TV insights

Weston: "Mom, if a bad guy shoots you with a flame thrower, you should stop, drop, and roll."

Me: "That sounds like a good idea. I'll remember that if I'm ever under attack by a flame thrower."

Weston: "But if he shoots a gun, you should jump behind a rock and, zing, it will bounce off."

Me: "You certainly are well prepared for battle scenarios."

Weston: "Yes, I am because I watch too much TV, which it turns out isn't a bad thing."

FBLA: Future Bag Ladies of America

So about a week ago, I went to see New Moon with Claire and my mom (I know, I know, the book uses the words "chiseled marble" more than books discussing the statue of David).

The highlight of my night, however, was not the movie but browsing shops at the Gateway before the movie. Claire dragged us into Urban Outfitters where I realized I'm no longer cool (was I ever?).

Looking around, I saw gloves without fingers, oddly layered and wrinkled clothing in clashing patterns and colors, dark knitted hats, floppy pea coats. Where had I seen those fashions before? Then I figured it out, bag ladies.

Apparently, the fashion industry has hit a new low, and I never thought we could get any lower than the 80s. In an attempt to be original and fresh, some fashion designer somewhere decided to go for the down and out look.

Who can pull off a look like that? I mean maybe Audry Hepburn can pull off the dirty, urchin look, but who else can?



A few days after this startling revelation, I realized that Grace also dresses in odd clashing, bag lady attire. To top it off, she pushes around a shopping cart full of fake food, real food, and random treasures she finds on the floor. And somehow, like Audrey Hepburn, she manages to pull it off and still be cute.

Google Is Watching

Google Opt Out Feature Lets Users Protect Privacy By Moving To Remote Village

Princesses Only

Weston: "Grace, let me see that." (Pointing to a kaleidoscope she was holding)
Grace: "No, Weston. It's not for little boys. It's only for little princesses."

plumber "science"

We bought a new house. Did our best to do due dilligence. Then we bought a warranty to take care of anything we missed. It all sounds easy, right?

The second week here, our garbage disposal broke and our bathroom faucett started dripping. I, of course, called Alliance Home Warranty. They gave me a name of a local contractor, and we were off and running.

I scheduled an appointment with Nelson's plumbing, and I was given the gaping 1-5 p.m. window. Of course, the plumber never showed.

Because I was stuck with this company due to my home warranty, I again scheduled an appointment for the next day and was told the same enormous timeframe of 1-5 p.m.

Wouldn't it be nice if I could schedule appointments that vaguely: "Hey, Doctor, not sure how my day's planned, so I'll be there sometime this week."

Of course, they again didn't show (not even a phone call).

The next day, the plumber finally arrived. He looked at the garbage disposal with a pen light and just glanced at the dripping faucett in the bathtub. Then he surreptitiously went to his truck to make a phone call, claiming he needed to get my warranty claim approved.

He returned back to the house a few minutes later to let me know that my issues were pre-existing conditions, as I had only bought the house a few weeks earlier. During our final walkthrough and home inspection, both these items were fine, so I really appreciate his scientific penlight test to determine how long the problem had been occuring.

He then charged me $60 and left.

Now I'll find a real plumber and get it taken care of.

Dog Days: Reading with the Johnston Boys

Well, another installment came out in the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series, and within hours of owning it, Kimball and Cooper had finished the book, and Weston had browsed it thoroughly.

Now in a high-brow moment on our blog, we are presenting their book reviews.

Kimball: This story is about how Greg spent his summer. The highlight of this book was when Greg was mowing the lawn and there was poop on the lawn, so he left ten foot circles around the poop.

Cooper: Dog Poop!

Kimball: I'm pretty sure everyone will figure out it's dog poop. It's not like people usually poop on the lawn.

Weston: I didn't read it yet, but I like when they see a monster movie and Greg thinks his hand is a monster hand.

Kimball: That never happened!

Cooper: I would recommend this book to anyone who isn't offended by potty humor.

Kimball: There isn't even potty humor in it.

Cooper: Oh yeah, what about the poop circles?

Weston: I like it that they get a dog.

Kimball: That reminds me about how when they get a dog, it always sleeps right in the middle of Greg's bed. So Greg has to sleep on the edge.

Cooper: I think the dog was overly, hyper, obnoxious, and in a way funny.

Weston: I like when . . . never mind. I didn't actually read it yet.

Kimball: This book, I mean diary, is very funny, and I would give it four and a half stars plus tax.

Cooper: You should read the other books in the series, including Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Rodrick Rules, and The Last Straw. Also I think the series is awesome.

Weston: Aaaaahhhh, I like the cover, never mind.

