You could set your watch by it

It's not the warm, muggy weather that is starting to creep in and make you sweat all over.

It's not the lack of homework or plethora of school functions four out of the five nights per week.

It's not even the sudden urge to stop eating and drop 40 pounds because OH MY GOSH it's time to get into a swimsuit.

Though that is a serious problem.

How do you know that summer is almost here? These fabulous hair cuts, that's how.

Six years running, people.  That is a lot of hair history.

I give you the Mohawk Brothers of 2012.

Before:

And after:

I was hoping to find an explanation for behavior like this, but sadly, I don't think we can blame it on the mohawks.  I think we can blame it on the fact that they are boys.

And boys will always be boys.

Welcome back, summer. It's good to see you, old friend.

A post! Don't die of shock

You wouldn't know it because I haven't posted since Adam and Eve were disciplining that little rascal Cain, but there is actually a lot of stuff that has happened around here recently, most of which is blog worthy.

I know!  Try to contain the excitement.

Tragically, I have had no internet all week to share any of it with you.

Or a home phone line with which to call and whine to you about.

(Provided, naturally, that you're one of the three people in my life who I'm actually willing to talk on the phone with in the first place.

A phone girl, I am not.  Give me email or give me death.)

But stay tuned.  There are things coming your way.  I succeeded in functioning as my own I.T. guy and the technology in my home is back up and running.

(No thanks to you, AT&T.)

Hooray for a belated return to blogging!  And thoroughly embarrassing my kids with tales from their real life!  And narcissistic posts all about ME that are sure to annoy my brother!

I. really. can't. wait.

DIY Bulletin Board

Want to learn how to make this cute bulletin board in just a few easy steps, one which does not require a can of spray paint and costs less than $20?

Step one: Buy a really ugly large print on clearance at Michael's or some other craft mecca. This one is 24x36. Large. And freakishly ugly. Unless black and white abstract leaves are your thing. In that case, never mind. You go back to enjoying your colorless, boring life full of leaves. And I'll try to stop judging you.

Step two: Remove the offensive, abstract leaf artwork, the accompanying mat, and, ever so carefully, the glass. Discard all of these items.

Step three: Insert 12x12 squares of cork board, also purchased at craft mecca. My print was a multiple of 12, so my squares fit evenly without having to cut any of the cork squares. If your frame is odd sized, just cut the cork to fit.

Step four: Using the double-sided tape tabs that come with the cork, secure all of the cork pieces to each other on the edge.

Step five: Using the thick backing that came with the print, flip over the newly joined cork squares. Lay fabric of your choice on a flat surface, and flip cork and backing over the top, with the cork facing down.

Step six: Pull tightly and staple edges of fabric to thick backing. I used a regular stapler because I'm lazy klassy like that. You could use a more advanced stapler, but mine worked just fine.

Step seven: Cut off excess fabric, and put inside your frame.

Step eight: Hang the bulletin board on your daughter's wall, and feel like an extreme crafter. Refuse to succumb to your husband's taunts about your lack of proper staple usage. Know deep down that your improper usage is what makes you awesome and distinguishes you from other DIYers and their fancy equipment.

Step nine: Stand back to admire your handiwork. Reward yourself with some chocolate and a diet coke.

Any questions?

How long until spring break next year?

In an effort to not get a year behind on the life documentation that was once this blog, I cannot let a post about spring break go unwritten. (Feel free to click off and hunt for p0rn or up-to-the-minute Kardashian news if you are not a grandparent or one of the people with us on this trip.)

We were invited by some friends to come share a beach house with another family in Florida.

Ten kids.
Three moms.
No dads.
A week on the beach.

What could have been a recipe for mayhem was a recipe for success. We had SO. MUCH. FUN.

So much so, that midweek, I realized with horror that it wasn't actually summer, and that we'd have to return to a rainy, wet, Midwest and resume getting up early in the morning for school.

It was a depressing 45 seconds.

Then, I gave myself over to the gloriousness that was our time there and sucked the marrow from life.

As you should during a week-long beach vacay.

Chase begged to bring his newly-received raft, and I gave in with reservations. I worried that it would take up too much room and not get used by anyone.

Oh, I was sorely mistaken. I think the raft was probably the most-used item, second only to the showers. They played in it every day. At the beach. In the pool. Everywhere. And, clearly, all at once.

