Slamming the Door in My Face

You may not be able to tell from this picture but I have the battered-woman look going on right now. My left eye has cuts underneath the lid and there's bruising below that. When I smile, it hurts and if anything comes near my face, I panic and throw up my arm. 

What happened is this: We were on the lake this weekend. I was doing some flips on my board. Kind of like this guy in the picture, except I was ten times more amazing than that. 

That is until I tried out my backflip and biffed the landing. Sadly, the board and my face got a little too close together.

Uh huh. Sure. Well, that's the official story anyway because who wants to explain that they slammed the car door in their face? Who wants to explain that they were in such a hurry at the auto body shop, transferring car seats and stuff back over into their now-fixed-after-being-rear-ended car, that they didn't realize their face was in the way when they opened the driver's door at full-on, break-face speeds? Did I mention this was in front of the auto body guy who was like, "Uh, are you ok?"

"Yeah, sure. It was nothing."

Ice pack please!

I mean, who does things like that? Idiots? No need to answer that.

The one good thing that has come out of it is that I have convinced my children that my "monster eye" is all-seeing and all-knowing.  The monster eye knows if they are being naughty. The monster eye also has special flame-shooting powers to immediately silence and singe fighting children. Now I just a drop an "I've got my monster eye on you" and they shape up lickety-split.

Ok, time for another ibuprofen.

In Disguise

The kids love to dress up and make people laugh. Their latest outfits were donned in anticipation of their cousins coming.  Emma is usually the mastermind behind the costumes. Evan's dress-up name is "Butter," short for "Butter Milkshake." I have no idea where they got that name from. Evan goes along with his sister dressing him crazy because he likes to be funny. 

Isaiah, on the other hand, does not go along with it very willingly.

Puppy Love

About a week ago, we made good on our birthday promise to Emma and let her pick out her very own puppy. She had decided on a yellow lab.

We initially wanted to go the rescue/shelter route but after the rescue organization wanted to take fingerprints and run background checks, we told them to take a hike. It was almost that bad. The skinny of the story is this: I filled out a rather lengthy online application with essay questions about our home life and intentions for a new dog. The rescue organization then called two of our family members to check up on us. After that we then received an email from them telling us that although we sounded like a wonderful family and got glowing reviews, they needed to do additional research on us by contacting two more references of non-family members who knew us when we had a dog nine years ago. I guess they didn't like it when Michael said, "My dog lives outside and I live inside." I guess that was not a satisfactory answer.

So on to better things. We found a family whose dogs had just had puppies. Emma knew just which one she wanted. Not the one that Mom thought was cute. Not the one that Dad thought liked him. But her very own "Lizzy."

Needless to say, Emma and Evan are having fun with her.

Isaiah is another story. It's like a love/hate thing with him and Lizzy. He is very intrigued and interested in her but if she comes near him, he goes a little crazy. Observe:

Ok, what kind of sick mom would think this is funny?

You Have to Be Just a Little Bit Crazy To Do This

My mom and sister visited me a couple weeks ago.  While they were here they offered to help me with any projects I had in mind. I took them up on their offer.

The first matter of business was the game room. It was a paint patch-up job of chocolate brown on all four walls. Not a bad color, but not very fitting for a kids' play room. I wasn't sure what color or colors I wanted to paint the room. I had been thinking of doing stripes in four or five different colors until MJ asked me if I knew how much work that would be.

I thought about it.

Yikes, he was right. That would be a LOT of work. So I wasn't really sure where to go next. I mentioned doing the two and two wall colors. My mom shot that down as being an artistic no-no. She was an art major so I took her word for it. She then mentioned that my aunt had once painted a room four different colors.

But who would be crazy enough to do something like that? I knew just the girl.

Here are the before pictures:

And after pictures:

I like it. It's fun and bright and airy. But now what do I do with the rest of the room? Paint is the easy part for me. Decorations, not so much. 

Anyway, thanks for the help Mom and Jen.

What Have I Done?!

We celebrated Emma's birthday this weekend with our family who came down for the holiday weekend. Emma wanted a dolphin cake, so I made some dolphins out of Rice Krispies, dipped them in white chocolate and stuck them on the cake. Um, not quite as magnificent as I imagined. Oh well,  Emma liked it.

