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.

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?

what not to consider

I was a Beehive when I first became aware of the difference of Young Men and Young Women leaders. We had a picnic at Twin Bridges after de-debris-ing the Archer/Lyman Highway. The Young Men leaders were in charge of the meal: hot dogs. They brought weiners. And buns. No condiments, no side dishes, no napkins. No plates.

No stressin'. No unnecessary expense or effort. No mess after. Gotta hand it to 'em.

Blake took the boys camping with our ward last weekend. A "father and sons" event not suitable for ladies. Because women pack too much. That's why they go without us year after year. We complicate camping. Men love going camping without women. For just one weekend a man can travel without having to load and unload overnight bags, toiletry bags, makeup bags, and other embarrassing feminine necessities.

I attempted to help Blake with preparations and the conversation was akin to this:

Me: "Flip flops for potty trips in the night?"
B: "No, don't need 'em."
Me: realizing boys don't need to travel great distances to pee. "Extra socks?"
B: "Ok." (I found them later on the kitchen floor.).
Me: "Jammies?"
B: "We can sleep in jeans, this is camping for crying out loud."
Me: "What if you get dir-?"
B: "We are CAMPING."
Me: buttoning lip and removing myself- not even daring to ask if extra underwear was invited.

But. Somehow men pull it off. Some questions about how it went or heaven-forbid-what-did-they-eat, I just don't ask. It's better that way.

From 2010-09-26

From 2010-09-26

From 2010-09-26

From 2010-09-26

From 2010-09-26

Details

Once Blake and I were dining at a Sweet Tomato and I left the table to get some ice cream. I came back with chocolate swirl in a salsa bowl. Blake said, "I knew you'd get the wrong cup."

I'm not a stickler for what people consider details. Details have always been Blake's domain, and I lose patience with them. I rarely pay attention to where we park at the mall, which sidestreet has an on-ramp to which freeway, how to buy a movie ticket on-line, what our account number is at the bank, which bowl is intended for ice cream. That sort of stuff. I know Blake is on it so I am just kinda along for the ride. It's nice to be oblivious.

Then along comes an invitation from my brother Brandon and his wife for me to fly to Indiana- alone. I'm ecstatic for the opportunity to see/hold/breathe in my twin newborn nieces. But the thought of having to manage my own details is a little daunting. For one thing I have only flown once since the 1900's. That was on the way home from my brother Brett's wedding in 2005. And now look at those newlyweds:



(Taken at Small's ordination this past July, the "newlyweds" are at the far right.) They have a toddler and are building Child #2. It's been a while since that matrimonial flight. On that trip I was with my parents so I got to still be the child, even though I had my three children with me. My mom took care of the details and got us from Southern California to Salt Lake City without incident.

But tomorrow. Blake is going to drop me off at the airport and drive away. And I will have to check in luggage by myself, find my gate, secure a boarding pass and probably even buy myself a little lunch, and unboard myself when (if) I get there. My brother Brett assured me that there will be little ladies in white dresses silently pointing the way I should go. Or maybe he was referencing someplace else.... (He also confided he's not the brains in his marriage either so maybe I shouldn't seek his wisdom.)

Well. I'm going to do it. I'm going to fly by myself tomorrow. Wish me luck.


I hope I land in Indiana because I really want to see those babies.

*Pictures courtesy of their mother Anna who didn't grant permission but I know she won't get mad because I'm flying on an airplane by myself to help her*

bottom picture taken by mooshinindy- see her at www.mooshinindy.com

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.

The 70's thrive in Island Park

My favorite part about our summer vacations in Idaho is that for a brief window of my children's lives they get a view from the window of my childhood. A favorite part of my childhood was my Grandpa Kinghorn's cabin. A trip to the cabin is a trip back in time. Everything inside is just the same as it was when I was a kid.


I mean, literally. Just the same.



It's a shrine to the 70's.


I love that my kids get to do all the things in the cabin that I loved doing. Rocking in the orange chairs, playing board games, wading in the "crick" out front, picking vases of wildflowers, and exploring the Big Tree, which got its name from being really, really big.






I wish I knew how old this tree is. It's the only one like it in this quaking aspen forest, sitting mighty like a king with weak little subjects.



Here's a picture I took of my brothers around the Big Tree in what must be 1989ish.