Well there you have it. Our first book review.

Tax time at Tara

Some of you might be wondering what has been occupying my time recently since, obviously, I am absent in the blogosphere. Well, Allen and I have been engaged in the noble profession of carpet bagging.

I was first introduced to this profession when I watched Gone with the Wind in my youth and saw Scarlett lob a bag of dirt at a Southern opportunistic "Scalawag" and despise those northern carpetbaggers. Of course, my view of them was more firmly fixed after reading Mark Twain's version of nasty carpetbaggers in Huckleberry Finn.

Now I find myself living in a time of plunging home prices and interests rates, and Allen and I joined the carpet bagging ranks. We should close on a new home in a few more weeks. Until then, we'll continue to live out of ratty cloth bags, waiting for our moment to take advantage of some poor Miss O'Hara.

Starting the Day out Right

This year, the boys don’t take the bus to school. Instead, Allen and I have the fun of taking them on a 25 minute drive every morning. This morning I drove. On the way, the boys suggested possible blog topics: dead goldfish haunting our old house, Weston losing two teeth, Grace’s silly phrases, my job changes, etc.—all good ideas.

Then we arrived at the school. I pulled over in front of the school, and noticed cars starting to line up behind me. I looked toward the back two rows of seats, “Hey, boys, have a fun day!”

I didn’t see any movement in the back seats. I glanced in the rearview mirror where other vehicles were waiting for the prime drop-off spot. “Come on, guys, we’re holding up traffic.”

I saw a movement but quickly realized it was only Cooper stretching. After a long pause, I heard zipping. “Why do I hear zipping? What did you possibly unzip during this car ride?”

Someone started kicking at a seat. “Why is no one leaving the car? All of you get out now.”
I could feel the car shake a little, and I noticed Weston was bouncing on his seat. “Out! Now!”

Behind me the cars started to honk their horns in annoyance since we were exceeding the quick one minute drop off time intended for the spot.

Cooper then started shouting, “You are supposed to get out first, Kimball. I’m waiting for you and your dumb poster.”

Kimball began to shout back, “I have to get my lunch and book in my backpack, Stupid.”
Weston joined in by making random noises. Cooper, still not leaving the car, hit Kimball’s poster repeatedly, “I guess I’ll just destroy your poster then.”

Finally someone opened the door and all three boys burst out, stomping away. Of course, the left the car door open. They also left me with a new blog topic.

The Circle of Life

When I picked up Grace from the babysitter's this week, my heart sank when our fabulous babysitter said, "We had a little incident today." Oh, how I dread those words.

This particular incident involved Grace biting a little boy her age. When we tried to talk to her about it, she seemed particularly pleased with herself. She told everyone she saw that night, "I bit D---" in a very matter-of-fact tone. We talked about it a lot, and on the steps to the babysitter's the next day she kept saying, "No biting D--, no biting D--"

I should have expected a biter in our family. After all, Daniel still shares horror stories of childhood when I used to chase him around, mouth open, ready to bite. Apparently, he is stilled scarred by this torture.

Maybe this is just one of those Lion King moments in our home. With Grace biting her brothers and her friends, the circle of life is now complete.

An Inconvenient Truth

Eight years ago, we had one small child and decided it was time to stop our transitory, apartment lifestyle and settle down in a house. At the time, the little 3 bedroom/1 bath home seemed cute and endlessly roomy. So roomy, in fact, that we immediately begin filling it with stuff: couches, kitchen table, actual beds and dressers, toys, toys, toys, more children, two dogs, dead goldfish--you get the picture.

Now we are in the painful process of moving all that stuff, and in the course of moving, I've discovered something: we are disgusting. Oh, I thought we were I okay. I vacuum regularly, dust, wash blinds, scrub toilets, etc., but as we've moved all our junk out I learned I was wrong, very, very wrong.

Here are a few nasty things I've discovered in the process: dried out banana peel behind cabinet, someone's nose nugget collection on a previously covered wall, mysterious brown chunks under frame of boy's bed, LOTs of dust and lint, and dog hair in every crevice between the floorboards and carpet. Eeew!

We are filthy. No wonder I always have allergies. How did we come to this?

A little Monk in all of us

Last night we bought the seventh season of Monk, our favorite detective show. Although I’m not a huge TV watcher, I managed to make it through four episodes in that first evening.

Why am I drawn in by this show?

