Torturing her brothers, one ABBA song at a time

What happens when your obsessive tendency towards all things musical combines with your daughter's obsessive tendency towards all things musical?

I'll tell you what happens.

It began last weekend when a perfect storm presented itself in the form of, "The boys are going to Batman, what should we do tonight?"

In a moment of weakness, I took her to see my new obsession.

And now it has become her new obsession. She spends hours and hours every day, rocking out to the soundtrack from Mamma Mia. The boys come begging and pleading, fingers in their ears, offering to sell their souls if I can only MAKE IT STOP, ALREADY.

But I can't make it stop. (And secretly, I don't want to.)

For she IS the dancing queen.

Young and sweet, [thinks she's] only seventeen...

She can dance, she can jive...

Having the time of her life...

See that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen...

I think it's the perfect payback for their little soldier firing squad. Don't you?

She's one of a kind

If everyone had an Annie, the world would be a much better place.

When you went to the local pool, instead of finding it packed as usual, you would have the place all to yourself. You would sit in amazement, scratching your head, wondering where all the people are.

But only for a moment, because you'd soon be too busy to worry about that anymore. Instead, you would share in the joy of your kids as they dive repeatedly without having to wait in line once.

Poolside chairs in the shade would be empty, and fun would had by all. People and OK Magazine would be on hand to provide Hollywood relationship speculation, fashion critiquing, and comparisons between yourself and the Jolies, Witherspoons, and Albas of the world.

But with Annie by your side, she would be quick to remind you of all the qualities that none of those girls have, that only you possess.

You would instantly feel much better about being you.

_________________

If everyone had an Annie, sightseeing trips to the Arch would result in children that magically pose for the camera, with smiles on their faces:

And you would only have a few shots that looked like this (but it would be because you laughed and let them do it, not because it was the best they could give):

_________________

If everyone had an Annie, movies like this would be on the big screen, just waiting with all their magical campiness for you to arrive with your popcorn and diet coke in hand.

With Annie by your side, you would squirm just a little when Bond, James Bond, takes his turn to sing. But you would also be rewarded with the surprising sweetness of Mr. Darcy's voice and the awesome girl power that is the Dancing Queen.

_________________

If everyone had an Annie, even when rain blows in and stays for three days, fun would still be found indoors. A new sport would be invented called Boxing Glove Baseball. It would revolutionize life as you know it for 10-year-old boys, 8-year-old boys, and 6-year-old little sisters:

_________________

And if everyone had an Annie, chick flicks would smoothly transition into late-night discussions which would solve the world's troubles, all while you are doubled over with laughter.

Ordinary Moms would become philosophers, and clarity would be found on critical issues such as child raising and husband management. Kettle corn and diet coke would be the food of choice for such occasions, and would never show up on thighs the next morning.

And that bittersweet moment when you have to drop off your perfect guests at the airport? It will turn into shock and surprise when you come home to receive the flowers she has ordered. For you. To thank YOU, of all things.

What's that, you say? You don't have an Annie?

Oh, I'm so sorry. But I really just don't want to share her. She's all mine.

And she's absolutely the best.

Thanks for a great week, friend!

Must. Stop. Cleaning

About 12 hours from right now, I will be picking her up from the airport.

I really cannot wait.

I have been in pre-visitor house cleaning mode all day, and I think it is time I staged my own intervention. I need to step away from the mop, duster, vacuum, and Febreeze. Annie knows me, Annie loves me, Annie has seen my real life.

And, truth be told, I think she might like me a little more if she were to walk in and actually find my house a mess.

I wish I could do it, but I just can't.

With her on this visit comes Sam, the long-missing third musketeer to my two boys.

They are beyond excited.

The only one unhappy about this current situation is Hannah, who is pouting because Annie's two girls are not coming along, as they stayed behind for girl's camp. The concept that Annie's daughter's have lives of their own is totally lost on Hannah. I mean, Hannah, who spends a good deal of every day acting as though she were 15, cannot comprehend why real 15-year-old girls have better things to do than play dress up and listen to High School Musical.

I know, right?

Anyway, we are so excited for these friends to visit. And there is nothing like having a few house guests to force your husband to finally do what you've been nagging him to do for months motivate you to finish all those house projects.

Top of that completed list? The Husband finally replaced the baseboards that were missing after we removed some hideous built-ins. You know, when we moved in OVER A YEAR AGO (not that I've nagged him about it or anything).

And after about 186 trips to Home Depot, we also finished our basement wainscoting project (which I'll post photos of soon).

What I will spare you from, however, are the photos of my boys walking around Home Depot with toilet seats on their heads while laughing maniacally.

Because some things are just too disturbing.

See you soon, Annie and Sam!

Taking his turn as a poet

During the school year, McKay's teacher had the class do their own version of Judith Viorst's poem, "If I were in charge of the world." Her poem has always been a favorite of mine, and I like his version even better. It gives you insight into his personality, which is oftentimes so agreeable that his dislikes tend to be kept to himself (I know, great kid, huh?)

But it's interesting to me the things he would eliminate and the things he would keep, if he were in charge of the world. I think it would be an excellent psychological assessment tool to see what we'd all write. Maybe I'll do one of my own soon.

If I were in charge of the world
By McKay

If I were in charge of the world
I'd cancel wars,
Broccoli
Mean people, and also
slow computers

If I were in charge of the world
there'd be mansions everywhere,
servants, and
no homework.