Also a hot commodity were the many iPads. Will my children ever appreciate the gadgets that are such a big part of their world? Will they ever understand how I survived a childhood without them?

And with the hours of silent entertainment they bring, do I really want them to?

I'm going with a resounding no.

Mindy wins the award for best sport. When she reached down to get something out of the pool, my evil instincts kicked in and before I could stop myself, I gave her tiny backside a push. She fell in head first, clothes and all, and came up laughing. I waited tentatively all week for her revenge, but she never once retaliated. THAT, peeps, is a good friend to have around.

Also exciting was sharing the city with several intoxicated college students, who were also on spring break. Notice the handsome fellow bravely wearing a bright yellow speedo in the background? TOTALLY Mindy's team. Given to her generously by Beckie and I. Because we're just kind like that.

Also awesome was the up close and personal lesson my children received on the down sides of alcohol. Watching a group of (I'll call them) kids beer bonging on the beach at 11 a.m. left a pretty bitter taste in the mouths of us un-drunk beach goers. Thank you, spring breakers, for showing my kids firsthand what I want them to avoid.

All in all, it was a dream week. Even puncutated by the usual trip to urgent care for our family, it was a vacation to remember. One I'm anxious to go back to right now.

Finding the mojo

Oh, little blog. Will you ever be a regular part of my routine again?

I feel as though you are on life support, and I can't quite bring myself to pull the plug. You are quietly dying, neglected in your corner of my busy life. I love you and think of our great times together, and wish to be back in that place again. The place where I came to you and wrote often. Poured out my feelings and documented the everyday wonderfulness of our lives.

Yet I wonder lately if it would be easier without you weighing on the back of my mind, nudging me to pay attention to you, guilting the part of me that wants to see you thriving and well again.

Sigh.

What to do?

I feel as though most of the blogs I started with are gone. The fabulous circle of internet friends who made this world so fun has dwindled to the remaining few who bravely keep on posting. I want to be one of you. Really, I do. I just lack the motivation and the mojo. I feel as though I am out of ideas. That I have written on every topic humanly possible, and then some.

But then? Something will happen and a little drawer in my mind opens up and files away an idea. I think to myself, Yes! I could write a post about this. And then the phone rings, or the emails come in, and all of a sudden a month has passed without a post.

I hate that.

I miss the writing most of all. The cathartic clearing of my head. The joy of sitting down, fingers to keyboard, ideas giving way to words. The trembling fear of pushing publish on a heartfelt or emotional post, that ultimately led to peace and serenity in my soul. The giggling and secret joy, as I got my own jokes, and found myself far more humorous than anyone else ever could.

I need that. I need this.

I need a journaling outlet. I need a way to look back and remember how fantastic this life of mine is. It's going by at an ever increasing pace and I know I'll regret not jotting it down. Not remembering just how beautiful and awful and annoying and joyful it all really is. I am on the cusp of a whole new phase of life with my darlings, and I don't want to forget a moment of it. I want to remember the smells, the sounds, the glances, and the little touches.

I want to remember it all.

I'm going to get back. Though the frequency will likely be inconsistent at best, I refuse to give up the ghost just yet.

I have faith in you, little blog.

Hang in there.

Dear Husband...

While you were out this week, you missed a lot of exciting things.

First, we joined a gym! I know you will be totally thrilled about it. I am sort of sure I mentioned it on the phone, but sometimes you are busy not listening to my chatter working and miss things. Things I KNOW I told you about. And never accidentally forgot to mention or anything. Ahem.

You see, Chase had to complete a swim test for scouts and, seeing as how he missed doing it at scout camp last year due to a family vacation, the local community gym was our best option.

Once inside their beautiful facility, I looked around me and it was as if the heavens opened and a vision was granted to my eyes. I saw all kinds of greatness. I saw myself working out there like three times a day. Which would, of course, cure me of my cookie addiction, and bring on truckloads of weight loss, thus enabling me to achieve my lifelong goal of being mistaken for a young Grace Kelly. Everywhere I go for the rest of my life.

I also saw our children, racing on their bikes after school and swimming a few laps, thus enabling them to release pent-up energy and complete homework with joy and excitement.

All of this will be occurring while puppies, rainbows, and unicorns fly around us, naturally.

It's going to be great.

Once we, uh, you know, start working out there.

