00

I love shopping, not for the great deals or fun new stuff, although that matters, for me the best part of shopping is the other shoppers.

I look forward to the day that I push my cart through Costco wearing a purple velvet sweat suit, scooping up super sized boxes of depends, ensure and protein bars. My lunch will consist of tasty samples and desert will be a giant bag of chocolate Acia berries. I can't wait to amble along peering curiously at all the newfangled products, making sudden unscheduled stops in the middle of aisles to point out a must have 3 gallon bottle of Artichoke Raspberry salsa that I just know the grand kids will love. And somehow, the fluffy, white disarray of my hair, the gaudy jewelry and delight in the whole Costco experience will overwhelm the vague annoyance in younger, hurrieder shoppers.

I wish my name was John McClain, every store I went in I would do something to get my name called over the intercom because then all the other shoppers get to feel like they're in a Die Hard movie and start looking for clever ways to fill loaves of artisan bread with Miracle Gro and cleaning products with possibly a can of spray whip cream as a propellant. Not that it would ever be acceptable to defile artisan bread, even to help a random John McClain or Bruce Willis thwart a terrorist attack at Harmon's (even Bruce isn't hot enough to justify artisan bread tampering). I know the John McClain who's name was called over the intercom on a recent shopping trip, not so much a terrorist deterrent type of fellow; but still, I had a lovely moment or two of Die Hard happiness.

I also enjoy the ways fellow shoppers store cell phones for easy access. There's not room in my bra for cell phone storage but if it works for you... You go girls, uh girl.

Yep, people watching while shopping is one of my favorite funs!

Smarties

2010-04-27T14:39:00.000-07:00

Don't you just love those pressed powder candies?

Actually, I'm speaking of #7 he was so proud of himself and his growing knowledge the other day. It went something like this.

#7: Mom, is this my right foot for this shoe?

Boy Mom: Hooray! You got it right.

#7: Whew, I'm so happy I finally learned which is my right foots for my shoes. Kenneth (his cousin in the same kindergarten class) has a ring on his hand so he knows which is his, uhh, Pledge of Allegiance hand (he puts his right hand over his heart).

Boy Mom: That's a good trick for remembering your RIGHT hand (note the subtle teaching moment).

#7 : Yeah, Kenneth knows where his right (?) hand is (as he holds his right hand out somewhat confidently) and where his (nose and forehead wrinkle in thought as he looks at his other hand) umm, other hand is (he concludes with a proud smile as he holds out his left hand).

Yep, he's a smarty that #7 of mine.

McFession

2010-04-20T15:07:00.000-07:00

I'm letting you in on a naughty little secret. It's been going on a long time, this lusty appetite of mine. I know it's wrong I try to be strong I'm a good girl for a month or two then it happens, across the intersection or occasionally just inside the door of Wal-mart, golden arches that speak to me of fishy goodness.

Lean into the screen. I'm going to say this quietly

I really, really like McDonald's Filet-O-fish sandwiches, really.

There, it's out there for all to know. Judge me if you must.

Filet-O-Fish and I have been going on for years. Whenever I break up with a current food crush, Filet-O-Fish is there for me, Filet and his buddy McDonalds fries(which everyone knows are the best fries).

Filet has been comfort food of choice for many a stressful time. Morning sickness= Filet-O-Fish sans tarter sauce. Trying to go off sugar, yet again= Filet-O-Fish no fries, delusional I know. Reaallly bad trip with two sons to the dentist= Filet-O-Fish for Boy Mom, milk shakes for numb face boys.

Today the unthinkable happened. I cheated. I was at Wendy's didn't see it coming just, BAM, can I have two Frosty's and a Fish Sandwich meal. I didn't even like it. No slice of American cheese product. And lettuce... come on, who puts lettuce on a fish sandwich? I barely noticed that the fish was tender flaky and well, fishy.

I've been guilty all afternoon.

Filet-O-Fish will probably take me back, that's his way; but, I fear this little Wendy's fish sandwich fling will always be there between us, a little.

Stranger Danger, Pshaw

2010-04-14T15:48:00.000-07:00

I talk to strangers!

Door to door sales persons,? Moms at the park? The guy returning from a beer tasting tour to Mexico? He was cool, drove a snowplow that cleans off runways at the airport (naughty shiver). Doesn't matter, if I've never met you and you have the misfortune of sitting next to me on an airplane or try selling me magazines, beware.

