You're all winners in my book

Wow. You internets know me better than I thought you did. I am highly impressed.

The lie amongst the truths?

I did exercise (though only once, and it was rather painful).

But since I love you all to bits and pieces, I decided to enter everybody into the contest anyway. Because you were all so nice to play along. And your guesses totally made me laugh. Courtesy of random-dot-org, the winner is:

idahocuzin said...

It's the GLASSES!!!!

September 27, 2010 10:03:00 PM CDT

Send me your address and a little ditty is headed your way.

Now, for the stories.

Dishwasher: Still broken. New one got delivered yesterday, but the geniuses at Best Buy forgot to tell me we needed a side mount kit since they can't screw it into the granite counter tops. Will be hand-washing dishes (and cursing) for another week or so. Grrr.

Chase's finger: No stitches needed; they used the glue to stick it back together. He's got a very cool scar and has hopefully learned when NOT to use a pocket knife in the kitchen.

Glasses in the toilet: True. And very gross.

McKay's bloody toe: Also very gross. Healing nicely thanks to me forcing him daily to soak it in anti-bacterial wash and then bandage it up. Just call me Nurse Ratched.

Garage door: Fixed and working like a charm (about the only thing around here that is though).

Sword Cake & Turkey dinner: Chase's birthday feast pick. It totally rocked. I was exhausted but felt like super mom. And, yes, I washed all those dishes by hand, too.

Getting kicked out of a fall festival by a cop: Tragically and horrifyingly true. I had a senior portrait session at one of my favorite parks here last Saturday. Unfortunately, it was the one weekend a year where they have this festival, and a policeman very rudely asked us to leave. I'm still unclear why. We weren't in the way or trying to pose our pictures on the middle of the craft tables or anything. But whatevs. We had mostly finished up, but it was pretty embarrassing in front of my client. Never had that happen before. Hope to never repeat it.

Thanks for playing. You peeps are the best internet friends a girl could ask for...

Trying desperately to find the humor in it all

The last few weeks sort of kicked my trash. I've spent more time in tears in the last two weeks than I have in the last two years.

But I'm over it and moving on. Today is a new day (and all that crap). So we're going to play a little Monday morning game that is a favorite of seventh grade parties everywhere:

Truths and a lie.

Below, you will find a list of things that actually happened to me this week, and one thing that didn't. Pick out the lie, tell me which one it is, and every correct answer will be thrown into the mix for a prize of some sort.

Last week:

My dishwasher breathed its last (resulting in me hand-washing the dishes EVERY. DAMN*. DAY. while waiting for the new one to arrive).

I took Chase to urgent care for a cut on his finger that he received while slicing banana bread with a pocket knife (because using a normal knife like a human is clearly beneath him).

I dropped my glasses in the toilet (after, not before).

I had to bandage McKay's bloody toe after he stubbed it and ripped the nail clean off.

I did not exercise at all.

I went to drive a carpool to the church and found that the garage door had broken a spring and would not open, resulting in the kids and I being stranded.

I single-handedly killed 96 fruit flies (honestly, where are they coming from?).

I made a huge, traditional turkey dinner and a sword-shaped cake, all on the same day.

I spent $150 on co-pays at the doctor's office in one week.

And I got kicked out of a fall festival by a policeman.

So take your guesses. Which is the one lie in all these terrible, awful, no-good truths? Contest ends Tuesday at noon.

*Don't worry. I've already given the jar a quarter. It was totally worth it.

The post that was (and then wasn't)

So there was a little post up yesterday, and after receiving more hate mail in five minutes than I have in my entire life, I decided to take it down.

Not because I let other people dictate what I say on this blog.

But because I had a horrible day yesterday, and after sobbing on the phone to the Husband about it, the last thing I needed was to sit down in front of my computer and be berated by strangers.

By people who clearly do not know me at all. By people whose intent is to hurt and to hate.

Neither of those things are my intent.

Nor will they ever be.

My sense of humor simply may not be your thing.

If that is the case, my advice to you is this: STOP READING.

To the rest of you fine people: Thanks for all the sweet words you leave here. They mean more than you will ever know.

Further proof of our Napoleon obsession

Last night, I had a friend coming over to get some updated corporate head shots. With the backdrop and lights set up, I snagged the first kid I could find to pose for a few shots while I tested the lighting.

