Outie

I'm out til the New Year!

In the meantime, enjoy some Christmas Spirit.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Note

Dear That Girl's back,

Please feel better. Quickly.

Kind regards, The Floor

Sometimes

Sometimes, you just need to make a fort.

And sometimes, you just need to make a fire truck.

And sometimes, you just need to enjoy that little person who calls you Mom.

Because we won't always have those times.

A really - REALLY?! - kind of day.

I did not have a good night's sleep last night. Something about an aching back. Oh, and nightmares that bad guys were chasing my children in a hotel, and I was trying to hide them in a huge basket of laundry, but they kept giggling and giving away our position.

Something like that.

I ignored the alarm clock and did not do yoga, read my scriptures OR take a shower. The three things that generally start my day off well.

Instead I woke up to "MOOOOO-OOOOM! GIVE ME CEREAL" and a quarter cup of milk in the fridge.

We opted for Cream of Wheat made with water.

I HATE Cream of Wheat made with water.

("We don't say hate, Mom!")

Little Prince was late to school because he refused to tie his shoes. And I was told off because we don't own any "crazy socks" for Spirit Week. Apologies, oh Spirit Week Gods.

Ouro Branco bawled buckets on the floor from 7:50 to 8:40. I don't know why. But he did it right in front of the dishwasher, making it impossible to empty. I get crabby when I can't empty the dishwasher.

Mr. Squishy threw the 1/4-cup-of-milk-that-was-left across my newly washed floor (courtesy of My Man), and then promptly got into a food fight with Cream of Wheat. The Cream of Wheat won.

Really? REALLY!?

We went to the store. Funny, I know. But don't forget they have child care there.

I spent a blissful hour shopping alone for the 29 people who will soon be coming to my house. We have lots of chip dip now.

We only had a minor scene in getting Ouro Branco away from the puzzles in the Cubhouse. Just kicking and screaming and thrashing around - no big deal.

*Home.*

In putting away the groceries, I thought now would be a good time to clean out the fridge. The cottage cheese was beginning to hit that adolescent stage - rebellion and acne all over the place. And why not push the "self-clean" button on the oven? It's not like I have to DO anything, right? Right? ...

Oh, yeah. Except cook that now-exploding-over-the-top sourdough bread that I left to rise while we were gone. It's for neighbor gifts. Now it will have to wait four hours and twenty minutes for the oven to finish. I hope I don't poison my neighbors with noxious oven cleaner sourdough bread.

Then a shelf in the fridge door collapses. I don't know why. Just to spice things up, I guess.

Mayonnaise and minced garlic all over the for-at-least-a-few-minutes-clean fridge. And rug. And me.

Really? REALLY?!

*One hour interlude while I clean up the garlic-and-mayonnaise mess. I have a hankering to eat chicken garlic alfredo.*

*In the meantime, Ouro Branco takes exactly one bite out of each and every strawberry that was meant for a fruit basket gift, and Mr. Squishy empties every bowl, pot, pan, and piece of Tupperware all over the kitchen floor, and fills them with rocks from the backyard.*

*Naptime.*

Putting Mr. Squishy to bed. Might as well make up the guest bed while I'm at it, right? Might as well put away his laundry, right? Might as well organize his drawers and sift through all the six-month onesies that don't fit anymore, right? ... And I expect the children to NOT destroy the basement while I'm at it, riiiiiiiight?

I'm insane.

It should be known that a minimal amount of peanut butter balls were crammed into my mouth this morning.

No children were harmed in the making of this post. Yet.

Call me Mrs. Scrooge

Sometimes - just sometimes -
I'm glad Christmas only comes once a year.

Oy vay.

Instant recall

Something happens when a bunch of Mormon women get together. And I don't mean salivating over werewolves.

Prices, baby. It's all about prices.