Well, the mysteries are usually interesting, and the characters are funny. But I think the real reason is that I secretly relate to Monk. Oh I don’t have to touch every light post in town or boil my toothbrush after every use. However, I do use Lysol wipes around the house in a sort of frenetic fashion. In fact, I’ve been known to stick my hand out and say, “Wipe!” Unfortunately, I have no assistant, and the kids just stare at me, so I’m forced to find a wipe on my own before attacking the montage of chocolate handprints and milk spills decorating the floor.

My kids also exhibit habits eerily similar to Mr. Monk’s. At Costco a few months back, Cooper, unthinkingly, touched every jar in the aisle until Weston grumped at him, “Cooper, you are Monk. Stop and come to the cart.” Monk has actually become a rather standard referent in our household for many activities (eating, cleaning, playing games, etc.).

Well, I’m off to watch another episode. You are welcome to join me, as long as you bring along some wipes.

Summer Daze

Our summer has flown past, and yesterday I registered Weston for kindergarten. The boys start back to school August 3rd. As I've been remiss in blogging this summer, I figured I better give you a "highlights video" post.

• I passed my comprehensive exams, only breaking one finger during the test (the pinky one I don't use much anyway).


• Grace noticed that the alphabet song and "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" have the same tune, so she started exchanging the words at random. Her first mashup, I'm so proud.


• Weston caught his first fish--thanks, Aunt Julie. He also decided he prefers catching and touching the fish to eating them.


• Cooper had two girl friends move away and now has to start his "Casanova moves" (his words, not mine) all over again.


• Kimball read a record number of books and has become a permanent part of the sofa.


• Allen ate brats for a week straight without going into cardiac arrest.


• We obtained and managed to kill two goldfish: John Doe and Megatron.

All in all, a successful summer.

Weston and Grace at Thanksgiving Point

Weston feeding fish at Thanksgiving Point

The kids playing at the Church History Museum in the children's area


Kids playing at the park in Bear Lake

Cooper petting sheep at This Is The Place Heritage Park

I'm Gonna Start a Fight

Grace loves all styles of music. She sings along to Mozart or Led Zeppelin (shudder) with equal vigor. However, she has recently taken to singing her own version of the song "So What?" by P!nk.

Grace's version goes something like this: "Na, na, na, na, na, na, na. I'm gonna fight." Then she attacks someone, usually with weapons. Today, dressed in a ballet skirt, a princess tiara, and Weston's flip flops, she attacked all three brothers with a purple princess sceptor.




I know--she looks innocent and sweet--then she bites you.

Random Dinner Conversations

A few evenings ago, our dinner conversation went something like this:

Weston: . . . and then the fart beans exploded
Me: Please, boys, no more discussions of bodily functions at the dinner table.
Cooper: Well, what should we talk about? Lime disease?
Kimball: How about swine flu?
Cooper: We could talk about guinea worms.
Me: I've never even heard of a guinea worm.
Allen: I don't want to hear about worms.
Weston: This looks like worms (pointing to casserole on plate).

I know it doesn't seem possible, but the conversation degenerated further from there. The worst part is, these same worm and disease loving children like to point out bad manners in others at the dinner table. Of course, their manners are ideal.

PTSD Fish

A few years ago, Allen decided to adopt a dog. Being a social worker, he has this strange compulsion to save pathetic things. This dog was particularly obnoxious and unadoptable, so he now lives at our home. The first day at our house, he ripped up the carpet and needed two root canals after trying to chew through the subflooring and cement beneath it. Yes, we still own this animal.

Yesterday, we journeyed to the mountains with a large group of neighbors for a BBQ/outdoor party. It quickly devolved into a Lord of the Flies experience with children running wild through trees and attacking innocent goldfish. These poor fish were swimming happily in a small wading pool. The children were invited to scoop a fish into a cup and take it home. Of course, the kids poked them, held them in the air for several minutes, threw rocks into the pool, and caught and released the fish repeatedly. Several toddlers tried to swim with the fish as well.

We came home with two goldfish, which are now inhabiting my best mixing bowl until I find them a more permanent home. However, everytime someone walks in the room, the fish swim spastically around the bowl, desperately looking for somewhere to hide. Apparently, these fish ended up with PTSD after their trauma the night before.

Fish therapy anyone?

The end of an era

A few months ago, I wandered into Weston's preschool classroom to pick him up. The rest of his class was busy doing/singing the "A-too-ta-ta" song (does it have a real name?). Weston was standing to one side with his arms folded.

As we walked home, I asked why he wasn't singing. He threw out his arms, "I couldn't get my knees together when my feet were apart, Mom--that is the weirdest song on earth."

Unfortunately for him, most of preschool focuses on musical theater, so he was really out of luck this year.