And then Emma opened her card from Mommy and Daddy.

A coupon valid for one PUPPY! I love that face! I love that I caught it on camera. She is soooo excited about getting a dog. She has wanted one forever and has her heart set on a yellow lab. I know it will be a good thing. It will teach her empathy and responsibility. I  know that childhood doesn't last forever.  I know that having a dog will be something she will always remember. 

But AAAGHHH what have I done? Help! Any advice from those of you juggling kids and dogs? 

How to Get Poop Out of Carpet

Just in case you needed to know how to get poop out of your carpet, here are some handy tips:

*Scrape as much off with a spoon and towel.

*Don't rub it in. 

*Use 1/2 tsp. dish soap to 1 cup of water to wet spot. Then pull as much fecal matter up with a towel. 

*Vacuum.

*Repeat a lot. 

Why would I think to share this information? You have one guess.

And he looks so sweet and innocent after being scrubbed down in the bathtub! 

So while I was doing dishes in the kitchen today, Isaiah was having a bowel movement in the playroom. I'm not sure how the offensive matter managed to get smeared all over his leg and then on the carpet and on the table and on the chair and in the hallway outside of the bathroom. When I discovered him, his diaper was still firmly attached to his bottom, little help that was.

What did his older 4-year-old brother do while this was happening, you ask? Just watch it all go down. Thanks, Evan.

Like I said in an earlier post, this kid is trouble. I need a cowbell and surveillance camera on him 24-7. 

Here's Isaiah caught red-handed: 

Ice water anyone?

Need some help at the office, Dad?

How does this thing start again?

It's a good thing he's such a cutie.

Home Sweet Home...Almost

We are set to close on our new house on Monday. Hooray! We've enjoyed hanging out with family who have been gracious enough to let us live with them. But we must say we are excited to have a home again.

Wanted For Causing Mayhem

"Zay"

Also answers to: Grabby Hands, Stinky Pants, Buddy Man

Have you seen this kid? If so, beware! This is one dangerous little boy. If he tries to give you his flirty smile and endearing giggle, don't be taken in. Given the chance, this kid will wreak havoc faster than a herd of buffalos stampeding through your house.

What? You've never had buffalos stampede through your house? Alright, use your imagination on this one. One sunny morning you open your front door to get your newspaper or go for a run or take the kids to school when suddenly three dozen buffalos run inside. What happens next? Yes, you are right. They will not be tidy and polite and remember to wipe their feet. No, they will leave dirty footprints all over the place. They might break your vases and TV and electronic equipment. They might knock over the table and eat all your breakfast and breakfast dishes. They might gore your couches or your kids. In short, they will leave the place a disaster.

I'm not saying this kid is on the same destructive level as buffalos. Not yet. But he is working on it. Fast.

Here are just a few of the felonies this kid is wanted for in two cities:

1. Breaking Grandma's Christ in Gethsemane statue (Who would have thought he could pull that table down all by himself and send said statue flying down the stairs, two inches out of Mom's reach who was already trying to catch the table and the baby?)

2. Dispensing hand soap on his aunt's carpet (Which was immediately steam cleaned by MJ who suddenly turned domestic and ended up steam cleaning and spot treating the rest of the room for the next three hours. Go figure.)

3. Knocking his Mom in the face with a very heavy keyboard this morning (No comment. Grrrrrr.)

I don't know what it is about this kid. He seems much more destructive than his older siblings were at that age. Is it his own mischievous nature? Is it the fact that as a third child he is the beneficiary of less parental supervision? Or is he simply aided and abetted by his older sister and brother who often leave the tools of destruction right in his path?

Any advice for what to do with a kid like this?

Thoughts From the Move

It is official. We have moved out of our house and are now officially homeless, dependent on the kindness of family to house us. So now that I am not running around like a crazy woman, I can share a few thoughts and stories from the whole moving experience.

My Apologies

First of all, I must apologize to all of my friends who have moved. Why was I not there to help you? I am so sorry. I just never knew. I never fully realized the pain that is moving. Holy schmoley! And moving with three kids helping you and one husband not helping....much....is like eating cardboard. Except eating cardboard is more fun.