"Clementines at Frys are only 2.49 a bag!"
"No way. Bashas is 3.45."
"Don't forget milk is on sale at Costco. 1.89. Limit four."
"And I'm on my way to Jo-Ann's - garland is 1.99 for 9 feet!"

I have no idea if the prices I just quoted are anywhere near the truth; I have not a clue what things cost.

Anywhere.

This female ability to retain the prices of hundreds of items at a moment's recall astounds me. It's like some exclusive club that I should belong to, but instead am left pressing my face against the window, drooling.

I have my grocery list. I buy what's on my list. If there's a big sale sticker, I'm happy. But I couldn't tell you the price of the mint extract I just bought. Forty-five minutes ago.

On the other hand, my gray matter is very good at recalling completely useless information. Like all the lyrics to BNL's "One Week." Or who gave us that crystal bowl for our wedding. Or the name of the woman the Greek goddess Athena turned into a spider.

Do you think I could work it in my next price conversation?

"Strawberries for two bucks at Frys - today only."
I'm all about value.
"Do you like broccoli? On sale for $2.50 for three pounds."
I could put it in this beautiful bowl I got from the Kelicheivkis.
"I'm heading to the Farmer's Market - only 5 bucks for a bushel of peaches."
I'll go as soon as I kill this last arachnid - named for Arachne, the woman-turned-spider who thought she was better than Athena at weaving.

Nope. Probably not.

The temperature today started with a "5"

And ended with a 9. Here in the Valley of the Sun, we call that cold.

I like cold.

I unearthed my brown pea coat that sat woefully at the bottom of the Winter Box. (And happy is what I was when I could button it.)

I did not forget my hat. Because My Man really likes it when I wear hats. And I really like it when he likes it when I wear hats.

Then I went out to buy more milk chocolate chips. When I got back, I pranced around the kitchen and made Grandma Day fudge. Because one can only read DeNae's Ode to Fudge month so much without spontaneous fudge-making. I'm only human.

I was trying to get My Man to regret the fact that he had to read 300 pages on "Deferring Loss or Gain upon Incorporation." That means taxes and stuff.

I think I succeeded. He regrets it. Especially when I licked the spoon suggestively.

I'm a toiling wife.

Because I'm much better at decorating for Christmas than I am for Halloween

Over at the Mormon Mommy Blogs, they're doing a "Holiday Home Tour" - everyone posts pictures of their house to create envy ideas. Well, sign me up for needless guilt and stress!

This is The Tree. It probably looks like everyone else's. Except I'm thinking that it's in desperate need of some gold scarvy-thingies, flung artistically here and there. Maybe next year. If they're on sale.

Surprisingly, Da Boyz have left the presents alone. Somehow the threat of disembowelment has worked well.

This is our front room. It's not all that Christmas-y. But I've been meaning to post it to show off my awesome ceiling that had me limping for a week. Plus the woodworking we had done. (Your home teacher should be a carpenter, too.)

That big blue ugly thing over the piano will be a beautiful mosaic of the temple someday. You know, when I have "time." Later.

Easiest, cheapest Christmas decor: wrap your existing pictures.

Although I think I'm going to change the wrapping paper to green. The silver isn't working for me.

This is my project this year; it will hang over the piano (replacing the big blue ugly future mosaic) once Michael's receives shipment of the "r's" and "t's." Why are they ALWAYS OUT OF SOMETHING? (I don't know why this picture is posting sideways, despite my having flipped it three times. I didn't invent blogger.com. Unfortunately.)


I like my kiddies.

This is the advent calendar that my awesome sister-in-law made us for our first Christmas. An identical one hangs in my in-law's house, and it wouldn't be Christmas without it. That big yellow puffball to the right is a camel, okaaaaaaaaaaay?

This kind of garland-y centerpiece stuff is all over my house. Garland. Gold berries. Gold spray stuff. Green apples. White doves. You have to buy those doves in packs of eight, and I put them to good use.

Sheepies are important to us. My Man's family have been sheep farmers for eons. Except for him. He's in finance. Sorry.