I love long, chatty conversations with strangers, I'll find out where they have lived, if they are married, how many children, their favorite color, long and short term goals.

I Offer advice, encouragement, meals, lemonade, starts from my flower beds, restroom visits. I even once gave some recipes to a former gang member who was brought straight from South Central LA to sell magazines in my middle class neighborhood. What? He said his life long goal, was to own a bakery.

Strangely, I rarely if ever buy what they're selling. I think a few have even forgotten why they were there after a hot meal and a long chat.

At work I feel compelled to say a cheery hello to everyone who comes into the office. It bothers me to see a printer serviceman working on the printer as office conversations go on around him. It seems so lonely. So I chat! Anyone want to buy some acreage in Idaho, I know a printer serviceman who is selling.

I'm not really picky about the type of stranger either. I love finding out that someone just got out of prison, what they were locked up for and their plans for the rest of their life or until their next parole hearing.

Old people are some of my favorites, take my across the street neighbor Oral for example, she and I are strangers every time we meet. Thanks to dementia or maybe it's Alzheimer's, every conversation is unforgettable,well for me anyway.

This morning, however, was the Holy Grail of stranger conversations. Not that I haven't spoken with this type of stranger before, it's just that this time my stranger conversation skills have developed to the point that I could ask what I really wanted to know and get answers. Yes my stranger skills are developing I fully expect to end up getting kicked out of several old folks homes for my skills with strangers.

This morning a Jehovah's Witness knocked on my door. I've always wanted to ask what the purpose of their visits are, so I asked. I've always wanted to know if they are looking for converts, so I asked. I've always wanted to know how they are received in haUt (secret code for the state I live in) so I asked. I've always wanted to know why the focus on negativity and calamity, so I asked.

Loved this conversation, loved chatting, finding out where he was from, how long he been a missionary. I managed to control my compulsion to invite him and the five or six of his companions that ended up milling about across the street waiting for us to finish chatting, in for some breakfast and more stranger talk.

So, am I just an amazing living example of, "When saw I thee a stranger...." or do I need therapy?

Don't answer that!

Ahh Spring!

2010-04-12T20:55:00.000-07:00

I wore a cute floral skirt, a pretty white blouse and sandals to work today. What? It was not either because I haven't done any laundry for a week-and-a-half.

I bought kites on Saturday. I promised the little ones I would take them kite flying on Monday.

I invited friends to meet at the park for Spring kite flying and malts when we were through.

I bought extra kite string.

I made a quick dinner despite darkening skies, I've read The Secret, I know that if I believe hard enough anything can happen.

I threw on Capri's and sandals, we hurried through sprinkles of rain to our kite flying spot.

The rain came down harder. "It's watering the tulips" I reassured my shivering, coat wearing boys.

We assembled our kite. I might have let a little wish for gloves and a stocking hat slip into my mind.

#5 ran to the car for a blanket.

We tossed our kite in the air, it soared, it tumbled, we shouted for shivering joy. It nose dived hard. #6 slipped on the icy pellets that weren't really trying to pass themselves off as spring showers any longer, he landed on our kite.

We ran for the car, turned on the heater, I suggested hot chocolate instead of malts.

Spring, you fickle temptress, I love ya!

A Post

2010-04-12T04:30:00.000-07:00

Wow, I'm up at 5:30 AM blogging. Actually I'm procrastinating another project.

Weird, I feel chubby and embarrassed, like the first time back to the gym in several months. "Please no one look at the chubby, gray sweats clad, huffing and puffing blogger on the corner treadmill!"

A few random notes.

Only 5 weeks until #1 leaves for his LDS mission. We're guessing that he'll be speaking in church on Mothers Day Sunday. Mixed feelings about that.

Spring break is over. Mixed feelings about that.

I am aching to get out in the yard and lose myself in my flower beds.

I've finally come to the full realization that children lower your IQ. More on that soon.

I'm off sugar and on exercise. Time to let go of some bad habits that have crept back into my life. Sigh! Thanks to some motivating friends.

Good to be back.

Going To...

2010-03-17T14:43:00.000-07:00

Got a call at work today!

#1 Got his two year mission call for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

He's. Going. To.

Independence, Missouri

Yes were are very excited!

He leaves May 19th.

I've been crying all day, for joy. Our sweet mail man made a special trip to bring it to the house early this morning. I of course ran out and told him where he was going and gave him a big thank you when he was delivering the rest of the mail. Doesn't every one chat up the mail man?