Last week, he finally graduated from preschool, but, as you can see on the clip, it was a near miss. As singing and dancing take priority over reading, writing, and math at that age, perhaps that explains the close call. (Take a gander at the video to see Weston's moves. Fast forward to the end to see him finally graduate.)

Oh, and for those of you still wondering if there really is an Allen, I included a very brief shot of him at graduation. See if you can spot him. It can be like one of those Where's Waldo books.

Deep musings of an "academic"

In a conversation today, I learned that when a person takes qualifying exams for a PhD it is the pinnacle of his/her intellectual world. Apparently, a person will never feel quite as intelligent as during that process.

Many of you know, I'm about to hit that moment of ultimate intelligence (my own little hyperreality--thanks, Baudrillard). So I thought I should share with you some of the deep intellectual musings I've pondered during this two weeks in study mode:

• Is my dorm room really cockroach-free this year, or are they just better at hiding?
  
• Were my new sandals, which I bought at Kohls for "free" after spending $100 on other miscellaneous items to get the "free" gift certificate, really free?


• Where are all the men at the gym here getting their steroids (and don't try to tell me that creepy cartoon-proportioned upper body is natural)?


• Why do the pictures of me taken during this May seminar usually show me eating

Now I can't be one hundred percent sure, but I think Isocrates, Plato, and Aristotle started out on similar themes.

Mother's Day in Texas: Preparing for the Ultimate Showdown

For the third year running, I spent Mother's Day traveling to Lubbock, Texas, home of dried grass and fire ants. This year, I went with greater trepidation than usual, not because I am preparing to take comprehensive exams and not because I will miss my family (which I will). No, I was nervous because I was preparing for my own ultimate showdown with The Grackles.

Never heard of a grackle? Be grateful. I hadn't either until May 2007. I was wandering the TTU campus when a shrill cry pierced the humid heat waves and a bird dove at my head.

Since that initial encounter, each time I stroll (often lost) on this vast and lovely campus (it really is huge, really) a grackle has swooped down from a tree, sometimes from a tree a full mile away. It then has attempted to remove various facial features.

Last year my jogs on campus became so dangerous, I decided to jog on the track near the dorms--no trees. I jogged into the stadium only to notice dozens of grackles wandering around on the ground of the stadium, huddled in groups reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock's birds. I quietly tiptoed out of the stadium, trying to decide if running down the middle of the street was a good option.

So this year while packing, I contemplated a bike helmet, body armour, sharp pointy objects, etc.. But thanks to the security and 50 lbs. suitcase rule at airports, I had to content myself with sun glasses and a baseball hat. If those protective devices fail, maybe I can use my hairspray like a can of mace.

Another cartoon moment or the dangers of jalepenos

Last night, I chopped a jalepeno for dinner and somehow a bit of it squirted in my eye. Like any good Marx Brother, I immediately dropped the knife on the cutting board and grabbed at my eye with my hands. Unfortunately those hands had just been cutting a jalepeno, so I managed to further burn my eye.

Since my sink was full of dirty dishes (I'm such a remarkable homemaker, really), I ran to the bathroom to rinse out my eye. In the background, Allen called, "Are you okay?" I gave him a terse, "No," on my way up the stairs.

In the bathroom, I awkwardly squished my head sideways under the faucett and began running cold water. Unfortunately, the jalepeno juice ran from one eye into the other, causing me to bang my head on the faucett.

I started doing the two-hand water scoop in the eyes routine and realized that some of the jalepeno was stuck on my water-proof mascara. As I tried to remove it, the burning intensified from all the rubbing.

Allen googled the problem and called out helpful suggestions: "You can rinse with milk, use Visine, or try Benedryl."

I don't actually keep Visine handy; I'm not sure if I want milk in my eyes as well as jalepeno, and I didn't think the orally ingested Benedryl would do much (I certainly wasn't about to rub the lotion on my eye!).

I decided my particular comic routine for the night would end with water and makeup remover, rather than with the funnier "milk in eye sketch."

Avoiding Studying with the Help of a Blog Post

Yesterday, Weston spilled some applesauce on the kitchen table. Rather than wipe it up with the paper towel I handed him, he decided to lick it up. And, sadly enough, I ignored him, just turning my back so I wouldn't have to watch.

I guess I have grown a bit immune to this sort of gross mouth behavior during the last nine years of parenthood. When Kimball was a baby, I used to wash his toys after other children played with them and keep him in carefully controlled environments to avoid germs.