I'm proud of this. It took a long time to wire together. Probably longer than it would have taken you. (Look! Green grass behind the door! And a ball.)


Who needs a fireplace? We have a gorgeous buffet table that we got for free in Brazil. It is my favorite thing ever. (And dude, I know there's only four stockings for the five people in our family. I've been meaning to buy Mr. Squishy one ....)


The garland is hung with all of our sentimental-type ornaments. (I wanted a pretty tree, but didn't have the heart to throw away our many trinkets. This is a compromise.)

This ornament was brought to the Americas from England by my great-grandmother.

The snowman is from my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Seuss. Much to our chagrin, she wasn't married to the Dr. If she was, she wouldn't be teaching a bunch of snotty five-year-olds.

But my favorite ever ever is this one:

My mom's ward gave them out a while back. It was MomLady's idea OF COURSE. Though she had Brother Nethercott paint it, because Brother Nethercott is a flippin' genius.

And of course, our Christmas village. Me likey ye olde church.

Belonging to the true church, of course.

I like the ice skater.
And the Wal-mart makes me laugh.

I am not the first. Nor will I be the last.

Lots of people have blogged about Tiger's recent transgressions. (I should say "alleged" transgressions, but c'mon. He totally cheated on his wife. He knows it. I know it. And so does the rest of the world.)

Sarah over at State of the Obvious had something to say about it too. And I was so prolific in her comment section that I figured I might as well have my own post about it. I will tell you what I told her:

I don't contribute to the celebrity gossip industry. Sure, I read the headlines in the grocery store. But I don't know how many kids Angelina and Brad have, and I'm STILL not quite sure who the Kardashians are, or why they're famous. I didn't even find out the Balloon Boy was fake til like a month after the fact. Clueless. That's me.

But I know who Tiger Woods is. And so I'm taking his downfall pretty seriously.

I love The Family. I love Marriage. I love Love and Happiness and Bliss and Joy and all that goopy, gooey stuff. And there are too many people in the world who believe that it's all fairy tales. Too many people honestly believe that it's not possible to be happy with just one person for the rest of your life. Too many people who think infidelity is a given - the inevitable consequence to a years-old marriage without romance or passion.

And these people - these pessimistic, jaded people - point to real life. They point to the countless examples we have in Hollywood, politics and sports. It seems there isn't a single public figure that can have a good, healthy, happy marriage until death do they part. (If you know of any, PLEASE let me know. Mel Gibson's divorce set me back a while, too.)

So when I hear about another one biting the dust, I cringe. Because it seems to support Their Theory. Their heinous, faithless theory that marriages CAN'T be a forever gig.

And I say support their theory - but not prove. Because their theory is wrong. Dead wrong. That kind of happiness IS possible. I know it. I'm not a public figure, but I'd be willing to make myself the poster child for MY theory - There are Such Things as Fairy Tale Marriages.

Rant over.

Works for me FRIDAY - because I forgot to post this on Wednesday

It's Christmas, in case you missed the constant jingle-belling on the radio, light displays on every store, and gigantic Santa Claus and singing reindeer in the Jones' front yard. It's Christmas. It's true.

We recently had a Family Home Evening about this ever-popular holiday. First question: what is Christmas time all about? Little Prince: Presents!

Hmmmm.

Christmas time is, in fact, NOT about presents at all, and we are making it our goal to change LP's answer by December 25th.

One of the ways we are working to put Christ back into the Mas is by keeping His bed warm.

Nothing makes the Savior happier than loving and serving our fellow man. I know. He said so. So the best birthday present we could give Him would be? You got it - loving and serving our fellow man. (I know! It's like I already gave you the answer!)

Every day this month our family is looking for service opportunities. After dinner, we gather around the nativity and report on our good works. For every act of service, we add a "straw" (in this case, toothpicks) to the manger. By Christmas Eve, the Christ-child should have a pretty warm bed.