If I were in charge of the world
You wouldn't have germs.
You wouldn't have laundry
You wouldn't have disgusting foods
Or "clean the yard"
You wouldn't even have to clean.

If I were in charge of the world
Foods with sugar would be healthy.
Everything would cost 1 penny.
There would be no work
And a person who sometimes has bad grades
And sometimes has bad days
Would still be able to be
in charge of the world

Uh-oh, Spaghettios

Here's an interesting tidbit I bet you didn't know: Some of the greatest contributions to mankind have been accidents of science.

Yes, that's right.

Important accidents, like Penicillin and x-rays, that changed life as we knew it forever.

And there were also some less-important things like Silly Putty, potato chips, and Viagra - all brought to us by accident.

Today, another accidental discovery was made, right here in my house.

It will never cure cancer. It will never redefine medical science. It will definitely never bring life back to any men suffering from E.D.

It will, however, cause me to develop a brain aneurysm.

Our scientist? She, the one I so glowingly sang the praises of a few days ago.

Her experiment?

How far spaghettios will travel when accidentally dropped from the kitchen table:

The answer, in case you were wondering?

About 12 feet in all directions.

And if that weren't enough, the spaghettios somehow defied gravity, and climbed UP THE BACK OF THE CHAIR, as though trying to return to the table from whence they came.

How many seconds before my head exploded, you ask?

About eight seconds. (I was a little shell shocked and had a delayed reaction.)

As a result of our accidental discovery, we now know that all it takes to turn me into a manic, mumbling fool is to cover half of my kitchen with tiny, little O's and sticky tomato sauce.

Please, internets, we're professionals here.

Do not try this at home.

She

Holding her tiny hand, I look down to see her clutching the doll tightly to her chest. Her skin is soft, and her fingers, entwined in mine, give a slight squeeze. I smile inside when the tiny bunnies painted on her nails catch my eye.

I say a silent prayer of thanks for someone up above who knew that I needed to girl up my life by having her in it.

Before she came, nobody wore pink. I was the only one who ever listened to Broadway show tunes. And the tears that fall inevitably during movies like Charlotte's Web? Until she came, they were mine alone.

Now, it is her cheeks that I wipe tenderly at the movie theater. It is our shared conspiracy when we pick musicals for family movie nights, knowing those boys of ours won't like it one bit. It is her eye that catches mine and smiles when we see them squirm. We're a team now, she and I.

It is she, this tough little chica, who still likes to climb in for a snuggle with her mama at three in the morning. She, who mocks me for eating the same thing every day for lunch, but yet turns and does it herself.

And sometimes, when looking at her, I feel as though I am looking into a mirror. But then at in a flash, she is off, and it makes me sigh in wonder at this unique person that is all her own.

She is baby and princess, teenage-wannabe and wise sage, all rolled into one. She is delicate and tender, but still not afraid to climb trees with the boys. She knows what she wants, and is impatiently waiting for life to deliver it. She's my very own spice girl.

And I wouldn't trade her for the world.

Mars versus Venus

A simple illustration of one of the fundamental differences between boys and girls.

When a girl wants to look nice, it goes a little something like this:

A boy cannot comprehend any reason to look nice. It simply doesn't compute. Let's be honest, even hygiene can be a bit tricky for the average young male to grasp, let alone style.

But dressing up? This is their version:
Any questions?

Never Poke a Sleeping Bear

You know the phrase, "So-and-so is a mean drunk," right?

Well, have you ever heard the phrase, "The Husband So-and-so is a mean sleep?"

Someone I know is a mean sleep. This someone is kind, attentive, thoughtful, and loving.

As long as he is awake.

But when he is deep in the throws of REM, there is a whole other side of his personality that comes out. The first time it happened was near the end of my first pregnancy. It was smack dab in the middle of a bitter Minnesota winter. I was sicker than a dog, and unable to take any medication (due to the pregnancy, and our desire to not have our child born with a third nipple or horns on his head. Because that's what they tell you will happen if you take anything resembling medication while pregnant, you know).

So, one night at about three in the morning, I started coughing.

And coughing.

And coughing. (I don't deny it was annoying.) But this certain someone sits up, shoves me to the very edge of our bed and yells, "KNOCK IT OFF!"

I, of course, immediately curled up in the fetal position and spent the next several hours crying, imagining my impending divorce, and wondering how I would raise my newborn baby all by myself.

And when the sun came up? Mr. I-Have-Rage-When-I-Sleep had no memory of his bad behavior. He was oblivious to the hurt feelings and wounded heart that I had nursed all night. He simply didn't remember. And he felt horrible when he found out.

Over the years, I've been unable to break him of this annoyingly bad habit. Most times, it's merely mumbling and cursing under his breath if something wakes him up unexpectedly. But the latest installment happened a few nights ago. The Husband had fallen asleep in the basement while watching TV. I gently shook his shoulder and asked him (in my sweetest voice, mind you) if he wouldn't like to come upstairs and sleep in his own bed.

He looks at me in a daze, starts grumbling, and says, "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?"

Now.

If I were new to the whole angry sleep thing, I might have been offended. And sad. And ready to call Sleeping Rage-A-Holics Anonymous. But you know what I did? I smiled, laughed, and left him to sleep - alone on the couch, all night.

Because that crook he'll feel in his neck the next morning?

