White Elephant

For those of you who don't visit Pick Your Poison's page yet, I gotta say, you're missing out. Spammon's got it going on. Anyway, he started a blogger's white elephant gift exchange and we're supposed to post them on our pages today.

Don't be fooled by the shape of the box...
A shirt or a book, this gift is not.
I heard as you sat on Santa's lap for your wish-
All you want for Christmas is a nice, new fish.
I can't tell you anymore of what this gift's about,
I just hope you enjoy your beautiful new trout.

Rock It!

I'm getting a wee bit sluggish on my treadmill. For the last couple of months I've been catching up on all my DVR'd shows to keep me motivated but it's starting to lose it's appeal. I'm not the most coordinated of runners (or, sadly, walkers for that matter...if I was home with a camera I would totally take a pic of all my running/walking battle scars to prove it) and therefore a little hesitant to take to the dark, icy roads just yet. But if I'm going to be able to stand my dreadmill for very much longer, I'm going to need a serious boost. I decided I need a whole new mix for the iPod and I'm going for some oldies but goodies. While there are days that a girl's just gotta have her Akon and Flavor Flav (NOT), I feel the need to get back to my roots.


So far, I've got:
Poison: Nothin' But A Good Time and Unskinny Bop
Def Leppard: Pour Some Sugar On Me
AC/DC: You Shook Me All Night Long and Back in Black




However, it's now 3:48am and I'm drawing a SERIOUS blank. Please help me remember what songs I HAVE to have on my new running mix.

As a token of my appreciation, I'll even burn a copy for anyone who wants one. (But only if you contribute legitimate "runnin' rock". If you send me Milli Vanilli, you're off the list.)

Mommy-Self-Confidence and Other Fun Mommy Stuff

I wasn't a particularly easy child. I was the oldest, the rebel, the one with MAJOR attitude, the trial. I tested my parents at every corner until the day I got married. I'm sure that's one of the reasons my dad let me do everything he did...just to get me out of the house. He let me move to the Bay Area with my best friend when I was 18 (and only half way through my senior year in high school) to sell pest control door to door. He was more than happy to send me to Russia for six months after that to teach English although I never made it because I got engaged to Hubby, whom I'd met while selling pest control. To be fair, he warned Hubby about marrying me, I think so he could have a clear conscience, but then pushed me out the door and out of his house forever when Hubby didn't listen.

That all being said, he's always warned me that my time would come; that God is just and would never put him through all that without some kind of reward in the end. You would think that as a righteous father, seeing me all grown up with a happy family of my own would be reward enough. Oh no. Watching me raise my daughter, on the other hand, has brought him tremendous joy. Joy that radiates from every pore. (Joy that I'd like to smack right off his face every time he witnesses a choice moment with my daughter.)

Anyway, this treasure of mine (that I, for the life of me, cannot remember why I wanted so bad) has outdone herself again. The last couple of days she's been mumbling a new phrase. A phrase that up until now has been foreign to this household; a phrase I am certain she doesn't really understand but insists on using nonetheless. Case in point, a couple of days ago:
"#4, it's time for a nap."
"I ate you, mommy."
"What?" (she ate me?)
Louder: "I ATE you, mommy."
Did she really just mean what I think she meant? She's TWO for crying out loud. So I test the waters for the next couple of days.
"#4, let's get in the bath."
"I ate you, mommy."
"#4, it's time to do your hair."
"I ATE you, mommy."
"#4, if you say that again I'm gonna smack your bum."
Quieter and slower, for effect, I guess, "I ate you , mommy."
Light little tap on the butt from me and then...
"I ATE YOU MOMMY! (sobs) I want my Daddy!"
"If you can find him, you can have him." (Heehee...he's off at work where all the perfect parents hide until the end of the day when they can come home and rescue the poor abused children.)

I haven't shared this jewel with my dad, yet. I'm waiting for Christmas. It will be his favorite gift.

#3 gave me another Mommy-Self-Confidence boost today as well. We were getting dressed for pre-school and I had brought down an undershirt to wear, well, under his shirt. We fought about this little detail for 5 whole minutes as he insisted on wearing it over his shirt. He wears undershirts to bed, afterall, without anything else over them. He finally conceded but not before yelling, "You don't know ANYFING, mom."
No kidding, kid.

Now for some happier news. #2 is the shortest in his class. It's official. They all lined up and measured for class pictures so the taller kids would not hide the shrimps. He's the shrimpiest of the shrimps. Even the shrimpiest girl beat him that day. I tried to tell him she was probably wearing thick soled boots or something but he didn't buy it.
"Nope. Sorry, mom."
"But you're the fastest."
"Yeah." (big grin) "I am the fastest."
Being short has it's advantages.

