Photo tagged by Michelle

I get to pick the 6th folder in my pictures, and pick the 6th picture and tell you the story behind it. My problem is, I only have 4 folders. I have a new computer and I haven't transferred all my photos over yet. I've been putting it off until I can get my boys to do it for me, but they're too busy transferring their music. Who knew that Weird Al would still be popular with middle schoolers? "I'm Fat" is actually Dainon's ring tone for me. Am I offended? No, it's just his sense of humor. Which leads us to the photo. I picked the last of my folders, six files down, this is what you get:

I call it "Foot- A study by Dainon".

Hey, at least it's clean! Stained, but clean. I'll take what I can get. I don't discourage the boys' use of the camera, because I love the random things they come up with. For example: My husband's brother adopted a son (he has 6 cute blond daughters, and this little guy kind of fell in their laps) and invited us to see them be sealed together as a family in the temple. I was so excited to go, I'd never been able to witness that before. Sadly, Lewis had to work. I took Dain with me on the road trip. I got the traditional picture of him in front of the temple, but he had the camera the rest of the time. What kinds of pictures did I get?

Sports cars, or course. He's a teenager, right?

Then he branched out a bit, and took a picture of every vehicle we passed.
This was the morning after Halloween, so he brought his candy with him. Where did it end up? All over his clothes, along with some newsprint belonging to the comics he always reads. Oh, he was in fine shape by the time we got to the temple!

So there you have it. That was quite the story attached to that foot!

Spring. Spring. Spring spring spring....

It's all I can think about. Yesterday was gorgeous. It was 55 degrees. A few of my boys donned shorts sleeves, even shorts and ran outside to play. There was this smell in the air, you know the one. The smell of the earth beginning to wake up. A few days ago I noticed the first crocus up. I always measure spring my the flowers. First the yellow crocuses, then the purples. Mini daffodils make their appearances with the hyacinths. The big daffies and tulips take the stage. Then the wisteria on my back deck blooms. In the spring I have at least a 60foot wall of wisteria blossoms. The perfume is incredible! Wisteria is so funny, all blooms and no leaves, they come later. Then the lilacs, (ah! the lilacs!) First come the peonies, then come the roses, just in time for memorial day, with our traditional family remembrance at the cemetery. When the lilacs are shriveled and gone, the snowball bushes have their day in the sun. We have a huge snowball hedge that the neighborhood kids watch with baited breath. As soon as the huge balls take on a pinkish tinge, I give the go ahead for the 'snowball' fight. It gets crazy, with inches of petals on the ground. When all the riot of color has subsided, time is measured by fruit. Ah, the fruit!
But I can't think about that yet. Thinking about the flowers is enough for now. I'm so glad we bought the house of someone with a green thumb. There was a huge (what's the word I'm searching for... genocide? holocaust?) of the more fragile and care-intensive plants the year we moved in. Through the years, I've learned little by little about the survivors. So now, if I see a little green nub of a bulb pushing through the soil, there's a good chance I can recognize it! So it just goes to show, as far as plants are concerned, there's hope for anyone!

Vexation and Toil

I have had one of those mornings that I hope to forget when I look back on my experience as a parent. One morning, in about 16 years, I'll open my eyes to peek at the alarm clock, see that it's 6:30, roll over, and go back to sleep. I'll have a smile on my face, because I won't have to deal with the (insert expletive here) my kids dished out to me this morning.

This morning I was subject to much abuse from Dainon*, my oldest. I'd confiscated their cell phone during mutual, and now he couldn't find it. He has to alternate days with his brother, and he keeps forgetting it on his day. Now he couldn't find it, and it was all my fault. He wandered around dishing out sarcastic musings about what was the point of even having a cell phone if he could never use it. (duh) After frantic searching, I located my purse to return his phone to him only to find- it wasn't there. More complaining. I suggested we call his phone. I did, and what do you know? The ringing came from his own jacket pocket. Somehow, after mutual last night, I managed to sneak his phone back into his pocket without him catching me at it. That's his story anyway.

Then Dallin, my third son, couldn't find his homework packet that was due last week. It's nowhere to be found, so I gingerly picked through the garbage. In doing so, I found a bank statement that my oldest threw away while cleaning up the kitchen last night. Great. My garbage excavation was nearing the icky stuff at the bottom, so I gave up on the packet. Tough luck, buddy.

