sick day

I cannot deny it any longer. I am sick.

I am achy, all stuffed up, and have a raw sore throat. As the mother in this family, I NEVER get sick. I am not allowed to be sick.

Today I am declaring myself sick and crawling back under the covers. [Right after I finish blogging about how sick I am, of course.]

See you tomorrow.

[Don't do any great blogging while I'm away.]

Martha Stewart has nothing on me

Halloween is a holiday that gets kind of overlooked in our house. Part of the reason for this is that I am married to Scrooge McScroogey Pants (Yes, that is his legal name on holidays. The man actually told our kids three years ago that the Easter Bunny doesn't exist. For no other reason but that he thinks it's lame to lie about a bunny that brings candy on Easter. I get that. Sort of. But he has been threatened to never see certain parts of my body naked again should he go telling them LIES about a certain someone that DOES come in December. Oh, yes he does. Right down the chimney, reindeer waiting on the roof and everything. Ahem.)

Anyway, we don't do much around here for Halloween. We go trick-or-treating, attend the token church Halloween party, but that's about it. Personally, I have a love/hate relationship with Halloween for one simple reason: The candy. I can't keep my hands off it. And it can't keep itself off my thighs. So Halloween and I don't necessarily see eye to eye.

But the one traditional Halloween thing that I do every year is make these spider web cookies (which unfortunately don't help when it comes to the matter of my magnetic thighs). Nevertheless, they are super easy and look really cool.

Here's what you do:

Take your favorite sugar cookie recipe. And instead of spending hours rolling the dough flat, cutting shapes with cookie cutters, and essentially having flour all over every crevice in your kitchen, make little dough balls and flatten them with your hands. Shhh. Don't tell Martha. It works just as good and takes half the time.

Then mix up the frosting glaze before you bake your cookies. I cannot stress this enough. The cookies will not work if you don't frost them right out of the oven.

For the glaze:

2 3/4 cup powdered sugar

2 tsp. shortening

3 Tbsp. water

1 Tbsp. corn syrup

1/4 tsp. vanilla

Beat all ingredients well. Separate about 3/4 cup of the glaze into another bowl and add desired food coloring. Put the colored glaze into a pastry bag with a small writing tip.

Now, when your cookies are RIGHT out of the oven - and I mean piping hot - take a few off the tray and begin frosting them with the non-colored glaze (I leave the rest on the tray to keep them warm until I frost them). Pipe the colored glaze in a bulls eye like this:

Then take a toothpick (or BBQ skewer in my case) and start in the center of the bulls eye and lightly draw lines going to the edge of the cookie. Repeat all around for spiderweb effect. [Hint: I never put the next batch of cookies in the oven until I have decorated the first. You HAVE to do this when the cookies are warm, otherwise the glaze doesn't melt on the cookies and they will look dumb. Trust me. I learned that the hard way.]

Stick in a few [hopefully lead-free] plastic spiders and VOILA! A Halloween treat. From my heart to yours. Enjoy.

Gratitude

We've had a neighborhood boy turning up on our doorstep every day after school. The kids are barely off the bus and in the door when David comes knocking.

I have posted before about the minor annoyance that friends can sometimes bring to our family dynamic. How other parents sometimes will dump their kid at your house, leaving you to provide entertainment. And how the new playmate sometimes disrupts the otherwise cohesive sibling playtime.

Well, David is no such kid.

David is a shy, skinny, blond-haired little boy. He does not rifle my pantry in search of treats. When my boys are begging him to play video games or watch TV, he is instead suggesting Legos and pretend play. He does not play with only one of my children at a time, but instead includes all three - even the Princess. (And I'll admit it, there are a lot of days that EVEN I don't want to be bossed around by the Princess). But David takes it all in with a smile. Nobody is odd-man-out when David comes to play.

And my kids just ADORE him. They beg to have him stay for dinner. They hate when it's time for him to go home. They would have him move in permanently, I'm sure. And with his polite manners and quiet demeanor, I just might consider taking him.

I've attributed his enjoyment of our family to the fact that his only sibling is a 15-year-old sister, who is probably not very interested in Legos and scooters. I've thought that my boys and their rambunctious nature must be the big draw for David. And that might be all it is.

But tonight, we learned a little more about our friend David. He was staying for dinner. Asking politely for seconds, waiting his turn, and complimenting me on my fine cooking skills (which let's be honest, very few people in this house ever do). Chase happened to ask him what time his Mom and Dad get home from work every day. David said his Mom gets home at five and his Dad? Well, his Dad passed away.

I could barely keep back the tears as we gently told him how sorry we were.

Cancer. About a year ago is all.

And suddenly, this shy, sweet little boy seemed so much older for his age. He's experienced more than a ten-year-old boy ever should. No child should know the heartache of mortality. He lives every day knowing just how fragile life is. How someone you love can be taken from you, whether you like it or not. My heart just ached for this little boy and what his family has been through.

Later, as I was tucking McKay in bed, he had tears in his eyes as he told me he could not imagine losing his Dad. You know what, Buddy? I can hardly imagine it either.

And so today, we will hug our Dad just a little bit tighter.

And tomorrow, we'll play with David, just like we do every day. Only this time, we'll understand maybe why he's so shy. And we'll not mind that he knocks right after the bus passes. Because his house is probably too quiet.