Packing + Being Passionate About Recycling= Slow Moving

Seriously. It would have gone a lot faster if I had no compunction whatsoever about throwing everything in the trash. But oh no, not me. I have to be OCD about it.

Playing Queen of the World Is Only Fun Until Someone Sees You

Being OCD about recycling means an overflowing recycling cart. And an overflowing recycling cart leads to someone whose name I will not mention climbing on top of her cart and jumping on top of it, trying to compress the recyclables while neighbors walking dogs pass by. Such a great moment.

Dumpster Diving Can Save You $$$

I got most of my moving boxes from people off of Craig's List. However, I was still in need of a box big enough to fit a mirror and some pictures. I was in a time crunch. So I did something I never thought I would do: I stopped at a box store. Here's how it went down:

Box Store Person: Hi, can I help you?

Me: Yeah, I'm looking for a box for framed art and mirrors.

Box Store Person: Oh, we have one right here.

Me: (after seeing that it cost $19) Is this the price for one or for a pack of boxes?

Box Store Person: That's just for one.

Me: (incredulous and huffy) There's no way I'm going to pay $19 for one box. How about I just drive around back and look through your trash?

Ok, not really. Not that last part. But as I was driving away I did notice the dumpsters behind the box store and a certain large cardboard recycling dumpster with the most perfect giant HDTV box. What goes around comes around baby. I think it was karma. So I returned later that day in my super stealthy minivan and fished out that box right under the nose of Mr. Box Store Person while giggling maniacally, "Hee Hee. Hee Hee Haw Haw. Hee Hee Hee Ho Ho Haw Haw."

I gleefully presented my find to MJ. He just kind of shook his head and said, "Kasey, we can afford boxes." But it's not whether we can afford it or not. It's the principle of it. Selling one box for $19 is a ripoff, especially when people throw that same thing out every day.

Where There's Smoke, There's Your Refrigerator

Only when you are insanely busy with packing will your refrigerator decide to burn up its overload relay device and smoke out your house. While I was taking the kids to school, I got a call from MJ saying that our house was filled with smoke. Naturally, he thought it was caused by something I had packed in one of the boxes. When I finally persuaded him that I had not packed flammables in any of the boxes, he started looking for a new culprit. The toaster oven, an appliance he has always had it out for because it unfailingly delivers him burned toast each time he uses it, was put in the giveaway pile.

But the toaster oven was falsely accused. The true culprit of the smoke was detected by my own sophisticated sleuthing abilities. You see, only a highly trained specialist would think to test the consistency of ice cream in the middle of the afternoon. How would I think to open the ice cream carton? It's all part of the job folks. You have to know these things when your other job is with the CIA.

So I was happy to rescue the toaster oven from the giveaway pile. MJ, not so much.

Well, farewell Baxter! You were a good house for our family.

Is This Normal Baby Behavior?

Zay seems to have a strange predilection for women's undergarments. 

I thought this was a little bit weird.  Is this just part of raising boys? Heaven help me.

My Husband Might Leave Me Over This

What do you think? Should I go for it? I've been mulling this haircut over for months. I found a fun site where you can upload your picture and then try on new hairstyles. 

 I haven't had my hair really really short for years. Probably not since the time I was twelvish and some man at the airport thought I was a boy. That wasn't much positive reinforcement. 

The problem is one. MJ.  He only likes long hair.  Do I dare? 

You Can't Take It With You When You Go

As I was packing up my house tonight, I thought of the old cliche: You can't take it with you when you go--supposing, I imagine, that when you pass on to your reward, you can't take any earthly possessions with you. To this I say, "Thank heavens for that!

Packing and clearing out closets and drawers lately has made me wonder how in the world I have accumulated so much stuff. I've always thought I was pretty good at getting rid of things but the masses of boxes in my living room tell otherwise.  Being free of all the junk is definitely one positive for dying. Honestly, I think when a person dies they get the better deal. They get to go on up to the spirit* in the sky (as the song goes) while the rest of us down here are left to sort through and pack up all the junk they left behind. 