With no staging or awareness of my Kip post yesterday, this is what he gave me:

Remind you of anyone?

And, yes, I do believe he was imagining himself weightless in the ocean, surrounded by tiny little seahorses.

That was it. That was the one. I think that's going to come out real nice.

Stay home and eat all the flippin' chips, Kip!

Last week, McKay got his braces on.

In case you lost count, that makes TWO children in orthodontia. (Ah, money. How I miss you. We used to have such good times at the mall.)

But I find that braces totally suit my boys' smiles. Gives their crazy teeth a purpose. Makes their smiles seem much more full of promise, instead of just snaggily and crooked in those mouths of theirs.

Lately, though, every time I turn around, I get what we have dubbed, The Kip Face.

For those of you not versed in Napoleon Dynamite speak, I am referring to the scene where Kip and Lafawnduh share a milkshake across the table and he looks up at her through his eye brows while raising them up and down, and smiling like a hyena.

It's oh so suggestive and alluring.

[Turn your sound off though for this clip. The music makes you want to kill yourself. And you really only need watch the first two seconds to get the gist of what I'm talking about)

Meet Kip. And Kip.

Brothers bonded forever by their love of stupid movies, braces, and their need to make their mother crazy.

Seriously, though. How cute is this boy? It's a good thing I like him so much.

J. Golden Stie?

Yesterday I gave a talk in church on personal revelation.

I think it went rather well.

Except for the part where I accidentally and inadvertently said crap from the pulpit.

And, no, not proverbial crap.

I said the actual word crap.

My oldest son told me he immediately looked around the room to see if his teachers were hanging their head in shame and disgust.

My daughter told me she felt I would have to give a quarter to the swear jar.

My middle son was too busy reading Calvin & Hobbs to notice.

Do you think it means they won't be asking me to talk again for a while?

I do hope so.

P.S. Those of you confused by the title, see this article. J. Golden Kimball was a prominent leader in the early days of our church who liked to swear from the pulpit. He's a legend of sorts and it took all my power to convince the husband NOT to name any of our children after him.

Him

I watched his hands as he worked, sawdust floating around him in the air. Big, strong hands. Hands I know well.

Hands that held mine continuously through three deliveries, even when I squeezed so hard he feared a broken bone.

Hands that gently supported three newborn heads, each in their turn, as he pulled back the blankets to peek at their beautiful, squishy faces.

Hands that have reached out to wipe many a tear from my freckled cheek.

Hands that rub his chin when he's lost in his thoughts.

Hands that carry his suitcase when heads out the door for yet another business trip.

Hands that tap the steering wheel in his car while he drives and sings along with the music.

I love those hands.

And I love the man attached to them even more.

He took a much needed day off a few weeks ago. Work life has been crazy for a while now and I was so relieved when he decided to take a break. It was a real treat spending the day with him.

Just he and I.

It hasn't been just us for quite a long time.

As I sat in the garage watching him work, I studied this man of mine. And I came to the conclusion, for what must be the millionth time, that he's one of the good ones.

They say that a good marriage is the ability to fall in love over and over with the same person.

I'd say it just happened again.

The sad, irrefutable truth

Teenage Stie, in all her scary, big-haired, mini-skirted glory

When you're a teenager, you sneak out of the house so your mom won't see you wearing a mini skirt.

When you're a mom, you sneak out of the house so your daughter won't see that you're not wearing the gaudy, homemade princess necklace she crafted for you.

When you're a teenager, you stay up late partying with friends and can sleep in until midday.

When you're a mom, you stay up late doing laundry and cleaning toilets and have to pull yourself painfully out of bed early in the morning.

When you're a teenager, you wear clothes that look cool, regardless of their comfort factor. [Pegged jeans and shoulder pads, anyone?]

When you're a mom, you wear clothes SOLELY for their comfort factor.

Pegged acid-washed jeans and freakishly matchy-match-socks Stie & date
(whose face has been changed for his protection)

When you're a teenager, you freak out when your brothers walk into your room because you think no one respects your privacy.

When you're a mom, you find yourself unable to even pee in solitude because your children are always chattering on the other side of the bathroom door.

When you're a teenager, you have braces, pimples, and feel awkward almost all of the time.

When you're a mom, you have cellulite, under-eye bags, and feel only slightly awkward at the PTA meeting when you look down and realize you are still in yesterday's ponytail and your sweatpants.

