Gold, Frankincense, Myrrh, and Light Sabers: Part I

I love Christmas. Christmas was great. Is it ever bad? Not that I can remember. I love the ages and stages our kids are in now. Abigail was happy with clothes and shoes. And I was happy to recycle Sarah's old kitchen set that she got for Christmas of 1999. It's been in our attic, awaiting the day to be re-gifted. Just buy some new "food" and dishes, clean it up a bit, and there you have it! Christmas for the El Cheapos (that's Neal and I, in case you wondered).

I also love that Sarah likes the Beatles. Good girl.
I love giving my kids their favorite "sometimes only" foods in their stockings. Their favorite sugared cereal, pop-farts, glass bottles of Coke (that one is an "always no-no" in my Mom's opinion), cheetos, and as you can see by the picture, easy-mac for Kate. She was very happy. El Cheapo's strike again!

In my stocking, Neal gave me a whole box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies, some Chex Mix, a snickers bar, and some caramel cashew trail mix from Target. Along with some movie tickets and a gift card for clothes shopping with Sarah. And, about 15 extra pounds of Natalie to love on. Neal gets better at gifting every year!

I love Abby's gigantic feet. Literally seconds after she was born, Neal said, "Holy Cow! Look at her feet!" They were folded up along her shins, and her toes almost touched her knees. They are still gigantic and disproportionate.

I love having my husband home for a few days of relaxation and laughter. I wonder if he's been getting bored. The new Star Wars figurines have been found in interesting situations. The girls will start saying, "Hey! Where's my Asoka figure? Where's Captain Rex?" Then they'll find them, doing who knows what. Maybe I should have bought a few for Neal.

I want a candy hot tub.

That was a very wise man to bring a light saber along on his journey.

*coming soon* The burning cross in my neighborhood. . .

The Wall of Shame

It was Sarah's 13th birthday yesterday. Woah. I need a minute. . . .

I remember my 13th birthday like it was yesterday. I was on the girls basketball team at Hunter Jr. High, and we were playing Westlake Jr High at home. I was pumped that I was a something-"teen."

Sarah had a good day. She got what she wanted, and didn't have to do any work or mom-biddings. Which made me realize how much I'm constantly asking her to do. I had to do a lot of crap yesterday!

Yes, it has happened. Ugh ugh and seriously ugh!!!! I get itchy every time I think about it. When I received the medicine in the mail, I made sure to read the directions very well. I'm glad I did, or I might have missed this little gem:

"Frontline Plus for Dogs can also be used for the treatment and control of flea, tick and chewing lice infestations on breeding, pregnant and lactating bitches."

I'm not pregnant or lactating, but they got the other two right!


My Wall of Shame. Yes, they're empty.

Offensive Verbage

Poor Santa.

Sarah, all dressed up and ready for her band concert.

Kate enjoys perusing the ads and circling what she wants for Christmas. I remember doing the same thing as a child, with the Sears catalog my Grandma Hansen would give to us. The ads in the paper this morning were mostly grocery ads. Kate got out her trusty sharpie and went to work, circling all of the food she wants for Christmas. We feed her, I promise!

I got in trouble last night. I often use the word "retard" and "retarded" in my conversation. Tasteless? Yes. Trashy? Yes. But my use of the word has nothing to do with disabled people, and everything to do with something stupid, or ignorant, or retarded that someone did or said. Yes, it is "one of those words" like "gay," that is on the current censorship list. I move that it's all about intent.

Anyway, I used the word yesterday to describe something retarded. I was publicly reprimanded and told I should not use that word. I was embarrassed, to say the least. First off, the word "retard" didn't find its roots with the classification of mentally disabled or challenged people. Hell, even the Italians use it as a musical term meaning to "slow down" (retardando). But it has become connected to them (not the Italians). Just like "gay" originally meant "happy." And when we learned the song in primary "I'm a Gay Tra La La," we all giggled, because the word had morphed into a new meaning, and my Mom, the primary chorister, hadn't received the memo. Nor did my Mom, the Relief Society President, receive the memo about the word "Lesbo." She went around calling people at work "Lesbo's." She thought she was pretty funny, because everyone laughed. Anyway. . .

Secondly, I was not intending to offend, so why does someone take offense? Sheesh!

So there I sat, in front of other people, like a child, being reprimanded. I'm a grown up, and even when my kids do retarded things, I'm careful not to reprimand them in front of others. It's just not cool. Especially adult to adult. Ugh, it made me mad. I almost said, "Well, I call my kids retards all the time. What are you going to do about it? Huh? Huh?" But I didn't. I didn't return railing for railing. I just smiled and changed the subject and was very happy that the conversation and setting was just moving elsewhere.

Faker

I could tell it was going to be "one of those Sunday's" when I got out of bed this morning. Something was in the air. Neal had to speak in 2 wards today, both in Woodburn. So I was the single lady at church today. Which I'm used to, so it shouldn't be a problem.

All morning long, Kate kept whining about her stomach hurting. I didn't believe her. I just thought she was trying to get out of church. I did give her some pepto, just to make her feel like I was trying to make her feel better. But really, I think the only thing pepto does is give vomit its pinkish tint.

I got us all to church on time. Kate was still grumbling about her stomach. As the sacrament song was starting, I noticed she looked a little pale. "Ok," I thought. "Maybe she is really sick." I told her I would take her home right after the sacrament. Abigail was not helping the situation much. She is having one of her psychotic Sunday's. They're hit and miss.

When we got to the van and I started to back out of my parking space, the gagging began. "Roll down your window Kate!!" She did. I rolled to a stop as she let loose. Her light pink puke is spattered across the parking lot at our church, and all down the side of the van. A kind man saw the action and took pity by giving her a bottle of water.