This week also introduced an old friend to our lives: The 4th Grade Recorder. I was hoping to have Hannah save all her practicing for the weekend so you can enjoy it as much as me, but her eagerness has dashed that dream. She has been tooting away for what seems to be hours, but is, in reality, only about ten minutes. It's, well, awesome. And highly valuable to her education, I am sure.

Lastly, you missed the gourmet feast of Tortizzas (think pizza tortillas) brought to us by Chase as a required lab in the sixth grade home-ec class. While it might not become the newest trend in culinary sophistication, it was a meal NOT prepared by me or purchased as take out from anything ending in 'ickdonalds'. He was thrilled with his success, and has since made them every day as an after-school snack for himself. It's quite honestly a welcome reprieve from his creatively inspired "homemade chocolate milk" that was more sugar than milk, and left a mess on the counter, cupboards, ceiling and floor. Tortizzas only leave a mess on the counter. It's great.

Otherwise, things here are going rather well. We're holding our own and anxious for the weekend to arrive. The boys have big plans for you to take them to the movies, and I have big plans to sleep late, watch some Downton, and maybe eat a few Tortizzas.

Oh, and go to the gym.

See you soon, love.

Stie

P.S. This is me attempting to re-enter the blog world after an almost unprecedented four week absence with no excuse to offer you whatsoever. I offer my apologies and assurance that all is well in our neck of the woods. Busy, but good.

Fourteen

Dear McKay,

Well, my boy, you are now 14.

As I've thought about what I'd like to tell you in this birthday letter, I am drawn time and time again to the contrast between you and the person I was at 14. I was snarky, sarcastic, angry, and insecure. I took every opportunity to buck the rules laid upon me, and resented the grown up people in my life. I was rebellious and unhappy.

The greatest thrill of my life is that you are, in every single way, the complete opposite of what I was then. You are happy, kind, sweet, and confident. You love and adore the parentals in this house and look forward to time spent together as a family. You obey the rules religiously, and bring logical well-planned arguments for our consideration when you think rules should be altered. Quite honestly, we usually agree with your logic, and make changes accordingly.

Though we don't tell you often enough, we are proud as punch for the maturity you show in times like these. You make it nearly impossible to tell you no, kid.

And you leave me wondering what I ever did to deserve you.

Right now, you are obsessed with all things basketball. Almost every item on your birthday wish list was basketball related. You have a routine after school each day, and you follow it rain or shine. After guzzling a large glass of milk, you head out to the back yard and shoot some hoops. I think it helps you to clear your head and unwind before the chore of homework begins.

What brings a smile to my face is that most days I look out the window and see you with your brother or sister, offering pointers, and cheering them on from the sidelines, rather than shooing them away to focus on yourself.

It's not the game that matters. It's the people who play alongside you that count. A lesson, sweet boy, that we are all learning from you.

Mack, your heart is pure gold.

As you grow into a man, which I know is bound to happen whether I like it or not, I hope you will take this knowledge and lock it deep inside your heart: There is not a day goes by that I don't thank god for sending me you. You are truly a noble soul. Your sweetness of spirit is infectious and brings joy to all those around you. You are quick to laugh, especially at yourself, and so easy to love.

You make me smile each and every day.

Thank you for showing me just how fantastically wonderful teenage boys can be.

I love you, my little KcKay. And I always will.

Love, Mami

Big Mack

Last week, I registered my baby boy for high school.

It brought a great deal of anxiety to our home. There were tears and panic attacks. Late night worry and lots of stress.

And all of it mine.

It is a marvel to me, this child of mine. Where I am worry and uncertainty, he is all confidence and cool. His junior high experience was (thankfully) nothing like mine. He breezed through halls that are fraught with angst and cruelty, and has come away unscathed.

He has aced all of his honors classes and still finds time to shoot a few hoops with his friends in the back yard. He loves freely and laughs often.

He likes the girls, we are discovering, but not overtly so. He's a fierce competitor, but not a poor sport. He wants to be just like his father and he loves his brother more than anyone else in the world.

Quite frankly, he's got us all wrapped around his not-so-little-anymore pinkie finger.

And, in spite of my protests otherwise, he will turn fourteen in just three days.

The clock is ticking on our time with this one. Here's hoping it slows down long enough for me to enjoy it.

Just when you think there's nothing to post about...

Last Friday, the Husband lost his iPad.

