On a Stick!

Neal had to go to Seattle yesterday for work. I tagged along, and I'm glad I did. It was a quick trip, but very enjoyable and perfect weather. And lots of good eats. There are tons of great places to get grub in that city. Just the drive alone with Mr. Man was awesome. I'm really beginning to appreciate moments when we can be together alone. Especially these days with more kids and busy church stuff.


I'm beginning to really enjoy Seattle. It's close, it's cool, and it's a little bit crazy - in a good way. What's interesting is that it is similar in vibe and feeling to Portland. However, Portland seems to be more like the jealous, wanna-be little brother to Seattle's popularity and coolness. Seattle seems to pull off the "weird" factor a little better than Portland, and certainly is more confident as it does so. That kind of vibe, to me, makes Seattle cool and Portland annoying. Portland definitely lives in the shadow of Seattle. Even Seattle's looming Mt. Rainier is bigger and better than Portland's watchful Mt. Hood. Poor Portland. I'm not a huge fan of hanging out there. I'd rather party with Seattle.




Our Stake hosted a free, 2 week music camp for primary aged children. It was great! I really appreciate all of the volunteers who worked their butts off herding all of those kids. Sarah was a teenage helper, and she enjoyed working with the little kids. We also got to help out with the 2 day "Instrument Appreciation" class. Me with my drums, Sarah with her flute. There was a guitar, trombone, violin and viola too. I'm pretty sure the kids liked the drums the best. That's just the way things are. Kate had a blast, and even got to learn a few simple cords on her guitar and accompany the kids singing "Hound Dog." I especially loved Kate's age group as they danced to "Footloose." I was reminded of my sister, Angie and her friend, Amy A. choreographing a wonderful dance to that song in our back yard, and performing it for the rest of the neighborhood rug rats.


Monday for Family Night, the responsible adults of the household were really tired. So, we did as all good parents do, and found a family-friendly, slightly educational show on Netflix that we could watch as a family, while we lounged on the couches. We watched a unique French show about bugs called "Microcosms." It was fascinating! Abby sat there the entire time with a look of awe on her face. Time well spent.


You can't really watch any educational nature-type show without the unit on mating. Only in this show, there was no Sigourney Weaver narration - just music that was composed according to what the bugs were doing. So, you can imagine the romantic music as the mating section commenced. And, you can imagine the ensuing conversations in our living room. . .


Lady Bugs: Kate - verbatim what she said: "Does that bug on the bottom even WANT to? The one on top is all 'Oooooooo (as she demonstrates while standing and wiggling her hips)! This is fun!'"


Snails with shells (I specify with shells, only because I've personally witnessed the non-shelled variety mating. I seriously had to google it because it was so crazy-weird what they were doing. Now you're going to google it, right?): Sarah: "Ok. I did NOT want to know how snails did that."


Later on, we watched as a dung beetle pushed around a giant ball of poo. Naturally, the music was catchy and appropriate for the task. The poor beetle crashed the poo ball into a pointy stick, which made the poo ball stop, and totally get stuck. It took the beetle quite a while to reclaim his poo ball. Sarah said, "Hey! It's Poo on a Stick!" That is a long-lived Hansen family saying. So perhaps it's only funny to us. Probably.

With all the talk about Netflix prices going up, it's still totally worth it to this cable/sattelite tv boycotting family. Still totally worth it.

New Sleeping Arrangements

So, this is what it's come to. My new bed for the next 9 weeks + change. It doesn't hurt me when I sleep on it. Oh, the pain when I sleep in my regular bed. It makes me sad. Neal and I have been married for nearly 15 years, and in that 15 years, there have been very few times we haven't slept together. We also always go to bed together, at the same time. I've set up shop in the office, which is connected to the bedroom with french doors. I leave the doors open so that I can at least hear him snoring (which normally I hate, but oddly, I'm finding it comforting). He says it's kind of like church. We're in the same proximity, but don't sit together. So this arrangement is weird. But, if I want to get any sleep, I must let the air mattress comfort my aching body.

