Almost forgot Halloween

I spent Halloween at Honeyville Farms this year. It was inventory. Mandatory. Instead of trick-or-treating with my kids, I was count-or-recounting isles of food storage. It's like I was in Bizarro-Halloween. Candy no. Freeze-dried zucchini, yes. And there are 19, no, there's 20, yep, twenty. My kids, no. Freaky co-workers, yes.

Ok, they aren't freaky. Not all of them.

Not usually. But Halloween does bring out the freak in co-workers, especially when they have been counting all day. We were allowed to dress up and were encouraged to dress up as a Honeyville product. Well, I was the only one who did this. Of course, I chose to be a sun oven. (Plus it seemed hard to dress up like a #10 can of beans or a bag of spelt flour.)The sun oven is my favorite Honeyville product anyway. If you forgot what a sun oven looks like, go to my labels and click solar oven to see one.

This is my costume, and this is Co-worker Carrie, who dressed up as a nerdy cashier.




I've got the sun rays on my head, cooking the pan of chicken on my shirt. (Thank you, Sandy, for the late-night iron-on transfer labor.) And I have solar panels (cut-up sun shades) on my waist to channel those felt rays to my iron-on poultry dish. I wanted to make these panels bigger, but I knew I wouldn't be able to fit in the smallish space we stand in at the register. I am pretty sure I'm the first person to ever dress up like a sun oven, and that I should send this picture to Paul Mundsen, the owner of the Global Sun Oven company, because maybe I'd get a reward of some kind. Or he'd feature me on his company website. I could be like a mascot and travel around the country.

I got home on Halloween Night in time to kiss my kid's sticky faces good-night. I was sad to miss out on the trick-or-treating with them, but at least I didn't miss any parties. Most events were held the weekend before. So I still got to celebrate with them.

Here's some pics of Halloween weekend:



I was glad to see this costume rise out of the closet for another appearance. I burned my fingers so many times making this thing last year! This was taken at Padawan's school party. He got lots of compliments. It got more notice than many of the expensive store-bought numbers his classmates were wearing. And it cost nothing!

 

Butterfly girlie went with Taylor Swift. Nailed it! ...Kinda. Make-up on my babygirl! Makes her look too old!

 

Dutch Baby went all cheetah on us again. This picture is almost identical to the one I took of her last year. So glad Halloween was so cheap this year.



Didn't get a picture of Smalls in costume this year. As our resident 13-year-old, he can't decide if he's too old to dress up or not. But he did borrow a ninja costume from his buddy Bridger to trick-or-treat in. When are you too old for free candy? I did get a carving pumpkin picture of him, just to round this Halloween post off nicely.

Copa Got: Summahtime

Summer is brutally in full swing already. Copa got water. Swimming is really all you can do outside in the summer here. Unfortunately, we don't have a pool in our community (we have the afore-mentioned lake instead though...yay...) But there are a few options out there. The Ak-Chin Reservation nearby has a pool that is free for everyone. It's only a few minute drive from my house and has a waterslide. I have a good friend who is always willing to lend out her community's pool key (Love you, Jen!), that has saved us. In Chandler and Ahwatukee (both about a 25-minute drive from here) there are plenty of water parks with "toilet bowls," lazy rivers, and water slides and these only cost a couple dollars each to get into. We hit these once a week and spend a good chunk of afternoon marinating there.

Dutch Baby kicked off summer with a birthday party at Jumpstreet, one of those wall-to-wall trampoline places. No, not in Copa, but only a half-hour's drive from here. We opened presents across the street at Dunkin' Donuts. Everyone picked a pink donut for their treat- no surprises there.



The kids made us proud this school year. Smarty Smalls got inducted to the National Junior Honor Society in a formal ceremony.


Now he's at Scout Camp all week, where, hopefully, the heavenly rays will protect him from the corruption typical at scout camps.



Butterfly girl was recognized in an end-of-year assembly for winning the school spelling bee.