Thanks to a son who is willing to serve his Father in Heaven. Thanks to the Lord for his tender loving care. Thanks to a co-worker who exclaimed, "No way do you have a son old enough to serve a mission."

Nurse Boys, I'm sending my baby to your neck of the woods. I hope he gets to serve in an area where he'll meet you.

Happy Birthday Yesterday

2010-03-02T17:33:00.000-08:00

Wow! nineteen years ago #1 son was born.

I remember thinking he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Lately life has been a bit stressful(understatement) and overwhelming (major understatement). I sat next to #1 in church Sunday and focused on blending our voices in song. His beautiful high tenor, my sore throat-ed alto, blending in songs of praise and peace. His arm around me, holding me, keeping me calm and quiet during worship services the way I held him, singing, so many times.

How does a child become an adult so quickly? So beautifully?

Happy Birthday beautiful son. Thank you for your grace and strength, your beautiful voice, your tender soul. I love you!

Turd Burgler

2010-03-01T21:02:00.000-08:00

Leaving a house full of boys in the care of their father is well, daunting. There are many little crisis and catastrophes that I deal with so routinely as to render them run-of-the- mill occurrences; but to a dad, off at work most days, run-of-the-mill occurrences become a challenge of wits and ingenuity.

Last night I worked from 3:00 to 9:00 pm. Around 10:30 pm just as I was drifting off to sleep, Adorable Hubby said, "While you were at work one of the kids left a turd in the toilet that wouldn't flush down".

"What did you do?" I muttered.

"I had to get a knife and cut it up. It was that bad!"

"Mmmphhh so it all worked out?" I mumbled, really, really, close to asleep.

"Yeah." He yawned.

Suddenly I was wide awake.

"WHAT KNIFE???"

Aren't you glad I'm back?
Don't answer that.

Girls!

2010-02-16T12:19:00.000-08:00

I've never posted about the girls (If I have to explain it you should just stop reading now)

This morning I staggered out of bed to rouse my sleeping sons. Yesterday was a school holiday and returning to a regular schedule is always difficult. Now, on a normal weekday morning #2 is up and gone before 5:45 AM, #3 and #8 need woken up at about 6:45 to be out the door by 7:20, I usually am up around 7:20 to take them to school, Adorable Hubby gets up around 8:00 - 8:30 which is the same time that I wake up #5 - #7 to get ready, fed and out the door by 9:10. Whew!

This morning when I returned from taking #8 to school I heard the shower start and knowing that Adorable Hubby had an early meeting I followed him into the bathroom, stripped down to what God and chocolate gave me, then playfully grabbed one of the girls, peeked her around the shower curtain then waited for Adorable Hubby to notice.

A moment or two later #5's eight year old voice said, "Mom, if you want to get in the shower I'll be out in just a minute."

Ackkk!

I made a significant donation to the therapy fund, I'm sure that will take a session or twelve.

I Love Snail Mail!

2010-02-10T20:04:00.000-08:00

I came home the other night and saw a package on the table. My heart sped up a bit. I adore getting things in the mail, well not counting junk and bills. I guess all the testosterone hasn't completely overwhelmed my girly, romantic side. There's something about a package or a letter that makes my heart pitter-patter.

I kept my emotions in check at first. After all there's nothing terribly exciting about a toothpaste sample. And, there's always the possibility that one of my bills has become so enormous that it would take a box to contain it.

But, OH JOY! It was a package and it was for me. S'mee you made my day. And everyday since. when I view the fun homemade contents, artfully arranged on my dresser by #2 son who shares a bit of my romantic nature.

Thanks!

Sorry

2010-02-09T09:50:00.000-08:00

I tried to post while I was away on a little VACAY with Adorable Hubby. I regretted leaving that post behind because nothing too serious was wrong. It had just struck me that life is like the difference between January and February. Nothing really changes in February, same cold crappy weather, snow then mud then wind, repeat. My attitude however? Big change.

So, for Friday I love my co-workers. They are so caring and fun to be around. On Friday one of them handed me a mint truffle, just because! Love me some great co-workers.

Saturday, I love swimming in the rain. Heated pool, cool rain, hot tub, chatting with a friendly stranger love it.

Sunday, love the Virgin River Casino. I didn't see a river, pretty sure I didn't see a virgin and, I've never felt so young or so attractive.