And ours is everything but.

Our little runner

On your marks, get set...

Go!

And go they did. On Saturday, McKay competed against 250 boys his age in a one-mile run. Only the first 40 finishers received medals.

He was number 160.

He was a little disappointed, but I think he did pretty great. He ran his little heart out, had a fun time, and did something he's never done before.

Good job, kid. You did us all proud.

It's the Eye of the Tiger (only without the raw eggs)

Meet the running coaches, clipboards in hand. They SEEM very intent in their work:
The coaches have a most serious training regimen; including running, "wates" [weights], and working hard. Notice working hard has not been checked off yet. Breaking a sweat and coughing up a lung don't count as hard work around here.

Now who is our fine, stellar athlete, you ask? Why, it's none other than McKay. Gearing up for his elementary school cross country meet. He has to run a mile - and be in the top 40 to win a medal (which his competitive nature is counting on). His pace today was a 9-minute mile.

The big race is tomorrow. Wish my little guy good luck.

P.S. Do not be fooled by the intensity of our coaching staff. These kids will do ANYTHING for a little afternoon of Sponge Bob on the telly.

Even exercise.

Or pretend to coach.

Will work for long pants and sweaters

Fall is here. There's just no denying it any longer. Yes, Summer had a good run - one that lasted well into the middle of October. Two days ago it was 85 degrees. Right now? About 49.

Unfortunately, Fall has caught me a little by surprise. It shouldn't have, but it did.

When we moved from Boston to San Diego a year and a half ago, I all-too-cheerfully filled our trash can with everything warm - sweaters, coats, boots, mittens, snowsuits, and long pants. Gone forever was winter from my life. Winter and I? We were breaking up. Irreconcilable differences, in the end. Gone would be the bitter wind chills and Nor'Easters. Gone, too, the annoying snowstorms that always come in May. Instead, winter was going to be replaced by warm, glorious San Diego sunshine. Sunshine. My new boyfriend. The one that I was going to be having an affair with at the beach every day for the rest of my life (until I got skin cancer and died, that is).

Well.

Hello, Missouri. And like the abusive boyfriend I just can't stay away from, Winter and I are back together again.

So now the mornings are chilly, the afternoons brisk, and the nights freezing. Our wardrobes have come up severely delinquent, and it is especially evident in the children.

So bad, in fact, that Chase walked out of the house this morning in an outfit similar to this:


McKay is still living in denial - he went out the door in shorts and a hoodie. And I felt sorry for him, I did, as I watched him hop up and down at the bus stop, while I was all warm and cozy inside the house.

He thinks he's too cool for the flood pants that his brother so happily wears. Well, who's cool and who's cold, mister?

So it is with a heavy heart today that I'll get online and start shopping for the blasted long pants, the winter coats, boots, mittens, and hats for the children. Blech. I'm just not feeling it. I'd rather be shopping instead for some of these to adorn my own closet:
But I can't wilfully subject the children to ridicule, so new clothes for them it will be. Oh the joy.

Finishing what they started

Well, I obviously didn't spend my weekend getting blisters, chugging Gatorade, sweating profusely, and cursing everyone who passed me (as I did on a Saturday back in 2004). I bowed out of my little Marathon, and haven't regretted it since. But while I was busy haggling for fake purses on the streets of Midtown, my brothers were running their hearts out. For Matt, (pictured left) this was his virgin race. Dan (pictured right), ran with me in 2004. [The guy in the middle is my cousin's husband, Joe. This is like his 7th marathon or something crazy awesome like that.] Those two brothers of mine finished with a time of 4 hours and 25 minutes, and having done a race myself once, I think that is pretty fantastic.

And so because I kind of like them, and in honor of their victory, here is my top ten list of reasons why I think they deserve this big success:

1. Because they chose to do something hard, put their minds to it, and did what they set out to do.
2. Because they both have three young kids and work hard to be good Dads.
3. Because when we were little, my older brother and I tied Daniel to a post in the basement and left him there crying.
4. Because when we were little, Daniel and I wrapped Matt up tightly in blankets and left him outside in the snow crying. [What is it about me and tying people up in my youth? I really have outgrown that one.]
5. Because I once made fun of Daniel's red hair and Matt's need for glasses.
6. Because they are good husbands to their wives.
7. Because their kids were all cheering at the finish line wearing t-shirts that said, "Run, Daddy, Run."
8. Because running a marathon is really, really hard.
9. Because they didn't quit [unlike someone else I know, ahem]. They trained through the heat of the summer, while working full-time jobs, serving in the church, and raising families.
10. And finally, because I love them.

Well done, you two.

There's no place like home

I'm back home after a fantastic weekend with my peeps. We have made this our little tradition; heading into the city without our husbands and kids for some girl time. Nobody leaves NYC without a Broadway show, loads of good food, fake purse shopping, and late night hilarity (that's when the REAL Stie comes out. If you haven't met her, you're missing out. She's much more fun than Daytime Stie).