So to all my family and friends, I'm going to make it easy on you. When I pass on, just put all my stuff in one big pile and burn it. See, how easy is that? Pick out anything you want and then just torch it.  Have a bonfire party and roast some brats and marshmallows and I'll be with you in spirit.

Ok, ok there might be a few things I don't want to be rid of just yet. I probably should be rid of them so I could be more productive but where would the joy in life be?  What things are on your must-have list? Mine include my computer, my bed, my DVD of North and South. Yes, I was re-watching it again today when I should have been packing. Actually, I was watching Katie's DVD because mine is packed. I must admit I am once again in love with Mr. Thornton. Sigh.

Anyway, this talk of packing has probably prompted some questions.  Here are the answers:

Yes, we sold our house.

We have to be out of it in about a week.

No, we don't have a new house to move into. Each time we put an offer in, the sellers refuse to sell it to us.

We might get an apartment or we might travel for a while. We've been talking about parents' houses, Florida, Mexico, the British isles.

Well, that's about it. Yes, this has definitely been another strange and random post brought to you by My Other Job Is With the CIA.

*For you gospel scholars, yes, yes I know that the Spirit in the sky is technically not a spirit but has a glorified body of flesh and bones. But that would kind of ruin the catchiness of the song, don't you think? Hmmm, was this how false doctrine crept into the early Church?  To make the pop music of the day easier to sing?

Barfing Is Ruining My Social Life

Michael was out of town last week on a biking trip in West Texas. It was me and the kiddos 24-7 with no changing of the guard. I wasn't too worried about it. He travels fairly often and since I'm a fairly independent gal, it's not that big of a deal. Usually, the kids and I eat cereal for dinner and watch movies in his office. Then I stay up late painting rooms in my house. This time around I had all sorts of social events lined up.

The first event was enrichment on Thursday night with free babysitting--a whole uninterrupted hour to chat with all my favorite girls. I rushed straight over from Emma's soccer practice and dropped my two older kids off in the nursery. Hurrah! I planned to send Isaiah in there as soon as I had fed him some dinner.

When I got into the cultural hall, everyone was already eating or waiting in line to get their food. Since I was supposed to pass out some visiting teaching surveys that night, Isaiah and I went from table to table passing out papers. That's when Isaiah decided to make the evening truly memorable.

As I was counting to see how many papers I needed to pass down the row, Isaiah let loose with the wet and chunky. All over me and the papers. I turned quickly away from the dinner table. Isaiah still had more to go so I crouched down and tried catching the rest of it in my skirt. I don't exactly know why I decided to catch it on myself. It sounds kind of silly now. But I think I was hoping nobody would notice that my baby was barfing all over me during the Relief Society dinner. I was hoping there would be no mess or disruption and I could just quietly escape. It's not really the thing you want to be known for. Oh, you're the lady whose baby barfed all over her last week.

I was noticed of course. My friend asked me if I was ok.

"Sure," I said. "But we're going to need to make a few more copies of those surveys." I didn't think anybody would want to fill them out at that point.

So I went home straightaway. After something like that, there's only one thing you can do: go home. I suppose I could have washed my shirt out in the sink, but Relief Society dinners are not really the place for wet T-shirt contests.

Well, by the time Saturday rolled around, all the kids had been barf-free for over 24 hours. My sister-in-law was going to watch all three kiddos while I attended a wedding in San Antonio. I was excited to go. I was looking forward to visiting with extended family.

That is, yes, until....Evan, a.k.a. "The Fire Hose," decided to unload in his bedroom. Really, is it too much to ask to make it into the toilet, or the sink instead of all over the dresser and wall and bed and carpet? Just wondering, that's all.

At least it wasn't all over me this time. So much for my social life.

Too Good For Birthday Cake

Isaiah just turned one.  He was not so impressed.  We stood around with cameras ready as he stared down his slice of birthday cake.  He looked at it suspiciously.  He didn't break a smile. When I finally tried to feed him a little bite, he cried and shook his head back and forth. Seriously, that picture is him at his birthday happiest.