Monday, love sunshine on scenery. Nevada and Utah are beautiful states.

Tuesday, love caring bloggy friends. Thanks for all the love!

Heavy Hearts

2010-02-04T20:16:00.000-08:00

At first blush perhaps the trials that weigh us down and the resulting heavy heart seem like a foolish thing to love.

What if I had never experienced sorrow and confusion, helplessness?

Would I then sacrifice the experience of joy, clarity and peace.

I surrender to you experience whatever you bring my way.

Yes I'll take a rough day or two, I'll stand for a time in the cold dark that I may honor the sun.

Gaining New Societal Skills

2010-02-03T17:51:00.000-08:00

I love it when my boys show me that they're learning the ins and outs of what is and isn't appropriate in social settings.

For instance, #7 my free spirited, naked, bohemian used to answer the call o' nature whenever and wherever the urge struck him with little regard for the sensibilities of innocent onlookers. But, yesterday as we walked from the kindergarten door, through the busy after school courtyard, around to the door #'s 5 and 6 leave by, #7 walked over to the brick school building and stood face first, very close to the wall.

"What's wrong, what are you doing?" I asked turning back.

Then I noticed the wet stain running down the side of the building.

Oh! The joy that swelled my soul as my big boy demonstrated that he is learning to cover up a bit when urinating in public.

And, of course, I did just what any socially savvy mother should in such a situation. I turned my back, continued my walk to the door whilst muttering in dulcet tones, "Whose child is that?"

Love those growing social skills!

Friends

2010-02-02T11:24:00.000-08:00

Today I love my friend Paul!

He's married to my friend Mandi!

They have 4 adorable children.

Today is Paul's birthday!

Happy Birthday Paul!

Stuff I love about Paul.

He can whip a room full of primary children into a singing frenzy.

His socks don't match.

He will let an eleven year old Downs Syndrome child climb all over and kiss him. It's both cool that Paul will let him and that the child recognizes Paul's heart full of love. (And it is a heart full of love even though I suspect I'll be mocked for saying it quite that way)

He's a drummer. Not that I've ever heard him play, we're going to have to fix that.

Paul hasn't succumbed to the sad belief that being an adult is proper and important and all that crap. He still walks barefoot in the rain eating a Popsicle.

Paul is a great writer. I'd send you to his blog but that would out Mandi's blog and I promised. Plus after reading the amazing birthday post he wrote for his wife it would make my birthday posts seem lame. So you'll just have to trust me and keep believing my posts are wonderful.

Then there's the beard, love that beard!

But, I think my favorite Paul quality is how much he loves his wife and children and pretty much everyone.

Paul, thanks for being a friend!

Happy Birthday!

Funny side note. For my birthday last year Paul made me a CD. He thought it was a dumb gift. Great, because now that CD is stuck in the drive of my blogging computer and is my only choice, besides Blue Oyster Cults Greatest Hits, for blogging music. It wasn't a dumb gift, it gave me a little glimpse into who you really are (we really should talk about that one song) and it's funny that it just keeps on giving and giving. Besides it came with Almond M&Ms and Kettle Corn which makes any gift amazing.

February

2010-02-01T21:30:00.000-08:00

Ahh, the month of LOVE.

I'm going to attempt to post about one thing I love every day in February.

Tonight I'm feeling great love for a month that isn't January.

That's all!

Yo Momma!

2010-01-30T07:32:00.000-08:00

Can I just take a moment of your time to tell you why I'm so wonderful?
I knew you were wondering.
No, really.
It's ok to admit you've been wondering about me.
I wonder about me all the time.
And, the source of all this wonderment is having a birthday!

HAPPY Birthday Maternal Boy Grandma.

I am trying to keep this light because I am premenstrual and really don't need to add additional emotional issues.

I'm making my Mom some Lime-Coconut Cupcakes, that also may be the premenstrual thing.

Dear Mom,

(dangit, I'm crying already) You don't have to correct spelling, grammar, and punctuation in this letter. Consider it my little birthday gift to you.

The other day when you were "helping me" with my sewing project. And, no one is really fooled by the term "helping me" we all know it's a code word for "doing it for me". And, we were laughing, kinda, about my water being shut off (once again, a topic for another post) and you asked me if I appreciated that you can laugh with me, kinda, about life's little tragedies and what would I do without that?