I'm so glad I can live vicariously through my children. I always wanted to win the spelling bee. In my seventh-grade competition, I got out on the word "gesture" because I thought she said "jester." I was so mad. I was even more mad when the half of the finalists got out on the word "alcohol." Unlike most of my Mormon peers, I could spell alcohol.

I love the spell of alcohol.

So, thank you, Butterfly Girl, for letting me experience a spelling bee win.

We're proud of you, kiddos. Now off to summer.

Copa Got: Soccer

The first thing I thought of when I think of what Copa does well is soccer. Parks and Rec got it down. Over 800 kids sign up each season, twice a year. Lot of soccer mamas and dadas in this town. Blake and I included. Two of our children play: both have two practices every week. Both have games on Saturdays, one between 9-11 a.m., before the day gets too hot, and the other between 6-9 p.m. when the day cools off a tad. (Theoretically.)




We have drawerfuls of these too:
(Drawerfuls. That word looks weird?)



Because you know, these days everyone gets a trophy. Which really means no one gets a trophy. Right? Because if there's no losers, there's no winners, right?

If I were complaining about things, which I'm not, because I'm focusing on good things this month, I might mention in this post how annoying that is to me. Last season I asked Butterfly Girly why her team wasn't trying very hard out on that soccer field and she said, "It doesn't really matter, we all get trophies in the end anyway."

I was incredulous at first, and then saddened because she was right.

What about wanting your team to succeed? What about working together with your team to compete well? Where's the motivation, the drive, the thrill of victory?

I told her I would hold on to her trophy if I didn't think she earned it. She believed me (even though I didn't really believe me) and did give some valiant effort out there for her team. The team, scoreless allllll season, got their trophies.

Sigh.

Ooooh, that post isn't very positive.
But it's my first attempt at this, I'll get better as I go along....

2.5 seconds of near fame

By some miraculous hand, our little podunk elementary school, the same one that can't even scrape together two pesos for a field trip grander than the local Wal-Mart stockroom (no lie, that was the kindergartener's only outting last year), was somehow able to get the entire student body on morning television.

Every week Fox 10 sends the funny, charming, dreamy weatherman, Cory McCloskey, to different elementary schools around the Phoenix Valley for Whirlybird Wednesdays. During the segment, the chopper Skyfox makes a landing in soccer fields, while Cory and camera runs past everyone, and talks live to a few of the kids all preened and standing in a long line an hour before school starts, while their mamas watch for their kid's face to blur past on TV. He does the live forecast there too, but that seems trivial in all the excitement.

I wasn't home watching with the other mamas though. As soon as I knew Cory McCloskey was going to be at my kid's school I made sure I was preened and standing in the long line with my kids. I even wore my lucky jeans with the bling on the butt, to look extra good for my brush with my crush.
So much for the preening.
I ungrassed myself just in time for the camera to briefly capture us on TV. Very briefly.

I thought that right there would be as close as I would get to Cory McCloskey, but I had told my fifth-grader's teacher that I really wanted a picture with him. Next thing I know, while the kids were getting a close-up view of Skyfox, class by class, I see that very teacher pointing me out to him. Those lucky jeans didn't fail me. I found myself giddy as a school girl, well, I was the only giddy school girl there actually, posing with the local weatherman for pictures. (And I got to hold his mic! It's too much!)



You laugh, but come on. I live in Maricopa. Not a lot of thrills out in these parts.

My Butterfly girl worried when she heard me say that I had a crush on that pretty McCloskey. No worries, my love. I have loved your dad for half my life. The charming weatherman has nothing on that boy that danced the Idaho Two-step with me at every "victory dance" our senior year, the boy that corresponded with me every week for two years, over 100 letters, while he spoke Gospel Dutch across the world, the boy that you and your siblings call out for when you're scared because you know he is more patient and loving than your mom is during the nighttime. Your dad is where my heart is.

And I love him all the more when he pretends to be jealous of Cory McCloskey.

P.S. It's that cute Butterfly's birthday today. I will post about that soon. Oh how I love her.

never have I ever

Some deejays (DJ's?) on the radio yesterday were encouraging people to call in and confess about things they have never done. Someone called in and said they had never ridden a bike. Someone else said they'd never had ketchup, or catsup either, for that matter. This opened the door for a bunch of calls about food people have never tried.

