Monday, April 20, 2009


Me: Andrea, what's 1+1?

Andrea: 2

Me: What's 2+1?
Andrea: 3

Me: What's 3+3?
Andrea: 6

Me: What's 6+2?
Andrea: 8

Me: What's 8+8?


Andrea: I'm going to need a pencil.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Holy Crap!

I recently attended a seminar about getting organized.

Totally got jazzed.
Pumped about cleaning up and clearing out and armed with a label-machine, I decided to purge the house and get the place organized.


They say it gets worse before it gets better, right?


Hey, if you don't see me in a couple weeks, could someone please send in Search & Rescue?

Easter Aftermath


Lately the girls have been obsessed with the movie Bolt.
Love the movie. 
Love even more that my kids want to "play Bolt."
Love that they trade off "being" Bolt.
Don't love that they keep putting every scrap of string/rope/belt/tie/etc around their necks as a collar.

One of the more fun aspects of the game for them is that whichever parent happens to be around is automatically designated 'Green-Eye' -- the villain. 
Of course Mark, being the dad that he is, plays into this to the utter delight of the girls.

Too cute


How does she sleep like that?! I have no clue.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009


We feared for a long time that we'd have a struggle keeping Lacie's glasses on her. All in vain. She doesn't want to take them off. Even to sleep. At night I have to wait until she's sleeping before I can get them off her for the night. One night Mark tried reasoning with her. She replied,

"But I need my glasses or I can't see my dreams."

I've never made it a secret that Hyrum is a big boy. And that I hope and believe he will continue growing to be a big boy. So when Andrea was getting a little too much in his face despite my repeated requests that she back off, I finally told her that if she didn't stop messing with him, once he got older and bigger he would pound on her.
Weeks later, we were driving in the car and Andrea was bugging Hyrum. I don't know what she was doing, but it made him squawk and it was getting on my nerves. When I'd had enough I told her to stop messing with him or she'd be in trouble. I meant with me, but she asked,
"Mom, is Hyrum going to pound on me when he gets bigger?"
"Probably, if you keep this up."
"I'm sorry, Hyrum, that I was bugging you. I didn't mean it."
"Mom, is Hyrum still going to pound on me?"

Friday, April 10, 2009

You break my heart Wal-Mart

The other day I took a trip to ghetto-mart. Knowingly.
In all fairness, not all Wal-Mart stores are created equally. If you go to the right location (read: wealthy areas) some stores are surprisingly upscale. That is not the case with the one closest to our home. Sigh. Most days I trek it northward and go to the "nicer" one. Sometimes, though, I don't want to drive the distance and go for the closer of the two, forgetting that the time I will spend in line is probably the equivalent to what I'd spend driving. Oh well.
such was the case that I opted for ghetto, understanding ahead of time that the images I'd see there may or may not be appropriate for children under the age of 13. Wal-Mart did not disappoint. Rather, the patrons. (Yes, I know, I'm one of them.)
The point is, I saw a woman there with 3 kids, like myself. The youngest was a baby - tinier than I'd ever seen in person. He was TINY. Seriously, much smaller than any of my kids at birth I'm sure. And my kids were not big babies. Then came the shocker - I asked her how old her child was and she told me he was 3 WEEKS OLD.
So at this point I am in awe of how small this baby is, and now freaking out that she would take him out in public (to Wal-Mart of all places) to be accosted by all the germs and nastiness found there.
I realize there may be reasons she has to do this -- no milk, no babysitter, etc. But here's the kicker - it was a COLD day. Cold and windy. Naturally she was wearing a coat. But do you think she had a coat for her 2 older kids? Nope. Baby? Nope. Hat? Shoes? Nope, nope. No socks. No sweater. Not even a blanket. The kid was outfitted in a short-sleeve onesie and that was it. A onsie. I had to resist the urge to take the baby and make a run for it. I should have turned around and purchased a blanket for him. I'm kicking myself now.
I know Wal-Mart is not to blame for this scene. But I also know if I go back I am more likely to find a repeat of the scene there than at any other store I frequent. And I just don't know if my heart can take it.


Lacie: "It's too much! I can't do it -- I'm not a mommy."

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Neighbor Control

There are goods and bads to living in a house. One bad is that you tend to get stuck with crummy neighbors a lot longer. And it's more likely they have pets. Noisy pets. Specifically dogs. That bark. All night long.
I hate dogs. Always have. To quote Left Ear on The Italian Job, "I had a bad experience." Okay, so not nearly as effective as when he said it in the movie. I love that movie. But I hate dogs. Especially when they bark. All night long.
You know what I love? Tylenol PM. It works really fast. Like, under 3 minutes fast. You know what else I love? Hot dogs. They're easy to slit open and stuff things inside.
One good to living in a house is that at night you can throw things over the fence to your neighbor's yard, maybe for their dog or whatever. You can't do that in an apartment.

Another bad thing about living in a house is that you might get stuck with neighbors who like to throw really loud parties. (See here for reference.) It's really bad when they aren't deterred by us calling the cops.
Know what's good, though, about living in a house? All the wires for your electrical are right over your house so you know exactly which ones provide electricity to each house. Know what else is good? When your clever husband knows how to rig the wires to blow the transformer and cut off power, thus very effectively ending loud parties.

Like I said, goods and bads.

Saturday, April 4, 2009


Sweet, sweet Mark. He gathered the kids to have them sing to me and make a fuss. He told them it was my birthday and that I was turning 25.
Andrea stopped him right there and said, "Nu uh! Mama is 29!"

A Good Dad

A Good Dad is a lot of things... does a lot of things. He loves his kid(s). He spends time with his kid. He makes his kid a priority. He teaches his kid. He helps his kid. He is patient with his kid. He has fun with his kid. He lets his kid help scan the birthday cake at the check-yourself-out place at the store; and when that cake takes a tumble he grabs the cake so that it splats on himself and not his kid; and when the cake finally hits the ground instead of blaming his kid he reassures her so she doesn't feel bad; and to prove it he lets her taste the frosting all over his arm while he cleans up his shirt, his pants, his shoes, the floor, etc.

You know how I know Mark is a good dad? When he and Andrea got home from the store Andrea's comment about the excursion did not involve any mention of screaming, crying, yelling, or getting mad. Instead it was this:
"The frosting on your cake is DEEEEE-licious!"