And now, my son stands in front of the tree that never changes next to the cabin that never changes. Despite my taking him to a place where time is frozen, he turned 12 anyway during our stay- too big a change for my liking. He's going to just keep growing and changing and making his mama's quaking aspen leaves shiver in the process.

But I am learning to accept this growing up stuff. I'll deal. As long as he promises to bring his kids to the cabin and take pictures of them around the Big Tree.

From 2010-08-06

Lead-leg Dream Genes

Ever had that dream where your legs feel like lead and you can't walk normally because they are so heavy? On part two of our seventeen-hour road trip home from our Idaho vacation Blake and I started talking about recurring dreams. Blake had never had this dream before, this dream of walking somewhere in public and suddenly not walking right because of stiff legs. I've had it several times. Smalls piped up from the backseat that he'd had this dream before. Once I was telling my parents about this dream and they said they'd both had this dream too. Blake and I concurred there must be a genetic propensity for having lead-leg dreams and that I must be a carrier. Which explains why my son dreams it too. Such is the nature of conversations in seventeen-hour car rides.

I also have a recurring dream that I'm back in high school or college, one of the two, and it's the day before finals and I haven't been to class all semester and don't know where my books are and can't find my locker, much less remember my locker combination.

I don't know what that dream means, but I did find out what the lead-leg dream means. Apparently (according to the following video) I, like Bob, am tied up inside. I need to untie my knots. Baby steps, Untie my knots. Unheavy my legs.




Ever had this dream?

nerves of friends

Everybuddy needs a buddy




And to nudge to slow down mid-duet. (Please take Dramamine before watching: Two siblings were trying to watch the performance through the camera lens. Plus the video gets distorted and the audio finishes before the video when I spliced it because the file was so huge.

Oh, and listen for one sib humming along.)

Smalls and Bridger have been working on this piece since September and I am so proud of them! Even though as their piano teacher I had endured a hundred hours of preparing for this performance I still got emotional hearing it. As they performed I was transported through time to when I played this song with my buddy, Rebecca, twenty years ago. I remember being just as nervous as they were when they saw their turn was next and shot each other panicked glances. While Rebecca and I waited our turn nerves made her hands cold and mine hot so we would hold hands until our turn on the program, trying to even them out.

Good news for you, boys: I am still in touch with my friend Rebecca. Playing Canon in D in recital together makes you friends for life.

Our Ghost of Residence Past

Once we lived with a ghost. Or maybe we didn't. But it seemed like it sometimes. A few posts ago I made a list of all the homes Blake and I have lived in during our slow pilgrimage southward. I mentioned living in a haunted house. Only my sister-in-law Tara asked for more details. So Tara, this post is all yours.

Near Pioneer Park in Provo, Utah sits a cozy genuinely oldtime Provo-esque, brick, early 1900's style house. Blake and I rented it in 2001 with our two kids. It didn't take long to settle ourselves in comfortably. It was the first time we had lived in a house and we were college-poor and furniture-deficient. But we were glad to have room to spread out.

Our first encounter with our ghost occurred during the first week or so of moving in. Blake and I had just gone to bed. Flashing lights and loud music jerked us out of bed along with our 3-year-old's startled screams. His little light-up keyboard had turned on, top-volume. We ran in and turned it off and soothy-talked our poor son back to sleep. But we didn't go back to sleep quite so easily.

During our year there we had a few more 'incidents.' One night (our ghost was a night person) Blake put his keys on the deep window seat like he always did when he was undressing for bed. When we were all tucked in the keys jangled as they fell to the floor. Blake got up and put them back on, this time farther in. He got back in bed, settled the covers up around his chin and then: the keys fell again! Pretty creepy. He placated my jitters by telling me the fan must have blown them off, and then lay in bed awake for a while, wondering....

The best prank our ghost-caper pulled off was after one of the kids' birthdays. We had a helium balloon that was losing air in the front room. When I was turning off the lights for bedtime I realized the balloon was right at the level of a man's head and would be terrifying to see in the dark. So I tucked it into a corner near the kitchen table and went to bed. While we were settling down Blake felt something tickle his hand and looked up to see the shape of a man's head right in front of him! The string of the balloon had run across his hand after the balloon traveled through three rooms on its own accord and ended up in our room. I swear it's true.