I think he could sense that he was getting third-child treatment and decided to act accordingly. "So you think you can get away with no birthday presents, Mom? I'll show you. I'm not eating any of this homemade cake.  And next year you better have this party catered with a bounce house, pony and thirty of my buddies or you won't get one single happy face from me."

The Tooth Fairy Pays Us a Return Visit

Emma lost her first tooth after weeks of showing us how much she could wiggle it.  She was so excited to put it under her pillow for the tooth fairy.  Thankfully, she didn't remember the last time the tooth fairy visited our house.  You see, the tooth fairy has been to our house before.

Someone--I won't mention my name--was fed up with cavities and candy a couple years back. Emma had gone to a birthday party and come home loaded with junk in her goody bag. This came right on the heels of an expensive dental visit.  So after finding Emma sneaking candy between meals, this person came upon the bright idea of having the tooth fairy come and exchange the candy for a crisp dollar bill.  After all, Emma loves money just as much as candy. Right?

Wrong. Emma does not love money just as much as candy.  She loves candy more.  The results were catastrophic.  Emma was enraged.  There were tears and screaming and death threats against the tooth fairy.  The tooth fairy was enemy number one at our house.

But fortunately, time has erased this particular memory.  Welcome back Tooth Fairy.  

My Theatre Dates

As I've posted about before, the kids are huge fans of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.  So when I found out it was at the Majestic Theatre in San Antonio, I jumped at the chance to take them. It was a fun evening.  We had dinner along the Riverwalk and then went to the theatre.  The kids loved it.  I need to be more diligent about planning special events with these guys

Why Didn't I Think of That?

I love the resourcefulness of kids. Who would have thought that these handy dandy gel pads I've been keeping around in the hall closet in case I ever have to nurse a new baby could be used on your hands to make them stick to walls like Spiderman? Duh, why didn't I think of that? 

At least I know now that there is lots of brain activity going on in that little Evan head. I was beginning to wonder. How many million billion times can you ask one little boy to get dressed, put his shoes on, make his bed, etc., etc.?

A Long Indulgent Stroll Down Memory Lane Involving Love Letters, Enchiladas and Wesson Oil

Back in the day when I was in college, I used to do a lot of crazy and silly pranks. I know you would never believe this of me, being the very straight-laced and serious individual that I am now in my maturity. One particular thing I did was write psycho-chick love letters for one of my favorite roomies Shelley to this guy named Dale. Shelley worked with Dale at BYU Independent Study. Dale also happened to be in the same ward and apartment complex.

Shelley didn't have a crush on Dale. In fact, Shelley didn't even ask me to write love letters for her. I did it all out of the goodness of my heart because that's just the kind of person I am. I even helped her lock Dale in his apartment with a rope made out of nylons known as the lasso of love.

(Thankfully Shelley still loves me, as evidenced by the fact that she is still willing to be my friend some ten years later. See, here we are this summer in Park City with our other roomies Angela and Becky.)

As you may surmise, it was all a big joke really. And Dale was a good sport about receiving crazy letters. One of my favorite lines from a love letter we sent him went something like this:

I'm going to stand outside your apartment,

Pour Wesson oil in my hair

And light it on fire

Because I want to be your torch burning bright.



Brilliant stuff, eh?

So I had reason to remember this memorable line recently when I was making chicken enchiladas for my sister-in-law Melinda. Melinda was celebrating her birthday and had requested this dish for her birthday dinner. The enchilada recipe calls for frying each tortilla in oil for a few seconds. It's a pain and it's fattening, but hey it was for a good cause.

I finished frying the tortillas, laid out my enchilada assembly line and got to work. I had finished one 9x13 pan when all of sudden I smelled something really stinky. Something that smelled like burning oil. Yes, I had forgotten to turn the stove off. As I turned around, clouds of Wesson oil smoke started billowing up around me. Heroically, I managed to turn off the stove and take the offending pan outside. The CIA training comes in handy in emergency situations.

That, of course, was not the end of it. No, that hideous odor of cooking oil hung around in the kitchen like an unwelcome house guest. The kitchen stunk of it. My clothes, my hair all smelled like Mr. Wesson. Then Mr. Wesson went upstairs and got into all the bedrooms and bathrooms and nooks and crannies. Mr. Wesson even had the nerve to stick around all week long.

