One Day Too Late

Dangit! I missed my photo op by one day. The Lancaster Assembly of God changed their marquee. I guess I'll just have to tell you what it said instead of showing a picture. I'm sure the humor will be lost in translation, but oh well. Picture this: The Assembly of God church has a marquee that says, "Resolution for 2009 - to know Jesus." Right next door, no lie, the Original Roadhouse Grill has a sign that says, "Break your resolutions here."




Last night was Sarah's 5th grade music performance. Every year, the choir teacher has each grade do a musical presentation. This year, it was the Civil War. Funny, but I didn't see any confederate flags displayed. Just the stars and stripes. What's with that? The program was called "The Blue and the Grey." Well, where was the grey? Ask any of Neal's southern ancestors about it, and they'd still refer to it as "the War of Northern Aggression."

I must admit, I'm rather happy this was Sarah's last performance for elementary school. Not because she's not good, but because these programs are serious torture to sit through. Serious torture. Some might think that makes me a bad parent, but too bad. I can't fake enjoyment. Plus, Sarah hates it too, so there. Argh, Kate has just begun the journey. There's no end in sight. But then I realized that all around me in the gym were relics from my past that provided me with entertainment during the program. That and texting. The school is full of life-size paintings of kids circa 1983. They're doing cartwheels down the hall ways, as well as adorning the gym in various physical education activities.

Hark! I found MY portrait!


That is me! Taller than everyone else, permed mullet, doing something physical, Nike shoes. Yes, I had Nike's. Here's the story. We were poor. For reals. So, it was 1984 - the 3rd grade. For my 9th birthday, I received some Nike tennis shoes! You must realize, this was a real treasure. Nike's were it, and it was pretty cool to own a pair. They were blue with a silver swoosh. . . on the right shoe. . . . and, oh, look! A white swoosh on the other shoe. . . . was the right shoe more snug than the left? Hey, was the "NIKE" written on the back of the right shoe italicised, while the left was regular? Hmmmm. That's why I had Nike's. Mis-matched shoes at Mervyn's. As my mom was perusing the shoes section at Mervyn's in the Valley Fair Mall, I'm sure she told my Dad, "no one will ever notice." And I don't think anyone DID notice. But I DO remember when my big sister crammed her feet into them one day and wore them to school. She was in the 6th grade and her feet were way bigger than mine. Thus began her philosophy of shoes which goes something like this - no matter how much they hurt or blister, if they're cute, it's worth it. She still lives by that creed. Then there's me. I still live by the old "first Nike" creed. Who cares what my shoes look like? If they're comfortable, then that's good enough for me.




More creepy children painted on the walls. Hey look! They're made to look like they're swinging from the bars! Genius. Let's see, from left to right these kids could have been my old playmates from Orchard Elementary. Paul F., Jamie P., Quinn R., and Greg T.





Kate and her horses. Oh look! I see Cinderella and Belle in the mix. She's watching a movie on the lap top because our tv remote broke. FYI - remote controls can bust apart when dropped really hard. Ok, who am I kidding. The remote got thrown rather hard. Thanks to google, remote control replacements and UPS, we should have a new one by Friday.

High-Top Losers

Yesterday was a mad-dash event that happens every Sunday without fail. Mom rushes home from a meeting, Dad rushes to another ward/meeting, Mom needs to hurry and do girly hair so her kids don't look homeless while they sit in church. I don't think I'm always successful in that department. The usual. It's no wonder that Sunday has gone from a "day of rest" to a "day of grouch."

Yesterday I was trying real hard like to be pleasant. As I rushed Kate into the bathroom to do her hair, we were chatting/joking in funny voices. You know, the "snobby girl" talk that's kinda fun to do. Like, yeah, she was so totally being like "whatever" and I was like, "Yeah, you're cu-RAY-zee!!" Kind of like that. Then Kate said, "Yeah Mom, I can talk way better than you like that because you are such a loser!"
Mom: "What? What do you mean I'm a loser? That was like, totally rude."
Kate: "Well, uh. . . . you're a high-top loser."
Mom: What the heck is a high-top loser?
Kate: It's like when you're high, you're at the top. The losers are all at the bottom. So, that means you're at the top of the losers. So, it's really not that bad.

So, as far as losers are concerned, I'm the cream of the crop.