Totally serves him right.

A sign they're returning to life

Look what I found on the kitchen table this morning:

It leads me to wonder just what the poor little thing could have done to make the soldiers so angry? Probably had the audacity to exist, that's what. You know how princesses are always flagrantly committing that crime.

Luckily, I dismantled the firing squad before Hannah was aware of the harm being done to her beloved Princess Polly Pocket.

I am considering showing her the picture and then helping her dress all their toy soldiers up in Barbie clothes.

Think it's too much for a Monday morning?

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

"Been away...now I'm back!"

(Is it scary that I can relate to this a little bit after last week?)

Okay, okay. I promise to stop whining about the sick kids. I believe I have finally left the trail of apologies and vomit behind me. Regular, boring, everyday life posts will now commence.

Now I've got you wishing for the vacation again, haven't I?

Wait. Don't answer that.

If I had a crystal ball

If I had a crystal ball (which, at this point, I might consider selling my soul to Satan for one), I would have been able to save myself quite a bit of anxiety and frustration on this little vacation of ours (which, by the way, is still going strong tripping along pathetically).

There are so many things that I wish I could have known. So much might have been different.

If I had a crystal ball, I would have been able to see that two days after arriving in Utah, Hannah would come down with strep throat. I would have seen that Utah is a one-horse town when it comes to health plans, and even though my insurance is perfectly willing to pay them, the urgent care clinic will refuse to bill on my behalf. I would have saved myself the headache and just paid the $250 they wanted in cash, rather than spending three hours in search of a doctor that WOULD bill our insurance.

I would also have been a little more insistent in not letting her play with her cousins, and making her get some rest. Even if she said she felt fine.

If I had done that, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have GOTTEN STREP AGAIN.

Yes, I know.

And maybe if we'd known, she wouldn't have thrown up all over my mother-in-law's floor in the middle of the night, a mere 12 hours after the Husband and I left for San Diego (or at least Oma would have had that bowl ready). And then maybe she wouldn't have laid around feverish and pukey at my mother's house for the next two days - contagious, and spreading her germs like wildfire.

And if I had that crystal ball, I might not have had to leave my gorgeous five-star resort in San Diego to come home a day early. It certainly would have predicted that I'd be spending the night on my mother's couch, next to Chase and Hannah, waking up groggily to the sound of their coughs, feverish chills, and sprints to the bathroom.

The crystal ball would have told me that THEY BOTH HAD STREP, and advised me to take the third child to the clinic at the same time as the other two, even though he seemingly had no symptoms. It would have also told me that at the EXACT MINUTE I get home from the two-hour wait at the urgent care with Chase and Hannah, poor McKay would be moaning, groaning, and complaining of the same symptoms as the others.

And that second trip BACK to the urgent care? It would have been nice to know that once we waited for another two hours, his strep test was going to still come back negative.

And then, two days later, after McKay has rebounded, he would wake up at four in the morning, puking his guts out. Yes, in hindsight, it would have been nice to foresee that.

You know, at the very least, for my brother Craig, who was generously chaperoning the cousin sleepover in the backyard tent.

I'll bet he would have liked the warning to move his sleeping bag out of the way.

I could be wrong, but I don't think so.

So yesterday, as I was hauling McKay into a doctor's office for what would be our FIFTH clinic visit during this supposed vacation, I find myself pining and wishing for that crystal ball.

Because, armed with the knowledge of what this trip would turn into, I just might have jumped on the nearest train.

And never even looked back.

Wait...is it still to late to do that?

Giving Answers

Remember that true/false quiz I did like a million days ago? Well, I finally have found a winner.

And I must say that you interpeeps know me a little better than I had thought. I cannot believe how close the results were. It took forever to find out who won because, as Andrea predicted, I sat here like a teacher grading papers for hours.

I'm such an idiot. Whatever.

But we do have a winner...CJ the Purple Diva got the most correct - 14 out of 15 right. Pretty impressive considering she's never even met me in real life.

Ready for the answers?

1. True - I was writing from my bed while chowing down on some delicious room service pancakes. Sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

2. True - I have read six books so far. Comes with the territory of 9,305 hours in the car, I guess. The books are: Austinland, The Last Lecture, The Birth of Venus, The Wednesday Letters, Everyone Worth Knowing, and The Second Coming of Lucy Hatch. If I was worth my salt, I'd link to all those for you, but I'm just not up to it today.

3. True - I have hardly exercised at all. And do I care? HELL TO THE NO.

4. False - I did NOT do the zip line, alpine coaster, or alpine slide. I am a big fraidy cat, and my children were sure to mention this. Out loud. Multiple times. For everyone within a 60-mile radius to hear.

5. True - I did sit by a blind man at the airport and watched in amazement as he pulled out his laptop and proceeded to work. It was very cool - he had a microphone and headset that enabled him to navigate through his whole system. The only thing he was missing was a privacy shield so people like me didn't sit there and stare at what he was typing.

6. False - I was not hit on, by either handicapped or otherwise. Thanks for the flattery though, friends.

7. False - Me, not buy something new? Are you kidding me? Hello! I practically asked the ladies at the Coach outlet store to marry me, I was that much in love with the wares they were peddling. Yes, shopping has taken place. Way too much shopping.

8. True - We are calling this the vacation of the sick kids. More on that later, when I stop rocking in the fetal position long enough to share the stories with you.