It started me thinking, dangerous ground I know; but, it made me think about all the things a mother and oldest child share. Neither one has ever filled the role before. You had never been a mom, I had never been a kid. But, somehow we helped each other through it.

I love living across the street. I love your sense of humor and your potty mouth when I'm trying to use you as incentive to get my boys to quit swearing. Sorry that despite your best efforts they learned about 50% of those words from me.

Thanks for letting us raid your pantry, and your swimming pool, and your generosity.

Thanks for all the quilts you have made for so many. If a quilt is a comforter and a comforter is symbolic of the holy spirit, then you have brought a little reminder of the spirit into hundreds of lives; but, mostly mine. Everyday.

You taught me to reason and apply real, working time logic to every situation. You taught me that logic will nearly always result in a hearty snort of laughter. There really aren't too many situations that aren't best defined by a good laugh.

You taught me to cook by letting me try and by eating whatever I made, sugary fudge, cakes that got dumped upside down in the back of my car.

You were always there to talk too. That is the lesson I need the most right now with my sons. You taught me to just shut-up and listen to my children. We all long to be really heard, and when we listen to our children we find them listening to us.

Mom, the beating of your heart was the first sound I was conscious of. Everyday I thank God for the beauty of that heart. You are the most beautiful women I know. It's an honor to be your daughter.

Happy Birthday!

Better hurry over and get a cupcake before they are all gone and all you got was a letter you ~~can't~~ don't have to correct.

Moving On!

2010-01-29T21:42:00.000-08:00

I came home from my 10 hour Friday shift, sat down at the computer next to Adorable Hubby, asked him if he'd read my last post and this is what he said, "Yeah, I didn't think it was that cute!"

Just then the post came up with only 1 comment (thanks Smee). "Apparently I'm not the only one who thought it" he finished his comment.

Nice!

Let's move that poor cute challenged post down the blog a bit and I'll try again next week.

Only two more days of January! Hooray!

February promises to be a much better month.

Overheard

2010-01-28T09:17:00.000-08:00

I've heard some funny comments lately and I just know you're needing a little something to put a smile on your face.

I'm not a big fan of blond jokes, unless we can all agree that blonde is more a description of...oh whatever, you get me. Right!

A lady struggling to fill out paperwork shaking her head in disgust, "I'm dumber than a blonde, box of rocks!"

Ha! That's DUMB!

Mummy McTavish this is for you.

Two of the people I work with lived in Australia for a while. On Australia Day I was at work when one of them brought in a package of Tim Tam's for us to try. The other co-worker who had spent time in Australia forbid us to eat a Tim Tam like it was, "Just another biscuit".

He mixed a cup of hot chocolate, we didn't have any Milo, then explained the process of biting off both ends, sucking hot chocolate through the Tim Tam like a straw just until the beverage touched our tongue, then popping the whole thing in our mouth for a chocolate rush so intense it sent shivers down your spine.

One of the girls he was trying to explain it to just didn't get it. As he was trying to clarify the process his cell phone rang, "Gotta call ya back, I'm trying to explain a Tim Tam Slam to a blonde!"

Ha! That's complicated!

OK, on to other hair colors.

A coworker has lost some weight. I was complimenting her on how good she looks when a fellow coworker chimed in to emphasize the compliment. "Yeah, she's a hottie with a naughty body!"

Ha! That's working with a lot of blonde 20 year old's!

Seriously, moving on!

My sister Jenny and I escaped my waterless house (a subject for another post) to see the movie Legion. This is an end of humanity, apocalypse, themed movie that we went to mostly for it's mockablity. It was deliciously mockable.

Dennis Quaids character, offering a steak and beer to a woman who's husband had just been killed by humans turned into flesh eating zombies, "Just because it's the end of the world doesn't mean you can't eat."

Ha! That quote deserves a t-shirt.

My #3 son is a know it all. And quick witted. And Funny.

#8 also known by the nick name fostie (endearment for foster child, depending on who's using it) still has, "baby of the family" status; and, as so, frequently get's protected from #3's barbs.

Sunday #3 suddenly decided that #8 was being shown extra love, due to his protected status. "Hey, being the fostie is cool. Let's switch. I'm the fostie now and #8, you know everything. "

Ha! That's insightful!

I was reading back through some past post's this week.

The comment most likely to repeat itself, "Way to let it all hang out there."

Ha! That's me, baby. Lettin' it all hang out.

