A Year of Laughter

Can't believe another year is coming to a close. It has been a good year. A really good year.

We have been blessed with love and laughter and lots of other good things all year long. I feel grateful. Grateful for the love and the good things. And the laughter is a bonus.

In honor of the year that presented us with lots of laughter, I want to list a few of the funny (to me) things the children have said this year. I think I only want to include 12 things, but we'll see how it goes as I look through my blog that I call "laughing with my little loves". It's one of those private, invisible blogs. It's a place where I document those silly kids and their funny talk. Well, funny to me and the husband.

And just for your reference, and to put these funny things into perspective, oldest daughter is 9, middle daughter is 7, and little son is 5.

Funny talk of 2011

January
little son and i were watching his one year old cousin who was crying in an unstoppable manner. little son quips: "she scares me when she cries. it hurts my head and my ears. it's kind of like a weapon. a little baby weapon."


February

feb 14-- watching a movie with the children, oldest daughter leans over to me and says: "mom, i feel like satan is tempting me to say 'how the hell?'
mom: "why?"
oldest daughter: "i don't know"
mom: "sing a song to get those icky things out of your head."
oldest daughter hums families can be together forever, pauses and then whispers to mom: "he's like 'do it, say it, it won't hurt.' "

feb 27-- at the blessing of my tiny, new niece, little son leans over to the husband and whispers in his ear: "dad, three things: i. love. you."

March

mar 31-- shortly after tucking the children into bed for the night, little son yells out: "dad, if my leg falls off can we have a funeral for it?"
dad: "yes, son, if your leg falls off we can have a funeral for it"
little son: "yay!"
dad: "but i don't think it's gonna fall off"
little son: "yay!"

April

apr 13-- i was putting pink foam rollers in middle daughters hair one evening as little son came crawling, army-style, into the room.
little son: "i'm dying! i'm dying!"
mom and middle daughter: "what?"
little son, whispering: "mom, take care of yourself when i'm gone..."

May

may 19-- oldest daughter was explaining how nervous she was while having to have a small cavity filled.
oldest daughter: "mom, when i was getting my shot, i just kept thinking to myself, 'jesus had more pain when he died on the cross. jesus had more pain when he died on the cross.' "

June

june 28-- in utah after playing at a bounce house that had an indoor miniature golf course little son proclaims: "someday i really need to play some manager golf. i think i'd be really good at it."

june 29-- also while in utah, the children were getting ready for bed. little son was brushing his teeth while he and a cousin were watching a little star wars. he walks into the bathroom to put away his toothbrush and declares: "i love yoda! he's the awesomest one! he, like, never dies. HE NEVER DIES!"

July

jul 17-- after watching movies about jesus, middle daughter becomes contemplative and asks: "how many lives do we get?"
mom: "just one here on this earth, but after we are done here, we will live forever."
middle daughter: "so we will get born again?"
mom: "no, we will continue living as adults."
middle daughter: "and then we will grow back down to babies?"
mom: "no, we will stay adults."
middle daughter with eyes as huge as saucers: "really?! we will always be adults?"
mom: "yep"

August

aug 22-- shopping with little son
little son: "mom, one time i was shopping with dad and your dad. your dad was looking for some shorts and he said, 'these shorts are too short. i guess that's why they call them shorts.' he is soooooo funny!!!"

aug 19--
mom: "little son, did you just toot?"
little son: "no, i fluffed."
mom: "that's the same thing as tooting."
little son: "no, it's not. a toot sounds like, 'plbbttt' and a fluff sounds like 'fffaaahhhh.' plus, toots don't stink, but fluffs do.

September

sept 10-- middle daughter has really gotten into riddles and trying to stump us by coming up with original riddles.

middle daughter: "two people are in a cabin and they are dead. how do you know they are dead?"
dad: "cause you are not one of them?"
middle daughter: "no"
dad: "cause you read it in a newspaper?"
middle daughter: "no"
mom: "cause they are not breathing?"
middle daughter: "no"
dad and mom: "k, why?"
middle daughter: "it was the pilot and the co-pilot. and then the plane goes down. nobody was in the plane.
my cousin taught me that one."

October

oct 13-- we were watching my cute little 2 year old niece, junie (name changed to protect the 2 year old), for my sister who is going through a very rough pregnancy. after putting junie down for bed, little son told us: "mom, don't be fooled by junie's cuteness, she hurt me and she hurt oldest daughter."

oct 18-- newly returned from school, little son was walking around the house aimlessly picking up items and putting them down, commenting on everything.
little son: "i'm guessing you're gonna say 'how was your p.e.?' "
mom: "how was your p.e.?"
little son: "i knew it!! it was good."

November

nov 9-- upon picking up little son at the bus stop
little son: "mom, i have gummy bears in my back pack and i'm not afraid to use them!"

nov 13-- little son: "mom, me and middle daughter are the funniest ones in this family!!"

December

dec 10-- a woman in our congregation has been very ill and the ward held a special fast for her. upon hearing about the special fast, little son says: "i can fast my candy."
so he did, he had no candy all day.

the next sunday...
mom: "little son, hurry up and eat so that we won't be late for church."
little son: "mom, i'm fasting for sister j."
and he did. he fasted breakfast and lunch.

the next sunday...
mom: "little son, eat breakfast!"
little son: "i'm fasting for sister j again."

at the end of the day, little son says: "how about next time i fast school?"

dec 25-- dad: "little son, will you say the family prayer and be sure to thank heavenly father for all our presents?"
little son: "what abooooouuuuut can i count him in and thank him for him as a present?"
dad: "yes!"

good night hugs and kisses followed after the prayer. the children ran off to bed. little son promptly ran out of his room to say: "dad, one more thing: thank you for all the presents!!"

dec 29-- friends were visiting from utah and little son and his friend wanted to play a board game. little son ran off to the game cupboard and proclaimed: "let me show you where the magic happens!"