The kids are totally into it. LP took a truckload of candy to school, begging his friends to take it so he could keep Jesus warm. Ouro Branco is shockingly sweet with the pleases and the thank yous and the sharing his toys, muttering to himself that Jesus has to keep warm. I'm tellin' ya. Jesus is much more effective than Santa Claus for behavior modification. Jesus is better, because Jesus is real.

We are now entering the sixth month

And the baby is apparently taking up at least half of my backside.

At least ... I hope that's baby.

Monkey business

An excerpt from Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed, as read to Ouro Branco by That Girl

It was bedtime. Five little monkeys took a bath. (Look! He's blowing bubbles, Mom! Yes, I know, how fun!)

Five little monkeys put on their pajamas. (Uh-oh, Mom. That monkey doesn't have a shirt on. Why doesn't he have a shirt on, Mom? I don't know, sweetie.)

Five little .... (I know! His mom went to got get it. Yes, probably.)

Five little monkeys brushed their teeth. (I like RED toothpaste, Mom. RED. The blue one is spicy. Yes, I know you like red. Let's keep reading.)

Then five little monkeys said good night to their mamma. And five little monkeys went to bed. (Why are they waving? They're saying goodnight. But why do they wave? They should just say goodnight. Yes, you're right.)

Then, five little monkeys jumped on the bed. (Why are they jumping Mom? Because it's fun. But they will get hurt. Yes, you're right. Let's keep going. See - *flips pages* they get hurt right here. Yes, I know, they shouldn't have jumped.)

One fell off and bumped his head. (See! They got hurt. And HERE, *flips pages* the mom gets hurt too. Who takes her to the doctor? I don't know. The daddy? No, I think the kids carry her. That must be it.)

The mamma called the doctor and the doctor said, (*flips pages* why does the doctor cry, Mom? Because no one listens to him. I listen to him. Yes you do.)

No more monkeys jumping on the bed! Then four little monkeys jumped on the bed. (Why is this pillow empty? Because the monkey who sleeps there got hurt. So he will sleep on the couch now? Yes, I guess so.)

One fell off and bumped his head. (I think the doctor poked his ear. You think so? Yes. That's why he cried. The doctor poked my ear and I didnt' like it. No, it hurt you, huh. Yes. But it's better now. That's good.)

The mamma called the doctor and the doctor said, (Why does no one listen to the doctor, Mom? I don't know. Let's keep reading to find out. But - No, let's just keep reading!)

No more monkeys jumping on the bed! Then three little monkeys jumped on the bed ..... (Mom? ...)

Thanksgiving in pictures

Prior to Thanksgiving, we figured we'd better go over the basic point of the holiday. Role playing is our favorite way to teach. That, and lots of construction paper and staples.

My Man graciously provided power for the Mayflower - and MomLady was lucky enough to be Head Indian Big Momma Chief Lady at the First Feast.











We then proceeded to drive to Texas. That would be 1000 miles, or roughly 16 hours, of driving time. And ya know what? The kids were awesome. The drive was awesome. Life was awesome.

Awesome, I tell you.

Plus we saw some cotton fields, and had a quick educational detour. Da Boyz thought it was pretty much the coolest thing ever. And it was.
















We then arrived at my brother-in-law's mother-in-law's. They were kind enough to be out of town, and leave us with lots of beds and pretty serving dishes.

We did the whole Thanksgiving Thang. My sister-in-law did the turkey like it was NO BIG DEAL. (But oh, it was....) Little Prince got his dearest wish in the shape of a turkey leg. And we made way too much food. WAY too much food. But isn't that the point?














Oh, and we had pumpkin pie, too.


Then we had serious relative time.
















Mr. Squishy played a lot.













Ouro Branco played a lot.















Little Prince played a lot, too, but avoided the camera while doing so.

Then we went home.

The night we pulled into the driveway of our Home Sweet Home, we had a delivery:






















Our neighborhood ROCKS.