9. True - I did go white water rafting, and I did not fall in. It was actually quite fun.

10. True - The seat belt. Yes. This is an incident we are trying not to speak of. Ever again. Let's just say that Hannah had entangled herself beyond my ability to get her out, I panicked, and I cut her out.

11. False - The Husband was NOT PLEASED in the least that this had happened. He may or may not have wished it was my neck choking once he saw the damage done to the car. Let's just say he was not a happy camper.

12. True or False - I gave you all credit for this one. I did order a virgin pina colada, it came as I intended, and I drank it. Disappointing, I know.

13. True or False - I also gave you credit for this one, as well. I did force the Husband (against his will) to get a pedicure. He did not like it. I think he must not have one lick of good sense. Who doesn't like a pedicure? People who think cars need seat belts, that's who.

14. False - I have religiously applied sunscreen. These freckles do not need any more of an opportunity to multiply. They're doing that just fine on their own.

15. True - I had not done any blog reading up until that point. Haven't done much since, but that's a story for later.

Thanks for playing! CJ, send me your address and a good mail package will be coming your way.

True or False: Vacation edition

Time seems to be slipping away from me here on this seemingly never-ending vacation. I cannot believe it's...wait. What day is it?

Anyway, I am now here in sunny cloudy San Diego with the Husband, while the children are spending a few days being spoiled by their grandparents. His firm has an annual conference every summer, and spouses and children are invited strongly encouraged to attend. I have spent the last 12 hours answering the question of "BUT WHERE ARE YOUR KIDS?" until I am blue in the face. I think I'll make a sign and put it around my neck that says, "WE HAVE JUST SPENT 14 DAYS IN THE CAR WITH OUR CHILDREN. 'NUFF SAID."

Subtle, yes? I think so.

Anyway, to catch you up on my doings for the last week or so, I thought I'd make up a little quiz. Every answer is true or false, and you get to decide which is which. I realize you have no way of knowing which outlandish tale is true and which is not, but that's all part of the fun, right?

And the first person to get every answer right will receive a surprise in the mail when I get home (that is, if I ever do get home).

So, here it is: STIE'S TRUE OR FALSE QUIZ

1. As I write this, I am lying in my bed, gorging myself on pancakes instead of socializing with the other wives at the company breakfast.
2. I have read six books in the last two weeks.
3. I have exercised only four times.
4. I did the Zip Line, Alpine Slide, and Alpine Coaster in Park City, and LOVED every second of it.
5. I sat down next to a blind man at the airport and he pulled out a laptop and started typing. You know, kind of interesting because HE CAN'T ACTUALLY SEE HIS COMPUTER.
6. I was hit on by a non-handicapped man.
7. I have not bought myself one new item of clothing.
8. One of my children has already been sick twice on this trip (and one of those sicknesses turned out to be strep, which we found out after a maddening three-hour hunt to find a doctor that would take our insurance).
9. I went white water river rafting down the Colorado River and did not fall in, as I had feared.
10. One of my children became tangled in their seat belt and I was unable to get them out. In a panic, I cut the seat belt, seeing no other option. That's right, I CUT THE SEAT BELT, as in, irreparable severing of a much-needed safety device in our car.
11. The Husband was so relieved that the child was safe that he didn't care at all about the damage done to our car, and didn't once wonder what it was going to cost to repair.
12. I ordered a virgin pina colada, only to find it non-virgin when it arrived. I drank it anyway.
13. I am taking the Husband for his-and-hers pedicures today, and he is excited about it.
14. I have refused to wear sunscreen even once, and now sport a lovely, cancerous shade of red all over my body.
15. At this typing, I have not read one single blog since we left home (but plan to rectify that very soon).

Good luck, if there are any of you even still checking this blog. Happy guessing!

Heat, heights, and my ever-expanding thighs

We are now at Lake Powell. I am sitting in the hotel lobby on a borrowed computer because nobody out here in the desert seems to have heard of WiFi. I only have time to get in a quick post, as there is a line waiting for this one precious computer, and some bratty teenager (probably missing her MySpace page) is sighing deep breaths and tapping her foot impatiently next to me.

Should I hurry?

Right now, it is 5,698 degrees outside. And do you know what? Lake Powell doesn't have any trees. I'M. NOT. KIDDING. I had all this ambition to go for a quick evening run once we got here. Ambition that was bred out of six hours in the car and lots of sugary snacks at my feet.

But now those sweet sugary snacks that were once at my feet will reside permanently on my thighs.

Stupid thighs. Stupid heat.

Anyway, the drive here was anything but boring. The Husband decided to take a "shortcut" on an unpaved, windy mountain road for 75 miles. He neglected to mention anything to me other than he found out about a shortcut. I was excited at first.

But me and heights? We get along about as well as me and sheer terror. I'm talking white-knuckled, heart pounding, I'm-going-to-die-at-any-moment-type of terror. It was not a pretty sight.

I'm hoping tomorrow that he redeems himself when we're out on the lake on a boat - cruising along leisurely like the 80-year-old woman inside me wants to do, and not barreling through the water like the 17-year-old boy inside of him wants to do.

Wish me luck.

Travel Tips from Zion

Greetings, internets, from Zion National Park.

Have you ever been here? It is so beautiful. Sheer, towering cliffs of red rock, hot desert air, and wildlife abound. We have spent two days hiking, shopping, swimming, and hunting reptiles. I have observed some very interesting things down here, and thought I'd share a few with you.