Ok, so pretty much, little son says the most funny stuff around here. Apparently. He is at a good age.

Anyway, here's to a new year with new laughs and new good things. Happy New Year to you and yours. May you be blessed abundantly and find joy in all around you.

feathers down the back

i've kinda been cracking up for the last 24 hours. little son informed me that he wants an indian head dress for christmas from santa. to anyone who knows him, that should bring a smile to your face.

THAT IS SO LITTLE SON!! he is the master of disguise. the duke of dress up. the captain of costume. the keeper of my mother-of-little-son heart.

while we were in utah this past summer, little son kept begging me to sew him some indian pants, specifically with fringe running down the side, to go with the indian style shirt that his sweet grandma gave to him while we were there. i kept telling him that once we got back to arizona, i would sew those pants. and i did. and he wears them. all the time. and the pants also double as cowboy pants. so, win win.

now he knows that he needs a proper head dress to complete the ensemble. and so, i have been researching indian head dresses-- just in case santa might need a little help. little son made sure that i know that he wants the head dress with ALL the feathers. all of them. down the back.

have you ever purchased an indian head dress? well, i have not. but i have found that there are some out there. and the prices vary. and the styles vary. i am wondering if one size does truly fit all. like, does one size fit all adults? or all people- adults and children included? and is orange better than blue? just a couple questions on my mind today.

i am most thankful for the internet. because if not for al gore and his wonderful invention, i don't even know where i would go to get one- with feathers down the back. party city? do they have legit head dresses there?

just last month, my sweet sister agreed to take little son on a special photo shoot. we gathered up all his costumes and went out to the desert and took a million photos of him in all his get-ups. because, I HAVE TO REMEMBER THIS!! the boy is in multiple outfits everyday. and his imagination runs wild. and he creates accessories out of ordinary household items to go with all his outfits. i must admit: i truly love it. and i never want him to grow up.

and so we captured all these costumes on film. no, on digital.

but, now i'm afraid we'll have to make another trip out to the desert. because we gotta have a picture of that cute little indian chief once he has his head dress. with the feathers down the back.

Zipping

Our house is full of anxious electricity in anticipation of our mucho grande party this coming weekend. Plans are pretty much zipped up. Now for the execution of those plans.

There will be a full report on that later. But for now, let me share something a little personal. In preparation for our celebration, I went on a few errands today. And I was rocking a new pair of pants- ones that are 6 sizes smaller than what I was wearing a couple months ago. Six sizes. But, that's not the personal part. Hang on, it gets better.

I was feeling pretty good on the endurance front as I zipped around town- a few towns, actually- getting what we needed for our grand occasion. I totally made great time, too. And I was focused, just getting what I needed (like glow bracelets and patio chairs and signage and stuff) with no extra perusing of the stores, which takes loads of self-control. And although I needed to use the restroom, I held it and continued- because, ick, public restrooms.

This is where it gets personal (and better). As soon as I returned home my first stop was the bathroom. I admit I was worried if I would make it or not. Well, guess what? I must have been thinking ahead this morning, because my zipper was already down- I hadn't ever zipped it up 6 hours before, prolly anticipating that I would need to skip a step once I returned from my errands. I love how I help myself out like that.

So, I was all over towns and in and out of stores with my fly down. All morning. And no one said a word. I'm hoping my shirt was covering it most of the time. I can't even remember the last time I forgot to zip my pants. Maybe when I was, I don't know, like eleven.

Anyway, can't wait for the party. Good thing our plans are pretty much zipped up. Wish I could say the same for my {smaller} pants.

All in a Sunday Afternoon

the husband and i were enjoying a quiet moment snuggled on our bed today, discussing life and all that comes with it. i was listening as he was trusting me with some of the deep feelings in his beautiful heart. i couldn't help but look at him in wonder as i listened to his intense emotions, something i love about him: he feels deeply and wholly. and once again, i was drawn into his soul- a place that feels like home. comfortable. familiar.

as we talked, soul to soul, we were intermittently interrupted by little people whom we kept shooing out of our room. for some reason, the little people just didn't get that we wanted to be left alone for just 5 minutes.

as soon as they were sent away, they would return moments later to report on the current catastrophe caused by brother or sister. there might have been some scratching involved between siblings. the kind that leaves marks. and maybe some pushing. and then there was the crashing of the ds on the tile. and our moment was interrupted again. time-outs were handed out, toys confiscated, and mom and dad returned to the sanctuary of their bedroom to conclude the deep heart to heart.

as we continued our discussion, feeling confident that the time-outs would be an effective means of confining children to their rooms, one little son snuck quietly into our bedroom. he had obviously been discussing the events of the last few minutes with his older sister, when he innocently questioned:

"so... what you're saying is that one of us has to run away?"

the first thought that came to my mind?

"yeah, i'm thinking mom or dad."

What's That Buzzing?

Turns out, I am that mom.