After the food topic was exhausted, a caller said she'd never texted, and that she still has a flip phone, much to the amusement of the deeJ's. DJays. This made me laugh. I have a Razor. And I don't text. I even block people from texting me because I have to pay for each text individually. Recently I was talking about my text-impairedness and a friend exclaimed, "Do you know how many times I've texted you and thought you were just ignoring me?"

I'm not rude. I'm just cheap.

But then! The next caller said he'd never had a DVR. Whoa. Again, this was true for me. We've never DVRed. Seriously, how is it possible we even survive without these essential necessities? That we can raise a family without DVR! That my children can grow and flourish in such conditions is truly quite astonishing.



I could probably expect a text from Child Protective Services any day. But I won't get it.

And if it's all right with you, Clark, I'd like to get you something REALLY nice.

We had a strict No Tolerance For Nintendo DS Until Age 10 Policy at our house. Until Black Friday came along and made them affordable for almost 7-year-olds. Watching the young recipient's reaction Christmas morning makes me wonder if relenting was wise. Probably not.

In case you missed the dialogue, so typical of families on Christmas morning: Note the jealousy, the gloating, the threatened punishing. Since when did Blake and I get to sounding so parental?

Me: Oh. Ok, R___

Blake: Here, R____ Finish this.

R: A DS! (triumphal marching/gloating)

Dad, feigning suprise: WHAT???

Big Sis: He gets a DS and I don't? That's not cool.

Me commenting on everyone's open mouth and hyena laughing (what is that? I blame the high pitch on the accoustics of our open floor plan.)

Big Bro: Holy Crap, R____

Big Sis: He's not even ten years old yet.

R: I don't care!

Me: Maybe he needs to just put it in the closet until he's ten. Hey, why'd you just drop it and kick it? Excuse me!

Dad: Don't step on it! You better treat that nice or we won't give it back to you!

Me: Maybe he shouldn't have it until he's ten.

End Scene.

Of course we didn't take it away and of course he played it all Christmas day, despite being three years shy of what policy allows. And of course he's not responsible for such an expensive toy at his age.

But, you know. That's the fun of being parental. We have the rights to make policies and then change them at a whim. It was Christmas for heaven's sake.

any guesses?

Guess which kid asked for a DS even though Santa's workshop doesn't manufacture or ship electronics?

Guess which kid got busted by Santa for trying to get out of sitting on his lap? Yep, the same one that declared himself too old last year.

Guess which one is the best St. Nick impersonator? (Hint: glasses.)

AND

lastly

Guess which one left this little note in his stocking?



I'm so glad he asked. I've been wondering it myself. In only 5 days we will find out!

I'll let you know.

p.s. Since Barb asked I will clarify: each guess is for a different kid, like a matching game, Barb. Because no, the kid too old to sit on Santa's lap was not the author of the above note- and if I tell him you think so, he'll be mortified.

halloween is scarrrrry

The scariest part of Halloween is reaching in to disembowel a pumpkin and pulling out its guts.



Making mummy costumes is scary. I burned all ten fingers with hot glue and blistered two. Then comes the scary part of presenting a costume to a kid after working on it for five hours because there's always the risk of rejection. Luckily both mummy costumes were well-received, although Younger Mummy did spew a few of his wrappings when face-paint was mentioned.

Wandering around Savers looking for Cleopatra ensemble was frightening for two reasons: 1) There's a whole lot to sift through, making it extremely time-consuming for possibly little result (but I totally scored!) and 2) There's always the fear that the Savers smell, which is also a D.I. smell, for those of you who haven't Saver-ed, will never wash off your hands. Ooooh chills.



But then it all comes together. It always does.
And it's time for a nice picture.

Wait! Let's see that again...what is that??



Shiver-y.

p.s. For all of you following the elections tonight, you might appreciate what I was for Halloween, but only a handful of people at Trunk-or-Treat figured it out. I wore a witch hat and cape and a shirt that read, "I'm Not a Witch." Any guesses?