Hope you found a smile.

Happy Birthday

2010-01-26T08:50:00.000-08:00

I am blessed with absolutely wonderful friends.

Today one of them is having a birthday!

MANDI is AWESOME!

*She makes peanut butter bars so good one bite will curl your toes!

*She is real, try annoying her and find our how real she gets.

*Mandi loves to garden as much as I do. She tours my yard two or three times a year and really sees it. Her yard is like mine, a work in progress. I love that. She even offered to let me borrow her gardening books to get me through January... that's true friendship.

* Mandi is a wonderful writer! I envy her blog posts. Plus, she can punctuate! I am sworn to secrecy or I'd send you over to her blog.

* Mandi is beautiful in that natural, I don't get that I'm drop dead gorgeous, way!

* Mandi is funny, she makes me laugh. Amazingly, she says I make her laugh!

I could go on and on!

Thanks for being my friend Mandi!

Happy Birthday, I didn't follow through with my original plan to wake you up with a birthday cake and a camera so I could post a picture of us.

I know how you'd feel about that plan.

Aren't you glad I overslept and have to go to work?

My lack of organization and follow-through is my gift to you, until I finish the totally awesome gift I'm making for you and Paul that is.

Love ya!

Mondays Muttered Mumblings

2010-01-25T10:04:00.000-08:00

Peanut Butter cookies for breakfast! Yum!
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BFF, Suz is sick. Sad. I wish we still lived in the same town so I could take my peanut butter cookies over to share.
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Peanut Butter cookies can cure pneumonia, right?
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Working on a birthday gift for a friend. Birthday tomorrow, hope I get it done. Probably won't. Lame! It's a shared gift for her and her Husband, his birthday is in February, Phew, extra time.
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Shh, don't anyone tell them!
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Watched Watchmen with Adorable Hubby. Really enjoyed it. Read the graphic novel last fall.
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One of my deeply held secrets is the type of movies I enjoy, definitely not Chick Flicks...well except for mocking purposes.

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I guess it's not that deeply held of a secret if I blogged it, aye?
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Obviously in an odd mood, what you can't see is that I have a headache, rarely ever get headaches, and my sinuses hurt.
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Probably Peanut Butter cookie poisoning. Call waaambulance, stat!

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Off to eat more cookies... and work on my birthday present project, might even watch a movie;)

It's Happened

2010-01-21T10:52:00.000-08:00

The other day I watched my sweet crazy neighbor Acel, my boys pronounce his name so that it sounds like ace hole.

Now, anonymous and easily offended readers you may as well stop reading here because I love my neighbor Acel and his adorable but certifiably dementia addled wife Oral, and no, I'm not even making up those names. I wouldn't trade them for any other neighbors, except if my BFF Suz or the Nurse Boys or McTavishes wanted to move into their house, then my neighbor devotion might fade a bit but until that happens, which will be never, traitors, I am utterly devoted to Acel and Oral (You just can't say those names together often enough) so just stop reading now if you are feeling the need to condemn... Erhmm, back to story...

So, I was watching Acel as he broke up the ice that forms along the curb when it snows and doesn't get driven over. He comes out nearly every afternoon to chip and hack at it then spread what he breaks off out in the middle of the road so it will melt. I was thinking that older folks are a ~~lot~~ little odd.

That led me to a tangent of Acel and Oral stories, which include my 12 and 13 year old helping Acel irrigate from 12:30 AM - 2:00 AM and the stories he tells them...yikes. And, Oral's many trips across the street looking for her 2 year old twins, whom she is sure Acel gave to me, "That old *%##%^@#$%^!" Or, the multiple times she has walked unannounced into my house, at any hour, in any weather, dressed only in thin pajamas and flip flops, with a stack of towels and a package of Kotex because she dreamed I was bleeding to death. Yeah, you're telling me! Certifiable!

Yet despite their antics or perhaps because of them they are some of our favorite neighbors and we're pretty sure that the five gallon ice cream bucket with a bow on the handle, filled with potatoes and oranges on Christmas morning was from them.

So today I was coloring my roots, I know, I too am stunned that I have gray hairs, and therefore was wearing my fuzzy blue bathrobe with a towel pinned over my shoulders by a hair clip, I had coloring goo in my hair and halfway down my forehead. I was waiting patiently for the clock to say, "times up, jump in the shower." When, the doorbell rang, the dog started barking and #4 answered the door to a salesman.