#2 was also the last kid in his class to lose a tooth. We're half way through second grade and he barely lost his first tooth about 2 months ago. But happy day...a couple of days ago he lost his second tooth. Thanks to a swift fist from his older brother (not sure I'm so happy about that one, although I'm told it was an accident) he is officially toothless for Christmas. And we couldn't be happier about it. Hubby was wise enough to click a picture of the snaggle tooth right after fist contact and right before extraction. I thought I'd post it here. #2 is quite proud of his gnarly grin.



#2 is a poser by nature. In honor of his "Toothless for Christmas Status", I will post a couple
more pictures of his sweetness.

Even at the tender age of 3, the kid loved the camera. Especially when wearing a plastic bum.

Boredom at work = Mutant Christmas Projects

It's a general rule at work that you never say things like "It's been slow today" or "Mighty quiet around here" or yadda, yadda, yadda. But, my gosh...it's been slow lately. (I want all of you to know that by saying/typing this outloud I have just cursed myself with 17 rollover accidents, 3 heart attacks, 4 broken bones and 47 "I've had a cold for 6 weeks but tonight, at 2am, I decided to come in and be seen.")
Anyway, on Thursday night we were slow/quiet/bored and got looking at fun Christmas project. I was showing the girls the baggie wreaths and one of our doctors said something about the cool "plastic cup globe light" that his neighbors gave him last year. Of course, we had to see it, so we googled it for hours (it was only about 6.5 minutes but when you're bored it feels like that long) and decided we would each make a couple to take home and surprise our kids with. We sent the most bored nurse out to gather supplies (OK, she wasn't the most bored...she's the only one with access to a dremel tool so she won by default) and anxiously awaited project hour.
She returned slightly less successful than we'd hoped. The project calls for 9 oz. cups but apparently everyone in town decided to make the same ball because there wasn't a single package of 9 oz. cups in all of Wal-Mart. She's quite the crafty thing so she settled on what had to be 2 oz. cups and just figured our balls would be smaller than the average balls. (heehee...I have to laugh a little at that one)
The original directions we were following said to connect 9 cups in a circle for the first layer. Our first layer ended up with something like 24 cups. Seeing as how the supply list had only called for 50 lights for the ENTIRE ball, we knew we were in trouble. We kept plugging away and ended up with what looked an awful lot like this sweet lamp my mom had in the late 70's.
Long story short, our lamp mutated. It's officially 4 times bigger than it was supposed to be (we used 200 cups and 200 lights) and therefore bigger than any one of us wanted hanging in our homes (we have standards, ya know?).
It is now the Nurse's Station Ball. It's big, a little awkward, looks more like an egg than a ball and required some serious reinforcing to ensure it didn't pull the ceiling tiles off but I LOVE IT. I'm so proud of my little 3am project even though everyone that walks by it looks at it with a little sideways glance, unsure of what, exactly, it's supposed to be.
Please enjoy my pics and THEN take a look at this website to see how cute they could be. There's even instructions (although we didn't use the soldering iron or whatever it is they suggest, we just stapled the cups together - perhaps another factor in the mutany???).

My odd shaped, tenticle growing sparkle ball. (Notice the 'N' in tenticle, not 'S')

Me, so very proud of my tenticle growing sparkle ball.

By the way, I thought I should mention, that due to the making of this entry, I have had elbow pain, hand lacerations, chest pain and croup walk through my door at an otherwise "dead" hour. I'm telling you, the curse lives.

79 Today

Today would have been my Grandpa's 79th birthday. I haven't posted in a couple of days and had several other ideas for posts until midnight when I instantly realized today was his birthday. Grandpa died a year ago July 1st. I feel pretty lucky to say he was the first person I ever lost that really devastated me.

Growing up, Grandpa lived in the same town as us so we saw him regularly. I had two cousins older than me but they were military brats so they never lived close, making me the first grandkid Grandpa really spent time with. I was the favorite. I spent my whole life knowing I was his favorite. He made no bones about hiding it from anyone. He was a little rough around the edges, stubborn and cynical, and we got along better than anyone. I think I understood him from the time I was itty bitty. We just had that connection.

Grandpa was divorced and loved his space. He and my grandma split when my dad was 14 and he lived alone after that. He tried marriage once when I was in elementary school but I think it lasted less than a year. He was way too independant to ever sacrifice for a woman again. That being said, he let us intrude any time we wanted. He had a swimming pool (TOO COOL!) that we spent our summers at. He had an endless supply of Sprite in his fridge for us (only place I ever got soda as a kid). He let us ride pillows down his stairs (we always lived in one-story houses so stairs were the best) and let us dance in front of his projection TV (it was the biggest screen I'd ever seen outside a movie theater). Grandpa was the coolest.