It was great to reconnect - some of us haven't been together in three years, which was way too long. Adding to the fun was my adorable sister-in-law, Gabi, coming to meet us on Saturday for a show (although we would have kept you all weekend if Brad would have spared you, Gab). We saw The Drowsy Chaperone (HIGHLY recommend it, if it comes to your city. So, so cute). It was just the old fashioned Broadway that I love. Tap dancing, zany characters, soaring voices, and a wedding or two thrown in for kicks. It was a musical as they are meant to be done. We all absolutely loved it. The weekend was just what I have been needing. [Jackie, Cindy, and Bridget - you were sorely missed. We will not accept your excuses next time, trust me.]

We've all done NY a time or two, so this was merely a weekend spent eating, laughing, and catching up. We stayed in Times Square and shared our hotel with about a bazillion ladies in town for the breast cancer walk, all sporting large, pink cowboy hats. We walked through Central Park. We had a luxurious Sunday brunch at the top of the Marriott Marquee (for which my pocketbook has not yet recovered). It was a perfect weekend.

But the biggest adventure for me was the journey home. It seems I have had too long of a lucky streak in the travel department and was overdue for some misfortune and near-misses.

Let's just say this about the experience:

One cancelled flight + one flight re-booked on another airline = Racing to TWO different terminals to find the right gate.

Two different terminals + 1 suitcase + 1 purse = TWO long waits in security lines (AGAIN).

One cancelled flight + one stupid ticket counter person = Second leg of journey cancelled for you. [Oh, how nice. I always wanted to move to Washington, D.C. without my family. No, I don't need to get home, you IDIOT!]

One stupidly cancelled flight + no record of previous flight plans = One ANGRY, anxious, yelling Me.

Ten minutes of yelling, pleading, and explaining + shortened layover time [due to the First Lady flying into LaGuardia and causing the runway to be unusable until secured (yeah, Annie, my lone celebrity sighting: I saw her plane and security detail. Woo hoo.)] = Me RUNNING through Reagan Airport to catch my second plane, practically shoving people out of the way as I go.

One minute of begging to get to the front of security line (which I am now going through for the THIRD time in this stupid airport) + sprinting to my gate to catch a flight that was due to leave any second = Sweaty, sobbing heap of a mess. Me.

And nothing says WELCOME HOME, MOM! like a five-year-old throwing up all over the [yes, carpeted] stairs at two-thirty in the morning. WHY, WHY, WHYYYY couldn't she have done that on The Husband's watch? WHY? Oh, no. She saved that little ditty for my cleaning pleasure. I think it's her own private way of punishing me for leaving her alone with the men in this house and having some fun without her.

I think I need another vacation. Now.

Happy Birthday, Opa

Ask and ye shall receive

Because of the roaring demand from the likes of Celia Fae (and because she makes me laugh so hard every morning), I have added a portrait of myself to the sidebar. It may not remain there for long as I rather hate staring at myself unless I'm looking in the mirror having the eternal debate of "Bangs?" or "No Bangs?" But because you internets were so nice (and some of you nice without seeing me), I decided to oblige. There I be.

Anyway, probably won't post much in the next few days. I'm off to New York City with some of my long lost best girlfriends. And to my BFFs who couldn't come: Bridget, Cindy, and Jackie - we won't be having any fun without you. I promise. No broadway shows, chocolate souffles, fake purses in Chinatown, or frozen hot chocolates at Serendipity. No, siree. No fun at all. We will just be jogging, eating tofu, and cleaning graffiti off buildings in the Bronx. Just think of us doing that and maybe you'll be glad you couldn't make it. Anyway you slice it, you girls will be sorely missed.

So have a great weekend, all. I'll be back on Monday with loads of pictures (of me jogging, eating tofu, and scrubbing graffiti, ahem!) and can't wait to catch up with all of you. I'm outta here!

Flirting over the canned peas and macaroni

Today I was strolling up and down the aisles of my local grocery store. I kept meeting the same person in the middle of each aisle. Every time I passed this man, he smiled up and me and said, "Hello, pretty lady."

Which, thanks to my most thoughtful son telling me all that is wrong with my fine self, I was needing today.

With each passing aisle, and each passing compliment, my self-esteem soared. See, McKay, SEE? Strangers tell me I'm pretty. I can't be ALL THAT bad.

But our little game ended when I heard him say the exact same thing to another store patron. Sadly, it was not a trim, cute soccer mom that drew his attentions away from me. It was a balding, elderly man wearing a pink shirt.

Next time our carts passed, I eyed him more carefully.

He is mentally challenged.

And I, unfortunately, am still ugly.

Is it possible that I'm not as attractive as I think I am?

McKay (or who shall now be called the Son Who Gets Cut Out of the Will) asked me what appeared to be a purely philosophical question yesterday.

"Mama, if you could change anything about the way you look, what would it be?"

I was thoughtful for a moment and then said, "I'd probably get rid of all my freckles."

His face scrunched up in a REALLY, THAT'S IT? kind of look. I took a deep breath and asked him the question that sends men everywhere running for cover: "WHY, what do you think I should change about my looks?"

And he answered me, internets. He actually answered THAT question.

"Well, I'd make your eyes bigger. And your nose smaller. And your ears bigger. And you have too many freckles on your neck. And maybe you could have better hair."

Umm, yeah.

Clearly, he has not yet learned that when a woman asks ANYTHING about her looks, size, face, hair, clothes, eyebrows, muffin top, weight, freckles, or pinkie toe, you reply with, "Why no, honey, you're perfect just the way you are."