Holy crap, this one hurts! Hurts like the devil, it does. Child #1 found me at a strapping barely 22 years old, and 20 lbs lighter at the start. Child #2 was the same, except I was just shy of 27. Still, not many complaints. Child #3 I was 15 lbs heavier at the start, and 32. There's something about child #4 plus pounds, added to just shy of 36 when he's born, multiply that by a little added craziness I've developed, and we have the She-Devil. The She-Devil with a cursed aching back and hips and joints and such.

Waaaa Waaaaa! Man up, you little pansy pants!

Kate has been begging me lately to buy fish sticks. I've never fed them to my kids. Not on principle or anything, I just have never bought them. She had them at a friend's house and has been bugging me ever since. I bought a bag at Costco, thinking that they'd probably be our best bet. I told Kate this morning that we could have the fish sticks at lunch today. She was excited. Apparently Abby was excited too. When they were in the oven, she kept saying, "Yum! Chop stick fishy's!"

Another Peton word-smith.


I hate voicemail. I hate it so bad. When I see the little red light blinking, I get grouchy. I have to push the buttons, and listen to a message while I scramble around for a pen and paper. Usually the kids are screaming and I can't hear, so I need to restart the message. Only every command for the voicemail is in secret code. I think that "4" will make it stop and replay, but it doesn't. So, I push it repeatedly, then suddenly, the message slows waaaay down to low-voiced, demon speed. Which makes me more frustrated because now I have to wait extra long to get to the end of the message and re-play it. In frustration, I find the Bishop, that is, if he's home, because the message is probably for him anyway, and I shove the phone in his face and tell him to figure it out.

Remember when voice mail was all the rage? Well, it still is all the rage here. Mother rage.

Painted Nests

A snap-shot of my day-to-day, constipated life lately.

Half done.

Wet, soggy pull-up from overnight, waiting at the top of the stairs to be brought to the outside garbage. Half-done stairs (they're finally safe and painted! Never, ever paint balusters. It takes forever and gives you a back ache. And you may just fight with your husband. That poor fellow).

There is a term I often think in my head, and sometimes even say, because it is such an accurate descriptor. "Half-ass." I hate that feeling.

Perspective is slow to remind me in times like these. Times when I'm tired and sore, which means I'm grouchy because things can't get done to my insanely impatient and constant dissatisfaction. Yes, constant dissatisfaction. Maybe I should watch some Sally Struthers commercials or something to remind me of all the awesomeness in my life, and all that I should be grateful for.

Good thing these funks don't last forever.

At least I made pancakes and let the child stick toys in them. She was quite pleased with herself.

Props to the most patient dog in the world. She puts up with Abby's tortures.

So, I'm a little retarded sometimes. Abby has two twin beds in her room. By the way, I put Abby in her own room and made Sarah and Kate share a room, because I'm mean like that. But, it's working out quite well. They needed to see more of each other.

I just about killed myself, and Sarah, while trying to put the 800 pound bunk beds together. I over-estimated my strength and under-estimated my pregnantness and had to wait till Neal got home from work to help me with a mid-positioning top-bunk disaster.

Anyway, I digress to another retarded story. Back to Abby's 2 twin beds. One is an old metal hospital bed frame from when Neal's dad was little. It's seriously like a bed you would imagine in a mental hospital. Now that I think of it, it really is meant to be in this house with the mental mother. It needed a new paint job. I'm sure it's had about 62 coats of paint in its life.

The other bed is a brass frame circa 1987 that we recently acquired, free of charge. It needed a new paint job too. If I painted them the same color, they would actually work quite well together.

Keep in mind, I rarely do projects like this.

I decided to paint in the garage, because it had been terribly rainy. I spread out lots of newspaper, draped old sheets over things, and sprayed away. The doors were open, by the way, so that the baby and I could breathe.

I failed to back the van out of the garage.

Everything in half of the garage that wasn't covered, received a cloudy, dulling mist of almond colored spray paint. Including the left side of the van.

