The Longest of Ever

Here's a little "slice of life" post- just a funny moment from a day. I was sitting at the computer, typing away at something. The house was quiet- so nice and quiet since the boys went back to school! Liam had been minding his own business for the last hour or so when I heard him call me.
"Hey Mom! Come here!" This could only mean one thing, he'd built something he wanted to show me. If he needed something from me, it would sound a lot different from that. The curious thing was, I could tell by the echo he was in the bathroom.
"Come see mom! It's the longest of EVER!" Who can resist that?
I hurried to his location, and found him on the toilet- where he had, indeed, made something he wanted to show me.
Can I just say something? He's four. It was at least 14 inches long. How is that possible? How do they DO that?
There you go- a slice of life. It's just as if you were standing beside me in the bathroom, isn't it?

My Dirty Secret

I have to confess something- get it off my chest.
First of all, am I the only one out there who hates elementary school reading slips? I loathe having to fill out how many minutes my kid read EVERY SINGLE DAY. If my second grader is home sick, he gets TWO reading slips sent home, and they better BOTH be filled out or he has some terrible punishment like missed recess. If he reads for six hours one day, is he clear for the rest of the week? No. He's still expected to read 20 minutes every day, and I still have to sign the dang slip.
So what's my dirty little secret? (smirk) I cheat. I turn on the closed captioning on my TV and let my kid watch a movie. We just finished watching the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy! That's like- 10 hours, baby! They all read every word of dialogue, but they don't even register that it's reading. Mua ha ha ha!

The Clown Family goes to Church

It was the first Sunday of the year, and the time changed for our meetings from a brisk and early 9 to a languid and relaxed 11. I'd been looking forward to the change for months. But instead of a peaceful sabbath morning of church preparation, I ended up in Sunday Hell.
Because of massive renovations and the holidays, the regular laundry routine has been disrupted. There is literally no place to put the clean clothes. Don't tell me to just fold the load from the dryer. I spit upon that idea. Pt. Pt. (spitting)
So Sunday morning, all the little boys were bathed and squeaky clean with no clothes. Literally. As in, no clean underwear, white shirts, pants matching socks, or shoes. The place where the church clothes are stored wasn't even there. Where were they? It's a mystery.
By the time I made it to church, I was fuming. I stalked in late to Sacrament meeting, and where was Lewis? In the front row, naturally. No subtlety there. We had to put on an obscene fashion show, making our way to the front of the chapel.
As we sat down, I looked down the row, and had to stifle maniacal laughter.
Dainon was wearing some old men's wool trousers of mine that I had stored in the back of the van to go to Goodwill. It was a miracle that I found them! They were 3 inches too big in the waist, and two inches too long, so they were cinched with a belt. He had on a white dress shirt of Lewis', with billows around his wrists, and a sweater vest of Lewis' to camouflage the pants and shirt.
Kelton was wearing pants too big for him with no button on the waist. He wore a wrinkled white shirt with no top button and an adult men's tie with a knot as big as my fist. He wore a torn, hand-me-down jacket, white ankle socks and tennis shoes to complete the effect.
Dallin was by far ahead- he at least had dress shoes on, but not matching socks. They were visible because his pants were a good two inches too short. His shirt was too long, squeezing out from under a too-small blazer.
My boys seemed to be wearing every single item in the mending- dregs pile of Church clothes. All at the same time.
We were Klassy, man. Klassy.

Classic Dainon

I found my oldest son munching on my favorite tortilla chips and sour cream. I decided it was my turn to enjoy some before the bag was empty, so I excercised my rights as mother and confiscated them both. When he protested, I told him that I could have whatever I wanted as payback for all the nights I stayed up with him as a baby.
His reply?

Wait for it, it's a classic.







He told me that he would be leaving in a few years, but the stretch marks he gave me are forever- Who wins now?
He has a valid point, and I'm still giggling over that.

Year in Review

My poor orphaned blog! It's pretty sad that I still have Thanksgiving decorations. The thing is, I only have so much creative energy, and if it's diverted elsewhere..... alas for my poor blog.

I have been very busy though.

I've learned so much this year.

For one thing, I learned how to make raised doughnuts. One evening, I had a hankering for them, and that's pretty much all I did- for about 3 weeks! Lewis had to beg, "Enough with the doughnuts!" I had to perfect them. HAD to. It was all I could think about- how I could've let them raise longer, or greased the pan instead of flour. I learned that nutmeg really IS an essential ingredient, and rum flavoring works better than vanilla in the glaze. I smelled like frying grease for a really long time.