Because nothing is better than reading about someone else's vacation, right?

I know. Sorry.

Anyhoo, it has come to my attention that there are a lot of women in the world who, for reasons unknown to me, do not shave. ANYWHERE. It is all I can do to not hand out disposable Bic razors to every hippie/European/granola girl I meet. I'd also like to take them for an eyebrow wax and shoe store visit, but first things first. ARMPITS, girls. It's just plain disgusting.

If my waitress/restaurant cashier is literally 10 years old, I will not blindly trust her skills when she rings up my dinner bill to $80 for a few cheeseburgers. It is a good idea to have her re-check the math before paying.

Hiking in 100 plus degree temperatures will bring the poor little princess Hannah to tears. She will proclaim today as the worst day of her entire life, and resign herself to laying down and dying there on the trail.

This fervent declaration will still not produce enough guilt to entice me to carry her sorry self up the steep mountain, much to her chagrin.

She will survive the mountain hike, but find herself terrified of the man-eating squirrel that will decide to take a bite out of the Husband's finger for no apparent reason. The man-eating squirrel does not carry mad squirrel disease, of this I am sure. But if the Husband starts foaming at the mouth anytime soon, I might need some help from Dr. Google on how to treat rabies.

If there is a "fossil and gem" store, DO. NOT. STOP. Stopping will have Chase suddenly finding every item that his heart has now, or ever will, desire, and I will have to spend an hour talking to the kindly owner of the store while Chase peruses the crap for sale merchandise. I will find myself unable to concentrate on anything but the man's lack of teeth.

How does a person not have teeth in this day and age? I just don't get it.

And lastly, watching people argue in another language is really funny.

Until they stop their argument to stare at you. Then it's not so funny. It's just embarrassing.

But as I walk away red-faced, I will not lose heart. For although I may be a rude, staring American, at least my armpit hair isn't longer than my husband's.

And that, internets, is enough to let me sleep well at night.

On the road again

Oh, hello there.

It's me.

No, I have not forgotten you, little blog. I got so busy before we headed out of town that I neglected to let you know that I was leaving.

Well, now it's too late because I've already left. We are taking a little time away as a family. Seeing some old friends, family, and taking our kids to places they've never been before. So far, we have:

-Spent 18 hours together in the car.

-Killed 9,345 bugs with our windshield.

-Slept in the same room for two (going on three) nights. Yes. All five of us, including the incredibly-loud snoring princess who, for reasons I cannot fathom, feels compelled to sleep within three inches of my face, with one of her arms touching me AT. ALL. TIMES.

Which isn't annoying at all.

-We celebrated the Husband's birthday and Father's Day.

-We watched as Chase caught and released two reptiles, and tried not to laugh at Uncle Micah, who squealed like a little girl when he saw them.

-We made our traditional pilgrimage to eat devour the delicious perfection that is a hamburger at Hires.

-We witnessed a drug bust on the Utah State Capitol grounds, which involved a lot of policemen wielding very large weapons firearms.

-We said our final farewell to the mohawk.

-And we ate our weight in red velvet cake. If the red velvet cake and Hires are any indication, I'd say it's shaping up to be an excellent vacation.

I don't know that I'll get any pictures uploaded before we get home, but I'll definitely be back to fill you in as we go. The Husband has promised his laptop in exchange for my cooperation on jet skis, river rafting trips, motorcycles, and long hikes.

What he doesn't know yet is that it will also require lots of extra shopping, pedicures, and napping. We won't tell him that part today though.

We'll wait until the time is right. Like when he's in the middle of all his manly fun.

Because I'm just a good and thoughtful wife that way.

What? Shut up.

Little boy heaven

Well, I survived cub scout day camp. Or what I will now refer to as the long-lost-wannabe-branch-of-the-military-camp.

Have you ever met a professional scouter?

This is one hard-core group of men who take their jobs at scout camp very seriously. They run a pretty tight ship. They are in favor of sharp commands and crisp salutes.

They will definitely yell when necessary.


They are very pro-NRA and did not stop short of recruiting me and my absent husband to sign ourselves right up.

They do not like you to refer to a BB gun as a weapon. It is a firearm, thankyouverymuch. [Won't make that mistake again. No, siree.]

And they are unaware that they are not actually generals in the Army. Believe me when I tell you, I so wanted to be the person to tell them.

But I didn't. I behaved and followed the rules.

I asked for permission to enter the range (where we shot beans from sling shots). I wore my large, ugly protective eye wear to prevent any stray beans from causing me blindness. I was absolutely still and silent during the BB gun shooting so as not to distract the cub scout shooters who were engaging their wimpy powerful firearms.

Yes, because when holding a firearm, all an eight-year-old boy really wants to focus on is his mother. Not the fact that he has an actual gun in his hands that he has been given permission to use.

Whatever.

And I even stood a safe distance outside of the live missile zone in the archery area. Unlike Mr. Scouting General, Sir! that you see in the background here:

But the boys? Best week of their lives (their words, not mine). All of the guys in our group had a good time. No one died on my watch. No one shot their eye out. No one was kicked out or had their firearm taken away.

And no one joined the NRA that I am aware of.

I'd say that makes it a roaring success. Hoo-rah!

A recipe for success? Not very likely

What happens when you combine the following ingredients?