Grandpa bought me my first Cabbage Patch Kid when my parents said they were overrated and overpriced. He bought me my first big boombox when being cool was more important to me than anything. He let me have sleepovers at his house when I knew I couldn't spend one more minute at home. He paid off two different cars for me, financed my first house and never quit asking if I needed help with anything.

Grandpa taught me (inadvertantly) that "shit, damn and hell" are not swear words. He gave me my first taste of alcohol hoping it would gross me out enough to sway me from ever drinking again (not so effective). The smell of cigarette smoke still gives me warm and fuzzies and reminds me of Grandpa, who smoked until he had to choose between cigarettes and breathing. He hated every boy I ever dated, most especially the one I chose to marry, and warned me about the dangers of sex (it leads to babies). Grandpa taught me that someone can believe and act very differently from you but still be an amazing person.

Right before I started high school, Grandpa sold the business. We moved to Utah and he moved to a secluded little town in Oregon. It was one of the hardest times of my life. I hated living so far from him and called him all the time. Every summer we would spend a week with him and till I die, it will be one of my all-time favorite memories. He brought me out a month before my wedding so we could have one last one-on-one and I bawled when I left...knowing our relationship would change a little bit.

My kids still talk about our vacations to Oregon. Grandpa paid to bring us out every year until my Dad insisted on footing the bill. Last year was the first year we didn't go out. He died before we could get there. Grandpa insisted on being cremated and refused any kind of funeral so my parents were the only ones who went out after he died. I struggled with that until this summer when my cousin got married and my sister, dad and I went out to the wedding. I got to see where his ashes had been spread and got to touch the time capsule my uncle made with some of his things. It's the closest thing to a gravesite that we have. I'm not sure if I'll ever get back there but I'm grateful that I finally had that closure.

Grandpa and I talked once a month until he died. He had an 800 number for me so I wouldn't have to pay but I never used it. We would laugh and joke like old friends, never like a 70 year old and a 20 year old. I'd always end the conversation with an "I love you" and he'd always say "You, too" because if he said any more than that he'd cry (and Grandpa didn't cry).

A year or two before he died he promised me he would come back and visit me when he died. He said it as a joke because he always said he wasn't sure there was a heaven or an afterlife anyway. I'd tease him that he was in for the shock of his life because Joseph Smith was going to be standing there with an autographed copy of the Book of Mormon and my Grandma (who died a few years after their divorce) would be there with a couple of missionaries waiting to pounce on him. The night he died, I laid awake all night waiting for him to come, but he still hasn't. I'm hoping it's because he's just too dang busy; although, every now and then, I pray and ask God to tell him hello. I'm hoping he's getting my messages.

Humorless Artichoke Dip

Although I have not had any major disasters or mishaps in my life in the last 12 hours or so, I am still recuperating from recent events (see previous post) and therefore short on wit. (As in witty, wit's end, etc.)
But in an effort to brighten someone else's day today (I'm all about thinkin' of others, after all...) I will post one of my favorite (especially this time of year) recipes.
(Please do not shudder or guffaw ((really always wanted to use that word)) at the thought of a tricky or complicated recipe. This is coming from someone whose idea of "cooking" involves a box of Hamburger Helper and a can of corn.)
This recipe is best made in a large pot on the stove, then transferred to a crock pot for serving.

• Start by sauteing a family size bag of chopped, frozen spinach in butter and garlic. You can also add shallots, but seeing as how I didn't even know what a shallot was when I first started making this stuff, I never have and I like it just the same.

• Add two cans of artichoke hearts. (I like to chop mine before I add them as they're pretty large.)

• When the green stuff is warm, add a package of soft garlic and herb cheese. I prefer Alouette brand. (I've found it at Wal-Mart and Albertsons.)
  

• Stir it all together until the cheese is melted. Add a pint of heavy whipping cream and a 6 oz. bag of shredded parmesan cheese. Stir until the parmesan is melted. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Transfer to a crock pot and serve with your favorite tortilla chips or toast. This recipe makes a TON. Plenty for a large party, or, if you're like me, lunch everyday for a month.

WARNING: Do not attempt to figure the calorie/fat content of this recipe as there is no calculator sophisticated enough to handle these types of numbers.
WARNING PART 2: Excessive consumption of this recipe has been known to cause wretched gas. Use in moderation.

A Penny For Your Thoughts, A Dollar For Your Potty Mouth

I'm trying to be a better mom. I'm trying to be more patient and really listen to my kids when they have something to say, instead of the absent-minded "uh-huh" I tend to answer them with. I know someday, not too far off, they will stop talking to me and I'll be wishing I could get back to the time when they used to ramble on endlessly.