Casting Call for Junior High

Picking out the right backpack and wardrobe for a child entering Junior High is a serious undertaking with potentially serious ramifications, which you already know if you remember your preteen years with any clarity. Choosing wrong could be disastrous. It could mean the difference between valedictorian and mascot. Chess Team or Track Star. Cheerqueen or Drag Queen. Geek or Gleek. Cool or Drool.

First day of Madison Junior High and I was a child with an unruly perm swept precariously into a banana clip. I wore a jean mini-skirt affixed to flourescent pink suspenders that matched my socks and shoelaces and banana clip. It took until halfway through my junior year to overcome the social consequences wardrobe and hair cast upon me that first day of 7th Grade. Just ask Blake- he'll confirm this. As will the messages scribbled through my yearbook margins year after school year.

This is why I didn't take school shopping for my 7th Grader lightly. It's the first time he was unencumbered by school uniform restrictions. The options were too broad and the tremendous responsibility of sculpting my kid for his Junior High career stressed me out. Lucky for me, on this trial run, he's a boy so the multi-faceted girl outfits of leggings, cardigans, camis, etc weren't complicating things. It actually didn't end up being too bad after all. Plaid shorts and T-shirts from Target and Ross allowed us to sculpt a look with confidence. Whew.

The difficulty lay in finding the right backpack. It took five stores to accomplish the mission. But the $35 black Tony Hawk camo backpack accessorized the look he hoped to convey to his peers at casting call that first day of Junior High: The "Hawk" printed on the outside conveying Sporty, the camo denoting Patriotism (with a suggestion of military for Tough) and black because everyone knows black is Slightly Rebellious Yet Trendy.

So he's set. Off he goes. Good luck at your audition!




You don't have to worry, Smalls. None of the kids in your class ever saw your Mom's 7th grade perm and I would never open either of us up to the persecution of posting a picture of it on this public blog. Oh, and with eyes that delectable, you really don't have to worry about what kind of backpack you wear, I promise. I wish I could make you believe that.



I don't know how I'm going to cope with school shopping for this little diva come 7th Grade. We can always hope middle school changes to uniforms? Please, school district? For my sanity?



This guy I don't have to worry about attending Junior High because I'm going to make sure he stays 6-years-old forever.

Good luck in school, little buddies.

Life is Good. Real Good.

Dear Butterfly Girl,

Happy 10th Birthday! I love the natural nurturer you are. I love that for your special birthday dinner you requested butternut squash soup. I love that you wanted Littlest Pet Shops for your birthday and not iPods or other iThings. I love that you want to go to the mall- not to shop, just to be at the mall. I love that you organize clubs and activities for your sibs. It feels dull around here when you aren't around.






I love that you even charmed your daddy into joining the latest club (that's a professionally engineered castle):




And, even though I complain about it every night, I love that you want to be tucked in immediately after I finally sit down and relax for the evening.

Love always, Mom

*hug hug, kiss kiss, hug hug, big kiss, little hug, kiss kiss, little kiss*

favorite pair of genes

I couldn't resist. Once I saw Dutch Baby with lipstick (shade Ballet Recital Red) I knew a side-by-side shot comparison next to my mother-in-law would be an upcoming blog feature.

Since her first smile Dutch Baby has reminded me of Grandma Wanda Faye, a fact that rubs the other jealous Grandma (my mother) raw: "Why can't any of my grandchildren look like our side of the family?" Those paternal genes scream for dominance and usually conquer. The only emerging genes from my side engineered small mouths with oversize, redneck teeth that must be forced into submission with years of expensive metal. Thank you, dearest maternal Grandma Dorothy Rae, for that heirloom.

Then Dutch Baby got glasses, and now the lipstick! Grandma has a mini-meemaw!

And man, can that baby girl dance. (Can she?)

I will need to find out if she gets the dancing gene from Grandma Wanda too. I don't know if she danced or not. I do know that my mother was a Digger Darling in high school. So there you go, Mom! There is something redemptive in our gene sesspool.