I set up the barf-station next to the couch, put on a movie, then told her I'd be right back. I had to go back to church to get Abby, and tell the primary president that I couldn't teach primary today. I feel so bad about that. Anyway, when I got back to the church, poor Sarah was in the lobby with Abby, who was being terrible. Sarah whispered to me, "MOM! Abby pulled my skirt clear up to HERE!" And she pointed to her high high thighs. "I think Brother I. saw!" We laughed pretty good.

When we got back in the chapel to finish sacrament meeting, Abby was still being naughty. She had a baggie of gold fish. When she says "gold fish," it sounds just like she's saying "garbage." So, she kept yelling "Goldfish! Goldfish!"

After sacrament meeting, I arranged for my primary class, then Abby and I took off. When we got outside, Abby escaped my grasp and shot out across the totally soggy grass (it's been raining like crazy here). I'm serious. Muddy, soggy, squishy grass. I had to go after her, because she was headed for the parking lot, and the other ward was just going home. So there I go, across the soggy grass in high heels, with the diaper bag, primary bag, and scriptures, which only added to my weight and made me sink even deeper into the grass, yelling "Abby! Stop!" She was just squealing in delight, with her sharp little teeth exposed, swinging her baggie of "garbage" around. When I finally got her to the van, what does she do? Smear her hand through the barf that was all along the side of the van. "Icky!!!" She said, then wiped it all along the front of her dress.

Poor Sarah is left alone at church. But she'll be ok. She's one of those kids that actually likes church.

We Got the Beat!

My sister, Lindsey, gave me these sweet kitchen tools. Notice the drum sticks? She thought I would use them to bang on pots and pans. Nope. I just use them to beat my kids. Thanks Lindsey!

I have yet to do any Christmas shopping. Oh oh. It's just not on my radar screen. Weird. I'm sure I'll get to it though. I'd better, or my kids will hate me forever and remember the Christmas of 2010 as the suckiest of all time. But for now, I'm making an appetizer for a Christmas party tonight. Maybe the Christmas party will jump-start my "I'd better get some shopping done" flux capacitor. Then again, maybe it won't.

The other day while in the car, the family was discussing the girls future college lives. Of course, we were talking about BYU, because it's in their future. Or they're dead to me. Kate said, "Mom, what if I don't get into BYU, and I only get into the school that even hobo's can get into. Would you be mad?"

I told her I wouldn't be mad. And then I told her that her dad started college at a school that even the hobo's could get into -- Salt Lake Community College, or "Redwood High." He did well at the hobo school, and they let him into BYU. She was shocked, and I think a little impressed. I mean no ill-will to SLCC. It's a great spring-board to bigger and better things.

What is up with kids and hobo talk? Or maybe it's just MY kid.

I am loving the age that Sarah is right now. I know I'm saying this with Sarah. It could be a whole other can of crap when Kate or Abby hit this age. But Sarah is a blast! And I'm going to enjoy it. I've been driving her to school in the morning, and I love it. It's just the two of us. She tells me everything (I think. At least she tells me stuff I never would have dreamed of telling MY Mom). It's kind of fun. The other day, she said, "Mom, if I ever swore, what would you do?"

I said, "If I got mad at you, I would be a hypocrite. I would probably laugh. Unless it was a really raunchy swear word, and you said it in front of your siblings." How's THAT for clear rules and boundaries? Man, I suck at this parenting biznass.

Sarah responded, "Yeah, you totally would be a hypocrite."

Then, the next day, she confessed to an under-the-breath curse word of frustration. I was a tiny bit proud of her, in a strange way. However, it is prompting me to clean up my mouth. I'm no sailor, mind you, I just let the old H and D and sunuva B words out occasionally. Usually to myself, but sometimes directly at the kids. Because let's face it, sometimes it's better to swear at them then beat the hell out of them, right? Right.

So, I'm pledging to clean up my mouth. Plus, a cursing habit probably makes me look trashy. . . . er.

Nose Candy

A couple of weeks ago, Neal and I went to the temple. On our way home, I decided to check my phone. There were 18 missed calls from home and 7 voice mails. A slight gasp and worry that something had gone horribly wrong in our absence. I held my breath as I called home to check in. Kate answered. She was the one who had made all the calls. When I asked her what was going on, she said, "I was bored and really wanted to know when you would be home."

I'm glad it was just boredom that warranted all of those calls.

Kate had a good old fashion math homework assignment that called for counting beans. After we were done with the beans, I decided to let Abby play with them. I thought it would be fun for her to swish them around in the bowl.

I got busy doing something, when I noticed her pulling on my leg and saying "Mom! Mom!" I looked down and she was clearly agitated. She kept rubbing her nose, which was rubbing snot all over her face. I immediately suspected beans in the nose. I looked up her nose. My suspicion was correct. I didn't want to dig for them, for fear of shoving them further into the abyss. So, I covered her mouth, then blew through one of her nostrils. That really didn't remove the beans like I had hoped, but, it made her sneeze, which DID remove the beans. Three of them. What the heck?

Speaking of the bean girl, every time the door bell rings, she yells, "Happy Birthday!" Silly girl.

I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet. I don't even really know what I'm getting the Mr. I feel so behind! Speaking of "behind," after my experience with early Christmas shopping last year, I decided to pass on shopping on Black Friday. I'm not really keen on being groped again. Then again, I HAVE been feeling some mild, er, major aggression lately, and it would be lovely to take a swing or two or three at a bonafide pervert. I have it all planned out what I'll do next time I get violated. And it's going to feel so good!! Wait, that didn't come out like I wanted it to.