Lucky for me, it's an old van. And lucky for me, it just dulled it a bit and made it look a little dusty. Which adds to it's regular look of general "I need a car wash" ness.

Remember that term I like to think in my head?

On to another topic.

When I'm pregnant, which I am, I develop large boobs, which translates into a cleave unto my chin. So, no matter how modest the shirt is, short of a turtle neck, you will probably see cleavage. That's just the way it is. I'm not trying to be slutty or anything. I just ignore it, and hope everyone else does too.

But not one of my primary kids. In sharing time, the primary leader was doing a lesson/demonstration. The subject of modest dress came up. My sweet little buddy boy said to me, "Yeah, like your shirt. It's kinda, like, not really the most modest, because I can see. . . ." and he trailed off.

Garbage Bags

I need some extra wide painters tape. Abby is napping, and I'm feeling lazy, so I sent Sarah and Kate over to Lowe's to buy me some tape. Before they left, I explained to Sarah how to use my debit card, and made them commit to memory my pin number (an act I'm sure to regret someday). I told them they could stop at Jamba Juice and get a smoothie if they'd like. I'd give them a coupon, but they had to use their own money (I'm mean like that).

Kate said, "Sarah, just get some cash back at Lowe's, and we can use that money to buy our Jamba Juice!"

Before they left, Kate noted that Sarah had a shoulder bag. So she said, "Hold on a second. I'll be right back." She ran upstairs and grabbed one of Sarah's old shoulder bags, slung it across her chest, just like Sarah, and came walking back down the stairs. I could tell that the bag wasn't empty.

I said, "Kate, what's in your bag?"

To which Sarah and Kate both responded, "Garbage."

*back story* Sarah is notorious for having her bags/scripture case/desk-at-home-and-at-school stuffed with wrappers/paper/pencil shavings etc (garbage). She is improving the older she gets, I must say. But Sarah had given her old bag to Kate, and she hadn't bothered to clean out the garbage.

I laughed and asked Kate if she was really going to carry around a bag full of garbage. She said, "Yeah. This way, it looks like there's something important in my bag. And, I look cool like Sarah."


Back to the Cat in the church story. Sarah asked Neal what he would have done to them if they brought the cat into the chapel. He said they would have been in so much trouble, he would have made them apologize to everyone, from the pulpit, and then go talk to the Stake President. Kate said, "Yeah, but we'd still have 20 bucks."

I'm starting to worry about Kate and her procurement methods for money.

When my nieces were here a couple of weeks ago, they, along with my own children, thought it would be funny to write in the dust on the back window of the van. It still says, "Poo, fart, bum, and urine." I need to wash the van. Actually, my kids need to wash the van. I love giving that job to them. Inside and out - floors, windows and dash. And they don't get a dime!

Oh, a funny story I forgot so share about our camping trip. While I was in charge of packing the coolers and getting the food situated, Neal was in charge of packing the gear, which included the kid's stuff. When we got to the camp ground that was 2.5 hours away, we discovered that Neal had left Abby's suitcase at home. Her shoes, clothes, pull-ups for night time bed wetting, and everything else she needed. We discovered this at about 9:30 pm. His only choice was to drive to Fred Meyer in Tillamook as fast as possible before they closed at 10:00. He had to buy new clothes, shoes, and pull-ups. Lucky Abby! I wish I would have neglected to bring my suitcase.

On his way, he was pulled over for speeding. He was also talking on his cell phone. Incidentally, he had received a ticket just one week prior, so he was already on my naughty list. When the officer asked him if there was a reason he was going so fast, he just came clean and told the story. "We're here on a camping trip, and I forgot to bring the suitcase for the 3 year old. I need to get to Fred Meyer before it closes at ten, because we need pull ups and clothes and shoes. My wife is going to kill me for getting pulled over."

After the officer checked Neal's license and registration, he came back to the car and said, "I'm a Dad too, and I can only imagine what my wife would do to me for forgetting the suitcase, and then getting a speeding ticket. So, I'm going to cut you some slack and let you off with just a warning. Slow down!"

Lucky, lucky Neal. And wise police officer.