Anyone with a few kids knows this is a lost cause. Even the most clean and protective parents just can't control children's freakish mouth behavior. Here are only a few of the highlights of things I have retrieved from my children's mouth:

• Dirty coin collected from the sidewalk
• Partially chewed candies retrieved from under church pew
• Rubber band taken off a newspaper left in a mud puddle
• Flashlight found from under Weston's bed right next to an old, stale piece of bread
• Used sidewalk chalk

When things are too big to fit inside the mouth (the flashlight should have fit into this category), my kids instead lick them:

• Dirty car door
• Kitchen cabinet
• Dog
• Used flower pot
• Another person's dirty foot

I'm still not sure I understand the motivation for this behavior--maybe some of you have ideas?

It Puts Bread on the Table: Rainy Day Musings

Another cold, miserable day outside, so the boys and I pulled up home videos of last month's trip to sunny St. George.


While watching, I noticed several things:

• My sense of style has hit an all time low--notice the capris with dark socks and boots (have I no shame?)


• Grace's bonnet does protect her from the sun, but it also makes our family look like it escaped from the XYZ Ranch


• For every half an hour of hiking in 70 degree weather, each boy requires approximately 1.2 million gallons of water


• For every half an hour of hiking, each boy requires at least three bathroom breaks (see previous list item)


• Allen's picture is never actually on our blog; even this video only lets you hear his voice--does he really exist? Is he like the mysterious Charlie from Charlie's Angels? Why was Charlie so creepy on that show? Is there a reason he called his employees angels? Should he be sued for sexual harassment?

Shout out to you lurkers

Every online community has a group of people who choose to be silent spectators. This group of invisible lurkers actually comprises the majority of the community. The out-there, out-spoken weirdos do most of the posting (thanks, siblings, for being my weirdos). Of course, that means that only the weirdos have voices.

Having now had many discussions with friends and family who have read the blog but have never commented, I see that my blog is no exception. To me, however, the fun of blogging is in sharing a story and having that story remediated with ongoing comments and discussion.

So, come on, Lurkers, take back the power--if you don't want me to write one more offensive bathroom post, let me know!

Off Track/Off Kilter or The Girl Who Cried Poopy (WARNING: rated B for bathroom humor)

The children are off track from school right now, which makes for a messy, chaotic, sometimes vulgar experience. Vulgar because the boys are obsessed with bodily functions. For example, one boy (who will remain anonymous) has had many discussions with me on the properties of farts: impact of diet on gas, ways to hide gas in a classroom setting, and overall stinkiness ratings. All three boys regularly have toys that perform bathroom activities as part of play.

Unfortunately, these habits seem to have rubbed off on Grace. She is very particular about the state of her diaper, and even a hint of urine has her upset. She usually chases me around crying mournfully, "Poopy, poopy, poopy!" Of course, when I check her diaper, nothing--at least nothing visible to the naked eye or nostril.

I hope all this bodes well for potty training since I was pretty sure the boys were going to be wearing pull-ups to their high school graduations. They just didn't care about the discomfort the way Grace does. With them, I would walk into the room, smell something suspicious, and have to hunt down the perpetrator who was only upset by the fact he had to stop playing.

With Grace, I have retired from the search and destroy missions, but I face a new challenge: the girl who cried poopy. My only hope is that with high tech tools--a pair of princess underwear and a new pink potty seat--I can move past this stage altogether.

Personal Disclosure

I have been accused of only talking about other people on my blog and not disclosing anything about myself. To combat this nasty allegation, I have decided to disclose a few sordid personal details about myself:

• I can sing but refuse to do so in public just in case Simon jumps out and catches me at it.
• I have a lot in common with cartoon characters. For example, I have twice stepped on the prongs of a rake, making it strike me with great force. I saw stars on both occasions.



• I loath bananas (don't tell my children). I gag just thinking of their mushy texture and bland flavor.
  

• While not shy, I prefer not to talk about my own activities (successes and failures) that much. In fact, I think I've shared enough for one blog post.


• 
  Mr. Banana Grabber from Arrested Development, frightning

In the eyes of the beholder

After ten and a half years of marriage, Allen and I have gained a deeper appreciation and respect for each other, and we are the best of friends. However, we definitely approach life from different perspectives, and we must regularly negotiate between these two view points. Let me give you some examples. (To sound more detached and thus more valid, I have used generic “spouse” rather than “Allen”.)

My perspective: the last person out of bed should make it.
Spouse’s perspective: the last person out of bed should feel lucky.

My perspective: Doing the laundry involves washing, drying, folding, and putting away clothes.
Spouse’s perspective: Doing the laundry involves sticking random clothes into the washing machine (usually with soap). Eventually the clothes will dry themselves in there.