We moved to Vegas a year later and our ghost friend was left behind never to bedevil our family again. Something about those old houses creeps me out. Once when I was telling my friend down the street from me in Provo about these weird things she told me that in her similar home she got up to get her son a drink of water. When she turned around to give it to him she saw a little boy in 1800s style clothing wearing a Civil War style straw hat. They made eye contact and then he was gone. Maybe he left to come play with the keyboard at our house.

Today we are seven years ghost-free. The scariest thing in our house today is the dust-eating junk monster that exists under the fridge. And these:

Scratch | Project | Rainbow Kaleidoscope

As a small Idaho-fry, I spent my summers in gravel pits. I distinctly remember one day backfloating, watching the clouds. When I rolled my eyes to the side I could see the moss and algae licking at my cheeks. One of the neighbor kid's dads made a raft, empty milk jugs underneath, wood planks on top. We spent all summer on that raft.

Blake and I moved our family to Arizona because we don't believe kids should be allowed to play outside in the summer. We prefer sallow, sedentary children over the hardy, sunkissed kind. Thus, our kids busy summertime schedule goes something like this: an hour or two of the Nintendo DS, break for snack, hit the Wii track for a Mario Kart race, computer time, lunch, with reading and doodling after dessert.

I found Smalls, my eleven-year-old, so dubbed because he is an adult in a child's body, on the computer yesterday and decided to see what is it that so completely absorbs his little mind. He was on a website called "Scratch" that gives him the opportunity to create programs. He's made up games, commercials, a sports news broadcast and cartoons. He records his voice in different accents for the characters in his creations. Yesterday he made up this game that is fun for eyes.

Click the link below to "play" it for yourself. Adjust the "penshade" and use the arrow keys to make cool designs.

Scratch Project Rainbow Kaliedoscope

Shared via AddThis

My childhood is a universe away from the kidhood of this kid. While I regret that Smalls isn't able to play outside all the time like I did, I see perks. For one, he doesn't have to pull leeches off his legs when he's done playing, like I did as a kid exiting the gravel pit. He's developing some exciting talents that he may one day be able to use professionally. He's creating and expanding his mind power. It's an ok set-up for now, but we look forward to fall and winter when hibernation is over and we can rediscover running and frolicking.

benedictions, part 2

Father Mantis has returned to us

and we are grateful. His last prayers administered on our screen doors having born much fruit before being swept off by monsoonal winds. Mantis prayers have clout.

For the past 3 days our devout protector has taken up communion yet again. Is it selfish to assume he's here to pray in our behalf? Cuz, you know, we could always use the prayers.



When it's back to school time, you just need extra prayers wherever you can get them. Especially when it's a new school and it's SIXTH-GRADE! Look at this boy, trying 11 out for size, getting ready for new adventures. He'll do fine. It's not him who needs the prayers, it's his mom, who remembers sixth-grade far too well.




Here's another boy that needs supplication. Or at least his teeth do. Or maybe again, his parents do. Pray, Mantis, pray for us to have the endurance to overcome night after night of complaining and whining about oral chores and to have the persistance to get teeth brushed... despite the tantrum. A tooth killed by neglect, and another awaiting a filling! Had this young Padawan been a first child, or an only child, this would never have been tolerated. But Blake and I are careworn and oppressed. Pray for us, pious bug, pray through the wind.

And while you are at it, pray for Blake's job. We would like for him to keep it.

Hands-off Policy

Registration for middle school? How can my baby be old enough for middle school? For electives and lockers and punks and gangbangers and popularity complexes and friends with cell phones and ipods (wait, he already has that) and going with and going out and breaking up and breaking out.

His birthday is in July. I should have waited another year to enroll him in kindergarten to delay this inevitable just a titch.

But it's too late to change that now. Gotta face it: he's going to middle school in the fall. As we entered the campus for registration and self-guided tours, I had this most incredible parental urge to hold his hand. It was all I could do to just walk next to him and not touch him. Of course a sixth-grade boy doesn't need his hand held, but that doesn't mean a mom of a sixth-grader doesn't have the need to do it.

This is uncharted territory for both of us. How do I become a mom of a kid that doesn't need his hand held anymore?

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?