There was a time I wouldn't answer the door if I hadn't showered and dressed for the day. There was a time when I wouldn't set foot out of my bedroom without a bra on.

Today I stood in my open doorway, wearing a bathrobe/towel ensemble, gooey hair, forehead turning a lovely shade of Dark Reddish Brown, dog shoving his head between, around and through my legs to get at this fascinating stranger, and chatted about milk, people I knew who had worked for Winder Dairy, his wife going to dental hygienist school and whether she might be able to get a job at the hospital where I work with the darling young salesman whose' dark slightly curly hair, gorgeous eyes and square jaw could have landed him a job as Clark Kent's double.

When I said no to his offer of everything free he had, plus no sign-up fee, gave him my phone number to call back in May, grabbed the dang dog and closed the door #4 stood shaking his head. "You do realize you just carried on a 10 minute conversation with a total stranger dressed in your bathrobe?" He said.

It occurred to me as I showered the coloring goo out of my hair, "It's happened, I am dangerously close to being as crazy as Acel and Oral."

Remember That Really Great and Unannoying post I Was Working On?

2010-01-19T11:22:00.000-08:00

This isn't it.

My Daddy grew up in Oregon, he had jobs as a lumberjack and a Christmas tree farm/lot worker and probably some other similar jobs that contributed to his fashion sense.

During the spring, summer and fall while working as a landscaper, Daddy wore navy blue sweats, white t-shirts, and white tennis shoes. Everyday. Dressing up for church involved navy blue dress pants, a white shirt, tie and black dress shoes. In winter months Daddy would mix up the navy blue and white look with navy blue sweats, a navy blue sweatshirt, a navy blue stocking hat, and brown work boots.

What Daddy lacked in fashion variety he made up for with an exciting array of tools. One never knew if the big guy in dark clothes and a stocking cap would be cleverly accenting his outfit with a pick, a shovel or going all out with sawdust, a chainsaw and logs on the front porch in our suburban neighborhood.

I have inherited Daddy's fashion sense, I wear a lot of black and brown, it's slimming don'tcha know. And my suburbanite neighbors never know if I'll be sporting a rake, a lawn mower or a snow shovel.

Yesterday it was a rake. We never got around to raking the leaves last fall so, whenever the melting snow reveals a pile of leaves I rake and bag, wearing my black sweats and a stocking hat. Only mine is PINK, with matching gloves. Thanks Boy Mom-in-law.

I Am Working On a Great and Really Unannoying Post, I Promise!

2010-01-12T09:51:00.000-08:00

But until then I'm just throwing out some random dullness, coming down of the holiday sugar high, stinks.
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Not that I resolved to go off sugar for the new year I have finally learned not to resolve to do anything doomed to that degree of failure. It's just that there was A LOT of sugar over the holidays, A LOT! I can't keep up the sugar high on my own so unless the neighbors will help out like they did during the holidays I'm doomed to the have boxes of Christmas decorations stacked in the living room until February and Christmas lights hanging off the house for Easter.
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I really get frustrated when I put Healthy Child to bed and get woke up at 2:00 AM by Croupy Coughing Till Barf Spews Child. Poor thing! Me, not him, he got cuddled, rocked and medicated. I cleaned mucousy barf off my freshly laundered sheets, searched for medicine, and rocked a sick baby who coughed in my face.
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The other day #7 woke up walked out of his room wrapped in a warm blanket, gave me a drowsy hug around the legs and said, "Mom, I want to call Lilly." Lilly is my friend Suzie's little girl.

"Honey, I don't know if Lilly is even up yet." I said.

"It's not fair Mom, you get to call Suzie any time you want, Lilly is my friend and I jus wanna talk to her right now!" What a sweetheart!

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Then I overheard #1 on the phone with his sweetie who lives several hours away. "I'm sorry you're sick!" I heard him say tenderly, "I wish I could be there." He listened to her response then said, "I don't get sick, I'm tough! I just want to wrap you up and keep you from chilling and hold your hair when you throw up!"

What the... This kid nearly passed out on the last trip to the Doctors office. And, once during a dinner party at our house, pooped his pants then was so disgusted by the clean up process that he threw up all over our only bathroom. Yeah, he's a toughie that one.

I plan to remind him often of this overheard conversation in a few years.
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Wow that last sentence ended badly!
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I have made only two new years resolutions this year.