• Me
• P.M.S
• 90+ degree temperatures
• humidity
  
• 10 cub scouts at day camp
• BB guns, catapults, sling shots, and archery
  
• total exhaustion
  

Stay tuned. The answers are coming...

A simple reminder

Last night, I had something happen which confirms to me what I know, but sometimes choose to forget.

I should preface this story by telling you about my sleep habits. I am a deep sleeper. I know as a mother, that is usually an oxymoron. Mothers are not deep sleepers. Mothers will wake at the sound of a slight cough, while Fathers will sleep through the earthquakes and thunderstorms.

It hasn't always been this way for me. When my babies were small, all it took was a little stirring in the newborn crib, and I was up, rushing to their side. If someone so much as sighed in their sleep, it woke me up.

Not so much anymore.

I find that when my head hits the pillow, I am OUT. I often barely wake as the Husband is heading out the door for early morning flights or going into the office (a fact which does annoy him to no end). I love my sleep. I NEED my sleep.

Me and the sunrise? Not good friends. We've never actually met.

And it is that fact which makes this experience all the more amazing to me.

Last night, probably around two or three in the morning, I sat bolt upright in bed. I was awake and conscious, but was not sure what had woken me up. I then felt the strong need to go into my boys' bedroom.

There, in the middle of my two sleeping sons, I saw that their lamp was on, and the shade was tilted, resting on the hot light bulb. There was smoke rising from the lamp, as the heat from the light was burning a hole in the side of the lampshade. I immediately went over and pulled the smoldering shade off, and unplugged the lamp. Not even recognizing the significance then, I went back to bed. Even as I crawled back under the covers, the what-ifs still had not hit me. Like a lug, I was back to sleep in an instant.

It was only when my eyes first opened this morning that I realized and thought about what might have been. What could have happened, had I not been pulled from a deep sleep, and directed into their room. Today, in the light of day, I have a pit in my stomach as my imagination has run wild with the horrible what-ifs.

I know that lamp was off when we went to bed. We always tuck the kids in, turn off their lights, and pry books out from under their heavy arms. Always. The only thing I can think of is that one of the boys must have gotten up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and turned on the bedside lamp in the process.

So, why did I wake up? There were no smoke alarms going off, no bright lights in my eyes. No noise from stumbling kids. Why?

Well, I'm a dummy if I don't know why.

I do know why.

My Heavenly Father woke me up, directed me to their bedroom, and helped prevent anything bad from happening to my sweet boys.

Simple as that.

What is not so simple now is the overwhelming feeling of love and protection that I have in my heart today. In this great big world of ours, someone loves me. Someone loves my family. Someone is watching over us. He really is. Even in the middle of the night, when a simple lamp shade is turned too far the wrong way.

Today I am grateful. I am grateful to know that He loves me. That He is aware of me. He is watching over me, and my sleeping angels. Even though I swear sometimes. Even though I complain about having to go to church on really pretty Sunday afternoons. Even though I get annoyed with my kids. Even though I tend to tuck my spirituality away, and pretend it's not there. He still loves me. He still loves us.

I just wanted to share that with you, in case, like me, you had forgotten, too.

Show and Tell

My friend Annie tagged me for this meme. I've enjoyed seeing some of you play, and have probably been tagged before. I generally don't play along, but if Annie does something...well, then I'll definitely do it.

And no, I'm not easily influenced by friends. Not at all.

Unless you ask my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Yergensen, who wrote that very thing on my report card, the mean old witch.

I just wait for cool friends to do things before I do them. That way I'm sure things are cool, and I don't make the mistake of doing something un-cool. I like to think of it as having patience.

Anyhoo, here is my show-and-tell tour. The rules are that you may not tidy things up, just take the pictures as-is, and give the internet a peek into your life.

THE FRIDGE:
The only thing I allow on the outside of my fridge are these cute magnet letters made for me by the one and only Mique. They match my kitchen perfectly, and I think they're just darling. One of my best mail days ever.

The inside of my fridge? It is not so darling.

Let's just say that you can all sleep well at night knowing that there are parts of my life that remain very unorganized. The inside of the fridge is always one of those things. It will, however, never be without a large stash of diet coke. So come on over anytime, and we can chat over a cold one.

Next up is THE SINK. It, fortunately, will almost always be clean and dishes-free.

Don't hate me. I'm just annoying that way.

THE TOILET, and this is one I was unclear about. Do I take pictures of the entire bathroom or just the throne? I went with the throne in the master bath. Very boring, very toilet-like. (Have I just sunk to taking pictures of my toilet for the internet? Apparently so. Oy).

Moving on to THE LAUNDRY:
Tomorrow is laundry day, but that only means that our clothes are in our bedroom closets, in baskets with lids, waiting to be washed. Very uninteresting. But, I do have to take this moment and praise my dryer. As I mentioned before, scooting it out a few inches from the wall has miraculously reduced my drying time from about 1 1/2 hours to 37 minutes. And that's big loads of jeans, towels, you name it. This dryer is my new best friend.

And yes, I do realize that I am giving Daniel lots to make fun of here, what with all the pictures of toilets, laundry facilities, and sinks. But I like to live dangerously sometimes.

WHAT THE KIDS ARE DOING RIGHT NOW:

Don't tell the Husband. We just got home from the pool, it's 1,237 degrees outside, and I need a break. Sometimes Sponge Bob is my best friend. Most days not.