Mr. Wesson's constant presence in my life made me remember that old love letter I wrote so long ago. I started thinking about the whole image of Wesson oil burning in one's hair. Now with the practical knowledge of what Wesson oil on fire really smells like, I realize that it would not be at all romantic to have burning Wesson oil in your hair. No. It would be really stinky.

But maybe if it were lavender oil, it would be quite nice. What do you think?

Just a little stroll down memory lane for me this week. Yes, I do all of this for my own amusement. It's cheaper than therapy.

This Is How Addiction Begins

I was digitizing my old photos today and couldn't pass this one up. 

Yes, this would be me when I was 4 years old.  The chubby-faced, straggly-haired little girl on the left holding a triple-scoop ice cream cone. Did I say three scoops?! Holy cow! What 4-year-old can eat that much ice cream? Me, I guess. 

Look at my sis Jen. She's much more moderate in her ice cream indulgence with just one scoop. Of course, she was only 2 then and couldn't talk. I bet if she could have talked, she would have said something like, "Hey, give me more ice cream! Why does Chubby get 3 scoops and I only get a lousy one scoop? Cheapskates."

So this is how it all began. For those of you who know me, you know that I am constantly trying to go "off-sugar."  Moderation does not exist for me. One cookie leads to a dozen cookies. There are simply no brakes in my car.  It is all or nothing for me.  And sadly, I do much better at all than nothing. 

Not that I'm blaming this on the wonderful parental unit that got me hooked in the first place. Nope. I'm just saying, "Wow, look how early it began in my life." Nice, 70's outfit too, huh? Groovy, man.

Static Power

My kids have discovered static electricity.  And being the smart kids that they are, they soon realized they could use it as a weapon.  

The funniest thing is to watch them gather up their electrons.  They lie on the trampoline, waving theirs arms and legs back and forth like they're doing snow angels.  How they giggle when they sneak up behind you and give you a first-rate shock.  Michael took this shot of Emma above, charged up and ready to attack.

Multi-tasking

As a mom, I think multi-tasking is my middle name. So here's my new favorite way to get two jobs done at once:

I get the dishes done and Isaiah gets a bath.  I'm happy.  He's happy. And we conserve water. What's not to like?

A Little Inappropriate Humor

I picked up some new bibs for Isaiah at Walmart the other day.  They have a bunch of funny sayings on them.  One of them says "Ladies Man."   

Now my kids do not know what a ladies' man is.  But they think it sounds so funny.

So this morning at breakfast, Michael picked up that bib and said, "Ladies' man!  Who's the ladies' man?" 

Evan grabbed the bib and put it on and said, "I'm the ladies' man."

Then he noticed that it was dirty.  Isaiah must have gotten bananas or pears on it. Evan then very astutely put two facts together.  The bib was dirty.  The bib said Ladies Man.

He started chanting, "I'm the dirty ladies' man.  I'm the dirty ladies' man."

Michael and I just lost it. It was so innocent and yet so hilarious.  

Dumb Happens

Yes, it does. And it happens to me more frequently than the average person. I'm not quite sure what is happening to my brain. I used to consider myself a reasonably intelligent person. No matter. It all helps me stay grounded and not get all stuck-up smarty pants on you.

Here's tonight's random list of decisions I have made without consulting my brain:

1. Buying expensive consumer electronics.

From now on, I'd much rather just buy crappy stuff. Because when it breaks down, you don't care. I bought a VCR from Goodwill and although, it doesn't rewind very well, I don't mind. I paid $5 for it and am very satisfied with my purchase.

2. Buying white couches.

Ok, I did buy these before I had kids. But really, did I think I would never have kids? The problem with white couches is that I don't want anybody to sit on them. Seriously, get off those couches. Don't get food anywhere in a 10-foot perimeter of them. Don't jump on them. Don't touch them. They are not for sitting--just for looking at. Move on people.

3. Thinking I could lose the last ten pounds by only consuming water with lemon juice.

This was in high school and I only tried it for maybe an hour.

