Blade

I've decided to thrill you all with a quick overview of my family members. I'll give them appropriate nicknames to keep you all from stalking them. (come on, you know you want to!)

So, I'd like to introduce you to Blade.
He's an original kind of guy. When he was a baby and toddler, he was a flirt with some serious game. He had platinum blond hair with long dark eyelashes. When we'd go to the wading pool, he'd find the cutest lifeguard, sit in her lap, and bat his eyelashes. He could do no wrong.

When he hit about three, his smoldering side began to emerge. In Sunbeams, instead of a drawing of a happy face for the paper entitled "I'm thankful for my nose and mouth" he drew a vampire with jagged fangs. He wanted to change his name to "Razor Blader". His favorite color was black with red glowing eyes.
Anyone else had a preschooler do that?

Anyone?


Anyone?


He had his big shot to be on tv one day at the grocery store. A new variety of apple was being introduced, and the filmers wanted footage of a cute child enjoying a crisp slice of apple. They flagged us down and marveled over our beautiful boy. We got that all the time, I'm telling you, he was beeee- utiful. We were flattered and proud of our little one, so we were happy to help. We were all happy and smiling, until they turned on the cameras and handed him the apple slice.

Have you ever seen Lord of the Rings, when Gollum gets a live fish? Blade did a Gollum. He screwed up his face until it looked like a little horn was emerging between his brows. He grabbed the apple, snarling, and there's no other way to describe it, savaged it. Chunks of fruit were flying, then he turned to the camera with apple carnage all over his face and growled. It looked a little like this, but so much worse.

No one spoke. Their faces were frozen. We avoided eye contact, thanked them and quickly went on with our shopping. I'm guessing they found another cute kid.

He's a fantastic artist, specializing in (you guessed it) weapons. But he has a tender side.No one is more gentle with a baby. He's mature beyond his years and can be trusted with a lot. I let him take his little brothers to the canyon with the camera, (that's trust) and I love to see the pictures and video he comes home with.
He craves adult conversation. He was reading at advanced high school level in the fourth grade, so when he hears adult conversation, he understands it. (Blast!) And he can hear every adult conversation within a mile radius, believe me. The other boys are in awe of his wit. He has a deadpan face and a deadpan voice and can deliver a devastatingly funny joke without cracking a smile. Let me tell you, it's a blessing to have a kid who tells jokes that are actually funny!
He plays a lot of jokes on us. Take this one, for instance: I made a drawer of food for each boy. Inside there was cold cereal, lunch fixings, after school snacks, all kinds of things. It became each boy's responsibility to make his own lunch. Blade didn't really feel like making his own lunch. So what did he do? He went around to kids in the lunch room and told them his family was too poor to give him lunch. Then he ate their donations to the 'needy'.

Everyday.

For months.

I am now making their lunches again. He won that round. This is living proof that there is power to the motherly "I hope you get a child just like you!" curse. He's me without the pantyhose on Sunday, it's true.
Speaking of Sunday, last week, for the first time in 8 years, we walked the five blocks to church. I'd always wanted to try it, and it seemed like a good enough time. We were halfway home when a lady in our ward pulled up coming from the other direction. "You're such a great family, and your oldest son told me you're walking to save money on gas. Will you please let me drive you home?!"
What do you say to that?

"Yeah, drive me home quickly so I can beat that boy!"
I'm not sure we're going to be walking to church again.

He's an original, my Blade. He loves long conversations about the world, and he's always interested in my thoughts and ideas. Unlike a lot of teen boys, my opinion really matters to him. He has the ability to see analogies in life, and I love to hear him share them with the family. He has a way of wrapping his little brothers around his finger. He has this tough exterior, but he only just barely got too old for snuggle time in my bed. I still like to curl up with him on the couch, and read Harry Potter to him. Yeah, I know he's read it a million times, but we still love to do it. And he'll always be my baby.