That being said, yesterday was not one of my finest. We woke up with #3 and #4's eyes glued shut with Pink Eye, a raging ear infection in #3's left ear, and the flu from head to toe for #1. #2 was the only one who escaped unscathed, but considering he's still trying to get his hearing back 100% from the ruptured ear drum, he deserved the break.

We skipped church (Hubby went to teach our Primary class but since only Bella showed, they stuck her in another class so as not to have the one-on-one with a male teacher, so Hubby came home) and played hospital all afternoon. It wasn't the worst day ever. In fact, it was nice that all of it hit on a Sunday so that Hubby was home to help. But, by the time 7pm rolled around, the kids were bouncing off the walls from being sequestered and I'd had it. I stuck the younger three in the bath while Hubby worked on his football highlight film.

I got the kids out of the bath and #3 and 4 ran around the house like a couple of banshees while I tried to round up their jammies. I was just about to get #4 dressed when I noticed an icky brown substance streaming down her leg. I did a quick scan around the family room and found the rest of the icky brown substance...all over my carpet. I yelled for Hubby to help while I stuck #4 on the potty to finish what she'd started. Hubby cleaned up the "chunks" then appointed himself Bum-Wiper, leaving me to scrub the rest of the icky brown substance out of the carpet.

When I finished scrubbing the carpet, I yelled various threats upstairs to the older kids about brushing their teeth, cleaning their rooms and getting to bed, etc. I asked Hubby to brush #4's teeth (to which he turned to #4 and said, "Go brush your teeth." and then sat back down to work on the highlight film. Thanks...very helpful.) I finished cleaning teeth, hanging up towels, washing icky brown substance stained towels and threw #3 and 4 in bed with a quick peck and a mumbled "I love you."

I went to get #1 and 2 in bed and totally lost it when I found #1 playing jam ball in his room instead of getting ready for bed. I yelled something to the effect of "If you can play basketball like this after laying around the house 'sick' all day you can damn well get yourself to school tomorrow. Don't even ask to stay home in the morning!!" To which #2 quickly chimed in "You owe me a dollar!"

I've always had a little bit of a potty mouth and have tried really hard not to use it anymore. I made a deal with the older two about a month ago that if they ever caught me swearing, I'd give them each a dollar. Pretty good lesson for both of us, I thought (and I hadn't had to pay up once).

This, however, was not the happy little teaching moment I'd envisioned when I made the deal. "It doesn't count when one of you guys is screwing around!" I yelled back, slamming the door behind me.

Short story long, after a long, hot bath, I snuck back into their rooms with a dollar and a Post-It note apology to both of them. I mean, what is the point of the rule if it doesn't count when I'm mad? When else do I ever swear? What lesson would that teach them? You shouldn't swear, unless of course you're upset, in which case it doesn't count. Hmmm. Not so much.

On a lighter note...(my week just keeps getting better, and it's only Monday!)

This is what I woke up to this morning:
You may not be able to tell, but she is missing the entire front half of her hair. This is what she looked like last time I saw her:
A cute little A-line hair cut with NO BANGS. Thanks to #3, this morning her bangs start half-way back on her head and are barely long enough to be classified as bangs. Not to mention the fist size chunk he took right off the back of her head at the crown. I tried to get a pic of that one but her hair is so fine and so blonde that the flash just drowned it out. Anyway, this is what we're left with after I tried to blend it all in:
She, of course, is thrilled. She LOVES getting "Peety Hair-tuts". I'm trying not to cry as I wonder how I'm going to keep the clump in the back from standing straight up. (Notice her poor little swollen pink eyes!)

Hey, it can't get any worse today, right?

Saturday Is A Special Day

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
I slept all day,
Night shift does that, OK?
Now there's not much time left to pla-ay.

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
There's piles of clothes,
At least ten more loads,
Thank goodness that hubby will fo-old.

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
Four Miles' the goal,
Good thing I'm so slow...
I got caught up on one of my sho-ows.

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
Too many football games on,
Hubby's mind is all gone,
(at least all my laundry is do-one.)

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
The first snow of the year,
The kids let a cheer,
Cabin fever's officially he-ere.

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
She's throwing a fit,
I'm about to get lit!
Why isn't it naptime ye-et?

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
Tomorrow we'll fast,
It should be a blast!
Tonight I'll pig out so I'll la-ast!

• DISCLAIMER: I KNOW IT'S NOT AS CLEVER AS OH HEATING PAD OR AS SWEET AS CHLOE'S SONG, BUT I'M RUNNING ON FOUR HOURS OF SLEEP HERE PEOPLE!