He left it on a Delta Airlines flight to who knows where.

Yes. The brand new iPad that I surprised him with on Christmas morning.

The iPad that I so sneakily hoarded funds in order to keep a surprise from him, rather than just plunking down the American Express.

And, due to my incredibly sneaky hoarding of funds, when its loss came to our life, there was no American Express to step up and replace it.

I asked. But, strangely, they weren't interested in replacing an iPad that they didn't help us purchase.

Jerks.

We both have been in mourning about it for several days now. [I mean, thank heavens our diamond shoes are still safe. At least THAT gives us some consolation in our bleak, bleak trials of life.]

Well, yesterday afternoon, the Husband received a call from Delta that we never thought would come.

The iPad? Not lost! Turned in by some good samaritan and on its way to St. Louis. It's traveled to a few cities and seen the sights, but it will be in our hot little hands come Wednesday.

I know it's trivial, and I know it's just a thing, but it makes me oh, so happy.

There really ARE some decent people left in the world.

And wherever they are, whatever they are doing, I hope life sends lots of good things their way.

Playing catch up

Last night, about 11 p.m., as I was dozing off to the high brow intelligence that is the programming on E!, I received a concerned text from none other than my biggest heckler brother Dan.

He was concerned that something was wrong.

You know, because I haven't blogged in about eleventy billion days.

I told him that I've been extremely busy lately, but all of it has been boring. Nothing exciting has happened and I can't imagine writing about any of it.

He suggested a post in tribute to his fine self, and I thought about that for all of two seconds. Then I reasoned that my boring was WAY more interesting for all of us than that.

Sorry, Dan.

Prepare to be astounded. It's been all kinds of awesome around here.

Like, for instance, when I took the kids for a nutritious meal at the Panda and Chase found this fortune inside a cookie:

Truer words have never been spoken. Man I love that kid.

Also of note was turning the corner while shopping at an electronics store last week and finding this smart aleck with his nose buried studiously in what I can only assume by his expression is the most awesome book ever written:

But where I've most enjoyed spending my time is the Pinterest.

Okay, fine, yes, I admit it. Pinterest is about the greatest thing that has ever happened to mankind, not counting the advent of diet coke. I eat every bad word I ever said about it and invite you to come find me on there. My boards? They pretty much rock.

An especially fantastic Pinterest find was the sock bun curls tutorial, which I promptly tried out on my skeptical, yet willing, daughter. The before photo:

And the after:

Which, yes, I realize is not very focused and taken with a crappy iphone camera, but whatever. I also enjoy using the Instagram, and invite you all to come join me there. It's highly addictive, but oh so fun. I am @clhalverson. Come see more of my everyday drivel, won't you?

A gorgeous photo shoot I've been playing with that was taken with a FAR better camera was with these lovelies, who surprised us by visiting over Christmas. While I still haven't taken off the weight I gained from that week alone, it was fabulously wonderful to spend time with them:

And, that, dear friends, is a faithful narrative of all my dealings for the past few weeks. Not pictured is the many lunches, diet cokes, chats with friends, and hot cups of tea sipped while snuggled under a blanket with a good book. January is treating me rather well, I'd say. And coupled with the fact that today is going to be in the 60s, I just might declare it my favorite St. Louis winter yet.

I'll try to be better about posting. Not just for the three of you who still check every day, but for me. So I don't forget the fabulously boring and incredibly, wonderfully ordinary life I am living.

I love it.

It's a win-win for everybody

A few days ago, McKay asked me to pick up some new shoelaces for his sneakers.

Being the responsible, loving parent that I am, I forgot.

And forgot.

And, yes, child protective services, I forgot again.

Yesterday, when he was nagging reminding me yet again, I told him to write me a note and I would BE SURE to pick them up.

And, since I am all kinds of awesome, I completely forgot all about it.

Until, I opened up the fridge and saw this note taped to my beverage of choice:

In case you can't read his terrible chicken scratch, it says, "Buy McKay black sport SHOELACES."

When I asked him about the unusual location for his reminder note, he simply said, "I put it where I knew you would be going the most times in a single day."

I think that means one of three things:

a) I have a serious diet coke addiction and my children are left in no doubt of it
b) I have an awesomely creative son who knows how to get the job done
c) all of the above

What do you think? I'm voting C.