Then my fourth son Kelton showed up wearing the same clothes as the day before, telling me he had no clean clothes. "Where is the stack of clean clothes I folded and gave to you yesterday?" I asked.

"Gone" he said.

"I don't think so." I replied, none too patiently at this point. We searched his room, and after much vexation and toil on my part, I discovered the errant pile in his brother's drawer. Clean pants were flung in his general direction, and I headed back upstairs to find that Dainon's lunch was still sitting on the table. He'd been gone for almost an hour. When we couldn't find Dallin's old homework packet, I suggested he start working on this weeks, which ironically enough, is due tomorrow. It never made it home. Blast!

I was about to head for the beaches of Mexico when Dallin piped up with, "Hey mom, you know that scout book I need..."

"You mean the one to replace the one you lost?! This isn't a good time to bring that up."

My one bright spot of comfort is the thought that all their valentines are done and at school already. That's something.

*You'll notice that I used my son's real names in this post. I'm tired of thinking of tricky ways of not writing them. I figure, if you really want to stalk them after what you're read today, you know what you're up against. Kidnap them, and they'll throw your bank statements in the trash, knock holes in your walls, and lose all your stuff.

The Hypertextualization of Society

You know what I'm talking about. The teens and tweens, eyes glued to their phones, thumbs twittering about. Everywhere you go, you see it. Now, the affliction has spread to my very own house!

My older boys have long been suffering under the impression that they have a case of neglect for CPS. "Jake has an Iphone touch!" "Hunter has a Blackberry!" "You're only cool if you have the coolest phone, and I don't even have one at all!" Boo hoo.

I have been unmoved by all this whining. If my boys can't remember their lunches on a regular basis, how in the world are they going to be responsible for a small, expensive piece of telecomunications equipment? My son's mp3 player just went through the laundry. I rest my case.

If they did, indeed, ever get a cell phone, my plan was that it would be a disposable-type of jobbie with a total of 5 monthly minutes. There was a bit of a wrinkle in my plan.

I went out of town for the weekend.

Upon coming down from the mountain, like Moses, I got bad news.

In my absense, my husband had gotten my boys a cell phone. To add insult to injury, it was cooler than mine!

He had a really good reason, that didn't even involve the kids. It was a business decision, a calculated move. That didn't avert my nuclear reaction.

And it didn't phase the boys who were blissed out, dreaming and planning their future coolness.

My life has not been the same since.

Example:

I'm sitting with my kids in a booth of a restaurant. My phone beeps, I check my messages, because I get a lot of business ones these days. There is a photo of myself, taken a scant minute earlier. "You look tired."

A few minutes later, my phone beeps again. I check my phone. There is a big smiley emoticon bouncing with the message "Hi."

This goes on and on.

They have a limit of 400 messages.

Any bets on how soon they blow through these?

Forgiven

You know what this boy did today? I had a dental cleaning this morning, and didn't get around to finding a babysitter for him. I took a huge risk and brought him with me. And do you know what? He was an angel. He sat on the twirly chair and drew spaceships. He chirped and chirped to the hygienist about how he used to be two, and now he's three. How three is a 'pink' birthday, whatever that means. He told her all about Peter Pan, and how if you think happy thoughts you can fly. He sat still for a whole hour, and thoroughly charmed everyone.

I think I'll keep him after all.

Mommy Hell

This is actual footage from my cell phone at the grocery store today. Sorry for the poor quality, but it's had a bit of a journey to get to this blog. Here's a transcript: (screaming at the top of his lungs)

"AAAAAAAAAAH! I HATE YOU!!!!! I WANT THIS TO TIP OVER!"

At this point, I still thought it was funny. He's usually an angel whenever I take him anywhere, so I could appreciate a little spice. However, it got waaaaaaaaaaay worse. I've actually never had a fit like this in all my years of parenting rascally boys. I ended up having to haul him out of the cart, sit right down on the floor in the frozen food section and put him in time out. We sat there for what felt like an hour, with him shrieking about how he hated me, and how much I was hurting him. Nice. I think I've gone and lost my "Mother of the Year" award for this one.

And We Have a Winner!

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