We all know that the individual without children has all the answers pertaining to child-rearing. That's no secret. But, we also all know that the individual who is not a parent to a particular child can hear everything that child says, whereas the actual parent of that child has a hearing deficiency in relation to that child, and that child only. Because, the parent of that child can most certainly hear with clarity the child of another parent. Agreed?

I have found that I have most definitely contracted the parental hearing deficiency. And it seems to be getting worse. Not only do I have the parental hearing deficiency, I also believe that I may be afflicted with the parental attention deficiency.

I am discovering that I don't pay as close attention as I should. Often I hear a buzz surrounding whatever task I am concentrating on, accompanied by a tugging on my shoulder or leg. Once I focus, I realize that buzzing is my child talking to me and the tugging is their attempt at capturing my attention.

My automatic response to the buzzing is to respond with a yes or a no before it even registers what the child has said. Pathetic.

It seems I am waltzing numbly through life lately, only to realize later that my child was requesting attention or love or chocolate.

As I put on my jeans this morning, I noticed that there was an unfamiliar bulge in the right front pocket of my pants. Kinda unusual. Upon further investigation, I discovered a little treasure in the form of assorted rubber bands and a Littlest Pet Shop sticker.

I don't know how any of it got there. And I'm pretty sure I am the only one who wears these jeans that were fresh from the dryer.

What this means is that the last time I wore this particular pair of pants, I must have had a tiny little buzzer beside me, reaching their hand into my pocket and depositing their latest collection. And I had no idea. None. And what makes it more curious is that this particular pocket has a button that apparently had to be undone and then re-buttoned. And I never noticed.

Since we all know that people watch the actions of other people's children, I am certain that someone probably witnessed this deposit. Were you with me when it happened? Fill me in on the details, please? Because I don't want to be that mom anymore. I want to be present- I want to pay closer attention to every single word that comes out of their mouths. I want to feel every little hug. I want to see every little delighted smile that forms on their lips. I want to know when they have a treasure to deposit in my pocket, so they can tell me about it and I can be excited with them.

When I can do all that, I'm pretty sure my hearing deficiency will clear up and that buzzing noise will disappear.

Look-Alikes

In a fairly recent post, I mentioned my children's latest obsession with the cartoon She-Ra. As with all obsessions, the children find ways to relate She-Ra to their everyday lives. Little son loves to tell me how She-Ra would fight the bad guys and middle daughter talks about She-Ra's horse.

Another thing middle daughter told me the other day is that I look like Shadow Weaver. I had no clue who that was. I googled it and came up with this

Awesome.

Shadow Weaver is a villain. Could you tell? Don't know quite how to take that.

The only thing that pulled me through was remembering the husband had told me just the day before that I was having one of my 10 sexiest days of all time.

Awesome!!

Two things helping me smile today:

1) the absence of political ads

2) this from little son :

"mom, i found more fake dollars!

woohoo!

{with double fist pump}

i love being fake rich!"

{stuffs fake dollars into real pocket

and runs off to play}

Hot and Broken

Yesterday I watched my little sister's darling baby. The girls were ecstatic when they got home from school and found her at our house. We were entertained with her jabbering and by her abundant thighs.

My sister came to collect her just before dinner and we talked them into staying to dine with us on pork chops and sweet potatoes.

The husband hasn't shaved his beard all week. Just for me. Cause I like him rugged. And he asked my sister's opinion during dinner. She told him she thinks he's hot. HOT.

After dinner we went outside to ride bikes. It was a beautiful evening, not too hot- with a full moon. And bats. We had bats flying around us. The husband promised to protect us by swatting them away with the light saber he borrowed from his son. We felt safe.

As my sister and I were talking about putting our wagon in the trunk of her car, the husband was bringing in the bikes. He started with little son's razor scooter. And I think he was working on some gnarly scooter moves to impress us. Because that's what boys do when they have two hot mom chicks standing in their driveway.

Pretty soon we heard metal clanking against concrete. And we looked over and realized the husband was sprawled on his back on the driveway. And we went to see what happened.

Apparently, while practicing his gnarly moves, the wheel of the scooter hit the seam of the concrete and it tripped the scooter and the husband went down. Hard.

He told me later that as he was falling his main thought was, "My phone's in my pocket. I better roll." And roll he did. And the phone was protected.

That poor husband. His neck is hurting him today. And his feet are all scabbed up. And his pinky toe is black and blue and swollen and broken. Broken. Because, there's not a lot of protection in a pair of flip flops.

Even with a broken toe and neck pain, he still managed to do his morning routine. That man is amazing.

Razor scooters weren't made for grown men to impress mom chicks. Anyway, he should know he doesn't need to impress me. He's got me wrapped around his little finger.

And my little sister? Well, she thinks he's hot.

awesome

k, you should totally disregard the post i posted like just an hour ago, because i have one now that totally trumps that one.

and i am prepared to share it right now.

so, before heading to bed, i checked my email and received the following from our ward executive secretary:

Dear Ward Leadership member:

Please check the meeting schedule below to see if you are supposed to attend a

meeting on this upcoming Sunday and review the attached agenda for possible

assignments.

The upcoming Sunday is:

2nd Sunday

7:30AM-9:00AM Ward Council

Attendees: Bishop.....................

First Counselor...........

Second Counselor..........

Ward Clerk.................

Executive Secretary.......

High Priest Group Leader..

Elder's Quorum President...

Ward Mission Leader........

Relief Society President...