My favorite part of watching little girlypop dance recitals is watching the kids that don't move. Not moving is hilarious action. Dutch Baby (middle child on middle row) gave good effort, slightly ahead of the rest (not a follower! Good girl!) but the Emmy definitely goes to Emma out front for her immaculate sense of timing. Her talented mom is a great ballerina gene-carrier.

Happy Easter, everyone. The Easter Bunny brought us our first taste of earthquake. Our house swayed a little when Baja was hit earlier today. Ethereal!

Lastly, Happy Birthday to Blake and me, born a week apart- me first!- and Blake on April Fool's Day. I thought it would be a great joke to write 36 on his birthday cake, even though the two of us just turned thirty-five.

I wouldn't have laughed if he'd stolen a year from me like that.

I need thirty-five. It's a nice solid buffer. Thirty-six is much too close to forty.

I'll take a thousand toys...and world peace.

This year a motivated me shopped early and "finished" Christmas shopping before Thanksgiving. Then I overheard Young Padawan tell Santa he wants a Webkinz. What!? This had never come up before. I checked his stocking for a note. Sure enough, Webkinz placed prominantly on the list...actually he wrote a request for 80 Webkinz. I'm sure he thought, "Why not? I mean, since you're askin'."


The stockings and lapsittings of other believers in our home brought to my attention listings of other previously unmentioned desirables. A kid's gotta get something specific from the Santa list, right? That's kind of the cardinal rule of Christmas.

This year I learned something about shopping early.
It really just means you shop longer.

I See Dead People

It rained. Big event in Arizona. BIG! Kids come out, camera comes out. Finally, we can play outside.


I had a heart skipper when I glanced through the pictures I took after everyone came in to dry off. The lights! What were they? Orbs. Paranormal orbs. Must be dead people.

I haven't seen the 1999 M. Night Shyamalan movie, The Sixth Sense, for years, and yet it has remained steadfastly near the top of my brainfile with the highlighted 'Scary' label. For months I couldn't get up to go the bathroom because I was sure some kid with a dangling cerebrum would slip past the corner and tell me to come on and look at where his dad keeps his gun. I would just have to hold it until morning. Or make Blake come with me.

In the movie Sixth Sense the boy, Cole, is haunted by ghosts that need his help. In one scene his mother looks at pictures of her son and in every picture is the same lighty orby thing that showed up in my rain pictures. Ghosts. Actually in my picture it's light reflecting off the raindrops, but the fact that I first assigned them as preternatural substantiates my conviction that I should avoid freaky movies completely. And freaky trailers on TV. Like the one from last year with all the hands....the skin on the back of my neck is standing up just thinking about that. And you know what Cole Sear says about the prickly hairs on your arm standing up: "That's them, when they're mad."

(Shiver.) With Halloween a month away it's not too early to reflect on freaky movie moments. What scene in what movie is first in your 'Scary' brainfile?

Then again...

Maybe the pink toilet mold (referred to in my last post) is more hazardous than I presumed.

obligatory Easter post

with the obligatory Easter Sunday photo where they are all supposed to look perfect for church. See but we have 8 a.m. church so I did the best I could with what I had.No, my oldest two are not twins, despite having perfect twin names and being exactly the same size. I get asked frequently if they are. It's that awkward pre-tween thing.

Four months into having a kid with glasses and I still haven't got the knack of photographing the bespectacled. She comes across pretty Marsie-esque, but who doesn't love a Peanut?

Our young Padawan loved coloring and deviling and consuming eggs. Easter morning he gave us no trouble as we got ready for church. Usually the tantrum starts as soon as he sees me in my skirt: "But I hate Sunday!" Looked like our Family Home Evenings on proper Sunday behavior had finally sunk in Easter Sunday. When we asked why he was being so good, he said sweetly "because it's Easter!" We were proud.

I was a little suspicious but not willing to burst any bubbles. It's peaceful when you're not dressing a kid that's trying equally as hard to undress.