My perspective: Yards should avoid most lawn ornaments (particularly large angel statues), as they are tacky and make the yard look like a circus advertisement.
Spouse’s perspective: Yards should avoid all lawn ornaments, lighter potted plants, and large stones or landscaping bricks, as they can be used to break a window (why give someone a potential key to the house?).

My perspective: A good meal is colorful with red fruit and green veggies with a main course.
Spouse’s perspective: A good meal is colorful with red ketchup and green pickle relish on a Costco Bratwurst.

Anyway, I’m sure we have many other issues we see just a bit differently, but then again, maybe Allen would disagree with me!

What's in a name?

Wooby, Little Man, Chunky Monkey, and Captain Underpants on a hike together

When I was talking to Grace yesterday, Cooper interrupted me to let me know that he would prefer me to call her "Little Chubby Tot." Without thinking much, I switched to the new name. After all, in our house we call each other all kinds of strange nicknames: Wooby, Kimster, Westleberry, Princess Grace, Supa Coopa, Little Man, Chunky Monkey, Tiny Dancer, Tator Tot, Allenardo

The list of these bizarre endearments could go on and on.

Juliet asked "What's in a name?"(or rather Shakespeare did), and she rationalized that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Of course, Romeo and Juliet both died as a result of their names, hopefully Wooby turns out better than Capulet.

Tongan Ninja: An Instant Classic

(Updated to give you taste of Tongan Ninja theme song)

"As a boy, he survived a plane crash on a remote Pacific Island where he was trained in the ancient art of Ninjitsu after fish tragically ate his father. But when The Syndicate threatens the kindly owners of a New Zealand restaurant, the deadliest ninja alive must battle Knife Man (an expert with knives), Gun Man (an expert with guns), Henchman (an expert with henches), and his childhood archenemy Action Fighter (known as Marvin) to save the woman he loves. From the savage jungles of Tonga to the mountaintop Patio Of Death, this is the underground comedy sensation. . . that's taking the world by storm. If you see one cleverly dubbed martial arts musical comedy action movie this year, make it TONGAN NINJA!"

Yes, Allen rented this movie. I agree with the cover's assesment that if you do see one martial arts musical comedy action move this year, it will have to be Tongan Ninja since I can't imagine anything else fitting in this "interesting" genre.

Also, I've started titling my posts with the academic convention of an endlessly long title complete with semi-colon, fin.

Don't Wish It Away--A.K.A. Proof of Human Resiliency

(Kimball eating with mouth open, charming)

Kimball and I walked dinner to the backyard neighbors a couple of weeks ago after the neighbors had a new baby. Kimball, of course, asked me all about the actual process of getting a baby out. I gave him a brief description of the birthing process, and he asked, "Doesn't that hurt?" I told him that, yes, it hurt a lot. Then he astutely asked me, "Why does anyone ever do it again?"

Good question. I think the answer has something to do with the resilient nature of human beings. I recently chatted with a grandmotherly type, who told me I shouldn't wish these years away. What's to wish away? Yesterday, Grace dumped out a bookshelf, an entire box of cereal, and painted the kitchen floor with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Not to be left out of the fun, Weston created k'nex booby traps on all clean floor surfaces and dumped several cups of sugar into my newly purchased, non-salmonella peanut butter. And when Kimball and Cooper arrived home, they immediately began screaming at each other and randomly punching and kicking any person in range.

When this well-meaning woman told me not to wish it away, I took it as further proof that we are a resilient species. That or she was slightly senile.

Oh well, since my peanut butter is unfit for sandwiches, maybe today I'll bake peanut butter cookies. You know the saying: When life gives you sugar-encrusted peanut butter . . .


(Weston sleeping in the dog's bed surrounded by his mess)

A Night at the Opera

While studying insects this year, Coop's class wrote an opera. This week, they finally performed it. The plot and lyrics were written entirely by the first-graders. Additionally, they painted the sets and designed their costumes. As far as operas go, this one is my new favorite. Not only is the music catchy, but it was also very short, about 8 minutes--even Allen stayed awake for the entire performance (yes, there are some stories in that comment). Although his teacher called it an opera, Cooper disagreed. He explained to me that in real operas, "Women howl a lot. They are big and lay on things while they sing, and everyone wears old sheets." I will leave it to all of you to decide if it really counts as an opera. I've assembled a highlights video of the performance to give you a flavor of the event--enjoy! (Cooper is a praying mantis.)

Hasselhoffed

Grace, our shoe-loving, dancing, and singing child, now walks around the house incessently singing the alphabet. Her version of the alphabet, however, goes something like this: "A, B, C, Hoff, G." How did the Hoff make it into her alphabet? Hard to know, but he seems to make it into everything else, so why not into Grace's song?