Because I am, you know.

And there's nothing like a nine-year-old boy to make you suddenly so insecure. Do I have a big nose? Are my eyes small and squinty? Are my ears too small? Can ears be too small? Yes, I know the freckles are a problem. But my hair? Is it really that bad? What else is wrong with me? And look, LOOK, at my behind. It's HUGE. I'm like a tank walking around with all this girth. And all this flab around my waist? I'm like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. And what about my feet. I have horrible feet. And I hate my eyelashes. They're so ugly. Why do I have to have these bird-like arms? I hate my mouth, too. I'm a freaky, mutant animal, I tell you. THAT'S WHAT I AM - AN ANIMAL. I'm hideous. Look away, lest I burn your retinas with my Quasimodo-esque face. I'm SO UGLY!

After my womanly tirade is over, The Husband sighs, looks up from his football game, and calmly replies in that Pavlovian way all husbands should, "Nah, you're perfect just the way you are."

He at least was brought up right. Can't say as much for his son.

What not to use for a belly ache

So I'm back. Survived the visit from both in-laws and parents. Did more than survive, actually. Had a great time. My kids have some pretty great grandparents. Missed my little bloggy world though.

One night this week, my mother-in-law and I are chatting on the couch. Hannah comes in, moaning that she has a tummy ache. We had just eaten at the World's Largest Chinese Buffet, and truth be told, I had a tummy ache, too. Being the excellent, lazy mother that I am, I sent her up to retrieve a bottle of Tums. I describe it to Hannah as "That thing you always think is candy and I never let you have? Go get that."

She is upstairs rummaging for a few minutes and comes down empty-handed. She just can't find it. She asks what letter it starts with. I tell her it has a big T on it. So she heads upstairs again.

Then, she comes downstairs with the biggest box of this you can buy:

"Is this it, Mama?"

That does start with a T.

And it may be until she actually needs one of those herself before she forgives me for laughing so hard.

Belated swap thanks

I have been at least a month overdue in thanking Nicole, my swap partner, for the fantastic package she put in the post for me. If you don't know her already, please stop by her blog. It is like thumbing through the pages of Blueprint or Domino. She is an amazing photographer. Her pictures are just gorgeous. She is even offering photography classes, and I pout every time I read about them because I live too far away to go. I am so glad I got to meet her. Please pop over and give her a look. She's a doll. And a keeper. Thanks, Nicole!

mission accomplished - sort of

So here is the revised list of what I actually accomplished yesterday. Be impressed. Be VERY impressed:

1. Grocery shopping? Done. Cupboards full of chips, cookies, M&Ms, and baby cokes for Oma. Because nothing says Welcome to my Home! like a whole lot of carbs, sugar, and fat.
2. Guest bathroom? Painted, towels hung. Dum dum still being cursed.
3. House? As clean as it's gonna get.
4. Dehumidifier and fan? No longer using up eleventy billion kilowatts of electricity in my house.
5. Husband's Playboys? Hidden. [STILL KIDDING!]
6. Rock hard Cub Scout patches? Sewn on. Skin on fingers no longer intact though.
7. Pack meeting? Attended.
8. 15 pounds? Still with me, give or take. Crap.
9. Federal Disaster Areas? Spotless (and outside garbage can at least three bags fuller).
10. Toothpaste? Removed from ceiling. Lecture about proper brushing techniques given.
11. Haircut for me? Negative. Still looking very scarecrow-ish. Made the right choice and refused Super Cuts' fine offer to help with my scarecrow status. Tempting, yes. But will wait for proper salon, thank you very much.
12. Axl Rose to Brad Pitt makeover for the boys at Super Cuts? Check.
13. Laundry? Folded and put away.
14. Nap? Not taken. Sleep last night? VERY, VERY little. (Hence the long list of accomlishments.)
15. Pedicure? Negative. Sigh.
16. Blog reading? A little. Because it's all about priorities, you know, Daniel.
17. Phone gossipping and scrapbooking? It'll have to wait until next week.

Thanks for all your kind wishes, Internets. Now all we have to do is have fun with the grandparents and find something great to show them here in St. Louis.

It may have been easier to finish my to-do list. We're not in San Diego anymore, Toto.

To do or not to do, that is the question

My parents are flying in tomorrow, followed by The Husband's parents on Thursday. Here is a list of things that I need to do right now:

1. Go to the grocery store so my mother does not see the sorry state of my cupboards and think we are starving.
2. Prime the downstairs guest bathroom wall (for which I am still cursing Dum-Dum).
3. Paint the downstairs guest bathroom.
4. Hang adorable towel hooks on the wall in the downstairs guest bathroom.
5. Clean the entire house top to bottom so my mother will not think that I am a slob.
6. Call Service Master to come get massive dehumidifier and fan that are here as a result of this. Which turned out to be a minimal leak, caught early, and not worth committing suicide over (as I had momentarily considered).
7. Hide The Husband's enormous stack of Playboys. [KIDDING, people, KIDDING.]
8. Sew rock-hard Cub Scout patches onto Chase's shirt for pack meeting tonight.
9. Run to Sam's Club and buy a long list of paper goods I am assigned to bring for pack meeting tonight.
10. Actually take a shower and get out of ugly sweat pants less I embarrass the poor princess at the bus stop yet again.
11. Lose those 15 pounds I've been meaning to get rid of. You know, by tomorrow.
12. Find something fabulous to cook for everyone. Ideas??
13. Clean and organize the Federal Disaster Areas in our home, otherwise known as the children's closets.
14. Wipe toothpaste off of every surface in the kids' bathroom. (How do they get it on the ceiling? What are they doing in there?)
15. Get a haircut so that I look less like a scarecrow and more like Angelina Jolie.
16. Take the boys for haircuts so they look less like Axl Rose and more like Brad Pitt.
17. Finish washing 19 loads of laundry.
18. Actually fold and put away said laundry.