During Sacrament meeting he realized he'd been duped. Easter Sunday is just as boring as regular Sundays. Was he anticipating a Ward Easter Egg hunt in the parking lot? He got ancy when the Sacrament was distributed like normal and started yelling "this sucks!" but I think I was able to muffle it just in time. I'll attribute this behavior to his 24-hour diet of nothing but jelly beans and deviled eggs...instead of poor parenting.

Soddy Workmanship

Date night Friday. 6:30 p.m. Kids punch-drunk at the Parhams' house, our perfect date-night swap in mid-swing. Blake and I decided to have a peaceful night at home, eating seven pounds of pizza and breadsticks while watching Seven Pounds uninterrupted. Before we take a bite there is an urrrrch-creeek and a motor purr.

Our sod was here!... Already?

We had expected a midnight delivery so we could wake up early Saturday and get to work.

So now the dilemma: let it sit outside vulnerable to elements and people that steal stuff, or lay it. It got laid.

It wasn't how we anticipated, but we got some major action on our date night.

We all loved waking up to green living stuff in the backyard.
Our Butterfly is trying to be patient but is anxious to cartwheel on it.

In a related story:

Under economic duress Blake's company decided to shut down on Fridays. He's had two Fridays off: the first one was entirely spent on Pinewood Derby prep. The second was spent on sod prep. Maybe next week he'll get a real day off?

12 Years: 8 Homes

Blake and I started out married life in a furnished, second-story apartment that had a dance club on the bottom floor. Furnished means the 60's-esque plaid couches you see here and a full-size bed. We lived here only two months, but in that time a student of the Paul Mitchell Academy committed suicide in our entryway leaving bloodstains in the carpet and a bullet hole in the wall. Even in Rexburg!

We moved across the street above Porters, a variety store where Blake was employed. When I called Blake at work I could hear the announcement from the PA below me telling Blake to take Line 1. I spent an afternoon stenciling these cutesy houses and flowers as my first expression of homemaking skills.

Fall of 1998 we moved to Provo. Everything we owned fit in a 8-foot U-Haul. Smalls was a few weeks old. This was a dinky 6-plex and we lived in the middle of the bottom story. Our front door is next to the stairwell. Our washing machine was in the kitchen next to the sink. When it was time to start a load I had to put the hose in the kitchen sink and secure it with something heavy. Once I forgot, went to the library, and came home to flooded cabinets. I can't believe we spent 3 years in this dive. But we were BYU students, we didn't know any better.

Summer of 2001 brought a nice change. Our first house, a sweet little rental across the street from Pioneer Park off Center Street exit in Provo. Too bad it was haunted.

Blake graduated from BYU and secured a job in Las Vegas. I'll always remember this place as the one Smalls nearly burned down. He put a Boggle game in the bottom broiler drawer and forgot it was there until I was making cinnamon rolls and smoke began pouring out of the oven. Blake and I spent hours cleaning ash from every surface- including inside cabinets.


After one year of being employed we were anxious to have a home. We bought this 1,500 sq.ft home and loved watching it get built. It was a shared-driveway home which meant we were set behind another home that shared a driveway with us. In this house Blake and I left the two kids already born alone in the middle of one night in a frenzy to get to the hospital to have Rafe. We had called our friend Brian Robison and thought he was coming over to spend the night and watch our kids. He thought we were bringing the kids to their house. For an hour or so our 5- and 3-year-olds were unattended (in an unlocked home in Vegsas) until Blake started getting worried and called Brian from the hospital to make sure he was there and the mix-up was resolved.

Blake's company opened a satellite office in AZ so we moved to a Scottsdale casita until our Maricopa home was built. I used this picture of Blake and Padawan in the pool because that was where we spent most of the 8 months we lived there. It was 120 degrees that June day we moved in.


Now here we are in our Maricopa cabana and have been here 3 years. That's a long stretch for us to be in one place! Twelve years, eight homes, and four kids later. It's a pretty nice life. I hope the next 12 don't bring eight more homes- or 4 more kids. But whatever the next dozen bring I'm just glad I get to spend them with Blake. Happy Anniversary, babe!