They Are Alive!

Doing a wiggle dance on a chair (while I was saying, "Get down before you fall"), Cooper fell and stubbed his toe, splitting his toenail. He then spent the afternoon limping, hoping, moaning, and layering on bandaids.

As I offered him little consolation, his toes turned elsewhere for support. They apparently found that support in "toe friends." You might not be aware of the concept of toe friends, but apparently toes have their own social networks. Cooper's toe friends include Grace's toes, Weston's toes, Kimball's toes, and, of course, the toes on Cooper's other foot.

These toes can carry on conversations with each other. They also perform acts independently of the toe owner. For example, on many occassions Cooper's toes have kicked his brothers--with no awareness on Cooper's part. His toes have also waged war on my hair, as they've (again completely autonomously)wound into my hair, pulling it and twisting it into knots.

Of course, the concept of free wheeling body parts is not new--e.g., thinking with the stomach. In fact, I think it explains a great deal of people's actions and words. Perhaps Chris Buttars (love Utah politics) is letting his toes speak for him rather than using his brain. And then voters let their hands randomly decide to vote for him, rather than using their brains and getting rid of him.

Well, I better log off since Cooper's feet, Weston's fists, and Grace's teeth are now battling in a self-governing, free-wheeling brawl.

Death, Taxes, and Free Books

When Weston rushed out of preschool Monday, he proudly held up a small Dr. Seuss book and called, "Look, Mom, a free book from the government!"

Today, I picked him up, and again, he arrived bearing another "government" book. I queried his teacher, and she told me the kids would be getting a free book every day this week--thanks big brother.

Free books must be one of the many perks of attending a Title I elementary school. For those of you without kids or with kids in public schools with some level of economic base or even worse with kids in elite private schools (or homogeneous charter schools), you are missing out on a classic education experience. This experience includes such amazing benefits as

- Getting state grants for "take home" fruit and veggies that elementary kids can throw at dogs, fences, and each other on their walk home from school

- Being supplied with extra computers in the computer lab that the gangster-in-training children use to type new and inventive curses until the lab gets shut down as a punishment

- Having rich neighborhoods a few miles away decide to do sub-for-Santa for the poor folk, shipping all of their second hand, Salvation Army rejects(like unwashed used socks)to our neighborhood. Then we have the fun of discarding it for them (since no one must work in our neighborhood anyway) and then buy real presents for needy families

Of course, I am grateful for our free book today, a coloring book with bubbles attached. Weston promptly blew bubbles into Grace's eyes, making her shriek and rip the book--all in all, money well spent.

But to give the mysterious government book donor credit, in these tough economic times, it's the little things that give us hope. Tonight, for example, I plan on working on one of those little things, taxes. Every year no matter how little we earn, we always owe additional taxes to the state. Even the year I got laid off, Allen had just graduated and was job hunting, and we earned the equivalent of a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, we sent off a fat check to the state of Utah. This year, however, I'm feeling pretty good about paying those taxes because I know that even though they will be used to bail out banks, car companies, and other businesses that have been poorly managed and sucked dry by greedy managers, my family will always have those free books.

Birthday Season

My children's birthdays have turned into multi-day extravaganzas. How did this happen?

This year I planned to keep it simple: small friend party (without a meal this time)and dinner with parents and siblings. This idea sounds easy. However with three children born within the end of November to beginning of January timeframe, I don't think simple and easy are possible.

One of the things I overlooked was the necessity of the school treat. This means I create multiple rounds of dessert for every birthday. Weston's birthday dessert schedule was particularly complex. For preschool, he wanted cupcakes, muffins, grapes, bananas, and punch (he only got cupcakes and lemonade). For his friend party, he wanted an Indiana Jones cake and many flavors of ice cream (he got two). For his family dinner, he wanted pumpkin pie (what's wrong with leftover cake?).

Grace and I brought his preschool round of dessert to him during his usual snack time. His classmates immediately got bored of their activities and began chasing Grace around the classroom. One girl led the pack screaming, "Give me that baby. Just give me that baby."

Grace giggled and toddled as fast her stocky legs could move, prattling nonsense words the whole time. She was finally saved when Weston jumped between her and her pursuers, stuck out his hand, and yelled (in his best tough guy voice), "Stop! That baby belongs to me."

Of course, at home he has regularly requested that I give Grace to the neighbors. Maybe this birthday represents a change of heart.

Insignificant

The other day while running errands, the kids and I listened to my iPod. We started singing Jack Johnson's "Upside Down," from the Curious George soundtrack.