What I really want to do:

1. Take a nap.
2. Get a pedicure.
3. Read blogs until I go blind.
4. Read US Weekly cover-to-cover (might have to find a braille copy if I succeed with number three).
5. Order take-out.
6. Fake sick and force The Husband to take the kids to pack meeting.
7. Pay someone to clean the house and do all the laundry.
8. Drink diet coke and eat cookie dough.
9. Do number eight and still find a way to lose those 15 pounds by tomorrow.
10. Go to the mall and buy myself lots of stuff.
11. Chat on the phone for hours and gossip about Brangelina.
12. Lock myself in my studio and scrapbook.
13. Go to the store and buy myself lots of scrapbook stuff.

I would safely say that probably three or four things will probably get done on each list.

Which things and which list? Can't say just yet. We'll find out tomorrow.

My luck; my life

Say your oldest son is upstairs taking a shower. You JUST HAPPEN to glance over and see water dripping out of the light fixture in your living room. You just then notice the big four-foot long water mark on the ceiling.

Your in-laws AND parents are due to arrive in three days.

Yeah. This is my life.

Heaven help me this week, internets. I'm gonna need it.

Dear Chase

Dear Chase,

Today you are eight years old. How is that possible? I feel like time seems to be slipping away from me. What has happened to my little boy? I can still picture you the first moment I saw you.

You were born on a cool, crisp September day in Seattle. The only one of my babies born remotely on-time. You came with one dimple and a set of blue eyes that are still deep and dreamy. To say that you were a happy baby would be true, but you also spent a good deal of your first year crying. Some call it colic. I've always felt it was simply a personality too big to be confined to such a small body. You have certainly grown into that personality (lately, right before our eyes). You are much more content with life than you were in those early months.


Right now you are in second grade and just seem to be thriving in school. Your obsessive personality is currently focused on all things war. You beg and plead every weekend for a "war" movie - savoring such classics as "Bridge on the River Kwai" and "Sands of Iwo Jima." Each time, your Dad and I wonder if they will go over your head, but you soak up every detail like a sponge and reiterate the plots to us for days afterward. You pour over your World War II books and fill our lives with random factoids that we've never heard before. You get positively giddy over old books just like your Opa, and cannot get enough of anything related to history. I think you'd be just as at-home in an antique store as you are on a playground.

You are so passionate about conservation. If someone "accidentally" throws a can in the garbage (usually me), you will rescue it for the recycling bin, then give us all a lecture on protecting the environment. You get upset and have come to tears when talking about the destruction of animal habitats. You worry so much about this little planet of ours. You care about all god's creatures, and have a tender spot reserved just for reptiles and amphibians.

You are so close to your brother. The two of you have become one entity; you have become simply "the boys." You are inseparable. You have interests as different as night and day, yet you are the best of friends. Your brother is, however, trying to come to terms with the fact that you are already as tall as him, and may shortly pass him up. I have no doubt that you will. I also have to laugh every time your father tries to take credit for it.

You are such a kind, sensitive little boy; yet there is a fierce independence inside that does not care what anyone thinks of you. You are confident in yourself and your decisions. You never second guess yourself. Times where I would melt with insecurity, you walk boldly in with your head held high.

You are so willing to give me hugs in public and light up when I come to help in your classroom at school. Occasionally, you even still reach for my hand in a parking lot. I treasure these times because I have no doubt they will fade, as has the rest of your former baby self.

You are my little artist. A few years ago, you would be so hard on yourself and get absolutely frustrated when a project didn't turn out the way you wanted it. Now you take such pride in your creations. You can turn a discarded pile of scraps into a masterpiece. You have the creative vision to see what things COULD be. An empty cardboard box is not trash; it is a blank canvas, full of possibilities.



You are a beautiful person, both inside and out. I love you, little guy. May this be your best year yet.

Love,

Mama

My Last Lecture

Have any of you seen or heard about this? The Husband forwarded this great article to me from the Wall Street Journal. A lot of universities are now having professors give lectures and speeches - as though it would be their last. Many have been waxing philosophical and poetic with one last look at their life and what they would have the world know after they have gone.

This article really got me thinking. What would I say to my children if I knew I was dying? What lessons would they need to know? I began thinking so much about this that I decided to write my own Last Lecture. Kind of like the talk I'd give if I were to attend my own funeral. But since I am who I am, my Last Lecture must be in the form of a list. So here are some of the things I've learned in my short life that I would want my children to know:

• Boys who are mean and tease you actually really like you.


• Seventh, eighth, and ninth grades are not kind to anyone. Not even that pretty girl who never gets pimples and wears the cool jeans.