Urgent Care Chronicles

I've had a busy summer. Last week as I approached the counter at urgent care, I got a sympathetic smile of recognition from the gal signing us in. They know me by sight now. This is our family's fourth visit in as many weeks.
I hate going to urgent care. For the most part, I'm there because one of my boys has done something inconsistent with his intelligence. I have two types of boys. Half got the mental toughness gene, half have to work at it. It's always the ones who have to work at it that get hurt. Why is that?
One boy was doing materials experiments in his room. It seemed like a good idea to use a 10 pound weight to smash a metal incense bowl left by our exchange student. Little metal discs had neat designs epoxied to them, and when they were smashed, they looked cool. Who wouldn't do that? Well, he squished his finger too. Little finger guts were coming out. He was sure he was going to die. He very loudly wished he would die. He howled that he wished he'd never been born. He was positive there was some metal still inside the finger guts. There was no metal there. He needed no stitches, it was too messy to close up. They bandaged it and it was good as new in a few days.
If you ask my other boy how he ended up with a sliver of glass in the pad of his foot, he'll give you a long, complicated story that begins with soccer in the back yard and ends with him standing on one leg with his foot in the kitchen sink. The offending glass shard left over from a dropped jam jar became lodged in his foot as he balanced on it with the other foot in the sink. Makes perfect sense, right? I tried to dig out the glass, but no dice. We've learned with this boy that a sliver of glass can become a big deal.
A few years ago, a tiny sliver of glass in his big toe developed a wicked black spot that just kept growing. I was hoping it would just work it's way out, but as the red streaks were working their way up his leg, we opted for the ER. After some gross toe squirting and IV antibiotics, he sported a hole the size of a marble in his toe. No school for over a week until he could wear a shoe.
When this current shard of glass started to get a little sore and red, I decided to nip it in the bud. There was some trauma over the shots, but once the foot was numb and digging commenced, he was fine. The digging went on and on. After a while, the Doc gave up. He said he couldn't find it. He told me it would have to just work it's way out. By this time, I'm having liquefied toe tissue flashbacks. Just as the Dr. was ready to bandage him up, my boy asks, "What's that shiny thing right there on my foot?" Sure enough, an inch away from the dig, was the shard of glass. It had been flushed out by the bleeding and wiping. I heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Any bets on how long it'll be before I'm hauling another tearful and luckless boy back there?

My Newest Best Friend

Netflix. There's a certain time of day. A magic hour, if you will. You've done all the housework you're inclined to do, the kids are all dispersed and playing. It's not time to start dinner yet, and the house is quiet and still. What time is this? It's the Netflix hour. I cuddle up to my beloved computer, click on the watch instantly tab, and am transported. Remember, we don't have TV channels, so any kind of video stimulation is bliss. I have some pretty rigorous standards for said video stimulation, though. I don't want language, I don't want icky violence. I don't want skin or sex. I want to be uplifted, educated and entertained. Here are some great movies that I've enjoyed lately that pass my muster.

This movie amazed me for several reasons. First, it's not in English. I think it's in Mongolian, with subtitles. I started watching it alone, and before I knew it, the entire neighborhood was crowded around me transfixed. It was beautiful. It was culturally enriching. It was cleaner than your baby's bum after a bath.

This is the story of a quasi-homeless man that befriends a flock of wild parrots in San Francisco. Again, the entire family loved it. By entire family, I mean everyone but my husband. He's never home for the Netflix hour. He would have liked it too, but he would have wondered vocally why the guy didn't just get a real job. I can tell, I know him. Do any of you ever hear your husband's voice in your head too? Anyway, touching movie.

Now, my last baby was born in the hot tub of a little house called a birth center. It was a life changing experience. That'll be a good post for another day. I'm not a rabid, guilt inducing, natural birth activist, though. I'm pretty balanced and grateful for all the options we have today as women, but I found this movie mind blowing. Seriously, if you're of child bearing age, you need to see this movie. As to my criteria for movie acceptability, I made an exception for this one. You'll see women giving birth. You'll hear a few of them cussing while in labor. That part cracked me up. What you learn in this documentary will shock you, and challenge what you know, and how you feel about the way we labor and birth in America. It almost, almost made me want to do it again. Almost.
Whoa. This one brought me to tears. This movie documents a Jewish father's wish to teach his grown sons. He's brought them up to be as devout as possible. The sons live in Jerusalem and study Torah for a living. Towards the end of his life, the father worries that he may have done his sons a disservice for not teaching them that there is good and godliness in the gentile world too. He takes them to Poland (hooray for Poland!) to retrace the steps of their grandparents and try to find their Polish rescuers during the holocaust. What you see, and what they learn is unforgettable. I think, in an insular religion like mine, this was a very timely and relevant message for my family as well. You will find evidence of the divine anywhere if you are open enough to look.
Thank you, thank you Kim! This was a fantastic movie. We watched this all together, husband included, and he immediately decided we have to buy it. I love Charles Dickens. What a storyteller. Hooray for courageous, honorable big brothers! And who can resist Anne Hathaway?
Again, Kim, I loved it. This one sucked me right in. It's in a series of six 50 minute episodes, and it took up my entire day. I loved its twists and turns. In the interest of full disclosure, there is a brief minute where a guy undresses and washes in a stream, but there isn't a dangling participle to be seen, thank goodness! Again, Dickens tells a wonderful story.