Primary President..........

Young Men President.......

Young Women President......

Sunday School President...

Activities Committee......

10:00AM-1:00PM Meeting Block

If you are unable to attend, please send one of your counselors or assistants in your place.

Thanks

of course, i found my name on the list- or else i wouldn't have received the email. and as always, i forwarded the email to the husband with the following greeting (in order that he could print it out for me, since the printer is in his office and it takes way too much effort for me to go in there and plug in my laptop to the printer, since he hasn't hooked up our wireless printer yet. so, the husband always graciously prints out my agendas. what a husband!) oh, yeah, the email:

hey boy,

can you print this for me? thanks, babe! love you!!!!

-s-

not 5 minutes later, i received this email in reply:

Hey girl,

was this message supposed to go to (the husband)? LOL I almost fell over laughing just now.

PS

I always print out several copies of the agenda to pass out before the actual meeting, Plus I sometimes include a calendar on the back or other cool stuff like that...

Thanks for the late night laughs

apparently, instead of forwarding the email to the husband, i clicked on the *reply* link.

i knew i should have gone to bed early tonight.

so, i can't wait to see the executive secretary on sunday morning at our meeting.

that will be awesome.

i have a feeling this one is going to follow me around for a long, long time.

and, i'm totally open to suggestions on how i should reply to the email. ideas?

parenting

the family in which i grew up was large by today's standards. there were 7 children in my family. a pair of boys and a gaggle of girls. well, 5 girls anyway. is that a gaggle? if not a gaggle, it was certainly a giggle.

each night as we would come together for family prayer before bedtime, my dad, being the head of the household, took the patriarchal role of assigning one member of the family to offer the prayer. more often than not, one of us would make a silly remark which would set us all to laughing- including my mom. but never my dad.

in fact, my earliest memory of the prayer laughter routine was when i was probably 4 or 5 years old and we lived in longmont, colorado. my mom had just finished changing the cloth diaper of the youngest child and it was neatly folded on the plastic bloomer pants that were sitting on the yellowish green shag carpet of the living room, just waiting to make it to the laundry.

dad called everyone around for prayers and as we knelt and waited for reverence, my mom bowed her body down toward the diaper, with outstretched arms and said, "wetty diapie, wettie diapie, not a poopy diapie, but a wettie diapie." and that garnered major giggles from the three oldest daughters, who joined in as she repeated paying homage to the diaper gods.

it was funny. and we memorized this little mantra and have repeated it at various moments in our family's history. and usually, it draws immediate laughter.

now, as a mother, i wonder if my mom created that little diaper worship to break up the monotony of that particular day. i can't imagine that mothering five small children under the age of 9 was an easy task. and, please, cloth diapers without a diaper service? ugh, no thank you.

but back to dad and prayer time, he would play the stern father and attempt to bring order to the circle. and his attempts were rarely successful. and usually, the laughter would heighten.

and his irritation would heighten. and then my sweet mother would scold us children for laughing and not being serious when our father was trying to have family prayer. and we would be a little repentant and calm down just enough for whomever was called on to say the prayer. and the prayer would begin. and one by one, stifled laughter could be heard among the "we thank thee's" and the "we ask thee's" until the whole family was again doubled over in laughter. mostly reverent, silent laughter. mostly.

at the conclusion of the prayer my dad would voice his disappointment in our behavior and we would gather in the center for a group family hug where my mom would declare, "Love ya little family."

on an ordinary, reverent prayer night, my dad would add, "christmas eve gift." but, on the nights of the laughing prayer, he would get up from the circle and swiftly leave the room- disgusted with his ill-behaved offspring.

and we were off to bed.

i'm pretty sure that as my dad readied himself for bed his thoughts returned to family prayer time and, despite the frustrations of collecting the attentions of 8 unruly people, how he loved his family, including that giggle of girls.

p.s. i am really quite impressed by your knowledge of the second grade joke i shared the other day. plus, i am impressed that one or two of you may have even known additional stanzas. this tells me that you communicate with your children-- or at least, it tells me that you don't totally ignore your children as they are jabbering away all day long while you are concentrating on the daily tasks of parenting. yay for the parents!

Whatcha Doin?

Try not to lose your lunch on this one, k? But, if you will, travel back to the second grade with me. Come on, it'll be fun.

It amazes me that elementary school kids are telling the same jokes we told as kids. And they think they are all original. Well, my children hit on a little originality about the last week of school. In the form of a little dialogue that I had never heard before.

And it goes something like this. (who am I kidding? it goes exactly like this- i have it memorized)

person 1: Whatcha doin?

person 2: Eatin chocolate.

person 1: Where'd ya get it?

person 2: My doggie dropped it.

Try as I might, I have not been able to purge this joke from our household. I have told the children I think it is gross and inappropriate. And somehow it keeps resurfacing.

In fact, yesterday as the children and I were watching "Up", all I could think of when the little scout in the movie was feeding chocolate to the bird, was that oh-so-funny doggie/chocolate joke.

And then as a family last evening, we participated in Humanitarian Service at the church. Before we left the house, I popped a lemon drop in my mouth (yummy- lemon drops take me back to the second grade). On the walk to the church, I was talking to oldest daughter when she realized I had something in my mouth. She asked:

Whatcha eatin?

And although she wasn't quoting the joke verbatim, I couldn't resist. So I delivered the next line flawlessly. And a huge smile spread across her face. Because Mom had finally joined in on the inappropriate joke. I think kids like that kind of stuff on occasion.