Making Funnies

Sarah was rooting around in the fridge looking for a snack, when she knocked the left-over peas and carrots all over the floor and inside the fridge. She looked at me like, "Oh crap! Sorry Mom!" But I didn't get mad. How could I? The accident set me up for a great joke I just couldn't pass up. I said, "Sarah! You'd better clean up every carrot and pea on the floor!" It took her a minute, but then she got it. I was a joke hero for the kids tonight.

As usual, Sarah and Kate were surrounding me and the baby in her post-bath routine called "how much can we hover over mom and the naked baby making sounds and trying to get the baby to laugh." It can be quite exhausting sometimes. I'm like, "give me some space, will you?" You'd think it would get old for them, but as Abigail grows and does more tricks, the constant attention just grows and grows. I think if they adored her any more, something will explode. Anyway, the usual conversation ensued. Sarah and Kate ask all about details from when they were babies.

Sarah: What year was it when I learned how to walk?
Mom: 1998
Kate: OH! Sarah was born back THEN?!
Mom: What?
Kate: You know, back THEN!
Mom and Sarah: What are you talking about?
Kate: You know, like back THEN in the olden days. You know, when they had freaky cars and stuff.

Perspective.

So, the Abby is rolling over pretty good now. Back to front, front to back, you know, the usual baby tricks. She has her 6 month check-up tomorrow. I was the joke hero tonight, but I'll be the villain tomorrow. Holding the beauty down while she gets poked. Poor baby.

Students, Teachers and Servants

Who doesn't love a fritter? If anyone raised their hand, come on over to my house so that I can whoop some sense into you. Fritters are delicious. Especially when they're homemade, warm, and delivered to my door by some choice people. If there ever was a week when I needed a fritter delivered with love, it has been this one. And, these choice people were also involved (along with some equally choice people) in a wonderful birthday treat delivered to my door back in November. It was a "Coke Cake." I wish I had a picture. It was shaped like a Christmas tree, had cans of diet coke for decorations, and the main ingredients in both the cake and frosting was coke (as well as love). Very fitting for my bad habits. And people wonder why I love serving with the young women so much. Hmmmm. Fritters and coke cake. Sounds like a great wage to me.

I've made some observations this past week. Kids are like students in a class room. Only sometimes, they're the teacher. Or, if you ask my kids what they are after they get their list of Saturday chores, they might say they are servants. I joke that I should have named them Cinderella. But, ask me any other day of the week what my roll is, and I'd have to say all 3. Student, teacher and servant. Here are a few events over the past few days that illustrate my point.

- I taught Sarah a valuable lesson on Saturday, but she still doesn't believe me. It's ok to be late to a party. In fact, it's in good taste to be "fashionably late" to a party. Be early to church, on time for the doctors office, but late to a party. For the life of that wonderful daughter, she still won't believe me. She begged on Saturday to go to a birthday party 30 minutes early. She insisted it would be nice. I explained feelings of awkwardness that might attend, as well as the host's discomfort at having her guests arrive early. She still looks at me with an "are you sure?" look.

- I learned that swimming pool games can have wonderful combinations of compromises. One child wants to play "mermaid." The other wants to play "Secret Assassin." What does Kate say? "OH! I KNOW! We could play MERMAID ASSASSIN!" I'd love to see THAT toy on store shelves for Christmas 2009.

- It's a given that a mom is a servant to all. Slave, more like it. Anyway, Mondays at our house are "sheets and towels" day at Nat's Laundromat. The girls didn't get their sheets removed from their beds before school, so I decided to do it for them. As I'm up on Sarah's bunk-bed, I find a million socks. Keep in mind that Sarah had been raiding my sock drawer for the last few days, so I had just bought new socks for her the day before. Apparently, she had turned her bedding into a sock factory. So, I spent some time rooting around for truant socks. She now has a great supply.

- Even though the kids make me feel like an indentured servant, they have their moments. As mentioned before, it's been a rough week. So, mom's been a little on the grouchy side. But, what' s new? It's amazing how forgiving they can be. It's no wonder that the scriptures talk of approaching Deity as a humble child. Grouchy mom says "I'm sorry." and the kids say, "it's ok mom. I know you didn't mean it." Now I'm the student.

Coming up (just as soon as I remember to take my camera on my next run): A funny combination of marquee messages from neighboring establishments. It's a good one.