[Also, please ignore the multi-colored wainscoting/walls behind the couch. We just put it up and have yet to get it painted. It will look really good when it's done. But that's unfortunately not today.]

MY FAVORITE ROOM:

I know I have shown pictures of this room like a million times, but I do love it. It's our formal living room, and it's the place I like to curl up with a good book. I love the picture wall, the furniture, the colors. Everything. I feel that room is more me than any other room in the house. Or at least the me I want to be. A nice me. Who takes good pictures. And reads lots of novels. And hardly ever yells.

MY CLOSET:

Yet another dark secret in the life of Stie. My closet does not look good, and today is no exception. This is a good reminder to straighten it up. Which I will do. As soon as I finish blogging about it.

MY FAVORITE SHOES:

Hello, lovelies. I got these shoes at Nine West two summers ago. I still get giddy for warm weather, because I can't wait to break them out. Sure, I don't really wear them anywhere but church or date nights (seeing as how they are the most uncomfortable shoes ever created), but they are oh, so pretty. And they show off a pedicure like a good pair of summer shoes should. And if we can't endure a little pain for a pretty shoe, then what good are we?

SELF PORTRAIT:

Here is me in my master bathroom, Yes, still in my swim dress. Sometimes it's just too hot to wear real clothes.

And sometimes, after swimming with the kidlets, I'm just too darn lazy to get dressed again. No, I don't run around nekkid anymore. Lesson painfully learned.

Lastly, MY DREAM VACATION:

I would say my dream vacation would be Paris and London. There are about a million other cities I want to visit, but those two are at the top of my list. Someday (hopefully next spring) I'll get there.

But I definitely won't be wearing my brown ballerina wedge shoes.

**********************

Consider yourself tagged, if you want to play along. It was surprisingly fun. And productive.

Now I've got to go clean out that closet.

To my three babies

Here we are, in the second full week of our summer vacation. The first few days were a little rough on me, I'll admit. I have been so used to spending several hours a day all by myself - doing what I wanted, when I wanted. And then suddenly, here are you three little people.

Here. In my clean house.

And you are always hungry. ALWAYS leaving things out. And not the least bit concerned with the trail of crumbs behind you.

But in spite of this, I think we've found our rhythm, you and I. I'm looking at your cheerful faces across the table, listening to your chatter, and I find that my heart is full.

With each various stage of life that we've gone through together, it seemed to me that I would always remember. I'll be honest - sometimes, it felt like your less-desirable phases would never end. I can definitely think of at least one that is irrevocably seared into the recesses of my mind.

But there are so many more that I know I have forgotten.

Long ago, as I held your baby selves, smelling your sweet little necks, I promised myself I would never forget. That these moments, like the thousands of photos I've taken of you, would always be permanently etched in my mind. But now that a little time has passed, I find that I just can't quite recall your baby smells. I have all but forgotten the sounds of your newborn cries. And it hurts my heart to think that I won't ever again hear your bubbly toddler voices.

Only when I creep to your bedside at night do I see traces of the babies you once were. Even you, McKay, still sometimes purse your little lips together, making that all-too familiar puckered face. It's when you're in that angelic, dreamy state that it all comes back to me. And it brings a smile to my face every time.

Right now though, I want to freeze this. I don't want these days, and these people you are today, to be only a memory.

I want to remember how Hannah's voice sounds when she's just woken up and has a head full of morning hair. I want to remember the way Chase lights up when he talks about conservation or a new story he's written. I want to always see McKay's crooked smile, and feel the swell of pride when walking by him curled up, reading a book. Because I just love that he's a reader. Like me.

I am in love with the phase that you're all in. You've suddenly, and without warning, become very interesting people to be around. You're growing more independent every day. Your opinions are all your own, and not reflections of what you hear your dad and I say. You see that your life will not always be dictated by me, and you really like the idea of that.

You are doing what children should. You are doing what I want you to do. You are growing up.

I am just so afraid that I will forget.

And I probably will.

But if I've learned nothing else as a mother, it's this: I will always mourn each phase as it passes me by, leaving me standing on the sidelines. And although it leaves my arms a little more empty each time, it leaves my heart a whole lot more full.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Proving the nut and the tree theory

This morning, I stumbled upon a little list.

A Monday morning to-do list.

Written, unbeknownst to me, by my eight-year-old, Chase.

He had carefully laid out his plans and must-do tasks for the day. They are:

1. Wake up (already done and crossed off)
2. Eat breakfast
3. Do jobs
4. Do mathsheets
5. Read Chet Gecko #3
6. Play with McKay and Hannah?
7. Eat lunch
8. Specile [special] family outing
9. Come home
10. Eat dinner
11. Read the Little House in the Big Woods?
12. Go to sleep

What I love more than just the fact that he's actually written this list himself (which, I'll be honest, does make my heart go all a flutter), is that he put a question mark on playing with his brother and sister, and reading a book before bed.

Because one certainly cannot count on later wanting to do these items.

One must always leave room for changing one's mind.

I think we definitely got the right baby at the hospital. No doubt in my mind.

Inquiring minds want to know

In lieu of anything monumental to blog about tonight, I thought I'd take a page from Gabi (our own personal Bawbwa Waltehs) and conduct a little interview of my own.

With one of my own.

Clicked off to hunt for free porn yet?