Just see if you don't find yourself rehearsing the dialogue in your mind on the way to swimming lessons tomorrow. A little caution, though, when your kids ask why you're smiling, don't share the joke with them. You'll never hear the end of it.

Don't take offense...

The other day I received a phone call. It was a survey. Yes, one of those. And since the husband works with his clients in the development of intricate surveys to measure popular opinion, I usually feel compassion for whomever the survey-conductor is and participate.

This particular survey was conducted by someone with an accent. I believe he was Indian (as in the dot, not the feather). And so, it made for a little extra hard concentrating and listening on my part.

He explained the survey would take a few minutes and then began by asking my age range. I fell in the 25-40 bracket. Kind of a broad bracket, but whatever. And then he asked my gender. Female, of course.

And then he asked if I was a freakin' American.

What? Did I hear that correctly? I asked him to repeat.

And he again asked if I was a freakin' American.

That's what I thought he said. So, just to confirm, I asked one more time if he would repeat the question.

I am positive he was thinking, "lady, this is not a difficult question"- and so he asked me one more time-- "Are you a freakin' American? Or are you Hispanic or Caucasian?"

Oh, K, got it. I told him I was Caucasian.

To which he replied, "Are you sure you are not A-freecan American?"

And I replied, "Yes, positive. I am Caucasian."

Then he tried to convince me that I was African American. And I assured him I wasn't. And he didn't want to talk to me after that. Because I was the wrong color.

And I hung up the phone and giggled.

Oh, one more thing. I voted today. After all, I am a freakin' American.

stepping down

so here's the thing: i'm beginning to come to terms with the idea that maybe, perhaps, possibly my opinion might not be the only opinion. and this is a harsh realization. because once you have been crowned the queen of all opinions- by your own self, that throne is not easy to abdicate.

and so, as i write this post, i have determined that i shall use no caps so as to display the humble and pious state which i have been compelled to enter. (just a little fyi, i don't typically use caps anyway in my daily correspondence. and not just because i am humble, but because i am that lazy. shift plus a key? come on.)

let me 'splain. or at least sum up.

in my opinion (which i still claim to be valid, albeit not the queen any longer), i have some mad home decorating skills (not really mad as in angry- i use the term mad because that is what the kids are saying these days and in all things i attempt to be hip). in home decorating i also include home-layout-that-makes-sense skills. and i believe i know a good home layout.

when the husband and i were searching for a home just a few short months ago, we mostly looked at your basic inhabitable dwelling. except one. and how could our realtor have known he was taking us into this mess? he couldn't. because on the mls most people talk up the good points of a home. as one should when attempting to unload a triple k priced home. in this economy. blah blah blah

so we entered the hot mess of a home (also hip, kid-talk) and from the entry to the exit i had to be careful to not trip over my jaw- the one that had hit the floor the moment we crossed the threshold. i'm talking hot mess. not luke warm mess. hot.

obviously this home was custom. dreamed up by the original builder and his wife to incorporate all their dream elements. and you know how in dreams everything is logical until you wake up? i don't think these home planners ever woke up. and as we walked through, we were subject to the nightmare.

actually, it was quite an adrenalin rush touring this home. it was reminiscent of a kid at a carnival, walking through the house of mirrors, anticipating what was around the next corner. and the arsenal was loaded, surprises kept on coming- from the secret little loft area in the hall to the crazy busy built-ins in the family room to the virtual island of a dining room to the illogical kitchen arrangement to the million niches throughout the place to the master bedroom right off the entry! ( had to refrain from using caps there) to the glass french doors leading into the master bedroom to the double door drive-thru garage. it had it all. all, i tell you.

i wish i could remember it all. but i can't. i think it is my body's way of protecting me from the shock. you know how bodies do that? aren't they smart? again, my opinion.

but i do remember this: the master bath. wow was it grand. in a train wreck sort of way. like, i couldn't look away. i remember standing and staring. for a long time. and so did the husband. and our realtor. and his wife. and it was shock.

this was a large walk-in master bath. i'd say it was prolly 30x40. immediately on the left as you entered was a double vanity. unassuming. two sinks- one for each dreamer. and a mirror. a nice long mirror. opposite the vanity was a little room for the toilet. a nice, private toilet room.

beyond the vanity and toilet was an open room that housed the remainder of the bathroom facilities. in the left corner to the far end of the bathroom was a jacuzzi tub--- jacked up like 5 feet in the air. with nice tile steps up to the tub. steps that spelled danger to me. because, hello, the thought of walking down a million tile steps after stepping out of the bath doesn't relax me. because usually i like water in my baths. and hello, slippery. truthfully, the tub made me think of the princess and the pea. it was that high. but, you know, the actual tub looked nice enough. i just prefer mine with a little less altitude.

this is not the highlight of the room, however. oh no. opposite the tub was the grandest shower i have ever seen in my life. ever. ever. the remainder of the room was dedicated to the shower. it was a full, open shower- measuring at least 20x30, with no shower curtain, no door, no entrance. well, no entrance unless you counted the entire bathroom as the entrance. because it was completely open to the whole bathroom! guys, i mean it was open to the whole bathroom! and it had multiple shower heads. which is lovely. but it had them in odd places and at strange angles. and they weren't even attractive shower heads. and there were multiples of them. and it seemed as if they were multiplying as we stood and looked. and so where was the privacy? because, remember the glass french doors leading into the master suite? and there were no doors leading into the master bath and definitely no doors for the shower. open. all open. visible from the entrance to the home. who does that?