When the song ended, Cooper sighed and said, "I miss Grandma Mary." I teared up and told him I missed her too. I then told them about Grandma, Papa, Aunt Katie, and Uncle Russell as young couples loading up a car and taking an unplanned (maybe just poorly planned) trip to Yellowstone. They just threw a cooked chicken into the trunk and headed out. They ate the chicken for the entire trip until Grandma noticed it started turning blue. Then they used it to save themselves from an over-eager bear. I can imagine Papa waving Grandma into the car while he hurls bits of chicken into the woods.

Grandma laughed everytime she talked about that trip.

Of course, we talked about Grandma's propensity to lose wedding rings. One time, she felt sure she'd lost it while cleaning the toilet at her cabin in Bear Lake. She went for months without the ring until my family and I drove to the cabin after Christmas, me carrying a huge birthday cake on my lap for the entire 2 1/2 hour drive. We met with cousins, uncles, and aunts. When Papa left the cabin (probably for one of his trips to the post office where he would bribe a grandchild to come with offers of soda and candy bars), the adults raced to the downstairs toilet, prepared to scuba dive in the sceptic tank if necessary. Older kids huddled around the hallways, watching the excitement of a toilet in pieces. Soon a troop of five year olds marched down the stairs covered in frosting. Yes, they had pulled the cake off the table and proceded to eat fistfulls off the floor. Aunt Jayne saved the top layer of cake and served globs on plates, which delighted me. In the midst of the chaos, Grandma found her ring in the toilet. When she took it in to be cleaned, the jeweller said he'd never seen such a clean ring and asked what her secret was. I'm not sure if she admitted to the long-term toilet soaking method or not.

When I went away to college, Grandma and Papa visited me every month. We would go to lunch, buy groceries, and spend the day together. Then Papa died, and Grandma would stop by on her own. During one of our visits, she told me about her mother-in-law, who had lived in Logan in her old age. Apparently, her mother-in-law always wanted to live in Logan and didn't for a long, long time. In fact, she didn't move there until she was too old to enjoy it. Grandma said, "She never made anywhere she lived her home, was never satisfied, always waiting for Logan." Grandma told me she tried to learn from that and be happy where she was at. She encouraged me to do that too--be happy where I am, not to wait for Logan.

Grandma's cooking,raspberry jam, and chocolates were legendary in our family. But I didn't want the boys to forget about other, less remembered things. After she moved in with my parents, she volunteered to tutor children at the local elementary school. The school paired her with the hardest cases, and she spent hours making learning games and little activities for each child. She listened to them read with the patience of a saint. She loved them, and they knew it. She expressed delight each time one of "her children" suceeded.

Of course, my children then reminded me about the hours she spent reading to them, especially reading Curious George books--how she would laugh at the antics of a little monkey. She could always laugh at the antics of my little monkeys too.

We talked about her last couple years. She'd become more introspective, saying she was ready to go. She could still step right over a baby gate, walk several miles briskly, and touch her toes, but she felt tired. She often reflected on her life, her failures, feeling insignificant.

I would tell her then and still echo the thought to my children: If she represents what it means to be insignificant, let my life be insignificant too.

Later Church

The new year brought many wonderful changes. The change that my children were most excited about was a new church schedule. Instead of attending at 9:00 a.m., we now go at 11:00. With such a late start, we should always arrive on time if not early, right?

I'm sure you can guess from this setup that we did not make it to our 11:00 church on time on Sunday. The boys were lined up in the bathroom for a hair/finger nail inspection when Kimball turned pasty and grey and said, "I don't feel good." Then he promptly threw up. Allen, of course, was already attending pre-church meetings, and I couldn't get a hold of him, but there was no way I was letting the healthy children take a break from church (that's the kind of mean parent I am). Finally, I loaded the children, including the puking menace, into the car and found Allen at church. Allen volunteered to stay home with Kimball, and I was left with the rest of the gang at church.

During sacrament meeting, I needed to take Grace to the bathroom to wash off the remnants of sucker goo on her face. While returning to the meeting, I heard a familiar voice over the loud speaker. Weston was bearing his testimony about playing with toys and not sharing (it's apparently much better when you don't share).

Later I found out Cooper also snuck up to the podium while I was in the bathroom. .

Go Utes

Four years ago, we drove to the Fiesta Bowl when the Utes busted into the BCS. This year, unfortunately, New Orleans was just too far away. However, Allen, the boys, and I cheered, jumped, moaned, and completely enjoyed the Ute's victory tonight. Grace just pulled a wheeled ark around, blocking the TV at crucial moments in the game. Go Utes!