I learned that I really can leave the continental US without my husband. I'm that grown up. It really was a confidence boost to face customs, a mix-up in Amsterdam, a cancelled ticket in Dublin and help my very nervous sister through it.

Know what else I learned I could do? I can pump the gas pedal exactly 15 times before I start my husband's old pickup- then turn the key without touching the pedal and start the blessed thing. Then I can drive myself to the dump, BACK UP the truck without hitting the concrete pillars, slip on some work gloves, tiptoe through the trash in my ballet flats, and unload the sucker. I can. All by myself.

I can face a roomful of irate teachers alone.

I can handle the guilt of an entire summer spent with a backyard full of fruit and not one single jar of it canned.

I can laugh my head off when I slide sideways up to the intersection my husband warned me was icy, especially when two cops drive by just in time for me to right myself before they see.

I can look up at my oldest son. He's had to wait a long time for that. He's taller than most of his friends and they have been taller than their moms for ages.

I can look at a forgotten school lunch and not feel guilty for leaving it there.

I can (almost) embrace those extra 6 pounds.

I can really appreciate how fleeting the age of 4 really is.

I have learned to trust my husband when he says you either need to pull a permit before you start a remodeling job, or keep permits out of it entirely. Pulling a permit to assuage your conscience after the fact is not a plan. Really.

Thanks for the memories, 2009!

How I Almost Killed my Family on Thanksgiving

***Prepare yourself to be shocked, and to never want to eat over at my house again.***


This was a bad Thanksgiving. I was absolutely trashed. Substituting on my friend's paper route seemed like a good idea at the time. She needed the help, and my boys needed the experience and a little bit of money. It was only four days, how hard could that be?
Never. Again. Ever.

It was awful. We were terrible.

I think we set the record for complaints.
I was a grouchy, emotional zombie, all tied up in knots. Thanksgiving was at my house; all my siblings were in town. I was doing the turkey, dressing, potatoes, jello salad, and cheesecake. Typical of me, I began days and days ahead of time.
Except for the turkey.
I was planning on brining it, but it just didn't happen. Instead, I stuck it in the microwave for about 15 minutes the day before to begin the thawing process. That thawed the skin, and maybe a little deeper, and cooked the place where I forgot the little metal clamp on the bag. After pulling it out of the microwave, I stuck the turkey in the roaster pan with the lid on, handed it over to one of the older boys, and instructed him to put it in the downstairs fridge to thaw.
Thanksgiving morning, I staggered to the kitchen to start my preparations for the big day. It was around 9, and dinner was at 1:30. Shoot! I needed to get that turkey cooking right away! I went to the basement to grab it from the fridge. The blood forsook my face when I found the fridge empty. He must have re-frozen it! I opened the chest freezer and my lips began to tingle. Not there! I ran upstairs, ransacked the upstairs fridge and freezer (as if a 22 lb turkey was hiding behind bags of frozen peas). Nowhere. My turkey was nowhere. I saw spots.
I drug the offending boy out of bed and demanded to know what he did with my turkey.
"Turkey? I never touched the turkey, you just gave me that empty pan to put away. I put it in the storage room."
I swayed on the spot and tried not to get hysterical. I dashed to the room, and found the roasting pan on the ground, lid still in place. I lifted the lid and hefted the heavy pan under his nose.
"You call that empty?!!!"
He shrugged.
"I thought you said to put it downstairs. That looked like a good place."
My mouth opened and shut again several times, no sound coming out.
What was there to say?
My practical mind clunked into place. I turned to Lewis and told him that there was no way I could serve this bacteria-ridden piece of poultry. He insisted the turkey was fine. I consulted google, and no one on google agreed.
I dug deep, and remembered a horrifying story my mom told me about chicken slaughterhouses. According to her, they throw the carcasses in heaps. After they are well on their way to the dust from whence they sprang, the processors throw them in a bleach solutions and pack them for sale. Then off they go to the shelves of our favorite stores.
Bleach!
My mind clung to that idea like a life buoy.
I filled the sink with water, and added a bit of bleach- not enough to kill anyone, but enough to kill any germs breeding in the turkey. I soaked it inside and out. Then I rinsed it like no turkey has been rinsed before.
Then I cooked the crud out of it, and broiled the skin.
Then I served it. With a tremulous smile.
I watched everyone like a hawk.
And only the offending son threw up.
How's that for irony?

Obama Teleprompter Malfunction

This absolutely cracked me up! Thanks for passing this along, Jen.

Obama's Home Teleprompter Malfunctions During Family Dinner