1. Stay off the scale, I am not defined by a number. So far this one is going well, I just gaze sadly at my beloved scale and twitch a little for the first 20 minutes of each day.

2. Learn to ride a Rip stick. I may not be defined by a number on a scale but, if this resolution doesn't go well, I may turn out to be a statistic...in the emergency room. Nevertheless, every night I picture myself at the skate park, wearing my Harley Davidson tank top, impressing all the thirteen year old boys with my sweet Rip Stik moves. Yeah baby! I'll be video taping my success, so be looking for that. 2010 is gonna be awesome!
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I'm pretty sure I have seasonal depression.
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I can receive phone calls but not make any since noon yesterday. Weird!
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Cleaning out my Christmas decoration tubs I came across a bag of unassembled Santa Clause's. I am guessing they are 11 years old. One of my crafting moods gone cold too soon. Any who, it brought to mind that I held a little blog contest where I promised to make a handmade craft and send it to some people in 2009. Won't they be thrilled to get a Santa in January 2010? Strangely I'm feeling kinda proud of myself for finishing up this 11 year old project and finishing up my first and last blog contest in one crafty extravaganza, I may even include some candy cane hearts. I know, I know, I have some major procraftination issues.
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And now I'm going out to rake leaves before it snows on them again. I think that exercise and fresh air are REALLY important when sugar detoxing while battling seasonal depression.

Don't Hate Me

2010-01-07T16:14:00.000-08:00

Really crafty people make me throw up a little, I get jealous, how do they find the time, who do they copy... what ? People have original crafting ideas. Now that really bugs!

Today I got crafty! What can I say? Please Don't hate me!

Aren't these amazing. They say no two are alike. No of course I didn't make them! I said I got CRAfTy not CrAZy!

These are mine! I can do nearly anything with a hot glue gun, including making left over candy canes into adorable valentines hearts for my treat tree.

This is the treat tree, it is a favorite of friends and neighbor kids during the holidays. It's debuting as a winter/Valentines day tree this year. Try not to be too jealous of my cleverness and the crocheted Mr. and Mrs. Frosty made for me by Adorable Hubbies Grandma, and the winter tree I concocted by not taking off any ornaments that weren't specifically Christmas.

Also ignore those tubs of Christmas Decorations that STILL aren't put away because in my efforts to reduce the bulkiness and clutter in my decoration boxes I became infected with seasonaltreeitis which my doctor assures me will be cured as soon as all the candy cane hearts are eaten and I have to think up ornaments for a new season.

Babies

2010-01-06T14:23:00.000-08:00

Today when I walked into the family room I found my two babies cuddled up in the chair watching Dora.

Ahhhh! Love my babies!

Top 10 for 2010

2010-01-01T15:04:00.000-08:00

Thanks Dave, although really, do you own the intellectual rights to the whole top 10 idea or did you copy it too? Hmmm a 2hours sleep and way to much sugar, thought, which will no doubt define the subject matter of this post.

Top 10 reasons I can't wait for school to start.

10. Fourteen year old dipping a plastic fork repeatedly in my scented candle.

9. Being told, "I'm STARVING!" 733 times a day.

8. Being counseled by same STARVING child that Reese's Peanut Butter Cups should be served after twisted Cheetos. "Cause it's desert don'tcha know!"

7. Taking 5, eight years old and youngers to Wall Mart on New Year's Eve.

6. Watching peoples faces as I encouraged 5, eight years old and youngers to line up like ducklings and follow Mommy Duck through Wall Mart...quacking!

5. Picking up TOYS and gloves, and boots and socks and papers and wrappers and toys and coats and twist ties and spent batteries and shirts and shoes and coats and did I mention TOYS.

4. Whining!

3. Wrestling!

2. Sugar highs!

1. Hearing, "I'M BORED!!!" 1 trillion, billion, kazillion, times a day.

How's that for a positive upbeat New Years post? Don't answer that.

Happy Freakin' New Years.

2009 Christmas Memories

2009-12-29T15:21:00.000-08:00

Some Christmas Memories

#8 only wanted his drivers license for Christmas. I dunno, he don't look happy do he?

#8 also got a stocking thanks Grandma!

Christmas morning tradition, meet in Mom and Dad's bed for prayer before going in to see what Santa left.

Old fashioned Christmas!

New family member!

I think he is loved!

The Big Fellow's been here.

What Christmas does to Dads.

The reason.