There's No Turning Back

I'm in for it now. I've "calendared" my training schedule and sent the check in the mail. It's mail worthy of one of my DC Comics stamps. I thought about a Yoda stamp, but for some reason a stamp with his mug on it doesn't shout "marathon" to me. Spiderwoman is much more appropriate. There are "absolutely no refunds!" so a great way to commit is to send a check for $65 and an extra $7 for the pasta dinner the night before. It better be some good pasta. Hopefully not like the poisoned banquet food in "Drop Dead Gorgeous" that allowed Kearsten Dunst's character to get on the news and achieve her dream of being like Diane Sawyer - from beauty queen to news anchor. Great, funny show if you're interested. However, I assume no responsibility if you find some parts of the film mildly inappropriate. Watch at your own risk.

So, as I'm filling out my entry form, there's a little place to check if you want to run in the "Athena" or "Hercules" division. Apparently, I qualify. If you're a female who weighs 145 or more, you may call yourself Athena. For males, if you top 190, you may brag to all your friends that you're Hercules. OK, so 145 is considered larger? I feel pretty snazzy when I weigh 145. But, I guess that's "fat" for the running world. Oh well. It could be worse. It used to be called the "Clydesdale" division. I'd rather be called the Goddess of War and Wisdom than be equated to a beer-peddling draft horse. Maybe I should have a sweet "athena" shirt made up for the big race day. Hmmmm . . . . .

So, to anyone on the fence about the whole "Newport Marathon," it's not too late! 16 week training starts the second week in February. If you can run for 30 minutes straight by that time, and can get decent shoes from a running store, you're good. Think about it. Actually, don't think about it. Just do it!

*Address removed thanks to the skillz of Amy.

Have You Ever Heard of a Bagel with Cream Cheese?

One of the perks to attending "Title 1" schools is the free food. Free breakfast and free lunch for EVERYONE! Who says it doesn't pay to live on the other-side-of-the-tracks? This mom doesn't have to pack her kids lunches, or even feed them breakfast, for that matter! Thanks government, for making my life as a parent a little easier.


Kate returned home from school Thursday, and was very excited to share some new information. "MOM! Today at school, the snack was this really good thing. You have to try it. It's a hard donut, you cut it in half, and then you put white frosting stuff on it. It is SO GOOD!" Then, she spent the next couple of hours reminding me to "go to Winco tomorrow and buy some hard donuts." A few vocabulary lessons later, she was finally calling them bagels and cream cheese. Apparently my middle child doesn't get out much. Neither does her palette. She has a unique one, that girl does.

Just yesterday, as promised to middle child, we watched old "home movies." I had promised to show her the clip from when she was 1. It has ALWAYS been a challenge to get her to eat anything that's not white or brown. We were living in Provo, and every morning, she would get up, walk to the cupboard, and get out the saltine crackers. The obvious would happen. I would clean up saltine cracker mess every single morning! I was sick of it. So, one night, Neal installed cupboard door latches. Then, we taped her strolling into the kitchen the next morning. Man, the look on her face when the door wouldn't open! Funny thing is, just yesterday Kate was forced to vacuum up saltine crumbs. She has evolved a bit. She gets out the saltines, but adds a twist - pepperoni and cheese. She loves to see how fast she can get a few of those swallowed down before I catch her. It's usually 20 minutes before dinner. Curses!!

Needless to say, we had great fun watching the home movies. Note to self and anyone else who cares: Don't sit and record every single recital/program/graduation. TOTALLY boring and worthy of the fast-forward button. The best things to watch is when we would just get out the camera for no reason and tape the girls getting ready for bed, or doing regular stuff. THAT's when the magic happens, and THAT's when you remember exactly what they were like when they were little. It all comes back in a flood of memories, and you notice things they still do, and remember the shoes they always wore, or how messy their hair was, or how bratty one of them used to be. Wow, how did I put up with that? I'm being paid 10 fold now, because she is turning out to be one of the sweetest, most helpful, loving kids in the world, and she's pretty fun to hang out with. But watching old home movies has reminded me why the 2 oldest were purposefully spaced out so far. Toddlerhood with the oldest was an adventure! I'm looking forward to the teenage years. I do so much better with teenagers. I get where they're coming from, I guess. I don't get where toddlers are coming from, however. Like "why did you just pee your pants again?!" or, "why did you think it was ok to stick a bead up your nose? or put Lightning McQueen and his friends, the rocks, in the VCR?" is harder for me to wrap my head around than, "Why did you pierce your belly button?" or, "Why did you think it was ok to color your hair the day before the prom, not knowing what would result?" I get that stuff.