• Don't take things personally.


• Don't over-analyze every conversation and be critical of yourself for hours afterward.


• Don't feel insecure when you walk into a room and don't know anybody.


• Don't ever feel like you're not good enough. YOU ARE GOOD ENOUGH. And then some.


• Never lie. Unless it's to get out of a bad date. Then come up with a DOOZIE.


• Never be afraid to talk to that cute boy. He just might be your soul mate.


• Look at the glass as half full. Even if it's not.


• Find a creative outlet.


• Then create something every day.


• Learn to bake a really good cheesecake and your spouse will always forgive you for accidentally making pink gravy.


• Organize your life. Clutter can actually cause your brain to explode.


• Be okay with laughing at yourself.


• Always remember that you're never too old to make new friends.


• Don't be afraid to try something new. Even if you're really bad at it. ESPECIALLY if you're really bad at it.


• Be physically active. Exercise will make life seem more manageable.


• Always make sure to taste the cookie dough. Can't stress this one enough.


• And the cookies, too.


• Don't waste your energy on things that don't matter.


• Marry someone that makes you laugh.


• Don't panic because your first baby never cries. Your second one will. A LOT.


• Savor every moment with your babies. Even the ones when you're so annoyed you want to scream. Your babies will grow up entirely too fast.


• Take pictures of everything in your life.


• Wear sunscreen.


• Learn to measure a person by their character and their soul; not their looks or situation.


• NEVER, and I mean EVER, take two toddler boys to Nathaniel Hawthorne's House of Seven Gables in Salem, Massachusetts. Just trust me on this one.


• Accept that your life is a poster for Murphy's Law. And be okay with that.


• Learn to love all your faults. Even your freckles. And the jiggly bits on your thighs.


• Laugh at something every day.


• Read good books. Over and over again.


• Never stop learning.


• Love those around you.


• Be forgiving.


• Never judge anyone. You just don't know everything.


• Love yourself.

What would you have your loved ones know?

Having THAT conversation yet again

I have been working like a mad woman to get some painting done in the house before my parents and in-laws come visit next week. As we were headed out to catch the bus, Hannah turns to me (as I am fully ensconced in my paint garb) and says:

"Um, Mom...aren't you going to be embarrassed going out like that?"

"No, why would I be embarrassed?"

"Because nobody pretty much wears clothes like that outside. Shouldn't you change?"

This from the girl who thinks this is appropriate for outside wear:

Fashion advice noted. And ignored.

Dum-dum does it again

In the guest bathroom in the basement, we have a little problem.

The previous owners thought it was just an awesome idea to screw a towel rack onto a piece of wood, and then screw that piece of wood into the sheetrock. Doesn't that just scream klassy decor? Don't you just want one for your own house? Well, in their decorating haste, they didn't use any drywall anchors and it fell off the wall every time anyone so much as touched the towel that hung from it. It was annoying, but on my seemingly endless list of rehab projects. I've already even bought the most adorable hooks to replace it.

(Shut up, Daniel. I know what you're thinking. And you're wrong. Hooks CAN be adorable).

Well, I went to prep that bathroom this week for painting. To my shock and horror, I was unable to pry that towel rack off the wall. I took all the screws out and it just would not budge. I yanked harder. I tried jimmying something behind it to pop it off. Nothing.

Well, it finally did come off. And this is what I found:

That big brown patch, my friends, is the sheetrock paper from the wall.

I immediately questioned The Husband as to WHY? WHY? WHY? he would glue that towel rack when he knew I'd be replacing it.

He didn't do it.

Well, then who did?

Our only thought is that our BRILLIANT contractor took it upon himself to glue the towel rack to the wall. He, who couldn't lift his hammer into the air without first increasing his already-padded invoice DECIDED TO DO SOMETHING ON HIS OWN. For free. I'm sure he sat in the basement and patted himself on his shirtless, sweaty back for doing such charitable service. Probably made him feel less guilty for over charging us on everything else he did.

So now we get the pleasure of re-mudding and patching a GIANT HOLE in the wall that should not be there. Would not be there. Were it not for the contractor I call Dum-Dum.

What's that you say? Call him up! Make him fix his mess! I would love to. But doing so would require that he step foot in my home (most likely hairy and shirtless) and I just can't bear the sight of that. EVER. AGAIN.

So pardon my cussing (still pining away for that R-rating). I'm so f#@% mad I could scream. But I can't. What with all the plaster dust I'm inhaling.

And I wouldn't recommend simultaneous cursing and inhaling. Makes for a very bad day, indeed.

Things I learned this week

• Before weeding the flower beds in your front yard, it is helpful to know which are flowers and which are weeds.
• Knowing this in advance will prevent the elderly woman next door from having a heart attack as she watches you cheerfully pluck flowers instead of weeds.
• When planning your son's 8th birthday, do not be naive enough to think you can simply take a few eight-year-old boys to the movies and call it a party.
• Before the week is through, you will somehow have morphed that brilliant idea into a full-fledged Army-themed party.
• At your house.
• And 13 boys will be coming.
• After spending a year in Sunny So Cal, do not be surprised when your children have no warm-weather gear that fits.
• Sending your son to the bus stop in YOUR jacket will make you feel just a little bit embarrassed because he doesn't have one himself.
• He, however, will be perfectly thrilled with the new jacket arrangement.
• Promptly running out to buy a new jacket for said son will guarantee 85-degree weather for at least the next three weeks.
• Getting that letter in the mail from GWB will be the highlight of a little boy's week.
• Watching this defeat happen in person will be the lowlight of The Husband's week.
• Your favorite thing this week: NOT having to watch that defeat and getting some girl time with the Hannah.