4. Thinking I could paper mache a Greek statue using a vacuum cleaner and an empty milk container.

In college. With no paper mache experience. See, the great thing about going to BYU is that we don't have to be drunk to do silly stupid things.

5. Buying a house next to a train.

Because if you want to sell it one day, no one will ever want to buy it. People looking for homes are so picky these days. I mean, there are a million things that are far worse to live near than a train...such as....um, a dump, a nuclear testing facility, a minefield, a gun range, a strip joint, a chicken processing plant. I could just go on and on, you know.

So there you have it: decision-making without using one single brainwave (I'll call it part 2 of my soon-to-be patented pride-sucker method.)

What Are Those Little Minds Thinking?

I love this picture. My mother-in-law took it at Thanksgiving. My nephew Peter is on the left and Isaiah is on the right.  These two little boys are the closest cousins in age yet at about three months apart. They look so serious as they study each other.  What are these precious little guys thinking as they take each other in? If only we knew.

Texas Pride

Whenever Emma visits Utah, the very first place she wants to go is the Peppermint Place, a small candy store down in Alpine.  My dad lets her have free run of the store to pick out whatever she wants.  So today we bundled up the kids in heavy coats,  loaded them in the car and sent them off with Grandpa.

After the Peppemint Place, my dad treated them to lunch at McDonalds and then took them along while he ran an errand up at the University of Utah.  My dad is a professor there and is friendly with a lot of the football players.  Many of them are or have been students in his class. Today he had to pick up some signed footballs from one of the players.

When he and the kids walked into the Utes' athletic training facility, most of the players were eating lunch.  The first person they talked to was Brian Johnson, Utah's quarterback. He was super nice to the kids. 

Next they chatted with Morgan Scalley, one of the Utah coaches. He started joking around with the kids and being really friendly with them. At this point, Emma who had been a little intimidated at first by these very large guys, started warming up. 

Boy, did she ever.

By the time Louie Sakoda, Terrel Cole and Mike Wright came over, Emma was feeling pretty confident. Confident enough to unzip her coat and rile up some Utes:

Yep, that's my little Texan. She walks into a Ute den and shows off her Texas pride. 

Seriously though, I did not tell her to wear her Colt McCoy jersey.  I didn't even know she was going to be hanging out with the Utah football team when I sent her off with my dad this morning.

But if I had known, burnt orange isn't the color I would have suggested she wear. Nope. I think I would have picked out something more in the neighborhood of royal blue. With a big beautiful Y in the middle. 

Of course she might not have made it out alive with that on. So I guess burnt orange was the better choice after all.

P.S. As much as it pains me, I must give credit where credit is due. The Utah players were all very nice and friendly.  Ouch.

Star Wars Sports Allegiances

There are two things that my kids are crazy about these days. The first is Star Wars. We showed them the original episodes this year and boy, are they hooked. They now ask to watch them all the time. And with at least three light sabers at our house, constant battles between the good and dark side of the force are inevitable. Additionally, the color green is now considered good (that's the color of Luke's light saber) and red is bad (Darth Vader's light saber color).

The second thing that my kids love is University of Texas football. Since we've been in Austin, Michael has become a Longhorns fan. Emma especially has followed suit and is a fiercely loyal and rabid fan. And as befits a Texas fan, anything Oklahoma is verboten.

My dad loves to tease the kids and has found that calling them up and singing, "Oklahoma is ok" gets a reaction real quick.

These kids work themselves up into a frenzy shouting into the phone, "Oklahoma is not ok! Oklahoma is not ok!"

I think the whole Texas loyalty thing is fun, but I did start to become concerned when the kids were completely clueless about my alma mater, BYU.

BYU who? Hook 'em Horns man!

So I mentioned to my dad that we were going to have to do an indoctrination trip down to Provo this year and get them some BYU gear. He and my sister Becky concocted up some more fun to greet the kids upon their arrival to Utah for Christmas.

Here are the Star Wars pictures Becky "found" to show the kids. I just had to share.

This one is my personal favorite:

This next picture was a nod to my parents, who are both Utes. I love them anyway.