No? Good, here goes.

Tonight I will be interviewing my youngest, Hannah, who for some reason seems to think that bedtime does not apply to her tonight.

Name: Hannah.

Nickname: Odette (Watch Swan Lake much? Me thinks a little TOO much).

Middle name: Ruby (in real life, she doesn't have one).

Favorite color: Pink. P-I-N-K, Mom. That spells pink. Ha ha ha ha ha. (She finds herself quite hilarious)

Favorite animal: Bunny. (If you only knew my girl, you'd know how vast of an understatement this is. Someday I will blog about her love of bunnies)

What do you want to be when you grow up? A teacher because I want to learn lots of things. But a teacher really only teaches things. So, I guess I don't want to be that. Maybe I'll just be a mom. And really beautiful. I'll be really, really beautiful and have lots of children. My husband will be just like Daddy, except maybe not with brown hair. He'll probably have gray hair. And he'll be handsome, just like Daddy.

What do you think I was like as a little girl? Just like me, only not as pretty. Ha ha ha ha ha. (Nice one, kid.)

What kind of a mom do you think you will be like? A nice mom. I will take my children out to dinner at fancy restaurants like McDonald's. I will buy my little girls lots of Webkinz. And I guess for my little boys, too. I think I will have two girls and one boy. That's the opposite of our family.

Am I a nice mom? Yes.

Be honest? YES, GEEZ!

What's your favorite food that I make? Umm...[crickets chirping in the background, then a long pause]...panacakes.

What do you think Daddy does for work? He helps the hospital, and he gets people to the hospital. (Close, except that sometimes health care consultants have to FIRE people working in the hospital. I won't tell her if you don't.)

Who is your best friend? Jilian.

What is your favorite thing about me? [Long disapproving look] Umm, you smell good?

What are you afraid of? The dark because I think ghosts will pop up, but I know they're not alive.

If you know they're not alive, why are you afraid of them? Because I can't get rid of that feeling.

Why are you still awake right now - it's 9:58? Hee hee hee. Cause I want to sleep with you. (Husband is out of town, of course, which leaves me with a six-year-old bunkmate)

Are you waiting for me to come to bed before you will fall asleep? Yes.

Who is the mom here, me or you? ME. Ha ha ha, hee hee hee.

All right. Time for bed.

So concludes the end of this highly important interview in which I learned that I smell nice and am not in charge around here.

Now tell me something I didn't know.

What happens when Spiderman has a major growth spurt

I tried to make him promise never to wear this EVER. AGAIN.

He simply couldn't imagine why.

Don't give up on me

I'm not ignoring you, interpeeps; honest I'm not. Just been really busy.

School ended last week.

I took on some new work projects.

I got a new camera lens that I am wanting more time to play with.

We started a basement project that is requiring a lot of my time.

Oh, and did I mention the kids are home now? For the whole summer?

I promise, little blog, I'll be back soon. Lots of pictures and stories to tell.

Stay tuned...

P.S. For those of you that are interested, the mohawk lives on. Essentially, I am powerless on this subject. I've accepted it.

Death by Caramel Bars

It's time, dear interpeeps, for another edition of: MAKING MY FRIENDS AS FAT AS ME.

This week's tool: Caramel bars.

Now, don't be fooled by their simple appearance. These are not just ordinary caramel bars. They are special. They are 'wrestle your husband to the ground for the last one' caramel bars.

Not that I'd know anything about that, ahem.

And if I was sitting in prison, awaiting death row for killing a husband who dared to eat the last one, I'd probably make these my last meal. And I'd definitely die happy.

[Luckily, I really don't know anything about that. Phew.]

But I got this recipe years ago from my friend Sue, when we both lived in Boston. I can still remember the first time I tried them in her beautiful, spacious kitchen in Concord. Right then and there, I knew two things. One, I HAD to have this recipe, whatever the cost; and two, that Sue and I would be friends for life. Because a friend that gives you a recipe like this? She's one you'll trust for a long, long time.

So. Let's begin fattening you all up, shall we?

First melt two sticks of butter in the microwave:
Then add:

1 1/2 cups brown sugar
2 cups flour
2 cups oatmeal
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
Stir it all together. I like to use my hands. Makes me feel all earthy and homemaker-ish. The dough should clump together, but still crumble well.
Now press only HALF of the dough into a greased 9x13 pan.
Bake at 325 for 17 minutes. (How could you not love this recipe with a baking time of 17 minutes? Just sets my little heart all a flutter).

Remove it from the oven and dump an entire bottle of this over the top.
Yes, that's right. I said the entire bottle. Now would be a good time to mention that you might need to grab a few insulin shots while you're at the store getting supplies. One bite of this will likely send you into a diabetic coma.

But it's so worth it.
Next, generously sprinkle chocolate chips over the top of the caramel. Then top that with the remaining dough. You don't need to press the dough this time, just crumble all over the top.

Now pop this baby back into your 325 degree oven and bake for another 17 minutes.

Once you remove the pan from the oven, let it cool completely. They really need to sit for a while to allow that caramel gooey-ness time to firm up a bit. You can put them in the freezer to speed up this process if you're too impatient to wait. What? Me, impatient? Never.

And finally?

Hello, lover.

As your new BFF, I am thrilled to have helped you discover these lovelies. I say a little prayer of thankfulness for my friend Sue each and every time I make these.

You're welcome.