Darn, I was hoping for worse

I might have to break out some potty or swear words. That rating seems WAY too tame for a girl like me.

Life in Hannah's World

Hannah spends a good deal of time living in a fantasy land (as all children rightfully should). I find her regularly planted in front of her dollhouse, calling the shots for her dream life. Thought I'd give you a little tour.

First, when Aunt Lavender comes to visit, it is a big deal. A big enough deal to plant her on a chair in the kitchen with her wild hair and leave her there. For three days.

Sisters get to wear ballgowns and tu-tus. And take naps anytime they want. (Now this is starting to sound like my kind of life...)

Babysitters come to the house dressed like hoochie-mamas (definitely NOT acceptable in any sort of life):

Babies potty-train themselves (now WHY, WHY, WHY didn't I think of that?)

Brothers get time-outs for all sorts of terrible behavior. Like breaking sister's toys. Or for simply existing.

But what makes this dream life most appealing is that this is actually happening:

While the Mom does this:

Heaven help the man that marries my girl.

Finally, a response

A few months ago, Chase came downstairs with a letter he had written to the President. It was pure sweetness - from his heart, thanking GWB for sending our troops to Iraq. Since that time, he has checked the mailbox EVERY.SINGLE.DAY, hoping for a response. Each day his face fell as no letter came. He would dig through the pile of mail, then moan, "Why hasn't George written back?" (He's only the President, after all. Surely he has nothing better to do.) It was crushing me, so much so that I was on the verge of forging a letter, just to save Chase the heartache. Unfortunately, he's a little smarter than the average kid. He knows all about postmarks, stamps, and official seals. My forgery would have had to be pretty good to pass muster. My mother-in-law even recommended a friend of a friend of the family who lives in D.C. and could mail something for me, just to get the D.C. postmark. Good in theory, but I was a little worried about posting something with the White House as a return address. What with heightened security, mail fraud, and all such nonsense.

Fortunately for Chase (and to save me from that inevitable mail fraud indictment), a REAL letter arrived yesterday, courtesy of our new friend Dubya.

When the school bus dropped them off, I stood by the counter, camera poised, ready for the moment. Right as rain, Chase headed straight for the pile of mail on the counter. Just like he has EVERY DAY for the past two months. "IT CAME!! IT CAME!!"

Yep, it came. Complete with a nice glossy 8x10 of Dubya and the Missus. Real letter pressed seal on the paper, too (which he pointed out for all of us to notice).

My only challenge now is convincing Chase that we don't need to frame it all and put it up in the kitchen. So far he's not buying it.

Where were you six years ago today?

I had just dropped my oldest son off at pre-school and thought I'd hit the mall to shop for a few hours. I had my two-year-old with me, and had just found out I was pregnant with my third baby. What seemed like such an ordinary day would become the most extraordinary of days.

I was in a store, and they had pulled out a television. Everyone in the store was huddled around the small t.v. We really didn't know much in those first few minutes. We all thought a plane had simply crashed.

Until the second plane hit the towers.

More information started coming out. It was not a crash; but terrorism. How many more planes did they have? We didn't know. One thing was certain - two of the planes HAD flown out of Boston's Logan Airport. As had my husband that morning.

I immediately tried calling him. No answer. I tried calling his office to see if anyone had heard from him. His secretary said that, no, Josh hadn't called in yet. She told me that the car service the firm uses had taken someone to the airport that was on one of the planes.

"Debbie," I said, my heart pounding, "JOSH TOOK THE CAR SERVICE THIS MORNING."

I remember sitting in the car, in the mall parking lot, looking at the pristine, blue sky. I have never felt so small. The tears starting flowing. I started praying. Praying that my husband was not on one of those planes. Praying for the husbands that were. Praying for all of us.

It was a good six hours before I heard from Josh. He did fly on American Airlines that morning, on a flight about 20 minutes ahead of the hijacked planes. Same flight path. Same terminal even. He probably walked right past the terrorists and all the people on those flights. I've often wondered since then how many times we cross paths with sheer terror and never even know it.

The whole world changed on that crisp September morning. Nothing has been the same since. I will forever be grateful that my husband got on the plane that he did, instead of the ones that left a few minutes later. And my heart will always go out to those whose husbands were not so lucky.

God bless America.

I was inspired by Gabi's post today. Where were you?

Dear Diary

The other night the kids and I were looking for something in the storage room, and came across a box of my old journals. I pulled out the first journal I ever wrote in and started reading. It was just too hilarious not to share. And so, for lack of anything monumental to discuss, I bring you highlights from my 2nd grade journal. Note: All spellings have been left in their original form (and McKay was quick to point out all the grammar errors to me. Thanks, kid). It also is much more priceless in my scratchy handwriting, but I don't have a scanner at home. You get the general idea.