Michael told me I must tell La Nan that this next one is copyrighted. :>

And here's the final classic. The kids were foaming at the mouth when they saw this one.

Emma was pretty quick though on the comeback for the Darth Vader picture. After protesting up and down that this picture was NEVER in the movie, she finally said, "Well, that was when he turned back to the good side."

Musings on Men in Tights

I took Emma to the Austin Children's Nutcracker tonight.  It's performed at the Dougherty Arts Center, which is a really small venue.  Most of the show is put on by kids in high school or younger with a couple of adult guest artists. It was perfect for taking a 6-year-old.  She was so excited to go and it was really nice to spend some time together, just the two of us.

That girl is a talker though.  She kept whispering comments and questions throughout the performance. Her funniest question, which she asked again while we were driving home, was, "Mommy, why was that guy wearing tights?" 

Obviously, this was Emma's first exposure to men in tights. In her mind, only girls wear tights, just like only girls wear nail polish and makeup.  What was this man who was older than her daddy for goodness sake doing dancing around on the stage in white tights? Why didn't he put some pants on?

I tried explaining that that's just how it works in the ballet world and that tights probably help with freedom of movement. Emma wasn't having any of it.

Really though, she has a point. It's kind of like one of those moments when you're talking to someone who has parsley in their teeth or a zit on their chin and you're trying your best to look at them without looking at the offending item but you feel really awkward and uncomfortable because you're trying so hard to pretend you don't notice. 

And honestly, white tights? Is that necessary?

I'm sure somebody somewhere finds white tighties attractive, right? Like the costume director, perhaps?  Anyone else? Bueller?  Bueller?

As for myself, if I could call in the costume choices,  I think I'd go with more of the three-piece look:

Oh yeah. You knew I'd find a way to work a picture of James Bond back onto my blog. Now I know you're thinking that tights are necessary for all of the pirouettes and grand jetes and that a suit just wouldn't translate to the stage. However, have you seen all of the butt Bond kicks while wearing these duds? There's some serious athleticism going on to rival any fancy ballet moves. And he gets it all done without any rips in his seams and while looking fabulous the whole time. 

Just a suggestion. It might improve ticket sales.

Anniversary!

Happy anniversary to my sweetie! Eight years ago I lucked out on getting this great guy to marry me.  We've had a wonderful adventure and now here we are three children later. 

And still living in our dream home next to the train. We just love that train so much.

So while today marks 8 years of wedded bliss for us, we've actually known each other for 16 years.  We met our freshman year at BYU and it took poor Michael 8 years to finally get me to commit. It's a looong story.  Actually two long stories depending on who you ask.  Two very different long stories.  Mine is, of course, the more accurate of the two in case you should ever ask.

So happy 8th MJ! Love ya. 

P.S. Maybe we should take a few more pictures together during the next 8 years. This is seriously about all I could find:

Also on December 8th...

December 8th is also my friend Kathy's birthday. Happy Birthday Kath!  So Kathy and I go way way way back.  So far back I'm not sure when exactly we started hanging out.  Were we 11, 12, 13? My memory is sharp as a tack, as you can tell.

So I'm taking a risk here posting her picture. She used to be very anti-pictures-of-herself. I hope she likes this one. Because unlike me, Kathy has a very good memory.  And if there's anyone who has the goods on me, this girl is one of them. I mean, not that there would be any stories to reveal because I was, of course, always quiet, angelic and perfectly behaved. 

I would never have pranked anyone.  I would never have had food cart races through the Church building halls. I would never have toilet papered or ding dong ditched or crank called anyone. I would never have been a saboteur at girls' camp or youth conference.  I would never have treated any boys rather badly.  I would never have snuck out of ______  or _______ on more than one occasion to go to _________ or ___________. (Hey, my parents occasionally read this.) 

So Happy Birthday Wong Tong!

Goodbye old friend

Michael's eel jumped out of the tank the other day.  No one was around to rescue him.  He was at least five years old or so in human years.  Most people thought he was gross and creepy and slimy. But underneath all that, I think he had a beautiful soul.  

Farewell, old friend. I'm sorry I wasn't there to rescue with the salad tongs this time.