The old home-movies are so revealing as a parent. They're almost sage-like. Kate and I really got into watching them. It was no surprise when I looked at the clock and realized afternoon kindergarten was about to start, and she didn't have her hair done, or had lunch yet. Once again, thank you, Title 1.





Oh, crazy thing. You know how everyone has that one thing that just won't die? Like the cell phone that goes through the wash, or gets dropped in the toilet and "beeps on" a few days later like a poltergeist? With us, it's the 1994 Dodge Caravan that just won't die (thank goodness). Well, apparently our "spent some time in the mud at the bottom of a pond" camera is like that. I was about to take it to the the electronics recycling place, and I decided to put some batteries in to see what would happen. What the heck? It still works? The pictures are a little muddy (literally. There's mud on the inside of the view-finder). But, it works. Another electronic miracle. They work when they're dead, and they don't work when you need them. Enjoy the miracle pictures. I tried to get one of Abby sucking her thumb, but I just ended up waking her. She looks a little ticked-off. Can't say I blame her. The flash still works.

We Used to Live in an Old Submarine

Don't forget the lyrics! Oh, too late. Already did. I think Kate suffers from her mother's malady - singing the wrong words to songs. Like the Kenny Rogers/Dolly Parton rendition of "Islands in the Stream" (which I KNOW is the wrong title, but for the life of me, I have NO IDEA what they're saying). When I was a kid, I sat in the big brown van and sang, "Island Industries, that is what we are. No one in between, we've come way too far. Sail away with me, to another world, and we'll rely on each other, a ha ha ha. . . . ." Angie razzed my buttingus for getting the lyrics wrong. I could go on and on. I sing the wrong words to everything. I can't understand what they're saying, those rock stars! But ask me the back-beat, bass line and all the bridges and repeat chorus order, and I'll nail it.

Yesterday, Kate was in the shower singing at the top of her lungs, "WE USED TO LIVE IN AN OLD SUBMARINE! AND OLD SUBMARINE! AN OLD SUBMARINE!" Bless her genetic heart. As bad as I am, I'm pretty good with Beatles songs. Even the weird crazy ones like Rocky Raccoon and Glass Onion. I love me them beatles. It's in the blood. Thanks Dad.

That is SO last year

Is it possible to have a hangover, even though you're Mormon and don't drink? It is. I'm sure of it.

I love Christmas. Especially THIS Christmas. We had snow! Not just a skiff, but a whole 10 inches at our house. Wow. My kids had so much fun. They played in the snow all day, from dawn till dusk till they were soaked. Kate was a lucky duck that she could wear Sarah's old ski-gear and snow boots. And lucky Sarah, who is adult-like in size and could wear mom's old ski-gear. Seriously, I loved it. Nothing beats looking out the window at night, seeing quarter sized snowflakes of my youth, and getting goose bumps. Finally snow. Christmas was complete. Heaven indeed. I was quite at home. Even as I drove on the ice-packed streets. It's so great to see a snow-fort in the front yard and a snow-man with a carrot nose. But, good things can't last forever. The only evidence left of the snow is a carrot on our green grass, and a snow shovel that has yet to be put away.

This holiday season has been like a blur of busy fun stuff. 3 weeks of 24/7 with the kids (sometimes great, sometimes worthy of a street-corner with 2 of my 3 kids wearing a sandwich board advertising their sale), tons of snow and ice, scary trips to the store trying to push a costco cart through slush (impossible), too much food, not enough stomach room, too cold to jog, too lazy to drive to the "round the corner" gym, it's dark and cloudy so I want to sleep, staying up past midnight night after night, playing the wii, constantly cleaning up after the whole family time after time after time, letting the girls stay up way too late, then spending the next day saying, "Why are you so grouchy? Chill pill!" making lots of food night after night, testing ourselves night after night by seeing how many calories and grams of fat can be consumed before one turns toxic. You know, the typical holiday season. Truth be told, as much fun as it was, I'm ready for the old routine to return. Early to bed, early to rise, exercise, school for the kids (oh, sweet heaven), new-years resolutions. Basically, the steady rhythm that keeps me somewhat sane, yet somewhat lame. Ahhhh, I'm looking forward to Monday and my few hours of silence with just me and a perfect baby who smiles every time I look her way. Dee-lightful!