November 17, 1981

Today is my 8th Birthday. It's ben real fun. I got a night gown, A shirt, under wear, flower Brett's, raido, hair dryer, Cindrella tape, crayns, Book. I got a Snow white Birthday cake. I got A pen. And pizza for dinner. At school my class sang to me. we saw Mickey and the Beanstock And half of DumBo. And I got A card from the Insurance Company. Tomorrow is Craig's Birthday. Its Been such a nice day today I'm glad Its my Birthday today.

[Oooohhh, a card from the INSURANCE COMPANY. I was special. That proves it.]

_______________

November 24, 1981

Today at scool the Teachers Dubble Jumped Rope. Mr. higley fell. We All laughed at him. We saw a Dafey Duck Speceal. My cousens came over and me and Craig got 3 dollers. Its been so much fun. I have a cold that won't go Away. Mom said I was groanded tell my Room was clean. I have had so much fun today. It's been fun.

_______________

January 21, 1982

Today Mr. Higley said He could read MiNds. But I don't think he is telling the truth.

[That Mr. Higley...reading minds. Ppfffiishh. He was no match for my keen intellect. Couldn't fool me!]

_______________

May 5, 1982

Today is matt's 3rd birthday. he is very happy. he got cars, underwear, briches or pants. he got a ball, swiming suit, shorts, tank top. We had a barbcue. I ate: 1 hot dog, 1 ham burger and a peice of cake. Craig, Jhon, and Robert rode my Bike. I played with Rachel, and LeANN, and Kara. The next birthday will be dad's. I'm sure it will be fun. Today Dan went to the holgo zoo for a feild trip. I can hardly wait til summer because we get to go swimming. Matt scartched up my face today also.

[There is no way I could eat a hot dog, hamburger, and a piece of cake in one sitting today. At least not without a diet coke to wash it all down. And if Matt ever wants to know what he got for his third birthday...it's all there for posterity to treasure. And see, I was making lists even back then! Yes, I have always been crazy. And I am sure that Matt only got away with scratching my face because it was his birthday. I totally would have tattled on him. I was THAT kid, oh yes I was.]

________________

October 24, 1982

Today Mom is not feeling very good because she is going to have another baby. When she has babies she does not feel very good. Daddy went Dere hunting and got a Dere. It was a buck. Tomorrow he is going to go get it because he left it at the cabin.

[I think if I were Mom, I'd probably not be feeling good knowing that I was going to have deer meat in my freezer for the next six months.]

________________

September 12, 1983

Sunny day at home. At school cloudy day..

To begin with to those who come after me I would like to apologize for not writing in my journal for so long. I don't want anyone else to know that Stephanie and Erin and I can't sit by each other because Miss Pectol said we can't cause we talk too much. I think she is mean!! She is always so grouchy. I also hate school because the teachers get paid to make us miserable. They make us waste our P.E. time practicing going from class to
class and I hate it. Well at least the day is Over. It was O.K. today.

________________

So there you have it - a peek into my second-grade soul. It's funny to see just how many quirks I still have today. I especially enjoyed reading the list of foods I ate and apologizing to those who come after me for not writing so often. I'm sure Jane Austin did EXACTLY the same thing. Do any of you have childhood journals you'd like to share?

Hi, my name is Stie and I'm a Paint-a-holic

Before hanging off the window ledge with a bucket of paint:
After hanging off the window ledge with a bucket of paint:

Much better, dontcha think?

[I also promise to stop taking before and after pictures of my house and posting them on the internet.

Eventually. I'm on a 12-step program. Rehab takes time, you know.]

A letter

Dear Animal Living in the Tree in my Front Yard:

I understand the inability you wild animals have of toileting like us humans. I respect our differences, but must you litter my mailbox in this manner? And must it be EVERY DAMN DAY? I am really getting tired of using my bills to scrape your dried-up feces off the mailbox. I mean, those bills probably ought to be used in the manner in which god intended them (such as coasters for my glass of diet coke).

So if you could find it in your heart to scoot your little bum over about eight inches to either side of the mailbox, I would be most grateful. Grateful enough to, say, not throw rocks at you while I'm waiting for the kindergarten bus.

Much love,

Stie/Durga

Nice? Who, me?

Adorable Amanda has bestowed upon me a Nice Blogger award. (Clearly, she doesn't know me very well!) Thanks, Amanda! If you haven't been to her blog, go check it out. She is my moving comrade and has just recently uprooted with her husband and kids to Oregon.

And as is bloggy tradition, I get to bestow the award on three others. The first award goes to my friend Emily. They don't get much nicer than Em (in life, blogging, and everything else). Go get a dose of life with three boys at Emily's blog. She makes it look easy.

Second award goes to fun.crazy.life. Here is a cute mom who is not only expecting baby number three, but also has time to sew adorable items for her new boutique. Life is never dull with a few princesses underfoot, and she always makes me laugh with the funny things her kids say.

And the third award goes to my cousin, Kimberly. She is a multi-talented beauty who has three gorgeous kids and is living my dream in San Diego. I have always loved Kimberly and her family. Nice doesn't even scratch the surface there.

So feel free to pass on the bloggy love. Nominate three nice bloggers of your very own and keep the nice ball rolling. [Although I fully expect to one day get the mean blogger award. It is much more fitting]