I'm an opinionated gal. A few years ago, I was pretty sure I had the geopolitical world figured out. I knew who the good guys were, who the bad guys were, and what should be done to keep everyone in their places. Living with a devout Muslim for a year, and attending the mosque with him really challenged my notions, and what I've been taught about history. The more I learn, the more I realize I don't know. I'm more and more grateful that I'm not in charge. This documentary follows about eight kids who live within 20 minutes of each other in Israel. There are Muslims and Jews of varying backgrounds and beliefs. None of these kids are judged, there is no bias. The movie is made by a Jewish American that all the kids clearly love fiercely. After sharing a year or two of these kid's lives, you'll never see the news of that region the same way again.

There you have it. I sure love a good movie.

Yearbook Yourself

I saw this on a few other blogs and just had to try it. This site gave us hours of entertainment! It was great trying on different hair styles and eras. I think I would have been pretty 'groovy' in the '60s.I'm thinking this is a pretty good look for me. Note to self- poufy teased hair is a good thing.

Now the eighties, that's another story. Shout out to my friends: if I start doing this number, put a blanket over my head and escort me to safety.

These hair do's brought back fond memories. I never had them, but they're very familiar. I know lots of gals sporting them. Remember a certain twin in our senior class?This one reminds me to step away from the ice cream. It's going to loom in my memory like the ghost of future feasting. I will honor what you have taught me this day, and eat in moderation all the days of my life. Well, most of them.


This is the one that kills me. It's an almost exact replica of our family pictures of 1997. Seriously.The only problem is, according to yourbookyourself.com, I was about four years behind the times. Ouch.

'Band of Bothers' Poem

A lot of people find my blog by googling 'Band of Brothers' poem. This makes me cringe. I've never seen Band of Brothers, but I know what they're looking for. They're looking for some of the best lines Shakespeare ever wrote: King Henry's speech to his troops before the battle of Agincourt in Henry V. I chose 'Band of Brothers' as the title of my blog because my family is a band of brothers, and to pay tribute to a play we absolutely adore. So, to throw a bone to all you google searchers, here is your 'poem'.

To set the scene, you see a small band of bedraggled English soldiers getting ready to fight the French in a battle where they are outnumbered many times over. The king hears a soldier wish that just a fraction of the men still abed in England could be with them to fight that day. Now, Shakespeare wasn't meant to be read, it was meant to be heard. So read it aloud. I italicized my favorite parts. Let the words and expressions roll off your tongue. Here's your daily dose of culture. Enjoy.


What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more....
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

I know, here, you can watch it!

Some Current Faves

Ice Hockey. Click on the photo, and look by the skate of the guy on his knees. That's right, it's blood on the ice. It was awesome. My husband's work has a plush suite on center ice, and we went to a match with his boss there. My husband had to warn me to watch what I say. Not that I have a filthy mouth, I just get a little too......enthusiastic.
All kinds of family. He's not related, but you can't tell from this picture, can you?
These long, strong arms. Oh yeah, and that chest. Whew!

This goofy grin. I can't resist it!

This movie. I know it's dumb, but that doesn't stop me from endlessly quoting it. I can do a wicked Nacho impersonation, complete with the buttock clench.This perfume. My husband picked it out for me. All I wanted for my birthday was big girl perfume, not the cheesy body sprays from Walmart. Now that I have my own fortress of solitude, I have a place where it will be safe. I loooove it. Next time you walk by the perfume counter, take a whiff. See if you can resist it.

This Is Me.

Am I the only one in the world that can't figure out the visual verifications on peoples blogs?


I type the crazy letters. I find out I messed up. I type the new letters, but the letters I type don't show up in the box where they should, they're tacked on to the comment I was typing! I try a few more times before they just throw me a bone and give the the handicapped code of three letters or so. It's embarrassing! I can see just fine, I just can't tell the difference between a squiggly j and an i. Is there no end to the pain?