i tell you all of this because this home has apparently been bought. by someone who i suppose appreciates all these features. and they are spending insane amounts of money already on the home. because the children and i track its progress each day as we drive to school.

the buyer has added an electronic gated entry to this fortress. and who can blame them? any number of people are prolly plotting to break in and take a shower head or two. plus today as i drove by we noted that a grand driveway is being poured. and who knows what transformations are taking place in the interior.

in conclusion of the summation (which ended up being more of an explanation than a summary-sorry), it was once my opinion that this home would sit vacant for a long, long while. but it seems as though a new set of dreamers has taken up residence. and evidently their opinion matters. and i'm ok with stepping down. really.

i just don't know how their bodies will handle the shock once they wake up.

Belly Laughing at Life's Little Wedgies

Ever since we moved and got our new phone number, we have been receiving random calls for people who had this phone number before us. Mostly from bill collectors. Bummer for them.

After lunch this afternoon, little son requested that I join him in his nap. And how can you refuse that? Well, you can't.

So, we laid down on his bed, turned on the ceiling fan and got ready for some good sleep. Then the husband came in to tuck us in and little son was trying to demonstrate a death-defying feat for his biggest hero and slammed his little back into the door and there were tears. And the husband comforted him and then little son snuggled up to me and we again readied ourselves for some good sleep. (and I told the husband {told, not asked} to bring me the phone, because, well, I like to sleep with the phone. you probably do, too)

Just as we were about asleep that phone rang. And I answered it. It was a bill collector looking for someone who does not live in our home.

When I hung up, little son asked who called. And I told him it was someone looking for Hugo Bravo.

Immediately little son broke into the biggest belly laugh I have heard from him in a long time. And he laughed. And laughed. And did the funny air intake. And laughed some more.

And I could not let him laugh alone, so I joined in. And the two of us laughed for a long time- under his pirate blanket. And finally we both took a breath. But then we started right back in on the laughter. Because we couldn't stop. And Hugo Bravo is a funny name combination.

Finally, little son was able to take a few successive breaths and we both calmed down. A little.

And then I heard a cute little voice say, "Ah, man, I have the hiccups."

And then for the next five minutes all I heard was a little cutie next to me, sucking his thumb and hiccuping every few seconds.

Then, little son began to surrender to sleep, but first he needed to turn over to get a bit more comfortable. And I heard a little tired voice with thumb still in the mouth, mutter (mixed with a giggle), "Hugo Bravo."

And I giggled.

P.S. If you happen to be Hugo Bravo- thank you for providing an awesome moment for a mother and her sweet little son. And, deepest apologies for your unfortunate name combination, as we are sure you are a very good person.

P.P.S. Do you know Johnny Bravo?

P.P.P.S. When you are at the Opera and people yell "Bravo! Bravo!!" does it make you smile? A little?

p.p.p.p.s. are you tired of the ever since we moved stories?

Scents You've Been Gone

Ever since I met the husband I have been attracted to his scent. I love it. It's like watermelon, or something. Well, except when I am pregnant- because then I don't love the scent of anything. Anything.

When we dated, he used to wear this manly cologne. I loved it. I helped him pick it out on one of our first dates. And underneath the manly cologne, I could always pick up on that beautiful watermelon scent of his.

Once we were married, he continued to wear that yummy cologne until the bottle ran dry. And then, yummy colognes were booted off the budget. Because we were poor college students. And love doesn't buy cologne. So we were told. Oh, the injustice.

But now that we were married, I finally discovered the origins of that watermelon aroma. It was his deodorant. (He would tell you it is a musk- because he doesn't want people thinking he wears fruity scents- I still believe it has a hint of watermelon.) And he was a devout and loyal purchaser of that deodorant. Since junior high. And as far as he was concerned, he planned on waltzing into eternity- watermelon scent wafting behind. And I was ok with that. Because, as I said, I was attracted to that scent, happy to follow it into eternity. [Husband's note: I am officially hacking into this blog to say one thing: The label says "Musk," so I'm not the only one who would tell you that. And it IS good smelling. Mmhmm.]

And so, for the past 14 years, I have snuggled many a time up to the watermelon-scented armpit. Until last week.

Ever since our move, this magical deodorant is nowhere to be found. It seems the stores in our new town do not stock it on their shelves. It was a bitter blow to both of us. We didn't think we had moved that far off the grid. And it became one in a long line of our moving hiccups. I don't know if there has ever been a greater tragedy written.

And so, with much trepidation, and visits to three stores in one night in the hopes of finding a golden tube of B.O. stick, the husband relented and stepped WAY OUTSIDE the box, purchasing a new brand of deodorant. Approved by my cute self, of course. After all, I will be the one snuggling up to those pits.

The morning after the purchase I had many errands to run and little people to taxi all over tarnation (btw- we didn't actually move to tarnation, so don't try to look us up there), so I was not present for the maiden application of the new stick. And now, thinking back, we really should have made a big ol' ceremonial deal out of this. But, he applied it without me and carried on with his day.

When I returned later that morning, I had some things to report to the husband, so I knocked quietly on his office door- because I didn't know if he was in a meeting or not. (Did I mention that the husband now works exclusively from home? He does. And I love it!! That means I have the husband 24/7!!)