Most scary & awkward of all the Sties: Middle School short-haired mullet Stie. Yikes.

When you're a teenager, you fight with your parents for control over your life.

When you're a mom, you fight with the world for control over your child's life.

And when you're a teenager, you eat everything in sight without fear for the future.

When you're a mom, you have to hide in the closet while snarfing down the last of the good chocolate...for fear the children will see you and want some.

Mom Stie: The Happiest (and possibly cutest) of them all

P.S. Have you seen all of the fabulous sessions happening here? Stop by and take a peek. Exciting stuff, people.

She's got the look

Ah, Cheeky. What do you do in your sleep to create such fabulous hair styles? The perfect combination of tangles, ratting, and volume -- effortlessly.

I can't tell you how many perms, cans of Aquanet, and hours in the bathroom it took me to achieve that very same look in 1986.

Somewhere in the world, Bon Jovi is weeping with envy into his handfuls of mousse.

A fish out of water

[The victim of our murderous crime]

The past several weeks have seen the birth of a new obsession for my boys: Fishing.

They saved their own money and bought themselves fishing poles. They have researched gear and equipment ad nauseum. And when the idea to fish in our friends' backyard pond came up, I was not the least bit surprised. They even succeeded in getting the friend's daughter in on the project.

The planned Saturday finally arrived, and they found themselves with poles in the water as the sun arose. Within a few hours, they were back at my door, a huge catfish in hand. Excitedly, they talked over each other, sharing the story of how Chase had reeled the giant beast in. I looked down at the poor creature and noticed that he was still breathing. Noting wistfully that the Husband was out on an errand, I told them that they needed to knock it out so that it wouldn't suffer.

First, they smacked the fish against a tree. Still breathing. Then they tried the sidewalk. Still breathing. Even beating it over the head with a rock -- STILL BREATHING.

And the blood. OH MY HEAVENS, THE BLOOD.

This thing was dripping blood everywhere from what should have been its fatal head wound. Blow after blow, they tried to put the poor fish out of its misery.

and still it breathed.

It was Jaws, only in our backyard, and without the help and skills of Richard Dreyfuss.

I looked up to see tears forming in Chase's eyes, and knew that this was breaking his heart. Taking a deep breath, I swallowed the bile in my mouth, went against every fiber of my being, and offered to help them gut the fish. I knew exactly what was going on in his head and how this was hurting him - almost more than it was hurting the stupid fish. I also knew that if we didn't finish this to completion, he might not recover enough to ever eat meat again.

With my good kitchen knife, and no idea whatsoever what I was doing, I went to work.

And let me tell you, it was awful. This thing had a giant backbone that was nearly impossible to saw through. There was blood and guts all over my hands. You know that scene from Goodfellas where they are chopping the guy up using Joe Pesci's mom's kitchen knife? Sort of like that. Only not. Because we didn't actually kill anybody. But it was a bloody, stinky, traumatic mess.

And I'm pretty sure I might not ever be able to eat meat again.

I quickly extracted enough meat from the fish to make a meal and took it inside to cook. Finding the fattiest, deep fried recipe that I could, we cooked that baby up. It had to be delicious to help poor Chase forget the murder he had just committed.

And it was.

Though later that night, walking past the boys' room, I found Chase curled up and weeping in his bed. I put my arms around him, and his body wracked with aching sobs as he said he could not get the image out of his mind. His blue eyes looked into mine, pleading with me to help him understand how he could be so cruel. He vowed never to hurt anything ever again. In fact, he said he was not going to join the military because he didn't think he could kill a person.

I hugged him tight, fighting back my own tears, and I told him that he has just learned a skill which will enable him to someday feed his family, should the need arise. I told him that heavenly father created the animals for us to eat, and that he had done nothing wrong. I pleaded with him to forgive himself and told him over and over that he is not a bad person.

I think he believed me.

Though it will probably be a long time before either of us can eat fish again.

It was time for a facelift

Well, what do you think of the new look around here?

Stayed up way too late last night tweaking and changing - trying to figure out what I even wanted the little old blawg to look like, and ended up with this. Took me a while because I don't speak nerd html. Honestly though, who does?

But it may change; it may stay this way forever. We shall see.

Anyway, be back later today (hopefully) with a fish story you won't believe.

Happy first of September.