Either way it's a win-win: Kid gets his shoelaces; mama gets her brown liquid drink on. Happiness all around.

The extraordinary ordinary

The house is quiet but for the sound of pages turning, novels held in the hands of my boys. Their tired lids fight to finish just one more chapter before sleep washes over them. I look up periodically as one of them pads down the hall to share a funny part with me. I smile, taking in their broad shoulders and long limbs. These boys that are turning into men right under my nose. And me, powerless to stop them.

Hannah has finally succumbed to sleep, and tonight that is no small victory. Her repeated pleas to sleep by my side were rejected, one after the other, each more creative in its attempt to persuade. Were it not for the cold I am fighting, I would have given in. Her snuggles keep me company most nights in my life as a travel widow. In spite of her flailing limbs and all-night-thrashing, her presence is comforting in a quiet bed. But tonight, I need rest above all else. The calendar this week is dotted with line after line of tasks and activities, all of which will require my best self.

The phone rings, and a familiar voice closes the gap of miles that lie between us. I share every moment, even the ones mundane. He laughs at our idiosyncrasies, the ones he knows so well. He vents a little of his own day, and my heart aches for him and the stress of his life. We say goodnight, and I offer a prayer of gratitude for the good man that he is. For his capacity to love that is seemingly endless.

I weigh the choices before me and pick up a book instead of a remote. I relish the extraordinary ordinary that is my life. I snuggle under a blanket and close another day. I am grateful and humbled by the peace I feel deep in my soul.

Life is extraordinarily good.

The story of the pants

One day a lovely pair of pants was sitting at home over Christmas vacation. Seen here:

Okay. Maybe the pants really looked like this:

This kind-hearted, but rotund pair of pants took her daughter to see a movie. As rotund pants are known to do on occasion, and most certainly over Christmas break, this one indulged in a few movie treats.

While watching the previews, the daughter of the rotund pair of pants remembered that she had to use the restroom. The pair of pantses got up together, leaving their snacks to save their spots.

They returned minutes later, just in time for the movie, and sat down to enjoy the show.

Tragically, what the rotund pair of pants did not know, was that a few junior mints had fallen out of the box and landed onto the seat while she was getting up to walk to the bathroom. When she returned to the dark theater, she sat down, completely unaware of the sinister misfortune that had just befallen her. It looked sort of exactly like this:

The rotund pair of pants and her daughter ran many errands after the movie. They went to the Home Depot. To Sam's Club. Even to the Target. Stores where, to their delight, they ran into no less than FOUR of their acquaintances over the course of the afternoon.

It was not until about ten o'clock that evening that our rotund pair of pants discovered the ill-placed junior mints. Her expression was something like this:

When her sensitive Husband found out about her misfortune, he showed her all the sympathy he was capable of.

Her children found the predicament as funny as did their father.

Naturally, the owner of the rotund (and now very stained) pants found very little humor in the situation.

The moral of the story is this:

No more movie treats.

Check rear end of the pants after every snack

Never run errands without a full body scan and/or spare pants in the car.

Ignore friends at the store in case pants are stained in a poo-like manner

There is no moral. It's just one more Story of Shame to add to my ever-growing collection. Which, sadly, as my friend Kathy asked me the other night, are all true.

I can't fault his logic

The other day, I walked in the kitchen to discover Chase shoveling food into his mouth from a bowl using only his fingers. At once disgusted and humored, I asked him if he needed a fork.

His response was classic Chase --

"No. What I really need is a bigger mouth."

2012 is off to a good start

This morning, at the unholy hour of 7:42 in the a.m., the phone rang. Still reeling from the eating and napping hard partying I did last night, I begged the Husband not to answer it.

And, as he is occasionally wont to do, he chose not to listen to me.

[Thankfully.]

It was our bank calling. They wanted to double check that we actually did want to order those expensive hookers and a limo service in New Jersey before they authorized the charges on our credit card.

Seeing as how we are in Missouri, fun like that might be a little difficult to enjoy.

Lucky for us, our bank is vigilant and doesn't let little things like hookers and limos fly under the radar and go unnoticed. Not so lucky, however, for the identity thieves who are now sitting in Trenton wondering how in the world they will ever pay for their wild night with Sheila and Tiffanie.

But for us, I'd say we're off to a good start on our New Year's Resolution list: No more hookers or limo rides through New Jersey.

I think it's going to be a good year.