As soon as he opened the door, the most desirable aroma charged my nostrils. It was the kind of aroma that does something for a girl. And I just couldn't help myself. I threw my arms around his neck and whispered, "You smell so good!" I whispered because I knew he was on a conference call with a client.

Funny thing is, he had his phone mic right around his neck. I hadn't noticed. It was in just the right spot for me to broadcast that proclamation to all involved in the call.

But at least now his client knows that he has a very talented AND yummy-smelling professional working in his behalf.

Love that man. (the husband, not the client)

There's Glue in my Root Beer / The Original App Guy

You may have had this problem before. The one where you need to glue your car door shut but you have no glue. Yes, that one.

Solution: use root beer. It works.

This is what you do:

1. You run all over tarnation taking care of your errands and then as you pass Chick-fil-A you decide that sounds good for lunch because you know once you get home you won't feel like fixing pbj's again.
2. When you finally arrive at home, gather all the stuff that you just errand-ed in your arms so you don't have to make two trips out to the car to bring it all in.
3. While you are unbuckling your son's car seat, put your root beer on the roof of the car.
4. It will slide off and drizzle down your shirt (through the straw and the little straw hole in the lid) and arm as you try to catch it. And it will splash on the door frame of your open car door and then on the rubber sealer part. But, most likely, the lid will stay on.
5. Grab a napkin out of your lunch sack and haphazardly wipe up what you can as you juggle the world in your arms.
6. Finish getting the children out of the car, shut the doors and get yourself inside the house.
7. Don't give it another thought.
8. When you run out the door 24 hours later to hop into your car and wonder why the door won't open, it might take a moment, but it will eventually come to you. The root beer. Good as glued.

You can thank me now or later. Whichever.

Moral: Keep root beer on hand. You never know when you might need it. And do you think the Nobel people would consider this discovery a contribution to science? Because I'm pretty sure no one has thought of the root beer as a car door glue substitute thing before.

Well, except maybe MacGuyver.

Yeah, except him.

I'm fairly certain he may have an app for that.

Frogs

What would you do?

Last night I attended a Stake Youth Fireside. It was wonderful. Our newly-called Stake Patriarch and his wife spoke. She was witty and charming and he was sound and valiant.

She had us laughing as she introduced the two of them. She was an able and gifted guide as she took us on a tour of their lives. She introduced us to the small one room church building she went to as a girl. So small the restroom facility was on the podium- back in a small room in the corner- behind the speakers. She took us to Korea, where they spent two years as missionaries. She told of their dedicated service to the Lord.

Truly, behind every good man stands a good woman. Except, I'm pretty sure that she doesn't usually stand behind- probably at his side.

He then took the stand and presented the youth with a solid explanation of their responsibilities as youth of the noble birthright. And then he expounded upon the wonder of patriarchal blessings. Except he had a small scratchy frog in his throat that caused him to have to stop every so often to try and clear it. And successful he was not.

I thought that perhaps he needed a drink of water. And so did the friend I was sitting by. So she offered to go and get the drink if I would walk up the aisle to present it to him. That kind of made me a little nervous, because believe it or not, I was seated on the back row- hardly ever happens. And it is a long walk from the back row to the front of the chapel when you are carrying a cup of water for the speaker.

You may be asking yourself, "Why get involved? Look the other way!"

I'll tell you why. I am the first counselor in our Stake Young Women Presidency. And the friend is the second counselor. So I think we felt a certain amount of responsibility for the well-being of the speaker- especially since we were in charge of the fireside this time.

So, in perfect synchronization, we arose and exited the chapel to fetch a cup of water for the Stake Patriarch. She to fill and I to deliver. And we laughed at ourselves on the way to the kitchen. And she was glad to turn the cup over to me once her part of the task was completed.

As we entered the chapel, I surveyed the pulpit- trying to ascertain the perfect method of delivery. And I realized that there really wasn't a perfect method. I just had to march up the aisle, hope the water didn't slosh on the congregation, and set the cup down just so- making sure it didn't spill on the open laptop that provided the power point presentation. Because that would have been embarrassing- frying a laptop right in the middle of the presentation.

As I walked up the aisle, I heard him comment that he was having problems speaking for some reason. Of course, I immediately mentally patted myself and my friend on the backs for bringing in the water. I handed it up to him and he commented that perhaps that would help.

I turned around and made my way to my seat. And he continued with his talk. It was lovely.

But, he never drank the water. Not one sip.

I'm pretty sure that once that water was delivered, people were wondering if he would drink it. And he didn't.

And as we exited the chapel during the closing song to prepare the refreshments, my friend and I again laughed as we walked down the hall to the kitchen, commenting about the water. And then we pulled the popsicles out of the freezer and set them out for the hungry youth.

Among the frozen treats was a yummy concoction christened Frog Spit. It is a lemon lime sherbet mixed with vanilla ice cream on a stick.

The Patriarch chose one of those.

I can imagine that it hit the spot.

P.S. Tune In Tuesday for another guest post from a brilliant blogger!

Behind the Singers

Yesterday at church a couple of women sang a beautiful rendition of "How Great Thou Art". I think. What I mean is, I think that is what they sang. I can't remember. I do remember their voices were lovely- and the harmony intoxicating. But, I was paying too much attention to what was going on behind the singers. (that almost sounds like "behind the scenes", which could also work here)

Since I sit on the front row, I am close enough to read lips. The lips of the speakers who just so happened to be sitting behind the singers. There were three speakers- a husband and wife and then another woman (sans husband). The wives sat shoulder to shoulder, while the husband chilled on the aisle seat.

As the duetists were adding their voices to the angels, I noticed as the speaker sans husband whispered something to the speaker with husband. Intrigued, I watched as she mouthed, "... her shoe." And all three speakers' heads turned as one to view the shoe. And their faces mirrored amusement, although sending a little nervousness out into the congregation.

Instantly I was hooked. (Remember, nothing gets past me- observant to a fault) Of course, I couldn't see the singer's shoe. Even though I sit on the front row.

So many options danced through my head- such as, but not limited to:

• the singer is wearing mismatched shoes
• the singer is wearing her husband's shoes
• the singer is wearing no shoes
• the singer- wait, which singer? there are two up there...
• the singer's heel just broke on her shoe
• the singer is standing on the other singer's shoe- I wonder which one is getting their shoe stood on
• the singer is wearing golf shoes
• the singer's shoe just broke through the floor
• the singer's shoe just fell in the little cabinet that houses the stool that the kids stand on when they bear their testimonies

So as not to miss out on what was going on with the shoe, I arranged my children so that I would be able to pay full, undivided attention to the singers' shoes as soon as they made their way back to the congregation.

I passed out books and stickers. And the children were taken care of before the last note was sung. And I was in position to scope out the shoes.

The women marched single file down the stairs, slow motion. Thanks, ladies for playing into my plan, and not crowding out each other's shoes. And then, everything sped up- like dramatically. And both ladies were down the stairs. And I saw their shoes. And they both had on a matching pair. And both contained all parts of their heels. And all four shoes were white. And neither pair were golf shoes.

It did not compute. I just could not piece together what had happened up there. So I looked to the speakers for help. And they seemed to be unfazed by the singers, who had gracefully made their exit. But, they were still fazed by something. And I could see that their eyes were still trained on the spot where the singers had stood and sung their (un)forgettable song. (forgettable only because I couldn't remember exactly what they sang. but how they sang was truly unforgettable- it was beautiful.)

And then, seeking answers, my attention turned to the bishop and his hot counselor and the looks on their faces. I watched as the bishop scooted forward on his seat, bent forward and scooted something on the floor and then sat back in his seat, satisfied. While his hot counselor grinned and the speakers were all smiles.

And the speaker's husband stood and delivered his message.

Whaaaaa?

When the hot counselor returned home from his meetings at the end of the day, you can bet the first question out of my mouth was, "What was going on with the singers' shoes?"

To which he responded, "What?"

And I recounted the story.

And he laughed.

And unfolded to me what was really going on behind the singers. He reported that due to the heroic actions of our brave bishop, the father of our ward, our ward building was down one ginormous cockroach.

Way to go bishop. Thank you for protecting us.
(and, thank goodness I sit on the front row! Just think of the stories I would have if I sat even just a few rows back. Not to mention if I sat in the way back!!)


And, don't forget to order your Time Out for Women tickets. Click on the link at the top of the sidebar. You'll be glad you did. Awesome event planned for this year!

Plus, I am intrigued by this new show FlashForward that ABC has coming out in the fall. You got me interested, ABC. I hope you deliver. But don't deliver the filth- just a good, clean intriguing plot. Pretty please?

Where are those Binjas?

I'm confident that someone out there might have the brains to do this. Or at least an opinion on what can be done.

Little son traded in his precious Peter Piper Pizza tickets for two plastic ninjas (one purple, one blue) at our little family's back to school celebration dinner on Monday evening.

Since Tuesday morning, the most commonly-heard phrase in our home is, "I can't find my Binjas." Yes, he calls them binjas. Because ninja can sometimes sound like binja to little 3 year old ears.

The problem? If the binjas are not immediately located, then all composure is lost and it would seem that Armageddon is imminent. Tears gush, banshee-like screams ensue, and the family searches for the binjas to appease the little son beast. And, usually, those silly binjas are found.

But, for the last 4 hours those binjas have been MIA.

So, where does the person with the brains come in? I personally believe that every toy, every blanket, every book, every pillow that any child even remotely looks at should contain a tracking device. It would make life easier. And I know there is someone out there who could do it. Because a mom can't possibly be expected to know where all things are at all times. Can a mom?

I'm doing well to know where the children are at this moment. In bed, I think.

Maybe I should check on that.

And, I'll find those binjas tomorrow. Because for now, the crying has ceased.

fly swatter

not ten minutes ago i was sitting in my family room, watching the finals for dancing with the stars and a fly that has been in my house all day. and he has a buddy in here somewhere. little son and i have spent a good portion of our day chasing them around, trying to either get them outside or kill them dead.

as i watched gilles and cheryl do their little flashdance rendition, i saw something out of the corner of my eye and recognized it to be one of the gruesome twosome that has been annoying us all the day long. at first i didn't pay much attention to the aeronautical pest, i was just a bit distracted by the ripped up clothing on television, but then i focused on the fly and watched as it ascended- up, up, up.

right into the ceiling fan, which swatted it across the room.

i watched the fly as it was thrust to the floor. it lay there, a little dazed. and then got up and carried on its way.

and i realized

i had missed my chance to kill it dead.

but, wow, it just got a round-house kick to the body with a ceiling fan. and it got up and moved on.

there's a lesson here.

maybe.